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TABLE OF CONTENTS

VOL. XLVIII

A Bit of Shopping Gossip,

A Bloomer among us, by Pauline Forsyth,

A Chapter on Necklaces, by Mrs. White,

A Consideration,

Advice to a Bride,

A Few Words about Delicate Women,

A Gossip on the Fashions,

A Great Duty which is Imposed upon Mothers,

A Great Mulrooney Story, by Sylvanus Urban,

the Younger,
A Lace Basque,
A Lesson worth Remembering,
A Loving Heart, by W. S. Gaffney,
Amateur Gardening,
A Mother's Love, by Mary Neal,
Amor, Vivax, Fragilis, by H. II, M. B.,
An Antidote,
Anecdote of Byron,
An Incident, by J. 31. C,
Annoyance, by Beata,
An Ornamental Cottage,
A Pleasant Letter,
A Portrait, by Paul H. Hayne,
Appletons',

Apron in Broderie en Lacet,
A Ruling Passion,
A Sketch, by "Leonora,"
A Song, by Charles Stewart,
A Story of Valentine's Day, by Mrs. Abdy,
A Strange Incident,

Aunt Tabitha's Fireside, by Edith Woodley
A Valentine, by Clara Moreton,
A Warning to Lovers,

282
390
213
5C9
405
446
56
464

27
550
478
543

355

32
188
130

452

268, 269

152

64
380
363
272

63
501
137
514
150
165
187

Celestial Phenomena, by D. W. Belisle,

60, 131, 233, 315, 403, 504
Centre-Table Gossip, 89, 187, 282, 379, 477, 569
Charity Envieth Not, by Alice B. Neal, 417

Babylon, Nineveh, and Mr. Layard, 51, 134, 228
Bearded Civilization, 227

Beauty, by 3tiss M. H. Butt, 346

Be of Good Cheer ; it is I, by R. T. Conrad, 64
Blessington's Choice, by Fitz Morner, 424

Braided Slipper, 261

Braid for Child's Dress, 549

Braid Patterns, 172

Bread-Cloth, 553

Bright Flowers for her I Love, by Wm. Roderick

Lawrence, 450

Boardman & Gray's Dolce Campana Attach-
ment Piano-Fortes, 5, 101, 277
Bonnets, from Thomas White & Co., 193, 283
Border and Corner for Pocket-Handkerchief, 361
Broderie Anglaise for Flouncing, 173

Chemisettes,
Chemistry for Youth,
Child's Dress,
Children's Dresses,
Chinese Sayings,
Costly China,
Cottage Furniture,
Crochet Tassel Cover,

69, 264, 362

81, 185, 279, 566

1, 92

548

569

74, 263, 364, 454, 551

358

Dairy-House and Piggery, ' 349

Deaconesses, 273

Decorated Parlor Windows, 97, 166

Design for Screen, 198, 267

Development of the Lungs, 107

Directions for a Letter-Band, 391, 458

Directions for Knitting a Work-Basket, .458

Directions for taking Leaf Impressions, 443

Directions to Ladies for Shopping, 83

Disappointed Love, by W. S. Gaffney, 449

Don't Overtask the Young Brain, 337

Dream Picture, by Mrs. A. F. Law, . 353
Dress — as a Fine Art, by Mrs. Merrifield,

25, 347, 412

Dress Collar. — Embroidery, 553

Dress of American Women. 282

Dying, by Bell, 165

75, 175, 271, 366, 462, 555
77, 273

Camilla Mantilla,

Caps,

Celestial Love Letters,

289

69, 170, 360, 362, 546

118

Editors' Table,
Editors' Table-Drawer,

Edna, by Ellen Alice Moriarty, 164

Ellie Maylie, by Jennie Bowling Be Witt, 353

Embroidered Antimacassar, 269

Embroidered Collar, 174

Embroidered Screen, 171

Embroidery. — Dress Collar, 553

Embroidery for Petticoats, 68

Embroidery for Shirts, 74, 169

Embroidery with Cord, 458

Enigmas, 87, 185, 280, 377, 474, 567

Eugenie Costume, 292

Evangeline and Antoinette. — Mantillas, 385, 457

Evening Thoughts, by H. Merran Parke, 543

Every Lady her own Dressmaker, 570

Fairyland, by Laura M. Colvin, 260

Farm House, 444

Fashions, 90, 189, 283, 381, 479, 571

Female Accomplishments, 89

Female Medical Education, 462

Feminology, 273

For the Lovers of Jewelry, 478

iii

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

Qeraniums, from Mrs. Halt?* Neva Household
Receipt-Book, 565

Gode/a Ann-Chair, 82, 181; 275, 371, 467, 561

Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing,

36, 115, 216, 323, 410, 502

Headdress, 546

History of Pearl?, Natural and Artificial, 533

Hous i Plants, from Mrs. Hale's Neio Household
/.'. ■ eipt-Book, 472

Illuminated, or Vellum-Painting, 538

Influence of Female Education in Greece, 271

Ingenuity of Bees, 133

Instantaneous Flowering of Plants, 161
Instructions for making Ornaments in Rice

Shell-Work, 22, 154, 240

Instructions in Knitting, 472

Intellectual Endowments of Children, 409

Interesting Discovery at Jerusalem, 395

I was Robbed of my Spirit's Love, by Jaronette, 354

Jacket fur Riding-Dress, 364

Juvenile Books. — From Evans & Brittan, 188

Juvenile Fashions, 547

Laces and Embroideries,

Lace Mantilla and Tablet Mantilla,

Lady's Riding-Boots,

Lady's Scarf Mantelet,

Lady's Slipper,

Lady's Walking-Dress and Diagrams,

L'Anglaise Costume,

Lay of tho Constant One, by

Criswell, 258

Legend of Long-Pond; or, Lake of the Golden

Cross, by Fanny Falea, 506

Let me Die ! by S. M. Montgomery, 544

Le Printemps Mantilla, 289

Letters Left at the Pastry Cook's, Edited by

Horace Mayhcio, 58, 128, 247, 334, 414, 499

Lines to a Bronchitis Birdie, by N. W. Bridge, 545
L'Isolement, Translated from the French of Al-

phonse de Lamartine, by Wm. A. Kenyon, 545
Literary Notices, 78, 177, 274, 369, 465, 558

Literature for Ladies, 175

Little Children, 207

Love's Elysium, by J. A. Bartley, 55

Madame Caplin's Corsets, 265

Management of Canary Birds, 322
Mantillas, from the celebrated Establishment of

G. Brodie, New York, 4, 72, 100, 167, 168, 196,
197, 267, 290, 291, 392, 458, 482, 483

Manuel Garcia, the celebrated Singing-Master, 366

Manufacture of Pins, 404
Marquise and Navailles. — Mantillas, 389, 457

May-Day, 423

May First, 477

Mrs. Clark's Experience as a Servant, by Bell, 508
Mrs,. Mudlaw's Recipe for Potato Pudding, by

The Author of the <( Bedott Papers," 250

379

388, 457

551

357

363, 552

262

293

Cor

olla H.

Mrs. Murden's Two Dollar Silk, by The Author

of ".Miss Bremer^s Visit to Cooper's Landing," 317
"Mustard to Mix." — A Receipt for Young
Housekeepers, by The Author of "Miss Bre-
viers Visit to Cooper's Landing," etc., 158
My Grandmother's Stand, by H. B. Wildman, 65
" My Experience in Babies, Sir !" by Mary Neal, 63
My Tulips, by H. S. D., 544

Netted Cap, for morning wear, 360

New Revelations of an Old Country, 427

Niagara, 521

Novelties for the Coming Season, 170

Ode from Horace, by Edw. Neioton Van Saut, 66
Ode to the Air in May, by Nicholas Nettleby, 452
O'er Bleak Acadia's Plains, by Clark Gaddis, 261
Oh, Lay Her to Rest, by Florus B. Plimpton, 40
Old, while Young, by Mabel Clifford, 259

On the Porch of the Cataract House, by Helen

Hamilton, 62

Ornaments, 570

Our Fashion Department, 478

Our Practical Dress Instructor, 168, 262, 357, 453

Painting on Velvet,

Parlor Work,

Patterns for Embroidery,

172,

393

89, 188
270, 365, 456, 554

-In Broderie Anglaise,

173

525

273

460

260

487
272

Petticoat Trimming,

Physical Training,

Pictures from Dante,

Plain Work,

Preparations for Company,

Presentiment, by M><b. Priscilla P. Lompayrac,

Preservation of Food,

Public Liberality,

Reading without Improvement, 272

Receipts, Ac., 87, 186, 280, 378, 475, 567

Remembered Happiness, 433

Remember the Poor, by Mrs. C. H. Esling
Roman Women in tho Days of the Caesars, by
H. P. Haynes,

Secret Love, by Kate Harrington,

Selling the Love-Token, by Alice B. Neal,

Silent Thought, by Willie Edgar Tabor,

Singular Inscriptions on Tombstones,

Slander,

Sleeves, 69,

Smyrna Embroidery. — Lady's Slipper on Cloth,

Some Thoughts on Training Female Teachers,

by Miss M. S. G.,
Song to C. G. D., by William P. MulchinocJc,
Sonnets, by Wm. Alexander,

66, 163, 260, 352
Spring,

Spring Bonnets,
Spring Fashions,
Stanzas, by H B. Wildman,
Stanzas, by Helen Hamilton,

165

243

542
208
440
376
557
264
552

336
66

450,

543

464

291.409

390, 157

450

Table-Moving, by Pauline Forsyth,

235

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

266
442
5(36
162
544
257
421
354

Taper-Stand,

Teaching at Home. — Language,

The Borrower's Department, 87, 184, 377, 475,

The Children-Angels, by James A. Bartleij,

The Dead Tree,

The Dying Wife, by Phila Earle,

The Economics of Clothing and Dress,

The Elixir of Life, by Charles Albert Janvier,

The Embroidered Slippers — An acknowledg-
ment of a Holiday Gift,

The Evening Walk, by Richard Coe,

The Fountain Very Far Down, by Virginia F.
Townsend,

The Gleaner, by Richard Coe,

The Good Time Coming,

The Hortense Mantelet and Victoria,

The Household,

The Interview, by T. Hempstead,

The Last Kiss, by Jenny A. M'Ewan,

The Last Moments, by R. Griffin Staples,

The Life of Man, by C* * * *,

The Lloyds, by Mrs. S. J. Hale,

The Manufacture of Artificial Flowers, by C. T.
Hinckley,

The Manufacture of Paper, by C. T. Hinckley,

The Miser, by Charles Leland Porter,

The Mother's Lesson, by Elma South,

The Needle in the Haymow. — A Story for House-
keepers, by H D. R.,

The New Sewing-Machine,

The Nursery Basket,

'The Orphan Boy, by Robert G. Allison,

The Orphan's Departure, by Margaret Floyd,

The Pedestrian Tour, by Pauline Forsyth,

The Pet, by Rosa Montrose,

The Philadelphia School of Design for Women, 271

The Philosophy of Shopping, by Mrs. Alanc
Watts, 33

The Pleiades,

The Practical,

There 's Music, by Horace G. Boughman,

The School-Mistress Married,

The Schottisch Partner, by Motte Hall,

The Scotch Piper,

The Song-Birds of Spring, by Norman W.
Bridge,

The Spring-time Cometh,

The Stolen Match, by Hon. Caleb Cushing,

The Souvenir; or, The Arrival of the Lady's
Book. A Sketch of Southern Life, by Pauline
Forsyth, 338

The Toilet, 92, 187, 281, 382, 477, 568

The Trials of a Needle-Woman, by T. S. Ar-
thur, 119, 218, 326, 434, 527
The Turkish Costume, 348
The Vork-'Ouse Boy, 83
The Was and the Is, by 0. Everts, M. D., 356

The Wild Flowers of Early Spring-time, 343

The Wild Flowers of the Month, by H. Coultas, 523

259

162

145

449

379

352

541

356

261

295
199
163
441

515
127
570
163
310
494
449

21
463
353

77
542
184

355

463

\ The Wives of England, 76

\ The Wreck, by Mrs. E. Lock, 259
\ They say that she is Beautiful, by Mary Grace

I Hal ping, 451
I Time's Changes; or, Fashions in the Olden

Times, 512

'Tis Gold ! 'Tis Gold ! by James L. Roche, 258

'Tis O'er, by /. J. Stine, 452

To a Friend on the Day of his Marriage, 545

To an Absent Dear One, by Fannie M. C, 355

To Caroline in Heaven, by Annie B. Clare, 65

To Ida, by Horace Phelps, M. D., 356

Toilet Cover in Crochet, 73

To Laura. — The Friend, by Beata, 65

To Miss Laura, 416

To Morning, by Blanche Bennairde, 57

To my Brother, by Mrs. M. A. Bigelow, 258

To one who Rests, by Winnie Wood/cm, 451
To our Friend Godey, by Mrs. A. J. Williams, 468

To the Gand'hraj, by Mrs. E. Lock, 165

To the New Year, 62

Transplanting Roses, 188

Treasures, 420

True Happiness in a Palace, 367

Truth, by D. Hardy, Jr., 550

Truth Stranger than Fiction, 406

Two Mothers? by Mrs, S. F. Jennings, 543

Undersleeves,

362, 456

156

Valentine's Day,

Vegetable Physiology, by Harland Coultas,

148, 232, 523
Veteran Sailor's Song, by " Caryl," 164

Virginia Percy. — A Sketch of Southern Life,
by Pauline Forsyth, 108

Washing made Easy, 379

Watch-Pocket — Broderie en Lacet, 269

We Parted, by M. A. Rice, 257

Willie Maylie, by Cornelia M. DoivHng, 353

What shall be done for the Insane ? 555

Why don't Ladies learn to Cook ? 549

Woman the Physician of her own Sex, (lTjS>
Working and Dreaming, by Mrs. A. L. Lawrie, 162

Work-Table for Juveniles, 67, 455

Yankee Doodle with Variations,

473

Zanotti : a Romantic Tale of Italy and Spain,
by Percy, 300

EMBELLISHMENTS, &c.

January.
The Pleiades.
Time in Search of Cupid.
The Hortense Mantelet and the Victoria.
Embroidery.

Godey's Latest Fashions.
Children's Dresses.

Music — The Bluebird Waltz, by Edioard 3fac7c.
The Hungarian Circle.

Boardman >v Ghray's Doloe Oampana Attachment

Piano-Fortes.
Instructions for making Ornaments in Rice Shell-

Work.
Godey's ('our.-,' of Lessons. in Drawing.
Fallen Rook-Sculptures at Bavian.
A Gossip on the Fashions.
Work-table lor Juveniles.
Embroidery lor Petticoats
Chemisettes, Sleeves, and Caps.
Child's Dress.
T. >ilet Cover in Crochet.
Embroidery for Shirts.
Cottage Furniture.
Directions to Ladies for Shopping.
Designs for Headdresses.

February.

The Evening Walk.

Godey's Colored Fashions.

Embroidered Dressing-Gown. ,

Broderie Anglaise Flouncing.

The Farm Yard.

Window Curtains.

Music. — Andante and Waltz, by Thos. A'BecJcet.

The Moscow Wrapper.

Boardman & Gray's Dolce Campana Attachment
Piano-Fortes.

Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.

The New Sewing-Machine.

Babylon and Nineveh.

Vegetable Physiology.

Instructions for making Ornaments in Rice Shell-
Work.

The Salamanca.

Polka Jacket and Diagrams.

Embroidery for Shirts.

The Pelisse, a favorite style of outside garment

Caps.

Embroidered Screen.

Patterns for Embroidery.

Braid Pattern.

Petticoat Trimming. — In Broderie Anglaise.

Embroidered Collar.

The Scotch Piper.

March.

Selling the Wedding-Ring or Love-Token.

Godey's Unrivalled Colored Fashions.

Embroidered Antimacassar.

Watch-Pocket. — Broderie en Lacet.

Embroidery Pattern.

Model Cottage, printed in tints ; and ground-plan.

Fashionable Bonnets.

Music. — Pop Goes the Weasel.

The Arragonese and the Valencia.

Design for Embroidered Screen.

The Manufacture of Paper.

Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.

Babylon and Nineveh.

Vegetable Physiology.

Instructions for making Ornaments in Rice Shell-
Work.

Braided Slipper.

Lady's Walking-Dress and Diagrams.

Cottage Furniture.

Chemisettes and Sleeves.

Madame Caplin's Corsets.

Taper Stand.

Patterns for Embroidery.

Bird's-eye View of Boardman & Gray's Piano-Forto
Manufactory, Albany, N. Y.

Little Girl's Sack and Outdoor Dresses.

Oakford's Spring Fashions for Hats, Caps, Ac.

April.
Departure of the Orphan.
The Arrival of the Lady's Book.
Apron in Broderie en Lacet.
Latest Fashions. — Spring Dresses.
Camilla Mantilla and Le Printemps Mantilla.
The Columbine and the Snowdrop. — Mantillas.
Eugenie Costume and L'Anglaise.
Spring Bonnet.

The Manufacture of Artificial Flowers.
Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.
Model Cheese Dairy-House, and Model Piggery.
Lady's Scarf Mantelet and Diagrams, and Diagrams

for Lady's Jacket.
Crochet Tassel Cover.
Netted Cap, for morning wear.
Border and Corner for Pocket-Handkerchief.
Chemisettes, Undersleeves, and Caps.
Lady's Slipper.
Jacket for a Riding-Dress.
Cottage Furniture.
Patterns for Embroidery.
The Husband of your Cook leaving your House.

May.

The Gleaner.

Godey's Colored Spring Fashions.

Embroidered Dress Undersleeve.

Preparing for Church.

Music. — Let us be Friends. Words by David
Bates, Esq. Music by P. K.

Mantillas. — Evangeline and Antoinette; Lace
Mantilla and Tablet Mantilla ; Marquise and
Navailles Shawl-Mantelet; The Albuera.

Spring Fashions.

Design for a Letter-Band.

Painting on Velvet.

Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.

New Revelations of an Old Country.

Farm House.

Ladies' Dresses and Diagrams.

Cottage Furnitui-e.

Back of a Watch-Pocket.

Dice Pattern for Slippers.

Patterns for Embroidery.

Embroidery with Cord.

Spring Bonnets.

Night Dresses.

The Broken Bust.

June.
Eastport and Passamaquoddy Bay.
Colored Fashions.
Embroidered Dress Collar.
The Truant Detected.
Fashionable Bonnets and Caps.
The Pyramid Talma.
The Scarf Volant.
Music. — The Palace Waltz.
The Empress and the Novada.
Preservation of Food.
Godev's Course of Lessons in Drawing.
The Wild Flowers of the Month.
Artificial Pearls in the Mussel.
Illuminated, or Vellum-Painting.
Caps and Headdress.
Juvenile Fashions.
Braid for Child's Dress.
Lace Basque.
Lady's Riding Boots.
Cottage Furniture.

Lady's Slipper on Cloth. — Smyrna Embroidery.
Design for a Bread-Cloth.
Patterns for Embroidery.

No. 1.

No. 2.

No.

No. 4.

CHILDREN'S DRESSES

BY OUR "FASHION EDITOR."

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[From the establishment of G. Brodib, No. 51 Canal Street, New York.]

GODEY'S

PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1854.

EVERYDAY A C T U A LI T IE S.— N 0. XV,

ILLUSTRATED Y7ITH PEN AND GRAVER.

GATEWAY ENTRANCE TO BOARDMAN b GRAY'S FACTORY.

BOARDM AN & GRAY'S DOLCE CAMPANA
ATTACHMENT PIANO-FORTES.

Perhaps we cannot present our readers a
m3re interesting article on manufacturing, than

to give an idea of piano-forte making. Piano-
fortes, in these days, making an almost indis-
pensable article of furniture in every dwelling ;
adding so much to the pleasures of ho^ e, and
being so much of a companion in all home hoors ;

godey's magazine and lady's book.

contributing so largely to the enjoyments of
society, that some little knowledge of the pro-
cesses of making, and the materials used, must
be not only interesting to all, but valuable to
those who may wish to know how good piano-
fortes should be made.

With this desire, we have selected as our
model the large and flourishing manufactory
of Messrs. Boardman & Gray, the eminent
piano-forte makers of Albany, N. Y., celebrated
as the manufacturers of the Dolce Campana
Attachment Piano-Fortes, whose instruments
were not only sought after and used by Jenny
Lind, Catharine Hayes, and other celebrities,
but by the profession generally throughout the
United States.

Messrs. Boardman & Gray's manufactory is
situated at Albany, N. Y., occupying the end of
a block, presenting a front on three streets of
upwards of 320 feet, the main building of which,
fronting on two streets 208 feet, is built of brick,
four stories high above a high basement-story,
devoted exclusively to machinery driven by a
forty horse power engine. The completeness
of design of these buildings and machinery for
the purpose used, we believe, has no superior,
if any equal, in this country. Every improve-
ment and convenience is attached to make the
entire perfect, and in going through the premises
one is attracted by the comprehensiveness of
the whole concern.

The entrance to the factory of Messrs. Board-
man & Gray is by a large gateway through the
centre of the building, next to the office, so that
the person in charge of the office has full view
of all that enter or leave the premises. We
pass into the yard, and are surprised at the large
amount of lumber of all kinds piled up in the
rough state. The yard is full, and also the large
two story brick building used as drying sheds
for lumber. Here a large circular saw is in
full operation, cutting up the wood ready for
the sheds or machine-room. Messrs. Board-
man &, Gray have the most of their lumber
sawed out from the logs expressly for them in
the forests of Alleghany, Oneida, Herkimer,
and other choice localities in N. Y., and also
Canada, and delivered by contract two and three
years after being sawed, when well seasoned.
The variety and number of different kinds of
wood used in the business is quite surprising.
Pine, spruce, maple, oak, chestnut, ash, bass-
wood, walnut, mahogany, cherry, birch, rose-
wood, ebony, whiteholly, apple, pear-tree, and
several other varieties, each of which has its
peculiai qualities, and its place in the piano
-opends on the duties it has to perform. The

inspecting and selecting of the lumber require
the strictest attention, long experience, and
matured judgment; for it must be not only of
the right kind, and free from all imperfections,
such as knots, shakes, sapwood, &c, but it
must also be well seasoned. All the lumber
used by Messrs. Boardman & Gray, being cut
two or three years in advance, is seasoned be-
fore they receive it ; then it is piled up and
dried another year, at least, in their yard, after
which it is cut up by the cross-cut circular saw,
and piled another season in their sheds, when
it is taken down for use, and goes into the ma-
chine-shop ; and here it is cut into the proper
forms and sizes wanted, and then put into the
drying-rooms for six months or a year more
before it is used in the piano-forte.

These drying-rooms, of which there are three
in the establishment, are kept at a temperature
of about 100° Fahrenheit, by means of steam
from the boiler through pipes. As fast as one
year's lot of lumber is taken down for use,
another lot is put in its place ready for the next
year. In this way, Messrs. Boardman & Gray
have a surety that none but the most perfectly
seasoned and dry lumber is used in their piaiio-
fortes. Their constant supply of lumber on
hand at all times is from two to three hundred
thousand feet, and as Albany is the greatest
lumber mart in the world, of course they have
the opportunity of selecting the choicest lots for
their own use, and keeping their supply good
at all times.

The selection of the proper kinds of lumber,
and its careful preparation, so as to be in the
most perfect order, constitute one of the most
important points in making piano-fortes that
will remain in tune well, and stand any cli-
mate.

Here is the motive power, and a beautiful
Gothic pattern horizontal engine of forty horse
power, built at the machine wTorks of the
Messrs. Townsend of Albany, from the plans,
and under the superintendence of Wm. McCam-
mon, Esq., engineer now in charge of the Chi-
cago (111.) Water- works. The engine is, indeed,
a beautiful working model, moving with its
strong arm the entire machinery used through-
out the building, yet so quiet that, without
seeing it, you would hardly know it was in
motion. In the same room is the boiler, of the
locomotive tubular pattern, large enough not
only to furnish steam for the engine, but also
for heating the entire factory, and furnishing
heat for all things requisite in the building.
Water for supplying the boiler is contained in a
large cistern under the centre of the yard, hold-

BOARDMAN AND GRAY'S PIANO-FORTES.

ENGINE AND BOILER.

DRILLERS' ROOM.

ing some 26,000 gallons, supplied from the roofs
of the buildings. The engine and boiler are
in the basement (occupying the basement and
first story in one room), at one end of the build-
ing, and are so arranged that all the machinery
used in the different stories is driven through-
out by long lines of shafting put up in the most
finished manner, while the entire manufactory
is warmed in the most thorough and healthy
manner by steam from the boiler, passing through
some 8,000 feet of iron pipe, arranged so that
each room can be tempered as required. At the
same time, ovens heated with steam through
pipes are placed in the different rooms to warm
tbe materials for gluing and veneering. The
glue is all "made off" and kept hot in the
different rooms by means of iron boxes with

water in them (in which the glue-pots are
placed), kept at the boiling point by steam pass-
ing through pipes in the water : thus the boiler
furnishes all the heat required in the business.

We pass to the next room, where we find the
workmen employed in preparing the massive
metallic (iron) plates used inside the pianos,
from the rough state, as they come from the
furnace. They are first filed smooth and per-
fect to the pattern, then painted and rubbed
even and smooth, and are then ready for the
drilling of the numerous holes for the pins and
screws that have to be put into and through the
plate in using it. (A view of the drilling-ma-
chines and workmen is given with the engine. ^

Into each plate for a seven octave piano, there
have to be drilled upwards of 450 holes, and
about 250 of these have pins riveted into them
for the strings, &c. ; and these must be exactly
in their places by a working pattern, for the
least variation might make much trouble in
putting on the strings and finishing the piano
Of course, these holes are drilled by machinery
with that perfection and speed that can be
done only with the most perfect machines ani<
competent experienced workmen. And these

godey's magazine and lady's book.

liBumaHijfiij

MACHINE-ROOM.

metallic plates, when finished and secured in
the instrument correctly, give a firmness and
durability to the piano unattainable by any
other method.

In the same room with the drilling-machines
we find the leg-making machines, for cutting
from the rough blocks of lumber the beautifully
formed " ogee" and " curved legs," as well as
sides, of various patterns, ready for being ve-
neered with rosewood or mahogany. The
body of the legs is generally made of chestnut,
which is found best adapted to the purpose.
The leg-machine is rather curious in its opera-
tions, the cutting-knives revolving in a sliding-
frame, which follows the pattern, the leg, whilst
being formed, remaining stationary.

Our first impression on entering the machine-
shop is one of noise and confusion ; but, on
looking about, we find all is order, each work-
man attending his own machine and work.
Here are two of " Daniel's Patented Planing-Ma-
ehines," of the largest size, capable of planing
boards or plank of any thickness three feet
wide ; two circular saws ; one upright turning-
saw, for sawing fancy scroll-work ; a " half-
lapping machine," for cutting the bottom frame-
work together ; turning lathes, and several other
machines, all in full operation, making much
more noise than music.

The lumber, after being cut to the length re-
quired by the large cross-cut saw in the yard,
a) id piled in the sheds, is brought into this ma-
cluiie-room and sawed and planed to tlie differ-

ent forms and shapes required for use, and is
then ready for the drying-rooms.

In this machine-room, which is a very large
one, the '< bottoms" for the cases are made and
finished, ready for the case-maker to build his
case upon. If we examine them, we fill find
they are constructed so as to be of great strength
and durability ; and, being composed of such
perfectly seasoned materials, the changes of
different climates do not. injure them, and they
will endure any strain produced by the great
tension of the strings of the piano in " tuning
up to pitch," amounting to several tons.

But we must pass on to the next room. We
step on a raised platform about four feet by
eight, and, touching a short lever, find ourselves
going up to the next floor. Perhaps a lot of
lumber is on the platform with us, on its way to
the drying-rooms. On getting on a level with
the floor, we again touch the magic lever, and
our steam elevator (or dumb waiter) stops, and,
stepping off, find ourselves surrounded with
workmen ; and this is the " case-making" de-
partment. And here we find piano-forte cases
in all stages of progress ; the materials for some
just gathered together, and others finished or
finishing ; some of the plainest styles, and others
of the most elaborate carved work and orna-
mental designs. Nothing doing but making
cases; two rooms adjoining, 115 feet long, with
workmen all around as close together as they
can work with convenience. Each room is fur
nished with its steam ovens, glue heaters, Sec.

BOABDMAN Ax\l> GlUY's PI ANO-FOBTES,

SPINNING-MACHINE.

The case-maker makes the rims of the case, and
veneers them. He fits and secures these to
the bottom. He also makes and veneers the
tops. This completes his work, and then we
have the skeleton of a piano, the mere shell or
box. The rim is securely and firmly fastened
to the strong bottoms, bracing and blocking
being put in in the strongest and most perma-
nent manner, the joints all fitting as close as if
they grew together ; and then the case is ready
(o receive the sounding-board and iron frame.
The bottoms are made mostly of pine; the rims
of the case are of ash or cherry, or of some hard
wood that will hold the rosewood veneers with
which they are covered. The tops are made of
ash or cherry, sometimes of mahogany, and ve-
neered with rosewood. We will now follow
the case to the room where the workmen are
employed in putting in the sounding-board and
iron frames.

The sounding-board is what, in a great mea-
sure, gives tone, and the different qualities of
tone, to the piano. Messrs. Boardman Sc Gray
use the beautiful white, clear spruce lumber
found in the interior counties of New York,
which they consider in every way as good as the

celebrated " Swiss Fir." It is sawed out in a
peculiar manner, expressly for them, for this
use, selected with the greatest possible care, and
so thoroughly seasoned that there is no possi-
bility of its warping or cracking after being
placed in one of their finished instruments. The
making of the sounding-board the requisite thin-
ness (some parts require to be much thinner
than others), its peculiar bracing, &.C., are all
matters that require great practical experience,
together with numberless experiments, by which
alone the perfection found in the piano-fortes
of Messrs. Boardman & Gray, their full, rich
tone giving the most positive evidence of supe-
riority, can be attained.

We will watch the processes of the work-
men in this department. One is at work put-
ting in the " long-block" of hard maple, sea-
soned and prepared until it seems almost as hard
as iron, which is requisite, as the " tuning-pins"
pass through the plate into it, and are thus firmly
held. Another workman is making a sounding-
board, another fitting one in its place, &c. &<•..
All the blocking being in the case, the sounding-
board is fitted and fastened in its place, so as to
have the greatest possible vibrating power, &c. ;
and then the iron frame must be fitted over all
and cemented and fastened down. The frame
is finished, with its hundreds of holes and pins,
in the drillers' -room, and the workman here
has only to fit it to its place and secure it there :
and then the skeleton case is ready to receive
its strings, and begins to look like what may
make a piano-forte.

Spinning the bass strings, and stringing tti»-

godey's magazine and lady's book

case, come next in order. In the foreground of
the last plate, we have a curious-looking ma-
chine, and a workman busy with it winding the
bass strings, a curiosity to all who witness his
operations. To get the requisite flexibility and
vibration to strings of the size and weight want-
ed in the bass notes, tempered steel wire is used
for the strings, and on this is wound soft an-
nealed iron wire, plated with silver ; each string
being of a different size, of course various sizes
of body and covering wire are used in their
manufacture. The string to be covered is placed
in the machine, which turns it very rapidly,
while the workman holds the covering wire
firmly and truly, and it is wound round and
covers the centre wire. This work requires
peculiar care and attention, and, like all the
other different branches in Messrs. Boardman &
Gray's factory, the workmen here attend to but

one thing ; they do nothing else but spin these
bass strings, and string pianos year in and year out.
The case, while in this department, receives
all its strings, which are of the finest tempered
steel wire, finished and polished in the most
beautiful manner. But a few years since, the
making of steel music wire was a tiling unknown
in the United Slates ; in fact, there were but two
factories of note in the world which produced it ;
but now, as with other things, the Americans are
ahead, and the " steel music wire" made by
Messrs. Washburn 8c Co., of Worcester, Mass.
is far superior in quality and finish to the foreign
wire. The peculiar temper of the wire has a
great influence on the piano's keeping in tune,
strings breaking, &c, and, as the quality cannot
always be ascertained but by actual experiment,
much is condemned after trial, and the perfect
only used.

key-makers' department,

The preparation of what is termed the "key-
board" is one of peculiar nicety, and the selec-
tion of the lumber and its preparation require
great experience and minute attention, so that
the keys will not spring or warp, and thus either
not work or throw the hammers out of place,
&.c. The frame on which the keys rest is usu-
ally made of the best of old dry cherry, closely
framed together to the form required for the
keys and action. The wood of the keys is usu-
allv of soft straight-grained white pine, or pre-
pared bass-wood. Both kinds have to go through
many ordeals of seasoning, &.c, ere they are ad-
mitted into one of the fine-working, finished
instruments of Messrs. Boardman & Gray. The
keys are ma^e as follows : On a piece of lum-

ber the keys are market out, and the cross-
banding and slipping done to secure the ivory ;
the ivory is applied and secured, and then
the keys are sawed apart and the ivory po-
lished and finished complete. The ebony black
keys are then made and put on and polished,
and the key-board is complete ; the key-maker
has finished his part of the piano. The ivory
used is of the finest quality, and an article of
great expense ; its preparation from the ele-
phant's tusks, of sawing, bleaching, &c, is most-
ly confined to a few large dealers in the United
States. The most important concern of the kind
is that of Messrs. Pratt, Brothers & Co., of Deep
River, Conn., who supply most of the large
piano-makers in the Union. As the ivory comes

BOARDMAN AND GRAY'S PIANO-FORTES.

from them, it is only in its rough state, sawed
out to the requisite sizes for use, after which it
has to be seasoned or dried the same as lumber,
and then prepared and fastened on the key;
then to be planed up, finished, and polished, all
of which requires a great amount of labor, much
skill, and experience. Besides ivory, Messrs.
Boardman & Gray use no small quantity of the
beautiful variegated " mother-of-pearl," for keys
m their highly ornamental, finished piano-fortes,
a material itself very costly, and requiring a
large amount of labor to finish and polish them
with that peculiar richness for which their in-
struments are so celebrated. In this, as in
the other departments, each workman has his
own special kind of work ; nothing else to
attend to but key-making ; his whole energies
are devoted to perfect this part of the instru-
ment.

ACTION- MAKING MACHINE, ETC.

In this department, we again see the perfec-
tion of machine-work. The action is one of
the most important things in the piano-forte.
On its construction and adjustment depends the
whole working part of the instrument; for,
however good the piano-forte scale may be, or
how complete and perfect all the other parts are
formed, if the action is not good, if the principle
on which it is constructed is not correct, and the
adjustment perfect, if the materials used are not
of the right kind, of course the action will not be
right, and it will either be dead under the fingers,
without life and elasticity, without the power
of quick repetition of the blow of the hammer,
or soon wear loose, and make more noise and
rattling than music. Thus will be seen the im-
portance of not only having that action which is
modelled on the best principle, but of having an
instrument constructed in the most perfect and
thorough manner. All parts of it should be so

adjusted as to work together with as much
precision as the wheels of a watch.

Messrs. Boardman &, Gray use the principle
which is termed the French Grand Action,
with many improvements added by themselves.
This they have found from long experience to
be the best in many ways. It is more powerful
than the " Boston, or Semi-Grand ;" it will re-
peat with much greater rapidity and precision
than any other ; it is far more elastic under the
manipulation of the fingers ; and, to sum up all,
it is almost universally preferred by professors
and amateurs, and, what is still a very important
point, they find, after a trial and use of it for
many years, that it wears well. What is tech-
nically called the action consists of the parts
that are fastened to the key, and work together
to make the hammer strike the strings of the
piano when the key is pressed down. The
parts made of wood, consisting of some eight or
ten pieces to each key, are what compose the
action-maker's work ; and, although they arc
each of them small, still on their perfection and
finish depends much of the value of the instru-
ment in which they are used. Various kinds
of close-grained wood are used in their construc-
tion, such as white holly, apple or pear-tree,
mahogany, hard maple, red cedar, &c, and other
kinds as are best adapted to the use put to. They
have to be closely fitted ; the holes for the centre
pins to work in must be clothed with cloth pre-
pared expressly for this work. Buckskin of a
particular finish, and cloth of various kinds and
qualities, are used to cover those parts where
there is much friction or liability to noise, and
every part so perfectly finished and fitted that
it will not only work smoothly, and without
any sticking or clinging, but without noise, and
yet be firm and true, so that every time the key
is touched the hammer strikes the string in re-
sponse. The action-maker completes these dif-
ferent parts of the action ; and then another
workman, who is called the "finisher," fits
them to the keys and into the case of the piano ;
but, before we enter into his room, we will see
to the preparation of another important part of
the action, namely, the hammer. This is an
other extremely important thing in piano-forte
making ; the covering of the hammers is one o<*
the most peculiar branches of the business. It
is one that long experience and minute attention
can alone perfect. The hammer head is general-
ly made of bass-wood, and then covered with
either felt prepared for this purpose, or deer o-.
buckskin dressed expressly for this, business The
preparation of buckskin for piano-forte makers
is at this time quite an important trade, and the

godey's magazine and lady's book.

improvements made in its dressing of late years
have kept full pace with the other improvements
in the piano. The peculiar ordeal they under-
go we cannot here explain ; but we can only
see the beautiful article finished for use. Some
of them for the under coatings or layers are
lirm and yet elastic and soft, while those pre-
pared for the top coating or capping are pliable
and soft as silk velvet; and these, when cor-
rectly applied, will form a hammer wmich, if the
piano-forte is perfect otherwise, will always
give the rich, full organ tone for which the
pianos of Messrs. Boardman & Gray are so cele-
brated. Those employed in covering and pre-

paring hammers do this exclusively, and must
perfect their work. They give the greatest
number of coats, and the thickest buckskin to
the hammers for the bass strings, and then
taper up evenly and truly to the treble ham-
mers, which have a less number of coats and
of the thinnest kinds ; and then, after the ham-
mer is fitted to the string in the piano, and it
has been tuned and the action adjusted, it goes
into the hands of the hammer finisher, who
tries each note, and takes off and puts on differ-
ent buckskin until every note is good, and the
tone of the piano is perfectly true.

We left the piano-case in the hands of the

persons employed in putting on the beautifully
polished steel strings, whose vibrations may yet
thrill many a heart, or bring the starting tear.
After it has its strings, it goes to the finisher,
whose duties consist in taking the keys as they
come from the key-maker, the action as pre-
pared, and the hammers from the hammer-
maker, and fitting them together and into the
case, so that the keys and action work together ;
adjusting the hammer to strike the strings, and
putting the dampers in their proper places to be
acted on by the keys and pedals ; making and
fitting the harp, or soft stop ; adjusting the load-
ing of the keys to make a heavy or light touch,
and thus doing what may be termed the putting
the machinery together to form the working part
of* the piano-forte. And, when we consider that
each key m one of Messrs. Boardman &. Gray's
piano-fortes Is composed, with its action, of

some sixty-five to seventy pieces, and that there
are eighty-five keys to a seven octave instrument,
making a sum total of nearly six thousand pieces,
and that many of these pieces have to be han-
dled over many times before they are finished in
the piano, one is not a little surprised at the
immense amount of work in a perfect piano-forte.
But these six thousand pieces only compose the
keys and action alone, and consist of wood, iron,
cloth, felt, buckskin, and many other things ;
and, as a matter of course, each piece must be
made and fitted with the greatest exactness, and
the most perfect materials alone must be used.
The " finishing," it will be seen at once, is an-
other important branch, and requires long ex-
perience, close attention, and workmanship.
Messrs. Boardman & Gray have many workmen
employed in this department at finishing alone.
The work is done by the piece, as many of the

THE STOLEN MATCH,

different branches are under the personal super-
intendence of the foreman, whose duty it is to
see that the work is made perfect ; for the work-
man is liable for the materials he destroys. One
great improvement made by Messrs. Boardman
& Gray, and placed in all their piano-fortes, we
believe is not used by any other maker. We
refer to their metallic over damper register and
cover. The dampers are held in their places by
wires or lifters passing between the strings and
through the register, which holds them as they
are acted on by the keys and pedal. This regis-
ter is usually made in the old way, of wood,
and placed under the strings, and, consequently,
the weather acting on the wood is liable to
warp or spring the register, and thus throw
these wires or lifters against the strings, caus-
ing a jingling or harsh jarring when the
piano is used ; and, then, the register being
placed beneath the strings, and the lifters pass-
ing through it and above the strings to the
dampers, of course they are liable to accidents,

and to be bent and knocked out of place in
many ways by anything hitting the dampers, as
in dusting out the instrument, &c. But this im-
provement of Messrs. Boardman & Gray covers
all these defects in the old register. Theirs,
being of iron, is not affected by the changes of
the weather or temperature of different houses
and rooms ; and, then, being placed above the
strings, the dampers are at all times protected
from injury. Consequently, their piano-fortes
never have any jangling or jingling of the
strings against the damper wires. This we be-
lieve to be a most valuable improvement, and,
at the same time, the beautiful metallic dampei
cover is highly ornamental to the interior of
the piano-forte.

When the case is thus finished, it can be tuned
for the first time, although all is yet in the
rough and unadjusted state ; and from the
finisher, after being tuned, it passes into the
hands of the " regulator."

(Concluded next month.)

THE STOLEN MATCH.

ON. CALEB CUSHING.

The vesper bell had tolled the hour of ora-
ciones, in Valladolid, at the close of an autumnal
day, in the year 1469, and the crowds of wor-
shippers reverted to their accustomed pleasures
and pursuits, after making their evening saluta-
tion to the Virgin. Small parties of armed
horsemen had been seen to enter the city during
the day, who one by one disappeared under the
half opened and quickly shut gateway of here
and there a dark stone dwelling, whose grated
windows and heavy walls seemed to be designed
to guard its inmates against the assault of feudal
enemies, quite as much as to shelter them from
the elements. But the spectacle of military
array was of too ordinary occurrence to awaken
the attention of the plodding burghers, who,
muffled in their large cloaks, were sufficiently
happy to remain unmolested themselves by the
mail-clad cavaliers, without seeking to pry into
their business ; to do which, would only have
subjected such over-curious persons to fierce
words, and perchance rude blows to back insult-
ing speech. And it was vain to speculate on
such a matter, in times when grandee and pea-
sant alik<^ made war at will on their own account ;
and no powerful chieftain moved without a

VOL. XT/VTII.i — 2

retinue of right good lances beside him, inured
to violence, and bound to follow his banner for
weal or woe. As the sun descended behind the
mountains of Leon, a sharp wind rushed along
the valley of the Duero, and sweeping up the
Pisuerga filled Valladolid with its chilling blasts ;
but the tramp of steeds and the clang of armor
still rang upon the ear, long after night had
thrown her dark mantle over the gothic towers
of the city.

Occupying a large space on a side of the
Campo Grande, at one extremity of the city,
stood a stately edifice, rising amid the numerous
churches and long ranges of unsightly convent
walls, which formed the prominent objects in
that immense irregular square. The richly or-
namented front of this mansion, although its
heavy carved mouldings and friezes, and indeed
its entire surface, had acquired the deep brown
hue of venerable age, was yet untouched by the
hand of decay ; and in its mass no less than its
ornaments bespoke the wealth and consequence
of its occupant. Indeed, the coat of arms of
ample size, overhanging, as it were, the keystone
of a huge arched gateway, which, being placed
in the centre of the facade, constituted the sou.

1-i

entrance to the inner court-yard, and the apart-
ments of the building, afforded conclusive evi-
dence that it belonged to one of the proud nobles
of Castile. Its lower range of windows was
guarded by strong stanchions or bars of iron,
extending longitudinally up and down, and built
fast into the solid masonry. Balconies, also of
massive iron bars, but wrought into tasteful
shapes, and resting upon sculptured slabs of
stone, jutted out in relief from the window-sills
of the upper windows, which were secured by
means of thick shutters of carved oak, made to
open inwards, like folding doors, and fastened
by movable stanchions of a peculiar form, called
fallebas, somewhat resembling in make and
movement the iron crane used for hoisting mer-
chandise. Within the quadrangle or patio, where
a small fountain played into a marble basin, was
a postern door, which conducted through a ter-
raced garden towards the outer wall of the city.
A small, square turret, rising at each corner of
the roof, rather for ostentation than use, com-
pletes the picture of the town residence of Don
Juan de Vivero.

Late in the evening, a solitary cavalier, at-
tended only by a mozo de espuelas, or groom,
spurring along his weary steed, rode up to the
front gate of this house, and knocked for admis-
sion. At the signal, the mirilla, or little door
in the gateway, just large enough to look through
and see what was without, was cautiously un-
closed ; and to the challenge of the porter the
whispered reply of " Gente de paz," in the well
known voice of Don Gutierre de Cardenas,
caused the gate to be quickly unbarred for the
reception of the horseman and his follower.
The appearance of Don Gutierre, as he became
exposed to the light of the torches within, indi-
cated a plain citizen; it might be a common
trader, it might be a mere artisan ; and ere he
had well dismounted and given his jaded and
travel-soiled horse to the domestics, a lady
hastily entered, who started at the garb and ap-
pearance of the new-comer ; but without wait-
ing for the usual exchange of salutations —

" Now what tidings, seriorito, for my lady,"
cried she, "and why dost thou come hither thus
travestied and alone, when we look for other
attendance?"

" Content thee, Dona Beatriz," said the cava-
lier, "and conduct me straight to thy lady, or
to the lord Archbishop, if he be here."

" I trow," answered Dona Beatriz, " she will
welcome thee none the better for the precious
specimen thou wearest of the skill of Zaragoza
tailors, nor for carrying into her presence thy
meet person covered with dust from every by-

path between Osma and Valladolid, nor for
speeding so ill in thy mission."

" Content thee, again, I say, and lead on,"
rejoined he, " lest I be tempted, in guerdon of
thy swift wit, to kiss thy soft hand unbidden ;"
and he followed the laughing Dona Beatriz to
the apartments of her lady. Scarce had their
footsteps died away on the staircase, when Don
Juan de Vivero was summoned in all haste to
the presence of his fair guest ; and the hurry of
sudden preparation, and the eager looks of
anxious expectation pervaded the late quiet
household.

Midnight was fast approaching, when Don
Gutierre once more appeared, and sought ad-
mission into the cabinet of Dona Beatriz. He
now came forth, clad in the rich apparel of a
Spanish cavalier of that day, which he bore with
the habitual grace and ease that showed this,
rather than the humble garb he had worn before,
was the appropriate dress of his rank. The
apartment into which he was ushered was
simply, and compared with the usage of our age
and country it would have been called meanly,
furnished. An est era, or matting of woven
sedge, was spread on the floor, and heavy em-
broidered hangings covered the walls, rudely
representing the gests and triumphs of Bernardo
del Carpio and my Cid the Campeador ; but the
chairs and other utensils were coarse in make,
and such only as necessity required. It was in
other form that the grandees of that day dis-
played their magnificence and squandered their
wealth.

Prominent in the room sat an elderly man in
the long ungainly robe and other attire of an
ecclesiastic of rank, who, although advanced in
years, yet evidently retained the vigor of man-
hood unbroken, and, to judge from his stately
air and the fair glance of his eye, could do his
part in the melee as bravely as the best, and
would not scruple, if occasion required, to change
his crosier for a lance. It happened then, as it
does now, that the higher benefices of the church
were generally the appanage of the younger
members of noble families ; but it was the case
then, as it is not now, that to maintain his place
a noble must have been either wise in council,
or daring in fight ; the glories of a horsejockey
and cockfighter may become a peer in the era
of improvement, but herein did not consist their
glories ; and the prelates, who sprung from the
blood of men accustomed to command, naturally
partook of the spirit of their sires. They were
not rarely foremost in the civil wars that formed
the chief business of mankind in the Middle
Ages; and Don Alonso Carrillo, Archbishop of

THE STOLEN" MATCH.

Toledo, for it was no less a personage who sat
in that presence, had played his part undauntedly
among the boldest knights of Castile.

He was earnestly conversing in a low voice
with a lady near, whose face as she sat was
slightly averted from the door: while Dona
Beatriz and a third lady stood in the apartment,
who, with the Archbishop and Don Gutierre,
made up the whole party. Dona Beatriz had
the full black eye and the raven tresses which
we associate with a southern clime, and that
brown shade of complexion which, but for the
healthfulness of her tint, and the animation of
her whole face, would scarcely have escaped the
reproach of tending to sullenness of aspect.
But of her, afterwards so celebrated by the name
of Condesa de Moya, time had not yet touched
the beauty. The lady, who stood by her side,
Don Gutierre saluted as Dona Mencia de la
Torre ; and both of these ladies waited, with all
the subdued respect of tone and deference of
deportment due to the highest rank, upon the
youthful incarnation of loveliness with whom
the Archbishop conferred.

A low bodice or corset of black velvet, fitted
closely to her waist, displayed the perfect pro-
portions of a bust that was just blooming into
womanhood. A brial or petticoat of the same
rich material depended over the full, but well-
formed and graceful contour of her limbs. This
part of her dress was fastened at the waist by a
kind of brocaded belt, embroidered with jet and
brilliants, and a band of similar workmanship
ran from the belt down the middle of the brial
or skirt, and was continued in a border around
the bottom of it ; a border of the same general
description running around the upper part of the
bodice next to the neckerchief. The tight
wristbands of the dress were adorned by several
bands of corresponding make and materials.
Above the bodice she wore a wrought kerchief
of the costliest Flanders lace, fastened at the
throat with a gold brooch, and having a border
of very peculiar workmanship. It was narrow,
as compared with the belt and bands of her
brial, and instead of the wreaths and fanciful
figures embroidered on them, it bore the form
alternately of a castle and a lion, wrought in
rich gems of various kinds on a silver ground,
forming a splendid edging to the kerchief, double
in front, and passing all around the neck. A
large diamond cross, set in pearls, was suspended
over her bosom from the rich pearl collar, which,
as being the princely gift of him whose coming
she awaited, was the fitting ornament of her
person on this occasion. To complete her ha-
biliments, a flowery tabard, as it was then called,

or rich mantle of crimson silk, bordered with
damask, was thrown over her shoulders and
arms, hanging down to the floor, and a white
veil of thin delicate lace, gauze-like and trans-
parent as woven air, covered, without concealing.
her dark brown tresses, and, being fastenea in
front by the brooch on her bosom, could be
dropped over her face at will, so as to increase
the effect of the beauty which it veiled, like Iho
light fleecy clouds flitting along the moon's orb
in a bright autumnal eve

It is easy to give a description of garments,
but how describe the surpassing loveliness of
form and countenance, which consists, not in
the peculiar shape of each separate feature or
limb, but in the perfect harmony of parts, and
heavenly combination of elements in the whole
person? The lady of whom we speak was of
middling stature, and rather fuller in form than
might be considered consistent with a faultless
model ; but the grace of every movement, and
the mingled sweetness and dignity of her whole
manner, would alone have sufficed to mark the
royal daughter of a line of kings. Her face was
not of that stamp which fancy is prone to attri-
bute to the maidens of Spain. We have already
said that her hair was brown ; and her complex-
ion was pure blushing red and white, the un-
clouded carnation of the fairest youthful beauty.
A broad, open brow, an oval face gently curving
off into a rounded chin, even well-defined lips,
expressing a firm character united with a gentle
spirit, and eyes of dark gray deepening into
blue ; ojos entre verdes y azules, says a good friar
of her day, who seems to have studied the con-
stituents of beauty rather more attentively than
became a monk : such were the separate features
of the fair young maiden. Her general cast and
look did not speak her more than eighteen ; but
a certain maturity of expression in her face, and
a grave and somewhat devotional air, increased
by the appearance of a richly illuminated missal,
which she held in her hand, would have suited
a much riper age.

To the low salutation of Don Gutierre, she
graciously nodded in reply, without interrupting
her conversation with the Archbishop. So ear-
nestly, indeed, was it continued, that a young
cavalier had entered the open door unobserved
by her, and advanced towards the centre of the
room. He stood with one foot slightly set for-
ward, his short cloak, of the finest cloth of Se •
govia, flung back from his shoulders, displaying
the close jacket of Genoese velvet, which covered
his manly form, the gold-hilted sword which
hung over his slashed underclothes, and a chain
of massive chased gold links with a cross of

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Montesa suspended from his neck, while in
his Left hand he held a black velvet hat, orna-
mented with a plain diamond aigrette and a
single tuft of white ostrich plumes, leaving un-
covered a high, noble brow and expressive dig-
nified features, with sparkling eyes, that gazed
on the beautiful vision before them, entranced,
as it were, with love and admiration.

"'Tis he, 'tis he!" cried Don Gutierre, point-
ing with his finger to the silent stranger ; and as
the lady started with a slight exclamation of
surprise, Fernando de Aragon kneeled at her
feet, and, seizing her not unwilling hand, cov-
ered it with the kisses of her accepted lover,
whom she now, for the first time, saw, and that
in secrecy and disguise.

Need we say that the lady was Isabel of Cas-
tile, the lovely and the loved, the model of
queens, of wives, and of mothers ; the unaf-
fected reality of all that her false-hearted name-
sake of England, Elizabeth, affected to be, but
was not, a woman, namely, with all a woman's
sensibilities, and yet a great and high ruled
princess j that Isabel, whose reign is the golden
age of prosperity and glory in the annals of fall-
en Spain !

At the time when the events of our story
happened, Henry the Imbecile held the sceptre
of Castile and Leon, and the disorders of a sick-
ly state had reached their acme. Don Henrique
ascended the throne under circumstances the
most inauspicious. The kingdom was devas-
tated and exhausted by the long and bloody civil
wars which preceded the accession of his ances-
tor, Henrique de Trastamara. The infirm health
and premature death of his grandfather, Henry
III. j prevented his applying those remedies to the
public relief which a capacious mind and enter-
prising spirit might otherwise have devised and
undertaken. His predecessor, Don Juan, des-
titute of either energy or talents to govern his
turbulent nobles, was equally degraded, in being
at all times either their tool or their victim. Con-
demned to see them dispute the possession of his
person and his powec on the fatal plains of 01-
medo, he resigned all his authority to the con-
stable, Don Alvaro de Luna, and afterwards
with still greater weakness gave up his tried and
faithful minister to the fury of their common
enemies. Don Henrique himself inherited the
mean-spirited and servile character of Don Juan.

Wavering and pusillanimous in his purposes,
despised by his vassals, corrupt in his habits, and
given up to the pursuit of pleasures of which
nature had denied him the enjoyment, he soon
acquired a most invincible repugnance to busi-
ness of whatever kind, which he gladly suffered

to pass entirely into the hands of ambitious and
unprincipled favorites. A never-ending succes-
sion of troubles in his family, and of civil war
between contending factions of the aristocracy,
was the necessary consequence of the weakness
of their common head. So long as he could en-
joy his personal amusement unmolested, no
public calumny moved the impassiveness of his
indolence. While the profligate court spent in
tournaments and gallantry, or in the wild dis-
tractions of the chase, that time which belonged
to the necessities of the state, the fierce gran-
dees made civil war upon each other from pro-
vince to province, dividing, with impunity, the
spoils of the crown and the substance of the
people. Corruption, venality, and violence be-
came universal; and the whole kingdom, con-
vulsed by every species of disorder, and infected
with all the principles of dissolution, was hur-
rying onward towards absolute and irretrievable
ruin.

But that we may fully appreciate the condi-
tion of unhappy Castile at this period, it is well
to refer to the touching pictures given by the old
chroniclers, not merely of the general aspect of
things, but also of some remarkable incidents in
particular.

" All Spain was overwhelmed," says Don Alon-
zo Ortiz, who spoke of what he actually saw ;
" all Spain was overwhelmed by the most terrible
storm, in those days when the flames of civil
war raged with the greatest fury, and total per-
dition impended over the prostrate common-
wealth. There was no spot exempt from the
common misery. There was no man who en-
joyed his patrimony without fear or peril of his
life. All classes of the community were filled
with affliction, flying to the cities for refuge,
since robbery and murder stalked unchallenged
through the land. Our barons did not take up
arms to defend our borders against the Infidel,
but to strike the thirsty sword into the bowels
of their common country. The domestic enemy
banqueted in the blood of his fellow-citizens.
The strongest of arm and deepest in fraud bore
the palm of power and praise among us ; so that
all things had broken wholly forth from the
check and scope of justice, and the venerable
majesty of the law had quenched its light in the
darkness of general corruption."

How true to the life is the general description
of the canon Ortiz, may be seen from a trait of
the times recorded by Fernando del Pulgar. It
seems that Don Pedro de Mendaria was alcaide
of Castronuiio during the period under review.
Seeing the time well disposed for his natural
desires and inclinations, he received in that

THE STOLEN MATCH.

fortalice many robbers with the booty which
they made, and protected them from pursuit,
as also desperate men of every kind, absconding
debtors, murderers, and other outlaws. And
when he found himself accompanied by such
followers, induced by impunity from the laws
and by large rewards to do his bidding, he seized
on the castles of Cubillas and Cantalapiedra, and
fortified that of Sieteiglesias, and placed his
men in them; from which strongholds they sallied
forth to rob in all the regions round about, and
brought to him the treasure and goods they col-
lected. He also captured the town of Tordesillas,
and augmented his power in such wise, that the
great cities of Burgos, Avila, Salamanca, Segovia,
Valladolid, and Medina, and all the other towns
in that country, gave him a regular tribute of
bread, wine, and money, to purchase security.
And thenceforward he continued to make other
demands from them, of money and cattle, all
which was yielded to his satisfaction. And by
such oppressions he acquired great riches, so
as to maintain constantly in his pay no less than
three hundred mounted banditti. All the gran-
dees of the kingdom who had estates in these
districts held him in fear, and gave him largesses,
that he might not make war against them on
their lands. And from the success of this alcaide,
many other alcaides in the kingdom took exam-
ple, and set themselves to pillaging and ransom-
ing the people, and defending the crimes and
misdeeds which robbers perpetrated. Some time
elapsed in this wise, when Pedro de Mendana
was besieged in his castle of Castronuno, and
after an obstinate defence surrendered only upon
honorable terms of capitulation ; he and his bands
escaping all punishment, as if what he had done
was in the mere common course of war.

We shall give one other incident equally cha-
racteristic, but differing from the foregoing, as it
shows how the great nobles and their immediate
followers demeaned themselves in the same
reign. Don Henrique had abandoned the con-
trol of affairs to his queen, and to her paramour
Don Bertram de la Cueva, Conde de Ledesma,
who was universally believed to have dishonored
the royal bed, and to be the father of the Infan-
ta Juana, stigmatized from this circumstance by
the sobriquet of la Beltraneja, by which name
she is uniformly styled in Spanish history. The
power enjoyed by this ancient Godoy excited a
confederation of the discontented grandees and
prelates, having for its object the deposition of
Don Henrique, and the elevation of his brother
Don Alonzo to the throne. The chroniclers Diego
Enriquez del Castillo and Alonzo de Palencia
describe the scene wnich ensued.

The leagued barons, being assembled at Avila,
selected an extensive plain without the city, on
which they erected a large scaffold, open on all
sides, so that the citizens of Avila and the mul-
titude who came from other towns to witness the
ceremonial, might plainly see everything which
took place. Here was displayed a royal throne,
on which sat a figure representing Don Henrique
with the crown on his head, a sword before, and
the sceptre in his hand, in the usual manner of
arraying the person of kings. Everything be-
ing thus arranged, the barons rode out from the
city towards the scaffold, accompanied by Don
Alonzo. When they had arrived, Don Juan
Pacheco, Marquis de Villena, with the master
of Alcantara, and the Conde de Medellin, took
the prince a little way aside, while the other
lords approached and placed themselves behind
the effigy, ready to perforin the act of dethrone-
ment.

Having done this, one of them advanced to
the front of the scaffold, and read a paper with
a loud voice, setting forth the offences of Don
Henrique, which they divided into four princi-
pal heads. For the first, they alleged that he
deserved to lose his royal dignity, whereupon
the Archbishop of Toledo, Don Alonzo Carrillo,
advanced, and took the crown from the brows
of the mimic king. For the second, he forfeited
the right of jurisdiction and justice, wherefore
Don Alvaro de Zuniga, Conde de Plasencia, re-
moved the sword which lay on his lap. For the
third, he ought to lose the government of his
kingdom, and so Don Rodrigo Pimentel, Conde de
Benavente, snatched the sceptre which he held
in his hand. Lastly, for the fourth, he deserved
to be deprived of the throne and establishment
of a king, wherefore Don Diego Lopez de Luni-
ga, approaching and striking the effigy from the
chair in which it was seated, kicked it ignomini-
ously from the scaffold to the ground, accom-
panying the act with bitter terms of invective
and reproach against the person and character
of Don Henrique.

Immediately upon this, Don Alonzo came up,
and being placed on the throne, received the in-
signia of royalty, with the homage and fealty of
the banded knights, who kissed his hands as
king and right lord of the realm, ordering the
trumpets to sound a loud note of joy and triumph,
amid the shouts of " viva el rey" from themselves
and their partisans, and the muttered lamenta-
tions of the shocked and terrified multitude, too
conscious that all the extremities of civil war must
tread close on the heel's of such high-handed and
outrageous misdemeanors. And so indeed it was.
to the scandal of all Spain, and to the desolation

godey's magazine and lady's book.

and misery of the people, until the sudden death
of Don Alonzo deprived the disaffected lords of
a rallying-point, and abated, but did not extin-
guish, the fury of embattled factions in wretched
Castile.

After the death of Don Alonzo, there remained
only Dona Isabel, the young sister of the king,
who could dispute with him the possession
of the crown. She was daughter of Don Juan
by a second marriage, being born at Madrigal,
in old Castile, the twenty-second day of April,
in the year 1451. Ere she had completed her
fourth year, her father died, and Don Henrique,
on succeeding to the crown, left Isabel and her
mother to languish in poverty and obscurity in
the seclusion of their town and lordship of Are-
valo. The queen-mother, Dona Isabel of Por-
tugal, soon lost her reason from the accumulated
burden of degradation and other sorrows, and
her deserted daughter, far from the luxury of
palaces, and stripped of all the flattering incidents
of royal birth, entered upon that childhood and
youth of affliction whose trials were to conduct
to so glorious an issue in her after life. Don
Henrique did indeed, after a while, repent him
of his abandonment of the injured Isabel, and
received her into his palace, to enjoy the advan-
tages which belonged to her rank.

But what a scene was there for the pure and
ingenuous recluse of the walls of Arevalo !
The implacable foe of the Gothic name strength-
ened himself among the hills of Granada, and
defied the chivalry of Castile to the field ; but
the descendant of Don Pelayo was now a craven
knight and a minion ruled prince, the scorn
alike of Christian and of Moor • and consumed
the treasures of his kingdom in revelry and
favoritism, and its blood in civil broils, in the
stead of devoting them to the noble task of
driving Muley Hassan, from*" the golden halls
and marble courts of the Alhambra, back to the
native deserts of his race.

The skipping king, he ambled up and down,
With shallow gestures, and rash bavin wits,
Soon kindled and soon burnt : carded his state ;
Mingled his royalty with carping fools;
Had his great name profaned with their scorn.

And, worst of all, the profligate consort of a
shameiess monarch, the guilty Dona Juana, lived
in unchecked adultery with Don Beltram, at
once the falsest of friends and most incapable
of ministers, and reared up the offspring of their
crime, the unfortunate Beltraneja, to be the
watchword of treason in Castile for many a
weary year of bloodshed and confusion. For-
tunately far Isabel, she possessed a native dig-
nity and purity of character, fortified and refined

by the seeming mischances of her lot, which,
however, had but taught her the " sweet uses"
of adversity ; and she passed through the fiery
ordeal of a dissolute court unscathed, or rather
with her genuine nobility of soul yet more ele-
vated, by a shrinking repulsion for the foul at-
mosphere she had been compelled to breathe.

When the death of Don Alonzo, the victim
of poison, administered to him in his food, left
the insurgent nobles without a suitable chief,
they went to Dona Isabel, with the Archbishop
of Toledo at their head, and tendered her the
sceptre of Castile. She had taken refuge in *a
convent at Avila, anxious to escape from the
horrors of civil war, which everywhere met her
eye. If her principles of conduct had been less
pure and upright, the spectacle of her country
given up 'to the reciprocal rage of hostile parti-
sans, and her beloved brother the early victim of
unregulated ambition, would have come to con-
firm her resolutions in such a crisis. But she
needed not this ; and immovable in her loyalty to
her unworthy lord and brother, Don Henrique,
she unhesitatingly and decidedly refused the prof-
fers of allegiance made her by the grandees in
arms against the crown. A procedure so full
of high-toned generosity, while it won the re-
gards of Don Henrique, was not without its in-
fluence upon his enemies, and greatly furthered
the conclusion of a qualified peace at the con-
gress of Los Toros de Guisando, where Don
Henrique proclaimed Dona Isabel sole heiress
of his kingdom, thus forever sealing the fate of
La Beltraneja, whom he declared under oath
not to be his child.

The barons, who had so contumeliously enact-
ed the ceremony of dethroning the king in effigy
at Avila, now returned to his confidence, and
engaged in a new series of intrigues for the dis-
posal of the hand of Dona Isabel, who, as heir-
ess of Castile and Leon, was sought for in
marriage by many of the great princes of Europe.
Don Juan Pacheco obtained the grand master-
ship of Santiago, and the Archbishop of Toledo
was again trusted. Of the various alliances
which offered, that of the house of Aragon, as
uniting the two great fragments of the Spanish
monarchy, it was the interest of every true
patriot to promote ; and thus it was viewed by
the Archbishop. But Don Juan had reasons of
personal interest for opposing this, and managed
to gain exclusive control of the movements and
purposes of the king. They endeavored to com-
pel the princess by threats of imprisonment to
marry the King of Portugal, a widower far ad-
vanced in years, and wholly unsuitable as a hus-
band for the fair and youthtul Isabel. Failing

THE STOLEN MATCH,

this hopeful scheme, they fixed on Charles,
Duke of Berri and Guienne, brother of Louis
XL of France. Don Fadrique Enriquez, Admi-
ral of Castile, and Don Mosen Pierres de Peralta,
Constable of Navarre, were coadjutors of the
Archbishop in furthering the proposals of the
young , Ferdinand of Aragon, who had a still
more powerful partisan than either in the grow-
ing tenderness of Dona Isabel.

In fact, Isabel, like a discreet and prudent lady
as she was, had been playing a game of her own
under the rose; quite as cunningly as the politic
nobles and astute churchmen of her brother's
court. Two of the applicants for her hand were
quickly disposed of. She would not think of the
old King of Portugal, who might as well be her
father as her husband. George of Clarence,
another of her suitors, had acquired a reputation
of ferocity in the wars of York and Lancaster
that put him out of the question. There re-
mained only Charles and Ferdinand as subjects
of deliberate consideration. She privately dis-
patched her chaplain, a man of entire trust,
called Alonzo de Coca, with instructions to repair
to the court of France on some pretended object
of business or pleasure, and seek out the Due
de Guienne, and carefully make inquiries con-
cerning him, and then return through Aragon
to do the same with regard to Don Fernando, so
as to bring back a full and faithful report to his
mistress. He gave Dona Isabel a complete ac-
count of the appearance and habits of both
princes, relating in how many things the Prince
of Aragon excelled the Duke of Guienne. Don
Fernando, he said, was in countenance and pro-
portion of person very handsome, and of noble
air and manner, and apt in every knightly ex-
ercise or princely deed. The Duke of Guienne,
on the contrary, he said, was weak and effemi-
nate, with legs so small as to be altogether de-
formed, and with weeping eyes already sinking
into blindness, so that, ere long, he would stand
more in need of a page to lead him by the hand,
than of horse and lance for the battle-field or
tournament.

Dona Isabel instantly came to a right conclu-
sion upon what course to pursue, resolving to
bestow her virgin heart and young affections
upon a prince worthy of her choice, instead of
giving over her person to caducity and deformity,
to accommodate the ambitious projects of schem-
ing statesmen. The Archbishop having a perfect
understanding with the gentlemen of her house-
hold, Don Gonzalo Chacon and Don Gutierre de
Cardenas, a private correspondence with Isabel
was commenced and carried on for some time
unsuspected, and she finally accepted a rich col-

lar of gems and pearls sent her by Don Fernando,
with other suitable presents, and consented to
become his bride.

Dona Isabel resided at this time in Ocana,
whither she and the king had been conducted by
Don Juan Pacheco, in order that they might be
completely in his hands, it being a place subject
to his control as master of Santiago. Hither
Don Henrique summoned the Cortez, in order
that the compact of Los Toros de Guisando
might be carried into effect, and Dona Isabel
recognized by the estates of the realm as heiress
of Castile and Leon. Beginning, however, to
fluctuate in his intention, and receiving tidings
of disturbances in Andalusia which rendered his
presence necessary there, he left Ocana before
anything was done, after compelling Dona Isabel
to swear that " she would not undertake any nov-
elty respecting her marriage during his absence."

As Dona Isabel had already engaged to espouse
Don Fernando, although Don Henrique knew it
not, her clerical counsellors persuaded her that
she might conscientiously swear not to " under-
take any novelty respecting her marriage," and
that she ought to do so, to lull the suspicions of
Don Henrique and the master. But no sooner
had these last departed from Ocana, than the
conspirators, if so they may be termed, proceeded
with all possible dispatch to conclude the mar-
riage, and so place themselves beyond the re-
sentment of the king and the manoeuvres of
Don Juan.

Dona Isabel was first conveyed to Madrigal,
where her mother then lived, it being given out
that her object was to remove her brother's body
from Arevalo, and superintend the interment of
it at Avila. Uneasy at her leaving Ocana, and
suspecting all was not right, the master now
took measures for possessing himself of her per-
son; but the Archjyyghop and Don Fadrique, get-
ting intelligence of his designs, mustered a party
of their friends, and conducted her in all haste
to Valladolid, which was wholly at the devotion
of the Admiral. As the Marquis of Villena was
now on his guard, and ready to take any despe-
rate step to secure the disputed prize, the friends
of Doria Isabel saw that no time was to be lost
in deliberation. Everything had been previously
arranged, so far as it could be*, preliminary to
the marriage, a dispensation having been pro-
cured from the Pope, and Don Fernando having
been raised by his father to the dignity of King of
Sicily to make him better worthy of Dona Isabel.
Nothing remained but that Don Fernando should
come to Valladolid, and espouse the Infanta ; and
this was a task of greater difficulty than at first
sight it would seem.

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

The management of the affair was intrusted
to Don Gutierre de Cardenas and Don Alonzo de
Palencia, the latter a gentleman attached to the
Archbishop. They counted upon the Bishop of
Osma, Don Pedro Montoya, to furnish one hun-
dred and fifty lances, and Don Louis de la Cerda,
the Count of Medinaceli, five hundred, which,
with three or four hundred more to be procured
from other sources, they deemed a sufficient es-
cort to insure the safety of Don Fernando. But
when Cardenas and Palencia reached Osma on
their way to Zaragoza, they learnt to their con-
sternation that the Bishop and the Conde de Me-
dinaceli, with the usual levity of the Castilian
nobles of that day, had deserted the party of Dona
Isabel, and joined that of the master. The whole
frontier was held by the powerful bands of Men-
doza, who occupied with their retainers and con-
nections all the castles along the line from Alma-
zan to Guadalajara. Cardenas and Palencia be-
came convinced that it was now impossible for
Don Fernando to enter Castile openly, and that,
unless they could succeed by some ingenious
stratagem, the whole object, for which they had
labored so long and so earnestly, would be utterly
and perhaps forever defeated. They determined
to make a bold push to overmatch the machina-
tions of their enemies.

Concealing their immediate purpose, which
they could easily do, by Cardenas passing for the
servant of Don Alonzo, who frequently had occa-
sion to go to and fro on business of the Arch-
bishop's, they hastened forward to Zaragoza, and
proposed to Don Fernando to repair to Valla-
dolid in disguise and without attendance. Car-
denas communicated to the prince the loving
messages of Dona Isabel, with her maidenly
complaints that he had not yet visited her in
Castile, and her prayers that he would not aban-
don her in the perilous predicament wherein she
was placed for his sake. Don Fernando instantly
resolved to hasten to Valladolid at all hazards,
on the wings of love and hope ; having first sent
forward Don Mosen Pero Vaca, a confidential
servant of his father, the King of Aragon, on a
simulated embassy to Don Henrique, so as to
blind the eyes of the Mendozas, of Don Luis de
la Cerda, and of the rest of their faction along
the road to Valladolid.

Don Fernando, then, accompanied only by a
few domestics, in whom he could repose implicit
confidence, put himself under the guidance of
Cardenas, and boldly passed the line which sepa-
rates Aragon from Castile. Being obliged to
stop to refresh themselves and their mules, they
halted at a hamlet between Gomara and Osma,
where they passed for mere traders, the prince

busying himself to take care of the mules and
horses, and to serve at the table, so as to divert
all suspicion from his own person. After a mul-
titude of difficulties and hair-breadth escapes, he
safely arrived in the dead of night at Osma,
where he found Don Pedro Manrique, Conde de
Trevino, and three hundred lances secretly got
together and prepared to escort him for the
residue of his journey; the Manriques, the Rojas
under the Conde de Castro, and other friends of
Dona Isabel, being on the alert and in command
of the road from Osma to Valladolid. Don Fer-
nando was welcomed by the Conde de Trevino
and his followers at Osma with cries of joy and
flourish of trumpets, and conducted through the
streets by the light of flaming torches, which
blazed out upon the astonished sight of the in-
habitants and the soldiers of the garrison, waking
from their slumbers to witness the triumphant
entry of Don Fernando. Cardenas pushed on
with fresh horses to Valladolid, to give tidings
of the approach of the party, who followed with
all possible speed.

Meanwhile, the Archbishop and the Admiral
had been secretly gathering in their friends, and
introducing them by small parties into Valladolid,
as we have already seen. When Don Gutierre
arrived in the evening at the house of Vivero,
he found them anxiously awaiting the coming of
Don Fernando. Chacon was sent back to meet
him, and conduct him into the house by the pos-
tern door from the garden, so as to avoid the
risk of his being seen and recognized in the
streets of the city. His followers halted at a
village a few miles from Valladolid, while he
rode in almost alone, to plight his faith as a
prince and a knight to the fair Isabella. This
interview took place the fourteenth day of Oc-
tober, 1469. Don Fernando returned to Duearis
the same night, and remained there until the
eighteenth day of the month, when all the con-
ditions of the intended marriage having been fully
settled, he publicly entered Valladolid, in com-
pany with several lords of the houses of Man-
rique and Rojas, and was received without the
gates by the Archbishop, the Admiral, and a
brilliant cortege of the principal cavaliers of the
city. Concealment was no longer necessary,
and in the evening the espousals of the prince
and princess were published and ratified before
a great concourse of spectators, assembled in the
house of Don Juan de Vivero. And there, on
the fcllowing morning, the marriage ceremony
was performed, and the nuptial benediction pro-
nounced with feasts and rejoicings, it is true, but
without the magnificence of display, the tourna-
ments, the public dances, and the bull-tights,

THE PLEIADES.

which the custom of the times and place required
in honor of royal espousals.

It was, in fact, a stolen match, to which the
weak tyranny of the king, and the factious vio-
lence of the nobles, who possessed his good-will,
drove the future lords of Spain, Italy, and the
Indies. And distrust, as with ample cause we
may, the virtue that is reared in the moral con-
tagion of palaces, never yet did prince or subject
take to his arms a more pure and lovely wife —
loyal, affectionate, tender, and true, endowed
with every queen-becoming grace mingled and
tempered with the blander charms of humble
life — than yielded up her maiden hand and heart
on that occasion to her lover king.

If the gentle reader would appreciate the
moral of our tale, let him summon up before his
mind's eye the picture of Isabella of Castile,
married by stealth in the hall of a private dwell-
ing, and hardly with the solemnities of a com-
mon Spanish bridal ; and then compare the scene
with that of the same Isabel, in the overpower-
ing glories and stupendous triumphs of her after
life, as exhibited in the graphic, picturesque, and
impressive pages of Washington Irving. It were
idle for us to attempt a task accomplished to
our hands by his magic pen. Why advance to
break spears with him, when the challenger
would thus but show his own weakness, without
calling into display the strength of the chal-
lenged? Instead of this, we shall have recourse
to that mine from which he has dug so many
gems, borrowing a single trait to fill up our canvas
from the naive pages of the curate of Los Pala-
cios : —

" The right noble and ever blessed queen, Dona
Isabel, with the king Don Fernando her husband,
reigned over the realms and lordships of Castile
nine and twenty years and ten months ; in the
which time was the greatest exaltation, triumph,
honor, and prosperity that ever chanced in Spain.
Consider that, being the stainless daughter of
such noble lineage and royal stock and ancestry,
she entertained in her person so many other
and excellent havings, the which our Lord
adorned her withal, wherein she outshone and
overtopped all the queens, whether of Christen-
dom or of any differing law which did go before
her, not only, I say, in Spain, but in all the
world, of those whereof by their virtue and their
graces, and by their wisdom and their power,
the memory doth live and flourish. Who could
worthily recount the grandeur, the magnificence
of her court; the prelates, learned men, and
venerable counsellors, who always accompanied
her; the reverend fathers, the precentors, and
the musical accordances in honor of divine wor-

ship; the solemnity of the masses and honors
continually chanted in her palace ; the knightly
and martial nobles of Spain, dukes, masters,
marquisses, and ricos hombres ; the gallants and
dames, the jousts and tournaments, the multitude
of poets and troubadours and minstrels of every
degree ; the men of arms and war, ever in battle
against the Moors, with all their artillery and
engines of infinite variety ; and the gold and
silver and gems and pagan men brought from
the Indies newly discovered, where the setting
sun goes down behind the ocean sea ! Spain was,
in the time of these victorious kings, Don Fer-
nando and Dona Isabel, more triumphant, sub-
limated, and potent, and more feared and hon-
ored, than ever before or since ; and so of this right
noble queen, the fame shall be cherished forever
in the realms and lordships of Castile."

THE PLEIADES.

(See Plate.)

Borne by music on their way,
Every chord a living ray,
Sinking on a song-like breeze,
Tlie lyre of the Pleiades;
With its seven fair sisters bent
O'er their starry instrument,
Each a star upon her brow,
Somewhat dim in daylight's glow,
That clasped the flashing coronet
On their midnight tresses set.

And who were they, the lovely seven,

With shape of earth, and home in heaven ?

Daughters of King Atlas they —

He of the enchanted sway:

He who read the mystic lines

Of the planets' wondrous signs ;

He the sovereign of the air —

They were his, these daughters fair.

Six were brides in sky and sea

To some crowned divinity ;

But his youngest, loveliest one,

Was as yet unwooed, unwon.

On that sky lyre a chord is mute

Haply, one echo yet remains,

To linger on the Poet's lute,

And tell, in his most mournful strains,

A star hath left its native sky

To touch our cold earth, and to die ;

To warn the young heart how it trust

To mortal vows, whose faith is dust ;

To bid the young cheek guard its blooir

From wasting by such early doom ;

Warn by the histories linked with all

That ever bowecyp passion's thrall

Warn by all — above — below,

By that lost Pleiad's depth of woe —

Warn them, love is of heavenly birth,

But turns to death on touching earth.

INSTRUCTIONS FOR MAKING ORNAMENTS IN
RICE -SHELL-WORK.

The term " shell-work" may, perhaps, sug-
gest to our readers those gay, and sometimes
gaudy, but often very striking groups of brightly-
tinted shell-flowers, which we meet with at most
watering-places. These certainly form showy
ornaments for the table or mantle-piece, but are
scarcely adapted for ladies' work ; the plaster,
stiff" wire, rough colors, and actual hard work,
being matters by no means fitted for

" Delicate and dainty fingers !"

The shell-work we propose to teach is a very
different affair, its lightness and purity of look
adauting it peculiarly for wreaths, or sprays for
trie hair or dress ; and the materials of which it
is composed, rendering it an elegant drawing-
room occupation, as well as one calculated to
call forth the artistic taste and inventive powers
of the worker ; for it is capable of infinite variety.

We shall divide our instructions into two
branches — viz., the " Simple," and the " Com-
posite Rice-Shell-Work." The former will ex-
clusively occupy our first article.

The shells we use are called " rice-shells,"
from their resemblance to the grains of rice ; they

HEADDRESS, OR RICE-SHELL-WORK.

are brought from the West Indies, and sold by
measure, or by the box, at most conchological
repositories. Their Latin name Voluta Nivea.
Those who would stiiuy economy will often
22

obtain them very cheaply from those miscella-
neous dealers who purchase the foreign shells
and curiosities brought from abroad by sailors.
A pint of these shells will go a great way.

Before we can set to work, the shells must be
cleaned and prepared. For this purpose, the
first thing to be done is, with a strong yet fine-
pointed pin, to free each shell from any grit or
dirt which may have accumulated in the interior.
Next, with a strong, sharp pair of scissors, a bit
of about the size of a pin's point is to be clipped
off from the extreme tip of each shell, so as to
leave a tiny hole there, not larger than the eye
of a middle-sized sewing-needle. This is a
manipulation requiring care, as, if it is roughly
done, too large an opening will be made, and the
symmetry of the shell will be destroyed. Nei-
ther should the worker stoop over the shell while
clipping it, for, if the bit of shell snipped off*
were to fly into the eyes, it would occasion much
irritation and pain. Practice will soon enable
any one to clip the shells rapidly and evenly.

In order to set about rice-shell-work tidily and
systematically, it will be necessary to have a
dozen little square card-board trays or boxes,
about three or four inches square, and two inches
deep. These can be easily made from white or
colored card-board, and should be so contrived
that they may fit into one another, and all be
contained in one large tray or box of similar
material, and covered over by one cover.

As the shells are cut, let them be sorted into
three divisions, the small, the middle-sized, and
the large shells. When all are clipped, put them
into three separate basins ; pour over them cold
water enopgh to cover the shells, and to stand
about an inch above them. Into this water put
soda and mottled soap, in the proportion of half
an ounce of each to a full pint of water ; the
soap should be shredded. Cover the basins, and
set them on a hob, or in an oven, near a good
fire ; stir up the whole occasionally, and let it
remain until the water is scalding hot, not lon-
ger. Then rub the shells gently with the hands,
and pour off that water ; and having rinsed the
shells, add a fresh supply of water, and put in
only soap this time. Let it again stand by Ihe
fire until hot, stirring it occasionally ; then again
rub the shells gently between the hands, pour

ORNAMENTS IN RICE-SHELL-WORK.

off the soapy water, and rinse them thoroughly
with clear, cold water.

Now lay a soft, folded towel on the table ; put
about a tablespoonful at a time of shells on this
towel, and turning another fold of it over, rub
them gently, but sufficiently to free them from
moisture. Have ready a silk handkerchief, and
remove them to this, and polish them with it,
and then transfer them to one of the boxes, and
setting it on the hob, let it stand there until the
shells feel warm, shaking it occasionally in order
that all may be equally dried. They will now
be ready for use, and ought to have a pearly,
white, polished appearance.

Take notice that too much soap or soda, or
too great a degree of heat in the water, or too
long a soaking, will make them look yellow ;
while too much heat when drying will crack
them or render them brittle, and too little will
leave a moisture about them which will tarnish
the other parts of the work.

The next important item to the shells is the
silver wire. This is bought on reels, by the
ounce, and can be obtained of any of the large
gold and silver bullion fringe-makers and wire-
drawers in this city. As "Evans's Derby Crochet
Cotton" is doubtless well known to most of our
readers, we will compare the different sized
wires required to the different numbers of this
cotton of similar size. The coarsest silver wire
we ever need would be about the calibre of No.
10 " Derby Cotton ;" the next about that of No.
16 ; and the finest about the size of No. 24 or
30. The two latter are those chiefly used for
leaves, flowers, &c, the coarsest being generally
only employed for the stem on to which the va-
rious component parts of a wreath or spray are
to be grafted, or for baskets, or ornamental
groups ; our aim being lightness, not only of
appearance but of weight, we use the thinnest
wire we can consistently with firmness.

The largest shells are chiefly used for baskets ;
the middle-sized and small ones for flowers and
leaves. Each kind is to be contained in its own
box.

Into another of the boxes cut some two or
three hundred lengths of the middle-sized wire,
each piece measuring about two and a half
inches.

Having now made all our preparations, we
will set to work, and see how all the various
separate portions of the headdress given at the
commencement of this article are made, and how
they are put together.

The following cut shows the manner in which
every shell required for leaves or flowers must be
prepared. We call it " wiring the shells." In

order to effect it, the shell must be taken between
the finger and thumb of the left hand, with its
point towards the tip of the
finger, and its opening turned
upwards ; then one of the
two-and-a-half-inch lengths
of wire, which we directed
should be prepared, must be
taken in the right hand, and
one end of it passed in at the
point, and out at the opening of the shell, and a
third of it drawn through, and then turned over
on itself; the folded wire being then held between
the thumb and finger of the right hand, the shell
must be turned round and round until the wires
are sufficiently twisted together, to hold the
shell firmly. In a very short time this manipu-
lation will become so familiar that it will be per-
formed with astonishing ease and dispatch.

Keep the wired shells sorted, laying the small-
er ones in a box to themselves, and the middle-
sized ones also in a box to themselves, and with
the shells all towards one end; for, when we
come to make up the flowers, &c, it is astonisn-
ing how much time will be saved by our being
able at once to put our hands on the portion we
need.

Having thus wired a hundred or two, or more
of shells, according to the purpose we have in
view, we next proceed to make them up.

A leaf, like the one represented, may be made

| of any number of shells, from five to fifteen, or
\ even twenty-five. A very small shell should be
; chosen for the apex, and then the pairs graduated
\ so as to increase in size towards the stem. They
\ should all be picked out, and laid ready for use
: before we begin to form the leaf.

Take the small central, or top shell between
| the finger and thumb of the left hand, allow the
shell itself and about an eighth of an inch oi the
twisted wire to project above the finger, and
have the opening of the shell turned towards
you. Take the first pair of shells and insert
one on either side of the central one, leaving
about the tenth of an inch of twisted wire V-

godey's magazine and lady's book.

tween the shells and their junction with the
wire of the middle shell; then, with the finest
wire, bind them all together by twisting the fine
wire neatly round and round the stem, for the
distance of nearly a quarter of an inch, when
the second pair of shells are to be added, arranged,
and bound on in like manner and for a similar
distance ; continue thus all the way down, leav-
ing the wires between the shell and the stem a
little longer at each pair, keeping all the openings
one way, and taking care to bind the stem firmly
and compactly, and especially to avoid leaving
any projecting ends or points of wire, as these
not only look untidy, but are excessively incon-
venient if the work is intended for wear.

The flower bud is formed
by taking one of the lengths
of wire, threading a shell on
it, and then a small Roman
pearl bead, and then a second
shell, and twisting the wire
to keep them all firm. It will
be perceived by the engrav-
ing that the bead comes between the two points
of the shells, and that both openings lie the
same way.

This is what we term a " single," or " simple
flower." It is composed of five
wired shells of equal size ; the
openings are all turned inwards,
and the wires bound together
immediately below the points
of the shells firmly and com-
pactly, all the way down to the
very extremity.
This double flower is composed of seventeen
shells — viz., twelve small ones, and five of a
middle size. The five
are arranged as in the
single flower, and the
twelve are made up in-
to four leaflets of three
each, put together in
the way a leaf is com-
menced ; these leaflets
are bound on to the
flower, being arranged
evenly round it, and so as to leave about a quar-
ter of an inch of its stem above their junction
with it, and the same length of wire between
the pair of shells in each leaflet and the stem.
Bend them into their places when the flower is
completed.

Another variety of flower is here given, com-
posed of twelve small shells, so arranged as to
leave naif an inch of wire between the point of
<?ach shell and the place where we begin to bind

it ; all the openings face upwards. The shells
are to be arranged like the spokes of a wheel.

Wheat-ears may be made of any number of
shells, from eighteen to thirty, and of either
small or middle-sized shells. One is taken as
an apex, then a pair set one on either side of it,

then one in the centre ; then another pair, and
so on, binding them on, almost close to the point
of each shell, and putting in here and there
three-quarter-inch lengths of the middle-sized
wire, to resemble the beards.

This is a representation of an ornamental
group ; the shells chosen for
it should be the large ones.
Three lengths of wire (mid-
dle-sized), measuring about
four or five inches, must be
cut off. A shell is threaded
on each wire, the wire folded
double, a twist or two given
to it just to maintain the shell
in its place, and then the dou-
ble wire wound round a good sized pin to give
it that spiral form. The three, when done, are
bound together at the bottom for about a quarter
of an inch, and mounted on an inch or two of
the ccarsest wire.

In binding leaves, flowers, &c, the fine wire
should not be cut off until the leaf, or whatever
it may be, is complete, as it is desirable to avoid
ends and roughnesses.

DKESS — AS A FINE ART.

We could amplify these notices, but we con-
sider that the engravings will be sufficient to show
our readers the kind of groups that can be ar-
ranged, and suggest to inventive and tasteful
minds a multitude of other combinations.

With regard to their adjustment into sprays,
or wreath, we can say but little, because that is
so much a matter of taste. A light and graceful
appearance should be aimed at, and the work
neither crowded too closely together, nor left
too straggling. It will often be advisable to
mount a flower on a couple of inches of the
coarse wire, in order to lengthen the stem, and
it may then be grouped with a bud, or with
spiral shells ; but no rules can be laid down in
an optional matter like this. The foundation
stem, or that from which all the sprays of the
headdress given at the commencement of this
article, hangs, should be of double coarse wire ;
and the stems of the sprays of single coarse

wire. All are to be bound on with the finest
wire, and as neatly and as lightly as is consistent
with firmness.

Care must be taken not to tarnish the wire by
too much handling, especially with warm hands,
or by unnecessary exposure to the atmosphere.
When not in use, the reels should always be
kept enveloped in silver paper.

The leaves of various sizes, the flowers of
different kinds, and the other portions, should
be consigned each to the boxes appropriated for
them, as fast as they are made, and not all heaped
together in one inextricable mass.

In our next article we shall describe the
" Composite Rice-Shell- Work," which will pre-
sent to our lady pupils a variety of ornamental
arrangement.

This pleasing art is well worthy the pains and
patience of all

" Who in work both contentment and happiness find."

DKESS — AS A FINE AKT.

BY MRS. MERRIFIELD.

REMARKS ON PARTICULAR COS-
TUMES.

We must now offer a few brief remarks upon
certain costumes which appear to us most wor-
thy of our attention and study, for their general
elegance and adaptation to the figure. Of the
modern Greek we have already spoken. The
style of dress which has been immortalized by
the pencil of Vandyck is considered among the
most elegant that has ever prevailed in this coun-
try. It is not, however, faultless. The row of
small curls round the face, how becoming soever
to some persons, is somewhat formal, and al-
though the general arrangement of the hair,
which preserves the natural size and shape of
the head, is more graceful than that of the time
of Sir Joshua Reynolds, we think it would have
been more pleasing had it left visible the line
which divides the hair from the forehead. With
regard to the dress itself: in the first place, the
figures are spoiled by stays ; secondly, the dress
is cut too low in front j and thirdly, the large
sleeves sometimes give too great width in front
to the shoulders. These defects are, in some
degree, counterbalanced by the graceful flow of
the ample drapery, and of the large sleeves,
which are frequently widest at their lower part,
nnd by the gently undulating line which unites

VOL. XLVI1I. — 3

the waist of the dress with the skirt. The Van-
dyck dress, with its voluminous folds, is, how-
ever, more appropriate to the inhabitants of
palaces than to the ordinary occupants of this
working-day world. The drapery is too wide
and flowing for convenience.

Lely's half-dressed figures may be passed over
without comment ; they are draped, not dressed.
Kneller's are more instructive on the subject of
costume. The dress of Queen Anne, in Knel-
ler's portrait, is graceful and easy. The costume
is a kind of transition between the Vandyck and
Reynolds styles. The sleeves are smaller at the
shoulder than in the former, and larger at the
lower part than in the latter ; in fact, they re-
semble those now worn by the modern Greeks.
The dress is cut higher round the bust, and is
longer in the waist than the Vandycks, while
the undulating line uniting the body and skirt
is still preserved. While such good examples
were set by the painters — who were not, how-
ever, the inventors of the fashions they painted
— it is astonishing that these graceful styles of
dress should have been superseded in real life by
the lofty headdresses and preposterous fashions
which prevailed during the same period, and long
afterwards, and which even the ironical and se-
vere remarks of Addison in the " Spectator''
were unable to banish from the circles of fash

ion. Speaking of the dresses of ladies during
the reigns of James II. and William III., Mr.
Planche, in his History of British Costume (p.
318), says: "The tower or commode was still
worn, and the gowns and petticoats flounced and
furbelowed, so that every part of the garment
was in curl;" and a lady of fashion "looked like
one of those animals," says the " Spectator,"
" which in the country we call a Friesland hen."
But in 1711 we find Mr. Addison remarking:
" The whole sex is now dwarfed and shrunk
into a race of beauties that seems almost another
species. I remember several ladies who were
once nearly seven feet high, that at present want
some inches of five. How they came to be thus
curtailed, I cannot learn ; whether the whole
sex be at present under any penance which we
know nothing of, or whether they have cast
their headdresses in order to surprise us with
something in that kind which shall be entirely
new : though I find most are of opinion they
are at present like trees lopped and pruned that
will certainly sprout up and flourish with great-
er heads than before."

The costume of the time of Sir Joshua Rey-
nolds, as treated by this great artist, though less
splendid, appears to us, with the exception of
the headdress, nearly as graceful, and far more
convenient than the Vandyck dress. It is more
modest, more easy, and better adapted to show
the true form of the shoulders, while the union
of the body of the dress with the skirt is effected
in the same graceful manner as in the Vandyck
portraits. The material of the drapery in the
latter is generally silks and satins ; of the for-
mer, it is frequently muslin, and stuff of a soft
texture, which clings more closely to the form.
That much of the elegance of both styles of
dress is to be attributed to the skill and good taste
of the painters, is evident from an examination
of portraits by contemporary artists. Much also
may be ascribed to the taste of the wearer.
There are some people who, though habited in
the best and richest clothes, never appear well-
dressed ; their garments, rumpled and untidy,
look as if they had been pitched on them, like
hay, with a fork ; while others, whose dress con-
sists of the most homely materials, appear well-
dressed, from the neatness and taste with which
their clothes are arranged.

Leaving now the caprices of fashion, we must
notice a class of persons who, from a religious
motive, have resisted for two hundred years the
tyranny of fashion, and until recently have trans-
mitted the same form of dress from mother to
daughter for nearly the same period of years.
The ladies of the Society of Friends, or as they

are usually called " Quakers," are still distin-
guished by the simplicity and neatness of their
dress — the quiet drabs and browns of which fre-
quently contrast with the richness of the ma-
terial— and by the absence of all ornament and
frippery. Every part of their dress is useful
and convenient ; it has neither frills nor flounces,
nor trimmings to carry the dirt and get shabby
before the dress itself; nor wide sleeves to dip
in the plates, and lap up the gravy and sauces,
nor artificial flowers, nor bows of ribbons. The
dress is long enough for decency, but not so long
as to sweep the streets, as many dresses and shawls
are daily seen to do. Some few years back, the
Quaker ladies might have been reproached with
adhering to the letter, while they rejected the
spirit of their code of dress, by adhering too lite-
rally to the costume handed down to them.
The crowns of their caps were formerly made
very high, and for this reason it was necessary
that the crowns of the bonnets should be high
enough to admit the cap crown ; hence the par-
ticularly ugly and remarkable form of this part
of the dress. The crown of the cap has, how-
ever, recently been lowered, and the Quaker
ladies, with much good sense, have not only
modified the form of their bonnets, but also
adopted the straw and drawn-silk bonnet in their
most simple forms. In the style of their dress,
also, they occasionally approach so near the
fashions generally worn, that they are no longer
distinguishable by the singularity of their dress,
but by its simplicity and chasteness.

PREPARATIONS FOR COMPANY.

A hostess who wishes that her friends should
enjoy their dinner, and that she also should en-
joy it with them, must see that all is ready and at
hand before her guests arrive. If her servants
are well trained, and accustomed to do things
regularly, when there is no company, there will
be little difficulty when there is ; and if there is
that pleasant understanding between the head
and the hands of the household which should
always exist, any casual mistake will easily be
rectified ; an accident itself will occasion more
fun than fuss ; and although no host and hostess
should feel as unconcerned or indifferent at their
own table as elsewhere, the duty of seeing that
nobody wants anything will be manifestly a
pleasant one, whilst the simple cordiality, which
delights in good appetites and cheerful counte-
nances, and the domestic order which is evident-
ly, but unostentatiously, the presiding genius of
the family, will go far to enhance the flavor of
the simplest fare.

A GREAT MULROONEY STORY.

ALL ABOUT TIM DELANEY. HOW HE WENT COORTIN' WID HIS MASTHER. AND THE CONSEQUENCES.

BY SYLVANUS URBAN, THE YOUNGER.

" Wanst upon a time — an', sure, that 's not so
long ago, afther all — there wor a grate fri'ndship
betune the familees of the Sullivans an' the
O'Briens ; but, by raison of their livin' a long
ways apart, they niver sot eyes on ache other
for many 's the year, though they kep' up the
ould good-will by writin' letthers back an' fore,
wid the shuperscupshins of, ' Yer humble sar-
vint to command, Murtoch O'Brien ma bou-
chal,' or, 'May the heavins be yer bed, an'
glory be wid ye, Dennis Sullivan a hagur !'

" Well, the years rowled by, an', in the mane
time, the sunshine lived foriver in the house of
Murtoch O'Brien, in the shape of a daughther
that bate the wureld for beauty ; while Dinnis
Sullivan wor prouder of his son Maurice nor if
he had found all the goold mines of Californy,
wid all the jooels of the Aist Injees to the top
of 'em. Oh, faix, but ye may be sartin that the
ould min in their letthers gossipped about the
childher, an' that Misther O'Brien, bein' di-
scinded from the anshint kings of Munsther,
belaved his daughther Norah the aquil of any
princess in Eurip and Aishey, lettin' alone the
Turkeys and the Roosthers — Rooshins, I mane —
an' the Jarmans, an' the Frinch, an' all the
other haythens.

" Well, by coorse, by an' by, young Masther
Maurice an' the butyful Miss Norah wor cou-
th racted thegither by the ould people; though,
it *s the thruth I 'm sayin', nayther of the
youngsthers wor beknowin' to it at all, until
wan day, when Maurice wor near grown to be
a man, his fadher up an' tould him what he had
done. * Well an' good !' sez Maurice, for he
wor a mighty purty behaved young jintleman ;
an', wid that, he crasses over the salt say into
forrin parts, where he larned to ate frogs in
France, an' to sleep undher a feather bed in
Jarmany, wid his exthremities stickin' out. By
an' by, whin he had finished his eddicashin at
the Jarman Univarsity, by dhrillin' a hole wid
a small sword through the arum of wan Count
Dondher an' Blixum, an' by bein' mortially
wounded in his undher garmint hisself, Maurice
ihravels back to the ould counthry. Oh, but
Dinnis Sullivan wor mighty plased to shake

hands wid his darlin' boy agin ! an' he grown
so tall, an' sthrong, an' manly like.

" ' Maurice, avourneen !' sez his fadher, tind-
hcrly, ' seein' 'tis of age ye are, an' may be I '11
not be wid ye long, sure it 'u'd be plasin' me to
see yeez marri'd at wanst to Norah O'Brien,'
sez he.

" ' But how will I tell whether I '11 like her or
no?' sez Maurice, dub'ously.

" i By raison that she 's a hairess and a grate
beauty,' sez the ould jintleman.

" ' Thim 's good things in their way,' sez Mau-
rice; 'but may be I'll be ruinashin'd, afther
all, wid the crooked timper.'

" ' Make yerself parfaitly aisey on that score,
Maurice ma bouchal,' sez his fadher. ( Honey
isn't swater, nor butther safter.'

" ' May be 'tis too saft she is,' sez Maurice.

" 'Tare an' ounties !' sez the ould jintleman,
in a grate passion. ' What 'u'd yees like to
have, I'd be plased to know? Isn't Murtoch
O'Brien my ould fri'nd, an' wan I niver had a
quarrel wid in my life, batin' the bottle he
throw'd at my head at ould Thrinity, an' the
bullet I lodged in his side on the banks of the
Liffey one morn ? Sure, afther that affeckshin-
ate raymonsthrance we wor betther fri'nds nor
iver we wor before.'

" Well, by this an' by that, seein' the ould jin-
tleman wor bint upon the match, Maurice con-
sints to ride over an' coort the young lady, pur-
vided he might take wid him his fostherer, wan
Tim Delaney. Sure I know'd him well, for he
wor own cousin to myself by the mudher's side,
an' he it wor as tould me this sthory.

" ' Take him by all manes,' sez the ould jin-
tleman. ' I 've not the laste objeckshin. 'Tis
a dacent lad he is, an' a betther face or a n'ater
figure, barrin' yer own, Maurice dear, there 's
not to be found in all the county. He desarves
to be put forrid in the wureld. He 's not althe-
gither an' ignoraymus nayther,' sez he, 'for
Fadher Doran thried to bate the humanities into
him for the matther of two saisons ; an', though
he butthers his mattymatticks wid poetical con-
thribushins, an' peppers an' salts the larned
langwidges wid aljebrayickal calk nations, there 's

godey's magazine and lady's book,

a dale of larnin' in that head of his, av he only
understhood the manage of it.'

"So, wid that, Mislher Maurice sed he wor
contint, an', send in' his thrunk on afore him by
the faymale stage, he"

" Stop ! stop ! Mulrooney ! I was not aware
of any distinction between one stage and an-
other. Will you do me the favor to enlighten
me?"

"Arrah now," said Peter, boldly, "don't I
know the differ ? Sure, if the coaches as carries
the letthers is the male stages, it stands to rai-
son thim as doesn't must be the faymales."

" Humph ! Admirably denned ! Well, go
on."

" An' thin — an' thin — och, wirrasthrue ! but
I 've lost the sthory complately an' enthirely,
by makin' a dickshunary of myself."

"Let me jog your memory, then. Maurice
sent his trunk on before"

"That's it," said Peter, "by the faymale
stage, an' set out on horseback wid hisself an'
Tim, bright an' early the nixt morn, for Carri-
gathroid. Well, they hadn't gone more nor a
few miles, afore little Micky Dunn, the stable
boy, comes tearin' down the road to say that the
masther had been takin' suddintly wid a fit of
the gout, an' that Misther Maurice must go back
an' attmd the sale of Ned Ryan's place, as the
ould jintleman wanted it to square off the cor-
ner of the upper farm.

"'Oh, musha, thin, but what '11 I do?' sez
Maurice. ' 'Tis unlucky to turn back ; an', be-
sides, my thrunk is gone on afore, wid all the
b'utyful clothes in it I brought from France an'
Jarmany.'

" ' Faix, but that 's bad !' sez Tim ; « an' I
misthrustin' Andy Shehan, the dhriver. May
be 'tis betther Pd thravel on afther him?'

" c 'Deed an' 'deed, I think so,' sez Maurice.

• An' take this kay along wid ye, Tim,' sez he,

• an' sarch if the things isn't spirited away, or
smashed up enthirely. An', Tim,' sez he,
t there 's a letther of interjuckshin in the thrunk
which I want yees to deliver at wanst, for fear
the ould squireen '11 be onaisey, as he expected
me the day. An', Tim,' sez he, lowerin' his
voice, ' I '11 be plased if ye '11 take it to Carriga-
throid yerself, an' see if Miss Norah is half so
purty an' good as fadher sez she is.'

" ' Why wouldn't she be,' sez Tim, ' if the
masther sez so?'

" 'Throth an' I dun 'no',' sez Maurice; 'but
1 'd like to lam that aforehand from yer own
.ips, Tim, avick.'

" ' Faix, that }s aisey enough, I does be think -
in',' sez Tim ' You folly afther as quick as

ye can, Misther Maurice ; an', in the mane
time,' sez he, ' I '11 pay my respicts to the
family.'

" So, wid that, they took lave of one another,
an' Tim thravelled on to the town where the
young masther's thrunk wor left, a bit mile or
so from O'Brien's, of Carrigathroid.

" ' Where 's the thrunk as wor left here by
Andy Shehan?' sez he to the woman of the
stage-house.

" i Up stairs,' sez she, ' all safe an' sound.' •

" ' I '11 see that,' sez he. An' up stairs he
goes an' opens the thrunk, an' looks over the
clo'es, an' the dimont pins, and the goold watch,
an' the chains an' rings galore ; an', sure enough,
they wor all there nate an' nice, as Ally Bawn
said when the six childher fell into the saft of
the bog. Oh, murther, but now comes the
sthrangest part of the sthory. When Tim seen
the things forenent him, an' how b'utyful they
wor, he begins to wondher how he 'd look in
thim; an' thin he looks at his own coorse
clothes, all plasthered and besmudthered over
wid the dirthy wather of the road.

" ' How will I carry the masther's letther to
the big house, an' I lookin' for all the wureld
like a dirthy bogthrotter?' sez he. 'Sure I'd
be shamefaced to show myself in dacent com-
pany. 'Tis a mighty fine thing to be a jintle-
man,' sez he, lookin' at the thrunk ag'in. ' Oh,
but thim 's the grand coats, an' pantalloons, an'
goolden things,' sez he; 'sure, I thinks the
likes of 'em wor niver seed afore. / be,'

sez he, coagitatin' the matther — ' may be Mis-
ther Maurice wouldn't be onaisey if I loaned
thim of him for a bit while, ispishilly as it 's his
sarvice that I '11 be on. Sure, 'tis no harum to
thry if they fits me,' sez he. An', begorra,
afore he know'd it, he wor dhressed in thim
b'utyful garmints, an' lookin' grander nor iver
he did in his mortial life. Prisently, he flings
back the dure, an' discinds the stairs wid all the
goold chains a danglin' about his neck, an' wid
a fine goold watch fasthened by a raal dimont
pin to the breast of his flowery silk weskit :
' For,' sez he, ' sure they wouldn't know I had
sich purty things, if I didn't show thim.'

" ' Oh, but it does my heart good to see sich a
han'some jintleman !' sez the misthress of the
house, makin' a low curchey. ' Didn't I know,'
sez she, ' yer honnor wor the raal quality the
minnit I seen the shine of yer face at the dure.
Indade, an' faix, it 's the thruth I 'm sayin', plase
goodness.'

" ' Arrah, now, be done wid yer blarney,' sez
Tim, flourishin' a white han'kercher as wor
sthronger wid sint nor a flower-garden. ' Don't

A GREAT MULROONEY STORY.

conthaminate yer centhrifujals by spakin' so
odoriferously,' sez he; 'but tell me, like the
dacent woman ye are, where '11 I sarch for a
barber?'

"'That's aisey,' sez she; 'for sure there's
wan next dure to the corner.'

" So, wid that, out goes Tim, houldin' up his
pantaloons wid both hands to keep thim clane,
an' prisently he steps in at the barber's shop as
bould as a lord.

" ' Barber !' sez he.

" ' Sir,' sez a little thin-shanked man.

" ' Shave me,' sez Tim, settin' hisself down in
the big chair, while the little man wor sthrap-
pin' away at the razhier. 'Aisey, my good
man,' sez Tim, ' an' cut the stubble clane.'

" ' Oh, I '11 do that same,' sez the barber. ' Be
du husht, av ye plase.' An', afore Tim could
say Larry Houlaghan, his beard wor off.

" ' Barber,' sez Tim.

" ' Sir,' sez the little man.

" ' Frizzle my head,' sez Tim.

" An', widout any ghosther at all, the spry
little man pokes a long iron thing into the fire.

" ' Oh, murther !' sez Tim. ' What 's that?'

" ' Thim 's the curlin' -tongs,' sez the barber.

" ' Oh,' sez the cunnin' Tim, turnin' up his
nose, 'thim 's the ould time fashion. Maybe
ye niver seen the frizzlin' insthrument they use
in forrin parts?'

" ' Sorra one have I seed, barrin' the masheen
in my hand,' sez the barber.

" ' 'Tworn't to be expected of yees, in this
outlandish place,' sez Tim.

" ' Hould still, if ye pl'ase,' sez the barber,
takin' a grip of his hair.

" ' Ouch !' sez Tim. ' L'ave me go, will yees?
By japurs, but 'tis pullin' all my hair off ye
are !'

" ' 'Tisn't likely I 'd do that, wid my expari-
ence,' sez the little man. ' Sure, many 's the
quality I 've dhressed the heads of in my day.'
An', wid that, he saizes hould of another lock
of hair, an' gives it a grip and a twist.

" ' Tundher an' turf!' sez Tim, startin' up in
a mighty big passion. ' Would ye burn my head
aff afore my eyes? 'Tisn't a stuck pig I am
that ye 're singein' for bacon,' sez he.

" ' Musha, thin, but that 's thrue, anyhow,'
sez the barber. An' on he wint, frizzlin' first
one side and thin the other, till, by an' by, Tim's
head wor all over corkskrews, like a haythen
naygur's.

"'How will I look?' sez Tim, goin' to a
glass. ' Augh ! millia ! murther ! 'Tisn't my
own face that I see yondher?'

" ' 'Deed but it is,' sez the barber.

"'Oh, wirrasthrue !' . sez Tim, wringin' his
hands. < What '11 I do ? 'Tis ruinashin'd I
am, clane out an' inthirely ! I '11 be mistakin'
myself for a sthr anger !'

" ' Yea, thin,' sez the little man, ' there 's no
denyin' but yees wondherfully improved in ap-
parence.'

" ' Botherashin !' sez Tim; 'but how will I
raycognize myself, I'd like to know?'

" Sure, but he had the throubled look whin he
mounted his horse ; but, by the time he got to
Carrigathroid, his spirits came back agin, an' he
fasthens the baste to the swingin' bough of a
three, an' steps up to the dure an' knocks as
bould as Joolyus Saizer.

" ' Hallo ! House ! Whoop !'

" ' What 's the matther, my good man ?' sez a
sarvant, answerin' the dure.

" ' Matther ?' sez Tim. ' Plinty's the matther.
Here 's a letther for Misther O'Brien, wid the
respicts of the owner.'

" ' Yer name, sir, if ye pl'ase,' sez the man.

" ' Tell him Misther Sullivan sint it,' sez Tim.

" ' Oh !' sez the man, makin' a low bow.
' Obleege me by walkin' in ; ye 're expicted/

"An', wid that, he marches on afore, Tim
followin' afther, an' flings open the dure of a
grand room all blazin' wid light, an' sings out —

" ' Misther Sullivan !'

" ' Oh, murther !' sez Tim to hisself. < 'Tis
changed I am by that frizzlin' barbarian !'

" ' Ah, my young fri'nd,' sez Misther O'Brien,
takin' him by the hand, ' 'tis pl'ased I am to see
ye the day! Let me presint ye to my daugh-
ther. Norah, mavourneen, this is Misther Mau-
rice Sullivan.'

" ' Och, the beauty of the wureld !' sez Tim,
quite fiusthrated. ' Call me Delaney, av ye
pl'ase.'

" ' Ah, I undherstand,' sez the ould squireen,
wid a smile. ' The Delaneys is yer relashins.'

" ' Troth, an' indade they are,' sez Tim.

" ' Thim 's good blood, I does be thinkin',' sez
the squireen.

" ' Sorra betther to be found anywhere,' sez
Tim.

" ' I beg yer pardin, 'tis standin' ye are the
while,' sez the ould jintleman. ' Will ye take a
sate on the ottimin?'

" 'Sure, 'tisn't the grand Turkey ye mane?'
sez Tim, gettin' frikened.

" ' Oh no,' sez the ould jintleman ; ' 'tis the
fine flahool stool standin' forenenst ye.'

" ' Ayeh !' sez Tim. ' The ould name 's the
betther.'

" ' May be so,' sez the squireen, puttin' on his
specktickles, an' starin' at Tim as if he wor a

godey's magazine and lady's book.

wild baste. An' sorry I am to tell ye that purty
Miss Norah likewise hadn't no betther manners,
but set starin' too at the bouchal wid her great
black eyes.

" ' What 's the matther ?' sez Tim, as red as a
b'iled lobsther. ' Isn't it all right?8

•" 'How will I know?' sez the squireen.

" ' Och ! och !' sez Tim, ' why did I make a
"behay" of myself? Blessin's on yer darlin'
face !' sez he, turnin' to Miss Norah ; ' an' may
goodness purtect ye ! an' the daisies grow up un-
der yer purty feet ! an' may all the fairies in
Ireland bring good luck to ye, an' a dale of it !
But oh, be pl'ased to take pity on a poor boy as
is quite dumbfounder'd at yer b'utyful counte-
nance, and burnt into ashes by the blaze from
yer eyes ! An' now don't be afther colloguing
wid the ould man that a way, an' I kep' in the
dark, like Shaun Dooley, the blind fiddler.'

" ' Indade, an' in throth, 'tis very mystharious,'
sez Miss Norah, whisperin' to the fadher.
' 'Tisn't the first ha'porth of manners the cray-
ther has. Sure I am I '11 not like him, any way.'

" ' L'ave him to me,' sez the ould man. ' May
be he 's betther nor he seems. Get ye gone,
acushla, an' ordher Michael to bring up a pitcher
of st'amin' hot potheen ; that 's the raal stuff to
bring out a man's charackther. Misther Sulli-
van,' sez he, as the daughther disapp'ared —
' Misther Sullivan'

" < Delaney, av ye pl'ase,' sez Tim.

" e I beg yer pardin, Misther Delaney Sullivan.
May I be so bould, an' m'anin' no offince, as to
be axin' ye what makes ye carry all thim goold
chains, an' the han'some goold watch, an' the
dimont pin, in sich a sthrange way?'

" ' Oh,' sez Tim, mightily relaved, an' pokin'
the ould man for fun undher the fifth rib, ' 'tis
there ye are ! Sure, 'tis raisonable,' sez he, ' a
young jintleman should folly the fashi'ns.'

" * Oh,' sez the squireen, ' an' thim 's the
fashi'ns, is they?'

" ' What 'u'd they be good for, if they worn't?'
sez Tim.

" ' Faix, nothin' at all, I b'lieve,' sez the
squireen. 'Whin did ye l'ave home, Misther
Sullivan?' sez he.

" ' Delaney, av ye pl'ase.'

" « Blur an' agars !' sez the ould man, « don't I
know that, Misther Delaney Sullivan?'

" ' Well,' sez Tim to hisself, ' 'tis no matther.
Any way, I '11 be kilt an' transported, whin
Masther Maurice comes. Sure, if he will par-
' sist in callin' me Sullivan, 'tisn't good manners
to conthradict him.'

" l An' how did ye l'ave the family ?' sez the
squireen.

" ' Well an' hearty,' sez Tim ; ' wid no sarious
disordher, barrin' the loss of a suckin' pig wid the
maisles.'

" ' A suckin' pig in the family !' sez the ould
man. ' A suckin' pig, did ye say ? Sure, thim 's
not human.'

" ' Och ! what '11 I be sayin' wid the grate
blisther on my tongue? Sure, tworn't any pig
at all, at all. 'Twas the babby wid the shmall-
pox.'

" ' The shmallpox !' shrieks the squireen.
' Oh, be aff wid ye ! Don't come a near me !
I 'm frikened to death a'ready !'

" ' Millia murther !' sez Tim. ' I '11 be beside
myself prisintly. I don't mane the shmallpox,
nor the childher. Where 'u'd they come from,
I 'd like to know? But the docther — no, I
don't mane that — the masther — no, not the mas-
ther— the weeny. Arrah, botherashin to me,
I 'd be obleeged to ye if ye 'd tell me what I
mane ; for, 'deed an' 'deed, the beauty of the
young lady has put the comether on my sinses
enthirely !'

" ' Faix, I b'lieve so,' sez the squireen. ' But
here comes the potheen,' sez he ; ' an' 'tis the
sovre'nst thing in the wureld for a crooked
tongue.'

" * Mostha, but it 's the raal stuff, too !' sez
Tim, takin' a long pull at the noggin, an' smack-
in' his lips.

"'An' so ye left the ould folk quite well?'
sez the squireen.

" ' Brave an' hearty,' sez Tim. ' The ould
man wor br'akin' stones to mend the pike wid,
an' the ould mother wor knittin' new heels to
an ould pair of Connemara stockin's.'

'"I'm t'undhersthruck !' sez Misther O'Brien.
' To think that the blood of the Sullivans should
demane thimselves by br'akin' stones for a road
an' patchin' stockin's !'

" ' Thim 's figgers of spache,' sez Tim. ' Sure,
I mane shuperintindin' of thim.'

" ' Throth, it 's hard to tell what ye mane,
Misther Delaney Sullivan,' sez the squireen.
e A young jintleman as is college-bred shouldn't
condiscend to quare figgers the likes o' thim.
An' now I '11 be pl'ased to have a taste of yer
larnin'.'

" ' Sure, it 'u'd nayther be dacent, nor proper,
nor expadient, in one of my birth an' breedin',
to show off my parts upon a jintleman of your
Wondherful sagashity. The natheral modesty
that is the predominatin' trait in my charackther
won't let me. Thim as is my aquils has acknow-
ledged my shupariority ; an' the masther hisself
couldn't folly me in the langwidges, an' the hu-
manities, an' in single an' double fluckshins, to

A GREAT MULROONEY STORY.

say nothing of my extinsive ackwiremints in
algebrayickal mattymattocks, an' the other parts
of profane histhory of a similar cognashus cha-
rackther.'

"'Spake plainer,' sez the squireen, 'for ye
does be puzzlin' me wid the hard words as seems
to have no sinse in 'em.'

"'I'd be bothered to find it if they did,' sez
Tim, slyly, to hisself. But he sez to the squireen,
sez he, ' How will I diffmitively expurgate the
profound m'anin' of the anshint frelosophers
widout smudherin' ye wid the classicalities ?
Isn't it the big words as makes the l'arnin'?
Axin' yer pardin, Misther O'Brien, but 'tis well
beknownst to a jintleman of your exthraordinary
mintal an' quizzical fackilties that the consthruc-
tion of the words consthitutes the differ of lan-
gwidges, of which pothooks an' hangers is the
ilimints.'

" ' Bedad, but there 's some thruth in that,'
sez the squireen, ' barrin' the manner of express-
in' it.'

" ' Arrah, thin,' sez Tim, ' I 'm pl'ased to hear
ye say so; an', if it's agreeable to yees, we'll
dhrop the discourse for the prisint. To tell ye
the blessed thruth, Misther O'Brien, 'tis dead
bate wid the long thravel I am, an', wid your
permission, I '11 be bould to throuble yer sarvint
to fling me a clane lock o' sthraw in one corner
of yer honor's kitchen for the night.'

" Oh, but may be the ould squireen didn't
stare at Tim wid all his eyes in raal arnest,
thin—

" ' Sthraw !' sez he. ' Do ye take this for a
boccoch's shealin' ? Well, I must say, Misther
Delaney Sullivan,' sez he, 'that, for a jintle-
man's son, born an' brid, 'tis monsthrous quare
ways ye have.' An', wid that, he rings for the
futman, an' tells him to show Tim to bed. ' I '11
be wan tin', Misther Sullivan, to spake the sari-
ous word wid ye the morrow morn,' sez the ould
man, dhrawin' hisself up grand like ; ' for, on
my conscience, there 's many things about ye as
does be puzzlin' me exthramely.'

" ' 'Tis no matther,' sez Tim to hisself, folly-
in' afther the sarvint. ' Sure, I 'm in for it now,
anyhow. Ayeh! is thim the stairs? Musha,
thin, but 'tis wide enough they are for a drove
of fat cattle. Hould on a bit, will ye, or I '11 be
fallin' over the ballisthers. I wonder where
thim crass passiges lades too beyant ? Sure, I 'd
give all I '11 be like to have in the wureld to
quit the place. Och, Tim Delaney, 'tis a bad
ind ye 're comin' to wid settin' yerself up for a
jintleman ; an', begorra, if the young masther
murdhers ye enthirely, it sarves ye right, any
way, an' that 's no lie '

" 'Will ye be pl'ased to inter?' sez the sar-
vint, throwin' open the dure of a big room,
where the windys wor all ornaminted wid b'uty-
ful curt'ins, an' likewise the grate bed wid goold
angels at the corners of the posts, lettin' alone
the fringes an' the tassels, an' many other b'uty-
ful things too tadious to mintion.

" ' Och,' sez Tim, ' is that my bid ? How will
I git in widout tumblin' myself on the dure ?
Thim steps, did ye mane ? Arrah, now, have
done wid yer nonsince ! Sure, I niver heard of
goin' to bid wid a step-laddher afore.'

" ' Thim 's the fashi'n,' sez the futman.

" ' To the divil wid the fashi'n !' sez Tim.
'What are ye laughin' at, ye ugly spalpeen?
L'ave the light, an' go. Oh, murther !' sez Tim,
whin he was all alone by hisself. ' If I wor out
of this scrape, a thousand goold guineas wouldn't
timpt me to do the likes agin.'

" An', wid that, he sarches the windys, mane-
in' to make his escape, but they wor too high ;
an' thin he opens the dure saftly an' looks into
the passiges, but they twisted all about, so he
didn't dare to thry thim for fear they would be
afther takin' him for a robber; so, wid many
muttherin's an' moanin's, he lays hisself down
on the bid wid all his clothes on, an', by an' by,
falls into a throubled sleep.

" Well, all this time, ye may be sure young
Masther Maurice wor not lettin' the grass grow
undher his feet. So, whin he had bought the
land, he takes a fresh baste an' hurries afther
Tim. By hard ridin' he got to the town late
that same night; an', whin he l'arned that Tim
wor gone up to Carrigathroid all cock-a-hoop
in his own fine clo'es an' jooels, he flies into a
tearin' passion, and makes bould to ride over at
wanst. As it happened, the squireen an' Miss
Norah wor still up, for the raal genteels do kape
mighty late hours ; and so it worn't long afore
he makes hisself beknownst to the ould jintle-
man an' his daughther, an' up an' tells 'em his
sthory. Oh, but thin they all laughed more nor
iver they did in their born days afore ; more by
token that the squireen wor glad to have a disi-
lushin of the mysthery, an' Miss Norah bein'
aiquilly pl'ased to find the thrue Masther Man
rice wid the best quality manners, an', at the
same time, so mortial han'some.

" ' An' now,' sez Maurice, ' what '11 1 do wid
that rogue of a Tim?'

" ' L'ave him to me,' sez the squireen, wid a
knowin' wink. ' Myself bein' a justus-o'-p'ace,
a good frikenin' '11 be of sarvice to the saticj
Omadhaun. But we '11 say no more till the
morn,' sez he ; ' an', in the mane time, we '11
thry an' find ye a supper an' a bed.'

godey's magazine and lady s book

" Well, to be sure, bright an' airly, while Tim
wor tossin' an' tuinblin' about in his hue flahool
bid, an' dhramin' of witches, an' spooks, an'
leprawhauns, an' even of the ould bouchal his-
self, there 's comes a t'undherin' whack at his
dure ; an', prisintly, in walks four sthrappin'
fellows right to his bedside.

"'What's wantin'?' sez Tim, settin' boult
up, wid his curly hair all untwistin' itself an'
standin5 on end like a porkepine's. ' Is it look-
in' for me ye are ?'

" ' Troth, but ye 're a quick hand at guessin','
sez the biggest man. ' Where 's yer masther, ye
thafe of the wureld 1 Tell me that.'

" ' Oh, murther !' sez Tim. ' It 's all out !'

" ' Sme, he confisses it a'ready,' sez another.
* Bring him along, Tony.'

" ' Confisses what1?' sez Tim, wid his face as
white as the bed-hangin's. 'Confisses what?
Spake out, will ye ?'

" ' The murther !' sez Tony. ' Isn't thim his
clo'es ye 're wearin' now?'

"'Murther'? Och ! ochone ! ochone !' sez
Tim, wringin' his hands. ' That I iver lived to
see this day ! An' is the young masther dead ?
Why, thin, upon my oath an' my conscience, I
niver had a hand in it ! Sure, 'tis well the
darlin' knowed I 'd lay down my life for him.
Oh, jintlemen, take pity on a poor innocent boy
that 's in the black throuble, an' all bekase he
put on the young masthers things for a bit of
spoort !'

" ' An' a purty spoort ye '11 find it,' sez the
futman, for be sure he wor one of thim. ' But
here comes Misther O'Brien.'

" ' Stand aside, all of yees, an' let me look at
the thraitor !' sez the squireen, burstin' into the
room. ' Oh, 'tis there ye are, ye villin, wid yer
mattymattox an' yer single an' double fluxshins.
Saize him, men, wid a sthrong grip, an' bring
him to the hall. 'Tis well myself 's a magisther,
an' can set upon the case at wanst.'

" ' Oh, Misther O'Brien,' sez Tim, dhroppin'
Dn his knees, ' 'tis innocent I am the day ! I '11
fell ye about it. You see, the young masther an'
V

" ' Isn't thim his clo'es?" sez the squireen.

"'Ayeh, but that's thrue. Let me tell ye,
an' hear r'ason. The young masther an' I'

" ' Kape yer sthories to yerself,' sez the
squireen, puttin' on a black frown. ' Why
would I listen to yer diabolickle invintions whin
thim things is witness agin ye? Hould him
fast, boys, an' off wid him. May be I won't
live to hang him, afther all.'

" ' Help ! help ! murther !' sez Tim, sthrug-
glin' wid all the power that wor in him. ' I

didn't do it ! It 's clane hands I have ! I won't
be murthcred ! L'ave me go, I say ! What 'u'd
ye hang a poor innocent for ? Murther ! mur-
ther !'

" All at wanst, as he wor skreekin' and kick-
in', who should walk in from behind the dure
but Misther Maurice an' Miss Norah.

" ' Whoop ! whoroo !' sez Tim. ' There 's
the young masther now ! Hands off wid ye !
Don't ye see him wid Miss Norah ?'

" ' Hould on a minnit, men,' sez the squireen.
'May be 'tis a mistake, afther all. Is that
young jintleman Misther Sullivan ?'

" ' Oh, to be sure it is,' sez Tim. ' Who else
'u'd it be, I 'd like to know ? Misther Maurice !
Maurice, achorra, spake to thim, av ye pl'ase,
an' tell thim it 's yerself that I see.'

" 'Why will I do that?' sez the young jintle-
man, laughin'. ' Sure, 'twould be wastin' my
breath, an' they knowin' it a'ready.'

" ' Oh, murther ! see that now !' sez Tim.
' An' they a frikenin' me out of my siven sinses
all the while. Ayeh ! Maurice a vick, but I
forgive ye the bad thrick yees played me the
day.'

" 'Musha, thin, an' thank ye fornothin'.' sez
Maurice ; ' for I does be thinkin' that 'tis yer-
self, Tim, as is to blame, seein' the fine clo'es on
yer back.'

" ' Yea, thin,' sez the squireen, burstin' into a
great laugh, ' 'twore hisself, sure enough, as play-
ed the bould thrick, an' bothered me all out wid
his single an' his double fluxshins ; but, bedad,
' if the thrick wor in his hands last night, sure
he '11 confiss I trumped it dacently this niorn-

AMOR, VIVAX, FRAGILIS

Oh, love ! What is love ? 'Tis a tender vine,

Amid shadow and sunshine growing;
In the soft summer hours will its tendrils twine,

To cling when the wild winds are blowing.
Though through calm sunny days it will put forth its
bloom,

It is greenest when tears are flowing ;
And it cliinbeth — how mournfully ! — oft o'er the tomb,

Gray shadows around it throwing.

The germs its fresh blossoms fling forth to the air

Are wafted, on white wings, to heaven :
Here though it may wither, yet, evergreen there,

A crown unto angels "tis given !
Then tend it most gently. Though care bids it grow.

And it ever roots deepest in sorrow,
Yet the love that to-day smiles o'er dreariest woe,

Neglected, may wither to-morrow.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF SHOPPING.

ALARIC WATTS.

The truly lively and excellent Miss Mitford
has, in her story of " The Black Velvet Bag," di-
lated very agreeably on the pleasures of the femi-
nine occupation of Shopping ! She has made its
charms obvious to the meanest capacity; nay,
more candid still, she has afforded us, now and
then, a glimpse of its many pleasant delusions.
She is, throughout, the busy, intelligent actor
in this everyday drama of domestic life. She
has admitted us fully and fairly to her confidence,
from the preliminary " Inventory of Wants,"
with its accompaniment of a full purse, to the
finale of a full budget and an empty exchequer !

Let not the above admission (honestly made),
however, induce any one to suppose that the
subject must necessarily be exhausted. On the
contrary, she has not even alluded, in the re-
motest degree, to that which I hold to be its
chief delight — its crowning glory; namely, the
harvest of enjoyment which its many phases
present to the inactive, though not uninterested,
spectator of its whereabout.

" I do wish that you would lay aside your
work, and accompany me in a round of shop-
ping," was the opening address of an early
morning visitor. " I really have so many com-
missions to execute that it would be an act of
charity to afford me the benefit of your good
taste and excellent judgment !"

Who could resist a request so flatteringly pre-
ferred? The work was laid aside, and the request
complied with on the instant; and within a
quarter of an hour we were set down at the first
stage of our pleasant expedition.

The magazin that was honored by our selec-
tion on the present occasion held a middle rank
between the aristocratic pretensions of Howell
and James's, and the honest bourgeois reputation
of Tottenham House ! My friend was of that
class of elegant economists who go to the fount-
ain-head for the sample, and to the principal
stream for the supply. The initiated will be at
no loss to decide that Swan and Edgar's was our
mart.

As I was not a principal on the present occa-
sion, the pas was, of course, assumed by my com-
panion. On the moment of our entrance, offers
of services were obsequiously proffered, and, to
my great surprise, were as courteously evaded.

My friend was a tactician, and, fully alive to
her own infirmity, was not so rash as to venture
on an unproved agent. Former experience had
revealed to her on whose head the organ of pa-
tience was most largely developed, and as its
possessor happened to be engaged, my friend,
like a wise general, was content to forego a pre-
sent convenience, in order to secure a future
advantage. She, therefore, intimated that she
preferred being waited on by Miss A., and added,
she was quite content to await her leisure on
the present occasion.

The martyr-like expression of Miss A.'s coun-
tenance gave place to one of great complacency,
the result, perhaps, of the compliment implied
by her selection, since it must have been grati-
fying to feel that merit is sometimes appreciated ;
and no one can deny that, among the virtues,
Patience has always ranked as a cardinal !

A few minutes sufficed to surround us with
silks and satins, ribbons and velvets ; a few more
were consumed in the discussion of " the un-
usual prevalence" of " flat colors" and " neutral
tints," together with conjectures as to the dura-
tion of this sombre mode, which soon gave place
to the important business before us. My friend
became serious and oracular; murmured of
" harmony and contrast ;" and, in the words of
our divine Milton —

" With dispatchful looks in haste
She turns on (most becoming) thoughts intent,
What choice to choose, for delicacy best,
What order to contrive, as not to mix
Hues not well joined, inelegant ; but bring
Shade after shade upheld by kindliest change."

She was fairly in her vocation, and I, well
assured that an hour or two would elapse before
my "good taste" would be in requisition, pro-
ceeded to solace my leisure by watching the say-
ings and doings of my neighbors of the opposite
counter.

" Do you happen to have anything new for
dresses'?" was the first inquiry of a pair of lan-
guid-looking young ladies, evidently afflicted
with a certain quantity of money and of time to
be disposed of. " We want something very odd
and very new." The shopman inquired ot
" price and texture." At this leading question
the ladies looked aghast. " Oh ! they did not

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

know; only they wanted something very odd
and very pretty — something that had never been
seen by anybody else." And with this luminous
description, the young man departed ; and, after
an interval of short duration, returned, followed
by two subordinates bending beneath the weight
of silk, wool, and cotton, and of patterns the
most diverse and strange. Nondescripts of a
genus botanical, flowers without stalks, and
stalks without flowers. Others of the style
geometrical — angles, acute and obtuse; circles,
and segments of every size. A few presented
strata of every sombre hue, forcibly reminding
the spectator of geology and Dr. Lyell ! The
young ladies were more than satisfied : where
all was so exquisitely " odd," the difficulty of
choice was proportionably increased. They se-
lected and rejected, and finally, embarrassed by
the riches before them, ordered a dozen to be
sent home for further consideration, and the
final decision of mamma !

Our fair young friends were scarcely seated in
their carriage, when their places were taken by
a middle-aged lady of a very different stamp,
who, emerging from one of the surburban om-
nibuses, bustled into the shop " and begged to be
attended to immediately, as her time was pre-
cious." No one could look upon her and doubt
it. That imposing character — a thoroughly good
manager — was revealed in every word and ges-
ture. There was decision in her voice, her step,
her eye ; no need had she of written memoranda
to help a slippery memory. Her orders were
issued with distinctness, clearness, and precision.
" She desired to see some lady's four-thread fine
white cotton stockings, without figure and with-
out clocks ; some lady's dark French kid habit
gloves, sewed with silk of the same color, with
studs at the wrist; some Irish linen (described
with equal minuteness) ; graduated tapes, and
assorted pins." Here was discrimination ; no
causeless second journey did thoughtlessness on
her part impose on any one. The pieces of linen
were opened, wetted, rubbed, and finally a
thread was loosened, to test the strength of the
fabric. The gloves were singly stretched across
the hand, and finally the stockings were sepa-
rated and turned inside out, that their quality
might be ascertained beyond a doubt. I fancied
the shopman winced a little at the latter experi-
ment ; but who could gainsay that quiet decision
of manner which so plainly announced " I pay
for what I have, and choose to have the best for
my money" 1 A pencil was quietly drawn forth
— a name written by the lady on each separate
article. The bill was carefully examined — found
correct — paid, and with a final chink of the

purse, and strict orders as to time in the delivery
of the parcel, the lady departed; and I could not
help thinking we all breathed with more free-
dom when relieved of the presence of this very
superior woman.

An interesting family group were the next to
present themselves in the persons of a beautiful
widow lady, perhaps of some five-and-thirty
years of age; a sister, some ten years younger;
a blooming miss in her teens, and a delicate-look-
ing little boy of some five years old.

Of this party the younger ladies assumed the
executive, and requested to see some dresses for
second mourning. The counter forthwith groan-
ed under the weight of silks and stuffs,

" Black, blue, and gray, with all their trumpery;"

and really the variety was so great that the office
of selection seemed far from an easy one. The
younger ladies were in high spirits, and proceed-
ed to canvass the peculiar merit of each article
with great energy. There certainly is something
very attractive in unsunned fabrics, even though
they appertain not to ourselves. I felt quite in-
terested in the debate, and when the discussion
became warm, on the comparative merits of
French gray or French lavender, I could hardly
forbear from offering a casting Vote on the subject.

Meantime the person most interested in the
decision sat by silent and abstracted, her eyes
fixed on the face of the boy — her thoughts pro-
bably in the tomb of her husband. At length
it became necessary to make a selection. The
lady was appealed to. She seemed as though
awaking from a dream, and, glancing at the
shining heaps before her, said, " Too gay, much
too gay." Her sister, in a low voice, appeared
to expostulate with her, for the words " two
whole years" were distinctly audible. The ani-
mated look of the little girl became subdued as
she gazed on her mother's face. She pushed
aside the brighter colors and drew some black
silk over them, and was silent. Not so, however,
her aunt ! She had evidently resolved that the
children at least should mourn no longer ; with
a tone of authority she desired the lavender silk
to be cut off, and with a look of mingled pity
and contempt heard her sister order another
"Paramatta." Too indignant to interfere fur-
ther, she contented herself with adding "and
crape, I suppose." The lady did not reply — the
shopman, probably inferring her wishes from her
silence, produced the anathematized material, a
liberal quantity was cut off, and the party slowly
retired.

A merry-eyed, dandyfied-looking young sailor,
with a complexion much bronzed beneath a fer-

THE PHILOSOPHY OF SHOPPING.

rid sun, was the next member of the dramatis
persona. He desired to see some silk pocket-
handkerchiefs ; India silk — no other would do.
A variety was placed before him, together with
some of British manufacture, greatly superior to
the veritable Bandanas ! It might be so — they
were more beautiful, certainly ; but India hand-
kerchiefs he must have — ay, and with the true
peculiar spicy smell ; that odor only to be ac-
quired by a four months' voyage in company
with cinnamon and sandal-wood. After a little
delay, even this desideratum was achieved. A
dozen were cut off, each folded in a separate
paper, and each and every one directed by his
own hand ! During this ceremony, a very con-
tagious smile irradiated his features, which, gath-
ering strength with every name he wrote, finally
exploded into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
Grave people turned round to stare and frown ;
and the youth, rather abashed by the sound of
his own laugh, murmured something in an apo-
logetic tone, and, hastily paying for his purchase,
quitted the shop. There was something odd in
all this. At length the truth flashed on my mind.
The youth had just returned from India, and was
gifted with a goodly train of unreasonable cou-
sins, all of whom " had expected some trifle from
the Land of the East." Poor fellow ! — as though
a hundred a year were a greater fortune in Hin-
doostan than in England, or self-denial a whit
easier of practice on the banks of the Ganges
than the banks of the Thames. At length, his
means admitting of a partial satisfaction of his
expectants, he had taken the only means in his
power to amend his short-comings. Poor fellow !
— may his pious fraud meet with a rich harvest
of gratitude ; and, above all, may he have wit
enough to keep his own counsel !

For a few minutes the little stage that had af-
forded me so much interest was vacant. It was,
however, shortly filled by a group well calcu-
lated to afford

" A bright atonement for the brief delay."

It consisted of a lady of some five-and-forty
years, with face and figure well preserved ; and
which, though lacking the delicacy of youth,
was redeemed by an expression scarcely less at-
tractive. She took her seat with a quiet dignity
of manner — the result, I fancied, rather of a
well-balanced mind than of conventional attain-
ment. She was accompanied by a pretty senti-
mental girl of about eighteen, a brisk little
maiden of twelve, buoyant with delight at hav-
ing escaped the school-room at an unwonted
hour, and a staid-looking Young Person, proba-
bly a dependent cousin.

The party seated themselves with some regard
to personal comfort, as though their business was
likely to be of some duration. Their commands
were, the indispensables of a lady's outfit. Dur-
ing this period, the young lady looked on with a
kind of lofty indifference, and, when appealed
to, gravely declined interference, leaving the
matter to be arranged by the lady mother and
the useful cousin. These affairs satisfactorily ad-
justed, the externals were next in demand. The
smile of the child betrayed the secret — they were
purchasing the trousseau of a bride. In vain was
the sentimentalist appealed to in the articles of
handkerchiefs and gloves — she was cold, polite,
but indifferent. This I thought strange, till I
remembered she was a fiancee, almost as good
as a married lady already, and had therefore some
dignity to sustain. At length the brilliant ex-
ternals were spread before her. What young
lady of eighteen could maintain the appearance
of indifference 1 It was not in nature — not in
female nature. The statue descended from its
pedestal ; entered quietly and gracefully into the
details before it ; made selections with the taste
of an artist and knowledge of a woman of fash-
ion (two qualities rarely combined) ; bought
various trifles adapted for presents, and would
have chosen as many more had not mamma
held up a banker's check ! The warning was
understood — one and ninepence was received in
change of a bill of one hundred pounds — and
still they lingered. The bride elect had a pur-
chase of her own to make. A shawl — a good,
but not a fine one — was selected and paid for by
herself, and presented, with a kind pressure of
the hand (which would elsewhere have been a
kiss), to the useful cousin. The carriage drew
up, and the party retired in search of the milli-
nery elsewhere !

Scarcely was the seat of honor vacated by the
bridal party, when it was filled by another matron
and her fair daughter ; but no comfortable carriage
set her down — no obsequious footman ushered
her into Messrs. Swan and Edgar's emporium.
The lady before me — for she was a lady, despite
her russet gown and plain straw bonnet — had
originally been as richly gifted by nature as her
predecessor; but care, not time, had evidently
wrought its ravages on her countenance. She
looked faded and worn, took her seat with an
air of embarrassment, and with a slight nervous-
ness of manner asked to speak with " one of the
principals of the establishment." During the
brief interval previous to his arrival, her coun-
tenance underwent many changes, as though she
were nerving herself for some painful effoit.
The arrival of the official, however, at once re

godey's magazine and lady's book,

stored her self-possession. With a calm, sweet
voice, she stated her business. She said she
was the wife of a naval officer of limited means
about to emigrate, and wished to make rather
an extensive purchase, but that, as under such
circumstances quantity rather than fashion was
the object of her attainment, she desired to
know if she could be thus supplied on terms of
advantage ? The reply was in the affirmative,
and, with a delicacy of feeling that did honor to
the speaker, he himself superintended her com-
mission. He felt instinctively that he was ad-
dressing a gentlewoman in the best sense of the
term ; as much material was paid for by a fifty
pound note as would have clad a dozen people.
The fearful plunge once over, the manner of the
lady became more assured, her daughter looked
fairer than ever, and I felt, despite the frowns
of fortune, she was an enviable woman.

How much, how very much, said I to myself,
are the unavoidable evils of life felt, when (as
in the present instance) they fall to the lot of
one gifted with the step-dame dower of acute
sensibility. To such the privations of poverty
are far less galling than the ever-present dread
of the "proud man's contumely." To minds
thus constituted, misfortune feels like crime, and
nothing short of the wisdom that is from above
can enable its possessor to bear the burthen un-
repiningly. I looked upon the lady before me,
and felt, despite the lowly attire and faded form,

that of the many whose riddle I had read, she
was to me the heroine of the day.

The present was forgotten ; my mind had
travelled to scenes beyond the Atlantic. Already
had I

" Built them a bower,
Where stern pride hath no power,
And the fear of to-morrow their bliss could not mar."

Should the brave lieutenant, the beau cousin of
that sweet girl, accompany them ? Or should
the handsome curate follow after? I had not
decided the matter, when I was cruelly aroused
from my delightful reverie, to decide, where no
difference was, between two rival satins of the
purest white, and after exercising much ingenuity
in discovering the favorite of my friend, I boldly
declared for the opposite candidate, maintained
my opinion with very becoming pertinacity, and
at length gradually and graciously suffered my-
self to be convinced ; and again in the words of
Milton, I admitted her choice to be

" Wisest, virtuousest, discreetcst, best."

The principal business of the day being thus
happily accomplished, we resolved to leave the
rest till to-morrow, and returned home mutually
charmed with each other. My friend had labor-
ed diligently in her vocation, to engraft her own
good taste on half a dozen dowdy cousins, whilst
I retired to fill another page in the note-book
of a day-dreamer.

GODEY'S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

Drawing has been generally looked upon as
an accomplishment, not considered as an essen-
tial— as ornamental rather than indispensable in
the education of the rising generation. The
pleasures and advantages of its pursuit have been
almost solely enjoyed by the rich; while they
have been, to a certain extent, as a sealed book
to the great majority of those now designated
emphatically the people. So far from looking
upon a knowledge of the art of drawing as ne-
cessary merely to the artist or designer, we hold
that it should form an essential part of general
education ; that its proper place is in the daily
school; that its principles and practice should
be inculcated in the daily lessons ; in short, that
equally with reading or writing, drawing should
be deemed one of the branches of everyday
tuition. We are now fully alive to the im-
portance of cultivating what are designated

I "habits of taste," and the appreciation of the
beautiful in art ; and this chiefly — if for nothing
else — from the practical value derivable therefrom
in the improvement of our arts and manufactures.
By a thorough understanding of the details of
drawing, an accuracy of perception and a facility
for marking and retaining forms and arrange-
ments are readily available. It is, then, of
importance to place within the reach of all a
means by which the art in its varied branches
may be easily communicated. The design of the
present article is to contribute to this desideratum
We shall make our remarks as plain as possible,
and as concise as the nature of the subject will
admit of; and shall give unsparingly well-digested
illustrations, believing that in this subject, at
least, much is to be imparted to the pupil through
the medium of the eye. It is to be hoped that
this union of the pen with the pencil will be of

GODEY'S COURSE OF LESSON'S IN DRAWING.

great utility in quickly imparting a knowledge
of the subjects under discussion. Before pro-
ceeding to our more immediate purpose, we shall
offer a few remarks elucidatory of the plan or
bearing of the system, by which we mean to be
guided in presenting the requisite knowledge to
the student.

On the supposition that the pupil at the outset
is utterly ignorant of the art, we commence our
instructions by elucidating first principles.
As all drawings are reducible to certain lines and
figures, we hold it necessary to enable the stu-
dent to draw these elementary parts with the
utmost facility ; leading him, by a series of ex-
amples, from the drawing of a simple line up to
the most complicated sketch or object which
may be offered to him ; and then, by an advance
to the more intricate rules, making plain the
laws of vision (the foundation of perspective),
so as to delineate correctly the various views in
which they may be presented to his notice ; the
aim of the introductory lessons being to enable
the student thoroughly to understand the reason
why every operation is performed as directed,
not merely to give him a facility for copying any
determined object without reference to princi-
ples.

The student may, by dint of practice, acquire a
facility for this merely mechanical style of imita-
tion or copying ; but, unless he is well grounded
in fundamental principles, his operations will
be vague and uncertain. It may be considered
true that the better we are acquainted with the
first principles of an art, its basis or foundation,
so much more intimately conversant shall we
be with all the intricacies of its diversified prac-
tice, and the less easily damped by its real or
apparent difficulties. Students too frequently
expend much time almost entirely in vain, from
want of attention to this truth, trite and com-
monplace as it may be deemed. In acquiring
the practice of this art, they are too eager to pass
from the simple rules, the importance of which
they think lightly of. A sure and well-laid
foundation will not only give increased security
to the building, but will enable the workmen to
proceed with confidence to the proper carrying
out of the design in its entirety ; on the contrary,
an ill-laid foundation only engenders distrust,
and may cause total failure. We are the more
inclined to offer these remarks, being aware that
students at the commencement of a course of
tuition are apt, in their eagerness to be able to
" copy" a drawing with facility, to overlook the
importance of the practice which alone enables
them satisfactorily to do so. It is the wisest
course of procedure to master the details of an
vol. xlviii. — 4

art before proceeding to an acquaintance with its
complicated examples.

We would, then, advise students to pay par-
ticular attention to the instructions in their
entirety which we place before them ; if they
be truly anxious to acquire a speedy yet accurate
knowledge of the art, they will assuredly find
their account in doing so. Instead of vaguely
wandering from example to example, as would
be the case by following the converse of our
plan, yet copying they know not how or why,
they will be taught to draw all their combinations
from simple rules and examples, we hope as
simply stated ; and thus will proceed, slowly it
may be, but all the more surely, from easy to
complicated figures, drawing the one as readily
as the other, and this because they will see all
their details, difficult to the uninitiated, but to
them a combination of simple lines as "familiar
as household words."

LESSON 1.

OUTLINE SKETCHING.

Before the apparent forms of objects can be
delineated, it is absolutely necessary that the
hand shall be able to follow the dictation of the
eye; that is, the pupil must, by certain practice,
be capable of forming the lines which constitute
the outlines and other parts of the objects to be
drawn ; just as, before being able to write or
copy written language, the hand must be taught
to follow with ease and accuracy the forms which
constitute the letters ; so in drawing, the hand
must be tutored to draw at once and unswerv-
ingly the form presented to the eye. Thus the
handling of the pencil, the practice to enable
the hand to draw without hesitation or uncer-
tainty, and the accurate rapidity essential in an
expert draughtsman, may be considered as part
of the alphabet of the art of free pencil sketching.
Nothing looks worse in a sketch than the evi-
dences of an uncertainty in putting in the lines ;
just as if the hand was not to be trusted, or at least
depended upon, in the formation of the parts
dictated by the eye. The eye may take an accu-
rate perception of the object to be drawn, yet its
formation may be characterized by an indecision
and shakiness (to use a common but apt enough
expression), which, to the initiated, is painfully
apparent. In beginning, then, to acquire a ready
facility in free sketching, in which the hand and
eye are the sole guides, the pupil should consider
it well-spent time to acquire by long practice an
ease and freedom in handling the pencil, chalk,
or crayon with which he makes his essay.

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

The first lessons may be performed with a
piece of pointed chalk on a large blackboard ;
some of our celebrated artists have not in their
early days disdained the use of more primitivo
implements, as a piece of burnt stick and a
whitewashed wall or barn door. The larger the
surface on which the lessons are drawn, the bet-
ter, consistent, of course, with convenience.
If a blackboard cannot be obtained, a large slate
should be used. Until the pupil has acquired a
facility for copying simple forms, he should not
use paper and pencil ; as, in the event of drawing
in a line wrong, it is much better at once to be-
gin a new attempt, than try to improve the first
by rubbing out the faulty parts and piecing the
lines up. As the pupil must necessarily expect
to make many blunders at first starting, it will
save paper if he will use a board or slate, from
which the erroneous lines can be at once taken
out, a damp sponge being used for this purpose.
By this plan any number of lines may be drawn.

Having provided themselves with the necessary
materials, pupils may begin by drawing simple
lines. These must be drawn without the assist-
ance of a scale or ruler, by the hand alone. The
line a, Fig. 1, will be parallel to the side of the

drawing, but should be free, so that the line may
be drawn in at one sweep, as it were, of the
arm or wrist. Irregular or " waved" lines
should next be drawn, as at c; this style of line
is useful in drawing broken lines, as in old ruins,
trees, gates, stones, &c. &c. Pupils must not
content themselves with drawing a few ex-
amples of the lines we have given. They must
practise for a long time, until they can at once
with ease draw lines in any direction correctly ;
they ought to progress from simple to difficult,
not hastily overlook the importance of mastering
simple elementary lessons. With a view to
assist them in arranging these, and to afford not
only examples for practice, but also to prove by
a gradation of attempts the connection — too apt
to be overlooked by many — between simple lines
and complex figures, simple parallel lines, as a,
b} c, Fig. 2, should be drawn ; but not only must

Fig. 2.
„ a,

Fig. 1.

board or slate, and perpendicular to the ends.
Pupils should endeavor to make the line as
regular as possible, and to run in one direction —
that is, inclined neither to the right nor left.
They should next draw horizontal lines, as b,
beginning at the left and going towards the right
hand. In drawing lines as a, pupils should
begin at the top and go towards the bottom ; in
a, more advanced stage they should try to draw
them from either end. The oblique lines, d, e,
and/, should next be drawn. In all these exer-
cises the lines should be drawn boldly, in a
ieiigth at a time, not piece by piece ; the hand
should not rest on the board or slate while

pupils endeavor to keep each line straight from
beginning to end, free from waviness and inde-
cision, and also parallel to one another, but
another object must be kept in view; that is,
the distance between the lines ; hitherto they
have drawn lines with no reference to this, but
merely to their position and direction. No me-
chanical aids must be allowed to measure the
distances, this must be ascertained by the eye
alone ; and a readiness in this will be attained
only by practice. The eye is like the memory ;
it must be kept in constant training before it
will do its work. By inspecting the diagram, it
will be perceived that the lines marked c c are
farther apart than those above. All gradations
of distances should be carefully delineated ; and
if, after the lines are drawn, the eye should de-
tect, or fancy it detects, any error in this respect,
let the lines be at once rubbed out, and a new
trial made ; and let this be done again and again
until the lines appear to be correctly drawn,
both as regards boldness and correctness and dis-
tance apart. After drawing the horizontal lines,
the student may then proceed to perpendicular
lines. It may here be noted, to save future
explanation, that when we use the term perpen-

GODEY'S COUKSE OF LESSONS IX DRAWING

dicular, we mean it to be that applied to a line
or lines which run parallel to the side of the
board or slate ; and horizontal, those parallel to
the ends. Strictly speaking, both lines thus
drawn are perpendicular to others which may
be drawn parallel to their opposite sides. Wc,
however, suppose the surface on which the
pupil is drawing to be in the same position as
this book while held open for reading ; the sides
to represent the sides, and the ends, the ends of
the drawing-board or slate. Lines are horizontal
when parallel with the lines of type, and per-
pendicular when parallel with the sides of the
page ; it is in this sense, then, that we shall use
the terms horizontal and perpendicular. Per-
pendicular lines, as in Fig. 3, may next be

Fig. 3.

iiliiiiii/

■ i'

w!i

Mliilll

m:M

drawn, close to one another at the sides, at a
and c, and farther separate at b ; they may also
be drawn horizontally in the same way ; this
practice will be useful in more advanced stages.
As the pupil will observe, the lines thus drawn
give the appearance of roundness ; it is, in fact,
the way by which engravers obtain this effect :
the pupil will rind it useful in fine pencil draw-
ing.

The drawing of diagonal or oblique lines may
next be practised, as in Fig. 4. In all these

Fig. 4.

examples, the board or slate should never be
moved or reversed ; the end forming the top-
most one should always remain so. We are
aware that some parties have greater facilities

for drawing lines in one direction than in
another; thus, the majority of beginners would
draw lines sloping from right to left with much
more ease than in the reverse position. We
have seen cases where, in lessons like the loir-
going, the lines sloping from right to left were
drawn first, the board reversed, and lines to
represent those sloping the reverse way drawn
in the same direction exactly; the board was
then turned to its original position, when the
sets of lines appeared sloping different ways,
while, in reality, they were done both in the
same manner. This practice is not honest either
to the teacher or pupil, and should at once be
discarded.

The examples now given have had refeience
only to one peculiar position of the lines to be
drawn; that is, they have all been horizontal,
or all perpendicular or oblique ; placed in the
same relative position to one another. \>Te now
give an example where the lines go in different
directions with respect to one another. Thus in
drawing the lines b a, a f, d c, and c e, Fig. 5,

Fig. 5.

e —

care must be taken to have the lines perpen-
dicular to one another ; that is, supposing the
lines ab, c d, to be drawn first, the horizontal
lines af,ce, must be drawn so that the points or
ends / e shall be neither above nor below the
ends or points a, c — that is,/ and e must be
exactly opposite a and c. In the present case,
no mechanical aid is allowable ; the eye is to be
the only guide. Attention should also be paid
to keeping the exact distance between the lines
a b,a f, and c d, and c e. The pupil must not
imagine that all these modifications of lines are
worthless ; a little patience and reflection will
suffice to show him that they are, in truth, part
of the groundwork, without which he can never
hope to rear the superstructure of perfect draw-
ing. We now proceed to a little more interesting
labor, where simple figures are to be drawn ;
these, however, being neither more nor less than
the lines already given variously disposed. Draw
the lines a c, b c, Fig. 6, meeting in the point c;
these form a certain angle ; care should be taken
to draw the lines as in the copy. Next dra*"

godey's magazine and lady's book.

{he horizontal line a b, Fig. 7, and a figure is
formed which the pupil will at once recognize.

Draw the horizontal line a b, Fig. 8 ; perpen-
dicular to it, from the ends a b, draw the lines
a c, b d, taking care that they are of the same
length as a b ; draw the line c d, a square is at

once formed. As it is an essential feature in
this form that all the sides are equal, if the pupil,
after drawing it, perceives any inequality therein,
he should rub it out and proceed to another at-
tempt. Some little practice should be given to
the delineation of squares, angles, &c. If a
parallelogram or oblong — vulgarly called an
oblong square — is wished to be drawn, it may be
done by making two opposite lines shorter than
the others ; the line e denotes the fourth outline
of an oolong, of which the side is a b. If two
oolongs oe drawn, care being taken to have the
•Jiner hues the same distance within the outer
(•pes all round, by adding a narrow line outside

these, as in Fig. 9, the representation of a pic-
ture-frame is obtained ; the diagonal lines at the

Fis

corners, as at a and b, being put in to represent
the joinings at the corners of the frame, the
"mitre" joints, as they are termed. By first
drawing the simple outlines, as in Fig. 10, the

Fig. 10.

foundation of a door is obtained by filling in the
extra lines, as in the figure.

OH, LAY HER TO REST!

BY FLORUS B. PLIMPTON.

Oh, lay her to rest where the myrtle can grow,

Among the green grass that shall over her wave,
That not only in summer, hut in winter's cold snow,

'Twill he green as the love that encircles her grave
Her heart was a treasure of trust to a friend,

A mirror reflecting warm sympathy's glow ;
It was patient to anger, and feared to offend,

And suffered in silence what no one can know.

Oh, lay her to rest! let no monument tell

That she dwells with the perfect, the good, and the just,
Nor let flattery's homage emhlazon her cell,

But bear her iu silence and tears to the dust.
Oh, lay her to rest! of earth hath she known

Sufficient of sorrow, sufficient of pain;
She pined for the world where her spirit hath flown,

Though she wept for the love that recalls her in vain.

THE LLOYDS

CHAPTER I.

" To me, what 's greatness when content is wanting?

Or wealth, raked up together with much care,

To be kept with more, when the heart pines,

In being dispossessed of what it longs for

Beyond the Indian mines ?"

Massinger.

Arthur Lloyd was about twenty-two when,
by his father's death, he came into possession of
property worth, at least, a million. His father
died somewhat suddenly, and the young man,
who was then in Paris, partly on business for
his father, partly to see the world, was summoned
home by the cares which such an inheritance
naturally involved. There are few scenes that
more deeply try the spirit of a man than a return
to a desolate home. The mind can support the
separations which the common current of hu-
man affairs renders inevitable without much
suffering. One may even dwell in the midst of
strangers, and not feel lonely, if the heart has a
resting-place elsewhere. But when we open
the solitary apartments, where everything we see
calls up associations of dear friends we can hope
to meet no more forever, a blight falls on our
path of life, and we know that whatever of
happiness may await us, our enjoyments can
never be as in days past.

It was late on Saturday night when Arthur

Lloyd reached the elegant mansion in

street, New York, of which he was now the sole
proprietor. The domestics had been expecting
his arrival, and every arrangement had been
made, as far as they knew his wishes and tastes,
to gratify him. Wealth will command attention,
but in this case there was more devotion to the
man than his money ; for Arthur was beloved,
and affection needs no prompter.

" How sorry I am that this pretty mignonette
is not in blossom !" said Mrs. Ruth, the house-
keeper ; " you remember, Lydia, how young Mr.
Lloyd liked the mignonette."

" Yes, I remember it well ; but I always
thought it was because Miss Ellen called it her
flower, and he wanted to please the pretty little
girl."

" That might make some difference, Lydia,
for he has such a kind heart. And now I think
of it, I wonder if Miss Ellen knows he is ex-
pected home so soon."

" She does," said Lydia, " for I told her yes-
terday, but she didn't seem to care. And I d >
not think she likes him."

" She is melancholy, poor child ! and who can
blame her when she has lost her best friend?"

" Why, Mrs. Ruth, cannot young Mr. Lloyd
be as good a friend as his father ? I am sure he
will be as kind."

" Yes, no doubt of that. But, Lydia, it will
not do for a young man to be so kind to a pretty
girl ; Miss Ellen is now quite a young lady ; the
world would talk about it."

" I wonder who would dare to speak a word
against Mr. Arthur?" said Lydia, reddening with
indignation.

When a man's household are his friends, he
hardly need care for the frowns of the world ;
and even the gloom of sorrow was relieved as
Arthur shook hands with the old and favored
domestics, whose familiar faces glowed with that
honest, hearty welcome which no parasite can
counterfeit. But when he retired to his cham-
ber, the silence and solitude brought the memory
of his lost friends sadly and deeply on his mind.
He felt alone in the world. What did it avail
that he had wealth to purchase all which earth
calls pleasures, when the disposition to enjoy
them could not be purchased ? The brevity of
life seemed written on every object around.
All these things had belonged to his parents.
And now they had no part in all that was done
beneath the sun.

"And yet," thought Arthur, "who knows
that their interest in earthly things is annihilated
by death ? Why may not a good man receive
much of his heavenly felicity from witnessing
the growth of the good seed he has planted in
living hearts ? Why may he not be gladdened,
even when singing the song of his own redemp-
tion, by seeing that the plans he had devised for
the improvement of his fellow-beings are in
progress, carried forward by agents whom God
has raised up to do their share of the labor in
fitting this world for the reign of the just ? If
— if my good parents are ever permitted to look
down upon the son they have trained so carefully,
God grant they may find he has not departed
from the way their precepts and example have
alike made plain before him."

There is no opiate, excepting a good conscience,

like a good resolution. And Arthur slept
soundly that night, and passed the Sabbath in
the tranquillity which a spirit resigned to the
will of heaven, and yet resolved to do all that
earth demands of a rational being, cannot but
enjoy. But one thought would intrude to harass
him. His father's death had occurred while
Arthur was far away. He had not heard the
parting counsel, the dying benediction. Per-
il aps his father had, in his last moments, thought
of some important suggestion or warning for his
son, but there was no ear tuned by affection to
vibrate at the trembling sound, and catch and
interpret the whispered and broken sentence,
and so the pale lips were mute.

With such impressions on his mind, Arthur
was prepared to read eagerly a letter, directed
to himself, which he found deposited in his fa-
ther's desk, purposely, as it appeared, to meet
the notice of his son, before beginning the in-
spection of those papers business would render
necessary. I shall give the entire letter, because
the character of the father must be understood
in order to comprehend the influences which had
modelled that of the son.

It is on the very rich and the very poor that
domestic example and instruction operate with
the most sure and abiding effect. We find the
children of parents in the middling class, re-
moved from the temptation of arrogance on the
one hand, and despair on the other, are those
who admire and endeavor to imitate the models
of goodness and greatness history furnishes, or
the world presents. Such may become what is
termed self-educated ; but this process the very
rich think unnecessary, and the very poor im-
possible. Therefore, when the early training
of these two classes has inclined them to evil,
they rarely recover themselves from the con-
tamination. But the letter j it ran thus :—

My dear avd only Son : I informed you in
my last letter that my health was declining. I
felt even then, though I did not express it, that
I should never see you again in this world ; still
T did not anticipate the rapid progress which my
disease has since made. However, I have much
cause for thankfulness. I endure little pain,
and my mind was never more calm and collected.
I have resolved, therefore, to arrange some of
my thoughts and reflections for your perusal
knowing that you will prize them as the last
expression of your father's love.

I have often endeavored, in my hours of health,
'.o bring the final scene of departure from this
world vividly before my mind. I have thought
I had succeeded. But the near approach to the

borders of eternity wonderfully alters the ap-
pearance of all earthly things. I often find
myself saying, " What shadows we are, and
shadows we pursue !"

Shadows indeed ! But it would not be well
that the veil should be removed from the eyes
of those whose journey of life is, apparently,
long before them. The duties which prepare
us for heaven must be done on earth. It if
this moral responsibility which makes the im
portance of every action we perform. Considered
in this light, the example of every rational being
is invested with a mighty power for good or evil ;
and that good is productive of happiness, and
evil of misery, we need not the award of the last
judgment to convince us. The history of the
world, our observation, our conscience, and our
reason, all prove that to deal justly, to love
mercy, and to walk humbly before God is the
perfection of man's felicity. The great error
lies in mistaking our true interest. We separate
earth from heaven by an impassable gulf, and
in our labors for the body think the spirit's
work has no connection. This false philosophy
makes us selfish while we are young, and super-
stitious when Ave are old, and of consequence
unhappy through life. But these things may
be remedied. If the wise man spoke truth,
there is a way in which we should go, and we may
be so trained as to walk in it when we are young,
and prefer it when we are old.

It has, my son, since you were given me, been
the great aim of my life to educate 3-ou in such
habits and principles as I believe will insure
your present and final felicity. When I speak
of what I have done, it is with a humble ac-
knowledgment of the mercy and goodness of
God who has supported and blessed me ; and I
would impress it on your heart that Heaven's
blessing will descend on every one who seeks it
with patience and with prayer. But I did not
always have these views. I was not educated
as you have been, and it is for the purpose of
explaining to you the motives which have go-
verned my conduct towards you that I shall
enter into a recital of some incidents, which you
may know as facts, but of their consequences
you are not aware.

My father, as you have often heard, left a
handsome fortune to each of his ten children ;
but as he acquired his property late in life by
lucky speculations, we were none of us subjected
to the temptations of luxury in our childhood.
We were all educated to be industrious and
prudent, and an uncommon share of these vir-
tues had, as the eldest, been inculcated on me.
So that when, in addition to my well-won thrift,

THE LLOYDS.

the share I received from my father's estate
made me a rich man, I felt no disposition to
enjoy it in any other mode than to increase it.
I did not mean to drudge always in the service
of mammon ; but I thought I must wait till I
was somewhat advanced, before I could retire
and live honorably without exertion ; but, in
the mean time, I would heap pleasures on my
family.

Your mother was a lovely, amiable woman,
whom I had married from affection, and raised
to affluence ; and she thought, out of gratitude
to me, she must be happy as I chose. The only
path of felicity before us seemed that of fashion ;
and so we plunged into all the gayeties of our
gay city. And for eight or ten years we lived a
life of constant bustle, excitement, show, and
apparent mirth. Yet, Arthur, I declare to you
I was never satisfied with myself, never con-
tented during the whole time. I do not say I
was wretched — that would be too strong an ex-
pression— but I was restless. The excitements
of pleasure stimulate ; they never satisfy. And
then there was a constant succession of disagree-
ments, rivalries, and slanders, arising from trifling
things ; but those whose great business it was to
regulate fashionable society contrived to make
great matters out of these molehills. Your mo-
ther was a sweet-tempered woman, forbearing
and forgiving, as a true woman should be ; but,
nevertheless, she used sometimes to be involved
in these bickerings, and then what scenes of
accusation and explanation must be endured
before the matter could be finally settled, and
harmony restored ! and what precious time was
wasted on questions of etiquette which, after
all, made no individual better, wiser, or happier.

We lived thus nearly ten years, and might
have dreamed away our lives in this round of
trifling, had not Heaven awakened us by a stroke,
severe indeed, but I trust salutary. We had,
as you know, Arthur, three children, a son and
two daughters. Fashion had never absorbed
our souls so as to overpower natural affection.
We did love our children most dearly, and every
advantage money could purchase had been
lavished upon them. They were fair flowers,
but, owing to the delicacy of their rearing, very
frail. One after the other sickened; the croup
was fatal to our little Mary; the measles and
the scarlet fever destroyed the others. In six
months they were all at peace.

Never, never can the feeling of desolation I
then experienced be effaced from my heart. A
house of mourning had no attraction for our
fashionable friends. They pitied, but deserted
ws ; the thought of our wealth only made us

more miserable ; the splendor which surrounded,
seemed to mock us.

" For what purpose," I frequently asked my-
self, "for what purpose had been all my labor?
I might heap up, but a stranger would inherit."
My wife was more tranquil, but then her dis-
position was to be resigned. Still she yielded,
I saw, to the gloom of grief, and I feared the
consequences. But her mind was differently
employed from what I had expected.

She asked me one day if there was no method
in which I could employ my wealth to benefit
others. w

I inquired what she meant.

"I am weary," said she, "of this pomp of
wealth. It is nothingness; or worse, it is a
snare. I feel that our children have been taken
from the temptations of the world, which we
were drawing around them. There is surely,
my husband, some object more worthy the time
and hearts of Christians than this pursuit of
pleasure."

These observations may seem only the com-
monplace remarks of a saddened spirit; but to
me they were words fitly spoken. They opened
a communion of sentiment between us, such as
we had never before enjoyed. I had often felt
the vanity of our fashionable life, but thought
my wife was happier for the display, and that
it would be cruel for me to deprive her of
amusements I could so well afford, and which
she so gracefully adorned. And I did not see
what better use to make of my riches. But the
spell of the world was broken when we began
to reason together of its folly, and strengthen
each other to resist its enticements.

Man is sovereign of the world ; but a virtuous
woman is the crown of her husband ; and this
proverb was doubtless intended to teach us that
the highest excellences of the human character,
in either sex, are attainable only by the aid of
each 'tlier.

I could fill a volume with our conversations
on these subjects; but the result is the most
important; we resolved to make the aim of
doing good the governing principle of our lives
and conduct.

And these resolutions, by the blessing of God,
we were enabled, in a measure, to fulfil. Our
fashionable friends ascribed the alteration in our
habits and manners to melancholy for the loss
of our children ; but it was a course entered on
with the firm conviction of its superior advan-
tages both of improvement and happiness. We
realized more than we anticipated. There is a
delight in the exertion of our benevolent facul-
ties which seems nearly allied to the joy of the

godey's magazine and lady's book.

angels in heaven — for these are ministering
spirits. And this felicity the rich may command.

In a few years after we had entered on our
new mode of life, you, my son, were bestowed
to crown our blessings. We felt that the pre-
cious trust was a trial of our faith. To have an
heir to our fortune was a temptation to selfish-
ness ; to have an heir to our name was a cord
to draw us again into the vortex of the world.
But we did not look back. We resolved to
train you to enjoy active habits and benevolent
pleasures. It was for this purpose I used to
take you, when a little child, with me to visit
the poor, permitting you to give the money you
had earned of me by feats of strength or dexterity
to those you thought needed it. And when you
grew larger you recollect, probably, how steadily
you would work in the shop, with your little
tools, finishing tiny boxes, &c, that your mother
or I paid you for at stated prices, which money
you appropriated to the support of the poor

families in Street. By these means we

gave you a motive for exertions which improved
your health and made you happy, and we gave
you, also, an opportunity of taking thought for
others, and enjoying the pleasure of relieving
the destitute. The love for our fellow-beings,
like all other feelings, must be formed by the
wish, and improved by the habit of doing them
good. We never paid you for mental efforts or
moral virtues, because we thought these should
find their reward in the pleasure improvement
communicated to your own heart and mind,
aided by our caresses and commendations which
testified the pleasure your conduct gave us.

Thus you see, my son, that in all the restric-
tions we imposed, and indulgences we permitted,
it was our grand object to make you a good, in-
telligent, useful, and happy man. We endea-
vored to make wisdom's ways those of pleasant-
ness to you ; and I feel confident that the course
your parents have marked will be followed by
you so far as your conscience and reason shall
approve.

You will find yourself what the world calls
rich. To human calculation, had I rigidly
nought my own interest in all my business, I
should have left you a much larger fortune.
But who knows that the blessing which has
crowned all my enterprises would not have been
withdrawn had such selfish policy governed me?
I thank my Saviour that I was inspired with a
wish to serve my fellow-men. And my greatest
regret now arises from the reflection that with
such means I have done so little good. Endea-
vor, my son, to exceed your father in righteous-
ness. The earth is the Lord's ; consider your-

self only as the steward over the portion he ha9
assigned you. Enter into business, not to add
to your stores of wealth, but as the best means
of making that wealth useful to the cause of
human improvement. And let the honorable
acquisition and the generous distribution go on
together. The man, whose heart of marble must
be smtiten by the rod of death before a stream of
charity can gush forth, deserves little respect from
the living. To give what we can no longer enjoy
is not charity; that heavenly virtue is only
practised by those who enjoy what they give.

I do not undervalue charitable bequests.
These may be of great public utility ; and, when
they harmonize with the example of the testators,
they deserve grateful acknowledgment and ever-
lasting remembrance. But I cannot commend
as a model the character of a man who has been
exclusively devoted all his life to amassing pro-
perty, because he acquires the means of leaving
a large charitable donation at his decease. This
seems to be making virtue a penance rather than
a pleasure.

I wish you, my son, to frame for yourself a
system of conduct, founded on the rational as
well as religious principle of doing to others as
you would they should do to you ; and then your
life as well as death will be a public blessing.
Another great advantage will be, you can hold on
your consistent, Christian course to the end. You
need never retire from business in order to enjoy
yourself. But I must shorten what I would wish
to say were my own strength greater, or my con-
fidence in your character less firm. There is one
other subject to which I must refer.

Your dear mother, as you well know, adopted
Ellen Gray, and intended to educate the girl in
every respect like a child. After your mother's
death, I placed the child under the care of Mrs.
C, where she has ever since remained. You
know but little of Ellen, for you entered college
soon after she came to our house, and have been
mostly absent since ; but when you return it will
be necessary you should, as her guardian and the
only friend she has a claim upon, become ac-
quainted with her. She is now at the winning
age of seventeen, and very lovely in person and
disposition ; one that I should be proud to call
my daughter.

Her mother was the dear friend of your mo-
ther, and that circumstance, which first induced
us to take the orphan, joined with her own
sweetness and affectionate gratitude, has deeply
endeared her to me. And now, when I am
gone, she will feel her loneliness, for she has no
blood relation in the world. You, Arthur, will
have a delicate part to act as the son of her

THE LLOYDS,

Denefactor, and the person whom in the single-
ness and simplicity of her pure heart she will
think she has a right to confide in, to preserve
that just measure of kindness and dignity which
will satisfy her you are her friend, and make the
world understand you intend never to be more.
I have secured her an independence, and provided
that she shall remain, for the present, with Mrs.
C. May the Father of the orphan guard her
and bless her ! She loved your mother, Arthur,
and for that you must be to her a brother.

And now, my son, farewell ! I feel my hour
has nearly come ; and I am ready and willing to
depart. My last days have been, by the blessing
of the Almighty, made my best. I have lived
to the last, and been able to accomplish most of
the plans which lay nearest my heart. Do not
grieve that I am at rest ; but arouse all your en-
ergies for the work that is before you. In a
country and age distinguished by such mighty
privileges, it requires warm hearts, and strong
minds, and liberal hands, to devise, and dare,
and do. May God preserve, strengthen, and
bless you !

Your affectionate father,

J. LLOYD.

I am glad, thought Arthur, as he wiped away
his tears, after reading the letter for the third
time in the course of the day — I am glad my
father has left me perfectly free respecting Ellen.
Had he expressed a wish that I should marry her,
it would have been to me sacred as the laws of
the Medes and Persians. Yet I might have felt
it a fetter on my free will ; and so capricious is
fancy, I should not, probably, have loved the
girl as I now hope to love her, that is, if she will
love me — as a brother.

CHAPTER II.

u Count that day lost whose low descending sun
Views from thy hand no worthy action done."

" It seems strange our children should be so
perverse ; we have always given them good
counsel," said a lady, whose darling son had just
been sent to sea as the last scheme parental
anxiety could devise for his reformation.

Good counsel is a very good thing, doubtless ;
but, to make it effectual, we must convince our
children that goodness is pleasure. I once saw
a lady punishing her little son for playing on the
Sabbath. The boy sat sobbing and sulky, and
his mother, whose heart melted at his tears,
while her sense of duty forbade her to indulge
him, turned to me and said —

" The Sabbath is a most trying day ; I can
keep it myself, though it is dull ; but my chil-
dren have nothing to occupy their minds, and
they will be in mischief. I am always glad when
the Sabbath is over."

The children looked up, very pleasantly, at
this, and probably thought their mother hated
the Sabbath • as truly as they did ; and they
might reason it would be a pleasure to her if
there were no Sabbaths.

The elder Mr. Lloyd managed things better.
He maintained that children were inclined to
good or tempted to evil by the influences of their
education ; that the fear of losing a pleasure
operated more forcibly on their hearts than the
fear of incurring a punishment; and, conse-
quently, that we must make the way in which
we would have them go seem so pleasant by our
own gladness while treading it, that they may be
inclined to follow us from choice.

" It is a poor compliment to virtue, if her vo-
taries must be always sad," he would say ; " and
the peace and gpod-will which the Gospel was
given expressly to diffuse over the earth should
not make men gloomy and children miserable."

What he commended he practised. In form-
ing the character of Arthur, he was careful to
make him distinguish between the happiness
which in his own heart he enjoyed, and that
which others might flatter him with possessing.

" The reason why so many are blind to their
best interests," Mr. Lloyd would say, " is be-
cause they will trust to their neighbors' eyes
rather than their own. I intend Arthur shall
see for himself. Had Bonaparte done what his
own heart approved, he would have preserved
freedom and the republic; but he wanted the
world should flatter him, that posterity should
honor him, and so he violated his integrity of
purpose, and grasped a crown that proved but a
shadow."

It would be very gratifying to me to describe
particularly the manner of Arthur Lloyd's do-
mestic education, the means which were em-
ployed to draw forth his powers, ascertain his
peculiar talents, and exercise and direct these as
they were developed. But it is now my purpose
rather to display effects than trace causes. Yst
one thing must be noted ; his father's great aim,
after religious training, was to cultivate the rea-
son and judgment of his son. Mathematics and
natural philosophy had been made to occupy »
prominent place in his studies.

" The pleasures these pursuits confer," Mr.
Lloyd would wisely remark, "cannot be en
joyed without self-exertion. Any man who has
money may obtain the reputation of taste by tne

godey's magazine and lady's book.

mere purchasing o{ works of art, while his own
mind is as inert as the canvas or statue on which
he grazes with so much Beeming admiration. But
he who would gain credit for understanding
mathematical sciences or natural philosophy,
must deserve it by patient toil and persevering
industry. Now, this thirst for knowledge, which
must be won by personal exertion, is the talis-
man which will effectually secure the rich man
from the torment of ennui ; and, if with this
knowledge be united the disposition to make his
talents and means of doing good serviceable to
the world, his own happiness is secure as that
derived from earthly objects can be."

So thought the father, and so he trained his
son to think.

" I did not expect to find you thus deeply at
work," said George Willet, a classmate, who had
called on Arthur shortly after he was settled in
his home. " Why, the arrangement of all these
minerals and shells and insects must be an end-
less task. If I had as much money as you, I
would purchase my cabinets ready furnished."

" So would I, if all I wanted was to exhibit
them," replied Arthur, pleasantly.

" And what more important purpose do you
intend these shall serve V

" I intend they shall contribute to my own
gratification and improvement," said Arthur.
" There is hardly a specimen here but has its
history, which awakens some pleasant associa-
tion of heart, memory, or mind. Some were
presented by men I honor, and some by friends
I love. This curious shell was the gift of a lady
on my last birthday ; and the benignant wishes
that accompanied it made me, I trust, a better
man ; or, at least, they inspired me with new
resolutions to deserve her commendations. These
petrifactions and fossils are a memento of many
delightful hours I have spent with some of the
noble French naturalists and philosophers. That
beetle, I could tell you a long story about it, the
time I spent in watching its habits, the pains I
took to assure myself it was a nondescript, and
the pleasure I enjoyed when the great Cuvier
complimented me for my patience and research
- -but I fear you would think this all nonsense."

" It is not what I should go to Paris to learn,"
leturned the other. " But then I must think of
my profession ; a physician is the slave of the
public. You can use your time as you please,
and are not compelled to coin it into money in
order to live."

" No ; but I have had as hard a lesson perhaps.
I have had to learn that money will not buy hap-
piness, and that he who is not compelled to labor

for food must labor for an appetite, which, in the
end, amounts to about the same thing."

"You were always stoically inclined, Arthur;
but a young man with a million at command
will find it rather difficult to act the philosopher.
The world has a powerful current, and fashion a
sweeping breeze."

" They will not move me from my course,
George : that is fixed, and, with Heaven's bless-
ing, I will hold on my way. My father's exam-
ple is my chart, and the Christian rule my com-
pass."

" You think so now — well, we shall see.
Your father was a good man and a happy one,
and that is much in your favor. Had you wit-
nessed, as I have done, the weary, monotonous,
heartless, wretched life many who call them-
selves good undergo, and, what is worse, inflict
on others, you would not have much inclination
for goodness."

" Your remarks, George, are just. I have
known young men plunge into dissipation
avowedly to shake off the restraints of morality
which had been imposed in a manner so galling.
And I have known others hold business in ab-
horrence only because the selfish, slavish life
their fathers had led made application seem a
drudgery. I trust I have more rational views —
thanks to my good parents !"

******

No man should say he will be always wise.
Who would guess that Arthur, so calm, rational,
and discriminating, would have fallen in love
with a coquette ? But this he did, notwithstand-
ing the penchant he intended to cultivate for the
pretty Ellen Gray. My lady readers probably
thought she was predestined to be his wife,
and I should have been glad to describe the
tender and tranquil loves of two beings who
seemed so congenial. But authors cannot con-
trol fate.

Arthur Lloyd was, to be sure, deeply inte-
rested with Ellen's meek and innocent beauty,
and he was touched to the heart by the unaf-
fected sorrow which any allusion to his parents
would excite in her manner, even when she
controlled the expression of her grief, wrhich she
could not always. And he often thought no-
thing could be more lovely than her fair face,
rather pale perhaps ; but then the predominance
of the lily seemed to be the effect of purity of
mind, not languor of body, when contrasted
with the deep mourning habiliments which he
\ knew were in truth the outward token of that
\ sadness of spirit which she was cherishing for
s the loss of those who had also been the dearest

THE LLOYDS.

to him. Could they choose but sympathize?
If they did, it was very secretly and silently.

It might be that this necessity for communion
was the very cause which prevented Arthur
from feeling other than a brother's affection for
the sweet girl whose interests he was deputed to
defend ; and, on her part, there hardly seemed
a sister's confidence yielded to her young guar-
dian. A guardian ! Who ever read of a lady
falling in love with her guardian ? The impos-
sibility of the circumstance seemed fully under-
stood and acted upon by the belles of New York,
who were sedulous to attract the attention of
such a fine man as Arthur Lloyd. But he was
not disposed to mingle much in society; and,
during the year which succeeded his father's
death, he was almost wholly engrossed with his
business and various plans for promoting public
education and elevating the character of our na-
tional literature. This was the favorite object
to which he resolved to devote his energies and
his resources. He was persuaded that a republi-
can people must derive their chief happiness and
their highest honors from intellectual pursuits,
if they intend their institutions shall be perma-
nent. The glories of conquest and the luxuries
of wealth alike tend to make the few masters
and the many slaves ; but, if the mild light of
science and literature be the guide of a people,
all will move onward together, for the impulse
of knowledge has an attractive force that ele-
vates, proportionally, every mind over which its
influence can be extended.

Such were Arthur Lloyd's sentiments ; and it
would have been strange if he had not felt a
deep respect for the character of the Puritans,
and a wish to cultivate an acquaintance with
New England people, who, whatever be their
faults, have rarely sinned through ignorance.

So Arthur visited Boston during the summer
of 18 — , and received from the Hives of society
all that courtesy and hospitality which a rich
stranger is sure to elicit. He could hardly be
termed a stranger, however, for his father had
many commercial friends in Boston, and they
cordially transferred their favor to the son.
Everything was calculated to make Arthur
think highly of the people ; the tone of intelli-
gent and liberal feeling appeared the result of
the liberality which had laid the foundation of
popular instruction, and young Lloyd became
every day more satisfied of the truth of his
favorite theory, namely, educate all the children
and you will reform all the world. A man is
never more self-satisfied than when he is con-
firming a favorite theory.

Among the multitude of friends and flatterers

that surrounded Arthur, none charmed him so
completely as the Hon. Mr. Markley and family.
The gentleman was himself very eloquent, hi3
lady very elegant, and their daughters exceed-
ingly fascinating. They all exerted their talents
to please Arthur; it was no more than he me-
rited, a stranger and a guest, and so handsome
and intelligent and agreeable ! Who thought he
was worth a million % Not the Markleys ; for
they were never heard to speak of a selfish
sentiment except to condemn it. Arthur thought
he never met with a more disinterested family.

Arabella Markley was a most captivating
creature, and she soon contrived to make Arthur
sensible of it; and he found, to his mortifica-
tion, that he had not so fully and firmly the
mastery of his own mind as he had flattered
himself with possessing. Love exhibits much
the same symptoms in the wise as the weak ;
and Arthur, when beside Arabella, forgot there
was for him any higher object in this world
than to please a woman. But sometimes in the
solitude of his chamber other thoughts would
arise ; he could not but see that the Markleys
were devoted to fashion and gayety, though
Arabella had assured him she did not enjoy the
bustle, but that excitement was necessary for
her father's spirits and health.

If she makes this sacrifice for her father,
thought Arthur, how gladly will she conform to
my quiet domestic plan ! Still there was some-
thing in the expression of her face, and more in
her manner, which denoted a fondness for show
and variety; and whenever Arthur wrote to
Ellen Gray, which he often did, as he had pro-
mised to give her the history of his tour, the
contrast between her beauty and that of Ara-
bella always came over his mind. He described
Arabella in one of his letters to Ellen, and con-
cluded with observing : " If she had a little more
of your tenderness and placidity in the expres-
sion of her eyes, she would be a perfect model
of female loveliness ; but that would make her
too angelic, the arch vivacity of her glance as-
sures her to be human, and susceptible of hu-
man sympathies."

Ellen Gray read that passage over and over ;
but she never answered the letter, for Arthur
returned to New York before she could arrange
her thoughts for a reply.

Arthur left Boston without any explanation,
as they say, though he had been several times
on the point of making the love speech. It
seemed as if some spell were restraining him,
for Arabella had given him opportunities of see-
ing her alone, and Mr. and Krs. Mai kley had
evidently sought to draw him to t-nen parties.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Perhaps this solicitude had heen one means of
deferring the proposals. Lloyd found himself
so agreeably entertained, he could hardly wish
to be happier. Like the Frenchman who would
not marry the lady he admired and visited con-
stantly, because he should have no place to
pass his evenings, Arthur Lloyd might have
been fearful that certainty would have made his
visits, which were hailed as favors, appear only
events of course. Young gentlemen have thus
reasoned.

Arabella was sadly disappointed, for she had
really acted her part most admirably, and she
expected to succeed. She knew the power of
her charms, and, fond of flattery as she was, had
resolved such unsubstantial coin should never
gain her hand. A coquette by nature and habit,
the had managed to draw many distinguished
beaux in her train, but none, till Arthur had ap-
peared, had been rich enough to satisfy her am-
bition. However, he had agreed to correspond,
and she knew well how to draw an inference
or frame a remark which would render it neces-
sary for him to explain.

So they parted, both persuaded in their own
hearts that they should soon meet, though he
did not feel that the choice was one his parents
would entirely have approved. But her letters
might prove her excellence ; he knew the fash-
ionable scenes in which he had chiefly beheld
her were not calculated to display the amiable
traits of character in a woman. There were
several circumstances which occurred to Arthur,
as he journeyed homeward, that determined him
to be guarded in his letters, at least for a season.
And he determin d also to consult Ellen Gray
on the subject; he considered her as having a
sister's right to his confidence. Bat Ellen was
very ill, he found, and any allusion to the fair
lady he had seen in Boston seemed difficult to
introduce to one who looked so sad and serious.
Nevertheless, he ventured to name the subject
once, and Ellen listened calmly to all his praises
of Arabella ; and to his reiterated request that
his sister, as he called Ellen, should give him
her opinion.

She advised him to marry the lady if he loved
her, and felt assured she loved him. The last
remark was spoken in a low tone, and Mrs. C,
the preceptress, entering at that moment, thought
Ellen was too much fatigued for further conver-
sation. And so it proved, for she was seri-
ously ill for several days after, and it was weeks
before she was able to see Arthur again.

Jn the mean time, the correspondence between
Mr, Lloyd and Miss Markley commenced with
spirit ; on his part, rather intended to fathom her

principles and taste than her affections ; and on
hers, under an appearance of careless vivacity,
to ascertain his real intentions respecting her.
There is nothing like a little jealousy for expe-
diting love matters, many ladies believe ; and
Arabella held the creed fully, as her third letter
proved. It was filled with the description and
praises of an emigrant Frenchman, Count de
Verger, who had recently arrived in Boston.
His merits could be equalled only by his misfor-
tunes, which had been manifold as those of
Ulysses. His courage and constancy had hitherto
borne him up ; but, when he arrived penniless
on the shore of the New World, his mental suf-
ferings were, as Arabella described them, ex-
treme. In Europe, a man was respected for his
birth and breeding, and, though he had lost his
property, his rank entitled him to consideration.
But, in our republic, where men were judged by
their own merits, not by their father's title, the
unlucky Count de Verger feared that his misfor-
tunes might be imputed as crimes. He could
endure poverty, but not contempt. H« had
once resolved to conceal his rank, and even his
name ; but his abhorrence of falsehood and hy-
pocrisy enabled him to overcome this false pride,
and so he was known for a nobleman, though
he modestly disclaimed all intention of endea-
voring to support his rank. If he could earn
sufficient by his talents and accomplishments to
maintain himself, he felt that he should be truly
happy. Among his accomplishments was that
of playing the harp with a surprising degree of
skill, when it was considered that he had only
practised for his own amusement. But he now
thought it possible he might make this know-
ledge of music available, if any of the fair ladies
of Boston should feel disposed to take lessons on
the harp. His wonderful condescension was no
sooner known than there appeared a competi-
tion among fashionable ladies who should first
secure the services of this amiable and gifted
nobleman. His tuition charges were exorbitant ;
but he was a foreigner, and a count ; and, be-
sides, he had been unfortunate, and republicans
must pay liberally for the graces which can only
be taught by those who have witnessed the re-
finements of royal taste and the magnificence of
courts.

These were the items of intelligence Arabella
dilated upon with touching pathos in her letter
to Arthur Lloyd ; she was in raptures with the
Count de Verger. Such an accomplished scho-
lar ! so perfect and gentlemanly ! His mind
was a constellation of all brilliant qualities ; hw
manners the embodied essence of suavity and
elegance ! There were but two objections the

THE LLOYDS

most fastidious critic could make to his appear-
ance. He squinted a little ; but Arabella did
not dislike a slight cast of the eye, it rather gave
a fascinating effect to a handsome countenance.
The other fault was, in her opinion, a perfec-
tion. The count wore moustaches (this was be-
fore beards were the rage), and our smooth,
Puritan-faced men of business disliked mous-
taches ; but Arabella was glad the ladies had
more taste for the picturesque. For her part,
she should for the future make it a sine qua non
with all gentlemen who aspired to her friend-
ship to cultivate moustaches. It was needless
to say she was learning to play the harp ; it
might more properly be called adoring it. She
was never before so engrossed with any pursuit ;
and she only wished, to complete her felicity,
that Mr. Lloyd could become acquainted with
her tutor, and witness the proficiency she was
making.

" Fudge !" said Arthur, giving audible expres-
sion to his thoughts, as he kicked a fallen brand
with the petulance of a poet, forgetting there
was poker, tongs, or servants in the world.
" Fudge ! wears moustaches and squints ! I '11
see the fellow !"

Arthur was sensible he felt disappointed, not
so much that Arabella proved a coquette as that
his estimate of the effect of education on the fe-
male mind should be found false. He had
drawn his conclusions logically ; thus : Virtuous
and intelligent women are sincere and reason-
able ; New England ladies are virtuous and in-
telligent ; therefore, they are sincere and reason-
able. And yet here was one who had enjoyed
every mental and moral advantage a lady could
require to perfect her character acting the part
of an artful coquette ; or otherwise she was a
silly dupe, for the story of the Count de Verger
Arthur credited no more than the adventures of
Baron Munchausen.

He did not write to Arabella to announce his
intention of visiting her, fearing the count
might, in that case, retire for a season, and he
much wished to see him. So Arthur reached
Boston and astonished his friends, who could
find no solution for the sudden movement but
that he had learned the danger there was that
Miss Markley would be won by the gallant
Frenchman ; and all the inquiries he made re-
specting the count he had the mortification of
finding were regarded • as the promptings of a
jealous spirit seeking to find matter of accusa-
tion against a rival. Many of the gentlemen
whom he addressed on the subject declared their
belief that the professor of the harp was a real
count, his bearing and manner were decidedly
vol. xlvhi. — 5

noble, and there was a thoroughbred air in his
address which distinguished foreigners of high
rank, and which our richest and most eminent
men, who were always compelled to speak of
themselves as plain citizens, and only enjoying
equal privileges with the people, never could
display.

" I would give fifty thousand," said a young
mercantile gentleman, whose father had, by
careful industry, amassed a large fortune, " if 1
could appear with the ease and elegance of the
Count de Verger. I met him the other day at

the dinner party of Mr. , and I assure you

he was the lion of the day. It is no wonder the
ladies admire him."

" No, it is no wonder," thought Arthur,
" that our ladies despise us for not possessing
the manners of slaves, while we men so under-
value and abuse our privilege of being free. If
fashion and etiquette are to be considered the
most important objects of pursuit among those
who assume the first place in our society, Ave
shall always be inferior to the nobles where dis-
tinctions of rank and descent of property are so
established that fashion and etiquette can have
trained subjects and established laws. We re-
publicans must have our standard of respecta-
bility founded on moral worth, usefulness, and
intelligence, or the discrepancy between our in-
stitutions and manners will make us ridiculous
in the eyes of other nations, and contemptible
in that of our own. But I will see this count,
and, if he prove to be my old valet"

Compressing his lips, as if to prevent the ex-
pression of a hasty resolve, he bent his steps to
the dwelling of Mr. Markley.

It was in the morning, and too early for a
fashionable call; but Arthur had learned that
the Count de Verger gave lessons to Miss Mark-
ley at half past ten ; and that the young lady
frequently admitted her particular friends to
congratulate her respecting the astonishing pro-
gress she made on the harp. Mr. Lloyd was
known to the servants as a favored visitor, and
found no difficulty in being admitted, and ush-
ered familiarly into the parlor where Arabella
was practising. There were two ladies, her
intimate friends, and one gentleman present.
Neither Arabella nor the count noticed the en-
trance of Mr. Lloyd, and he stood for several
minutes regarding them. Arabella was playing
with enthusiasm ; it was evident she was
charmed with her own performance ; her noble
teacher sat beside her, the music-book open m
his hand, his small keen eyes cast partly upward
in admiration ; but, as his oblique glanoe could
rest on the face of his fair pupil, it was not

godey's magazine and lady's book.

certain whether her beauty or her music caused
his raptures.

" Martin !" said Mr. Lloyd, in a deep, com-
manding tone.

The count started to his feet, every nerve
agitated as though he had received a shock from
a galvanic battery.

"Jean Martin, how came you here?" con-
tinued Mr. Lloyd, sternly.

" I — I am not here — that is, you mistake — I
am the Count de Verger."

Mr. Lioyd wralked closely up to the impostor.
" Villain, let me hear no more of your false-
hoods ! Away, instantly, or you shall answer
for your crimes."

The accomplished nobleman obeyed the order
promptly as it wras given, bolting from the apart-
ment without the ceremony of a single bow.
There was blank silence for a moment; then
Arabella indignantly inquired the reason of such
a proceeding in her father's house, and without
her father's knowledge.

" Pardon me, Miss Markley," said Arthur ; " I
am aware my conduct requires explanation.
That fellow was my valet. I hired him in Paris :
shrewd, ingenious, and attentive, he won my
confidence, and for many months I treated him
more like a friend than servant. He accompa-
nied me to Germany, and there found means to
rob me of a considerable sum of money, besides
a casket of jewelry I had in my charge, belong-
ing to a banker of Paris, and for which I was
responsible. Martin escaped, and I had no idea
of ever meeting him again, till your eloquent
description of the Count de Verger awakened
my suspicions. I came here therefore uncere-
moniously, for which I again beg pardon ; but
trust you and your father will not regret the
impostor is detected and exposed."

"You must be mistaken, Mr. Lloyd. This
gentleman is a real count ; I have seen his coat
of arms, and seals, and rings."

Just then Mr. Markley entered, the whole
affair was detailed, and Mr. Lloyd produced an
order, which had been granted by the Austrian
government, for the apprehension of Jean Mar-
tin for the robbery; the paper contained a par-
ticular description of his person, and all, except
Arabella, were convinced of the identity of the
ci-devant valet and the elegant Count de Ver-
ger.

"It is impossible a person so exquisitely
skilled in music and every accomplishment can
be of base extraction and character," sighed
Arabella.

" You fancied him noble, and invested him
with all rare qualities. It is true, he has some

skill in music ; but he played vastly better for
his title. Should you hear him as Martin"

The lady turned her head scornfully, taking
care, at the same time, to wreath her features in
a very sweet smile — the scorn was intended for
Martin, the smile for Mr. Lloyd; and then she
requested the latter to tell her all the particu-
lars, saying that she felt under the greatest
obligations for the care he had shown to detect
an imposition which she could never have sus-
pected, and in which the whole town partici-
pated.

Arthur might have complied with her request ;
he might even have forgiven her taking lessons
of his valet and honoring him as a nobleman,
for he was aware that other ladies had been de-
ceived by Martin, and that his own sex had fa-
vored the impostor because he pretended to a
title ; but, as she extended her hand in token
of amity, his eye caught a brilliant on her fin-
ger; he knew it was one of the banker's jewels.

" That was the gift of Martin," said he.

" Of the Count de Verger," she stammered.

Arthur bade her good-morning.

The next day he left Boston, but not before
he had learned that the count had decamped,
leaving his landlord's bill and sundry loans of
money from honorable men undischarged.

" It will teach me wisdom, I hope," said one
gentleman. " I will never again lend money to
the count when I would not trust it to the man."

Arthur Lloyd was blamed by some prudent
people for the abruptness of his proceedings in
the affair, as it severely wounded the feelings of
the Markleys. Arabella did not recover from
this shock till after she learned that Mr. Lloyd
had wedded the pretty Ellen Gray, when she
sent him a congratulating letter, which ended
their correspondence.

I wish I could describe the course Arthur
Lloyd is now pursuing without incurring the
charge of personality. There are so few like
him that the picture would be instantly recog-
nized. But I can repeat two of his favorite
maxims.

The first, " We must educate our sons to con-
sider the title of Republican a prouder boast
than the highest order of nobility that implies
subjection, and requires homage to a mortal."

.Second, " We must train our daughters to re-
spect talent in a man more than money, and a
character for usefulness more than a showry ex-
terior; to consider their countrymen superior to
the men of every other nation ; and, above all
things, never to receive the present of a ring,
except from a near relative or an accepted
lover."

BABYLON, NINEVEH, AND ME. LAYAED

FALLEN ROCK-SCULPTURES AT BAVIAN.

Babylon and Nineveh, those magnificent
twins of the East, flourished through many cen-
turies in all the pride of power and wealth, and
sank into masses of ruin, leaving scarcely a re-
cord among the historians of the world. It was
known such cities had existed, and it was said
that, in the height of their glory, they had no
peers in splendor. But of the mighty kings who
ruled them, and the manners, customs, charac-
teristics, and achievements of the people who
dwelt within their walls, succeeding ages knew
almost nothing. Nineveh was a heap of ruins
in the days of Xenophon, twenty centuries ago.
Greece and Rome grew, ruled, flourished, and
decayed. A new religion arose, and spread a
strange civilization among the nations of north-
ern Europe, who rose to power upon the ruins
of the Roman empire. From these people,
curious travellers wandered to the banks of the
Tigris and the Euphrates. Vast mounds and
fragments of sculptures met their gaze. There
they were told the mighty Babylon and the gor-
geous Nineveh had reared their temples and
palaces to the sun, awing into submission the
neighboring nations. No one cared to explore
these ruins, so long untouched amid the busy
march of centuries.

In 1820, Mr. Rich, the political President of
the East India Company at Bagdad, visited the
mounds of Babylon and Nineveh, and found
some fragments of inscriptions, engraved stones,
and pieces of pottery, of which a description wras
published. These precious relics were placed in
the British Museum, and they excited much
wonder and curiosity. But the great mass of
ruins still remained unseen. Nothing was ascer-
tained in regard to Assyrian art, and the archi-
tecture of Nineveh and Babylon was a matter
of speculation.

At length an enthusiastic and persevering in-
dividual applied himself to the exploration of"
the sites of Nineveh and Babylon, and made dis-
coveries that shed a lustre upon the present age.
They are, in fact, the most important historical
developments that have been made during the
present century. During the autumn of 183J>
and the winter of 1840, Austen Henry Layard.
accompanied by a person no less enthusiastic
than himself, had been wandering through Asia
Minor and Syria, scarcely leaving untrod one
spot hallowed by classical association. He then
determined to turn eastward, and, at least, tread
upon the remains of Nineveh and Babylon.
Reaching Mosul in April, he had the pleasure

godey's magazine and lady's book

of seeing, upon the opposite bank of the Tigris,
the great mound called the Birs Nimroud, and
other mounds, thai had been generally considered

the ruins of the mighty Nineveh. The curiosity
of Mr. Layard was greatly excited, and, as he
floated down the Tigris towards Bagdad, he
formed the design of exploring those lofty masses
of ruin. At that time, he had not the means to
carry out his noble scheme; and it was not un-
til the summer of 1842 that he could again visit
Mosul.

In the mean time, M. Botta, a man of energy
and intelligence, had been appointed French
consul at Mosul, and, when Mr. Layard arrived,
he found that personage had already commenced
excavations in the large mound on the opposite
side of the river, called by the Arabs Konyunjik.
These excavations were on a small scale. But
Mr. Layard encouraged M. Botta to proceed,
and went to Constantinople to interest some
Englishmen in the work. To the persevering
French consul belongs the honor of having dis-
covered the first Assyrian monument, an ac-
knowledgment of which Mr. Layard has very
gracefully made in his " Nineveh and its Re-
mains." A building was partially excavated,
upon the walls of which were slabs of gypsum,
covered with sculptured representations of bat-
tles, sieges, and other warlike events. The
dresses of the figures, their arms, and the ob-
jects that accompanied them were all new to
M. Botta, and he could find no clue to the
epoch of the erection of the edifice. Nume-
rous inscriptions, in the cuneiform or arrow-
head character, were cut between the bas-reliefs,
and evidently contained the explanation of the
events thus recorded in sculpture. As Mr. Lay-
ard afterwards said: " The French consul had
discovered an Assyrian edifice, the first, proba-
bly, which had been exposed to the view of man
since the fall of the Assyrian empire." M.
Botta communicated the results of his labors to
the Academy at Paris ; and, being furnished
with funds by the French government, he re-
amed to the work of excavation, which he
continued until the beginning of 1845. His re-
searches did not extend beyond Khorsobad ;
and, having secured some fine specimens of As-
syrian sculpture, he returned to Europe.

The success of M. Botta increased the anxiety
of Mr. Layard to explore the ruins of Assj^ria.
He spoke to others, but received little encou-
ragement. At length, in the autumn of 1845,
Sir Stratford Canning, the British minister at
the Suoiime Porte, mentioned his readiness to
incur, for a limited period, the expenses of ex-
cavations, in the hope that, should success at-

tend the researches, means would be obtained to
carry them forward on an extensive scale. Mr.
Layard seized the opportunity, with many ex-
pressions of joy and gratitude. Furnished with
the usual documents given to travellers when
recommended by the embassy, and with letters
of introduction to the authorities at Mosul, he
started from Constantinople, and, after a journey
of twelve days, reached Mosul. He immediately
presented his letters to Mohammed Pasha, go-
vernor of the province, and the terror of the
neighboring countries. That official received
Layard with civility ; but displayed a curiosity
to know the object of his visit, which the ad-
venturer did not, at that time, see fit to gratify.

Having procured a few tools and weapons,
and engaged a mason, Mr. Layard, accompanied
by Mr. Ross, a British merchant of Mosul, his
canvas, and a servant, floated down the Tigris
to Nimroud. There he engaged six Arabs to
work under his direction. On the morning of
the 9th of November, the work of excavation
was commenced at the great mound, and, in a
few hours, a chamber, formed by slabs of ala-
baster, which were inscribed writh cuneiform
characters, was exhumed. At another part of
the mound, a wall, with similar inscriptions,
was discovered upon the same day. From the
appearance of the slabs, it was evident that the
building or buildings had been destroyed by fire.
Some of the slabs were reduced to lime, and
they threatened to fall to pieces as soon as ex-
posed to the air.

The next day, Mr. Layard, more enthusiastic
than ever, employed more workmen, and had
the gratification of making some new discove-
ries. In the rubbish, near the bottom of the
chamber first discovered, he found several ivory
ornaments, upon which were traces of gilding.
Among them was the figure of a man in long
robes, carrying in one hand the Egyptian crux
ansata, part of a crouching sphinx, and flowers
designed with great taste and elegance. The
Arabs were at a loss to conjecture the real ob-
ject of Mr. Layard's search. On seeing the
gilding, one of them took him quietly aside,
and, with a knowing wink, said it had been
ascertained that he was searching for gold. Mr.
Layard immediately presented him and his com-
rades with all the treasure they might find.
The excavations were continued until the 13th,
still uncovering chambers and passages, but find-
ing no sculptures. Mr. Layard then deemed it
expedient to go to Mosul, and satisfy the curi-
osity of the Pasha in regard to the object of the
researches.

The authorities threw many obstacles in the

BABYLON, NINEVEH, AND MR. LAYARD.

way of Mi Layard. At. first, they suspected
him of seeking the precious metals. When he
had convinced them that their suspicions were
totally unfounded, they afterwards strove to
stop his work by placing false gravestones upon
th^ mound, and declaring that no excavations
could be made near the graves of Mohammed-
ans. But the prudence and perseverance of
Mr. Layard surmounted all difficulties, and the
developments proceeded, all things considered,
with remarkable rapidity.

Returning to Nimroud on the 19th of Novem-
ber, our explorer increased the number of his
workmen to thirty. On the 28th of November,
the first sculptured bas-reliefs were discovered.
On one of the slabs was a battle-scene. Two
chariots, drawn by horses richly caparisoned,
were, each occupied by a group of three war-
riors ; the principal person in both groups was
beardless, and evidently a eunuch. He was
clothed in a complete suit of mail, and wore a
pointed helmet on his head, from the sides of
which fell lappets covering the ears, the lowrer
part of the face, and the neck. The left hand,
the arm being extended, grasped a bow at full
stretch ; wrhilst the right, drawing the string to
the ear, held an arrow ready to be discharged.
A second warrior urged with reins and whip,
to the utmost of their speed, three horses, who
were galloping over the plain. A third, with-
out helmet, and with flowing hair and beard,
held a shield for the defence of the principal
figure. Under the horses' feet, and scattered
about the relief, were the conquered, wounded
by the arrows of the conquerors. Mr. Layard
observed with surprise the richness of the orna-
ments, and the faithful and delicate delineation
of the limbs and muscles, both in the men and
horses. Unfortunately, this slab had been so
much injured by fire that its removal was hope-
less. From its position, it seemed to have been
brought from another building, and this ren-
dered any conjecture as to the origin of the edi-
fice still more difficult. Upon the same slab
and its companion were found representations
of a regular siege, with various attendant inci-
dents. The figures displayed a thorough know-
ledge of art.

In the midst of difficulties with the authori-
ties, Mr. Layard continued his excavations.
Many new and remarkable sculptures were dis-
covered. Among them were gigantic winged
bulls, winged lions, a small crouching lion, and
a human figure nine feet in height, the right
hand elevated, and carrying in the left a branch
with three flowers, resembling the poppy.
These were only partially uncovered, to prevent

them from being destroyed by the action of the
air. Mr. Layard was satisfied for the time.
There was no longer any doubt of the existence
of sculptures, inscriptions, and even vast edifices
in the interior of the mound of Nimroud. The
triumphant explorer lost no time in communi-
cating the results of his labors to* Sir Stratford
Canning, and urging the necessity of a firman,
or order from the Porte, which would prevent
any future interference on the part of the au-
thorities or the inhabitants of the country.
Soon afterwards, Mr. Layard covered up the
sculptures he had brought to light, and withdrew
altogether from Nimroud ; but left agents near
the great mound. He did not return until the
17th of January, 1846. In the mean time, the
agents had explored the mounds of Barshiekha
and Karamles, and proved the Assyrian origin
of the ruins by showing the name of the Khors-
abad king inscribed upon the bricks.

Among the sculptures discovered soon after
Mr. Layard's return to the scene of the excava-
tions, wras one of a singular form. A human
body, clothed in long ornamented robes, wras
surmounted by the head of an eagle. The
curved beak, of considerable length, was half
open, and displayed a narrow-pointed tongue,
which was still covered with red paint. On the
shoulders fell the usual curled and bushy hair
of the Assyrian images, and a comb of feathers
rose on the top of the head. Two wings sprang
from the back. In one hand was a fir cone,
and in the other a square vessel, ornamented
with small figures.

On the morning following the discovery of
the above figure, the Arabs came running to
Mr. Layard with the intelligence that they
had discovered Nimroud himself. Hastening
to the trench, he found an enormous human
head, sculptured in full out of the alabaster
of the country. The intelligent explorer con-
jectured at once that the head belonged to a
winged lion or bull, similar to those of Khorso-
bad and Persepolis. The expression of the
features was calm and majestic. The cap had
three horns, and, unlike that of the human -
headed bulls previously found in Assyria, was
rounded and without ornament at the top
The Arabs, frightened at the sight of the head,
carried the news of its discovery to Mosul ; and,
the next day, Mr. Layard received an order
to stop the excavations. He at once hastened
to the town, and, acquainting the Pasha with
the real nature of the discovery, obtained per-
mission to proceed as soon as the excitement
had subsided. Thus was the persevering ex-
plorer continually disturbed by the malicic-.s

godey's magazine and lady's book.

and superstitious interference of the Turkish
authorities.

By the end of March, Mr. Layard had dis-
covered two finely preserved pairs <?f winged
human-headed lions, which seemed to be so
placed as to guard the entrances to the vast pa-
lace. They had undoubtedly been the divini-
ties of the Assyrians. These people could find
no better type of intelligence than the head of
(lie man ; of strength than the body of the lion ;
of rapidity of motion than the wings of the bird.
For twenty-five centuries these strange idols
had been buried from the sight of man, and now
they were once more exposed to the light, and
to the wondering gaze of those who had no wor-
ship for such gods. Once they were regarded
with awe, now with mere curiosity.

Mr. Layard was now compelled to suspend
operations until he could receive assistance from
Constantinople. In the mean time, he visited
the shieks of the neighboring tribes of Arabs.
When he returned, he found near the human-
headed lions some copper mouldings, two small
ducks in baked clay, and tablets of alabaster in-
scribed on both sides. The number of workmen
was now reduced of necessity ; but the excava-
tions proceeded with considerable rapidity. On
some of the slabs were figures of a king, his
vizier, and attendants. The dresses of the figures
were singular. They had high boots, turned up
at the toes, somewhat resembling those still
worn in Turkey and Persia. Their caps, though
conical, seemed to have been made up of folds
of felt or linen. Their tunics varied in shape.
All the figures seemed to have been colored.
On one of the largest slabs were two kings fac-
ing one another, but separated by a symbolic
tree, above which was a divinity with the wings
and tail of a bird, inclosed in a circle, and hold-
ing a ring in one hand, resembling the image so,
frequently occurring on the early sculptures of
Persia, and at times conjectured to be the Loro-
astrian " feronher," or spirit of the person be-
neath.- The fact of the identity of this figure
with the Persian symbol is remarkable, and
gives rise to new speculations and conjectures
in regard to the religion of the Assyrians. But,
as yet, nothing definite has been ascertained.

Mr. Layard now began to prepare the sculp-
tures he had discovered for transport to Bombay.
All unimportant parts were sawn away from
them. The winged human-headed lions could
not be removed for want of means. But a num-
ber of slabs and figures were packed in felts and
matting, screwed down in roughly-made cases,
placed on rafts, and floated down the Tigris as
Jar as Bagdad, whence they were taken in boats

to Busrah. These sculptures formed the first
collection sent to England and deposited in the
British Museum. Soon after the departure of
these treasures, Mr. Layard, whose health had
suffered from continued exposure to the intense
heat of the sun, retired to Mosul to recruit. Yet
so indefatigable was his spirit that, instead of
remaining quiet, he employed his leisure in
making some fruitless excavations in the mound
of Konyimjik. He returned to Nimroud in the
middle of August, and attempted to renew his
labors. But his health became so bad that he
was compelled to retire to the cooler climate of
the Fiyari mountains.

On returning to Mosul, Mr. Layard received
letters from England, informing him that Sir
Stratford Canning had presented the Assyrian
sculptures to the British nation, and that the
British Museum had received a grant of funds
for the continuation of the researches at Nim-
roud and elsewhere. The grant was small ; but
Mr. Layard was induced to accept the charge
of superintending the excavations even with
that inadequate sum. He immediately applied
himself to organizing a band of workmen, se-
lected from the Chaldseans of the mountains and
the Arabs of the Jebour tribe ; and, at the end
of October, 1846, he was again among the ruins,
with complete material for extensive excavations.

Many new trenches were opened along the
walls of the chambers ; but the interior of them
was left unexplored, as Mr. Layard desired to
economize his means as much as possible. Upon
the slabs exposed to view were bas-reliefs, re-
presenting the wars of the king, and the con-
quests of some strange people. In the battles,
chariots, highly ornamented, spears, shields, and
armor appeared. In the siege*, battering-rams,
instruments like blunt spears, machines for
throwing fire, and women tearing their hair and
imploring mercy from the walls were seen.
Boats towed by men, or rowed with oars, and
persons supported on inflated skins swimming
rivers, in the manner to be witnessed at the pre-
sent day upon the Tigris, were finely sculptured.

Among other objects found amid the ruins,
were fragments of copper and iron armor, seve-
ral entire helmets of a pointed shape, and some
vases of alabaster and glass. On exposure to the
air, most of these articles fell to pieces. A glass
vase, however, was preserved. On a brick in
one of the chambers was found a genealogy,
which afforded a kind of clue to the date of the
building. An obelisk, containing twenty small
bas-reliefs and a cuneiform inscription 210 lines
in length, was taken from one of the trenches.
From the nature of the sculptures, Mr. Layard

LOVE'S ELYSIUM.

conjectured that the monument was erected to
commemorate the conquest of India by the
king of Khorsobad. Winged bulls, crouching
sphinxes, and winged divinities were exhumed
in abundance. They had been injured by fire,
and almost crumbled at the touch. A small
sarcophagus, containing a crumbling skeleton,
was found in another part of the mound ; there
was no name inscribed upon the sepulchre, and
Mr. Layard could obtain no clue to its origin.
A large number of these interesting relics of the
past made up a cargo, to be sent to England.

By the end of April, 1847, Mr. Layard had
explored almost the whole building which he
had first touched, and which he calls the north-
west palace. He had opened twenty-eight cham-
bers cased with alabaster slabs. Each of the
chambers had several entrances, and some of
them were extensive enough to have been halls
of state. Many sculptures, ivory ornaments,
and other curious objects were taken from the
various apartments. Paintings, in which the
colors blue, red, white, yellow, and black were
visible, were discovered in upper chambers.
The subjects of the paintings appeared to be
generally processions, in which the king was
represented followed by his eunuchs and attend-
ant warriors. But the most important discovery
connected with these upper chambers was that
of the slabs forming the pavement of the en-
trances, upon which were the names and titles
of five kings, in genealogical succession, com-
mencing with the father of the founder of the
north-west palace, and ending with the grand-
son of the builder of the centre edifice.

In the centre of the mound, Mr. Layard dis-
covered a number of tombs, which seemed to be
the remains of a people whose funeral vases and
ornaments were identical in form and material
with those found in the catacombs of Egypt ;
while beneath these receptacles of the dead
were the Assyrian ruins. From this state of
things, it was inferred that, after the destruction
of the Assyrian palaces, another nation had oc-
cupied the country.

Mr. Layard was astonished to find, by the
vaulted passages of the palaces, that the princi-
ple of the arch was understood by the ancient
Assyrians. This important principle was long
believed to be a comparatively modern discovery.
A pulley, resembling the one now used, was
also seen upon one of the bas-reliefs.

Transferring the scene of his excavations to
the mound called Kalah Sherghat, Mr. Layard
came upon a sitting figure in basalt, which,
from the inscriptions, he inferred to be a statue
of one of the Nimroud kings. Around it were

a large number of tombs, which seemed to have
been made long after the destruction of the As-
syrian buildings, and in the rubbish and earth
that had accumulated above them. The princi-
pal ruin at Kalah Sherghat, as at Nimroud,
Khorsobad, and on other ancient Assyrian sites,
is a large square mound, surmounted by a cone
or pyramid. Long lines of smaller mounds, or
ramparts, inclose a quadrangle, which, from the
irregularities in the surface of the ground, and
from the pottery and other rubbish scattered
about, appears originally to have been partly
occupied by small houses, or buildings of no im-
portance. The excavations at Kalah Sherghat
were soon abandoned as laborious and unpro-
fitable.

The removal of the larger sculptures from the
ruins to Busrah was a work of great difficulty.
Mr. Layard took drawings of a number of them
that were too much injured to be conveyed to
Europe. A gigantic winged lion, and a winged
bull of equal size, were safely placed on board
of an English vessel, while a considerable num-
ber of small bas-reliefs and ornaments were sent
with them to enrich the British Museum, and
set the scientific to speculating. Those sculp-
tures which Mr. Layard had not the means of
removing were covered with earth, and thus
preserved from injury.

(To be continued.)

LOVE'S ELYSIUM.

BY J. A. BART LET.

In a dreamy land Elysian,
Charmed by many a magic vision,

Have I lately roamed with one—
With an angel maiden smiling,
All my soul from night beguiling,

By one smiling as a sun.

In that bright Elysian region,

Where the flowers and stars are legion,

And its rivers crystal clear,
And above its mountains blushing,
Sweetest music-words are gushing

On the charmed, bewildered ear —

And within that wondrous Aidenn,
I and my angel maiden

Roamed but lately side by side;
And the words we spoke were solely
Murmured thoughts of passion holy —

I and my angel bride!

Oh, mischance most ill and evil,
Wrought by some malignant devil,

From that bright and radiant clime
I have now been cast forever,
By an Acherontic river

Roaming through the desert Time!

A GOSSIP ON THE FASHIONS.

My dear Friend : Your own observations on
the prevailing modes of dress will have told you
very plainly that, excepting caps and bonnets,
there is nothing cither very new or very striking.

PAT:! -IAN CAP.

The caps are, however, unquestionably becoming,
full of that fairy grace and elegance which dis-
tinguish the workmanship of a Parisian artiste.
I send you a sketch of one which you will find
extremely becoming. The foundation is a caul
of black net, in front of which a wreath of roses
with foliage and grass surrounds the face, the
part crossing the forehead being of leaves alone,
and forming a small point, a la Marie Stuart.
A single row of black lace is laid on the caul
behind the wreath, and the lappets are formed
of black velvet ribbon, edged all round with the
same lace. They droop from the summit of the
crown down each side. The back of the crown
is covered with falling loops of the same ribbon.
Morning caps of white lace are frequently trim-
mod with plain blond sarsnet ribbon (pink or
blue) formed with a succession of bows, termi-
nating in one on each side the face. The lace
itself approaches the face only on the forehead,
where it forms a p" oint. Several morning caps
have two rows of blond lace, in which case a
few bows of ribbon, like those on the cheek, are
placed on Ihe ear, between them. All have
small bows, and very long floating ends at the
56

back of the neck. It is not at all uncommon to
see them half a yard long.

The bonnets, which begin to assume something
of an autumnal aspect, are decidedly pretty.
Though not of a close shape, they are not now
suspended at the back of the hair, as they fre-
quently were a little while ago. The purple is
still visible, but that is all. Fancy straws are
very much worn trimmed with plaid pr flowered
ribbons. Groups of wheat ears, poppies, and
grass are placed at each side of the bonnet, when
the ribbon is of a kind with which such decora-
tions will harmonize. For the interior a great
deal of blond is worn, and it would appear quiie
de rigueur that the two sides should by no means
correspond. If a flower is placed in the blond
on one side, a knot of velvet ribbon will be seen
on the other; and one will be placed on the
temple, while the other is low down on the
cheek. Roses and black velvet are the most
common ; and the prettiest trimmings for the
interior of a straw bonnet. I saw one which
had a remarkably elegant effect; and as I think
it would be generally becoming, I give you the
description: The chapeau of paille-de-riz, spot-
ted with black, had the brim edged with black
velvet, cut bias, and covering about an inch of
its depth outside and in. In the interior a very
narrow black lace edged it. The bonnet, of that
deep pink which nearly approaches rose, was
edged in the same way, the lace falling from the
velvet on the silk. A broad ribbon of the same
hue simply crossed the crown and formed the
strings. It had narrow black velvet ribbon run
all round it. The interior had a double quilling
of white blond all round the face ; a single rose,
with its foliage, was placed on one side, and on
the other a quilling of black lace, and one of
pink ribbon filled up the corresponding space. I
have seen some pretty dress bonnets, of alternate
ruches of ribbon and black lace, with a perfect
wreath of rose-buds round the outside of the
brim. In one bonnet, of cinnamon ribbon and
black lace, the wreath could not certainly have
been composed of less than forty buds, h
foliage.

By the way, I do not know if I mentioned to
you the new style of habit-shirt and sleeve which
are so much worn in morning toilette, I
I have not, I send you a specimen. The o

TO MORNING.

have a hem about half an inch wide, siitchc-d
all round. Above this are eight, ten, or even

PARISIAN HABIT-SKIRT.

twelve minute tucks, run with exquisite neat-
ness. The front of the habit-shirt corresponds,
being made one wide tuck and the same number
of narrow ones as are in the collar, alternately
run from the throat to the waist. A piece of
muslin goes down the front, with a broad hern
at each edge, a few narrow ones close to them,
and a row of ornamental buttons down the front.
The sleeves, which are d la duchesse, have the
band composed of small tucks, and a frill nearly
four inches wide, but slightly sloped towards the
join, made to correspond with the collar and
habit-shirt.

In articles of fancy there is little to remark,
this being emphatically the dull season. Bags,
however, are almost universally used for carry-
ing the handkerchief, and purses for holding the
money. I must say I am glad of this ; those
clumsy, ugly, porte-monnaies, with their clasps
that never would fasten, were always my aver-
sion. You will say, wiry did I use them ? Que
voulez vous? At Paris one must follow the
fashion, unless one would wish to be remarked.
The law of opinion is, to the full, as binding as
the law of the land. And, by the by, what a
curious phenomenon is a truly Parisian rage, or
passion, or enthusiasm', or whatever else you
like to designate a general admiration and ap-
probation of novelty.

According to the grand, but painfully true
poem of Charles Mackay

" The man is thought a knave or fool,
Or bigot, plotting crime,
Who, for the advancement of his kind,
Is wiser than his time."

And certain it is that, really great men hove too
often lived and died without seeing their genius

appreciated ; and in smaller matters it requires
enormous interest, or some fortuitous circum-
stances, or an enormous amount of puffing, to
induce the public to recognize merit. It is very
different here ; real excellence, taste, or skill, is
certain of success, no matter in what line it may
be exercised. The invention of an elegant
headdress, or a novelty in fancy-work, of no
matter what (always provided it be really good),
may reckon confidently on universal encourage-
ment. I have lately seen a curious illustration
of this fact. The owner of a pastry store in-
vented a cake, dedicated it to the Princess Ma-
thilde, and he is making a rapid fortune. The
Gateau Mathilde took at once. How many
years would it have required elsewhere to give
such a thing the same celebrity 1

This energy of admiration, which insures suc-
cess to the deserving in every line, which gives
distinction to those who seek that recompense
for their talents, and fortune to those who labor
for it, is one of those points which, I confess,
I sincerely admire in the Parisian character.
Going into a fashionable shop at an hour when
all the world is, or is supposed to be, at dinner, I
found only one of the young lady assistants, and
she was busily employed embroidering a hand-
kerchief. On my taking it up and admiring it,
she observed : " Oh, that is very trifling, it is
only for myself." I remarked, that it was early
to have finished business. "Oh, we have not
done for the day; but Madame always allows us
half an hour for recreation after dinner, so J
was amusing myself with this work." I have
noticed, too, in this as in many other shops in
Paris, that chairs or stools are placed on both
sides of the counter, and that, when the customer
is seated, the demoiselle takes a seat also, before
beginning to display her goods. This is one of
the French fashions that I should greatly like to
see followed elsewhere.

Yours, very truly, V.

TO MORNING.

BY BLANCHE BENNAIRDE.

Thou beauteous morning, bringing us the Day,

Thou harbinger of good, thou child of joy,
Thou hope of the forlorn, for which they pray,

Thou consolation nothing can destroy!
Comfort thou givest to the heart in grief,

And blessed promise, pointing to the goal;
Thy voice is music, bringing sweet relief

To Night's pale mourners — to the suffering soul;
The lovely air is fragrant with thy breath ;

Glad music greets our car on every side,
For plants and trees awake from sleep like death,

And every hill, end vnle. and forest wide,
Join now in sweet, harmonious, heavenly songs.
Praising His name, to whom all praise Deionga

LETTEKS LEFT AT THE PASTEY-COOK'S

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND HER "DEAR,

DEAR FRIEND'' IN TOWN.

EDITED BY nOKACE MATHEW.

[We intend giving a selection from these
" spicy" Letters, chiefly for the purpose of show-
ing what the boarding-school system for girls is
in England, and thus contrasting the course of
female education in that country with our own
modes of instruction. The Letters are doubt-
less somewhat exaggerated ; but the caricature
shows what the reality must be. Some of the
regulations and modes of teaching are worthy
of note. "We should like to see the " drill and
inarch" teaching introduced into our young
ladies' schools. This part of the English Girls'
School training is never neglected. They are
taught to walk as sedulously as to dance.]

THE FIRST LETTER LEFT.

(Dated February 10th.)

SHOWING HOW KITTY WAS TAKEN TO SCHOOL
BY HER " WICKED MAMMA."

Oh ! my darling Eleanor, it is all over ! — and
yet I live ; but I have strong hopes of dying be-
fore to-morrow morning. I feel that I can never
exist withm these hateful walls, to be awretched
slave to Mrs. RodwelPs "maternal solicitude
and intellectual culture." What do I want
with intellectual culture indeed ? But I 'm de-
termined I won't learn a bit — not a tinny-tiny
bit!

I must tell you, dearest, that, before leaving
home, I cried continually for at least three weeks ;
but my tears made not the slightest impression on
mamma's hard heart, which, I am sure, must be
stone. More than this, I starved myself during
the last three days — did not take one luncheon
— even refused pudding ; and at Mrs. St. Vitus's
ball would not dance, nor touch a thing at sup-
per. But all in vain ! No one seemed to care a
pin about it; and ma only appeared to take
pleasure in my sufferings. The boys teased, and
made cruel jokes upon my misery ; and that de-
testable Martha helped to get me ready as cheer-
fully as if I — no, she — was going to be married.
The last day I went into hysterics ; and looked
so ill — with my red eyes and pale cheeks — that
ma, to my great joy, got frightened, and sent for
Dr. Leech. But that cross old monster only
dangled his bunch of big seals, and said that I

should be better at Turnham-green — a little
change of air would do me good ! Much he
knows about medicine ! for, at the very moment
he was talking, I felt as if I must have fainted.

So in a cold drizzling rain — will you believe
it, Nelly? — I was dragged into the carriage (for
pa had walked down to the office on foot, carry-
ing his own blue bag, purposely that ma might
have the carriage), and propped up on each side
with bags of oranges, cakes, and goodies, to
cheat me into the stupid notion, I really imagine,
that I was going to have a treat, in the same
way that nurse always gives Julius his powders,
with lots of sugar on the top ! Oh ! my sweetest
Eleanor, words cannot express the wretchedness
of your poor friend during that long ride ! And
yet Oates never did drive so quickly ; he seemed
to be doing it on purpose — whipping the poor
horse through Hyde-Park as furiously as if we
were trying to catch a mail-train, instead of going
at that delicious crawling pace which we have al-
ways been accustomed to by the side of the Ser-
pentine. Opposite Lord Holland's park the horse
fell. Oh, how my heart beat, to be sure ! I thought
he was killed at least, and that we should be
obliged to return home; but no such thing. He
picked himself up as quietly as you would a pin,
and the carriage went on even faster than before.

But after all, Eleanor, what pained me most
was mamma's and Martha's cold-hearted con-
versation whilst I was in a corner suffering so
much ! They chatted as cheerfully upon world-
ly nonsense as if we were going to a pantomime.
I shall never forget their cutting cruelty at such
a moment as that ; and to make matters worse,
what with crying and the rain, I felt as wet
through as if I had been travelling along the
submarine telegraph, besides my tears spoiling
my pretty puce-colored bonnet stririgs, which were
quite new that day.

At last we stopped before a large, cold-looking
house, with walls pulled tight round it, like the
curtains of the four-poster when pa's ill in bed.
It was all windows, with bars here and there,
and the plaster looked damp, and altogether it
was much more like a convent than a college;
for I must tell you our school isn't called a
"school" (for it seems there are no schools for

ETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOKS,

young ladies now-a-days), nor a "seminary,"
nor an " academy," but it's a " college." I
thought I should have fainted away, only I had
the cakes and oranges in my arms, and was
afraid of dropping them down the area, when
Mrs. Rodwell took me upon her " maternal"
knee, and began stroking me down and calling
me her " dear young friend," with whom she
said " she should soon be on excellent terms,"
(only I am sure we never shall, excepting the
" excellent terms" pa pays her), and she went
on playing with me, Nelly, just as I have seen
the great boa-constrictor, at the Zoological Gar-
dens, cuddle and play with the poor dear little
rabbit, before he devours it.

And now, dearest, mind you never mention
what I am going to tell you ; but all the senti-
ment and fine talking and writing about a mo-
ther's love is nonsense ! utter nonsense ! all a
delightful sham ! — for all the world, Nelly, like
those delicious sweet meringues at the pastry-
cook's, which look like a feast, and only melt
into a mouthful ! I am sure of it, Nelly, dear,
or else how could they bear to make us so mi-
serable? looking quite happy whilst our poor
hearts are breaking? sending us from our natu-
ral homes, where we are so comfortable, to such
miserable places as this " Princesses' College?"
and especially, too, when governesses now-a-
days are so plentiful, and far cheaper, I am told,
than maids of all work ! Why, it was only
last Friday morning I showed ma the most beau-
tiful advertisement there was in the " Morning
Post," all about a governess offering to " teach
English, French, German, Italian, Latin, the
use of globes, dancing, and crochet-work too,
and drawing, painting, music, singing, together
with the art of making wax-flowers actually,
and all for 211. a year!" But ma only patted
me, and said she " should be ashamed to encou-
rage such a terrible state of things," or some
such stupid stuff that put me in a passion to list-
en to. I am sure T shall never believe ma loves
me again, after throwing me from her dear fat
arms into the long thin claws of that awful
Mrs. Rodwell ! They opened and shut, and
closed round me, Nell, exactly like a lobster's !

Before I could escape, ma and Martha were
gone, and I was left alone — all alone — in this
large dungeon of a place, with every door fast.
Well, Nelly, you have been to school — at least
I suppose you have — so you can imagine how I
was allowed to remain in the schoolmistress's —
no, our schoolmistress is called a "Lady Prin-
cipal"— in the Lady Principal's boudoir to com-
pose myself; how I was treated to weak tea and
Ihin bread and butter with Mrs. R., and asked

all the time all manner of questions that made
my cheeks burn with rage, about home, and
about mamma and papa, until eight o'clock came,
and with it the permission to retire, as " bed
would do my head good." I was too glad to get
released, if it was merely to indulge my grief,
and cry myself to sleep under the bedclothes !

But, law ! if it was so uncomfortable in the
boudoir (and such a boudoir, Nell ! — a dark
closet with a handful of cinders for fire, and
full of gimcracks, little pincushions, lavender
baskets, painted card-racks, and fire-screens,
until it seemed furnished from a fancy fair) —
but if that was uncomfortable, I say, it was posi-
tively wretched in the bedroom, with its six iron
cramp-beds, three washing-basins, and one look-
ing-glass ! Yes, Nelly, only one looking-glass
amongst six young ladies ! I never heard of
such a thing. And then the place was so, so
very cold, that I am sure I shall have a red nose
and chilblains for the remainder of my life ; but
I hope, my dear, fond Nelly, you will love me all
the same !

Well, I cried myself to sleep, and it was a great
comfort, I can assure you ; and it seemed still in
the middle of the night, when a loud ringing in
my ears frightened me out of my sleep, and
made me nearly fall out of bed. And, after
that came a sharp, barking voice, calling out —
" Now, young ladies ! are you going to breakfast
in bed?" and causing a general stretching, scuf-
fling, and jumping up.

The cold glimmering dawn lighted only por-
tions of the room, but I could see five other girls
creeping about, half asleep, quarreling for basins,
engaging turns at the one looking-glass, joking,
grumbling, yawning, and laughing ; whilst I,
poor I, sat, hope-forlorn, shivering, half with
cold, and half with fear, on the edge of the bed.
There, a tall young lady, in a flannel dressing-
gown, discovered me, and exclaimed : " Why,
here's the New Girl ! I say, my young lady,
you had better make haste ; the second bell will
soon ring, and Miss Snapp will give you some-
thing to cry for if you 're not ready."

Then they all came and stared at me (the
rude things) ; and as I could not help crying,
one of them called out, " Oh ! Oh ! how affect-
ing! Oh! Oh! Oh! OH!" ending at last in a
loud bellow, in which I joined in painful ear-
nest; and then they left me, and went on whis-
pering, washing, combing, and lacing each other,
until " Ding, ding, ding," went the second beil ,
and at the first sound they all scampered away,
some with their dresses still unfastened, calling
after others to come and hook them for rhem.

I never should have got finished myself unless

a mild, quiet-looking woman had ventured to
my assistance, and led me down stairs into the
school-room, where I nearly dropped upon/eeZ-

ig the stare of some fifty girls fall upon me all
in a lump, just like the water from a shower-
bath after you have pulled the string. Oh, darling
Nelly ! what would I have given for one fami-
liar face that I knew, or to have had your loving
self by my side, so that I might have thrown my
arms around your dear neck, and have a good
cry ; for I am sure that a good cry does one, fre-
quently, much more good than a good laugh !

The buzzing, which had suddenly ceased on my
appearance, began again with double vehemence,
making nearly as much noise as the water, when
it's running into the cistern at home. Amidst
the hurried whispers, I could detect, " What a
milksop !" " Mammy's darling !" " She '11 soon be
broken in !" &c. ; when the same dog-like voice
was heard to bark again, calling out above the
uproar, " To your seats, young ladies ! Silence !
Five forfeits for the first who speaks !"

In the lull which followed, I was seated by
the side of my quiet conductress, and permitted
to wrrite this letter to my dear, darling Eleanor,
just to fill up my time before breakfast, after
which I am to be examined and classed according
to what I know.

Oh, Nelly, I do so dread this day, and am so
extremely wretched, thinking, all the time, what
they are doing at home, and how Martha is re-
joicing that she has got her sister away from
home. But I must leave off, dearest ; and I will
promise you several more letters (that is, of
course, if I survive this day), in which I will
tell you of everything that occurs in this filthy
school — I mean college. That will be the only
ray of pleasure, Nelly, which will shoot in this
dark dungeon through the captive heart of your
devoted, but wretchedly unhappy

Kitty Clover.

P. S. — Excuse haste and my dreadful scrawl.

P. S. — You will see I have forwarded this to
the pastry-cook's in Tottenham-court-road. Do
not eat too many pink tarts, dear, when you call
for it.

P. S. — We hear a great deal, Nelly, about the
trials and troubles of the world, and of all we
have to go through, and about school being the
happiest time of our lives ; but they seem to do
all they can to make it miserable, and I don't
believe any hardship on this world is worse
than going to school, and having to face fifty
girls, all making fun of the New Pupil.

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA. — JANUARY.

BY D. W.

There is no study that, engages so little gene-
ral attention as that of the planetary world.
Yet it is tbe oldest of all sciences, dating from
the hour when, in obedience to the command
of Jehovah, " Let there be light," lo ! the
" God of day" arose with all its brilliancy in the
East, while the queen of night, with her myriads
of starry attendants, sank softly below the hori-
zon in the West, and all, in their joy at the new
creation, sang together in their spheres.

The Chaldeans were the first to divide the
starry hosts into constellations, and from them
it was introduced into Egypt by Abraham, who
gave lectures on astronomy to the Egyptians.
From Egypt the Greeks received their know-
lodge of the hithert- „o them unknown science.
When Babylon xell into the hands of Alexan-
der, Calisthenes found astronomical observations
among the records, dating 1903 years before
tbat period, which carries us back to the time
of the dispersion of mankind by the confusion

of tongues. Fifteen hundred years after this,
the Babylonians sent to Hezekiah to inquire
about the shadows going back on the dial of
Ahaz. From that period up to the present
time it is not difficult to trace the progress this
science has made, although sometimes obscured
by fanaticism and superstition, which imprisoned
the dauntless Galileo for asserting a belief in
the unerring laws that bind the whole system ol
worlds in their spheres.

My object in these articles is not to show why
a science that at once elevates and refines the
soul, by bringing it to dwell upon the works of
Him whence every holy, noble impulse springs
that stirs the heart, is so much neglected, except
by our professors and astronomers, but to call
attention to, and take a cursory view of the
most interesting constellations, commencing
with Ursa Minor, or the Little Bear. This con-
stellation crosses the meridian in November,
and does not properly belong to this month, and

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.

«s only adverted to here on account of the im-
portance attached to its only star of any magni-
tude, the Alruccaba of the Jews, the Cynosura
of the Romans, and our North Star. By this
the mariner ploughs his track fearlessly from
continent to continent through the trackless
ocean, launches into unknown seas, and, with
his eye on the star that never fails him, steers
his bark among the icebergs which in the North
never yield to the sun, among the frowning
peaks of which lurk the messengers of destruc-
tion. By this the surveyor determines the
boundaries of kingdoms, and by this the Arab
and Bedouin traverse their seas of burning sand.

11 Tho Lesser Bear
Leads from the pole the lucid hand : the stara
Which from this constellation faintly shine,
Twice twelve in number, only one heams forth
Conspicuous in high splendor, named hy Greece
The Cynosure ; by us the Polar Star."

The seven principal stars in this constellation
form a reversed dipper, Cynosura being the first
of the three that constitute the handle. Of the
four that constitute the bowl, one of them is so
small as to obscure the uniformity ; still, it may
be readily traced in a clear night with the naked
eye.

The mythological history of this constellation
is that Juno, the imperious queen of heaven,
in a rage transformed Areas, the son of the
Nymph Calisto, into a bear ; and, afterwards
repenting, by the favor of Jupiter, translated
him to the skies, that he might not be destroyed
by the huntsman.

" Placed at the helm he sat, and marked the skies,
Nor closed in sleep his ever watchful eyes."

The Chinese claim that the Emperor Hong-ti,
a grandson of Noah, first discovered and applied
to navigation the Polar Star. It is certain it
was used for this purpose at a very early day.
Lacan, a Latin poet, who wrote about the time
of the birth of our Saviour, thus adverts to the
practice of steering vessels by this star : —

" Unstable Tyre, now knit to firmer ground,
With Sidon for her purple shells renowned,
Safe in the Cynosure, their glittering guide,
With well-directed navies stem the tide."

This was over eighteen centuries ago, and still
Cynosura is the "glittering guide" of the ma-
riner, and will be for ages yet to come. It
guided nations who lived so long ago that obli-
vion has swept their name and age from exist-
ence, as it does us at the present time, and will
guide other nations so far down the stream of
time that the word American will be without a
meaning, if heard.
Vol. xlviii. — 6

Sixty degrees south-west of the Polar Star
may be seen Taurus, the first constellation on
the meridian the present month. For the space
of two thousand years, Taurus was the prince,
the leader of the celestial hosts. Anterior to
the time of Abraham, or more than four thou-
sand years ago, the vernal equinox took place,
and the year opened when the sun was in Tau-
rus. Aries, or the Ram, succeeded next, and
now the Fishes lead the brilliant throng, and
the once leader is the second sign and third con-
stellation in the zodiac. There are one hundred
and forty-one visible stars comprised in this
constellation, among which are two beautiful
clusters, known as the Pleiades and Hyades.
Six only of the Pleiades are visible to the naked
eye ; yet Dr. Hook, with a twelve feet telescope,
saw seventy-eight stars, and Rheita, with one
of greater power, counted two hundred in this
small cluster, while still beyond is seen a faint
hazy light, which probably would resolve into
stars could an instrument be made powerful
enough to overcome the distance that intervenes.
All that has been, or ever can be revealed by
the aid of the most powerful telescope, is as no-
thing in comparison to what

Beyond its reach still rolls,

In orbits like our own —
Worlds, on whose surface nature folds

Her dewy wings.

There is no finite mind which can trace the
depth and breadth of immensity —

There is no eye but His alone

Can thread this deep abyss,
can tell how many worlds have gone

Before the dawn of this ;
Or number all the worlds that yet
Our Maker in the void may set.

The Pleiades are so called from the Greek
word pleein, to sail, and were in ancient times
used by the mariners of that nation to guide
them in their course. Virgil, who nourished
twelve hundred years before the discovery of
the magnetic needle, thus alludes to it —

" Then first on seas the shallow alder swam ;
Then sailors quartered heaven, and found a name
For every fixed and every wandering star —
The Pleiades, Hyades, and the Northern Car."

This cluster of stars is more familiarly known as
the Seven Stars, and are sometimes also called
" The Virgins of Spring," because the sun en
ters it in the " season of flowers," or about the
18th of May. He who placed them in the
firmament alludes to it when he demands
" Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the
Pleiades?"- — i. e. can you make the flowers
bloom, or prevent them unfolding their buds ip

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ih (nr season? The Pleiades are situated in the
shoulder of the Bull, and come to the meridian
ten minutes before nine o'clock on the evening
of the first of this month.

The Hyades are situated 11° S. E. of the
Pleiades, in the face of the Bull, and are so ar-
ranged as to form the letter V. The most bril-
liant star in the constellation is on the left, in
the top of the letter, and called Aldebaran, from
which the moon's distance is computed. This
star comes to the meridian at nine o'clock on
the tenth of this month. Fifteen and a half
degrees E. N. E. of Aldebaran is a bright star,
which marks the tip of the southern horn, while
eight degrees north a still brighter star indicates
the tip of the northern horn. This star also
marks the foot of the Wagoner, and is called
Auriga, and, with Zeta in the southern horn
and Aldebaran, forms a triangle.

According to Grecian mythology, Europa, a
princess of Phoenicia, and daughter of Agenor,
with her female attendants, was gathering
flowers in the meadows. The princess was so
beautiful that Jupiter became enamored of her,
and, assuming the shape of a milk white bull,
mingled with the herds of Agenor ; and, under
this guise, attracted the attention of the prin-
cess, who caressed the beautiful animal, and
finally ventured to sit upon his back. Jupiter
took advantage of her situation, and retired with
her precipitately to the sea, crossed it, and ar-
rived safely with her in Crete. Europe is said
to have derived its name from her. The Egypt-
ians and Persians worship a deity under this
figure, and Belzoni found an embalmed bull
among the ruins of Thebes.

$3o etrtj.

TO THE NEW YEAR.

Thou, like the Phoenix born,

On this auspicious morn,
Dost take thy station in the circling years;

While stars sing o'er thy birth,

And waking sons of earth
Thy advent greet with hopeful smiles and tears.

We hail thee from afar,

Upon thy mystic car
[tiding adown the whirlwind and the storm;

Thou com'st in regal state,

With power and strength elate,
And robed in mystery is thy youthful form.

The Old Year sleepeth sound,

With bay and ivy crowned,
The slain and slayer sleep in sweet accord ;

Earth's treasured jewels bright

He gathered in his flight,
And garnered for the glory of his Lord.

How many beaming eyes

That joy to see thee rise,
Will lose their brightness and have passed away 1

How many a beating heart,

Whose throbbings life impart,
Will throb its last before thy closing day !

Yet earth, so fair and bright,

Was made to glad the sight,
Else why Spring's blossoms that successive rise;

With all the rich perfume

Of Summer's leafy bloom ;
The Autumn's gorgeous tints and glowing skies ;

With Winter robed in white ;

Each bringing new delight —
The season's changing scenes that never pall ;

While yon o'erbending blue,

With bright eyes beaming through,
The Architect Divine stretched over all ?

Then let us not complain;

But, while wc here remain,
Extract the honey and avoid the sting.

Why not, when thus we may

Make life a summer's day,
And let time steal away with noiseless wing?

Yea, let us do our best,

And leave to Heaven the rest,
Nor die a thousand deaths in fearing one ;

If we but cheerful be,

Sorrow and care will flee,
And, rose-like, Time will fragrance leave when goi

Then hail to thee, New Year,

In thine allotted sphere!
With song and welcome we our voices raise;

And may thy deeds so shine

That, through all coming time,
Millions shall, rising, join to hymn thy praise

And thou, our own loved land,

Maintain thy glorious stand,
A beacon light to penetrate earth's gloom !

And, when the year is spent,

May health and sweet content
In every home and heart serenely bloom !

ON THE PORCH OF THE CATARACT
HOUSE.

BT HELEN HAMILTON.

'Tis night upon the waters; but the hour

That bringeth silence unto all beside,
With the deep majesty of its repose,

Calms not the tumult of thy rushing tide,
Thou monarch cataract ! thy mighty voice

Goes up to God from out the silent night,
And the wild waters, hurrying to thy grasp,

Rush madly onward 'neath the moon's pale light.

He who would visit Europe's ruined fanes

Must look upon them 'neath the stars of night;
The crowded city's haunts of noise and wealth

Are fittest to behold in noon's broad light;
The calm untroubled river best is seen

'Neath the soft glories of the day's decline;
And ocean's grandeur with the storm-wind dwells :

All seasons, all, Niagara, are thine.

MY EXPERIENCE IN BABIES, SIR.

Spring drops her crown of blossoms at thy feet ;

And summer veils thy trees in deepest green;
And gorgeous autumn flings his richest robe

Of gold and crimson o'er the forest scene;
And winter comes in panoply of ice,

And loads with diamonds rock, and bush, and tree-
But all these seasons, bringing change to all,

Bring never change, Niagara, to thee !

Above thy mist-veiled brow the lightnings play,

Thy thunder answers back the heaven's roar,
But the wild storm adds no sublimity

Unto thy grandeur, changeless evermore.
The angry winds of winter can but raise

The misty veil that shrouds thine awful brow ;
Vain is the Ice-king's might to chain thy waves,

Down rushing to the em'rald depths below.

Yet even to thee, Oh mighty cataract !

The time will come when thou shalt be no more;
When the deep anthem of thy thunder voice

Shall silent be beside the rocky shore ;
When tho bright rainbow, bending from the skies,

Shall seek in vain tho brow she used to crown,
And thine own waves will sing thy requiem,

Prom lake to lake in fury rushing down.

Mingling with the antique pattern

Of the paper on the walls,
Danced the curious shadows lightly,
While the flames burned dim or brightly

Mounting up in wavy coils.

Sounded out the measured ticking
Of the clock against the wall ;

Sat the boy, with blue eyes dancing,

At his father slyly glancing ;

What would be his wonder fancying
When his tower should fall!

Thus went by the fleeting moments

At the farmer's happy home ;

Kindly words of love were spoken,

Beaming glances gave sweet token

Of affections deep and warm.

Still without the storm kept raging,

Wailingly the blast swept by,
'Gainst the panes the sleet still driving,
Seemed for entrance vainly striving,
Emblem of the tempter's arrows,
Warded with their wedded sorrows,
From that lowly family.

A SKETCH.

BY "LEONORA."

It was evening, and midwinter ;

Piped the wind on pinions fleet,
While with sharp, incessant rattle,
As of insect hordes at battle,

'Gainst the windows drove the sleet.

Cosily, in ample kitchen

Seated, were a busy group
Round a hearthstone swept most trimly,
While the flames rolled up the chimney,

Chimney broad and deep.

On the rug the sleepy house-dog
Lay, with muzzle on his paws ;
In the corner purred grimalkin,
Who full oft had made the welkin
Ring with hideous noise.

Poring o'er the latest paper,
Quite absorbed, the father sat ;

While a merry little urchin,

With some twigs and splinters birchen,
Built a tower upon his foot.

On a stand of gayest fabric

Hexagons and squares were piled,
And a brighHiaired little maiden,
Scarce less fair than Eve in Aidenn,
At her patchwork toiled.

With her earnest eyes and loving

Bent upon the little band,
Sat a matron briskly knitting,
Shaping hose most trimly fitting,

With a patient hand.

Curled the smoke wreaths up the chimney,

While below the simmering pile,
Like a summer insect's droning,
Or the night winds stifled moauing,
Sounded all the while.

"MY EXPERIENCE IN BABIES, SIR^

Disrespectfully Dedicated to the Renowned Bachelor who
wrote an Essay of several pages on an Hour's Experience
with a Baby.

BY MARY HEAL.

'Twas night, and all day long I 'd strove
To soothe my little suffering dove.
Oh, whose beside a mother's love

Could rightly nurse a baby ?
I laid me down to steal some rest,
Its head was pillowed on my breast ;
In dreams, my husband's love still blessed

Me and my darling baby.

But soon its piteous moanings broke
My rest, and from my dreams I woke
To feel its pulse's feverish stroke,
- My little suffering baby !
" And oh, how hot its little head !
Rise quick and get a light, dear Fred !
Something unusual, I 'm afraid,
Is ailing our poor baby."

Slowly he rose, with sullen grace,
The light gleamed on his cloudy face—
M I never knew 'twas a (man's !) place

Before, to tend a baby!"
My pulses throbbed ; a terror crept
Throughout my heart ; and, while I wept,
This noble man lay down and slept,

And left me with my baby.

Oh, you, lighthearted, beauteous maid.
Whose greatest care 's to curl and braid,
Far from life's lessons have you strayed.

If you ne'er think of babies !
Then learn from me, a matron staid,
For this alone was woman made,
After her sovereign lord 's obeyea,

To nurse and tend the babiea.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

And Man, thou noblest work of God !

Thou, who canst never see the load

Thy wife sustains through life's rough road,

With thee and with her babies,
Go kneel upon thy mother's grave
And think— that every life she gave
Made her Death's victim or Life's slave ;

Then love your wife — and babies !

And you, you musty bachelor,
Who could not watch a little flower,
And keep it tearless one short hour —

Poor victimized " wee" baby !—
Go hide your gray, diminished head
Within your mother's feather bed,
And ne'er through life may it be said

You have a wife or baby 1

BE OF GOOD CHEER: IT IS I.

BY R. T. CONRAD.

u But when they saw him walking upon the sea, they
supposed it had been a spirit, and cried out. For they all
saw him and were troubled. And immediately he talked
with them, and saith unto them, Be of good cheer : it is I ;
be not afraid."— Mark vi. 49, 50.

They toiled — for night was round their bark ;

The fierce winds tossed the white sea spray :
And, like the heavens, their hearts were dark,

For Jesus was away.
When, lo, a spirit ! See it tread

The waves that wrestle with the sky!
They shrieked, appalled : but Jesus said —

" Be of good cheer : His I!"

As o'er the little day of life

The gathering cloud advances slow ;
And all above is storm and strife,

And darkness all below ;
What heart but echoes back the shriek

Of nature from the tortured sky ?
But hark! o'er all a whisper meek —

" Be of good cheer : 'tis I!"

Who here makes misery our mate?

Links love with death, and life with doom ?
Sends fears e'en darker than our fate —

The shadows of the tomb ?
The hand that smites is raised in love ;

He seeks to save who bids us sigh :
Who ! murmurer ? Hark — 'tis from above !

" Be of good cheer : 'tis I J"

When change on change, and ill on ill,

Have taught the trusting heart to doubt;
When earth grows dark as, faint and chill,

Hope after hope goes out ;
E'en then, amid the gloom, a ray

Breaks brightly on the heavenward eye;
And Faith hears, o'er the desolate way,

" Be of good cJieer : His I/"

And when our weary race is run,

The toil, the task, the trial o'er;
And twilight gathers, dim and dun,

Upon life's wave-worn shore ;
When struggling trust and lingering fear

Cast shadows o'er the filmy eye ;
What rapture then, that voice to hear :
" Be of good dteer ; His I '"

A PORTRAIT.

BY PAUL n. HAYNE.

The laughing Hours before her feet

Are strewing vernal roses,
And the voices in her soul are sweet

As music's mellowed closes ;
All Hopes and Passions, heavenly-born,

In her have met together ;
And Joy hath spread around her morn

A mist of golden weather.

As o'er her cheek of delicate dyes

The blooms of childhood hover,
So do the tranced and sinless eyes

All childhood's heart discover ;
Full of a dreamy happiness,

With rainbow fancies laden,
Whose arch of promise leans to bless

Her spirit's beauteous Aidenn.

She is a being born to raise

Those undefiled emotions
That link us with our sunniest days,

And most sincere devotions :
In her we see, renewed and bright,

That phase of earthly story
Which glimmers in the morning light

Of God's exceeding glory.

Why, in a life of mortal cares,

Appear these heavenly faces ?
Why, on the verge of darkened years,

These amaranthine graces?
'Tis but to cheer the soul that faints

With pure and blest evangels,
To prove if heaven is rich with saints,

That earth may have her angels.

Enough ! 'tis not for me to pray

That on her life's sweet river,
The calmness of a virgin day

May rest, and rest forever;
I know a guardian genius stands

Beside those waters lowly,
And labors with immortal hands

To keep them pure and holy.

AN INCIDENT

Passino a bower, I looked within,

And lo! a little girl was there,
With rosy cheeks and dimpled chin,

Soft hazel eyes and golden hair.
The darling child was on her knees,

Her tiny hands were clasped in prayer,
Her ringlets fluttered in the breeze

And glistened round her forehead fair.
She seemed a being pure and bright,
Just come to earth from "realms of light;
I treasured every word she said,
And this the orison she made :

' They tell me life is fraught with care,
That joy will fade when youth is flown,

And ills arise so hard to bear
I cannot tread life's maze alone.

TO LAURA. — THE FRIEND.

Then, Heavenly Father, be my guide J
By thee be all my wants supplied I
To thee I turn, in thee confide I

1 Watch o'er this little wayward heart,
Whose pulses beat so blithely now ;
Ab, keep it pure and free from art,
And teach it to thy will to bow 1
Father, Saviour, be its guide
Wben pleasures tempt or woes betide 1
Beneath thy wing let me abide.

; As a young bird, untaught to fly,

Essays in vain aloft to soar
Without its parents' aid, so I

Thy help require, thy help implore,
To lead me in the heavenward way !
Oh, then, be thou my guide, my stay!
From tbc right path ne'er let me stray !

TO CAROLINE IN HEAVEN.

BY ANNIE B. CLARE.

Tny feet have passed through the vale of the shadow,
Young, gifted, and beautiful, loving and loved ;

With spirit immortal thou walkest the meadows,
By rivers that gladden the city of God !

Thou castest thy crown at the feet of the Saviour;

A fair smiling cherub is holding thy hand ;
Together thou joinest the song of the ransomed,

Whose robes are washed white in the blood of the Lamb !

Dost see in that cherub thy guardian angel
Who was with thee below, and preceded thee there,

Who, lovely on earth, is more lovely in Heaven,
Who called thee impatient his glory to share ?

Oh ! fair gleams the marble in yonder sweet forest

Which the hand of affection hath placed o'er thy grave;

And constant the tribute of fresh blooming flowers
By friendship entwined, and over thee laid.

Oh ! sweet is the song that the wild bird is singing,
And fair are the trees that wave over thy head,

And soft are the shadows that sunset is flinging
O'er thee and thy babe in thy low quiet bed.

Ever fresh in our hearts and remembrance are wrought

The scenes of thy life in beautiful story ;
From the day that thou earnest a joyous young bride,

Till called by thy Saviour, partaker of glory.

That life seems a dream we delight to recall,
So pure and so gentle thy sweet virtues shone;

The graces of earth and graces of heaven,
Like a mantle of beauty over thee thrown.

Thy fairy-like form is ever before us ;

Thy cheek where the rose and the lily combined ;
Thine eye of the dew-begemmed violet's color,

Beaming with purity, goodness, and mind !

How gloomy seemed earth of thy presence bereft I
How dark was the home by thy sunshine made gay !

How crushed was the heart of the mourner thou 'st left,
The light of his life thus taken away !

But bright gleams the path that thy dear feet have trod,
And light shone around thee through the dark river,

And joy was 'mongst angels in presence of God,
As they welcomed thee home forever and ever

MY GRANDMOTHER'S STAND.

BY H. B. Wt LB-MAN.

It may be, indeed, I am childless and vain,

But I love the old relic of antiquate form ;
Like the surf-beaten vessel that furrows the main,

It hath struggled and weathered through many a storm !
Full well I remember it, when but a boy,

The spot where 'twas placed by that matronly hand ;
And now I 'm grown old, like a child with its toy,

I love the old relic— my Grandmother's stand.

'Tis a " long time ago," though briefly it seems,

Since I heard her dear lessons of virtue and truth ;
Oh, oh ! that the Past would return with its dreams,

And let me live over one day of my youth !
Then I should sit down in that old-fashioned room,

So simple, so artless, so rustically planned ;
Then I should bring roses, and drink their perfume,

As they blushed in that vase on my Grandmother's stand.

Ah, well I remember the treasures it bore —

The book that our dear village parson laid there;
In fancy, I see the good man at the door,

In fancy, behold him, still bending in prayer.
That " old-fashioned Bible," I ne'er can forget,

That blessed old Book, with its holy command;
That " old-fashioned Bible," I see it there yet —

That dear blessed Book, on my Grandmother's stand.

Oh, the world it may boast of its beauty and art,

And Grandeur explore the dark depths of the tide ;
But the Past, with its treasures, can gladden the heart

Far more than the perishing gildings of pride !
Then, away with your grandeur and arts that impose,

I'll praise the old relic with life's wasting sand ;
I '11 guard the dear treasure till life's latest close,

And bless when I 'm dying my Grandmother's stand.

TO LAURA. — THE FRIEND.

BY BEATA.

Your letter, dearest Laura, a welcome found indeed;
Never fear to write whate'er you think, 'tis that I wish to

read ;
I agree with you, sweet cousin, that openness and truth
Can alone preserve to latest years the friendship of our

youth.

Yes — let me bear it as I may, I would not hide from you
I have been sadly slighted by the fickle Harry Drew !
Since the ball, I saw him seldom before we left the town,
And though six months have here elapsed, he has not once
been down.

But much we've seen of Argentrie, and I trust that I have

gained
A friend, with whom I can forget the faithless one disdained ;
And as he does not think me yet an " angel of the sky,"
To win his honest word of praise I own I sometimes try.

His knowledge is so very great, his statements are so clear ;
Of life, its hopes and trials, with deepfelt awe I hear ;
New views are spread before me, and I feel not all in vain —
Oh ! never, never can I be a thoughtless child again.

My duties now present themselves, I scarce can tell you

how;
I am sure I was unconscious they were left undone till now ■

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK,

That though papa is fond of music, 'twas not for him I

played,
Nor for his pleasure that I read, or the least exertion made.

But all that is changed at last, and when at close of day-
He returns fatigued from business, I am never far away;
I will a better daughter henceforward to him prove,
And, where I have received so much, return at least my
love.

And my gentle, tender mother, making each of us her care,
If I cannot quite remove her charge, I can lighten and can

share ;
I have assumed some trifling tasks she willingly resigned,
And looks upon me with such pride — ah, mother! ever

kind.

Yet not alone a mentor is Mr. Argentrie,
In all our merry frolics he joins with heartfelt glee ;
He is staying at the farm adjoining to Belleaire,
Though indeed I must confess he is very seldom there.

And when I wish to mount upon my pretty milk-white

steed,
He is waiting to assist and esoort me in my need ;
And thus we two explore each lane, and every prospect

round ;
I never such enjoyment in the balls with Harry found.

Come see us, dearest Laura, while " the bloom is on the rye,"
For summer with its glories will soon be hastening by.
My mother looks so beautiful, and Fan and Charles so gay,
I would that we at bright Belleaire the year entire might

stay.
Come quickly, and enjoy with us our rural life serene,
And add another pleasure to your happy coz, Pauline.

But soon thy fire- fraught pages*

Allured my sight, allured my sight,
With lore from youthful sages

And poets bright, and poets bright ;
The sweetest hope shone o'er me

With blessed ray, with blessed ray,
And visions bright before me

Passed night and day, passed night and day.

I mused by moor and mountain,

Upon the past, upon the past,
Until at Wisdom's fountain

I drank at last, I drank at last;
I learned to laugh at danger

Like hero brave, like hero brave —
I longed to meet the stranger

With naked glave, with naked glave.

By thee Truth's light was given

Unto the blind, to me the blind ;
By thee the clouds were riven,

That dimmed the mind, that dimmed the mind ;
And if the strain I waken

Have words of flame, have words of flame,
Whence bright hope may be taken,

From thee they came, from thee they came.f

* The " Nation" newspaper, a short time after its estao-
lishment, was styled by that first of critics and most literal
of translators — John Gibson Lockhart — "a startling phe-
nomenon" !

f Complete sets of the " Nation" sell to this day for no
less a sum than $30, or £6 sterling.

SONNET. — LIGHT.

To Charles Gavan Duffy, Esq., the gifted editor of the
" Dublin Nation" newspaper, my first literary patron and
esteemed friend, I beg leave to dedicate these lines.

SONG TO C. G. D.

BY WILLIAM P. MULCHINOCK.

Beside the dark blue ocean

I wander free, I wander free,
And sweep with fond devotion

My lyre for thee, my lyre for thee;
And if the strain I waken

Have words of flame, have words of flame,
Whence bright hope may be taken —

From thee they came, from thee they came.

Mine eye was ever laden

With slavish tears, with slavish tears ;
My heart, like timid maiden,

Was full of fears, was full of fears ;
To tyrant mandates spoken

I meekly bowed, I meekly bowed;
Nor dreamed spells could be woken

To curb the proud, to curb the proud.

I knew not Ireland's glory,

Her woes or wrongs, her woes or wrongs ,
1 only heard the story

From Saxon tongues, from Saxon tongues ;
And if, at times, in sorrow,

My heart would ope, my heart would ope,
I knew not where to borrow

One ray of hope one ray of hope.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

Where is thy dwelling place, all-pleasing Light ?

Around Jehovah's everlasting throne,

Where, inaccessible, He sits alone,
'Mid joy supreme, ineffable delight.

Thy radiant face makes all wide Nature glad;
Hill, valley, rock, and river thou dost cheer,
And little birds make melody, if thou appear —

Deprived of thy fond presence, they are sad.

Thou art another synonym for life ;
Thy smile is but the smile of Deity,
Whose glance fills ever overflowingly

The lamps of heaven, with golden beauty rife
Thy magic pencil paints the landscapes all ;
Thy absence covers earth with pall funereal.

ODE FROM HORACE.

BY EDW. NEWTON VAN SANT.

Not the clamor of the ignoble crowd,

Not the threat'nirtg look of the tyrant proud.

Nor the fury with which Auster raves,

Wild king of the Adriatic waves ;

Nor e'en the mighty arm of Jove,

Hurling his bolts through the vault above,

Can swerve the man of just intent

From that on which his mind is bent.

Nay, should the shattered heavens fall,

In crashing ruin blending all,

Still 'mid the gath'ring gloom of chaos drear,

He 'd stand a stranger unto fear.

WOEK-TABLE FOR JUVENILES.

" Well, my little daughter, I suppose you have
been half afraid that I should not return in time
for your holiday. However, you see I am here,
ready for our lesson, and I have seen so many
new and pretty things, that I hardly know which
to choose for you to do."

" Pray let it be something very easy, as well
as pretty, dear mamma. I should like to make
a work-basket, or something of that sort, which
would be useful."

"Then, indeed, my child, you will almost
think me a conjurer ; for I have brought you all
the necessary materials for making the prettiest
thing of the sort that, I think, was ever seen.
Here they are ! First, there is a frame of wire,
then a little wadding, black filet — which is, you
know, the imitation netting of which you made
your watch-pockets — netting-silks, gimps, and
satin ribbon. Besides these, there is a piece of
black satin, and some black sarsnet ribbon. You
will require a little toile cire, which I dare say
your work-box will furnish."

" But can you not give me any idea of the
appearance of this basket, mamma ? I never feel
as if I could do anything unless I had some no-
tion of what it would be like when completed."

"Here is a sketch for you, my dear, and

MODEL WORK-BASKET.

though no drawing will faithfully represent the
extreme elegance of the basket, yet it will, as
you say, give you a notion of the general effect."

" It is, indeed, very pretty. I see the sides are
transparent ; they, I suppose, are made of the
filet."

" Yes ; and you will begin by cutting a piece
of the netting long and deep enough for the four
sides, as it is joined only at one of the corners.
Take great care to cut it accurately, or your
flowers will not run evenly. It must be cut to

appear in diamonds, not in squares. Another
piece will be required for the bottom of the bas-
ket. On these a pattern must be darned in co-
lored silks. I have drawn you one which will
do nicely for the sides."

DARNING PATTERNS.

"It is very small, is it not, mamma?"

" It is intended that one of these designs shall
be seen in each compartment of the basket. You
will see that there are three on each side, and
two at each end — ten altogether — so that the
pattern is to be repeated that number of times."

" How shall I manage to keep them at equal
distances, mamma'?"

" I think I should fold the length of netting
into ten parts, and run a white thread to mark
each separate piece. Now you will require three
colors for the darning; what will you choose ?"

" What do you think of sky-blue, with maize
and scarlet ? They would be very pretty, would
they not?"

"Very; but then all the trimmings must be
in sky-blue, and as you want something rather
effective for candle-light, I would suggest that a
rich crimson or scarlet would be a better pre-
dominant color. With it you might have green
and gold, or green and blue."

" Green and blue form a mixture that I cannot
fancy to be pretty, mamma. Do you like the
effect of it?"

" Not much ; but it is very fashionable. The
French introduce it into everything, and call it
prejuge vaincu, or, prejudice conquered."

"Well, lam afraid, mamma, that my prejudice

godey's magazine and lady's book.

is unconquerable ; so, if you please, we will have
maize and green in preference. How am I to
use these colors?"

" Do the upper part of the design in scarlet,
the lower in green, and the spots up the centre,
and between the designs, in maize. In darning,
work half the design, from the centre, leaning
towards the right hand, and the other half to-
wards the left."

" Am I to use the same pattern for the bottom
of the basket?"

" Not in its present form ; but if you repeat
the design, reversed, from the lower part, so as
to leave the points for the ends, it will be very
suitable. You may add a star or diamond, or
something very simple, to fill the spaces at the
sides. When all the darning is done, detach the
cardboard which forms the bottom, tack the wad-
ding down on one side of it, and cover it on
this side with the black satin and netting, and on
the other with the black satin only. Now all
the framework of the basket is to be entirely
covered with the narrow sarsnet ribbon I have

given you for the purpose, the short wires being
covered, and the ends secured, before the han-
dle, top, and bottom of the frame are done.
Stretch the netting which forms the sides very
carefully on. Sew it at the joint, and also at
the edges of the net. Now quill the satin ribbon
in the centre, into a full and handsome plait ;
trim the handle with it. Sew the pasteboard
bottom in, and add the gimps round the top,
while one only may be used for the lower part."

"I might easily add a cover, might I not,
mamma?"

" You might, my dear ; but in that case the
basket should be lined with satin, of some good
color, and the piece of netting you did for the
bottom would form the upper part of the top.
In the inner part of the cover you might then
add a double -stitched ribbon across, to hold scis-
sors, stiletto, &c. But your basket, though more
useful, perhaps, would not be so light and elegant
as it is at present."

" If you think so, mamma, we will have it so,
and for once let well alone."

EMBROIDERY FOR PETTICOATS,

CHEMISETTES, SLEEVES, AND CAPS.

Fig. Fig. 2.

It will be noticed that we have adopted the
excellent fashion of the " Moniteur" and now
give an undersleeve and chemisette to corre-
spond. No French woman would be guilty of
wearing a collar of one style and sleeves of an-
other, yet our countrywomen constantly com-
mit this breach of toilet etiouette.

Fig. 3.

Figs. 1 and 2 are one set, intended for winter
wear, as will be seen from the close cuff of the
sleeve ; it is composed of lace insertion and edg-
ing. The large square collar has superseded the
frills, bands, and even the deep -pointed mous-
quetaire of the past season.

Figs. 3 and 4 are in excellent taste though of

Fig. 4.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

different styles. The chemisette and sleeve are
composed of Swiss muslin, insertion, and edg-
ing. They can be copied at a very small ex-
pense, but will need particular care in clear-
starching and ironing.

Fig. 5 is a breakfast cap of alternate Swiss

Fig. 5.

muslin insertion, the frill and fall surrounding the
face ; an old style reintroduced. Coques of rib-
bon separate it, and there are strings of the same.
Fig. 6 has also an entire frill, though falling

Fig. 6.

more behind the ear. It is relieved by knots of
ribbon. Either of them is suitable for a sick-
room cap.

THE HOKTENSE MANTELET AND THE VICTOKIA.

(Sec Brown Plate in front of Book.)

THE HORTENSE MANTELET.

The form is round and exceedingly small.
The body of the mantelet is of very rich emerald
green satin. The edge is cut out in large round-
ed points, bordered with three rows of narrow
black velvet, and on each of the points are fixed
three ornaments of cut black velvet in straight
rows. The intervals between the satin points
at the edge of the mantelet are filled up by
Brussels net, covered with rows of narrow black
velvet. The Brussels net is cut out in pointed
Vandykes, each Vandyke being between the
rounded points of the satin. The whole is

finished by a deep fall of black lace, set on full.
The neck of the mantelet is trimmed with rows
of narrow black velvet, and cut ornaments, the
same as those on the points at the lower part.

THE VICTORIA.

This mantelet has received the name of Vic-
toria in honor of the English queen, for whom
one after the same pattern has recently been
made. The material is silk of a peculiarly beau-
tiful tint ; fawn color with a tinge of gold. This
is an entirely new color, and is distinguished in
Paris by the name of aurifere. The Victoria

TOILET COVER IN CROCHET.

slightly full upon the shoulders. It likewise is
cut bias. Its depth at the back is twelve inches,
upon the shoulders eight, and in front to the
points thirteen inches.

The circular is gathered into one wide and
two narrow plaits where it joins the points,
which are similar to the tabs of a mantilla, and
thus forms the appearance of sleeves.

The fronts are thirty-two inches from the
neck to the bottom. A collar, four inches deep
at the back, where it is slightly pointed, com-
pletes the garment.

It has a bow upon the middle of the lower
edge of the yoke, with streamers, and is lined
with taffeta in color to match.

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Materials.— Twelve reels Messrs. W. Evans
head crochet cotton, No. 12.

Co.'s boar's- $

The pattern consists of a handsome square,
with a rich border on three sides. A foundation
chain of 400 stitches must be made, which will
allow for a close square at each edge of the toi-
let. To correspond with the edge, do one row
of dc, before beginning to work the pattern from
the engraving.

The entire centre square is given, but not the
whole of the front of the border. When the
vol. xlviii. — 7

centre of each row is reached, however, it will
be very easy to work the remainder backwards.
The whole cover is done in square crochet.
The border may be added all round, if desired ;
but this form, being a perfect square, is not so
suited for a toilet table.

It may be trimmed either with fringe (done
like that of the anti-macassars lately given), or
with a handsome crochet lace, several designs
for which we have furnished in various num-
bers.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

EMBROIDERY FOR SHIRTS. I COTTAGE FURNITUR

Fie. 1.

Fig. 1 is what is called a bed cupboard, with
shelf and top having two flaps.

Fig. 2.

| Fig. 2 is a chiffonier pier-table for placing be-
i tween windows.

IStTOES' TABLE.

"The Good Time Coming." — Coming ! In our blessed land
it has come. Are not the means of happiness around us in
inexhaustible profusion? All nov needed is, that human
energies be engaged as earnestly in working up these
materials, and using these advantages for good, as men
work for gold ; and the wonderful, waited-for era is here.

Have we not steam for a Pegasus, lightning for a post-
man, and the glorious sun for an artist to help, or rather
hurry onward, the work of improvement in all material
things? and free institutions, free schools, and a free press,
to aid, or rather force, mental development! and the open
Bible, the Christian Sabbath, and the preached gospel to
enlighten the soul!

Nothing seems wanting but heavenward faith and
human endeavor.

Women have much, very much to do in this work. Home
is the centre of happiness; the cradle of every heroic
man is tended by woman's angel care ; his soul bears the
impress of her kindly teachings, as the daguerreotype plate
shows the kiss of the sun in the picture it calls forth.
Every mother should aim to make her son worthy of living
in tho " good time," and then it will be.

Oh, but there are terrible evils to suffer— evils that will
forever surround humanity — poverty, pain, death ! Can wo
have the " good time" on earth, while these inevitable evils
haunt us?

Death is not an evil to the good, but only the seal of
eternal, unchangeable blessedness. Poverty may be made
the means of increased and exquisite happiness to society,
when the true principles of Christian charity, and broth erlv
love, and gratitude are universally observed. Disease will
lose most of its malignity when God's laws, impressed on
our physical nature, are understood and obeyed ; and
pain has been mitigated, indeed, nearly annihilated,
by the wonderful discovery of etherization, which seems
now providentially brought to the aid of suffering human-
ity, so that all classes of mankind might find cause for
rejoicing in the "good time." The aid of this Lethean
balm in banishing the horrors of the hospital, can hardly
be over-estimated; the merits of the discovery are yet but
partially acknowledged; we must leave these themes to the
medical corps — but the good results on humauity our sex
ought most thankfully to acknowledge. This thought re-
minds us of a duty we owe our readers — an introduction to
the home of one who has most certainly done his part towards
helping on the " good time." The paper has been delayed for
want of room ; but it shall go in now, as a fit tribute for
the New Year.

Etherton Cottage— A Visit there.— Our readers will remem-
ber an engraving of this beautiful cottage in our March
number of last year. We gave then a slight sketch of the
discovery of Etherization, and of the struggles through
which Dr. W. T. G. Morton had fought his way onward to
the completion of his great purpose; and how he had
proved, by the testimony of the most honored members of
the Medical profession in Massachusetts, his right to claim
the discovery of the " Anaesthetic and pain-subduing quali-
ties of Sulphuric Ether." But great scientific discoverers,
like great poets, are not always as happy at home as they
are celebrated abroad. Fame is not always, we are sorry
to say, synonymous with domestic felicity. Those who unite

both, deserve amaranths among their laurels, and both
are deserved by the owner of Etherton Cottage, as we think
our lady friends will agree, when they go with us to that
pleasant home, where we had the pleasure of spending a
day during our last summer tour in New England.

West Needham, notwithstanding its poor prosaic name, is
really a pretty, pastoral-looking place, surrounded by low,
wooded hills, protecting, as it were, the fine farms and
orchards, and the pleasant dwellings, everywhere seen in
the valleys and on the uplands around. In twenty minutes
after leaving the bustle of Boston, if the cars make good
speed, you will reach this rural scene, where Nature still
holds her quiet sway, except when the steam-horse goes
snorting and thundering by.

Here, in the heart of this still life, Doctor Morton, some
seven years ago, selected an uncultivated lot, covered with
bushes, brambles, and rocks, and, by his own science and
taste, and the strong arm of Irish labor, he has formed a
home of such finished beauty as would seem to require, at
least, in its gardens and grounds, a quarter of a century to
perfect. His grounds slope down to the railroad embank.
ment; but a plantation of young trees, and on the height
above, thick groves, of a larger growth, hide the buildings
from view as the cars pass on this great route from Boston
to the West. From the station it is a pleasant drive
through the shaded and winding way as you ascend the
rising grounds to the south. Suddenly turning a shoulder
of the knoll, Etherton Cottage is before you. The effect
was fine, and what made the scene more interesting to us
was the presence of another cottage nestled near by, smaller
but equally pleasant-looking, where we knew Dr. Morton'
had settled his good parents. Here they live as one house-
hold, and from the windows of Etherton Cottage may be
seen the dwelling of another member of the family, a sis-
ter, now happily married, for whom the Doctor also cared.

We might give a long description of these pretty cottages
and beautiful grounds, but words are wasted to little pur-
pose in landscape or architectural descriptions. So leaving
the walks, arbors, flowers, and fountains, we will introduce
you at once to Mrs. Morton, a lady whose attractions and
merits we had heard much praised while in Washington
last winter. She is, indeed, one of those true women who
seem born to show that Solomon's old picture of a good
wife and mother may now be realized. The Doctor seems
very fond and proud of her, as he may well be; and their
children — the eldest a girl of nine, the youngest a boy of
three years, with a brother and sister between — formed a
lovely group of more interest to us than all the " superb
views" around. So we will just tell you, dear reader, of
the family and their home pursuits, as these were revealed
to us during that interesting visit.

We shouid say here that Doctor Morton has relinquished
his profession, and now passes his summers entirely at this
country residence, and his winters in Washington, where
he hopes soon to gain from Congress some reward for his
great discovery of Etherization. When this is granted, he
intends visiting Europe, where he is urgently invited by
the savans of the Old World. It will be a triumph for
Young America to send forth a man so young, who has
won such distinction. It seemed b«t a few years since we
first saw Willie Morton, a clerk in the publisher's office

godey's magazine and lady's book,

whore our own magazine was issued ; and now we were
bis guest, in his own elegant dwelling, surrounded by
every requisite of happiness.

His country life is just what it should be, devoted to
rural pursuits and tilled up with plans of home improve-
ments. You only feel the presence of his inventive genius
by its active operation on the material world around. Not
a word is heard of " chloroform" or " ether" at Etherton
Cottage; but various contrivances for obviating all defects
or ditliculties iu bringing his domain into the perfect order
be has planned, meet you at every turning, and all sorts
of odd combinations appear, which, when understood, are
found to contribute to the beauty or utility of the whole.
In short, everything useful is made ornamental, and the
ornamental is made useful.

Then the Doctor has a passion for surrounding himself
with domestic animals. This we like; it makes a country
home more cheerful when dumb dependents on human
care share the abundance of God's blessings. So after
dinner we went to the barn to see the " pigs and poultry."
This barn, fronting north, was quite a model structure,
built on the side of the sloping ground, combining, in its
arrangements, rooms for the gardener (an Englishman) and
his family, and the barn proper, where the horse and cow
had what a young lady called " splendid accommodations."
There was also a coach-house and tool-room, a steam-engine
room where fodder was cut up, and food— that is, grain of
several kinds — ground for the swine and poultry ; also a
furnace where potatoes were steamed. The water was
brought by hydraulic machinery from a brook at the bottom
of the grounds for use in the barn, and everything was
managed with scientific skill and order.

The arrangements for the poultry were very elaborate.
Their rooms were the first floor at the back or southern
front of the barn ; of course, half underground. This lower
story had a lattice-work front, and within Mrs. Biddy had
every accommodation hen life could desire. Into these
apartments the troop were allowed to enter at evening
through a wicket opening in this southern front ; but in the
morning the poultry all passed out into the north-eastern
portion of the grounds allotted them, where was a pool of
water for the water-fowl, and a fine range for all. Still,
the green field at the south, the running brook, and the
eventide meal made them all eager to rush in whenever
the gate between the two portions of their range was
opened. It was this rush we went to witness.

We stood in the main floor, near the southern or back
door of the barn, which overlooked the green field : the little
gate opened, and such a screaming, crowing, gabbling en-
sued, and such a flutter of wings, that for a few minutes
it was nearly deafening. A pair of Chinese geese led the
way of this feathered community. These geese, a present
from the late statesman, Daniel Webster, to Dr. Morton,
who prized them accordingly, were entirely brown, of large
size, carrying their heads very high, and walking nearly
upright; they sent forth shouts that made the air ring.
They seemed to consider themselves the Celestials, and all
beside inferiors. Next, came a pair of wild geese ; one wing
cut, and thus obliged to remain in the yard, they had be-
come quite tame; but still, their trumpet-call seemed to tell
their love of freedom. These, too, were brown, with black
heads, and long lithe necks, that undulated like the mo-
tions of a snake, with every movement. Very unlike these
were the next pair of snow-white Bremen geese, stout, fat,
contented-looking creatures, only making the usual gab-
bling of geese which are well to do in the world. Among
the varieties of the duck genus were several of the Poland
species ; snowy white, except the vermilion-colored spots
on the head, that look like red sealiugwax plasters round

the eyes. These ducks made a terrible quaclery. jitrt;
the domestic fowl was the multitude; there appeared to
be all kinds and species, from the tall Shanghais, that
eeemed to stalk on stilts, to the little boatlike creepers that
move as if on castors. It was a queer sight, such an army
of hens and chickens, rushing hither and thither, to pick
up the grain scattered for their supper. And then the
pride of the old peacock ; he just entered with the rest, then
spread his heavy wings and flew up to the ridge-pole of the
barn, where he sat alone in bis glory. It was, altogether,
a pleasant sight.

But within the barn was a lovelier spectacle. From the
centre beam hung a large rope, its lower end passing
through a circular board, about the size of around tea-table;
four smaller ropes passed through holes near the edge of
this round board, at equal distances, and were united with
the large rope several yards above, thus forming four com-
partments, with the centre rope for a resting-place. In
these snug spaces were seated the four beautiful children,
like birds in a nest, swinging every way in turn as the
little feet that first touched the floor gave impulse.

It was a lovely picture of childhood made happy by
parental care for the amusements of infancy. The father's
genius had designed that swing to give pleasure, as it had
discovered the elixir for pain, by taking thought for others.
With both Dr. Morton and his amiable wife, the training
of their little ones seemed the great subject of interest.
The children were ivell governed, this was easy to see, and
thus a very important point in their instruction was made
sure. They were also made happy by every innocent and
healthful recreation. Their future destiny seemed the
engrossing object of their parents' minds ; to bring up these
little ones in the fear and love of the Lord, their most ear-
nest desire.

During the evening, the topic of education was the chief
one discussed, and we parted from this interesting family
fully assured lhat the good old Puritan mode of uniting
faith in God with human endeavor was there under-
stood and acted on. Miss Bremer might find, at Etherton
Cottage, a charming illustration of her "love-warmed
homes in America."

The Wives of England. — We are glad to see that attention
has at length been called to the sufferings and inj uries of that
unfortunate class, the women of the lower orders iu Eng-
land. The recent murder of a woman by her husband,
habitually given to beating her in the most cruel manner,
with other flagrant instances of similar brutality, have
called forth several warm remonstrances from the London
press. During a recent session of Parliament, a bill was
passed, makiug such offences punishable by lengthened
imprisonment, but the law has been found inadequate. A
late writer in the "Morning Chronicle" calls loudly for
corporeal punishment, and says : " We have brutes, not
men to deal with; the appeal must be made to the only
sense they possess, the sense of physical pain. The law
can and must lay on the lash heavily; the terror of the
torture will soon restrain those on whom all other means
have failed."

" The Times," in an indignant article on the same sub-
ject, dwells upon the indifference and supineness of neigh-
bors and bystanders, during these scenes of violence, and
ironically calls upon the draymen and carters of London,
whose outraged virtue led them to apply the lash to Gene-
ral Haynau for whipping women in far-off Hungary, to
stand by their own countrywomen. "If Lynch law is tc
prevail in England," says the "Times," " let it not exclude
tho defence of Englishwomen.''

Though no advocate for Lynch law, we cannot but mar

EDITORS TABLE-DRAWER.

vel that, in the breasts of Englishmen, that misdirected
sense of justice which is at the bottom of all such illegal
acts, should be so entirely wanting; and, as the purpose of
the " Times," in its appeal to the draymen, is to arouse
this feeling, and make & power of public opinion, we hearti-
ly agree with it. We must, however, dissent from the
writers in both of these journals, when they advise recourse
to corporeal punishment. You cannot lash a man into a
sense of his error ; you but degrade and brutalize him the
more. Let the axe be laid to the root, begin with his moral
nature. Educate him ; elevate his character by teachings
from the pulpit and school-room ; take away his disabili-
ties ; teach him to respect himself, and he will soon learn

to respect others. The hardened sinners who now pollute
the earth by such misdeeds will, ere long, be called to their
great account. Let England see that the generations now
rising do not follow in their footsteps.

Our Friends.— A Happy New Year to all who are with
us this glad morning. The Old Year has passed away, and
with it much that we loved is gone. Let us hope the
coming year will bring ns many opportunities of doing
good— and that God will assist our feeble endeavors to
improve the time as it passes. Then the Year will be
happy indeed.

cBaitor0j Cnbk-Jnimu.

Original and selected articles are before us in such pro-
fusion, as we open this wonderfully capacious receptacle of
scraps and MSS., that the difficulty will be to stop when we
once begin arranging this mosaic of literature. However,
we have the year before us, and every month will require
its pictures and precepts. Here are a few.

Mystery. — In the beauty of form, or of moral character,
or of the material creation, it is that which is most veiled
which is most beautiful. Valleys are the mysteries of
landscapes. — Lamartinc.

Unjust Acquisition. — What do we mean by unjust acqui-
sition ? It is not to be measured by its extent, but by its
principle. Unjust acquisition is to take what is not your
own ; and who does that more than one of those poor gin
drinkers, who has sold his morsel of bread to buy his own
destruction, and then thinks another ought to be forced to
replace it? — Mrs. Marsh.

Eclectics. — Eclectics, in philosophy, are for the most
part les demi-esprits, who are incapable of viewing facts in
their wholeness ; just as the eclectics in politics are they
who want the honesty to be quite pure, and the courage to
be quite rogues. Such persons make systems from incon-
sistent scraps, taken from discordant philosophy, with the
same taste as the architects of the Middle Ages erected bar-
barous edifices with the beautiful fragments of antiquity. —
Lady Morgan.

Conversation.— There is scarcely any source of enjoy-
ment more immediately connected at once with the heart
and with the mind, than that of listening to a sensible and
amiable woman when she converses in a melodious and
well-regulated voice, when her language and pronunciation
are easy and correct, and when she knows how to adapt
her conversation to the characters and habits of those
around her. — Mrs. Ellis.

Dreams op Youth. — Clouds weave the summer into the
season of autumn ; and youth rises from dashed hopes into
the stature of a man.

Well, it is even so, that the passionate dreams of youth
break up and wither. Vanity becomes tempered with
wholesome pride, and passion yields to the riper judgment
of manhood ; even as the August heats pass on and over
into the genial glow of a September sun. There is a strong

growth in the struggles against mortified pride; and then
only does the youth get an ennobling consciousness of that
manhood which is dawning in him, when he has fairly sur-
mounted those puny vexations which a wounded vanity
creates.

But God manages the seasons better than we ; and in a
day, or an hour perhaps, the cloud will pass, and the hea-
vens glow again upon our ungrateful heads. — Ik Marvel.

Right Preparation for Marriage.— We are thoroughly
acquainted with each other's character, tastes, and habits ;
and both of us believe there is a singular, even an extra-
ordinary degree of mutual adaptation in all our views,
feelings, and wishes. Perhaps I might have mentioned
that my dear friend is about six years younger than my-
self. Two months hence I shall be thirty-seven years of
age. Our acquaintance has now been as much as seven
years, and our avowed engagement about five. I regret
that the union has been unavoidably deferred to so ad-
vanced a period of life ; but I never wish I had been mar-
ried very young. I do feel grateful to Heaven for the com-
bination of valuable gifts I hope for in my beloved. Her
conscience, intellect, and tenderness are the chief. In her
society and co-operation, I do indulge a sanguine hope of
improving in every respect, by a more quiet and pleasing
manner than I have done in a given space during all thes*
past years of gloomy solitude. — John Foster.

We will now give an original poem, fresh from the pen
of one whom, from the lack, probably, of a '; right prepara-
tion for marriage," does not seem to find her home — what
it should be — the place of improvement as well as happi-
ness. She shall have free space for her experiences. We
hope her warnings may be heeded by all young lady
teachers, and that they will not leave a sphere where they
are contentedly useful even to be married, until sure, as
good John Foster was, that there is a " mutual adaptation"
in the connection.

THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS MARRIED.
Oh, for my little school-room, my green benches, my two
cracked bricks ! I !
Now, girls, accept of a little advice,
" Experience teaches one how to be wise."
A year or two since, I would fall in love ;
Of all men created, below or above,
Thei'e was never another.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

A man so endowed with every perfection,
That even mamma no sort of objection
Oould find to my lover.

We married, the horror of all to endure!
Somewhat of a hubbub was kicked up, be sure;
There was cake to be cut and evenly lie,
And white satin ribbon In bow knots to tie,

And notes to be written.
And dresses sent out and brought home,
And callers unwelcome would come,

And sit, and keep sitting.

The groom was, as usual, a little too late —
Procrastination, of all things, I hate ! —
His cravat, then, was tied in a great crooked how.
Our trunks must be packed, all ready to go —

I was no more a teacher.
Then, when in the cab, at last, ready were seated,
Lo ! some one behind ran crying, o'erheated,

" You 've not paid the preacher !"

Perplexities numberless, little and large,

Will crowd to o'erwhelrn you with powerful surge ;

Still, consider them naught, to a year and a day,

When you trit-trot the baby I
There's a concert perhaps, or some favorite play,
Or a party, where all your old playmates are gay ;

" But, my dear, 'bout YOUR baby !

" Now, wifey, you know it to be impolite
That you and I, both, the invite should slight.
Alas ! I 'm a martyr to etiquette, though ;
Pet must have vision enough to see so.

Don't wait for me, pray.
You know, love, how swiftly short hours pursue ;
So sleep on quite comfortably, darling, pray do,

I 'm home before day."

Now, girls, these faint facts in time you may know,
And moan that in youth you did not bestow
More note on these lines, in sympathy penned
To advise you ; and oh, you will need a friend !

For I know you will marry.
In confidence, listen : To market ne'er go,
For of all the small change an account you will owe ;
And you'd die, if you knew what a bother to do

There '11 be with your " Harry."

" Now always it has been a case of concern
What daily you do with the money I earn ;
I reg'larly give you ten dollars a week,
And once in a tvhile a dollar to keep

For baby and you.
Why, I never spend over a dollar for brandy,
Or little five franc for cigars or spice candy —
With all the week's money pray what do you do ?"

Lily.

To Correspondents. — The following articles are accepted,
and will appear as soon as we have room : " The Interview,"
" Blessington's Choice," " The Last Night of Caulaincourt,"
" Twilight," " O'er bleak Acadia's Plains," " To 0. L. II.,"
" There 's Music," "Eventide," "Stanzas," "The Last Mo-
ments," '• To a Coquette," " The Pet," and " To the Ladies'
Friend, Mr. Godey." Several other articles are under con-
sideration.

" The Fall of the Leaf," and " Autumn and its Memo-
ries." Will our correspondents please remember that we
have to prepare our " Book" for each mouth at least two
months previous to its date? Both the above articles are

accepted; but we cannot publish them before March, when
it will be the spring and not fall of the year.

The following manuscripts are declined: "Stanzas."
" Elfie St. Claire," " To a Departed Sister," " Absence is no
Cure for Pure Love," " The Last Indian," " Autumn Leaves"
(this poem, intended for October, did not reach us till No-
vember, so was out of season), "The New Year, 1854"
(these " Lines" arc not exactly suited to our " Book." The
Avriter's youth affords hope of improvement. The annuals
for this season are all out), " Hatred," " The Mistake,"
"Singing Schools," "Absence," "Pride," and "A Frag-
ment."

£itcr art) Jfo t'ues.

Books by Mail. — Now that the postage on printed matter
is so low, we offer our services to procure for our subscrib-
ers or others any of the books that we notice. Informa-
tion touching books will be cheerfully given by inclosing a
stamp to pay return postage.

From E. II. Butler & Co., Philadelphia :—

THE BOW IN THE CLOUD ; or, Covenant of Mercy for
the Afflicted, is the appropriate title of a work which can
hardly fail of a welcome to the homes and hearts of the
sorrowful. It is divided into five portions, viz., " Affliction"
"Resignation" "Comfort," "Leaning on the Cloud," and
" The Sleep in Jesus," each of which is most skilfully and
tenderly brought to bear on the particular kind of afflic-
tion under which the burdened soul may complain. The
articles, original and selected, are chosen and prepared
with great care, and the pious and eminent writers who
have contributed to this volume insure its excellence. It
is beautifully printed and illustrated; no other work of the
kind within our knowledge unites such various merits.

THE WHITE VEIL : a Bridal Gift. By Mrs. Sarah Jo-
sepha Hale. This book is beautifully got up, the pub-
lisher sparing no expense that could add to its embellish-
ment. The contents are varied, comprising choice articles
from eminent authors, and the sentiments of the wise and
good of every age respecting marriage and conjugal love.
We hope it will be the favorite gift-book of the season, and
be always among the bride's treasures, pp. 324.

THE AMERICAN STATESMAN ; or, Illustrations of the
Life and Character of Daniel Webster. Designed for Ame-
rican youth. By Joseph Banvard. There have been such
a variety of publications relating to Daniel Webster since
his decease, that there hardly seemed room for another.
But this neat-looking and well printed volume will be a
welcome gift to the young American. There is room for
this book, and a welcome, too.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Lindsay &
Blakiston, Philadelphia : —

THE HOMES OF THE NEW WORLD, &c. By Frederika
Bremer. Translated by Mary Howitt. This work, hur-
riedly written during Miss Bremer's travels through our
country, is a compound of journal and letters to her sister
and friends in Sweden. It possesses much interest, but
needed revision and condensation to make it what it should
have been from its popular author. The letter to the
Queen of Denmark will be read with deep interest. It is a
synopsis of the opinions expressed throughout the book,
which, on the whole, are favorable, and in a better spirit
than English tourists have ever exhibited. We shall refer
to the work again.

LOUIS XVII. flfe Life— his Sujjkrings—his Death. The
Captivity of the Royal Family in the Temple. By A. l>e

LITERARY NOTICES.

Beauchesne. Translated and edited by W. Hazlitt, Esq.
Embellished with vignettes, autographs, and plans. Great
care appears to have been taken to sustain the horrible
events recorded in this volume, by the production of wit-
nesses living at the time the work was written, and by the
production of documents, the authenticity of which seems
unquestionable. After this, we think that the Rev. Mr.
Williams, and his credulous friends, will feel it to be their
duty to postpone indefinitely their claims upon the throne
of France. We hope the reverend gentleman, forgetting
what appeared to be his high dignity and destiny, will
throAV himself at the feet of his poor Indian mother and
acknowledge hi3 undutifujness, and the scandal he has
given by his vain attempts to repudiate her maternal
authority.

LADY LEE'S WIDOWHOOD. From '•' Blackwood's Maga-
zine." A cheap edition of a very delightful story, with
which many of our readers have, no doubt, already formed
some acquaintance.

THE YOUNG MAN'S INSTITUTE. We have here the
Third Report of the Board of Trustees, and great progress
.seems to have been made. One question that occurred to
us we could not solve by this report. Lectures are insti-
tuted. Are women permitted to attend ? And can women
have access to the libraries ?

MORRIS'S POETICAL WORKS. We have had the plea-
sure to receive, with the " kiud respects of the author," a
copy of the beautiful edition of his poems recently pub-
lished by Charles Scribner, New York; splendid, indeed, in
paper, in printing, in its engravings and binding, but more
admirable on account of its literary merits and its poetical
gems, in which are chastely blended the most attractive
sentiments of love, friendship, honor, and patriotism, en-
livened here and there with a dash of wit, humor, or whole-
some satire. As a song-writer, Mr Morris has but few
competitors in this or any other country. He possesses a
peculiar faculty for expressing in heart-thriliing versifica-
tion those domestic and national feelings which are com-
mon to every race and kindred of the civilized world. His
productions, therefore, in that line of poetry, have attained
a popularity as warm as it is general among all who speak
the English language. They have also been translated
into several languages of the European continent, and have
thus not only spread far and wide the reputation of the
author, but- have contributed to perpetuate the fame of our
country, and to extend the free spirit of our people, and a
knowledge of the liberality of our institutions to the re-
motest nations. If it is true that the songs of a people
form a prominent and reliable feature in their history,
then may it be as truly said that our friend Morris has
done his share in promoting the ends which all historians
must necessarily keep in view. And as this elegant vol-
ume, so creditable to American art, genius, and feeling,
could only have been produced by a heavy expenditure of
time and money, we most sincerely hope that the author,
and all who have had any hand in its beautiful illustra-
tions, will meet with a quick and substantial reward for
their patriotic labors.

From Lippincott, Grambo, & Co. (successors to Grigg &
Elliot), No. 14 North Fourth Street, Philadelphia :—

THE UNDERGROUND MAIL AGENT. By Yidi. Illus-
trated with designs by White. This, as the reader will be
most likely to judge from the title, is another of those
works which have been published in rapid succession, setting
forth the advantages and the disadvantages, the humanity
and the inhumanity of a certain domestic institution. The

object of the author has been to contrast the condition of
those who live subject to the institution referred to, and to
render its general aspects more favorable to their comfort
and happiness, than is the condition of the same race of
beings in the enjoyment of personal freedom. A tale of
some interest, but of no great probability, is interwoven
with the main design of the author.

From J. S. Redfield, Clinton Hall, New York, through
W. B. Zfeber, Philadelphia :—

LIFE IN THE MISSION, THE CAMP, AND THE ZE-
NANA ; or, Six Tears in India. By Mrs. Colin Mackenzie.
In two volumes. This is evidently the work of a woman
of good seuse, amiable feelings, and acute observation, pos-
sessing, withal, a courageous Christian heart. Her close
and well-written narrative" will afford the reader a vast
deal of instructive incident illustrative of varied life in In-
dia. Its minute descriptions of the domestic habits and
maimers of the oppressed and idolatrous natives, its con-
tinued references to the arduous duties of the mission-
aries, and its often indignant comments upon the tyranni-
cal forms and practices of the Anglo-Indian government,
will most fully command the attention of the reader to its
close.

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through W. P.
Hazard, Philadelphia :—

MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF THE
RIGHT HON. EDMUND BURKE; tvith Specimens of his
Poetry and Letters, and an estimate of his Genius and Talents
compared with those of his great Contemporaries. A new
edition, revised and enlarged. By Thomas Pryor, Esq. 1 n
two volumes. This is a standard work, which no student
of political history, no public speaker, no statesman should
be without. The subject of this interesting memoir, Ed-
mund Burke, was one of the most eloquent, liberal, just,
and fearless men of the eventful times in which he lived.
And yet he was remarkable for his modesty and unobtru-
siveness — we might almost say for the humility of hi3 cha-
racter. On this account, if on no other, these volumes
would form an important and instructive study for many
of the young men of the present day, who are aspirants
for literary, legal, or political honors. They will show to
them how consistently the highest attainments in any or
all these branches can be made to secure to their possessors
the highest triumphs, without a single departure from the
strictest propriety, and while sustaining a reputation as
guileless as that of childhood.

LIGHT ON THE DARK RIVER; or, Memorials of Mrs.
Henrietta A. L. Hamlin, Missionary in Turhey. By Marga-
rette Woods Lawrence. In these memorials of a pious and
amiable missionary lady, the Christian reader will meet
with consoling examples of faith and resignation to the
will of God under the severest trials and afflictions.

From Blanchard & Lea, Philadelphia : —

OUTLINES OF SCRIPTURE GEOGRAPHY AND HIS-
TORY : illustrating the Histm-ical portions of the Old and
New Testaments. Designed for the use of schools and pri-
vate reading. By Edward Hughes, F. R. A. S., F. R. G. *..
Head Master of the Royal Naval Lower School, Greenwic h
Hospital; author of "Outlines of Physical Geography.'"
"An Atlas of Physical, Political, and Commercial Geogra-
phy," etc. etc. It will not be required of us by the observm-
Christian, who has read the title of this work, that we should
say more than that it is all it modestly pretends to be. To
the devout student of the Holy Scriptures it will impart a
new and delightful interest. It will at once strengthen his
faith and enlarge the sphere of his knowledge, rendering

godey's magazine and lady's book,

hiin familiar not only with the characters of the prophets
and apostles, but familiar also with their places of birth, of
their places of residence, of the routes they travelled, and
of the scenes of their sufferings and triumphs. A great
portion of the work is formed of extracts from the writings
of religious and literary men, who have visited the inte-
resting regions described, and in whose contemplations we
have all the beauties of the sublimcst poetry blended with
the simplest truths of Scripture history.

From D. Appleton & Co., New York, through C. G. Hen-
derson & Co., Philadelphia :—

THE LIFE OF WILLIAM PINKNEY. By his Nephew,
the Lev. William Pinkney, D. D. , Here is a work that will
at once recommend itself to the American student and the
general reader. If any good reason can be given why we
should be familiar with the orators and statesmen of Eu-
rope, there can certainly be no excuse for our ignorance in
regard to the same class of men whose names are an honor
to our own country. Among the illustrious men who were
the contemporaries of Clay, Webster, Calhoun, Marshall,
and others, all of whom have passed away, was William
Pinkney, the subject of these memoirs. Perhaps no one
among his great competitors exceeded bim in eloquence,
and certainly none of them ever had greater opportunities
of becoming acquainted with the statesmen and the diplo-
matic policy of England and of Europe, during one of the
most eventful periods in history. This volume will be
deeply interesting to our young men. *

From L. K. Lippincott, No. 66 South Third Street, Phila-
delphia:—

THE LITTLE PILGRIM. A Monthly Journal for Girls
and Boys. Edited by Grace Greenwood. This is the mo-
dest title of a neat and pleasant-looking periodical, which
has just entered upon its career of usefulness, under the
editorial charge of one well known to our readers. We are
happy to see our fair friend engaged in an occupation so
congenial to her heart as that of providing for the literary
wants of the little ones. That Grace's reward may be com-
mensurate with the worth and excellence of what she can
and will do is our heartfelt wish, and one which, if granted,
will find her " Little Pilgrim" a welcome visitant to every
household in the land.

The terms of the " Little Pilgrim" are fifty cents a year,
or ten copies for four dollars. Payment invariably in ad-

From G. P. Putnam, New York, through W. B. Zieber,
Philadelphia : —

MR. RUTHERFORD'S CHILDREN. This is the first
number of a juvenile series, to be published under the
general title of " Ellen Montgomery's Book-Case." When
we state that it is from the pen of the author of " The Wide,
Wide World," " Queechy," etc., our friends will require
from us no other assurance of its merits. We are glad to
see our writers turning their attention to a better kind of
literature for children. Books of this class, even from au-
thors of moderate abilities, are acceptable; but, when they
hear the impress of genius and talent, they are, indeed, in-
valuable. Under their influence, we confidently hope the
rising generation wi" grow up pure in morals, with noble
and affectionate hearts, and with minds Avell stored with
things not brilliant only, but useful and entertaining. The
engravings in the volume by which these remarks have
been elicited are beautiful. The types with which it is
printed are large and clear, and the paper exquisite.

WESTERN CHARACTERS; or, Types of Border Life in
the Western States. By J. L. McConnell, author of '• Talbot

and Vernon," " The Glenns," etc. etc. With illustrations
by Darley. This is a highly entertaining volume, written
in a clear, forcible, and pleasant style, and valuable for the
amount of interesting information it contains with regard
to characters, some of which, a century hence, perhaps,
will have no living representatives. As to the correctness
of these "Types," we are not abundantly qualified tc
speak ; but they seem to us to be accurate, and certainly
are delineated with a skilful and vigorous hand.

From J. W. Moore, 195 Chestnut Street, Philadel-
phia : —

THE LIFE, EULOGY, AND GREAT ORATIONS OF
DANIEL WEBSTER. We have already noticed the ap-
pearance of this volume, and spoken favorably of its cha-
racter. It is sold wholesale and retail by the gentlemanly
publisher, from whom we have received our present copy.

From Eli Adams, Publisher, Davenport, Iowa : —
THE PENNY MAGAZINE, of the Society for the Diffusion
of Useful Knowledge. American republication from the
English plates. Volume 1. Semi-monthly Parts, 1, 2, and
3. In this age, one is to be surprised only by somethiug
that is really surprising. We confess we were not a little
astonished by receiving, from what was lately the back-
woods, these finely printed numbers of a new edition of an
old favorite. May success attend the efforts of the enter-
prising publisher!

CHILDREN'S BOOKS FOR THE HOLIDAYS. Go to

Henderson & Co., Corner of Fifth and Arch Streets, and
there you will find the handsomest assortment in the city.
They have sent us " Happy Days of Childhood," by Amy
Meadows. It contains twenty-four splendid full-page en-
gravings— pictures, really handsome embellishments, show
ing artistic skill and beauty, very different from those of
any other house that we have yet seen. We have also re-
ceived from Messrs. H. & Co. two large quarto Children's
Books, each entitled " The Picture Pleasure Book for 1854."
containing in each number five hundred engravings, and
all executed in the most masterly manner. These are
books that one feels gratified in presenting to children ;
they are complimentary to the donoi-'s taste. Call at Hen-
derson & Co.'s and see their superb assortment.

NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, &c.

From D. Appleton & Co., New York, through C. G. Hen-
derson & Co., Philadelphia: "All 'snot Gold that Glitters; or,
the Young Californian." By Cousin Alice, author of " No
such word as Fail," " Contentment better than Wealth,"
etc. etc. If we did not recollect a happy event which took
place some months since, we might, indeed, feel surprised
at the accuracy with which Cousin Alice describes a voy-
age around Cape Horn, as well as the condition and habits
of the miners and other worthy citizens of the gold regions.
But, after all, our personal recollections have nothing to do
with the real merits of the book, which are, indeed, of the
first order, morally, intellectually, and in its vivid and
truthful powers of description. — " Parley's Present for all
Seasons." By S. C. Goodrich, author of " Parley's Tales,"
etc. This is a handsomely illustrated volume, containing
twenty-five of Peter's pleasant tales for children. — " Busy
Moments of an Idle Woman." This volume comprises
several excellent tales.

From Dewitt & Davenport, New York: "Helen Mai-
grave ; or, the Jesuit Executorship : being a Passage in the
Life of a Secedcr from Romanism." An Autobiography. —
" The Monk's Revenge : or, the Secret Enemy." A tale of
the later Crusades. By Samuel Spring. Esq.

CHEMISTRY FOR YOUTH,

From J. S. Redfield, Clinton Hall, New York, through
W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia : " The Blackwater Chronicle.
A Narrative of an Expedition into the Land of Canaan, in
Randolph County, Va. — a country flowing with wild ani-
mals, such as Panthers, Bears, Wolves, Elk, Deer, Otter,
Badger, &c. &c, with innumerable Trout — by Five Adven-
turous Gentlemen, without any aid of government, and
solely upon their- own resources, in the Summer of 1851."
By " the Clerk of Oxenforde." This book is mainly descrip-
tive of a romantic and beautiful section of country, the ad-
vantages of which are imperfectly understood.

From Charles Scribner, New York, through A. Hart,
Philadelphia: " Gustavus Lindorm ; or, 'Lead us not into
Temptation.' " By Emilie F. Carlen, author of '•' One Year
of Wedlock," " The Bride of Ombery," etc. With a preface
to her American readers by the author. From the original
Swedish, by Elbert Perce. This is a very interesting do-
mestic tale by a favorite author. The preface pays a hand-
some tribute to some of the best American writers, while
the work itself sustains throughout a high moral and reli-
gious feeling. — "Tip-Top; or, a Noble Aim." A book for
boys and girls. By Mrs. S. C. Tuthill, author of " I '11 be a
Gentleman," " I "11 be a Lady," etc. etc. This is a most at-
tractive little volume. The wholesome lessons it contains
cannot fail to make a deep and salutary lesson upon the
minds of youthful readers. — "Sparing to Spend; or the
Loftons and Pinkertons." By T. S. Arthur. It has been
truly said of Mr. Arthur, that he never writes without an
aim, and that always a good one. The high moral aim of
tho present volume is " to exhibit the evils that flow from
the too common lack of prudence, self-denial, and economy
in young people at the beginning of life; and also to show,
by contrast, the beneficial results of a wise restriction of
the wants to the means." No one will rise from the peru-
sal of this naturally written story without feeling himself
strengthened in all good and honorable resolutions. — " The
Little Drummer ; or, Filial Affection." A story of the Rus-
sian campaign. By Gustav Nieritz. Translated from the
German, by Mrs. II. E. Conant. This little work, which
will greatly interest the youthful reader, is from the pen
of a favorite German author.

From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia: "The Countess de
Charny." We have received the second and last volume of
this charming work by Dumas. We would willingly have
three or four more volumes. — "Ten Thousand a Year."
By the author of the " Diary of a London Physician." In
one volume complete. Price 50 cents.

From Bunce & Brother, New York, through T. B. Peter-
son, Philadelphia: "The Star Chamber: an Historical Ro-
mance." By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth, author of " Old St.
Paul's," etc. etc.—" Jack Adams, the Mutineer." By Capt.
Frederick Chamier, R. N., author of " The Spitfire," etc.

From Hermann J. Meyer, 164 William Street, New York :
Nos. 3, 4, and 5 of "Meyer's Monats Ilefte," a beautifully
printed and illustrated German magazine. — Parts 6 and 7,
Vol. 2, ot " Meyer's Universum."— Parts 4 and 5 (East and
West) of "The United States Illustrated; or, Views of the
City and Country." With descriptions and historical arti-
cles. Edited by Charles A. Dana. This is a valuable pub-
lication, presenting some of the finest views on the Ameri-
can continent, elegantly engraved by the first artists.

"Ladies' Winter Book of Crochet Patterns." Miss Annie
T. Wilbur has issued a pamphlet containing a large num-
ber of receipts for working crochet patterns. It is pub-
lished by Moses H. Sargent, of Newburyport, Mass. The ex-
planations are very minute, and Miss W. has herself worked
eveiy pattern that she has given in the book.

0l!)cmt3tnj for 12 out I).

Scintillations in the Atmosphere.— When a globule ol
sodium is thrown into hot water, the decomposition is sc
violent that small particles of the metal are thrown out of
the water, and actually burn with scintillation and flame
in passing through the atmosphere.

A Lamp without a Flame. — Procure six or eight inches
of platinum wire, about the hundredth part of an inch in
thickness, coil it round a small cylinder ten or twelve
times, then drop it on the flame of a spirit-lamp, so that
part may touch the wick and part remain above it. Light
the lamp, and when it has burned a minute or two, put it
out ; the wire will then be ignited, and continue so long as
any spirit remains in the lamp. Lamps manufactured on
this principle are sold sometimes by the chemists.

Luminous Characters.— Take a piece of phosphorus and
fix it firmly into a quill; with this write any sentence or
fanciful figure or character on a whitewashed wall, and in
the dark the characters will appear beautifully luminous.
Care must be taken while using tho quill to dip it in a
basin of cold water frequently, or the repeated friction will
cause it to inflame, to the manifest detriment of the
operator.

Light produced from Sugar. — If two large pieces of sugar
(loaf) are rubbed together in the dark, a light blue flame,
like lightning, will be emitted. The same effect is produced
when a piece of loaf sugar is struck with a hammer.

Green Fire. — Take of flowers of sulphur thirteen
drachms, of nitrate of barytes seventy-seven drachms, of
oxymuriate of potash five, of metallic arsenic two, of char-
coal three. The nitrate of barytes should be well dried
and powdered ; it should then be mixed with the other in-
gredients, all finely pulverized, and the whole triturated
until perfectly blended together. A little calamine may
be occasionally added, to make the mixture burn slower.

The Protean Light.— Soak a cotton wick in a strong
solution of salt and water, dry it, place it in a spirit lamp,
and, when lighted, it will give a bright yellow light for a
long time. If you look through a piece of blue glass at the
flame, it will lose all its yellow light, and you will only
perceive feeble violet rays. If before the blue glass, you
place a yellow glass, the lamp will be absolutely invisible,
though a candle may be distinctly seen through the same
glasses.

Light from a Flower. — Hold a lighted candle to the
flower of the fraxinella, aud it will dart forth little flashes
of light. This beautiful appearance is caused by the essen-
tial and inflammable oil contained in small vessels at the
extremities of the flower, which vessels burn at the approach
of any inflamed body, setting at liberty the essential oil, as
that contained in orange-peel is discharged by pressure.

Brilliant Light from Steel. — Pour into a watch glass a
little sulphuret of carbon, and light it; hold in the flame
a brush of steel wire, and it will burn beautifully. A
watch-spring may also be burnt in it.

Light from Flannel. — Shake flannel in tho dark, and it
will emit a light similar to that produced from rubbing the
j back of a cat.

d&obnj'B #rra-Ctmu.

Our January Number.— We have no hesitation in saying
that this is, so far, the handsomest number we have ever
published, in all respects: reading matter, pictorial illus-
trations, paper, and typography. We again are obliged to
give new type, and in our choice of that we think we have
been very successful. It is large and clear, and will not be
so trying to the eyes as our former small type. It was
manufactured for us by Messrs. Collins & M'Leester, and
is in every way worthy their established reputation. We
have said that this is our best number so far ; but we do
not mean to say that it is the best number we intend to
publish, we make no such promise. Time will show ; but
if any magazine intends to come in competition with us,
they must work harder than we do to please a public that
has ever been generous to us.

Our January number is a type of the year, with the ex-
ception of the engraved title-page, which we always give in
the first number. We do not commence with a large
number of pages and plates to catch subscribers, and then
dwindle down to a shadow. This thing is beginning to be
understood by the public and the press. Hear what the
" Auburn Gazette" says on the subject : —

"Godey's Lady's Book. — The last number is, of course,
better than the ladies bargained for, for the veteran Godey
not only does not do things miserly, but always gives more
than he promises. This is perhaps the great reason of his
success and popularity. We have seen January numbers
of magazines that were really magnificent, but by December
their attractions have 'grown small by degrees and beauti-
fully less.' Godey's practice is the reverse of this. Excel-
sior! is his motto, and nobly does he work up to it. Without
saying more, we simply suggest that now is the time to
form clubs for the next year."

If we fall off in any respect from what we have stated
above, we beg to be reminded of it.

Our Title-page for 1854. — This is really one of the most
beautiful engravings we have ever published : " Time in
search of Cupid." Here we have history, painting, sculpture,
music, love, flowers, a little buncomb in the shape of the
American Flag, and the portrait ®f a very worthy person,
who has been the ladies' humble servant for twenty-four
years. Designed for the " Book" by Gilbert, of London.

TnE Pleiades.- -This engraving was designed expressly
for the " Lady'sBook" by Wm. Croome, Esq.; it recommends
itself. May we say a word here about original designs?
We believe that we are the only publisher that has ever
gone to the expense of having original designs made for
engraving. We have had more than one hundred original
designs inade for our own use by such artists as Gilbert,
of London, Darley, Rothermel, Croome, Schusscle, Waitt,
and others.

Our Fashion Plate. — We challenge any one to produce
anything that can be compared to it this side of Louis
Napoleon's dominions.

To the Ladies. — As the season has now arrived, will our
ladv subscribers please bear in mind the appeal we made
to them in otL November number, 1853?
82

We must again remind our subscribers that they need
not wait for collecting agents to call, but please remit us at
once for last year, and, at the same time, include the sub-
scription for 1854.

General Agency for Periodicals. — Many persons wish-
ing to subscribe for different publications do not like the
trouble of writing several letters. This may be obviated
by sending the money to the subscriber, who will attend
to all orders punctually, whether for publications monthly
or weekly in this city or elsewhere.

Any information asked for by any of our subscribers we
will cheerfully give, if it is in our power.

We will attend to purchasing any goods that may be de-
sired, and will forward them at the lowest market price.

Brodie, of 51 Canal St., New York, again shines in this
number. His store is besieged with customers, and he de-
serves his success.

Our New Department. — Drawing Lessons. — We recom-
mend the simple method here practised to parents. It is
the simplest method of teaching drawing we have ever seen.

A lady writes us: "I find your patterns with diagrams
how to cut dresses invaluable to me. I have used every
one, and have not failed in any one instance in getting a
most becoming garment."

It is well suggested by a lady subscriber that the interest
of the " Lady's Book" does not cease with the receipt of the
numbers. She says that it is worth more to her when
bound as a book of reference for receipts and other matters
than any Cyclopaedia.

We wish it to be distinctly understood that our fashions
are always in advance, so that ladies in distant places can
have their dresses made by our descriptions, and wear them
at the same time that they are worn in Philadelphia and
New York.

" That 's Enough." — So say we. If every one would only
do as the editor of the "Raleigh Age" hae done, hand the
"Lady's Book" to his wife — ah, bother! there it is again,
we are always forgetting that some of our friends arc not
so blessed; — well, if they will only hand the " Hook'' to some
female friend, they will all most likely say. as the good
wife of "The Age" says, " It is capital," and then the gen-
tleman can add what the editor, iu this case, has done,
" That 's enough."

A youno Miss, at a party, was observed once, when it was
growing late in the evening, to be getting quite uneasy;
they had gone through a groat many plays of different
kinds, but none of them seemed to suit her; at last, tin ling
it impossible to conceal her uneasiness any longer, she
stepped up to the mistress of the bouse with '• Please,
ma'am, when does the kissing commence?" We find from
our exchanges that, in our own case, it is about to com-
mence with us now. Well, after waiting twenty-four years,
rather longer than the young lady bad to wait, we ecu only
say " Bareus is willing." Henry Clay kissed his way from

godey's arm chair.

North to South, and from East to West; Godey can't refuse
— come on, come one, come all. The "Georgia Standard"
says : " Mr. Godey, we have a notion of getting up a $10
club, and see how many kisses we can collect for you in the
bargain. If we meet with any success (and, for your sake,
we are quite confident), we will send the money and retain
the kisses, or retain them and send the money, as you
please."

Now it strikes us that this editor, in question, never
says kisses for us, but is for keepiug them all to himself,
something like the saying of the boys, " Heads I win, tails
you lose." We are content anyhow.

" An, she thinks that I forget her." — The ballad pub-
lished in our December number was presented to us by
Messrs. Andrews & Co., the popular music sellers of Spring
Garden St., and is copyrighted, which we neglected to insert
under the title.

Music from Andrews's Celebrated Depot, 66 Spring Gar-
den St. — " Gems of the Ball-room," as taught by Mr. and
Mrs. Durang, among which will be found " Pop goes the
Weasel," the rage now in London, La Willicka; the gems
consist of six pieces. We have also received T. C. Andrews's
collection of new and fashionable Polkas, Waltzes, Schot-
tisches, &c. '* The Return to Philadelphia," a waltz, com-
posed and dedicated to Mr. Andrews by Louis S. D. llees ;
"Morning and Evening," tevo new and beautiful Polkas,
composed by Mrs. Burtis.

We shall be happy to furnish our subscribers with any
music from this establishment.

Peter Richings, Esq., and his Daughter. — We have been
presented with an engraving of the above, perfectly lifelike,
reflecting great credit on the artists, Messrs. Wagner &
McGuigan. We understand that the success of Mr. It. and
daughter has been very great, and we beg leave to recom-
mend them to our friends of the press wherever they may
go. They will find in Mr. ltichings the perfect gentleman,
a man whom we have known for the last twenty years, and
never heard a word uttered to his disparagement.

Lithography. — We fancy now that no improvement can
be made in printing in colors upon the beautiful specimen
lately presented to us by Wm. D. Chillas, Bulletin Build-
ings, South Third St. In the centre is the best head of
Washington we have ever seen, not a mass of yellow and
red, but beautifully colored. On his right is a full-length
portrait of Liberty, and on his left, Fortitude. A beautilul
representation of the Crystal Palace is at the bottom of the
picture, a city is seen at the top, in front of which is a
splendid full figure of the Genius of Liberty. We give but
a faint description of the plate ; it must be seen to be ap-
preciated. The colors are beautifully contrasted, and the
whole affair we pronounce decidedly the most splendid
specimen of printing in colors we have ever seen.

We see an article going the rounds of the papers that an
old lady has had her third new set of teeth. We see nothing
remarkable in this except the expense. Our dentists here
charge some $200 for a new set of teeth.

Doctor, he has Done It.— A physician in this city tells the
following story— not without some regret on his part for
the advice given : —

" A hard-working woman had a drunken husband, who,
Avhen partly sober, would get the blues and endeavor to
destroy himself by taking laudanum. Twice did the wife
ascertain that he had swallowed the destructive drug, aud

twice did the doctor restore him. Upon the second resto-
ration, the doctor addressed him as follows: "You good-
for-nothing scoundrel, you don't want to kill yourself, you
merely want to annoy your wife and me. If you want to
kill yourself, why don't you cut your throat and put an end
to the matter?' Well, away went the doctor, and thought
no more of his patient until, some two weeks after, he was
awakened from a sound nap by the tinkling of his nic'hi-
bell. lie put his head out of the window and inquired
' "What's the matter?' 'Doctor, he has done it,' was the
reply. 'Done what?' 'John has taken your advice.' 'What
advice ?' ' Why you told him to cut his throat, and he has
done it, and he is uncommon dead this time.' " Imagine the
doctor's feelings. Ho has since ceased giving such cutting
advice.

We presume most of our readers have seen or heard of
the beautiful song of " The Mistletoe Bough." The follow-
ing parody we consider one of the best we ever saw : —

THE VORK-'OUSE BOY.

TnE great coats hung in the vork-'ouse hall,
The vite 'ats shone on the vite-vashed vail ;
Aud the paupers all were blithe and gay,
A-kcepin' their Christmas 'oliday ;
Veu the master he cried, vith a savage leer,
" You '11 get soup for your Christmas cheer!"

Oh ! the vork-'ouse boy !

Oh ! the vork-'ouse boy I

At length all ov us to bed vas sent,

But a boy was missing — in search ve vent !

Ye sought him above, and ve sought him below,

And ve sought him vith faces of grief and vo!

Ve sought in each corner, each kettle, each pot —

In the vater-butt looked — but found him not !

And veeks rolled on, and ve all vere told

That the vork-'ouse boy had been burked and sold!

Oh ! the vork-'ouse boy !

But ven the soup-coppers repair did need,

The copper-smith come, and there he seed

A dollop of bones lie grizzling there,

In a leg of the trowsers the boy did vear !

To gain his fill the lad did stoop,

And dreadful to tell, he vas b'iled into soup

And ve all ov us said, and ve said it vith sneers,

That he was pushed in by the hoverseers!

Oh ! the vork-'ouse boy

Oh ! the vork-'ouse boy !

A cockney poet writes as follows : —

'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour,

That chilling fate has on me fell ;
There always comes a soaking shower

When I hain't got no umberell !

We have given elsewhere in this number the Philosophy
of Shopping. We now give an article of an entirely dif-
ferent nature : —

Directions to Ladies for Shopping.— Shopping is the
amusement of spending money at shops. It is to a lady
what sporting is to a gentleman; somewhat productive,
and very chargeable. Sport, however, involves the pay
ment of one's own shot; shopping may be managed by
getting it paid for. Ride all the way till you come to the
shopping-ground in a coach if you can, in an omnibus if you
must, lest you should be tired when you get there, T'yoU

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

-J ft

^ lflEL.]-

?'«& /If?!?

are a lady of fashion, do not get out of your carriage ; and
when you stop before your milliners, particularly if it is a
cold, wet day, make one of the young women come out to
you, and, without a bonnet, in her thin shoes, stand on the
curbstone in the damp and mud. The best places for
shopping are fashionable streets, bazaars, and the like.
Street^shopping principally relates to hosiery, drapery, and
jewellery of the richer sort. Bazaar and arcade shopping,
to fancy articles, nicknacks, and perfumery. In street-
shopping, walk leisurely along, keeping a sharp lookout on
the windows. In bazaar-shopping, beat each stall sepa-
rately. Many patterns, colors, novelties, conveniences, and
other articles will thus strike your eye, which you would
otherwise have never wanted or dreamed of. "When you
have marked down some dress or riband, for instance, that
you would like, go and inquire the price of it; haggle, de-
mur, examine, and, lastly, buy. You will then be asked
"whether there is any other article to-day?" Whether
there is or not, let the shopman show you what wares he
pleases; you will very likely desire one or more of them.
Whatever you think very cheap, that buy, without reference
to your need of it; it is a bargain. You will find, too, as
you go on, that one thing suggests another : as bonnets,
ribands for trimming, or flowers— and handkerchiefs, per-
fumery. In considering what more you want, try and
recollect what your acquaintances have got that you have
not; or what you have seen worn by strangers in going
along. See if there is anj thing before you superior in any
respect to a similar thing which you have already ; if so,

get it instantly, not reflecting whether your own will be
well enough. You had better finish your streets before
you take your bazaars and arcades ; for there the shopping,
which one might otherwise call cover-shopping, though
excellent sport, refers mostly to articles of no manner of
use; and it may be as well to reserve toys and superfluities
to the last. Married ladies, when they have laid in all they
want for themselves, are recommended to show their
though tfuln ess by purchasing some little trifle for their
husbauds, who, of course, will have to pay for it in the end.

One of Them Gone. — No doubt spurred on by our articles
on the subject. We wish the happy couple much joy.

In Middleton, Logan Co., Ky.. on Thursday evening,
October 6th, by the Ilcv. James B. Evans, Oscar C. Rhea,
editor of the "Russclville Herald," to Miss Judith Grubbs,
daughter of Col. Thos. Grubbs.

Covers for Binding.— We have a beautiful cover suitable
for binding twelve numbers of the " Lady's Book." Price
twenty-five cents.

The Trials of a Needle-woman. — Wo are unable to com-
mence this very interesting story until February, when a
double portion of it will be given.

Orders for music, jewellery, patterns for dresses, chil-
dren's wardrobes, dresses, dry-goods, etc., will be promptly
attended to.

godey's arm-chair.

Godey's Gallery of Splendid Engravings. — We have re-
ceived the first number of this truly attractive and valuable
publication, which has been gotten up with unequalled care
and taste by L. A. Godey, Esq., the enterprising publisher
Of the " Lady's Book." It embraces a large number of
choice pictures by the first masters, and forms a real trea- \
sury of beauty and art. The subjects are well chosen, and
no lover of the beautiful should be without the work. —
Daily Evening Argus.

The Book of the Toilet. — There goes by our window this
instant, as our pen indites our thoughts, a new omnibus,
gay as a rainbow, with the pleasant name of " Louis A.
Godey" painted on its delicate panels, and we now have tho ;
name of the far-famed publisher of the "Lady's Book," i
Louis A. Godey, on the title-page of one of the most dainty
little volumes imaginable. Just the thing for a reticule or j
a vest pocket, and containing a hundred charming re-
cipes for the fair, which no one would ever have thought
of but such a capital lady"s man as the gallant and courteous j
author of " The Book for the Toilet."— Phila. Sat. Courier. j

Christ Healing the Sick. — This splendid plate, contain-
ing fifty-two figures, the most expensive and beautiful one
ever given in a periodical, and the only time West's cele-
brated painting has been engraved, we have printed on
fine paper, of a size suitable for framing, and will furnish
a copy on receipt of fifty cents.

Friend Pioneer. — We do not object to the term old, we
like it, especially when you accompany it with such plea-
sant compliments. Look at our picture in this number,
and then say what you think of us. A man never feels
old when he sees himself reproduced in the youngsters
around him.

The Boston Stage, by W. W. Clapp, Jr. — We neglected to
state, in our last, that this very entertaining book can be
purchased at W. P. Hazard's, Chestnut St. above Seventh.

A. R. Wriggs, the very able editor of the "Independent
Winchester," Tenn., while in this city, paid a visit to the
printing-office of Messrs. Collins, the gentlemen who print
the "Lady's Book," and thus he discourses : —

" I next visited the large printing concern of Mr. Collins.
I had but a faint idea before of the extent of the printing
business. Fourteen large steam presses are kept constantly
running, besides six hand-presses. I was politely shown
through the rooms of this immense concern by the foreman
of the establishment, who took an interest in explaining
to me such things as I did not understand. Mr. Collins, the
owner of this establishment, was, but a few years ago, a
poor journeyman printer. By indomitable industry and
perseverance he has arisen to his present position. He is
now in the vigor of life, and bids fair to enjoy a long and
useful one. I spent an hour in the private office of Mr. C,
and when I left I felt that I had been benefited by his con-
versation. He keeps a large card hanging conspicuously
over his desk, requesting loafers to call as seldom as possi-
ble, and make their visits as short as convenient. Business
men, as well as loafers, should make a note of this."

Rapp's Gold Pens. — We have received orders for more
than one hundred of these pens. We repeat the terms,
and also our hearty assurance that they are the best gold
pens we have ever used. Price of pens, condor size, with
a holder, $6; in a silver case, $7 ; swan-quill size, with
double exteusion silver cases, $4 ; goose-quill size, suitable
for ladies, with holders, as above, $3.
VOL. XLVIII. — 8

Subscribers will please remit direct to us, and we will
act as your agents in procuring and paying for other pub-
lications.

Arthur's Home Magazine.— We predict for this magazine
a popularity never exceeded in this country. It is the best
and cheapest published this side of the Atlantic. — Herald.
Springfield, N. Y.

Mr. Arthur has succeeded in getting up, in our opinion.
one of the best and cheapest magazines of the day. We
wish the talented editor and author success in his new en-
terprise ! — Cincinnati Daily Atlas.

Arthur's Home Gazette. — The " Church Review and Ec-
clesiastical Register," published at New Haven, Con., gays:
'Arthur's Home Gazette is the very best of the literary
weekly newspapers. Its moral tone is admirable."

We have a year's subscription ready for the author of the
following, if we can ever find out who it is : —

" The ladies arc accused of extravagance in their dress
and ornaments every day in the week, by some brainless
upstart, while the other sex is quite as liable to censure.
Talk of female extravagance! why, a fashionable cravat in
these days sells for five dollars, while the fall styles of vel-
vet vests range from ten to twenty-five. And in the matter
of vest buttons, single sets sell for a hundred dollars and
upwards. The jewellers have styles at prices ranging from
ten to twenty dollars a button, or from sixty to one hun-
dred and twenty dollars a set, and the price of a fashionable
shirt at the Boston clothing stores is twelve dollars. Fe-
male extravagance, indeed !"

There seems to be some contention among the New York
editors upon the subject of copying articles from magazines.
We can only say : You cannot take up an English periodi-
cal without finding in it an article from "Godey," under
the general head of an " American Tale."

The following notice was lately posted on a store in the
upper part of North Fourth Street : " Dis Stor is to rent
Enquir in te Stor."

We find in looking over the English papers some queer
advertisements : —

A tailor advertises gentlemen's clothing, and ends by
saying : " A fit guaranteed." That is just what we, in this
country, would not like.

" M. D. G. acknowledges the receipt of one pound sterling
from a friend."

"Messrs. W. have received the sum of one pound sterling
from A. B. In remitting the balance, Messrs. W. should
feel obliged by having A. B.'s name and address."

"John, come. Do coihe, John."

" Betsey will have to wait. The old cook still hangs on."

A friend once gave us the following as an exemplifica-
tion of patience: "To go to a country tavern, order a
chicken for dinner ; then, seating yourself at the window,
you presently see the cook in full chase after the poo:
biddy. Then comes the reflection that that chicken first
(like Mrs. Glass's receipt for cooking a fish, ' First catch you.
fish') has to be caught, next scalded to get the feathers oft.
then cleaned, and then cooked ; and then, if you have any
appetite left, you may cat it."

Thrift. — A man wished a landlord to reduce his board,
because he had had two teeth extracted and could, not cat
so much.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Tub " American Union'," published in Boston, is an ele- j
frrnit literary and national newspaper, with a circulation of j
nearly 40,000 copies. It employs the most popular Amori- j
can writers, and inserts no advertisements. All the stories j
are completed in a single number, and are American in ]
their character. It is, in fact, a paper for the American |
people. A specimen will be sent to any person desiring it.
The terms are $2 a year ; 1 copy two years $3 ; 4 copies one
year $6 ; 12 copies one J ear $15 ; and 20 copies one year $20.
R. B. Fitts & Co., Publishers, Boston, Mass.

The Queen giving a Lesson to Ladies on their Bonnets. —
The "Dublin Evening Mail" has the following hit on bon-
nets: "We may mention, for the information of our fair
readers, that the queen wore a pink bonnet (on her visit to
the Exhibition) which her majesty wore on her head, be it
remarked, and whose shape we wish we could induce tho
milliners of the present day to adopt, instead of those ab-
surd things which hang half way down the backs of young
ladies, giving a brazen expression to the fairest and most
delicate features, and an appearance of being high-shoul-
dered to oven graceful figures."

One would naturally suppose that where there is an article
that is pleasant and every way agreeable, and costs but little,
a great deal of it would be used. " Civility" costs nothing,
and yet how little of it is in use ! We are reminded of this
by the following anecdote: When old Zachariah Fox, the
great merchant, of Liverpool, was asked by what means he
contrived to realize so large a fortune as he possessed, his
reply was —

" Friend, by one article alone, and in which thou mayesi
deal too, if thou pleasest — it is civility."

"Those who have lost an infant are never, as it were,
without an infant child. The other children grow up to
manhood and womanhood, and suffer all the changes of
mortality ; but this one alone is rendered an immortal
child, for death has arrested it with its kindly harshness,
and blessed it into an eternal image of youth and inno-
cence."

The " State of Matrimony" is one of the United States.
It is bounded by a ring on one side and a cradle on the
other. The climate is sultry till you pass the tropics of
housekeeping, when squally weather sets in with such
power as to keep all hands as cool as cucumbers. For the
principal roads leading to this interesting state, consult the
first pair of blue eyes you run against.

The modest maiden, the prudent wife, or the careful ma-
tron, are much more serviceable in life than petticoated
philosophers, blustering heroines, or virago queens. She
who makes her husband happy, and reclaims him from
vice, is a much greater character than ladies described in
romance, whose whole occupation is to murder mankind
with shafts from their quiver or their eyes. — Goldsmith.

The Inventor of Ink.— The Chinese think that the in-
ventor of ink was one of the greatest men that ever lived ;
that he enjoys a blessed immortality, and is charged with
keeping an account of the manner in which all ink is used
Here below, and for every abuse of it he records a black
mark against the offender.

The words of the widow of Helvetius to Napoleon are
worth remembering : " STou cannot conceive how much
bappinosg bAU be found ;v. three acr/> ' of hind."

Some idea may be formed of the importance of perfumery
as an article of commerce, when it is stated that one of tho
large perfumers of Grasse, in France, employs annually
80,000 lbs. of orange blossoms, 60,000 lbs. of cassia flowers.
54,000 lbs. of rose-leaves, 32,000 lbs. of jessamine blossoms,
35,000 lbs. of violet flowers, 20,000 lbs. of tube roses, 16,000
lbs. of lilac flowers, besides rosemary, mint, lavender,
thyme, lemon, orange, and other odorous plants in like
proportions.

To drive Rats from a House. — Let one of the juveniles
commence a course of lessons on the French horn.

Mrs. Partington wishes to know if Old Bull plays upon
one of his own horns.

Punch inquires, " Did you ever see an actor who did not
pronounce garden, ' giardin,' and kind, ' kyind V "

We once heard a now very celebrated actor say, " lie
jests at shyars (scars) who never felt a wound."

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

" S. J. R." — Sent pattern of cloak on 11th, by mail.

" W. F. S." — Sent your Condor Pen on 11th, by mail.

" Miss A. M."— Sent your bonnet on the 8th, by Adams's
Express.

" Mrs. P. H. G." — The curtains from Carryl's you will
have received before this notice reaches you. Only one
change was necessary, which is an improvement.

" G. L. M." — The Talma and chemisettes were forwai'ded
by Kinsly's Express on tho 8th.

"Mrs. I. A. C." — Wrote about side-saddle on 31st.

" M. I. D." — Sent your cloak by Adams's Express on the
19 th.

" J. P. I." — Your goods were sent from New York.

" New Lexington." — We acknowledge the receipt of a
very pretty drawing from an unknown correspondent at
this place. He will please accept our thanks.

"J. II.," Dover, N. II. — We do not know the article.
Perhaps a physician or apothecary can give you the in-
formation. You do not mention in what number you saw
the receipt.

" W. S. P.," Cal. — Sent the wardrobe complete by Adams '
on the 4th, addressed to San Francisco. Wrote you at
Benecia, aud inclosed receipt ; also sent duplicate letter to
San Francisco.

" L. A. B." — Send the size of your neck, and we will send
you the latest patterns for collars from Griffith's.

" W. J. S." — Write under your proper name, and send t
stamp to pay return postage.

" A. II." — We recommend the old establishment opposite
State House.

" Mrs. O." — Sent you the artificial flowers on the 8th,
both for bonnet and hair.

"II. E. B." — All embroideries are washed at the manu-
factories before they are offered for sale. Their method
of washing is their own secret. It will do no harm to
wash them. We cannot ascertain any other method of
cleaning them. We will put your question to our sub-
scribers ; perhaps some of them may favor us with a reply.
Here it is : —

•'Mr. Godet: After embroidering your beautiful pat-
terns, we do not like the idea of their being washed before
use, as it gives them the appearance of having been worn.
The muslin embroidery we purchase i* certainly cleaned
without washing; and could not Godey from his ' Arm-
Chair' tell us how it is done, and greatly oblige one nf his
subscribers? II. E. B.'

RECEIPTS.

" J. S." — Price of pattern for cloak $1.

" L. M. 0."— Have sent you the patterns of the wall pa-
per by Adams. G. will come on and put them up, simply
charging his travelling expenses and loss of time.

'• E. K. 0." — Pattern and material will cost $3.

"Subscriber," Watertown, Miss.— Can send you patterns
for boy:s aprons for one dollar. Very handsome ones.

" M. L. II."— Sent you two pairs of gaiter boots on the
18th, by Kinsly's Express.

£l)e Bovvquht's Department.

The Connecticut " Raiubow" says : " Borrowers are in-
formed that they cannot have ours." And yet we will
venture to say that the editor will have applicants to
loan it.

The "Prairie Journal" says he is determined not to
" make a circulating library of the ' Book' Godey kindly
eends us."

The Arkansas "Southern Gem" asks a very natural
question: "Why does not every one take 'Godey?' Those
who read ours shall pay fifty cents for it, and upon no other
terms."

What we Lose by Borrowers.— The "Eastern Times"
says : " Will the publisher please forward the first three
numbers of the present year ? We had the misfortune to
lend them." Of course, we sent them.

(Enigmaa.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN DECEMBER NUMBER.
13. Wren. 14. Water.

15. The letter U. 16. A card.

ENIGMAS.

One side of every thing you see,
You often think and talk of me ;
Yet though I clearly should proclaim
All that I am, and tell my name
Without disguise or round about,
Still you could never make me out.

By wise men in the days of yore
I was accounted one of four ;
But what our number is, of late
Learning has brought into debate.
The circuit of this globe I round;
Disdaining loftiest wall and mound.
Scarce felt or known, I always move
Within you, round you, and above ;
Floating the earth and heaven between,
Am often heard but never seen ;
Yet, though devoid of shape or size,
Grow thinner always as I rise.
By drawing me, you live and breathe ;
If I withdraw, you sink in death.
I help to feed the plant and tree;
I serve the birds for sail and sea.
Without my passport to its flight
Your eye could not discern the light,
Nor to your ear would ever reach
The voice of music or of speech.

I am a gesture, a grimace,
A blemish oftener than a grace,
Except upon a favorite's face.
But many are the parts I play,
And oft the grave and oft the gay,
Am pure, am foul, am heavy, light,
Am safer iu the day than night,
Upon the mountain keen and snarp,
But soft and sweet upon the harp.
The prince of demons by degree
Is for a season prince of me ;
But thence, too, he shall fall in time,
As once ne fell from higher clime;
Meanwhile his lies of every hue
By taking me are passed for true.

Of my first you '11 perceive at a glance,

That I 'in reckoned ill-meaning in France :

Which annexed with what :s everywhere cold,

You '11 a form as repulsive behold

As disfigures humanity's race,

Or could character taint with disgrace.

Heceipta, &c.

Iron-Moulds in Paper. — When paper is disfigured with
iron-moulds, it may be restored by applying to the stained
part a solution of sulphate of potash, and afterwards a
weak solution of oxalic acid. The sulphate attracts from
the iron part of its oxgyen, and renders it soluble in the
diluted acids. This is applicable to other substances ; but
care must be taken to place the oxalic acid in a safe place,
and to mark the bottom containing it " poison."

Knives and Forks.— Handles of ebony should be cleaned
with a soft cloth dipped in a little sweet oil ; and after rest-
ing awhile with the oil on them, let them be well wiped with
a clean towel. Ivory or bone handles ought to be washed
with a soaped flannel and lukewarm water, and then wiped
with a dry towel. To preserve or restore their whiteness,
soak them occasionally in alum-water that has been boiled
and then grown cold. Let them lie for an hour in a vessel
of this alum-water. Then take them out, and brush them
well with a small brush (a tooth-brush will do), and after-
wards take a clean linen towel, dip it in cold water, squeeze
it out ; and, while wet, wrap it round the handles, leaving
them in it to dry gradually — as, if dried too fast out of the
alum-water, they will be injured. If properly managed,
this process will make them very white.

Expelling Insects generally.— All insects dislike penny-
royal ; the odor of it destroys some and drives away others.
At seasons when fresh green bunches of pennyroyal are
not to be obtained, get oil of pennyroyal, pour some into
a saucer, and steep in it small bils of wadding or raw cot-
ton; lay them about in corners', close^shelves, bureau-
drawers, boxes, and all places where you have seen cock-
roaches or ants, or wherever they are likely to be found.
If the insects do not speedily disappear, renew the cotton
and pennyroyal. It is also well to place some of them
about the bedsteads, between the sacking and the mattress
Bunches of pennyroyal are excellent for brushing off that
very annoying little insect, the seed tick.

How to Preserve Eggs.— Take a half inch board of any
convenient length and breadth, and pierce it as full o.f hole"
(each lVo inches in diameter) as you can. A board two IHtt
and six inches in length, and one foot ""ide, has five dozen
in it, say twelve rows of live each. Then take four strips

MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK,

two inches broad, and nail them together edgewise into a
rectangular frame of the same size as your other hoard'
Nail this board upon the frame, and the work is done, un-
less you chooso to nail a heading around the top.

Put your eggs in this board as they come from the poul-
try house, the small ends down, and they will keep good for
six months, if j'ou take the following precautions : Take
-«re that the eggs do not get wet, either in the nest or after-
wards. Keep them in a cool room in summer, and out of
reach of frost in winter. If two boards be kept, one
can be filling while the other is emptying.

To Ccre Corns. — The cause of corns, and likewise the
torture they occasion, is simply friction ; and to lessen the
friction, you have only to use your toe as you do in like cir-
cumstances a coach-wheel — lubricate it with some oily sub-
stance. The best and cleanest thing to use is a little sweet
oil, rubbed on the affected part (after the corn is carefully
pared) with the tip of the finger, which should be done on
getting up in the morning, and just before stepping into bed
at night. In a few days the pain will diminish, and in a few
days more it will cease, when the nightly application may
be discontinued.

For Cure of Ringworm.— Take of subcarbonate of soda
one drachm, which dissolve in half a pint of vinegar.
Wash the head every morning with soft soap, and apply the
lotion night and morning. One teaspoonful of sulphur and
treacle should also be given occasionally night and morning.

DOMESTIC RECEIPTS.

CUSTARDS, CREAMS, JELLIES, AND BLANC

MANGE.

[First article.]

Custard is always eaten cold, and either poured over
fruit tarts, or served up separately in custard-cups, in each
of which a macaroon steeped in wine, and laid at the bot-
tom, will be found a good addition. The flavoring may like-
wise be altered according to taste, by using a different kind
of essence, the name of which it then acquires ; as of lemon,
orange, marashino, vanilla, &c. It is almost needless to
say that cream or a portion of it will make it richer than
mere milk. It should be recollected that in custard, when
made as cream, and eaten as usually called "raw," the
whites of the eggs are never all used ; but they may be
devoted to many other purposes. The French mode of mak-
ing it is, to measure the number of cups which are to be
filled, and use nearly that quantity of milk or cream, sim-
mering it upon the fire until beginning to boil, then adding
about half an ounce of powdered sugar to each cup, with
iemon-peel, bay-leaves, or almond-powder; then take the
yolk of an egg to each small cup, beat them up with the
milk, fill the cups, place in a vase of boiling water until the
custards become firm.

Custard Cream.— Boil half a pint of new milk with a
piece of lemon-peel, not very large, a stick of cinnamon,
and eight lumps of white sugar. Should cream be employed
instead of milk, there will be no occasion to strain it. Beat
the yolks, say of four eggs ; strain the milk through coarse
muslin, or a hair-sieve; then mix the eggs and milk very
gradually together, and simmer it gently on the fire, stir-
ring it until it thickens, but removing it the moment it
begins to boil, or it will curdle. A cheap and excellent sort
is made by boiling three pints of new milk with a bit of
lemon-peel, a bit of cinnamon, two or three bay-leaves, and
sweetening it. Meanwhile, rub down smooth a large spoon-
lul of rice -flour into a cup of cold milk, and mix with it
■r-ur yolks of eggs well beaten. Take a basin of the boil-

ing milk, mix it with the cold, and pour that to the boiling,
stining it one way till it begins to thicken, and is just
going to boil up ; then pour it into a pan and stir it some
time.

For rich Custard.— Boil a pint of milk with lemon-peel
and cinnamon ; mix a pint of cream and the yolks of eight
eggs, well beaten ; when the milk tastes of the seasoning,
strain it and sweeten it enough for the whole ; pour it into
the cream, stirring it well; then give the custard a simmer
till of a proper thickness. Do not let it boil; stir the
whole time one way. Or : — Boil a pint of cream with some
mace, cinnamon, and a little lemon-peel ; strain it, and
when cold add to it the yolks of four and the whites of two
eggs, a little orange-flower water, and sugar to your taste.
A little nutmeg and two spoonfuls of sweet wine may
be added, if approved. Mix well, and bake in cups.

Rice Cdstards. — Sweeten a pint of milk with loaf-sugar,
boil it with a stick of cinnamon, stir in sifted ground rice
till quite thick. Take it off the fire ; add the whites of
three eggs well beaten ; stir it again over the fire for two
or three minutes, then put it into cups that have lain
in cold water; do not wipe them. "When cold, turn them
out, and put them into the dish in which they are to be
served; pour round them a custard made of the yolks of
the eggs and a little more than half a pint of milk. Put
on the top a little red currant jelly, or raspberry jam. A
pretty supper dish.

Orange Custard.— Boil very tender the rind of half a
Seville orange ; beat it in a mortar to a paste ; put to it a
spoonful of the best brandy, the juice of a Seville orange,
four ounces of lump-sugar, and the yolks of four eggs.
Beat all together for ten minutes, and pour in by degrees a
pint of boiling cream. Keep beating until the mixture is
cold ; then put into custard-cups, and set them in a soup-
dish of boiling water ; let them stand until thick, then put
preserved orange-peel in slices, upon the custard. Serve
either hot or cold. Or: — Take the juice of twelve oranges,
strain it, and sweeten it well with pounded loaf-sugar, stir
it over a slow fire till the sugar is dissolved, taking off the
scum as it rises; when nearly cold, add the yolks of twelve
eggs well beaten, and a pint of cream ; stir it again over
the fire till it thickens. Serve it in a glass dish or in cus-
tard-cups.

Lemon Costard may be made in the same manner, or
as follows: Strain three wineglassfuls of lemon-juice
through a sieve; beat nine eggs, yolks and whites, strain
them also, and add them to the lemon-juice, with one-quar-
ter pound of powdered loaf-sugar, a glass of white wine, and
half a wineglass of water, with a little grated lemon-peel.
Mix all together, and put the ingredients into a sauce-pan
on the fire, stirring it until it becomes thick and of a pro-
per consistence.

Almond Custard. — Boil in a pint of milk, or cream, two
or three bitter almonds, a stick of cinnamon, and a piece
of lemon-peel pared thin, with eight or ten lumps of sugar ;
let it simmer to extract the flavor, then strain it and stir
it till cold. Beat the yolks of six eggs, mix it with the
milk, and stir the whole over a slow fire until of a proper
thickness, adding one ounce of sweet almonds, beaten fine
in rose-water.

Plain Custard. — To one quart of cream or new milk, add
a stick of cinnamon, four bay leaves and some mace; boil
them altogether a few minutes; then beat well twelve eggs,
sweeten them, and when the milk is cold, stir in the eggs,
and bake or boil it till of a proper consistency, and perfectly
smooth. The spice can be omitted, and four or five bitter
almonds used in its place.

Centre-Cable dassi-p

FEMALE ACCOMPLISHMENTS.

Not BY MRS. CHAPENE.

Letter-Writing. — We are very sorry to confess the hu-
miliating fact that, notwithstanding the number of editions
of the " Complete Letter-Writer" that have been issued,
and the quantity of female seminaries scattered through
the country, very many of our sex are not elegant corre-
spondents. We do not mean by this that they spell incor-
rectly, fold awkwardly, or seal splashingly— this last has
been in some measure corrected by the introduction of
self-secured envelopes; but, nevertheless, a letter may
have its round periods and distinctly marked paragraphs,
yet be destitute of the pith and marrow of a really agree-
able epistle.

Letter-writing is generally complained of as a bore, or
ridiculed as a school-girl weakness, yet it is the medium of
much pleasure and happiness, and, as such, should always
be a favorite occupation with our sex especially, who have
ever been distinguished as excelling in the art. If it is a
bore to send kindly messages, to interchange lively criti-
cism upon popular music or reading, to record excellent or
earnest thoughts, the writer can have very little to say,
and that little might as well be left altogether, in nine
cases out of ten. The tone of such a correspondent would
be frivolous, trifling, gossiping, and no doubt the shafts of
mischief, intended or careless, wing her words. We com-
mend to such a lady the laconic and affectionate epistle of
the French wife to her husband, if so be she must needs
write at all : " Je vous ccris parcequeje n'ai rien d /aire ; je
finis parceqw, je rCai rien d dire. I write to you because I
have nothing to do; I finish because I have nothing to
say." This would, at least, be common honesty, and a
harmless, if not satisfactory communication.

Letter-writing, in its happiest aspect, is, as we have said,
a pleasant interchange of thought, and may be made the
medium of usefulness and happiness. If every idle word
we speak bears witness against us, every thoughtless sen-
tence written must have double weight. Spirited narra-
tives of passing events, a summer day's tour, even of do-
mestic incidents, clever criticisms, or suggestions, hearty
good wishes, or the offering of sincere sympathy, these can
never offend charity or good taste ; but to write because it
is expected of us is a tiresome hypocrisy no one should feel
bound to keep up, out of which mischief to ourselves or
others is almost sure to arise.

AMATEUR GARDENING.

A New Method for Hastening the Blowing of Bulbs.
— The following liquid has been used with great advantage
for this purpose : Sulphate or nitrate of ammonia, four
ounces ; nitrate of potash, two ounces ; sugar, one ounce ;
hot water, one pint ; dissolve and keep it in a well-corked
bottle. For use, put eight or ten drops of this liquid into
the water of a hyacinth glass, or jar, for bulbous-rooted
plants, changing the water every ten or twelve days. For
flowering plants in pots, a few drops must be added to the
water employed to moisten them. Rain-water is preferable
for this purpose.

City Gardens.— In winter, city gardens have generally a
verygloomy appearance. The greenhouse plants, which, dur-

ing summer, made abrilliant show in the open ground, have
been blackened by frost, and present that appearance of
ruined beauty which it is always so painful to contemplate.
In many gardens, the pelargoniums (geraniums) and other
greenhouse plants, which have stood out during the sum-
mer in the open ground, are suffered to remain till they
are quite killed by the frost, and are then taken up and
thrown on the waste heap to rot with the dead leaves,
mowings of grass, and other vegetable refuse, in order
that, in due time, they may form vegetable mould for other
plants to grow in ; but, in some cases, it is desirable to
preserve the old plants of the scarlet geraniums during the
winter, in order to procure a finer display of flowers early
in the following season. When this is the case, the plants
are taken up, and the earth being shaken from their roots,
they are laid in a dry, shady, airy place, generally in the
back shed of the greenhouse ; or hung up with their heads
downwards for a week or ten days. Each plant should
afterwards be carefully examined, and cleansed from all
decaying matter, and the branches pruned back to about
four or five buds or eyes, the roots being shortened accord-
ingly ; after which the plants should be either potted in
small pots, or laid in rows in a cellar with their roots co-
vered with dry sand. Where the cellar is not sufficiently
dry, they may be put into a spare room, passage, or shed,
where the frost cannot penetrate, and where they are kept
till spring.

At this season, if the frost will permit, the beds in city
gardens may be dug over, that the earth may be amelio-
rated by the influence of the air.

PARLOR WORK.

The pleasant old fashion of centre-table work has been
revived, except in New York City, perhaps, where, save in
some secluded circles, every one seems bent on disproving
the preacher's proposition : " To everything there is a sea-
son, and a time to every purpose under the heaven."

In the busy whirl of the metropolis, there is little leisure
for domestic enjoyment. It is not even known when sleep-
ing is accomplished ; and eating, at least the one comfort-
able meal they allow themselves, is crowded between day-
light and dark, at "blind-man's holiday." But in Boston
and Philadelphia, in all sober country towns and villages,
where pleasant society can be had, the work-basket makes
its appearance upon the round-table once more, and chit-
chat is stimulated by busy hands.

Nice plain sewing, not so fine as to injure the eyes, nor
so large as to encumber either the workwoman or visitor,
is always a graceful, womanly resource. It does not dis-
tract the attention, and many wearisome stitches may b6
set unconsciously, thus lightening hours devoted to real
task work. We would not advise embroidery as an even
ing occupation, for the re&son that, in most cases, it is a
strain upon the eyes, to be felt sooner or later. Embroi-
dery is, nevertheless, very fashionable just now; cotton
embroidery for infants' shirts and petticoats ; for pocket-
handkerchiefs, and the bands and sleeves of underclothes.
Tho patterns are, in general, points or scallops, enriched
with eyelets or dots in rows, stars or diamonds; sprays,
light wreaths, and even the elaborate work to be found at
Bradbrook's, where a single garment, with an embroidered

godey's magazine and lady's book.

yoke, is valued at $13, are also in use. Worsted embroi-
dery is ebiefly used for flannels, sacques, and skirts, or
blankets for infants. Silk is also ebiefly fashionable in the
wardrobes of children, their dresses, tunics, sacques, and
cloaks. For older persons, it is nearly superseded by the
use of broad braids, ribbons, and galoous as trimmings.

Worsted knitting is a favorite and appropriate branch of
parlor industry. Opera shawls are very fashionable the
present season, a plain centre, with a band of white, or
some contrast on the two sides, and a border of points or
scallops in the principal color. Kigolettes, or worsted caps,
of every description, for evening wear, carriage boots, half
handkerchiefs or spencers, to be worn beneath cloaks and
shawls, infants' shirts, socks, sacques, and aprons, are in-
cluded in the ample list. For many of these, directions
will be found in the " Lady's Book" from month to month,
and novelties are always in preparation for our centre-table
circle. Crochet and ornamental netting, slippers, chairs,
and ottomans of worsted work, are still in vogue.

magazines. It is never well to trust too much to the ho-
nesty of acquaintances in the matter of books and umbrel-
las. A bachelor friend of ours invariably inscribed his
name in full on the margin of some central chapter, with
this Scriptural hint below : " The wicked borroweth and
payeth not again."

" Mrs. S." will receive her box in good season. The mitts
were very hard to find, as they are quite out of date, ex-
cept for very old ladies.

" Mrs. T. M." — The shoes were noticed a year or more
ago; they are black silk, quilted in diamonds, the sole also
lined with cotton wadding. For invalids or old persons,
they are the best shoes we know.

" Miss Eliza G.," of Macon. — The music is selected, and
waits the promised opportunity.

Ja s I) ions.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

"Miss J. H." — The yarn required is called Saxony, and
comes numbered. For infants' shirts, 60 is the best ; that
is, if you knit closely, and use moderately sized bone or
wooden needles; they stretch very much in washing.
" Split zephyr" will not wash as well, although it may look
whiter and softer at first. They can also be made, if more
easily procured, from any fine domestic worsted or yarn,
such as used to be saved in New England for " best stock-
ings." To wash an infant's knit shirt or robin requires
peculiar care.

Dip it in hot soapsuds, as hot as the hand can bear, and
squeeze it out repeatedly. Rinse in clear water of the
same temperature. Then iron or press it; but, when
nearly dry, pull it into the required shape, taking great
care to stretch it down, not crosswise, or it will shrink
in length so as to be useless. It will thus look like new
.again.

u Mrs. S. Lawton." — It is best, in teaching a servant to
wait, to have her take all the silver first upon a tray of
convenient size. It saves from jar and breakage, and
scratches the silver less. For instance, in removing soup,
she should take the spoon of each person from the right,
and then the plates can be piled smoothly and quickly
upon the tray in her second round. So of the knives and
forks in the second remove. The tray should then be
cleared for the reception of the castors, salts, etc., which
should at once be set in the china closet, if convenient, as
it is useless trouble and exposure to breakage to have them
placed upon the side-table, in the midst of china and glass
that has been used.

"Annie." — It is best to have the magazines bound at
once ; they are apt to get loaned and spoiled, besides giving
trouble in assorting, if kept over a year. It is safest to file
any magazine or paper intended for binding, just as soon
as every one has read it. The volumes can be done neatly
for about seventy-five cents apiece.

"A Young Contributor" should bear in mind the oft-
repeated rule that manuscripts are to be written only on
one side of the leaf. In all conversations, the remark of
each person must have separate and distinct quotation
marks, and, in general, form a separate paragraph. By
attending to a few simple rules, she will be much more
likely to find favor in the sight of editors, who are accus-
tomed to judge of the merit of an article by the very style
vf a manuscript, the unpractised writer betraying him or
iwrself in minor points on the very first page.

" A Sufferer" should keep a list of all her books and

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the
Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute
commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge
of a small percentage for the time and research required.
Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn bonnets, dresses,
jewelry, bridal cards, cake-boxes, envelopes, etc. etc., will
be chosen with a view to economy, 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 expendi-
ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., rvho vjill
be responsible for the amount, and the early execution of com-
missions.

iVb order will be attended to unless the money is first re-
ceived.

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 Levy's or Stewart's, bonnets from Miss Wharton's,
jewelry from Bailey's, Warden's, Philadelphia, or Tiffany's,
New York, if requested.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION PLATE FOR
JANUARY.

Fig. 1st. — Dinner and carriage-dress, the skirt a light
taffeta silk, with nine narrow flounces, pinked on the edge.
Body of a basque pattern, in royal purple velvet, trimmed
with a fall of black lace. Scarf of India pattern, in bright
colors. White uncut velvet bonnet, with fall and strings
of embroidered ribbon. Small winter sun-shade, of pale
dove-colored silk. A carriage-cloak is thrown over the
whole-figure in the open air.

Fig. 2d. — Dress for receiving New Year's calls. A white
grounded silk, the skirt elegantly woven with a pattern of
full-blown roses and foliage in blue. Plain white body and
sleeve3, finished with broad bands of blue embossed velvet.
Pearl ornaments. The hair slightly puffed, and dressed
with lappets of blue and gold ribbon, intermingled with
golden

CHITCHAT UPON JANUARY FASHIONS.

We are constantly inquired of if there are no new style*
for dressing the hair, and, in response, give wood-cuts that
have recently made their appearance in the fashionable
world abroad. They are very elaborate, perhaps too much

FASHIONS

so for ordinary everyday use, where plain bands and twists
are still in vogue. For parties, however, we give No. 1.

No. 1.

No. 3 is still a different style, more in accordance wiih
the taste of our grandmothers, especially the small flat

No. 3.

The front hair is parted horizontally on each side of the
forehead into three distinct divisions, each of which is
turned back and forms a roll. These rouleaux may be made
either of the hair alone or by rolling it on small silk cush-
ions, covered with hair-colored silk. In front, they are
divided by bandeaux of Roman pearls.

No. 2 is the same headdress at the back, the hair being

No. 2. i

■

fc.^^^,

entwined with the pearls very low on the neck, and fast-
ened by two pearl-headed pins, of an antique bodkin pat-
tern.

curls on the temples. A light plume is entwined with the
Grecian braid at the back of the head.

We give these, as we have said before, more from their
novelty than grace. For ordinary wear, plain bands on
each side the temple, drawn out wide where the size and
shape of the head admit of it, are principally seen. The
back hair is formed into a French twist flat to the head,
around which the rest is disposed in a close circle, either
twisted, roped, or braided, leaving the smooth twist dis-
played in the centre. "Roping" the hair is done by divid-
ing it in two equal parts, and twisting one over the other,
a kind of round braid, taking its name from the resem-
blance it bears when smoothly managed to a hempen rope
or cable.

Speaking of which reminds us that hair ornaments were
never more worn than now. Several very beautiful stands
of designs have been on exhibition in the Crystal Palace,
some of them quite plain, suitable for mourning, others
richly set with gold, enamel, and even precious stones.
Among the more costly we have described in our foreign
correspondence, is a set recently completed in Paris for a
foreign princess. It consists of a necklace, bracelet, and
ear-rings. The hair is said to be that of a celebrated Spa-
nish beauty, very dark, and wrought into small globes re-
sembling beads of various size. These globes are transpa-
rent, and are wrought in a style of such exquisite delicacy
that they seem to be made of the finest lace. They are
clustered together like drooping bunches of grapes, and be-
tween each bunch there is a small tulip formed of dia-
monds. The ear-rings consist of pendent drops, formed of
hair beads, with tops consisting of diamond tulips. Hair
ornaments similar to these are made with pearls, gold, or
silver, in place of the diamonds; fortunately for people
who like tasteful jewelry, and are not foreign princesses.

Two bracelets, made for a wealthy English lady, are also
described, and, as there is a mania for this description of
ornaments, we copy it for those ordering hair-work from a
distance, or who are curious in these matters. One, mad*
of very fair, soft, glossy hair, is in the form of a serpent.

GODEY7S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

having the rings on its back, distinctly marked by a pecu-
liar method of plaiting the hair. This serpent is represent-
ed as creeping gracefully on a long reed leaf, made of green
enamel in natural shades, the head being studded with
emeralds. The other bracelet consists of a flat band,
formed of plaited hair of various shades, and the shades so
disposed as to intersect each other transversely, forming
a kind of chequered pattern. Five medallions are affixed
to this band, each opening by a spring in the manner of a
watch-case, and within are a name and date, or any inscrip-
tion appropriate to those whose tresses have formed the
memento. For plain bracelets, there is the round elastic
band, fastened by a broad gold band or link, to which is
attached a single medallion, inclosing hair too short to be
braided. Two of these bands, twisted or roped together,
make a heavier bracelet. There is another, inclosing a
steel spring, having the head or tail of a serpent in gold,
and thus appearing to coil about the wrist ; a common de-
vice, but one we do not much fancy. Brooches are made
in the form of knots, bows, clasps, etc. Plain flat rings,
with a gold band just wide enough for initials, or fastened
by a tiny gold knot or buckle, are great favorites, and
make a simple, tasteful love-token. Pendents for bracelets
or brooches, in every shape, are worn, and tipped with
gold, lyres, harps, baskets, acorns, etc. etc., all of fairy-like
delicacy and proportions. Ear-rings in globes, as described
above, acorns, harps, baskets, etc., are also worn. The
Swiss style, once thought so tasteful— flat flowers, feathers,
landscapes, and funeral urns, pictured on a white ground,
aud set as cameos — are almost entirely out of date.

The changes of the present month in outside garments
are by no means important. More furs are seen of the
usual variety, from ermine and sable down to the equally
comfortable Siberian or gray squirrel and fitch. The tip-
pets are giving place almost entirely to the large round
capes of twenty years ago; muffs are still small, and cuffs
worn as much as ever. Velvet and cloth circular, or Tal-
ma cloaks, are again in favor, of several new varieties in
trimming. Some of them consist of two and three capes,
one above the other, like the horseman's cloak capes, once
so fashionable for gentlemen. The favorite trimming
which has replaced the narrow velvet ribbons of last year is
broad satin galoon of different patterns. Beaver bonnets for
children, at Oakford's and Genin's, are trimmed principally
with satin bands and plaited satin ribbons, making a
glossy contrast. We consider beaver as most suitable for
the little people. Satin and velvet are the favorite mate-
rials for ladies' hats, and close plumes will be worn as
much as ever, feathers being used in inside trimming for
the brim, mixed with knots of ribbon.

DESCRIPTION OF CHILDREN'S DRESSES.
(See Cuts in front of Boole.)

No. 1.— -Boy's skirt and jacket of dark cashmere, the lat-
ter open, with a front in imitation of a vest, of pale buff
kerseymere. Plain linen collar and undersleeves, with a
Kmall ribbon necktie.

No. -.—Street coat of dark green pelisse cloth, trimmed
with velvet to correspond, suitable for a boy from three to
aix years old.

No. 3.— Little girl's dress, with basque and tunic skirt,
trimmed with scalloped frills of the same material. Short
pantalettes, with narrow tucks.

No. 4.— Dress and loose sacque jacket, of embroidered
fawn-colored cashmere; the sleeves have a deep cuff, and,
for cold weather, a plain plaited muslin chemisette may be
worn to protect the neck. Fasihon.

&l)c Sotlct.

Milk of Almonds is used to bathe the face, and is made
thus : Bruise some sweet almonds in a mortar, and add
water by slow degrees, in the proportion of a pint to twenty
or thirty almonds ; put to this a piece of sugar, to prevent
the separation of the oil from the water, rubbing assidu-
ously. Pass the whole through a flannel, and perfume it
with orange-flower water.

Tooth Powder. — Mix together equal parts of powdered
chalk and charcoal, and add a small quantity of Castile
soap. These produce a powder which will keep the teeth
beautifully white.

A Cooling Wash for the Hands and Face.— A correspond-
ent writes : " The following has been used in my family
some years : An equal quantity of ammonia and soap lini-
ment, one teaspoonful in the water."

Warts. — These are got rid of in various ways. Some tie
a thread round their base ; but a better plan is to have a
piece of thick paper, with a hole cut in it, the size of the
wart; this is put over the wart, and the J every morning a
drop or two of the strongest acetic acid should be dropped
through the hole upon the wart. If this do not succeed,
dropping oil of vitriol (sulphuric acid) in the same way
will answer.

How to make Transparent Soap.— Equal parts of tallow
soap, made perfectly dry, and spirits of wine, are to be put
into a copper still, which is plunged into a water-bath, and
furnished with its capital and refrigeratory. The heat ap-
plied to effect the solution should be as slight as possible,
to avoid evaporating too much of the alcohol. The solu-
tion being effected, it must be suffered to settle; and, after
a few hours repose, the clear supernatant liquid is drawn
off into tin frames of the form desired for the cakes of
soap. These bars do not acquire their proper degree of
transparency till after a few weeks' exposure to dry air.
The soap is colored with strong alcoholic solution of ochre
for the rose tint, and turmeric for the deep yellow.

To make Court-plaster.— Stretch tightly some thin black
or flesh-colored silk in a wooden frame, securing it with
packthread or small tacks. Then go all over it with a
soft bristle brush, dipped in dissolved isinglass or strong
gum-arabic water. Give it two or three coats, letting it dry
between each. Then go several times over it with white of
egg-

To clean Four, Sponge. — When very foul, wash them in
dilute tartaric acid, rinsing them afterwards in water: it
will make them very soft and white. Be careful to dilute
the acid well.

To keep Silk.— Silk articles should not be kept folded in
white paper, as the chloride of lime used in bleaching the
paper will probably impair the color of the silk. Brown
or blue paper is better — the yellowish smooth India paper
is best of all. Silk intended for a dress should not be kept
in the house long before it is made up, as lying in the folds
will have a tendency to impair its durability by causing it
to cut or split, particularly if the silk has been thickened by
gun.. We know an instance of a very elegant and COBtly
thread-lace veil being found on its arrival from Franco cut
into squares (and therefore destroyed) by being folded over a
pasteboard card. A white satin dress should be pinned up
in blue paper, with coarse browu paper outside, sew «J 1<-
gether at the edges.

FASHION PLATES

FCR DECORATING PARLOR WINDOWS
THE LATEST STYLES.
Fig. 1.

From "W. H. Catiryl's celebrated depot for Curtains, Furniture Coverings, Window Shades, and all
kinds of parlor trimmings, No. 169 Chestnut Street, corner of Fifth, Philadelphia. (For description,
see page 166.)

vol. xlviii. — 9

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[From the establishment of G. Brotmk, No. 5 1 Canal Street, Nevf York.]

GODEY'S

• T"

PHILADELPHIA, FEBRUARY, 1854.

EVERYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XVI,

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN A. N D GRAVER.

BOARDMAN & GRAY'S DOLCE CAMPANA
ATTACHMENT PIANO-FORTES.

(Concluded.)
The Piano-Forte Action Regulator adjusts the
action in all its operations. Those parts are sup-
plied and fitted that are still wanting to complete
it. The depth of the touch is regulated^ the
keys levelled, the drop of the hammer
adjusted, and all is now seemingly in
order for playing; but in Messrs. Board-
man & Gray's Factory, the instrument
has to undergo another ordeal in the
way of regulating ; for, after standing
for several days or weeks, and being
tuned and somewhat used, it passes
into the hands of another and last
regulator, who again examines mi-
nutely every part, readjusts the action,
key by key, and note by note, until
all is, as it were, perfect. And now
its tone must be regulated, and the
"hammer finisher" takes it in charge,
and gives it the last finishing touch ;
every note from the bass to the treble
must give out a full, rich, even, melo-
dious tone. This is a very important
branch of the business ; for great care
and much experience are required to
detect the various qualities and shades
of tone, and to know how to alter
and adjust the hammer in such a way
as to produce the desired result. Some
performers prefer a hard or brilliant
tone ; others a full soft tone ; and
others, again, a full clear tone of medium quality.
It is the hammer-finisher's duty to see that each
note in the whole instrument shall correspond
in quality and brilliancy with the others. The
piano-fortes of Messrs. Boardman & Gray are
celebrated for their full organ tone, and for the
even quality of each note; for the rich, full,

9»

and harmonious music, rather than the noise,
which they make ; and a discriminating public
have set their stamp of approbation on their
efforts, if we may judge by the great and in-
creasing demand for their instruments.

The instrument, after being tuned, is ready
for the ware-room or parlor

PIANO-PORTE ACTION REGULATOR.

| But several operations we have purposely
passed by, as it was our wish to give a clear idea
of the structure of the piano-forte by exhibiting,
from stage to stage, the progress of the manu-
facture of the musical machinery. Let us now
look after the construction of the other parts of
the instrument.

101

102

godey's magazine and lady's book.

The " leg-bodies," as they come from the ma-
chine, are cut out in shape in a rough state,
ready for being veneered (or covered with a
thin coating of rosewood or mahogany) ; and,
as they are of various curved and crooked forms,
it is a trade by itself to bend the veneers and
apply them correctly. The veneers are curved
and bent to the shapes required while hot, or
over hot irons, and then applied to the leg-
bodies by " calls," or blocks of wood cut out to
exactly fit the surface to be veneered. These
calls are heated in the steam ovens. The sur-
face of the leg having been covered with glue,
the veneer is put on, and then the hot call
is applied and screwed to it by large hand-
screws holding the veneer closely and firmly to
the surface to be covered. The call, by warm-
ing the glue, causes it to adhere to the legs and
veneer; and, when cold and dry, holds the ve-
neer firmly to its place, covering the surface of
the leg entire, and giving it the appearance of
iolid rosewood, or of whatever wood is used for
the purpose. Only one surface can be veneered
at a time, and then the screws must remain on
until it is cold or dry; and, as the legs have
many distinct surfaces, they must be handled
many times, and, of course, much labor is ex-
pended on them. After all the sides are ve-
neered, they must be trimmed, scraped, and
finished, and all imperfections in the wood made
perfect, ready for being varnished.

The desks are made by being so framed to-
gether as to give strength, then veneered, and,
after being varnished and polished, are sawed
out in beautiful forms and shapes by scroll saws,
in the machine-shop. They have thus to pass
through quite a number of processes before they
are ready to constitute a part of a finished piano-
forte. The same can be said of many other
parts of the instrument that are made separate,
and applied when wanted in the instrument,
such as lyres, leg-blocks, or caps, &.c. And, as
each workman is employed at but one branch
alone, and perfects his part, it is evident that,
when put together correctly, the whole will be
perfect. And, as Messrs. Boardman & Gray
conduct their business, there are from twenty to
twenty-four distinct kinds of work or trades
carried on in their establishment. Thus, the
oase-maker makes cases ; the leg-maker legs ;
the key-maker keys ; the action-maker action ;
the finisher duts the action into the piano ; the
regulator adjusts it; and thus each workman
b«nds the whole of his energies and time to the
one branch at which he is employed. The re-
sult of this division of labor is strikingly shown
kn the perfection to which Messrs. Boardman &

Gray have brought the art of piano-forte mak-
ing, as may be seen in their superior and splen-
did instruments.

The putting together the different parts of the
piano-forte, such as the top, the legs, the desk,
the lyre, &c, to the case, constitutes what is
called fly-finishing. The top is finished by the
case-maker in one piece, and remains so until
varnished and polished ; then the fly-finisher
saws it apart, and applies the butts or hinges, so
that the front will open over the keys ; puts on
all the hinges ; hangs the front or " lock-board"
to the top ; and completes it. He also takes the
legs as they come from the leg-maker, and fits
them to the case by means of a screw cut on
some hard wood, such as birch or iron-wood,
one end of which is securely fastened into the
leg, and the other end screws into the bottom of
the piano. The fly-finisher also puts on the
castors, locks, and all the finishing minutiae to
complete the external furniture of the instru-
ment, when it is ready for the ware-rooms, to
which it is next lowered by means of a steam
elevator, sufficiently large to hold a piano- forte
placed on its legs, together with the workman in
charge of it.

The following plate exhibits a piano-forte on
the elevator passing from the fly-finisher's de-
partment to the ware-rooms. Of these steam
elevators there are two, one at each end of the
building ; one for passing workmen, as well as
lumber, to and from the machine-shop and dry-
ing-rooms, and one for passing cases and pianos
up and down to the different rooms. Much in-
genuity is shown in their construction, being so
adjusted as to be sent up or down by a person
on either floor, or by one on the platform, who,
going or stopping at will, thus saves an immense
amount of hard labor.

Water from the Albany water- works is car-
ried throughout the building on to each floor,
with sinks, hose, and every convenience for the
workmen, so that they may have no occasion to
le£ ?e the premises during the working hours.
yjne thing we must not forget to point out, and
that is the Top Veneering-Press, made on the
plan of " Dicks's Patent Anti-Friction Press"
(shown in the following engraving on the upper
floor at left hand), and we believe the only press
of the kind in the world. It was made to order
expressly for Messrs. Boardman & Gray, and its
strong arms and massive iron bed-plates denote
that it is designed for purposes where power is
required. It is used in veneering the tops for
their piano-fortes, and it is warranted that two
men at the cranks, in a moment's time, can pro-
duce a pressure of one hundred tons with perfect

BOARDMAN AND GEAY S PIANO-FORTES,

103

ease. It is so arranged that the veneers are laid
for several tops at one time. Tops made and
veneers laid under such a pressure will remain
level and true and perfectly secure. Messrs.

STEAM ELEA'ATOR, AND DICKS'S PATENT TOP VENEERING PRESS.

Boardman & Gray have used this press upwards
of eighteen months, and find that it works ex-
cellently, and consider it a great addition to
their other labor-saving machines.

Having thus given a passing glance at most of
the mechanical parts of the piano-forte, we will
now examine the varnishing and polishing de-
partments, consisting of some five or more large
rooms. As the different layers of varnish re-
quire time to dry, it is policy to let the varnish
harden while the workmen are busy putting in
the various internal parts of the piano. Thus
the case, when it comes from the case-maker,
goes first to the first varnishing-room, and re-
ceives several coats of varnish ; and, when the
workman is ready to put in the sounding-board
and iron frame, it is taken from the varnish-
room to his department j and, when he has

finished his work, it is again returned to the
varnishing department, where it remains until
the finisher wants it, who, when done with it,
returns it to the varnishing-room. Thus, these
varnishing-rooms are the store-rooms
for not only the cases, but all the
parts that are varnished; and the
drying of the varnishing is going on
all the time that the other work is
progressing. In this establishment,
from 150 to 200 pianos are being
manufactured in the course of each
day. In the varnish -rooms, from 100
to 150 cases are at all times to be seen ;
others are in the hands of the work-
men in the different rooms, in the
various stages of progress towards
completion. Besides the cases in the
varnish -rooms, we may see all the
different parts of the pianos in dozens
and hundreds, legs, lyres, tops, desks,
bars, &c. &c, forming quite a museum
in its way. The processes of varnish-
ing and polishing are as follows : The
cases, which are all of rosewood, are
covered first with a spirit-varnish
made with shellac gum, which, dry-
ing almost instantly, becomes hard,
and keeps the gum or pitch of the
rosewood from acting on the regular
oil varnish. After the case has been
" shellacked," it then receives its
first " coat of varnish" and left to
dry ; and then a second coat is ap-
plied, and again it is left to dry. The
varnish used is made of the hardest
kind of copal gum, and prepared for
this express purpose. It is called
scraping varnish ; it dries hard and
brittle, and is intended to fill in the grain of the
wood. When it becomes thoroughly dry and
hard, these two coats are scraped off with a steel
scraper. The case then receives several coats
of another kind of varnish ; when this is dried,
it is ready for rubbing, which is effected by
means of an article made of cloth fastened on
blocks of wood or cork ; and the varnish is
rubbed on with ground pumice stone and water
(a process somewhat similar to that of polish-
ing marble). A large machine, driven by the
engine, is used for rubbing the tops of pianos
and other large surfaces. When the whole sur-
face is perfectly smooth and even, it receives an
additional coat of varnish. Each coat having
become dry, hard, and firm, the surface receives
another rubbing until it is perfectly smooth,
when it receives a last flowing coat After it ii

104

godey's magazine and lady's book.

thoroughly dried and hardened, it is ready for
the polishing process, which consists in first rub-
bing the surface with fine rotten stone, and then
polishing with the fingers and hands until the
whole surface is like a mirror wherein we can

" See ourselves as others see us."

POLISHING AND RUBBING DEPARTMENTS.

In the preceding statement, we have simply
given an outline of the mechanical branches of
the business, and a general description of the
lumber required, and its peculiar seasoning and
preparation prior to use. Large quantities of
rosewood are used for veneering and carved
work, slipping, &c. Just now, this is the fash-
ionable wood for furniture ; nothing else is used
in the external finish of the piano-fortes of
Messrs. Boardman & Gray. A view of their
large veneer-room would excite the astonish-
ment of the novice. Rosewood is brought from
South America, and is at present a very im-
portant article of commerce, a large number of
ships being engaged in this trade alone, to say
nothing of the thousands employed in getting it
from its native forests for shipping, and the
thousands more busy in preparing it for the
market after it has reached this country. Much
that is used by Messrs. Boardman & Gray is
sawed into veneers, and prepared expressly for
them at the mills at Cohoes, N. Y. They buy
large quantities at a time, and, of course, have a
large supply on hand ready for immediate use.
They always select the most richly-figured wood
in the market, believing that rich music should
always proceed from a beautiful instrument.
Thick rosewood is constantly undergoing sea-
soning for those portions which require solid
wood. And one thing, dear reader, we would

say; and that is, where rosewood veneers are
put on hard wood well seasoned, and prepared
correctly, they are much more durable than the
solid rosewood would be, not being so liable to
check and warp. They also make use of a large
quantity of hardware in the form of " tuning
pins" — upwards of a ton per year. Of iron
plates they use some twenty-five tons. Their
outlay for steel music wire amounts to hundreds
of dollars per year ; not to speak of the locks,
pedal feet, butts and hinges, plated covering
wire for the bass strings, bridge pins, centre
pins, steel springs, and screws of various kinds
and sizes, of which they use many thousand gross
annually. Of all these, they must keep a sup-
ply constantly on hand, as it will not do for
their work to stop for want of materials. A
large capital is at command at all times ; and,
as many of these things require to be made ex-
pressly to order, calculation, judgment, and close
attention are needed to keep all moving smooth-
ly on.

Cloth is used for a variety of purposes in the
establishment of Messrs. Boardman & Gray. It
is made and prepared expressly for their use,
from fine wool, of various^thicknesses and co-
lors, according to the use for which it is de-
signed. Whether its texture be heavy or thick,
firm or loose, smooth or even, soft or hard,
every kind has its peculiar place and use. Here
we would give a word of caution to the reader.
So much cloth is used in and about the action
of the piano-forte, that we must beware of the
insidious moth, which will often penetrate and
live in its soft folds, thereby doing much da-
mage to the instrument. A little spirits of
turpentine, or camphor, is a good protection
against them.

Ivory is another article which is largely used.
Being expensive, no little capital is employed in
keeping an adequate supply at all times on
hand.

And then there is buckskin of various kinds
and degrees of finish, sand-paper, glue, and a
variety of other things, all of which are exten-
sively employed in the business.

So far, we have treated merely of materials
and labor. We have said nothing of the science
of piano-forte making. If, after all the pains
taken in selecting and preparing the materials
required, the scale of the instrument shall not
be correctly laid down on scientific principles ;
that is to say, if the whole is not constructed in
a scientific manner, we shall not have a perfect
musical instrument. So the starting-point in
making a piano-forte is in having a scale by
which to work. This scale must be of the most

BOARDMAN AND GRAY'S PIANO-FORTES.

105

improved pattern, and laid out with the utmost
nicety, and with mathematical precision. By
the scale, we mean the length of each string,
and the shape of the bridges over which it passes.
The length of the string for each note, and its
size, are calculated by mathematical rules, and
perfected by numerous experiments; and by
these experiments alone can perfection be at-
tained in the manufacture of the instrument.
Messrs. Boardman & Gray use new and im-
proved circular scales of their own construction,
in which they have embodied all the improve-
ments which have from time to time been dis-
covered. They are determined that nothing
shall surpass, if anything equals, their Dolce
Campana Attachment.

The great improvement of this age in the
manufacture of the piano-forte is the Dolce

Campana Attachment, invented by Mr. Jas. A.
Gray, of the firm of Boardman & Gray, and
patented in 1848 not only in this country, but
in England and her colonies. It consists of
a series of weights held in a frame over the
bridge of the piano-forte, which is attached to
the sounding-board ; for the crooked bridge of
the piano, at the left hand, is fast to and part of
the sounding-board. The strings passing over,
and firmly held to this bridge, impart vibration
to the sounding-board, and thus tone to the
piano. These weights, resting in a frame, are
connected with a pedal, so that when the pedal
is pressed down, they are let down by their own
weight, and rest on screws or pins inserted in
the bridge, the tops of which are above the pins
that hold the strings, and thus control the vibra-
tions of the bridge and sounding-board. By this

VIEW of on:

OARSMAN AND GRAY'S ORNAMENTAL FINISHED PIANO-FORTES.

arrangement, almost any sound in the music
scale can be obtained, ad libitum, at the option
of the pianist ; and as it is so very simple, and
in no way liable to get out of order, or to dis-
turb the action of the piano, of course it must be
valuable. But let us listen for ourselves. We
try one of the full rich-toned pianos we have
described, and, pressing down the pedal, the
tone is softened down to a delicious, clear, and
delicate sweetness, which is indescribably charm-
ing, " like the music of distant clear-toned bells
chiming forth their music through wood and
dell." We strike full chords with the pedal
down, and, holding the key, lot the pedal up
fl-m'ly, and the music swells forth in rich tones

which are perfectly surprising. Thus hundreds
of beautiful effects are elicited at the will of the
performer. This Dolce Campana Attachment
is the great desideratum which has been required
to perfect the piano-forte, and by using it in
combination with the other pedals of the instru-
ment, the lightest shades of altissimo, alternating
with the crescendo notes, may be produced with
comparative ease. Its peculiar qualities are the
clearness, the brilliancy, and the delicacy of its
touch. Those who, in the profession, have
tested this improvement have, almost without
an exception, given it their unqualified approba-
tion ; and amateurs, committees of examination,
editors, clergymen, and thousands of others also

106

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

speak of it in terms of the highest praise. To-
gether with the piano-furte of Messrs. Boardman
&. Gray, it has received ten first class premiums
by various fairs and institutes. And we predict
that but a few years will pass ere no piano-forte
will be considered perfect without this famous
attachment.

We must now examine its structure and
finish. The attachment consists of a series of
weights of lead cased in brass, and held in their
places by brass arms, which are fastened in a
frame. This frame is secured, at its ends, to
brass uprights screwed into the iron frame of the
piano ; and the attachment frame works in these
uprights on pivots, so that the weights can be
moved up or down from the bridge. The frame

rests on a rod which passes through the piano,
and connected with the pedal ; and the weights
are kept raised off the pins or screws in the
bridge by means of a large steel spring acting on
a long lever under the bottom of the piano,
against which the pedal acts ; so that the press-
ing down of the pedal lets the attachment down
on to its rests on the bridge, and thus controls
the vibrations of the sounding-board and strings.
The weight'' and arms are finished in brass or
silver. The? frame in which they rest is either
bronzed or finished in goldleaf, and thus the
whole forms a most beautiful addition to the in-
terior finish of the piano-forte.

Messrs. Boardman & Gray have applied up-
wards of a thousand of these attachments to

BOARDMAN AND GRAY'S 8TORE (INTERIOR VIEW), ALBANY, N. Y.

piano-fortes, many of which have been in use
four and five years, and they have never found
that the attachment injured the piano in any
way. As their piano-fortes without the attach-
ment have no superiors for perfection in their
manufacture, for the fulness and sweetness of
their tone, for the delicacy of their touch and
action, it may easily be seen how, with this at-
tachment, they must distance all competition.

And now, dear reader, we have attempted to
show you how good piano-fortes are made ; to
pve you an idea of the varied materials which
»iv requisite for this purpose ; and to describe the

numerous processes to which they are subjected,
before a really perfect instrument can be pro-
duced.

The manufacturing department is under the
immediate supervision of Mr. James A. Gray,
one of the firm, who gives his time personally
to the business. He selects and purchases all
the materials used in the establishment. He is
thoroughly master of his vocation, having made
it a study for life. No piano-forte is permitted
to leave the concern until it has been submitted
to his careful inspection. If, on examination,
an instrument proves to be imperfect, it is re-

DEVELOPMENT OF THE LUNGS.

107

turned to the workman to remedy the defect.
He is constantly introducing improvements, and
producing new patterns and designs, to keep up,
;'n all things, with the progress of the age.

The senior partner of the firm, Mr. Wm. G.
Boardman, attends to the sales, and gives his
attention to the financial department of the
business. Thus, the proprietors reap the benefit
of a division of labor in their work, and each is
enabled to devote his entire time and energies to
his own duties. Their great success is a proof
of their industry and honorable devotion to their
calling. They are gentlemen in every sense of
the word, esteemed by all who know them, and
honored and trusted by all who have business
connections with them. They liberally com-
pensate the workmen in their employ, and act
on the principle that the " laborer is worthy of
his hire." Their workmen never wait for the
return due their labor. Their compensation is
always ready, with open hand. The business
of the proprietors has increased very rapidly for
the last few years, and, although they are con-
stantly enlarging and improving their works,
they find themselves unable to satisfy the in-
creasing demand for their piano-fortes. Their
establishment is situated at the corner of State
and Pearl Streets, Albany, N. Y., well known
as the "Old Elm-Tree Corner."

Their store is always open to the public, and
constantly thronged with customers and visitors,
who meet with attention and courtesy from the
proprietors and persons in attendance. We
would advise our readers, should business or
pleasure lead them to the capital of the Empire
State, to call on Messrs. Boardman & Gray at
their ware-rooms, even though they should not
wish to purchase anything from them ; for they
may spend an hour very pleasantly in examin-
ing and listening to their beautiful and fine-
toned piano-fortes with the Dolce Campana
Attachment.

INSTRUCTIONS.

Have your piano -forte tuned, at least four times
in the year, by an experienced tuner; if you
neglect it too long without tuning, it usually
becomes fiat, and troubles a tuner to get it to
stay at concert pitch, especially in the country.
Never place the instrument against an outside
wall, or in a cold, damp room. Close the in-
strument immediately after your practice; by
leaving it open, dust fixes on the sound-board
and corrodes the movements, and, if in a damp
room, the strings soon rust.

Should the piano-forte stand near or opposite

a window, guard, if possible, against its being
opened, especially on a wet or damp day ; and,
when the sun is on the window, draw the blind
down. Avoid putting metallic or other articles
on or in the piano-forte ; such things frequently
cause unpleasant vibrations, and sometimes in-
jure the instrument. The more equal the tem-
perature of the room, the better the piano win
stand in tune.

DEVELOPMENT OF THE LUNGS.

Much has been said and written upon diet,
eating and drinking, but I do not recollect ever
noticing a remark in any writer upon breathing,
or the manner of breathing. Multitudes, and
especially ladies in easy circumstances, contract
a vicious and destructive mode of breathing.
They suppress their breathing and contract the
habit of short, quick breathing, not carrying the
breath half way down the chest, and scarcely
expanding the lower portions of the chest at all.
Lacing the bottom of the chest also greatly in-
creases this evil, and confirms a bad habit of
breathing. Children that move about a great deal
in the open air, and in no way laced, breathe
deep and full in the bottom of the chest, and
every part of it. So also with most out-door
laborers, and persons who take a great deal of
exercise in the open air, because the lungs give
us the power of action, and the more exercise we
take, especially out of doors, the larger the lungs
become, and the less liable to disease. In all
occupations that require standing, keep the per-
son straight. If at table, let it be high, raised
up nearly to the armpits, so as not to require
you to stoop ; you will find the employment
much easier — not one half so fatiguing, whilst
the form of the chest and symmetry of the fig-
ure will remain perfect. You have noticed that
a vast many tall ladies stoop, whilst a great many
short ones are straight. This arises, I think,
from the table at which they sit or work, or oc-
cupy themselves, or study, being of a medium
height — for a short one. This should be carefully
corrected and regarded, so that each lady may
occupy herself at the table to suit her, and thus
prevent the possibility or the necessity of stoop-
ing. It will be as well not to remain too lonj,
in a sitting position, but to rise occasionally, and
thus relieve the body from its bending position.
The arms could be moved about from time to
time.

VIRGINIA PERCY.— A SKETCH OF SOUTHERN LIFE,

BY PAULINE FORSYTH.

One evening, at a large party, my attention
was attracted by a tall, distinguished-looking
young gentleman, whom I had never seen be-
fore. Though a stranger to me, he was evidently
well known by most in the room, for he was
speaking familiarly to several who stood near
him, and bowing occasionally to others as they
passed ; yet all the time he was thus occupied,
his eyes constantly sought the quiet corner to
which, according to my usual habit, I had re-
treated. Strangers being rare in Louden, and
gentlemen of his appearance remarkable in any
place, I was at first disposed to gratify a natural
curiosity with regard to him, but my eyes, sent
out on their exploring expedition, met his so
often, that at last, in a state of great confusion,
I fastened them on the floor and resolved I
would not raise them again for ten minutes.
Meantime, I asked Virginia Percy, who was
sitting by me, " Who that strange gentleman by
the piano was 1 He looks like an officer," I
continued.

" He is," she replied; " he is Lieutenant Mar-
shall, a son of that Mr. Marshall who lives on
the next plantation to us."

"Don't you know him?" asked I, surprised
that, while greeting all his friends, he had not
yet approached her.

" Oh, yes, of course," said she, quickly ; " I
have known him all my life."

Virginia, like most Southern girls, was a
thorough-bred aristocrat, and I ascribed her evi-
dent want of appreciation of Lieutenant Mar-
shall, and of interest in him, to the fact that his
father's family, while respectable, did not be-
long to the " upper ten" — to use the only phrase
that describes appropriately the class to which
it refers — for they are distinguished neither by
goodness, wit, nor birth, but they have become,
by some concatenation of circumstances in this
ever-shifting kaleidoscope of society, the upper
stratum, and the position, once obtained, though
it sometimes requires a severe struggle to gain
it, is easy enough to keep.

"He is the most strikingly handsome man I
ever saw," said I.

Virginia made no answer. Piqued at her in-
difference, and resolved to show my freedom
from all narrow and illiberal prejudices with
regard to society or position, I went on : —
108

" He has what handsome men so often want.
They have generally something feminine about
them ; but he is essentially manly and dignified.
I think that his expression would be perhaps a
little too stern ; only, when he speaks or even
listens, his smile has so much warmth and kind-
ness in it."

" You have seen a great deal in a little while,"
said Virginia.

" Yes, and under great difficulties too." Here
I was interrupted by the approach of the person
of whom we were speaking, accompanied by the
lady of the house. He was introduced to me,
and acknowledging Virginia's presence by a low
bow, he seated himself by me and commenced a
conversation. Much as I had admired him at a
distance, this was an attention with which J
would willingly have dispensed, for, naturally
very shy, to attempt to entertain a stranger was
distressing to me. Therefore, though I wondered
a little that Virginia still retained her seat near
me, so that she was obliged occasionally to join
in the conversation with one whom she seemed
to consider, beneath her, yet I was pleased by
her doing so, and attributed it to her friendship
for me, and her consideration for my peculiari-
ties.

During all the evening, Lieutenant Marshall
paid me marked attention, so much so that, by
the time we were ready to go home, I had be-
come the target for all the jokes and witticisms
that are kept laid up for such occasions. In a
little place like Louden, where everybody knew
everybody, and there was but little going on to
talk about, any circumstance that would afford
scope for harmless gossip and teasing was " nuts"
to the good people, and before noon the next
day it was generally understood, throughout
Louden and its vicinity, that " Lieutenant Mar-
shall was desperately smitten with Miss For-
syth."

My own vanity being thus supported by the
openly expressed opinions of the discerning
p\ibtic, it is hardly to be wondered at if for a
whiie I shared their delusion and their belief.
But, being even then a little given to metaphy-
sics and analytic investigations of all mental
phenomena that fell under my notice, instead of
putting the pretty rosebud that. Mr. Marshall
offered me next my heart, I set myself to

VIRGINIA PERCY. — A SKETCH OF SOUTHERN LIFE.

109

pulling it to pieces, and presently discovered
that it was not a real rose at all, only a patch-
work, scentless imitation.

In other words, I had ideas of my own on the
subject of love. As the six-year-old New Yorker
said, when he was asked if he had no one little
girl whom he loved better than any one else in
the world, "show me the boy of my age in
New York that hasn't!" so I can say, show
me the girl of seventeen who does not think
herself an adept in all the signs and tokens of
true love. And I soon settled it in my own
mind, that, when brought to the test of severe
and impartial criticism, Mr. Marshall did not
exhibit one evidence of real love, beyond an ap-
parent preference for my society. That the
preference was apparent and not real his ab-
straction and indifference convinced me. At
first, considering it a duty I owed to society to
talk to those with whom I was thrown, unless
they would kindly relieve me of this obligation,
I tasked myself to weariness to find some topic
of mutual interest between my constant attendant
and myself. My remarks were all politely list-
ened and replied to, and then he fell back into
his state of reverie and silence. If there had
not been a shade of melancholy about him, I
should hardly have felt so patiently towards him
for engrossing so much of my time, while his
thoughts were evidently far away. But I had
settled it in my own mind that he had been in
love, and that the lady of his love had died — this
accounted for his sadness and abstraction ; and
that some resemblance between the lost lady and
myself attracted him to me.

This little romance gave him quite an interest
to me, which was somewhat lessened by the dis-
covery that he shared in the village love of gos-
sip. I found that the only subjects that could
interest him at all were the petty daily events
that occurred to Virginia and myself, for we
were constantly together. About these he was
never weary of hearing, and would ask me the
minutest questions, and by his pleased attention
beguile me into long talks about such mere
trifles that I used to blush to recall them, and
then, as soon as I entered on some topic of higher
or more general interest, it needed but little dis-
cernment to discover that courtesy alone prompt-
ed the attention he gave me.

At last I began to grow quite weary of atten-
tions which I could not persuade myself were
prompted by anything but recollections of the
dead, and spoke of Lieutenant Marshall to Vir-
ginia, my only confidant, constantly, as "that
tiresome man." Perhaps it was owing to her
desire to relieve me of one of my heaviest bur-
vol. xlviii. — 10

dens that she so often made one in our tete-a-
tetes, and by infusing a great deal more spint
and life in our conversation, assisted me greatly.
I do not know how it happened, but we both
brightened wonderfully when Virginia joined
us, and although I might have been half asleep
with intense dulness a few moments before, I
generally found myself very soon wide awake,
and with auditors so attentive and easily pleased
that I began to be quite uplifted with elevated
ideas of my own newly developed conversational
powers. One evening, there was a little gather-
ing of young people in a house where the hostess
did not approve of dancing. We were all seated
in a stiff circle round the room doing our best to
amuse and be amused by rational conversation.
The appearance of things was very unpromising,
and the lady of the house seemed quite uneasy ;
at last she proposed a promenade, and anything
to break up the monotony was eagerly caught at.
The ladies and gentlemen, like prisoners march-
ing for exercise, were soon walking in at one
door and out at another with great precision and
order. I expected Mr. Marshall to ask me to
join the staid procession, but perhaps inarching
seemed too much like work to him, for he pro-
posed instead a game of backgammon. This
had always appeared to me an uninteresting,
rattling, flighty sort of a game ; but to amuse so
sorrow-stricken a man I would even have played
checkers.

Before we had finished the first game, I felt a
hand lightly resting on my shoulder, and looking
round, saw Virginia seated close behind me.
This was very kind in her, and I felt it to the
depths of my heart. She was a great favorite in
Louden, and to leave all who would have ex-
erted themselves to please and amuse her, to sit
quietly with me in a dull corner looking over a
game of backgammon, was an effort of friendship
of which I hardly thought that, in similar cir-
cumstances, I should have been capable. When
the game was ended, I made a movement to close
the board, but Mr. Marshall asked me so ear-
nestly for one more, just one more, that I con-
sented. However, I took an opportunity, while
he was stooping to pick up some of the men that
had dropped, to whisper. You need not stay here,
Virginia. You '11 be dreadfully tired, and I
don't mind much being left alone; there 's
Charles Foster looking quite distressed because
you won't walk with him."

" No, dear," said Virginia, very affectionately,
" there is not a person in the room I like half so
well to stay with as you."

A stranger, far away from home, these words
of affection from one whom I had loved from

110

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

the first, touched me powerfully, and almost in-
voluntarily I pressed my lips to her cheek as it
was bent towards me. Fortunately this little
efusion parsed unobserved, and Mr. Marshall
and 1 resumed our game. But I turned several
times to look at Virginia, attracted by a beauty
in her that I had never noticed before. Her
features were regular and her countenance pleas-
ing, but her complexion was so colorless, and
her expression so composed and unvarying, that
I had never heard her called even pretty ; but
that night she looked positively beautiful. Her
lips were crimson, her cheeks delicately flushed,
and there was a glow and light over her whole
face, and a glittering sparkle in her eye, as
though some internal flame was informing her
whole being with warmth and brightness. I
did not wonder that Mr. Marshall was so struck
by the change that his eyes rested often and ad-
miringly upon her, so that he hardly seemed to
know what he was doing.

" Virginia ! Pauline ! do come here," said a
laughing girl, looking in from the piazza to
which the whole party but our little group had
retreated. I started up to obey the summons,
for the sounds of merriment and laughter, min-
gled with the notes of a favorite negro melody,
drew me with an irresistible attraction. Mr.
Marshall and Virginia did not move.

" Finish my game for me, will you?" said I to
Virginia ; "I will return in a moment." But
my moment lengthened into nearly half an hour,
for four gentlemen of the party who were noted
for their musical skill had been persuaded to
send for their instruments and sing and play for
us. This they did so well that it was with re-
luctance that at last I fulfilled my promise of
returning.

Virginia was playing with the backgammon
men as I entered, and Lieutenant Marshall was
talking to her in a low tone.

" There he is, just as tiresome as ever," thought
I ; but we do not live in the palace of Youth
bow, so that I said, as I approached them —

"Well, which has been victorious1?"

Virginia looked as though she had never heard
of a game of backgammon, and it was a minute
or two before I was answered. At last Mr.
Marshall said —

" I was— that is, I mean Miss Virginia was" —
and he did not seem exactly to know what he
did mean.

" Do come out on the porch," said I, benevo-
lently intending to relieve Virginia from a great
bore ; " we are having some delightful singing,
and it is a very pleasant night." And I succeed-
ed in inducing them both to accompany me.

That same evening, Virginia proposed to me
to fulfil a promise we had made some time before
of visiting her cousins Nannie and Bettie
Buckley. I was very willing to do so, having
conceived a great admiration for these ladies,
which I am afraid had no better foundation than
that they were very tall, and dressed more
showily and expensively than any one that I had
ever seen. Every summer they went to the
North, where they enjoyed the reputation of
being great heiresses, and consequently received
much attention. Their father's wealth, though
by no means so large as was supposed, was still
ample enough to allow them to keep up their
character as heiresses by a free expenditure at
the principal shops in New York and Philadel-
phia, and they returned home with more mag-
nificent brocades, flashy-looking cashmeres and
bareges, and fantastic ball-dresses than would
have sufficed for ten years at Louden. I do not
think that my friends there appreciated them
any the more highly on account of these brilliant
robes, but I was still in that state of inexperience
when " fine feathers make fine birds," and I was
very much inclined to respond cordially to their
warmly proffered offers of intimacy, and won-
dered that Virginia showed so little desire to
seek the society of such relations. I was so
pleased to find that she was at last willing to
accompany me there, that I at once consented
to go the next afternoon, spend Saturday and
Sunday with the Misses Buckley, and return
early on Monday morning.

We were to go on horseback, and when the
time arrived, I found that Virginia's brother
and younger sister were to accompany us. We
galloped on in that glow of spirits and enjoy-
ment that riding on horseback so often imparts ;
when, as we passed Mr. Marshall's plantation,
the Lieutenant, as though he had been expecting
and waiting for us, opened the gate and joined
us.

"That man is becoming a perfect bete noir
to me," said I to Ellen Percy ; " I can never go
anywhere without him, lately."

I had hardly finished my speech, before it
struck me that there was something a little pecu-
liar in the greeting between Virginia and Lieu-
tenant Marshall, and a half-formed, undefined
suspicion rose in my mind. I banished it imme-
diately, however, for I looked upon Virginia as
the soul of truth, and if there had been any-
thing between herself and the man who had
been so openly attentive to me, I felt sure she
would have told me. Therefore, much against
my will, I allowed Ellen and George to ride on,
whilst I checked my horse, as fond of a raco as

VIRGINIA PERCY. — A SKETCH OF SOUTHERN LIFE,

111

its rider, to the slow pace that seemed to suit
my other two companions. It was not long,
however, before I intercepted one or two glances
that " spoke volumes" — ten folios could not
have revealed more to me — and all at once I
was seized with the oppressive consciousness of
being de trop. My next thought was how I
6hould contrive to join Ellen, whose swift horse
had carried her far in advance of us. I could
think of no excuse that did not seem to me so
transparent as to be more than useless. At last,
murmuring some unintelligible words, I fairly ran
off. Afterwards apologizing to Virginia for my
abrupt mode of leaving her, saying that I had
tried in vain to manage it more skilfully, she
replied with some surprise —

" My dear, I thought you managed it beauti-
fully, and so I have no doubt Lieutenant Mar-
shall did."

" If he thought at all about it," answered I ;
and she smiled.

" Has it ever struck you — have you ever heard
anything about Lieutenant Marshall's being in
love with Virginia?" I asked, when I had over-
taken Ellen.

" A long time ago I heard it talked about a
little, but nothing has been said about it for the
last year or two. I have always thought, though,
that Virginia cared more about him than any
one else."

" It is strange she never has alluded to him to
me," said I ; and I was inexpressibly pained at
this want of confidence on her part, revealed at
a time when I thought every feeling of her
heart was laid bare to me. Nor could I recon-
cile the clandestine way in which they had
carried on their love-affair, with the previous
high opinion I had formed both of Virginia
and Mr. Marshall, as persons of the highest
integrity and principle. An indistinct feeling of
annoyance at having been used as a blind, and of
disappointment at the tarnish which had suddenly
obscured, in my eyes, the bright purity of Vir-
ginia's character, prevented me for a time from
enjoying my ride. But deeper griefs than mine
would not long have been proof against the ex-
hilaration produced by rapid motion, through
southern woods, on a cool and balmy afternoon
in early spring.

Nature has no secrets in that genial clime.
She does not elaborate her delicate buds and
leaflets within the closely enveloping bark until
they burst suddenly upon you, full-formed and
perfect, but her workshop is the open air, and one
might almost fancy he could see her dainty fin-
gers patiently adding, day by day, one touch after
another, until her work is complete. I have

watched the slow development of an oak, from
the first red tassel to its full leaved glory, till I
have felt quite sure that if, by any of those
marvellous metamorphoses we read of in the
old mythology, I should ever feel myself taking
root and shape like it, I should know exactly
what would be expected of me. And so, my eye
caught and charmed by one beauty after another,
of flower, or tree, or cloud, I had regained all
my cheerfulness by the time we halted at the
plantation, to allow the lovers to overtake us.

They had loitered so far behind, that we had
to wait at least half an hour before they joined
us, but we were forbearing, and said nothing to
remind them of their want of consideration,
though I am afraid my silence was as much
owing to wounded feeling as anything else.

We were most cordially welcomed by Nancie
and Bettie Buckley, but I was so surprised at
the house and its furniture, that I hardly noticed
our reception. Was it possible, thought I, that
those gorgeously apparelled women came out of
those low, poorly furnished rooms, with their
stiff, old-fashioned chairs, and no carpets, no
sofas — no silver forks at tea — in short, few of
those little luxuries that long use makes almost
necessaries. Virginia explained the incongruity
to me by saying that cousin Tom, as she
called old Mr. Buckley, refused to allow the
least change to be made in their household ar-
rangements. His daughters might travel and
spend as much money as they pleased, but not
one of their new-fangled notions were allowed
to be introduced into the family. To make up
for every other deficiency, there was a most be-
wildering number of servants of all ages and
sizes. They ran about the house like tame kit-
tens. Two accompanied me to my room at night,
and three assisted, to my great embarrassment,
at my morning toilet.

Mr. Buckley was a stout, uneducated, kind-
hearted sort of a man, with a high appreciation
of a mint-julep and a good cigar, and an intense
dislike of Yankees. This was so much a part
of his nature that he could not help expressing
it even to me, and it was so genuine, that, not-
withstanding my natural pride in my birthright,
I caught myself insensibly sympathizing. To-
wards me personally, as a woman and a stranger,
he evidently felt nothing but a sort of tender pity
and concern. This he showed in the only way
he could think of, by mixing me a very strong
mint-julep, and urging me to drink it. I tried
to please him — in fact, I had watched the process
of making it, and thought I should like it; but
the very first attempt I made, gave me such a fi*
of coughing, and came so near strangling me,

112

godey's magazine and lady's book.

that I gave up ; after that, we all sat down on
the porch together until tea was ready, while
Mr. Buckley smoked his cigar and looked hope-
lessly at me.

After tea, we returned to the porch and our
conversation, and Mr. Buckley to his cigar. In
the course of the evening, I missed Virginia and
my recreant knight, and they did not appear
until we were about separating for the night.
Virginia and I were to occupy the same room ;
and hardly were we alone before she turned to
me, exclaiming, with a vivacity and eagerness
very unusual to her —

" Dear Pauline, how strange you must think
my conduct has been lately, after what you have
seen to-day ! But let me explain it to you. I
would have spoken openly to you weeks ago, if
I had had anything to tell ; but I have been
kept as much in the dark as any one until to-
day. When we were children, Philip — Mr.
Marshall — and I were constantly together, and
became very much attached to each other ; so
that when he went to West Point, though I was
but about eleven years old, we were regularly
and solemnly engaged. He did not return to
Louden until he had graduated ; for, you know,
his father is poor, and they could not afford him
the r°oney for the journey. Then he came, he
says, with the full intention of renewing our
childish engagement, if he found me so disposed ;
but he thought he ought first to speak to my fa-
ther about it, as I was still so young, and father
objected so decidedly to anything of that kind
being said to me then, that Philip consented to
wait a little while. He came back in a year,
and, as soon as father heard of it, he sent me
down to New Orleans on a visit to my aunt. I
don't know how I discovered the truth ; but I
did know very well the reason I was sent off so
hastily, and felt very badly about it. Then fa-
ther and Philip had another long talk, and Phi-
lip promised to wait until I was eighteen before
he made any other attempt to speak to me about
what father calls our ridiculous engagement."

" Oh," said I, "you were eighteen the day of
Mrs. Simmons's party — last Wednesday."

" Yes ; and Philip tried to have an explana-
tion with me then ; but he could not, for there
were so many people about. He was deter-
mined, he said, this time not to see my father
until he had spoken to me, and he asked me
when he could see me alone for a little while.
I told him we had been talking of visiting Nan-
nie and Bettie for some time, and he said he
would accompany us, as they were cousins of
lus, too — Virginia cousins, that is, not very near
ones."

" What can be your father's objection to Mr.
Marshall?" asked I.

" None at all to him ; it is to his profession.
He wants me settled near him. He says I am
not strong enough to bear the wandering life
and hardships I shall have to encounter as an
officer's wife. I hope, though, that he will give
his consent, now that he sees by our constancy
how much we really do like each other. Just
think, dear, until to-day, I have hardly had five
minutes' uninterrupted conversation with Philip
since I was eleven, and our engagement was
never alluded to ; and yet I never thought of
liking any one else, and I was sure his feelings
were unchanged ; though, of course, until he
told me so, I could not speak of it even to my
dearest friend."

Before Virginia had finished her little ro-
mance, my feelings of annoyance were all lost
in sympathy, and we passed the greater part of
the night discussing the manner in which Mr.
Percy would receive Mr. Marshall's third com-
munication. Virginia seemed to have but little
doubt of her father's consent, and neither had I ;
for I had not yet met a Southern father who had
seemed able to refuse any child of his whatever
she had fixed her heart upon.

But in this case we were both disappointed.
Mr. Percy, usually calm and indulgent, seemed
irritated and displeased to an uncommon degree
when Mr. Marshall urged his request. He re-
minded the young officer that he was entirely
dependent on his pay, which Mr. Percy said he
considered barely enough for one person ; told
him that, owing to an unfortunate speculation
in buying a plantation in Arkansas, which had
turned out badly, and to the failure of his cotton
crop for the last two years, he had become very
much embarrassed, so that he should not be able
to assist his daughter, if she married, for some
time. He ended by repeating his former deci-
sion that, accustomed as Virginia had been to
the ease and indulgences of a settled home, he
was sure she could never endure the discomforts
of a roving life. When she was twenty-one,
she might judge for herself; until that time, he
wished never to hear the subject mentioned
again.

Mr. Marshall was very indignant, and tried
to persuade Virginia to renew her engagement
with him without her father's knowledge ; but
to this she would not consent, and he was soon
afterwards obliged to return to his post.

Virginia was almost heartbroken at this sud-
den rupture of a tie that had been formed in her
earliest childhood, and strengthened with every
subsequent year. I tried to persuade her that

VIRGINIA PERCY. — A SKETCH OF SOUTHERN" LIFE,

113

the three years which were to intervene before
she could make her own decision would pass
very quickly ; but, hardly heeding my reason-
ings, she gave herself up to hopeless despair.
She was sure, she said, her father never would
consent to her union with Philip, and she would
never marry without it. Besides, she did not
expect to live to be twenty-one. Long before
that time she should be in her grave.

At first, I paid no attention to these dismal
forebodings, thinking them only the natural ex-
pressions of an affectionate heart suffering under
such a great disappointment. But gradually I
began to fear that they should be realized. She
would not eat, and grew pale and pined, and
her countenance began to wear an unearthly
look of patient sorrow and resignation that I
never observed without a pang. I knew that
her parents had noticed the alteration in Vir-
ginia's health and spirits, for hardly a week
passed that some pleasant little excursion or
journey was not proposed to her. And thus the
long warm summer wore away.

One afternoon, late in September, I received a
note from her, saying that she had just returned
from a visit to the Mammoth Cave, and would
like to see me, to tell me about it. As I had not
seen her for three weeks, I hastened to Mr.
Percy's immediately, and running up to her
room, entered without knocking at the half-open
door.

Virginia was sitting in the full light of an
afternoon sun, whose rays were streaming in
unobstructed by shutters or curtain, seemingly
as if the occupant of the room had lost all thought
erf bodily comfort. Her eyes were fixed on a
white cloud floating in the distant sky, and as
the wind lifted the heavy bands of hair from her
pallid temples, she looked so spiritualized and
incorporeal, that I should hardly have been sur-
prised if she had floated out to mingle with the
clouds on which she was gazing.

" Why, Virginia, have you been sick ?" I
asked, after our first hurried greetings.

" No, dear; do I look badly V9

" Very," was my reply, sincere, if impolitic.

u I am rather glad to hear it," said Virginia,
" though of course it will be painful to me to
leave my father and mother, brothers and sisters ;
still, I have so little to look forward to in this
world, that I cannot care to live. I feel, myself,
that I am growing weaker every day, and that
is one reason that I hurried home ; I wanted to
see you and leave some messages with you for
Philip."

And Virginia went on to impress upon me a
variety of tender messages I was to remember

10*

for Mr. Marshall. I tried to listen, but I hardly
heard what she said, for I was revolving in my
mind a bold undertaking. I knew that Mr.
Percy loved his daughter devotedly, and that if
once aware of her danger he would consent to
any means that seemed necessary for her re-
covery. If I only dared to speak to him about
it — but I stood somewhat in awe of him, which
feeling I shared with his children and most of
his younger acquaintances. He had a certain
grand magnificent way with him that I have
never seen, excepting in Southern planters, and
but seldom in them. I imagine a Roman patri-
cian may have awed the populace, and impressed
the rude Gauls by somewhat the same air and
bearing.

However, the longer I listened to Virginia's
plaintive words and looked at her sorrowful face,
the more I felt that my reverence for her father
was being gradually lost in anger at what I con-
sidered his cruel regardlessness of her feelings.
At last I left Virginia as abruptly as I had en-
tered. I had seen Mr. Percy as I passed, attending
to the grafting of some trees in the fruit orchard,
and there I bent my steps.

He greeted me with a pleasant smile, and offer-
ed me a large Indian peach he had just gathered
from the tree. It almost seemed as if he wished
to propitiate me, for if I have a weakness it is
for peaches — and this particular kind, with its
deep red juicy pulp, was an especial favorite.
But I took it almost unconsciously, and, looking
at him earnestly, I said —

"Mr. Percy, Virginia is very ill."

He looked anxiously upon me.

" She will die," I continued, shaking my head
at him.

"Why, Pauline, do you really think so?"
asked he ; and I could see that the alarm that had
been half roused for some time was now tho-
roughly awake, and producing its effect.

"Yes, I do not see how she can recover —
unless — "

"Unless what?"

"Unless you send for Lieutenant Marshall
immediately."

" Don't you think Dr. Parkinson might do as
well?" asked he.

"No," I answered, shortly, looking upon that
question as most unkind trifling with mortal
need.

Every one knows the effect that decided im-
pulsive natures have on calm meditative ones.
An act Mr. Percy had been trying to make up
his mind to perform for some time, but had been
putting off, in hopes that secondary measuies
might avail, he now consented to at once.

GODEYS MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

"I believe I shall have to do it," he said;
"you may tell Virginia so."

My work was but half done. Mr. Percy was
a most inveterate dawdle, to use Fanny Kemble's
expressive word. If left to himself, the letter
might be written in a week, but more probably
would be put off for a month. If we lived in
antediluvian times, this dilatory way of managing
matters might be of little consequence, but life
is too short now to afford the loss of even a few
weeks' happiness.

"Could you not write to Mr. Marshall now?
There is plenty of time to send it to the post-
office before dark."

Mr. Percy smiled, and yielded to my request
so far as to turn his steps towards the little
building dignified with the namo of his office,
though I do not know what business he had to
transact there. He loitered by the way in a
manner that tired my patience to its utmost, and
once murmured something about having time to
graft another tree ; but, heedless of his evident
desire to escape, I walked on with resolute pur-
pose, and, as you may have seen some stately
vessel, with furled sail, submissively yielding
herself up to be dragged into port by an energetic
little steamer, so did Mr. Perry resign himself to
the fate that had for once overtaken him — of
doing the right thing at the right time — and
seated himself at his writing-desk.

" How am I to know that Mr. Marshall has
not changed his mind?" asked Mr. Percy, before
beginning to write.

"Virginia showed me a letter just now that
she received from him a few hours ago, in which
he said that, although she would not consent to
any engagement without your approval, he still
and always should, as long as she remained single,
consider himself bound by his boyish promise."

"Desperately romantic!" said Mr. Percy, and
then the movement of his pen told me that he
had commenced the epistle that was to put an
end to so much sorrow.

Unable to remain quiet, I leaned out of the
window, and beckoned to a servant I saw loiter-
ing at a little distance.

"Jack," said I, as he came near, "your master
is writing a letter, wait here until it is finished,
for he will want you to take it directly to the
post-office."

The order to wait was one too congenial to his
nature not to be readily obeyed, and discovering
at a glance the capabilities for enjoyment and
repose afforded by an inviting bed of hot sand

in which the afternoon sun was expending its
last fierce blaze, Jack threw himself down in it,
and I had soon the satisfaction of seeing that he
was sound asleep, and therefore in no danger of
being out of the way when he was wanted.

" Would you like to read the letter, Miss Paul-
ine?" asked Mr. Percy, when he had finished it.

I was very glad to avail myself of this permis-
sion. I found that it contained a cordial, though
dignified invitation to Mr. Marshall to return to
Louden, with a full consent to the engagement
between Virginia and himself.

Giving the letter to Jack with directions to
put it in the post-office without delay, I hurried
to Virginia with the joyful tidings. I expected
a burst of tears and an infinitude of thanks. In-
stead of either, when I had finished my story,
she said, in a slightly aggrieved tone —

"I am sorry, Pauline, you told father I should
certainly die unless he sent for Philip. It will
make him think me so weak."

" Why, Virginia," I exclaimed, taken quite by
surprise, "what should I have said?"

"You might have said that I was not very
well, or something of that kind."

"And then he would have sent for Dr. Par-
kinson, and the only result would have been a
few doses of calomel or quinine. No, dear, I
never once thought of your not being well. I
felt sure you would die, and I said so. I am
sorry it troubles you, but I think it was the best
thing I could do."

Virginia blushed the next time she saw her
father, as if he had been her lover instead ; but,
as he said nothing to her on the subject, she gra-
dually recovered from her embarrassment, and
by the time Mr. Marshall joined her she had so
far recovered her health as to be able to enjoy
without a drawback what some people consider
the happiest part of one's life.

Mr. Percy did not relinquish his desire to have
his daughter settled near him, and one or two
successful years enabled him to effect his wishes.
Lieutenant Marshall was induced to resign from
the army, and with his wife and six children he
is now living and prospering on a plantation;
and in the substantial person of Mrs. Marshall,
anxious and troubled about many things in her
household and maternal concerns, I find it hard
to discover the least trace of the shadowy and
ethereal girl who had seemed to me at one time
much more a part of the spirit world than of this
material sphere.

GODEY'S COUESE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

LESSON II.

I
We now proceed to the drawing of curved
lines, as in Fig. 11. And as these arc the basis

Fig. u.

of innumerable forms, the pupil must not rest
satisfied with a few attempts at forming them ;
she must try and try again, until she is able,
with a single sweep, to draw them correctly.
They must be done in one stroke, no piecing
being allowed. Let the curved line a be first
produced ; beginning at the top, bring the arm
or wrist down, so that at one operation the form
may be traced ; do this repeatedly, until the cor-
rect outline is attained at every trial. The pu-
pil may next proceed to the curved line b, which
is merely the line a in another position ; then,
after repeated trials, the lines c, d, e, g, and h
may be drawn. These curves should be at-
tempted to be drawn in all manner of positions,
beginning at the top, then at the bottom, and
making the curve upwards, and so on, until the
utmost facility is attained in drawing them,
howsoever placed. The curved line, generally
known as the " line of beauty," / a b', must next
be mastered; it is of the utmost importance to
be able to do this easily and correctly. In all
these and the future elementary lessons, the
pupil must remember that when failing to draw

a form correctly, she should at once rub it out
or destroy it, and commence a new attempt.

Having, then, acquired a ready facility in
drawing the simple elempntary curved lines, the
pupil may next proceed to the combination of
these, as exemplified in simple figures, as circles
and ellipses, or ovals. First attempt to draw the
circle a' 6, Fig. 12 ; beginning at a', sweep round

Fig. 12.

Dy the right down to b, then from b towards the
left and up to a', where the circle was first begun.
The pupil may also try to draw it by going the
reverse way to the above. We are quite aware
that it will be found rather a difficult matter to
draw a circle correctly at the first, or rather even
after repeated attempts ; but the pupil must not
be discouraged ; by dint of practice she will be
able to draw circles of any size very correctly.
We have seen circles drawn by hand so that thu
strictest test applied could scarcely point out an
error in their outline, so correctly were they put
in. Circles within circles may be drawn, as at
c'; care sh"uld be taken to have the lines at the
same distance from each other all round. The
ellipse a b must next be attempted ; this is a form
eminently useful in delineating a multiplicity of
forms met with in practice. Ovals within ovals
may also be drawn, as at c d.

115-

116

MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

At this stage, the pupil ought to be able to
draw combinations of straight and curved lines,
as met with in many forms which may be pre-
sented to her in after-practice. The examples
we intend now to place before her are all in
pure outline, having no reference to picturesque
arrangement, but designed to aid the pupil in
drawing outlines with facility ; and to prove to
her, by a progression of ideas, that the most
complicated forms are but made up of lines of
extreme simplicity ; that although in the aggre-
gate they may look complicated, in reality, when
carefully analyzed, they are amazingly simple.
Again, although the pupil may object to them as
being simple and formal — in fact, not picturesque
or decorative enough to please her hasty fancy —
ehe ought to recollect that, before being able to
delineate objects shown to her eye perspectively,
she must have a thorough knowledge of the me-
thod of drawing the outlines of wilich the ob-
jects are composed, and a facility in making the
hand follow aptly and readily the dictation of
the eye. These can be alone attained by a
steady application to elementary lessons.

Fig. 13 is the moulding, or form known in

Fig. 13.

architecture as the e* echinus," or quarter-round.
First draw the line a c, then b b at the proper dis-
tance ; next mark with the eye the point b on
the line b b, to which the curve from a joins ;
then put in the curve a b with one sweep. The
curved portion of the moulding in Fig. 14, known

Fig. 14.

as the " ogee," must be put in at one stroke of
the pencil or chalk, previously drawing the top
and bottom line?

Fig. 15 is the "scotia;" it is formed geometri-
cally by two portions of a circle, but the pupil
should draw the curve at once with the hand.
It is rather a difficult one to draw correctly, but
practice will soon overcome the difficulty.

Fig. 15.

Fig. lo is termed the "cyma recta j" it affords
an exemplification of the line of beauty given in
Fig. 11.

Fig. 16.

Should the pupil ever extend the practice of
the art beyond the simple lessons we have given
her, she will find, in delineating the outlines of
numerous subjects presented her, the vast utility
of the " practice" which wre have placed before
her in the foregoing examples. In sketching
ancient or modern architectural edifices, she
will find the forms we have presented of frequent
recurrence.

We shall now proceed to give examples of
the combinations of the forms or outlines we
have just noticed.

Fig. 17 is half of the base of an architectural
order frequently met with, called the " Doric."

Fig. 17.

Fig. 18 affords an exemplification of the out-
line of part of a "cornice" belonging to the
Tuscan order. Let us slightly analyze the sup-

godey's course of lessons in drawing.

117

Fig. 18.

posed proceedings of the pupil in delineating
this. Suppose Fig. 19 to be the rough sketch

Fig. 19.

as first attempted. On examining the copy as
given in Fig. 18, the pupil will at once per-
ceive that the proportions are very incorrect;
thus, the distance between the two upper lines,
as at d, is too little, the fillet being too narrow ;
again, the point c, which regulates the extent
of the curve from a, is too far from a, while
the line c c' is too near the line d ; the space
between c c' and the line below it is too wide,
and the line / is not perpendicular, but slopes
outwards towards f\ the distance between the
line / g and the one immediately above it is
also too narrow by at least one-third. Again,
the point h, where the portion of the circle be-
gins, is too near the point /; the line i is also
too near that of f g', the outline of the curve is
not correct, it being too much bulged out near
the point k ; the line n is not straight, and that
marked m is too far from the extreme end of
the line. The pupil has here indicated a method
of analyzing her proceedings, comparing them
with the correct copy, which she would do well,
in her earlier practice, to use pretty frequently,
until she is perfectly at home in correct delinea-
tion of outlines. It may be objected that this
analysis is hypercriticism utterly uncalled for,
from the simplicity of the practice ; but let it be
noted that if the pupil is not able, or unwilling

to take the necessary trouble to enable her to
draw simple outlines correctly, how can she be
prevented, when she proceeds to more compli
cated examples, from drawing difficult outlines
incorrectly? We hold that if a thing is worth
doing at all, it is worth doing well; and how
can a pupil do a thing correctly, unless from
correct models or rules? and how can she ascer-
tain whether she is following them, unless by
careful comparison and examination? How
often are the works of painters and artists found
fault with, from the incorrectness of outline, and
the inconsistency of measurement observable,
which might be obviated by a more careful at-
tention to the minute details, but are too fre-
quently spurned at by aspiring artists ; but of
which, after all, the most complicated picture is
but a combination? Thus the outline in Fig. 19
presents all the lines and curves found in Fig. 18,
but the whole forms a delineation by no means
correct ; and if a pupil is allowed to run from
simple lessons without being able to master them,
then the foundation of the art is sapped, and
the superstructure certainly endangered. Cor
rect outlining must be attained before the higher
examples of art can be mastered.

Fig. 20 is an outline sketch of the ornament

Fig. 20.

called a quatre-foil, frequently met with in ar-
chitectural and artistic decoration. It will be a
somewhat difficult example to execute at first,
but it affords good and useful practice.

Fig. 21 is part of the arch and mullion of a
window.

118

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK

Fig. 21.

Fig. 22 is an outline sketch of a Gothic recess
iq a wall.

The reader will perceive that in all the fore-
going designs, although consisting of pure out-
line, there exists a large amount of practice,
which, if she has carefully mastered, will be of
eminent service to her in the higher branches
Of the art.

CELESTIAL LOVE LETTERS.

In the Celestial Empire, love matters are
managed by a confidant, and the billets-doux
written to one another by the papas. At Amoy,
a marriage was recently concluded between the
respectable houses of Tan and 0 j on which oc-

casion the following epistles passed between the
two old gentlemen : —

From Papa Tan : " The ashamed young bro-
ther, surnamed Tan, with washed head makes
obeisance, and writes this letter to the greatly
virtuous and honorable gentleman whose sur-
name is O. I duly reverence your lofty door.
The marriage business will be conducted accord-
ing to the six rules of propriety, and I will
reverently announce the business to my ancestors
with presents of gems and silks. I will arrange
the things received in your basket, so that all
who tread the threshold of my door may enjoy
them. From this time forward the two surnames
will be united, and I trust the union will be a
felicitous one, and last for a hundred years, and
realize the delight experienced by the union. I
hope that your honorable benevolence and con-
sideration will defend me unceasingly. At pre-
sent the dragon flies in Sin Hai term, the first
month, lucky day. I bow respectfully. Light
before. Tan."

From Papa 0 : " The younger brother, sur-
named 0, of the family to be related by marriage,
washes his head clean, knocks his head and bows,
and writes this marriage-letter in reply to the
far-famed and virtuous gentleman surnamed Tan,
the venerable teacher and great man who ma-
nages his business. 'Tis matter for congratulation
the union of 100 years. I reverence your lofty
gate. The prognostic is good, also the divination
of the lucky bird. The stars are bright, and the
dragons meet together. I, the foolish one, am
ashamed of my diminutiveness. I for a long
time have desired your dragon powers : now you
have not looked down upon me with contempt,
but have entertained the statements of the match-
maker, and agree to give Kang to be united to
my despicable daughter. We all wish the girl
to have her hair dressed, and the young man to
put on his cap of manhood. The peach-flowers
just now look beautiful, the red plum also
looks gay. I praise your son, who is like a fairy
horse who can cross over through water, and is
able to ride upon the wind and waves ; but my
tiny daughter is like a green window and a feeble
plant, and is not worthy of becoming the sub-
ject of verse.

" Now, I reverently bow to your good words,
and make use of them to display your good
breeding. Now, I hope your honorable benevo-
lence will always remember me without end.
Now the dragon flies in the Sin Hai term, first
month, lucky day. Obeisance ! May the future
be prosperous. 0."*

THE TKIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

BY T. 8. ARTHUR.

CHAPTER I.

Needle-work, at best, yields but a small
return. Yet how many thousands have no other
resource in life, no other barrier thrown up be-
tween them and starvation ! The manly stay
upon which a woman has leaned suddenly fails,
and she finds self-support an imperative neces-
sity ; yet she has no skill, no strength, no deve-
loped resources. In all probability, she is a
mother. In this case, she must not only stand
alone, but sustain her helpless children. Since
her earliest recollection, others have ministered
to her wants and pleasures. From a father's
hand, childhood and youth received their count-
less natural blessings ; and brother or husband,
in later years, has stood between her and the
rough winds of a stormy world. All at once,
like a bird reared from a fledgling in its cage,
and then turned loose in dreary winter time,
she finds herself in the world unskilled in its
ways, yet required to earn her bread or perish.

What can she do ? In what art or profession
has she been educated ? The world demands
service, and proffers its money for labor. But
what has she learned ? What work can she
perform ? She can sew. And is that all ?
Every woman we meet can ply the needle.
Ah ! As a seamstress, how poor the promise for
her future ! The labor market is crowded with
sewing women, and, as a consequence, the price
of needle-work — more particularly that called
plain needle-work — is depressed to mere starva-
tion rates. In the more skilled branches, better
returns are met ; but, even here, few can endure
prolonged application — few can bend ten, twelve,
or fifteen hours daily over their tasks, without
fearful inroads upon health.

In the present time, a strong interest has been
awakened on this subject. The cry of the poor
seamstress has been heard; and the questions,
"How shall we help her?" "How shall we
widen the circle of remunerative employments for
women?" passes anxiously from lip to lip. To
answer this question is not our present purpose.
Others are earnestly seeking to work out the
problem, and we must leave the solution with
them. What we now design is to quicken their
generous impulses. How more effectively can

this be done than by a life-picture of the poor
needlewoman's trials and sufferings ? And this
we shall now proceed to give.

It wa& a cold, dark, drizzly day in the fall of
18 — , that a young female entered a well-ar-
ranged clothing store in Boston, and passed with
hesitating steps up to where a man was standing
behind one of the counters.

" Have you any work, sir ?" she asked, in a
low, timid voice.

The individual to whom this was addressed, a
short, rough-looking man, with a pair of large
black whiskers, eyed her for a moment with a
bold stare, and then indicated, by half turning
his head and nodding sideways towards the
owner of the shop, who stood at a desk some
distance back, that her application was to be
made there. Turning quickly from the rude,
and too familiar gaze of the attendant, the young
woman went on to the desk, and stood, half
frightened and trembling, beside the man from
whom she had come to ask the privilege of toil-
ing for little more than a crust of bread and a
cup of cold water.

" Hay^e you any work, sir?" was repeated in
a still lower and more timid voice than that in
which her request had at first been made.

" Yes, we have," was the gruff reply.

" Can I get some ?"

" I don't know. I 'm not sure that you '11
ever bring it back again."

The applicant endeavored to make some reply
to this, but the words choked her ; she could
not utter them.

" I 've been tricked in my time out of more
than a little by new-comers. But I don't know ;
you seem to have a simple, honest look. Are
you particularly in want of work?"

" Oh yes, sir !" replied the applicant, in an
earnest, half-imploring voice. " I desire work
very much."

" What kind do you want?"

" Almost anything you have to give out, sir ?"

" Well, we have pants, coarse and fine round-
abouts, shirts, drawers, and almost any article
of men's wear you can mention."

" What do you give for shirts, sir ?"

" Various prices ; from six cents up to twenty
five, according to the quality of the article."

119

120

godey's magazine and lady's book,

" Only twenty-five cents for fine shirts !" re-
turned the young woman, in a surprised, disap-
pointed, desponding tone.

" Only twenty-five cents 1 Only? Yes, only
twenty-five cents ! Pray, how much did you
expect to get, Miss ?" retorted the clothier, in a
half sneering, half offended voice.

" I don't know. But twenty-five cents is
very little for a hard day's work."

" Is it, indeed ? I know enough who are
thankful for even that. Enough who are at it
early and late, and do not even earn as much.
Your ideas will have to come down a little,
Miss, if you expect to work for this branch of
business."

" What do you give for vests and pantaloons?"
asked the woman, without seeming to notice
the man's rudeness.

" For common trowsers with pockets, twelve
cents ; and for finer ones, fifteen and twenty
cents. Vests about the same rates."

"Have you any shirts ready?"

" Yes, a plenty. Will you have 'em coarse
or fine ?"

" Fine, if you please."

" How many will you take ?"

" Let me have three to begin with."

•'Here, Michael," cried the man to the at-
tendant who had been first addressed by the
stranger, " give this girl three fine shirts to
make." Then turning to her, he said, "They
are cotton shirts, with linen collars, bosoms, and
wristbands. There must be two rows o|" stitch-
ing down the bosoms, and one row upon the
wristband. Collars plain. And remember, they
must be made very nice."

"Yes, sir," was the reply, made in a sad
voice, as the young creature turned from her
employer and went up to the shop-attendant to
receive the three shirts.

" You 've never worked for the clothing stores,
1 should think ?" remarked this individual, look-
ing her in the face with a. steady gaze.

" Never," replied the applicant, in a low tone,
half shrinking away, with an instinctive aver-
sion for The man.

"Well, it's pretty good when one can't do
any better. An industrious sewer can get along
pretty well upon a pinch."

No reply was made to this. The shirts were
now ready ; but, before they were handed to
her, the man bent over the counter, and, put-
ting his face close to hers, said —

*' What might your name be, Miss?"

A quick flush suffused the neck and face of
the girl, as she stepped back a pace or two, and
answered —

" That is of no consequence, sir."

" Yes, Miss, but it is of consequence. We
never give out work to people who don't tell
their names. We would be a set of unconscion-
able fools to do that, I should think."

The young woman stood thoughtful for a lit-
tle while, and then said, while her cheek still
burned —

" Lizzy Glenn."

" Very well. And now, Miss Lizzy, be kind
enough to inform me where you live."

" That is altogether unnecessary. I will bring
the work home as soon as I have finished it."

"But suppose you should happen to forget
our street and number? What then ?"

"Oh no, I shall not do that. I know the
place very well," was the innocent reply.

"No, but that won't do, Lizzy. We must
have the name and place of residence of every
man, woman, and child who work for us. It is
our rule, and we never depart from it."

There was another brief period of irresolution,
and then the place of abode was given. This
was first entered, with her name, in a book, and
then the three shirts were handed over. The
seamstress turned away on receiving them, and
walked quickly from the shop.

The appearance of this young applicant for
work would have appealed instantly to the sym-
pathies of any one but a regular slop-shop man,
who looked only to his own profits, and cared
not a fig whose heart-drops cemented the stones
of his building. She was tall and slender, with
light brown hair, clear soft complexion, and
eyes of a mild hazel. But her cheeks were
sunken, though slightly flushed, and her eyes
lay far back in their sockets. Her forehead was
high and very white. The tones of her voice,
which was low, were soft and musical, and her
words were spoken, few though they were, with
a taste and appropriateness that showed her to
be one who had moved in a circle of refine-
ment and intelligence. As to her garments,
they were old, and far too thin for the season.
A light, faded shawl, of costly material, was
drawn closely around her shoulders, but had not
the power to keep from her attenuated frame
the chill air, or to turn off the fine penetrating
rain that came with the wind, searchingly, from
the bleak north-east. Her dress, of summer
calico, much worn, clung closely to her body.
Above all was a close bonnet, and a thick veil,
which she drew around her face as she stepped
into the street and glided hurriedly away.

" She 's a touch above the vulgar, Michael,"
broke in Berlaps, the owner of the shop, coming
forward as he spoke.

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

121

" Yes, indeed i That craft has been taut
Jgged in her time."

" Who can she be, Michael ? None of your
common ones, of course."

" Oh no, of course not ; she 's ( seen better
days,' as the slang phrase is."

" No doubt of that. What name did she give ?"

"Lizzy Glenn. But that may or may not be
correct. People like her are sometimes apt to
forget even their own names."

" Where does she live ?"

" In the lower part of the town somewhere.
I have it in the book here."

" You think she '11 bring them shirts back ?"

" Oh yes. Folks that have come down in the
world as she has. rarely play grab game after that
fashion."

" She seemed all struck aback at the price."

" I suppose so. Ha ! ha !"

" But she 's the right kind," resumed Berlaps.
" I only wish we had a dozen like her."

" I wish we had. Her work will never rip."

Further conversation was prevented by the
entrance of a customer. Before he had been
fully served, a middle-aged woman came in with
a large bundle, and went back to Berlaps's desk,
where he stood engaged over his account-books.

" Good-day, Mrs. Gaston," said he, looking
up, while not a feature relaxed on his cold, rigid
countenance.

" I 've brought you in six pairs of pants," said
the woman, untying the bundle she had laid
upon the counter.

" You had seven pair, ma'am."

" I know that, Mr. Berlaps. But only six are
finished ; and, as I want some money, I have
brought them in."

" It is more than a week since we gave them
out. You ought to have had the whole seven
pair done. We want them all now. They
should have been in day before yesterday."

" They would have been finished, Mr. Ber-
laps," said the woman, in a deprecating tone ;
" but one of my children has been sick, and I
have had to he up with her so often every night,
and have had to attend to her so much through
the day, that I have not been able to do more
than half work."

" Confound the children !" muttered the tailor
to himself, as he began inspecting the woman's
work. " They 're always getting sick, or some-
thing else."

After carefully examining three or four pairs
of the coarse trowsers which had been brought
in, he pushed the whole from him with a quick
impatient gesture and an angry scowl, saying, as
he did so —

vol. xlviii. — 11

" Botched to death ! I can't give you work
unless it 's done better, Mrs. Gaston. You grow
worse and worse !"

" I know, sir," replied the woman, in a trou-
bled voice, " that they are not made quite so
well as they might be. But consider how much
I have had against me. A sick child — and worn
out by attendance on her night and day."

"It's always a sick child, or some. other ex-
cuse with the whole of you. But that don't
answe. me. I want my work done well, and
I mean to have it so. If you don't choose to
turn out good work, I can find a plenty who
will."

" You sha'n't complain of me hereafter, Mr.
Berlaps," replied the woman, submissively.

" So you have said before. But we shall see."

Berlaps then turned moodily to his desk, and
resumed the employment he had broken off
when the seamstress came in, while she stood
with her hands folded across each other, await-
ing his pleasure in regard to the payment of the
meagre sum she had earned by a full week of
hard labor, prolonged often to a late hour in the
night. She had stood thus, meekly, for nearly
five minutes, when Berlaps raised his head, and
looking at her sternly over the top of his desk,
said —

" What are you waiting for, Mrs. Gaston?"

"I should like to have the money for the
pants I have brought in. I am out of every" —

" I never pay until the whole job is done.
Bring in the other pair, and you can have your
money."

" Yes ; hut Mr. Berlaps"

" You needn't talk anything about it, madam.
You have my say," was the tailor's angry re-
sponse.

Slowly turning away, the woman moved, with
hesitating steps, to the door, paused there a
moment, and then went out. She lingered along,
evidently undecided how to act, for several mi-
nutes, and then moved on at a quicker pace, as
if doubt and irresolution had given way to some
encouraging thought. Threading her way along
the narrow winding streets in the lower part of
the city, she soon emerged into the open space
used as a hay-market, and, crossing over this,
took her way in the direction of one of the
bridges. Before reaching this, she turned down
towards the right and entered a small grocery.
A woman was the only attendant upon this.

" Won't you trust me for a little more, Mrs.
Grubb ?" she asked, in a supplicating voice,
while she looked anxiously into her face.

" No, ma'am ! not one cent till that dollar 's
paid up !" was the sharp retort. " And, to tell

122

godey's magazine and lady's book

you the truth, I think you 've got a heap of im-
pudence to come in here, bold-faced, and ask for
more trust, after having promised me over and
over again for a month to pay that dollar. No !
pay the dollar first !"

" I did intend to pay you a part of it this very
day," replied Mrs. Gaston. " But"

" Oh yes. It 's but this, and but that. But,
buts ain't my dollar. I 'm an honest woman,
and want to make an honest living; and must
have my money."

"But I only want a little, Mrs. Grubb. A
few potatoes and some salt fish ; and just a gill
of milk and a cup of flour. The children have
had nothing to eat since yesterday. I took home
six pairs of trowsers to-day, which came to
ninety cents, at fifteen cents a pair. But I had
seven pairs, and Mr. Berlaps won't pay me until
I bring the whole number. It will take me till
twelve o'clock to-night to finish them, and so I
can't get any money before to-morrow. Just let
me have two pounds of salt fish, which will be
only seven cents, and three cents' worth of po-
tatoes ; and a little milk and flour to make
something for Ella. It won't b" much, Mrs.
Grubb, and it will keep the little ones from
being hungry all day and till late to-morrow."

Her voice failed her as she uttered the last
sentence. But she restrained herself after the
first sob that heaved her overladen bosom, and
stood calmly awaiting the answer to her urgent
petition.

Mrs. Grubb was a woman, and a mother into
the bargain. She had, too, the remains of a wo-
man's heart, where lingered a few maternal
sympathies. These were quick to prompt her
to duty. Turning away without a reply, she
weighed out two pounds of fish, measured a peck
of potatoes, poured out some milk in a cup, and
filled a small paper with flour. These she
handed to Mrs. Gaston without uttering a word.

" To-morrow you shall be paid for these, and
something on the old account," said the reci-
pient, as she took them and hurried from the
shop.

" Why not give up at once, instead of trying
to keep soul and body together by working for
the slop-shops?" muttered Mrs. Grubb, as her
customer withdrew. " She 'd a great sight bet-
ter go with her children to the poor-house than
keep them half starving under people's noses at
this rate, and compelling us, who have a little feel-
ing left, to keep them from dying outright with
hunger ! It 's too bad ! There 's that Berlaps,
who grinds the poor seamstresses, who work for
him to death, and makes them one-half of their
time beggars at our stores for something for

their children to eat. He is building two houses
in Roxbury at this very moment ; and out of
what? Out of the money of which he has
robbed these poor women. Fifteen cents for a
pair of trowsers with pockets in them ! Ten
cents for shirts and drawers; and everything at
that rate ! Is it any wonder they are starving,
and he growing rich ? Curse him, and all like
him ! I could see them hung !"

And the woman set her teeth and clenched
her hand in momentary, but impotent rage.

In the mean time, Mrs. Gaston hurried home
with the food she had obtained. She occupied
the upper room of a narrow frame house near
the river, for which she paid a rent of three
dollars a month. It was small and comfortless ;
but the best her slender means could provide.
Two children were playing on the floor when
she entered, the one about four, and the other a
boy who looked as if he might be nearly ten
years of age. On the bed lay Ella, the sick
child to whom the mother had alluded both to
the tailor and the shop-keeper. She turned
wishfully upon her mother her young brighl
eyes as she entered, but did not move or utter a
word. The children, who had been amusing
themselves upon the floor, sprang to their feet,
and, catching hold of the basket she brought in
with her, ascertained in a moment its contents.

" Fish and taters ! fish and taters !" cried the
youngest, a little girl, clapping her hands and
dancing about the floor.

"Won't we have some dinner now?" said
Henry, the oldest boy, looking up into his mo-
ther's face with eager delight, as he laid his
hands upon her arm.

" Yes, my children, you shall have a good
dinner, and that right quickly," returned the
mother, in a voice half choked with emotion, as
she threw off her bonnet and proceeded to cook
the coarse provisions she had obtained at the
sacrifice of so much feefing. It did not take
long to boil the fish and potatoes, which were
eaten with a keen relish by two of the children,
Emma and Harry. The gruel prepared for El-
la, from the flour obtained at Mrs. Grubb's, did
not much tempt the sickly appetite of the child.
She sipped a few spoonfuls, and then turned
from the bowl which her mother held for her at
the bedside.

"Eat more of it, dear," said Mrs. Gaston.
" It will make you feel better."

" I 'm not very hungry how, mother," an-
swered Ella.

" Don't it taste good to you ?"

" Not very good."

The child sighed as she turned her wan face

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN,

123

towards the wall, and the unhappy mother
sighed responsive.

" I wish you would try to take a little more.
It 's so long since you have eaten anything ; and
you '11 grow worse if you don't take nourish-
ment. Just two or three spoonfuls. Come,
dear."

Ella, thus urged, raised herself in bed, and
made an effort to eat more of the gruel. At the
third spoonful, her stomach heaved as the taste-
less fluid touched her lips.

" Indeed, mother, I can't swallow another
mouthful," she said, again sinking back on her
pillow.

Slowly did Mrs. Gaston turn from the bed.
She had not yet eaten of the food which her
two well children were devouring with the
eagerness of hungry animals. Only a small
portion did she now take for herself, and that
was eaten hurriedly, as if the time occupied in
attending to her own wants were so much
wasted.

The meal over, Mrs. Gaston took the unfi-
nished pair of trowsers, and, though feeling
weary and disheartened, bent earnestly to the
task before her. At this she toiled, unremit-
tingly, until the falling twilight admonished her
to stop. The children's supper was then pre-
pared. She would have applied to Mrs. Grubb
for a loaf of bread, but was so certain of meeting
a refusal that she refrained from doing so. For
supper, therefore, they had only the salt fish and
potatoes.

It was one o'clock that night before exhausted
nature refused another draft upon its energies.
The garment was not quite finished. But the
nerveless hand and the weary head of the poor
seamstress obeyed the requirements of her will
no longer. The needle had to be laid aside, for
the finger had no more strength to grasp, nor
skill to direct its motions.

CHAPTER II.

It was about ten o'clock on the next morn-
ing, when Mrs. Gaston appeared at the shop of
Berlaps, the tailor.

" Here is the other pair," she said, as she
came up to the counter, behind which stood
Michael, the salesman.

That person took the pair of trowsers, glanced
at them a moment, and then, tossing them aside,
asked Mrs. Gaston if she could make some cloth
roundabouts.

" At what price?" was inquired.

" The usual price — thirty cents."

" Thirty cents for cloth jackets ! Indeed,
Michael, that is too little. You used to give
thirty-seven and a half."

" Can't afford to do it now, then. Thirty
cents is enough. There are plenty of women
glad to get them even at that price."

" But it will take me a full day and a half to
make a cloth jacket, Michael."

" You work slow, that 's the reason ; a good
sewer can easily make one in a day ; and that 's
doing pretty well, these times."

"I don't know what you mean by pretty well,
Michael," answered the seamstress. " How do
you think you could manage to support yourself
and three children on less than thirty cents a
day?"

" Haven't you put that oldest boy of yours
out yet?" asked Michael, instead of replying to
the question of Mrs. Gaston.

" No, I have not."

" Well, you do very wrong, let me tell you,
to slave yourself and pinch your other children
for him, when he might be earning his living
just as well as not. He 's plenty old enough to
be put out."

" You may think so, but I don't. He is still
but a child."

" A pretty big child, I should say. But, if
you would like to get him a good master, I know
a man over in Cambridge who would take him
off of your hands."

"Who is he?"

" He keeps a store, and wants just such a boy
to do odd trifles about, and run of errands. It
would be the very dandy for your little fellow.
He'll be in here to-day, and, if you say so, I
will speak to him about your son."

" I would rather try and keep him with me
this winter. He is too young to go so fai away.
I could not know whether he were well or ill
used."

" Oh, as to that, ma'am, the man I spoke of
is a particular friend of mine, and I know him
to be as kind-hearted as a woman. His wife's
amiability and good temper are proverbial. Do
let me speak a good word for your son ; I 'ra
sure you will never repent it."

"I'll think about it, Michael ; but don't be-
lieve I shall feel satisfied to let Henry go any-
where out of Boston, even if I should be forced
to get him a place away from home this winter."

" Well, you can do as you please, Mrs. Gas-
ton," said Michael, in a half offended tone. " I
shall not charge anything for my advice. But
say ! do you intend trying some of these jackets?"

"Can't you give me some more pantaloous *
I can do better on them, I think."

124:

godey's magazine and lady's book.

" We sha'n't have any more coarse trowsers
ready tor two or three days. The jackets are
your only chance."

" If I must, I suppose I must, then," replied
Mrs. Gaston to this, in a desponding tone. " So
let me have a couple of them."

The salesman took from a shelf two dark,
heavy cloth jackets, cut out and tied up in sepa-
rate bundles with a strip of the fabric from
which they had been taken. As he handed
them to the woman, he said —

" Remember, now, these are to be made extra
nice."

" You shall have no cause of complaint — de-
pend upon that, Michael. But isn't Mr. Ber-
laps in this morning?"

" No. He 's gone out to Roxbury to see about
some houses he is putting up there."

" You can pay me for them pantys, I sup-
pose?"
" No. I never settle any bills in his absence."
" But it 's a very small matter, Michael. Only
a dollar and five cents," said Mrs. Gaston, ear-
nestly, her heart sinking in her bosom.
" Can't help it. It 's just as I tell you."
" When will Mr. Berlaps be home?"
" Some time this afternoon, I suppose."
" Not till this afternoon," murmured the mo-
ther, sadly, as she thought of her children, and
how meagrely she had been able to provide for
them during the past few days. Turning away
from the counter, she left the store and hurried
homeward. Henry met her at the door as she
entered, and, seeing that she brought nothing
with her but the small bundles of work, looked
disappointed. This touched her feeling a good
deal. But she felt much worse when Ella, the
sick one, half raised herself from her pillow and
said —

" Did you get me that orange as you promised,
mother?"

"No, dear; I couldn't get any money this
morning," the mother replied, bending over her
sick child and kissing her cheek, that was
flushed and hot with fever. " But as soon as
Mr. Berlaps pays me you shall have an orange."
" I wish he would pay you soon, then, mo-
ther ; for I want one so bad. I dreamed last
night that I had one, and, just as I was going to
eat it, I waked up. And, since you have been
gone, I 've been asleep, and dreamed again that
I had a large juicy orange. But don't cry, mo-
ther. I know you couldn't get it for me. I '11
be very patient."

" I know you will, my dear child," said the
mother, putting an arm about the little sufferer,
and drawing her to her bosom ; " you have been

good and patient, and mother is only sorry that
she has not been able to get you the orange you
want so badly."

" But I don't believe I want it so very, very
bad, mother, as I seem to. I think about it so
much — that 's the reason I want it, I 'm sure.
I '11 try and not think about it any more."

" Try, that 's a dear, good girl," murmured
Mrs. Gaston, as she kissed her child again, and
then turned away to resume once more her
wearying task. Unrolling one of the coarse
jackets she had brought home, she found that it
was of heavy beaver cloth, and had to be sewed
with strong thread. For a moment or two, after
she spread it out upon the table, she looked at
the many pieces to be wrought up into a well-
finished whole, and thought of the hours of hard
labor it would require to accomplish the task.
A feeling of discouragement stole into her heart,
and she leaned her head listlessly upon the table.
But only a moment or two elapsed before •
thought of her children aroused her flagging
energies.

It was after eleven o'clock before she was
fairly at work. The first thing to be done, after
laying aside the different portions of the garment
in order, was to put in the pockets. This was
not accomplished before one o'clock, when she
had to leave her work to prepare a meal for her-
self and little ones. There remained from their
supper and breakfast a small portion of the fisir
and potatoes. Both of these had been boiled,
and hashed up together, and, of what remained,
all that was required was to make it into balls
and fry it. This wras not a matter to occasion
much delay. In fifteen minutes from the time
she laid aside her needle and thimble, the table
had been set, with its one dish upon it, and
Harry and little Emma were eating with keen
appetites their simple meal. But, to Mrs. Gas-
ton, the food was unpalatable ; and Ella turned
from it with loathing. There was, however,
nothing more in the house ; and both Ella and
her mother had to practice self-denial and pa-
tience.

After the table was cleared away, Mrs. Gaston
again resumed her labor; but Emma was unu-
sually fretful, and hung about her mother nearly
the whole afternoon, worrying her mind, and
keeping her back a good deal, so that, when the
brief afternoon had worn away, and the deepen-
ing twilight compelled her to suspend her la-
bors, she had made but little perceptible progress
in her work.

" Be good children now until I come back,"
she said, as she rose from her chair, put on her
bonnet, and drew an old Rob Roy shawl around

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN".

125

her shoulders. Descending then into the street,
she took her way with a quick step towards that
part of the city in which her employer kept his
store. Her heart beat anxiously as she drew
near, and trembled lest she should not find him
in. If not? — but the fear made her feel sick.
She had no food in the house, no friends to
whom she could apply, and there was no one of
whom she could venture to ask to be trusted for
even a single loaf of bread. At length she
reached the well-lighted store, in which were
several customers, upon whom both Berlaps and
his clerk were attending with business assiduity.
The sight of the tailor relieved the feelings of
poor Mrs. Gaston very much. Passing on to
the back part of the store, she stood patiently
awaiting his leisure. But his customers were
hard to please. And, moreover, one was scarce-
ly suited before another came in. Thus it con-
tinued for nearly half an hour, when the poor
woman became so anxious about the little ones
she had left at home, and especially about Ella,
who had appeared to have a good deal of fever
when she came away, that she walked slowly
down the store, and paused opposite to where
Berlaps stood waiting upon a customer, in order
to attract his attention. But he took not the
slightest notice of her. She remained thus for
nearly ten minutes longer. Then she came up
to the side of the counter, and, leaning over to-
wards him, said, in a half whisper —

" Can I speak a word with you, Mr. Berlaps Vs.

" I 've no time to attend to you now, woman,"
he answered, gruffly, and the half frightened
creature shrunk away quickly, an ' again stood
far back in the store.

It was full half an hour after this oefore the
shop was cleared, and then the tailor, instead of
coming back to where Mrs. Gaston stood, com-
menced folding up and replacing his goods upon
the shelves. Fearful lest other customers would
enter, the seamstress came slowly forward, and
again stood near Berlaps.

" What do you want here to-night, woman ?"
asked the tailor, without lifting his eyes from
the employment in which he was engaged.

" I brought home the other pair of trowsers
this morning, but you were not in," Mrs. Gas-
ton replied.

"Well?"

" Michael couldn't pay me, and so I 've run
up this evening."

" You 're a very troublesome kind of a per-
son," said Berlaps, looking her rebukingly in
the face. Then taking a dollar and five cents
from the drawer, he pushed them towards her
on the counter, adding, as he did so, " There,

11*

take your money. One would think you were
actually starving."

Mrs. Gaston picked up the coin eagerly, and
hurried away. It was more than an hour since
she had left home. Her children were alone,
and the night had closed in some time before.
The thought of this made her quicken her pace
to a run. As she passed on, the sight of an
orange in a window reminded her of her pro-
mise to Ella. She stopped and bought a small
one, and then hurried again on her way.

" Here 's half a dollar of what I owe you, Mrs.
Grubb," said she, as she stepped into the shop
of that personage, and threw the coin she named
upon the counter. " And now give me a loaf
of bread, quickly ; some molasses in this cup,
and a pint of milk in this," drawing two little
mugs from under her shawl as she spoke.

The articles she mentioned were soon ready
for her. She had paid for them, and was about
stepping from the door, when she paused, and,
turning about, said —

" Oh, I had like to have forgotten ! I want
two cent candles. I shall have to work late to-
night."

The candles were cut from a large bunch
hanging above the narrow counter, wrapped in
a very small bit of paper, and given to Mrs.
Gaston, who took them and went quickly away.

All was dark and still in the room that con-
tained her children, as she gained the house that
sheltered them. She lit one of her candles be-
low, and went up stairs. As she entered, Ella's
bright eyes glistened upon her from the bed ;
but little Emma had fallen asleep with her head
in the lap of Henry, who was seated upon the
floor with his back against the wall, himself
likewise locked in the arms of forgetfulness.
The fire had nearly gone out, and the room was
quite cold.

"Oh, mother, why did you stay so long?"
Ella asked, looking her earnestly in the face.

"I couldn't get back any sooner, my dear.
But see ! I 've brought the orange you have
wished for so long. You can eat it all by your-
self, for Emma is fast asleep on the floor, and
can't cry for it."

But Emma roused up at the moment, and be-
gan to fret and cry for something to eat.

" Don't cry, dear. You shall have your sup
per in a little while. I have brought you home
some nice bread and molasses," said the mothei,
in tones meant to soothe and quiet her hungry
and impatient little one. But Emma continued
to fret and cry on.

" It 's so cold, mamma !" she said. " It 's so
cold, and I 'm hungry !"

1-0

"Don't cry, dear," again urged the mother.
" I '11 make the fire up nice and warm in a lit-
tle while, and then you shall have something
good to eat."

But — " It 's so cold, mamma ! it 's so cold !
and I'm hungry!" was the continued and inces-
sant complaint of the poor child.

All this time, Ella had been busily engaged in
peeling her orange and dividing it into four
quarters.

" See here, Emma ! Look what I 've got !"
she said, in a lively, cheerful tone, as soon as
her orange had been properly divided. " Come,
cover up in bed here with me, until the fire 's
made, and you shall have this nice bit of orange."

Emma's complaints ceased in a moment, and
she turned towards her sister, and clambered
upon the bed.

" And here 's a piece for you, Henry, and a
piece for mother, too," continued Ella, reaching
out two other portions.

" No, dear, keep it for yourself. I don't want
it," said the mother.

" And Emma shall have my piece," responded
Henry ; " she wants it worse than I do."

" That is right. Be good children, and love
one another," said Mrs. Gaston, encouragingly.
" But Emma don't want brother Henry's piece,
does she ?"

" No, Emma don't want brother Henry's
piece," repeated the child; and she took up a
portion of the orange as she spoke, and handed
it to her brother.

Henry received it, and, getting upon the bed
with his sisters, shared with them not only
the orange, but kind fraternal feelings. The
taste of the fruit revived Ella a good deal, and
she, with the assistance of Henry, succeeded in
amusing Emma until their mother had made the
fire and boiled some water. Into a portion of
the water she poured about half of the milk she
had brought home, and, filling a couple of tin
cups with this, set it with bread and molasses
upon a little table, and called Henry and Emma
to supper. The children, at this announcement,
scrambled from the bed, and, pushing chairs up
to the table, commenced eating the supper pro-
vided for them with keen appetites. Into what
remained of the pint of milk, Mrs. Gaston
poured a small portion of hot water, and then
crumbled some bread, and put a few grains of
salt into it, and took this to the bed for Ella.
The child ate two or three spoonfuls ; but her
stomach soon turned against the food.

" I don't feel hungry, mother," said she, as
she laid herself back upon the pillow.

" But you 've eaten scarcely anything to-day.

Try and take a little more, dear. It will do you
good."

" I can't, indeed, mother." And a slight ex-
pression of loathing passed over the child's face.

" Can't you think of something you could
eat?" urged the mother.

" I don't want anything. The orange tasted
good, and that is enough for to-night," Ella re-
plied, in a cheerful voice.

Mrs. Gaston then sat down by the table with
Henry and Emma, and ate a small portion of
bread and molasses. But this food touched not
her palate with any pleasurable sensation. Sh'i
ate only because she knew that, unless she took
food, she would not have strength to perform
her duties to her children. For a long series of
years, her system had been accustomed to the
generous excitement of tea at the evening meal.
A cup of good tea had become almost indispensa-
ble to her. It braced her system, cleared her
head, and refreshed her after the unremitting
toils of the day. But, for some time past, she
had felt called upon, for the sake of her children,
to deny herself this luxury — no, comfort — no,
this, to her, one of the necessaries of life. The
consequence was that her appetite lost its tone.
No food tasted pleasantly to her ; and the labors
of the evening were performed under depression
of spirits and nervous relaxation of body.

This evening she ate, compulsorily, as usual,
a small portion of dry bread, and drank a few
mouthfuls of warm water in which a little milk
had been poured. As she did so, her eyes turned
frequently upon the face of Henry, a fair-haired,
sweet-faced, delicate boy, her eldest born — the
first pledge of pure affection, and the promise of
a happy wedded life. Sadly, indeed, had time
changed since then. A young mother, smiling
over her first born — how full of joy was the
sunlight of each succeeding day ! Now, widowed
and alone, struggling with failing and unequal
strength against the tide that was slowly bearing
her down the stream, each morning broke to her
more and more drearily, and each evening, as it
closed darkly in, brought another shadow to
rest in despondency upon her spirit. Faithfully
had she struggled on, hoping still to be able to
keep her little ones around her. The proposi-
tion of Michael to put out Henry startled into
activity the conscious fear that had for some
months been stifled in her bosom ; and now she
had to look the matter full in the face, and, in
spite of all her feelings of reluctance, confess to
herself that the effort to keep her children
around her must prove unavailing. But how
could she part with her boy? How could she
see him put out among strangers ? How could

THE NEW SEWING-MACHINE.

127

she bear to let him go away from her side, and
be henceforth treated as a servant, and be com-
pelled to perform labor above his years'? The
very thought made her sick.

Her frugal meal was soon finished, and then
the children were put to bed. After laying away
their clothes, and setting back the table from
which their supper had been eaten, Mrs. Gaston
seated herself by the already nearly half burned
penny candle, whose dim light scarcely enabled
her failing eyesight to discern the edges of the
dark cloth upon which she was working, and
composed herself to her task. Hour after hour
she toiled on, weary and aching in every limb.

But she remitted not her labors until long after
midnight, and then not until her last candle
had burned away to the socket in which it rested.
Then she put aside her work with a sigh, as she
reflected upon the slow progress she had made,
and, disrobing herself, laid her over-wearied
body beside that of her sick child. Ella was
asleep ; but her breathing was hard, and her
mother perceived, upon laying her hand upon
her face, that her fever had greatly increased.
But she knew no means of alleviation, and
therefore did not attempt any. In a little while,
nature claimed for her a respite. Sleep locked
her senses in forgetfulness.

(To be continued.)

THE NEW SEWING-MACHINE.

It may interest some of our readers to know
how this ingenious invention is applied to such
various purposes of utility. The following brief
account will explain the mode of operation : —

The sewing-machine, of which a representa-
tion is now given, is about twelve inches square,
and is driven by a wheel at the end of a main shaft
which passes through the machine. The wheel
can be driven either by the hand, foot, or steam-
engine. From the top plate of the machine and
at the side on which the wheel is placed, an arm
rises to about ten inches and extends to the op-
posite or front side, in which arm is worked a
lever which drives the vertical needle. This
needle is attached to a sliding bar, worked by

the arm. Underneath and below the plate of
the machine is another needle of horizontal
shape, which is fed by a bobbin or reel of thread
also out of sight. Imagine the vertical needle
as being threaded and supplied by a reel on the
top of the arm, and the horizontal needle thread-
ed as described, and the machine put in motion ;
the vertical needle would penetrate the cloth or
other material, say half an inch below the sur-
face, and, on being drawn back by the action of
the machine, would leave a loop ; when this
loop is formed, and at the exact time, the hori-
zontal needle enters it and holds the thread un-
til the stitch is formed, when by a counter action
it revolves back and throws the loop off and
takes another. The machine is capable of stitch-
ing every part of any garment, except the but-
tons and button-holes, whether the work be
light or heavy, coarse or fine; also for gaiters,
boots, shoes, sacks, bags, sailcloths, tents, &c.
Sec. It is so simple in its construction and action
that it may be worked by a child, and will sew
a circle, curve, or turn a square corner, equally
as well as a straight line. It is only twelve
inches square, and is driven by the hand or foot.
By the action of a screen in the machine, the
stitch can be either lengthened or shortened, as
may be desired. The machine feeds itself wilh
both cloth and thread, and it is only necessary
for the operator to guide the material to the
needle to sew. It will with ease sew a yard pei
minute, stronger, more uniform, and conse-
quently better than it is possible to be done by
hand

LETTEES LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCUOOL, AND HER

DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BI HORACE MATHEW.

DEAR,

THE SECOND LETTER LEFT.

(Dated February 11th.)

SHOWING HOW KITTY FARED (OR SCARCELY
FARED AT ALL) THE FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL,
AND THE DREADFUL DISASTERTHAT BEFELL
HER.

Oh ! my dear Nelly, I'm in such a mess, and
can't think how I am to get out of it. I would
run away, only I don't know where to run to :
and, besides, all the doors are fast; and more
than that, I feel ma would only bring pie back
again if I were to get away. Only think of that
shabby Mrs. (you know whom I mean) open-
ing all the letters ; and I never knew this until
my letter was in her bag. Mrs. Sharpe (who has
promised to give this to some one who will drop
it in the post on the sly for me) says every word
we write home, and every word we receive from
home, is pried into, and very often kept back
if it does not exactly please the Lady Principal !
A pretty lady ! I wonder she isn't ashamed of
herself! A nice example to set us young girls —
actually teaching us to go a peeping into other
persons' secrets ! Meggy (that 's Miss Sharpe's
name) says she intends speaking to her papa
about it. He is a Scotch lawyer ; and she has
often heard him say that there 's a fine of 100Z.
for any one who breaks a seal upon trust papers !
What fun it would be if Ave could make the Lady
Principal pay 1007. ! I 'm sure it would only serve
her right.

The beauty of it is, Nelly, she says she only
looks at the signatures of the letters that come
here, to see if they are from proper persons.
This is very likely ! How, then, does she know
all that is going on in the girls' homes, if she never
reads their letters? I've no patience with her!
I 'm sure that I shall never be able to look the
mean creature in the face again.

Now, Nelly, I must tell you all about the young
ladies ; for I may not have another opportunity,
dearest, of smuggling out a letter.

Well, then, when we went to breakfast, Mrs.
Rodwell was seated on a sort of raised throne at
(he end of the table, and all the girls walked
ip 1o her to courtesy, and "souhaiter le bonjour,
Madame," and show her — this is a positive fact,
128

dearest — their teeth and nails ! Meggy told me
this was to teach us to keep them sharp and in
good fighting condition, as woman's natural wea-
pons; but she was only laughing at me, for I
learnt afterwards it was to see that they were
properly cleaned every morning. But I think
the practice might well be dispensed with, as not
being over and above complimentary to young
ladies !

When my turn came, I was preparing to show
my teeth in real earnest — for I felt both indignant
and ashamed of such treatment — when she took
me kindly by the hand, and instantly, at that touch
of kindness, my mouth shut of its own accord.
She asked me how I had slept, and introduced
me to Miss Plodder, who, she said^ would cheer
my spirits and make me feel more at home. She
is such a fat, round, little sleepy, and looks as
stupid, too, as she is fat ! If my spirits have to
wait for Miss Plodder to cheer them, I'm afraid
they '11 have to wait long enough.

Well, my own darling Nell knows I am not
dainty, and that I should think it wicked to be
fanciful over good food; but I never did see such
thick slices of bread, smeared over with what
they called butter. I have not been so petted at
home as to quarrel at any time with my bread
and butter ; but, on my word, I should as soon
have thought of munching a deal board, as taking
up one of the long slices — planks, rather — that
were piled up, as in a timber yard, before me ;
and yet, to see the poor hungry girls ! If it had
been wedding-cake, they could not have devour-
ed it more greedily !

I thought of the dear delicious hot rolls, soaked
through and through with the best Fresh (at
sixteenpence a pound) that I had been in the
habit of having every morning for breakfast, and
sighed that I was not at home.

Meggy asked me which I liked best, " hay or
beans?" Before I could answer that I had never
tasted either, the Lady Principal inquired " if I
took cocoa or coffee?" A basin of the latter
was brought to me, but unless I had been told it
was coffee, I 'm sure I should never have guessed
it. It looked more like water taken from the
Regent's-canal. Meggy whispered into my ear,
" Hay 's best ;" and seeing me puzzled, she ex-

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S.

129

plained, shortly afterwards, that, in their school
dictionary, hay meant cocoa, and that beans was
the English for coffee, from a popular belief,
which she said " was extremely well grounded"
(in their coffee cups), that " those agricultural
commodities formed the principal ingredients of
their matutinal beverages."

Meggy Sharpe is such a nice girl, so clever, and
so full of fun, and such large bright, black eyes,
and a face laughing all over with mischief, it
puts one in good-humor merely to look at it. I
feel I shall love her very much, but not so much
as you, dearest Nelly.

After breakfast, she told Miss Plodder that she
would " take care of me, and introduce me to
the Elders." Then bidding me not to be afraid,
she led me by the hand to a group of tall young
ladies, and in a set speech, delivered in a mock
tone, such as I 've heard my brothers imitate
Mr. John Cooper in, " begged to present a humble
candidate to their friendship and favor." The
tallest, a Miss Noble, who seemed the head girl,
and as stiff as a backboard, made me welcome,
and then began questioning me in the following
manner : " Did I live in London ? — at the West-
end, of course? — perhaps in Belgrave-square ?
No ! then near Hyde Park ? No ! then in one of
the squares ? Yes ! Well, some of the squares
were still respectable. In which of the squares
did I live, pray?"

I mumbled out, as well as I could, " Torring-
ton-square."

" Oh ! hem ! where was Torrington-square?"
continued my tormentor. " Near the city, was
it not ? No ! — what, near Russell-square and
Gower-street? Gower-street ! Well, really, she
knew nothing of those parts of the town."

I was next asked, " Whether my mamma went
to court?"

" No," I answered, in my ignorance ; " but
papa does sometimes, and takes his blue bag with
him when he has law business." This gave
rise to shouts of laughter, and long exclamations
of " Dear, dear !" whilst looks of pity were
showered down upon me.

" I mean," continued Miss Noble, " her Ma-
jesty's receptions. My mamma goes to court;
and I am to be presented myself by the Grand
Duchess of Mechlenburgh-Sedlitz immediately
on my leaving college ;" and she tossed her head
up to the ceiling, until I thought it would never
come down again.

"How did you come last night?" resumed
Miss Noble. " In the omnibus," cried out
wicked Meggy, who immediately ran away.

" No ; I know how she came," said another
beauty, " fori was in the drawing-room at the

time, and looked out of the window ; she came
in a clarence with one horse." And they all
tittered again, and I felt my cheeks growing red,
though why I should be ashamed of mamma's
pretty clarence I don't know, even though it has
but one horse.

I was next asked, " Whether my paternal
(meaning papa, I suppose) lived at home?"
" Of course," I answered ; " where should he
live?" "Why some people have an establish-
ment in the city, and a family in a square. The
shop (and they tittered again) must not be neg-
lected." " Do not be rude, Miss Ogle," inter-
rupted Miss Noble, affecting to be very serious ;
" personalities are extremely rude ; and, besides,
Miss Clover's father may not live in a shop.
Tell us, dear, what profession are you in ?" " I —
I'm in no profession," I said, trembling lest I
should be laughed at again. " Dear ! what beau-
tiful simplicity !" said the court lady, lifting her
hands up ; " not you — your father, child." " Oh !
papa is a stockbroker." "A what? A stock-
broker! Pray, what's that?" "I know," said
the young lady who had told about the clarence
with one horse ; " it's a trade ; for I hear papa
talk of desiring his stockbroker to buy and sell ;
and I am certain, now I think of it, that they
deal in bears and ducks." " No such thing,"
exclaimed a little girl with a turn-up nose ; " they
sell old stocks, such as bankrupts' stocks, or re-
tiring haberdashers' stocks ; they 're a sort of
old-clothesmen." " At any rate, they are not
professional, and therefore must be in trade,"
decided proud Miss Noble ; and they all turned
away from me, with sneers and contempt. " It 's
no such thing," I burst out ; " my papa is a
gentleman — a real gentleman — and he 's quite as
good, if not better, than any of your papas,
though you are so proud ; and I sha'n't answer
any more of your rude questions." " That 's
right," laughed Meggy ; " that 's the way to dis-
appoint them. Don 't tell 'em anything."

You should have heard, too, Nelly, their cu-
riosity about my brothers, making me describe
them over and over again — their eyes, whiskers,
noses, and calling them by their names, Oscar,
Alfred, Augustus, Henry, as if they had known
them for years. The impudent girl, with the
turn-up nose, actually said she felt she could
madly love Oscar; and I couldn't help replying,
" You need not trouble yourself, Miss ; he '11
never ask you." Silly thing ! I 'm sure Oscai
wouldn't as much as look at her — not even in
church.

But the greatest shame has yet to come. You
can never believe what I am going to tell you,
Nelly, although you know I scorn fibbing.

130

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Class had just broken up, when a maid came
in carrying a large tray ; and only imagine my
confusion when I saw laid out on it all my cakes
and goodies ! Miss Bright (the quiet teacher who
nad brought me into the schoolroom) called me,
and I was going to ask for permission to put
them into my play-trunk, when — think of my
surprise, Nelly ! — if she did not actually seize
my plum-cake, and begin cutting it up into thin
slices! At first I was so shocked that I could
not speak ; and I was about to stop her, when she
cut some large slices, and desired me " to hand
them to the governesses, and then take the dish
round to each young lady." I am afraid I looked
vexed, and, in truth, I was nearly choking with
passion ; and I am sure you would have done
the same, Nelly, for you would have seen no
joke in treating girls to your goodies, after they
had been making fun of you, and turning your
papa and mamma into ridicule. But this was
not all ; for one rude thing, upon ascertaining
from me that mamma made it, said, in a voice
running over with vinegar, " I thought so, for
she has forgotten the plums." Then my oranges
were cut into quarters, and I had to hand them
round also (the governesses had halves!) until
all was gone, and I had only two pieces myself
as a favor. Now, don't think me greedy, Nelly
— you know I don't care for feasting, only I do
not like to be forced to be generous, and to give
to all alike, whether I like, them or not — offering
as much to that proud Miss Noble (who is not
too proud, however, to eat another girl's cake)
as to dear Meggy. I dare say it is very pleasant
when it's not your own — "share and share
alike" is all very fine ; but I should like to know
when their goodies are coming? As I am the
last girl entering this term, I suppose it won't be
before next half-year? And I mean to say,
Nelly, it is most heart-rending — putting insult
on the top of cruelty — to force you to help the
governesses, and to double shares, too, whilst I 'm
sure my slice broke all to pieces, it was so mi-
serably thin.

Oh, dear, there 's Mrs. Rodwell. If she catches
me writing, I shall be found out ; so, my own
darling Nelly, I must say good-by. Mind you
write soon, and tell me all about dear S. Has
he asked after me ? and often ? Is he pale ?
Tell him not to forget your devoted, true-hearted
Kitty Clover.

P. S.— Oh! Nelly, I have had such a fright; i
my heart is jumping up and down like a canary j
in a cage when the cat 's underneath it. Only
think of the Lady Principal's coming up to my ;
dusk. I made j»ure it was to ask me for this

letter, and I determined in my mind to swallow
it sooner than let her read it. But, thank good-
ness ! it was only to say she had not opened my
last letter to you, as it was sealed ; but, for the
future, she would close them herself, after look-
ing over their contents. Much obliged ! Catch
me giving her any other than my own composi-
tions. So, darling, we are safe ; but isn't that
lucky ?

P. S. — I 'm sure you '11 never be able to read
this scrawl. Why didn't you answer my last ?

ANECDOTE OF BYRON.

"I heard an anecdote that evening of the poet,
which was very characteristic, and quite new to
me. When at Pisa, his lordship found it difficult
to keep up his practice with the pistol on account
of the objections of his neighbors and the muni-
cipal regulations of the place. He, therefore,
by the aid of a small gratuity, obtained permis-
sion from a farmer in the vicinity to shoot at a
mark in his paddock. On the occasion of his
first visit to the premises, the peasant's daugh-
ter, a very pretty contadina, accosted the bard
after the genial manner of her country. She
wore in her bosom a freshly-plucked rose with
two buds attached to the stem. Byron sportive-
ly asked her to give him the flower. She hesi-
tated, and blushed. He instantly turned to his
companion and rehearsed in English a very
natural tale of humble and virtuous love, bitterly
contrasting the apparent loyalty of this fair rus-
tic with women in high life. Then, with per-
fect seriousness, he again asked for the rose as
a token of sympathy for an unloved exile. His
manner and words moved the girl to tears. She
handed him the rose with a look of compassion,
and silently withdrew. The incident aroused
his latent superstition. He was lost in a reverie
for several minutes, and then inquired of his
friend if he remembered that Rousseau confessed
throwing stones at a tree to test the prospects of
his future happiness. The flower was devoted
to a similar ordeal. It was carefully attached
to an adjacent pale, and Byron having with-
drawn several paces, declared his intention of
severing one of the buds from the stalk at one
fire. He looked very carefully to his priming,
and aimed with great firmness and deliberation.
The ball cut the bud neatly off, and just grazed
the leaves of the rose. A bright smile illu-
mined the poet's countenance, and he rode back
to Pisa in a flow of spirits."

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA

T D. W. BE LISLE.

ORION. — Whoever learns this constellation
can never forget the brilliant lesson. It is too
clearly defined and magnificently beautiful to
pass from the memory. It is distinguished by
four bright stars, which form a parallelogram :
Betelguese, a star of great brilliancy, and of the
first magnitude, in the right shoulder, Bellatrix
in the left, 7£° east of Betelguese, are called the
" epaulets of Orion." Rigel, a star of the first
magnitude, marks the left foot, and is 15° south
of Bellatrix. Eight and a half degrees east of
Rigel is Saiph, forming the lower end of the
parallelogram.

" First in rank
The martial star upon his shoulder flames:
A rival star illuminates his foot ;
And on his girdle beams a luminary
Which, in the vicinity of other stars,
Might claim the proudest honors."

Three bright stars lie in a straight line near
the middle of the square, and are known by the
name of the " Three Kings," or the " Ell," or
" Yard." In sacred history, they are usually
termed the "bands of Orion;" they are also
known as the " belt" of Orion. The space they
occupy is three degrees, and a straight line pass-
ing through them, points to the Pleiades on one
side and Sirius on the other. There is a row
of small stars running down obliquely from the
belt, called the " sword of Orion." In the middle
of this row is one of the most remarkable
nebulae in the heavens. With a good telescope,
in the centre an apparent opening is discovered,
through which, as through a window, we seem
to get a glimpse of other heavens and brighter
regions beyond. How little man appears, with
all his pride of pomp and splendor, in contem-
plating this immeasurable expanse, and with awe
we are led to exclaim, " What is man, that Thou
art mindful of him?"

About 9° west of Bellatrix are eight stars of
the fourth magnitude, in a curved line that marks
the lion's skin, which Orion used as a shield in
his left hand. Rheita asserts there are 2,000 stars
in this constellation, although but 78 are visible
to the naked eye. Galileo found 80 in the belt,
21 in a nebulous star in the head, and about 500
in another part within the space of four degrees.
This constellation comes to the meridian the
21st of January.

According to some Greek authorities, Orion
was a son of Neptune and Euryale, a famous
Amazonian huntress, and inheriting the dispo-
sition of his mother, became the most famous
hunter in the world, and boasted that there was
not an animal on earth which he could not con-
quer. To punish this vanity, a scorpion spraiig
out of the earth and bit him, so that he died of
the poison, and, at the request of Diana, he was
placed among the stars opposite the scorpion
that caused his death. Others say that he was
the gift of the gods to a peasant of Bceotia as a
reward for piety, and that, he far surpassed other
mortals in strength and stature.

"When chilling winter spreads his azure skies,
Behold Orion's giaut form arise ;
His golden girdle glitters on the sight,
And the broad falcbion beams in splendor bright;
A lion's brindled hide his bosom shields,
And his right hand a ponderous weapon wields!"

LEPUS— The Hare.— This constellation is
situated south of Orion, and comes to the me-
ridian on the 24th of January. It may readily
be distinguished by means of four stars of the
third magnitude, which form an irregular square
or trapezium. Three small stars curve along
the back, while four minute ones mark the ears,
and are 5° south of Rigel, whose brilliancy ob-
scures their lesser light. The Greeks assert this
animal was one which Orion delighted in hunt-
ing, therefore it was placed near him in the sky.

COLUMBIA — Noah's Dove. — Continuing a
straight line from the Hare 16° south, it comes
to Phaet, a star of the second magnitude, in the
Dove. This star is also on the meridian at the
same time with that in the belt of Orion, and with
Sirius and Naos makes an equilateral triangle.
This constellation is so called in commemo-
ration of the dove Noah sent out "to see if the
waters were abated from off the face of the
ground," after the ark had rested on Ararat.
"And the dove came in to him, in the evening, and
lo ! in her mouth was an olive leaf !"

" The sure messenger,
A dove went forth once, and again, to spy
Green tree or ground whereon his foot may light;
The second time returning, in his bill
An olive leaf be brings, pacific sign !"

131

132

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

ERIDANUS. — This constellation is composed
of 84 stars, of which one is of the first mag-
nitude, one of the second, and eleven of the
third. The others are very minute stars, and
the constellation is exceedingly difficult to trace
in the heavens. Achernar is a star of great bril-
liancy and beauty, but it cannot be seen in our
latitude, having a southern declination of 58°.
West of Rigel are four stars of the fourth mag-
nitude, and five of the fifth, arching up in a
semicircular form, marking the first bend of the
northern stream, while 19° west of Rigel glitters
a bright star of the second magnitude, called
Gamma. This star is on the meridian thirteen
minutes after the Pleiades. The entire length
of Eridanus is 130°, and as the other stars which
compose it are very minute, it is not desirable
to trace them.

The Latin poets have rendered this river (which
is in Cisalpine Gaul, and also called Padus, and by
moderns, Po) memorable by its connection with
the beautiful fable of Phaeton, a favorite of
Venus, who intrusted him with the care of one
of her temples. Vain of the favor of the god-
dess, he obtained an oath from his father,
Phoebus, that he would grant him any request
he should make. The charioteer of the skies
had no sooner uttered the oath than

The youth, transported, asks without delay,
To guide the Sun's bright chariot for a day ;
The god repented of the oath he took,
For anguish thrice his radiant head he shook ;
' My son,' says he, ' some other proof require —
Rash was my promise, rash was thy desire;
Not Jove himself, the ruler of the sky,
That hurls the three-forked thunder from above,
Dares try his strength; yet who as strong as Jove?
Besides, consider what impetuous force
Turns stars and planets in a different course:
I steer against their motions; nor am I
Borne back by all the currents of the sky ;
But how could you resist the orbs that roll
In adverse whirls, and stem the rapid pole!* "

Phcebus pleaded with his son in vain. Phaeton
undertook the aerial journey, and no sooner had
he received the reins than he forgot the explicit
directions of his father, and betrayed his igno-
rance of the manner of guiding the chariot. The
flying cou*ers became sensible of the confusion
of their driver, and immediately departed from
le usual track. Too late Phaeton saw his rash-
ness, and already heaven and earth were threat-
ened with destruction as the penalty, when
Jupiter, perceiving the disorder of the horses,
struck the driver with a thunderbolt, and he fell
headlong into the river Eridanus —

" At once from life, and from the chariot driven,
The ambitious boy fell thunderstruck from heaven."

In Ethiopian and Libyan mythology, it is
asserted that the great heat produced by the sun's
deviation from his usual course dried up the
blood of the Ethiopians, and turned their skins
black, and produced sterility and barrenness
over the greater part of Libya. Evidently this
fable alludes to some extraordinary heats at a
remote period, and of which this confused tradi-
tion is all the account that has descended to
later times.

CAMELOPARD ALUS. — This constellation
is of modern origin, and the stars — the largest
being of the fourth magnitude — are too unimport-
ant and scattered to invite attention. It occupies
the space between the head of the Lynx and the
pole, containing 58 minute 6tars.

AURIGA. — This brilliant constellation is
readily distinguished by the most beautiful star
which lies between Orion and the polar star.
This star is called Capella, and marks the po-
sition of the Goat, as well as the heart of Auriga,
and with Menkalina in the right shoulder, and
Auriga or El Nath in the right foot, which also
forms the top of the northern horn of the Bull,
forms a beautiful triangle. Capella and Men-
kalina in the shoulders, have the same dis-
tance between them, and are of the same size
and brilliancy as Betelguese and Bellatrix in
Orion, being T|° apart, and the four form a long,
narrow parallelogram, lying north and south,
and it is a curious coincidence that its length is
precisely five times its breadth. Auriga, Ca-
pella, and Menkalina, together with a star of
the fourth magnitude in the head, marked Delta,
make an elongated diamond. There can be no
more exciting, rational, or pleasant pastime than
that of forming different objects by various ar-
rangements of the stars. Select any portion of
the heavens, and squares, angles, curves, crosses,
and diamonds are visible, and no shape can
hardly be conceived that its counterpart might
not be traced in the starry firmament above.
Those who have never spent an hour thus plea-
santly employed, are not aware of the pleasure
to be found in contemplating the " stars, which
are the poetry of heaven."

" Seest thou the orbs that numerous roll above ?
Those lamps that nightly greet thy visual powers
Are each a bright capacious world like ours !"

Mythology is at fault as to the origin of this
constellation, and all the most ancient authors
are indefinite about its history. Its origin is
known to be very ancient, but nothing well
authenticated has descended to us as to the pe-
riod or the character from which it took its rise.

INGENUITY OF BEES.

133

"The blue, deep, glorious heavens! I lift mine eyes
And bless thee, 0 my God! that I have met
And owned thy image in the majesty
Of their calm temple, still! that never yet
There hath thy face been shrouded from my sight
By noontide blaze, or sweeping storm of night!
I bless thee, 0 my God!"

GEMINI. — This constellation is remarkable
from the singularity of one of its most brilliant
stars, Castor, which, on looking through a tele-
scope, resolves into two distinct stars, one of
which is very small, and revolves around the
larger one once in a period of 342 years and two
months. Four and a half degrees south-west of
Castor may be seen Pollux, a star of equal bril-
liancy. This constellation comes to its meridian
the 24th of February. It takes its rise from
Castor and Pollux, sons of Jupiter and Leda,
Queen of Sparta, who were translated to a place
in the heavens by Jupiter, as a reward for their
courage and bravery.

"Fair Leda's twins in time to stars decreed;
One fought on foot, and one renowned for horse."

CANIS MINOR.— This is a small constella-
tion, containing only fourteen* stars, of which
two are of great brilliancy. Procyon, a star of
the first magnitude, is situated twenty-three de-
grees south of Pollux, and twenty-six degrees
east of Betelguese, and forms with them a large
right-angled triangle. Procyon comes to the
meridian the 24th of February. According to
Greek mythology, this is one of Orion's hounds.
The Egyptians, however, claim its origin from
their god Anubis, whom they worshipped under
the form of a dog's head. Probably the Egypt-
ians were the inventors of the idea, as the con-
stellation rises a little before Sirius, which, at a
particular season, they always dreaded; there-
fore they represented it as a watchful creature,
that warned them of the approach of danger.
Moderns have asserted it to be one of Acteeon's
hounds, that devoured their master after he had
been transformed into a stag by Diana, to pre-
vent his betraying her. This is evidently an
error, as there is no proof to sustain it.

CANIS MAJOR.— This interesting constella-
tion is situated south-east of Orion, and is uni-
versally known by the brilliancy of its principal
star, Sirius, which is the largest and brightest in
the heavens. In our hemisphere, during the
winter months, it glows with a lustre unequalled
by any other star in the firmament. It is also
the nearest star to the earth, yet the distance be-
tween Sirius and us is so great that sound, tra-
velling thirteen miles a minute, would be three
millions of years in traversing the mighty space.
And a ray of light, which moves at the rate of
vol. xlviii.- 12

200,000 miles per second, would be three years
and eighty-two days in passing through the vast
space that lies between Sirius and the earth.
If the nearest star to the earth gives such re-
sults, what must those give situated a thousand
times as far beyond, where worlds, surrounded
by their satellites, roll in their orbits away in
the immensity of space, each revolving around
its own sun, while, millions of miles beyond,
stars, like our own, greet their visual organs,
and inspire as great an interest to the inhabitants
of that world as those do to us which we discover
by the aid of our powerful telescopes?

The Thebans determine the length of the year
by Sirius, and the Egyptians dreaded its approach,
as, at its rising, commenced the inundation of
the Nile, teeming with malaria and death.

"Parched was the grass, and blighted was the corn,
Nor 'scape the beasts ; for Sirius, from on high,
With pestilential heat infects the sky."

The Romans, also, were accustomed yearly to
propitiate Sirius by the sacrifice of a dog.

INGENUITY OF BEES.

The wonderful ingenuity of bees has often
been remarked. The rose-cutter separates cir-
cular pieces from leaves with precision, and, dig-
ging a hole six or eight inches deep in the ground,
the bee rolls up the leaf, and depositing it in the
hole, lodges and secures an egg in it, with food
for the larva when hatched, and often several,
but all separated, and very perfect, and the bee
then presides in the upper part to protect her
brood. The upholsterer makes a hole enlarged
at the bottom, and lines the whole with red
poppy leaves, lays her eggs, supplies them with
food, &c, separately, then turns down the lining
to cover them, and closing the hole, leaves them
to nature. The wood-piercer makes a perpen-
dicular hole with vast labor in a decaying tree,
in the sunshine, a foot deep ; then deposits her
eggs and food, and separates each by a dwarf
wall made of sawdust and gluten, each higher
than the other, and the last closing the hole ;
and she then makes another hole horizontally, to
enable them to escape as they successively ma-
ture. The mason-bee constructs a nest on the
side of a sunny wall, makes up sand pellets with
gluten, and by persevering industry fixes and
finishes a cell, in which it lays an egg and provi-
sions. It then forms others beside it, and covers
in the whole, the structure being as firm as the
stone. Wasps and humble-bees make cavities in
banks. They line them with wax, and make
innumerable cells for their eggs in perfect com
munities.

BABYLON, NINEVEH, AND ME. LAYAED

(Continued from page 55.) ]

(RAND ENTRANCE TO THE PALACE OF KONYUNJIK.

Mr. Layaed, having a small amount of mo-
ney at his disposal, proceeded to make excava-
tions at Konyunjik, opposite Mosul, where the
first Assyrian Sculptures had been found. In a
month, nine chambers had been explored. The
palace had been destroyed by fire. The alabas-
ter slabs were almost reduced to lime, and many
of them fell to pieces as soon as uncovered. In
its architecture, the newly-discovered edifice re-
sembled the palaces of Nimroud and Khorsobad.
The chambers were long and narrow. The walls
were of unbaked bricks, with a panelling of
sculptured slabs. The bas-reliefs were greatly
inferior in general design, and in the beauty of
the details, to those of the earliest palace of
Nimroud.

The funds assigned to the Trustees of the Bri-
tish Museum for the excavations in Assyria had
now been expended by Mr. Layard. He had
every reason to congratulate himself upon the
results of his labors. Scarcely a year before,
with the exception of the ruins of Khorsobad,
not one Assyrian monument was known. Al-
most sufficient materials had now been obtained
to restore much of the lost history of the coun-
try, and to confirm the vague traditions of the
Jearning and civilization of its people, hitherto
considered fabulous. The monuments had been
carefully preserved, and the inscrintions in the
134

cuneiform character copied entire. Bidding his
workmen an affectionate farewell, and receiving
their best wishes for his future prosperity, Mr.
Layard left the ancient Assyria for England.

Our explorer was not allowed to remain inac-
tive long. After a few months' residence in
England, during the year 1848, to recruit his
constitution, he received orders to proceed to his
post of Her Majesty's Embassy in Turkey. Soon
afterwards, his work, " Nineveh and its Re-
mains," was published ; and so intense was the
interest excited, that the Trustees of the British
Museum requested him to undertake the super-
intendence of a second expedition into Assyria.
Mr. Layard cheerfully consented, and imme-
diately formed a plan of operations. Mr. H.
Cooper, a competent artist, was appointed to ac-
company the expedition, and several Arabs, who
had been found able and faithful, were secured
by Mr. Layard. Such was the size of the party
formed, that it was deemed necessary to journey
in a caravan to Mosul. On the way, Mr. Lay-
ard, ever observing and curious, traced the line
of the celebrated retreat of Xenophon and his
ten thousand Greeks.

The very day after his arrival at Mosul, Mr.
Layard visited the mound of Konyunjik. The
earth had accumulated above the ruins to a con-
siderable depth j and, to save the labor of

BABYLON, NINEVEH, AND MR. LATAED.

135

clearing it all away, the workmen constructed
tunnels. Twelve or fourteen parties of laborers
were organized by Mr. Layard, and all worked
under his superintendence. Operations were
carried on at the same time at the great mound
of Nimroud. Within two months, several mag-
nificent chambers were excavated at Konyunjik.
Assyrian conquests were represented upon the
bas-reliefs, each chamber being devoted to one
conquering expedition. Thus each was, so to
speak, a new volume of history. An under-
standing of the copious inscriptions in cuneiform
character was all that was necessary to the
perusal ; and, thanks to the exertions of Raw-
linson, Hincks, and other scholars, this character
was now readable to a considerable extent.

The Assyrian mode of building was fully illus-
trated on the bas-reliefs. From them, Mr. Lay-
ard found that the Assyrians were well acquaint-
ed with the lever and the roller, and also with
the art of twisting thick ropes. The men em-
ployed in building were known to be captives
by their wearing chains, and being urged on by
masters armed with staves. A king was repre-
sented as superintending the erection of the edi-
fice, and Mr. Layard says that there can be but
little doubt that it was intended for Sennacherib,
whom the inscriptions mention as the builder of
the great palace of Nineveh, and as a mighty
conqueror.

The discovery of the grand entrance to the
palace of Konyunjik was an important result of
Mr. Layard's labors. It was a fagade on the
south-east side of the edifice. Ten colossal bulls,
with six human figures of gigantic proportions,
were here grouped together, and the length of
the whole, without including the sculptured
walls continued beyond the smaller entrances,
was estimated at one hundred and eighty feet.
Among the figures that adorned this grand en-
trance was seen the Assyrian Hercules, strang-
ling a lion. The legs, feet, and drapery of the
god were in the boldest relief, and designed with
truth and vigor.

On the slabs in one of the chambers of this
palace was represented the siege and capture of
Lachish, or Lakhisha, a Jewish city, which, as
we know from Scripture, was taken by Senna-
cherib. The whole power of the king seemed
to have been called forth to take this stronghold.
All the operations of the besiegers were repre-
sented. Before the gate of the city was Senna-
cherib, seated on a gorgeous throne, giving orders
for the slaughter of the citizens. The chiefs of
conquered tribes were represented as crouching
at the foot of the throne. At the head of the
king was an inscription, which Dr. Hincks thus

translates : " Sennacherib, the mighty king,
king of the country of Assyria, sitting on the

SENNACHERIB ENTHRONED BEFORE LACHISH.

throne of judgment, before (or at the entrance
of) the city of Lachish (Lakhisha). I give per-
mission for its slaughter." This furnishes a
very important illustration of the Bible.

In a chamber, in the south-west corner of the
same palace, was found a large number of finely
engraved seals, and among them was one — be-
lieved to be the royal signet — having engraved
upon it a king plunging a dagger into a rampant
lion. Egyptian and Phoenician seals were also
discovered in the same apartment. One of the
Egyptian seals has been discovered to be that of
Sabaco, who reigned in Egypt at the end of the
seventh century before Christ, the exact time at
which Sennacherib came to the throne. The
signets of the two kings were most probably at-
tached to a treaty. Iron picks and saws, a large
number of bronze articles, pearl and ivory orna-
ments, part of an ivory starT, believed to have
been a sceptre, and many other curious remains
of ancient art, were discovered in the various
chambers of this gorgeous palace.

During the removal of some sculptures, Mr-
Layard had an opportunity of visiting some re •
markable remains near the village of Bavian ,

136

godey's magazine and lady's book.

They wore bas-reliefs, cut in the rock, repre-
senting warlike events. One of the tablets con-
tained a horseman at full speed, and the remains
of other figures. Both horse and rider were of
colossal proportions, and wonderful for their

BAS-RELIEF FROM BAVIAN.

spirit and outline. The warrior, who wore the
Assyrian armor, was in the act of charging the
enemy. Before him was a colossal figure of the

king, and behind him a deity with a horned cap.
Above his head was a row of smaller figures of
gods standing on animals of various forms. The
inscriptions upon these rock-sculptures show
that they were designed to commemorate the
triumphant return of Sennacherib from his ex-
pedition against Babylon. Beneath the sculp-
tured tablets, and in the bed of the Gomel, were
seen two enormous fragments of rock, which
appeared to have been torn from the overhang-
ing cliff. They still bore the remains of ancient
sculpture. On them was represented the Assy-
rian Hercules strangling the lion, between two
winged, human-headed bulls, back to back, as at
the grand entrances of the palaces of Konyunjik
and Khorsobad. Above this group was the king,
worshipping betwreen two deities, who stood on
mythic animals, having the heads of eagles, the
bodies and forefeet of lions, and hind legs armed
with the talons of a bird of prey.

Remains and foundations of buildings in well-
hewn stones were discovered under the thick
mud deposited by the Gomel when swollen by
rains. A series of basins cut in the rock, and
descending in steps to the stream, were disco-

FOUNTAIN AT

vered by excavation. The water had originally
been led from one to the other by small conduits,
the lowest of which was ornamented at its mouth
hy two rampant lions in relief. Mr. Layard re-
stored this fountain as it had been in the time
of the Assyrians. From the nature and number

of the monuments at Bavian, the explorer in-
ferred that it had been a sacred spot, devoted to
religious ceremonies and national sacrifices. The
remains of a causeway, from Nineveh to Bavian,
were traced upon the plain.

(Concluded next month.)

A STORY OF VALENTINE'S DAY.

X MR8. ABDT,

Two young girls were seated in the drawing-
room of a handsome house in the neighborhood
of Belgrave Square, engaged in earnest conver-
sation. Of them it might truly be said, in the
words of Lord Byron, that

" Both were young, and one was beautiful."

Nature had been a lavish benefactress to the
one, and a churlish niggard to the other; and
Fortune had followed in her sister's wake, and
shown just as great an amount of partiality in
the distribution of her favors. Philippa Roxby
and Janet Penson were the wards of Mr. Chet-
wode, a good-natured, warm-hearted man, who,
having no wife, child, or sister of his own, was
expected by the little world of his acquaintance
to take unlimited interest in the wives, children,
and sisters of other people, and to perform un-
limited services in their behalf. About a year
had elapsed since the death of two of his friends
within a few weeks of each other ; the wealthy
widower, Mr. Roxby, and the narrowly -jointured
widow, Mrs. Penson, conferred on him the
somewhat startling responsibility of becoming
guardian to two girls of the respective ages of
eighteen and nineteen.

Philippa Roxby was " a lass wi' golden dower
and golden hair," beautiful enough to inspire a
poet or painter, and rich enough to satisfy the
calculations of the most scheming of heiress-
hunters. Janet Penson was remarkably plain ;
in fact, it would have been somewhat difficult, in
this age of bright eyes, luxuriant tresses, and
graceful forms, to find any one so thoroughly
destitute of attraction. Her features were ir-
regular ; her pale cheek and heavy eye indicated
the want of that health which, when combined
with youth and cheerfulness, may be said to offer
a tolerable substitute for beauty ; and worse than
all, Janet was palpably deformed, beyond the
power of Amesbury to remedy, or of Mrs. Geary
to conceal. Perhaps some of my readers will
think that the worst still remains to be told,
when I add that Janet's fortune was very small ;
two-thirds of the income of Mrs. Penson expired
with her, and a hundred a year was all that re-
mained for the provision of the orphan. Mr.
Chetwode, however, was as kind and feeling a
man as the most enthusiastic of his friends be-

12*

lieved him to be. He made no distinction in his
manner between tho lovely heiress and her less
fortunate companion ; the comforts of his house,
his carriage, his attentive servants, his pleasant
circle of visitors, extended alike to each; but
how different were their thoughts and feelings !
The one looked at society through a Claude
Lorraine glass, the other through a screen of
dark crape. Janet, although all immediately
connected with her were kind and considerate,
had often the trial of encountering, in mixed
company, the look of ridicule and the whisper
of scorn ; she pined for the fond and dear mother
by whom she was so tenderly beloved, notwith-
standing her personal deficiencies; nor could
she, like most young women, suffering under a
similar loss, anticipate the time when she should
become the object of a still more precious and
valuable love; she felt, bitterly felt, that the
delight of a calm home, the language of loving
eyes, the homage of a true heart — all must be
ever withheld from her; and could she only
have possessed "the fortune of a face," there
was no possible amount of poverty and hardship
which she would not have gladly welcomed as
its accompaniment. She was, however, agreeably
surprised in the character and manners of her
constant associate, Philippa Roxby ; she had
pictured her as scornful and repelling, and found
her unassuming and kind-hearted. I am of
opinion that people in general treat heiresses
with a great deal of injustice ; dramatists and
novelists are especially fond of showing them
up in an unamiable light; but, so far as my
knowledge of them goes, it is greatly in their
favor. Philippa Roxby (and I am disposed to
think she was a tolerably fair specimen of the
generality of heiresses) was pleasing and unaf-
fected in her manners, and remarkably simple
in her tastes. Accustomed from childhood to an
elegantly supplied table, she felt an indifference
to luxuries which can never be known by those
who manufacture their dainties with their own
hands, and pay for them from their own scanty
purses ; she had never been obliged to economize
in dress, therefore did not, like many young
persons, live in a world of shreds and patches,
and pant with perpetual eagerness to unravel
the ever-recurring mystery of the "last new

137

138

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

fashion;" all such matters she wisely left, to
Fashion's high priestess, the milliner. She
drew, sang, and played well, and perfectly un-
derstood French, Italian, and German : but these
acquirements inspired her with no vanity; she
felt that, having had from an early age the most
accomplished of governesses, and the best of
masters, it would have been very inexcusable if
she had not profited by their instructions.

Praise be to the first pastrycook who discovered
the important fact that giving novices the un-
limited range of the tarts and cakes for a few
days is the certain way to insure their subsequent
temperance ! Philippa had enjoyed the sugar-
plums and confections of society without restric-
tion, and rated them at their real value. When
first introduced to Janet, she felt considerably
disappointed ; she had hoped (for she was inca-
pable of envy) that her companion would have
been still livelier and more attractive than her-
self; but faithful to her habit of always looking
on the sunny side of a question, she soon took
warm interest in the poor, timid, sorrowful girl
who felt such warm gratitude for her kindness.
She cheered her with smiles and kind words,
divided with her the fruits and flowers presented
to her by her suitors, and was even anxious to
divide with her their attentions ; for soft looks
and flattering speeches were so liberally bestowed
on Philippa, that she did not prize them as those
do to whom they are seldom and sparingly ad-
ministered. Few men, however, are willing to
be transferred on loan to a young lady of crippled
proportions and stunted fortune ; and poor Janet
was compelled to sustain a great deal of rudeness
and inattention from the lords of the creation,
and indeed only met with kindness and civility
from one of them — the handsome and intellectual
Heathcote, of whom more anon.

I will now return to the point at which my
story began. It was the morning of St. Valen-
tine's Day, that strange, mysterious day, when
men go out of their national character, become
tender, sentimental, and manoeuvring, purchase
exquisite sheets of paper embellished with
wreaths of flowers, write love verses or them in
a studiously neat, prim hand, seal them with a
fanciful device, and drop them into a post-office
a mile or two from their own residence. Phi-
lippa was seated at a small table covered with
these little fanciful productions, some of which
were yet unopened; she was laughing in the
exuberance of youthful spirits at the nyperbole
contained in one of them.

"And yet, Philippa," said Janet, "I could
almost feel disposed to envy you even for such
light-passing tokens of admiration as are now

lying before you ; it is hard, in the very spring
of youth, to feel one's self quite slighted and
forgotten."

"Dear Janet," said the heiress good-humor-
edly, " can you really attach any importance to
such a graceful gallantry of society as a valen-
tine? Depend upon it, the greater number of
those who send them do it merely in observance
of the courteous custom of the day, and forget,
in the formal realities of the next morning, the
fascinations of the goddess whom they have so
recently deified in poetry, or I should rather say
in rhyme."

" Perhaps it may be so," replied Janet ; il but
at all events you occupied the thoughts of these
your admirers at the time that they were writing
the verses that you estimate so lightly. I can
never hope even for a moment to awaken a
fond and favorable thought ; I must pass through
life unnoticed, even in playfulness, unregarded
by all; or, still worse, regarded with pitying
scorn."

" Why do you indulge this morbid sensibility,
my poor Janet?" said Philippa. "You will be
sure to be valued in time by those who discover
your many and rare excellences. What does
the delightful Frederika Bremer say on this sub-
ject? 'There is in the world so much talent,
so much ingenuity, prudence, wit, genius ; but
goodness — pure, simple, divine goodness — where
is it to be found?'"

" That is the sentiment of a woman, Philippa,"
replied Janet; "you would never find a man
capable of so pure and delicate a feeling, not
even our favorite Heathcote; by the way, is
Heathcote among your poetical admirers of to-
day?"

" I have not yet met with anything half dig-
nified and sensible enough to come from such a
quarter," said Philippa, scrutinizing, as she spoke,
the varying countenance of her friend. " You
speak of Heathcote as our favorite, Janet; but
I am inclined to suspect that he occupies a much
more considerable portion of your thoughts than
he does of mine."

Philippa was right in her conjecture; the poor
little unsightly Janet had dared to love the
handsome and popular Heathcote, but it was in
silence, in secret, in tears, in humility ; not only
did she forbear imparting her love to others, but
she scarcely dared to own it even to herself.
The poet says that

" Love will hope where Reason would despair :'

but Janet had so much reason, and despair&tf so
wholly and thoroughly, that her love was un-
visited by a single ray of hope. True, Heathcote

A STORY OF VALENTINE'S DAY.

139

was kind and gentle to her ; but so he was to
every one. True, he came frequently to the
house ; but was that surprising when it was the
residence of one so fair, so charming, so gifted
in every respect as Philippa ? Suddenly Philippa
uttered an exclamation of delight as she opened
a fresh valentine ; a little case was inclosed
within it, on the outside of which was written
"Portrait of my beloved." Philippa lifted the
lid, and beheld — her own beautiful features in a
looking-glass !

" This must be Heathcote's simple and feeling
way of avowing his passion," said Janet, with a
half-suppressed sigh.

"My dear girl," said Philippa, "who ever
talks of simple and feeling ways of avowing a
passion in these days of sophistication ? and why
will you persist in imagining Heathcote to be
my admirer?"

" If he is not now," said Janet, " I think he
can hardly fail to be."

" Do not give yourself any uneasiness on that
account, Janet," answered the heiress, half in
jest and half in earnest; "if you feel any pre-
ference for Heathcote, I will most cheerfully
make over to you all my right and title to him.
I have given away my heart in another direc-
tion, and fancy that I have gained a heart in
exchange."

" Of that," said Janet, with a sad smile, "I
think there can be little doubt ; but who is the
happy man who I conclude has been the donor
of your pretty portrait?"

Janet felt no surprise when her friend men-
tioned the name of Captain Warrington, for she
knew him to be warmly attached to Philippa;
he was good-looking, good-humored, and agree-
able ; and although his position in society and
his fortune were both inferior to Mr. Chetwode's
ambitious views for his beautiful ward, Janet
foresaw no difficulties in their wooing, which
the perseverance and courage of Philippa, and
the good sense and kindness of her guardian,
would not in a short time clear away. Luncheon
was now announced, and Janet felt that she
should be glad when the day was at an end, the
recurrence of which was one of the many ways
of bringing to her mind the fact that she was
considered by general consent to stand apart from
others of her age and sex, and that an avowal of
love was never destined to reach her eye even
in the masquerade trappings of a valentine.

A few hours afterwards Janet was quietly
reading in her chamber, when a letter was
brought to her. In these days of cheap postage,
when letters descend in a shower on most of us,
•nd in an avalanche on many, it may seem

strange to say that merely receiving a letter could
be anything but a very commonplace event.
Poor Janet, however, had passed her blighted
youth in the strictest seclusion, and the half-
dozen friends who had known her mother in
the retired country place where she vegetated,
wrote to her at distant intervals, and the hand-
writing of each of them was so familiar to her
eye, that she was certain her present correspond-
ent was not among them.

Janet had no young friends, no admirers, no
debts, no duns ; she was poor, and the begging-
letter writers spared her ; she had never worked
for fancy fairs, nor written for albums, nor sub-
scribed to public charities ; it was not in her
power to confer a favor on anybody, and people
thus situated escape a vast influx of correspond-
ence. The letter had been posted in a neigh-
boring street ; the direction was written in an
evidently feigned hand, and the seal bore the
simple impression of a flower. Janet opened it
with a kind of vague feeling that some mystery
clung about it. Little did she dream of the good
fortune that awaited her. The inclosed sheet
of paper was a valentine ! It boasted of no
flowers, cupids, hearts, or darts ; it was super-
scribed "A Valentine to be read when the
others are forgotten."

Delightful phrase ! not only was she deemed
worthy of receiving a valentine, but the writer
evidently considered that she had received
others ! The charm, however, of this valentine
did not consist in the heading, nor even in the
love-breathing stanzas that followed ; but in the
handwriting. It was unquestionably, unmis-
takably, the handwriting of Heathcote ! There
was a peculiarity in the formation of the letters
that Janet had more than once remarked to
Philippa, when he had written notes on some
trifling subject to their guardian or themselves.
There was no attempt to disguise the hand — no
attempt to disguise the feelings. These were
the words that electrified poor Janet, or perhaps
I should say "mesmerized" her; for she cer-
tainly seemed translated to a very different kind
of existence from that of the everyday world,
dull and vexatious occasionally to all of us, but
invariably dull and vexatious to her.

St. Valentine returns— the pleasant time

Of opening verdure and of singing birds
Noted for mystic fantasies in rhyme,

Where gay devices, mingled with soft words,
To many a blushing ladye-love impart
The feelings of her timid lover's heart.

Beneath St. Valentine's protecting shroud,

Lady, I dare thy favor to beseech ;
I am at once too humble and too proud

To woo thee in a fluent form of speech ;

140

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Methinks my trembling spirit could not brook
Thy cold rejoinder, or thy grave rebuke.

Therefore, my deep and never-changing love
Pours forth its ardor in this veiled disguise;

Shouldst thou my passion scorn or disapprove,
Meet me with distant look and frigid eyes ; .

I will abide by that denial mute, *

As though the voice of worlds forbade my suit.

But if thy heart of kindred love should tell,

Let warm inspiring smiles thy thoughts express ;

Then shall this scroll have done its bidding well,
And my freed tongue shall joyously confess

How first I strove to win thy faith to mine,

In the quaint fashion of St. Valentine !

Janet felt much as Cinderella may be supposed
to have done when her fairy godmother converted
her ragged attire into a splendid gala-dress. Life
in a moment seemed changed to her view ; all
misanthropic fancies, all gloomy forebodings
took flight; she was ready to exclaim, in the
words of the song,

"This world is a beautiful world after all!"

Away with all feelings of jealous longing to share
the advantages of other women ! With whom
would she now change 1 Had she not, misshapen
and unlovely as she was, achieved the conquest of
one who had long appeared, in her eyes, as the
most perfect of human beings'? How often had
she fondly wished to possess the beautiful fea-
tures and graceful form of Philippa, and yet
Philippa had merely won the homage of gay,
fashionable triflers, while she had received a
declaration of affection from one so dear to her:,
that if she had been endowed with the most
brilliant loveliness, and the most lavish wealth,
she would have wished, like Portia, to be for his
sake

* A thousand times more fair— ten thousand times
more rich !"

These raptures may appear to our readers ra-
ther beyond what can be justified by the receipt
of a valentine ; but be it remembered that it was
not in the style of a common valentine, that
Heathcote was not a common character, and that
poor Janet had never received even the slightest
token of admiration before that eventful four-
teenth of February. Martin Farquhar Tupper
gays, in his " Proverbial Philosophy,"

u It is a holy thirst to long for Love's requital ;
Hard it will be, hard and sad, to love and be unloved ;
And many a thorn is thrust into the Side of one that is
forgotten."

If such, then, be the suffering of the neglected,
what must be the delight of feeling the long-
borne load suddenly removed from the heart !
Janet, after enjoying her newly-found happi-

ness in solitude for some time, sought her friend
Philippa, who kindly congratulated her on her'
acquisition, and reminded her how often she had
told her that she greatly exaggerated the neglect
and unkindness of the world; but Philippa would
not be persuaded into thinking that a valentine
was at all equivalent to a promise of marriage,
or even to a declaration of love.

" You will know better in a little while,
Janet," she said kindly ; " but at present I can-
not prevail upon myself to damp your happiness ;
you are looking cheerful, and hopeful for the
first time in your life."

. Happy indeed was that day to Janet ; and the
ensuing one was no less so. Heathcote and a
few other friends dined with Mr. Chetwode,
and in the evening he entered the drawing-room
shortly after Captain Warrington, who had
seated himself between the 'two young ladies,
and was discoursing to Philippa in a low voice
on the subject of valentines in general, and
doubtless one valentine in particular. Heath-
cote took a chair by the side of Janet : her heart
throbbed violently at his approach, but Janet's
eyes and complexion were not of the sort to
betray sudden emotion, and no alteration was
visible in her usually quiet, and somewhat dull
demeanor.

" You will pardon the question I am about to
ask, Miss Penson," said Heathcote, catching a
few words of the conversation between Philippa
and her admirer ; " but for the first time in my
life I have beer endeavoring to perpetrate poet-
ry, and have had the presumption to send my
humble attempt to this house, taking advantage
of an occasion when even the most inexpe-
rienced rhymster may anticipate merciful cri-
ticism. May I hope that my offering has not
offended?"

Janet felt for a moment unable to reply, but
her good sense suggested to her that none but
beauties are privileged to be .coquettish and tor-
menting ; therefore she promptly replied —

" It has not offended."

"Dear Miss Penson," exclaimed Heathcote,
fixing on her his dark, sparkling eyes, full of
pleasure and gratitude, " how kind and amiable
it is of you thus speedily to relieve my anxiety ;
but we shall soon be interrupted. I see that the
piano has just been opened: one word more, and
pardon me if it seems abrupt. I have hitherto
visited occasionally at this house; will it be
considered intrusive if my visits become more
frequent?"

" I am sure," said Janet, again exerting her-
self to speak calmly and distinctly, " that your
visits here will always be welcome to my guar

A STORY OF VALENTINE'S DAY.

141

dian — to Philippa ;" and after a moment's pause
she added, " and*to myself."

Heathcote had only time to thank her, by
another of those brief, bright glances, so precious
in her eyes, when she was summoned to the
piano to play the accompaniment to a new bal-
lad, delightfully warbled by Philippa, and she
was gratified to observe that Heathcote followed
her, and kept his post by the instrument during
•the greater part of the evening.

Happy was the little party of lovers during the
next fortnight. Captain Warrington and Heath-
cote were constantly at Mr. Chetwode's house,
constantly accompanying Philippa and Janet in
walks, drives, and visits to morning exhibitions.
No young persons ever enjoyed their own way
more than the wards of Mr. Chetwode. He had
a decided aversion to the idea of a dame de com-
pagnie in the house ; consequently, although the
wife of one of his friends always chaperoned
Philippa and Janet in society, their mornings
were entirely at their own disposal. Mr. Chet-
wode spent the greater part of every day com-
fortably ensconced in his luxurious easy-chair
at the club, wielding a paper-knife in one hand,
and holding a new review, magazine, or pamph-
let,, in the other; and if he thought at all about
his wards, he concluded them to be occupied in
netting purses, watering geraniums, petting cana-
ries, or reading " The Queens of England."

At the end of the fortnight, the member of
the party whom my readers will conclude to be
the happiest began to feel somewhat anxious,
nervous, and discontented. Poor Janet, although
the most humble-minded of living creatures, felt
greatly mortified that her intimacy with Heath-
cote did not seem in the slightest manner tp pro-
gress ; he was still kind, courteous, and conside-
rate to her, as he had ever been, but nothing
more. She had given him every encouragement
that he could expect, but he did not fulfil the
promises of his poetry ; he never uttered a word
that could even be construed into "talking near"
the subject of love. Janet mentioned this ap-
parent inconsistency to Philippa.

" Did I not warn you, dear Janet," said her
friend, laughingly, " that you were affixing too
much importance to a trifle ? You should not
expect an admirer to fulfil all the promises of a
valentine; you might as reasonably expect a
member of Parliament to fulfil the promises
that he :ad made during his canvass."

Janet, however, would not allow her faith in
valentines to be weakened; she put her own
jonstriiction on the coolness of Heathcote, and
a very painful construction it was. She thought
ihat although for a time his approbation of her

mind and manners had overcome his distaste to
her personal appearance, the latter feeling was
gaining ground upon him, and that he was un-
able to love her, and ashamed to introduce her
to the^world as the object of his choice. " I will
give him back his faith," thought poor Janet,
little surmising how she would be wondered at
in society for talking of giving back the faith of
a valentine. Before Janet could give Heathcote
back his faith, he was summoned into Shropshire,
to see a married sister who was believed to be
dying ; and Janet, instead of pondering over the
uncertainty of her own love-affair, had a differ-
ent subject for her attention, in watching the
progress of a far more fortunate wooing. Cap-
tain Warrington, by Philippa's permission, had
spoken to Mr. Chetwode touching his affection
for his beautiful ward ; and Mr. Chetwode, after*
a slight show of reluctance, and an ineffectual
attempt to induce the young people to consent to
a twelvemonth's engagement, had suffered him-
self to be persuaded into a promise that he
would give the bride away whenever she chose
to call upon him to do so.

Mr. Chetwode was a very reasonable guardian ;
he did not insist on sacrificing his ward to a citi-
zen whose money-bags outweighed his own ;
or to a patrician, whose " face, like his family,
was wonderfully old."

All went on smoothly and satisfactorily ; the
lawyers were busy with the settlements, and
Philippa busy with the choice of her wedding-
dresses. But Janet was not without a little
gleam of comfort on her own account.

Heathcote had written to Mr. Chetwode. " My
sister," he wrote, " I am most thankful to say,
is almost convalescent, and in a little while I
shall venture to tell her of an important step in
life that I contemplate taking. I shall then fly
back on the wings of impatience to London, and
' need scarcely say that my first visit will be to
your house."

Mr. Chetwode read aloud Heathcote's letter
at the breakfast-table, but made no comment on
the sentence in question. Janet placed her own
construction on it ; she thought that Heathcote,
unlike men in general, was a much more ardent
lover when absent than when present, because
he did justice to the qualities of her mind, but
disliked her personal appearance. Moore says
of the heroine of one of his sweet melodies —

" She looked in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses.
Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two."

But Janet " looked in the glass" not with anj>
pleasurable sensations ; she came to the conclusion
that she grew plainer every day, and she antici

142

pated Heathcote's return with as much fear as
hope. One morning Janet was sitting alone in
the drawing-room, and felt remarkably nervous
and depressed. " Are there such things as pre-
sentiments of evil V3 she thought; but her pre-
vious anticipations were changed into joyous
realities when Heathcote was announced. She
started up to greet him, but appearing not to
notice her outstretched hand, he threw himself
into a chair : she thought him very much out
of spirits ; an indifferent person would have
thought him very much out of temper.

" Your sister, I trust, is not worse," said Ja-
net, timidly.

" She is almost well again," he replied impa-
tiently ; " but, had I been aware of what has just
been told me, I do not think I should have trou-
bled myself to visit London."

"What has been told you?" gasped the agi-
tated Janet; "you alarm me by your vehe-
mence."

" I have been told," he said, directing a search-
ing glance at her, " that I have a favored rival,
who not only has taken advantage of my absence
from London to press his suit, but has succeeded
in obtaining a propitious answer to it."

How did Janet's heart beat with rapture !
"Heathcote's love for her could not now be
doubted ; he had love enough to be jealous ; his
anxious misgivings should immediately be re-
moved ; he should be told that her love was for
him alone."

" You have been deceived, indeed you have
been deceived," she exclaimed ; " no rival is
in the case ; you cannot love with greater sin-
cerity and truth than you are loved in return."

" Dear Miss Penson," cried Heathcote, taking
her hand, "how can I thank you sufficiently
for having so promptly relieved my mind from
its groundless suspicions 1 My sister is prepared
to welcome and to value the object of my choice.
J begin to fancy myself almost too happy ; but
I do not see Philippa, and am quite impatient for
an interview."

Again was Janet perplexed by the conduct
of her lover. Why should he speak of her
friend as " Philippa," while he addressed herself
as " Miss Penson V3 Why should he seem anx-
ious for the entrance of Philippa, while enjoying
what ought to be the perfection of happiness to
a lover — a tete-a-tete with his beloved one ?

Even the most humble-minded of women can
feel and resent a palpable slight; and it was
with some little dignity that Janet replied, "Miss
Roxby is not at home at present ; Captain War-
rington has accompanied her to the jeweller's;
♦he wedding is fixed for this day fortnight, and

she is of course so much engaged that I cannot
expect to enjoy a great deal of her society."

Heathcote seemed quite transfixed by this sim-
ple speech. " Philippa's wedding-day fixed !" he
exclaimed angrily; "then you have been cruelly
trifling with my feelings, Miss Penson. Why
did you tell me that I had no rival % Why did
you cheat me into a few minutes of happiness
only to give me deeper and more poignant mi-
sery?"

" I do not understand you," said Janet. " I
feel bewildered and confused ; what power can
Philippa's engagement have to affect your tran-
quillity 1 You asked me if I had encouraged a
rival in your absence, and I candidly told.you
that my heart was all your own."

" You !" exclaimed Heathcote, fixing on her a
look of astonished contempt, as if he thought
her a fitting inmate for a lunatic asylum. " If
you are jesting, Miss Penson, you have chosen
a very inappropriate time for it ; if you are in
earnest, I scarcely know whether to regard with
the more pity or anger the absurd vanity which
can have led you to construe common civilities
into individual attachment."

" Your attentions exceeded common civilities,"
faltered the unhappy Janet, as she mentally re-
peated some of the soft passages of the valentine.

" In your opinion, perhaps they might," said
Heathcote, with an expression of countenance
somewhat closely bordering on a sneer ; " your
personal drawbacks have doubtless been the
cause of obtaining for you the frequent neglect
of the coarse and unfeeling. I certainly, however,
could never have deemed it possible that you
could have supposed yourself likely to inspire
passion in my heart, or in that of any other man,
especially by the side of the brilliant and fasci-
nating Philippa Roxby. I have serious trouble
enough in losing her, without this ridiculous
and provoking misunderstanding. I advise you
never to expose yourself to sarcasm by making
public to the world your unreasonable expecta-
tions ; and, for my part, I am willing to promise
to be equally silent on the subject : let us both
endeavor to forget the untoward conversation
of this morning."

Heathcote's injunctions of secrecy and pro-
mise to be secret were rendered unavailing, for
Mr. Chetwode, who had entered unperceived,
had been the astonished auditor of his last
speech. Heathcote, with the instinctive dislike
that all selfish men feel to the idea of " a scene,"
uttered a few hasty words of apology to Mr.
Chetwode, and made a speedy escape, while the
astonished guardian took a seat near Janet in
silence : he felt hurt and annoyed ; no one likes

A STORY OF VALENTINES DAY.

to meet with vexations that they have not anti-
cipated, and certainly Mr. Chetwode had never
dreamed that his poor little ward, Janet, would
give him any trouble about her love affairs.

" My dear Janet," he said at length, " I gath-
er from the few words that I heard on entering
the room, that you have construed some slight
civilities, shown you by Mr. Heathcote, into
proofs of a serious attachment. I am sorry and
also surprised that you should have fallen under
such a misapprehension ; for it was quite evident
to me, and to many others, that Mr. Heathcote
was an admirer of Philippa."

Janet removed her hands from her face, and
steadily met the glance of her guardian. "I
assure you," she said, "that I have received
more than slight attentions from Mr. Heathcote;
Philippa is aware of it, and there has never been
any feeling of rivalry between us ; he declared
his affection for me some weeks ago."

Mr. Chetwode could not avoid giving rather a
discourteous start of amazement; but quickly
remembering the proverb, that "there is no
accounting for tastes," he said, in a kinder tone
of voice, " And how did he make this avowal
to you, my dear?"

" By letter," replied Janet.

Mr. Chetwode began to feel exceedingly in-
dignant with Heathcote. To write a declaration
of love to a young lady, and then, without assign-
ing any reason for his conduct, to break faith with
her, was, he justly thought, highly blamable un-
der any circumstances, and peculiarly mysterious
under those of poor Janet, since a lover who
could once forget her personal disadvantages
must be very much in love indeed, and could not
have the shadow of an excuse for changing his
mind afterwards, as the qualities of her mind
and temper were such as to improve upon ac-
quaintance. " Have you any objection, Janet,"
he said, " to show me this letter?"

" It is not a letter," faltered Janet ; " it is a
copy of verses."

Mr. Chetwode hastily rose from his chair, and
walked up and down the room as an escape-valve
for his irritation. He could not bring himself
to say a harsh word to the suffering girl before
him, but he felt thoroughly provoked with her.
Mr. Chetwode was an essentially prosaic, mat-
ter-of-fact man, and had once seriously offended
a young poet of his acquaintance by averring that
he considered poetry " as a cramp way of people
saying what they wanted to say !" He controlled,
however, his inclination to be very bitter and
caustic on the occasion, and merely said, " Your
inexperience, my poor Janet, has wofully mis-
led you ; young men present copies of verses as

they do boxes of bon-bons to several of their lady
friends in succession, and mean no more by the
one trifle than the other; endeavor, my dear,
to forget the past, and resolve to be more wise
in future."

Thus saying, Mr. Chetwode left the room,
went to his club, and after remaining there an
hour, took a few turns in St. James's-park, where
he was somewhat annoyed to encounter Heath-
cote. He had, however, no opportunity of es-
caping him; for Heathcote, who felt a little
ashamed of his recent behavior, joined him, and
made some inquiries respecting Philippa, lament-
ing his own ill-fortune in not having been able
to make himself acceptable to her.

"Philippa has chosen for herself," replied
Mr. Chetwode, somewhat coldly, " and I see no
reason to object to her choice. I am sorry, Mr.
Heathcote, that you should have considered your-
self obliged to make love to both my wards. I
do not attach any importance to such a trifle as
a copy of verses ; but poor Janet, who has, as
you may easily conclude, been unused to the
slightest attention, actually considered that you
were making an offer of your heart in rhyme,
and has sadly felt the disappointment of her
hopes."

" Write verses to Miss Penson !" repeated
Heathcote, in a half-derisive, half-astonished
tone ; " I never did such a thing, never dreamed
of doing it ; whoever told you so, my dear sir,
has most grossly deceived you."

"I heard it," replied Mr. Chetwode angrily,
"from the lips of one whose truth has never
been doubted — from poor Janet herself."

" I can only repeat my asseveration," said
Heathcote, " and am ready to do it in the presence
of Miss Penson, of whose truthfulness I must
beg to entertain a less favorable opinion than
you seem to do ; perhaps, however, some one
has been sporting with her vanity, by writing
verses to her in my name, in which case she is
to be pitied."

" Perhaps so," said Mr. Chetwode, thought
fully. And he parted from Heathcote, and pur •
sued his way home.

Janet was in her own chamber, but he sent to
desire her presence.

" I am very much inclined, my poor girl,"
he said kindly, " from some hints which have
been given to me, to surmise that the verses to
which you allude were not sent to you by Heath-
cote, but by some one who successfully imitated
his hand."

" You are wrong, dear sir," replied Janet ;
" not only were the verses unquestionably in
the hand- writing of Heathcote, but he alluded

144

godey's magazine and lady s book.

to them the next day in conversation with me,
and expressed his hope that they had not given
offence."

" And yet, Janet," said her guardian, fixing
his eyes sternly on her, " it is from Heathcote
himself that I have just heard the suggestion
that his hand-writing has been counterfeited ;
he most strongly and utterly denies that he has
ever written verses to you."

" I am concerned," said Janet, " that Heath-
cote should show himself not only deficient in
honor and kindness, but in common truth and
honesty. You, however, my dear sir, who have
so long known me, will not, I am sure, feel a
moment's hesitation in believing my statement
in preference to his."

Mr. Chetwode did not speak, but he regarded
Janet with a look by no means indicative of the
perfect trust which she had anticipated. She
burst into tears.

At this moment Philippa entered, radiant with
beauty, health, and happiness, having just parted
from her lover at the door. She stood astonished
at the scene that met her eyes.

"Philippa," said Mr. Chetwode, gravely, "you
will be sorry to hear that you must either think
very ill of a favorite friend, or of a pleasant ac-
quaintance. A circumstance has arisen, trifling
in itself, but involving the veracity either of
Janet or of Heathcote ; she avers that a few
weeks ago he wrote verses to her, containing a
declaration of love ; he denies that he did any
such thing."

Philippa turned very pale, and sat down in
silence.

" On what occasion were these verses writ-
ten ?" said Mr. Chetwode, turning to Janet with
a predetermined air of disbelief in the reality
of them.

" They were entitled," said Janet, " ' A va-
lentine, to be read when the others are forgot-
ten.' "

" A valentine !" repeated Mr. Chetwode, in-
dignantly ; I and is it possible that the verses of
which you speak as containing an avowal of af-
fection, almost amounting to a promise of mar-
riage, were nothing but a valentine 1 and have
I been induced, by your misrepresentations, to
reprove and lecture a young man for adding one
to the many chartered blockheads who commit
fooleries to paper on Valentine's Day? I no
longer doubt your truth, Janet ; but I have seri-
ous doubts of your sanity. You, Philippa, also,"
he added, turning to her, " have been much to
blame ; you know more of the world than Janet ;
why did you let her make herself so ridiculous
as she has been pleased to do I"

" Do not censure Philippa," said Janet ; " my
sorrows have been all of my own making : she
repeatedly told me that I affixed far too much
consequence to so trifling a mark of attention as
a valentine."

" Dearest Janet, forgive me," cried Philippa,
in much agitation ; " I will make now, in the
presence of our guardian, a confession that I
ought to have made before. I have been acting
as your enemy, when my only wish was to be
your friend. You remember our conversation
on Valentine's Day. When I repaired to my
dressing-room after luncheon, I perceived that
one of my valentines was unopened ; I broke
the seal, the writing within was in the hand of
Heathcote ; and without even reading it, I in-
closed it in a blank envelop, directed it to you,
and put it into the post that morning. I wished
to give you a few minutes' pleasure, and to prove
to you that you were not quite forgotten. I knew
Heathcote to be a favorite with you, and ima-
gined that you would be gratified by his atten-
tion. When you brought the verses, and read
them to me, I was surprised at their warmth and
earnestness, and repented of what I had done,
and I have repented more and more ever since."

" And those verses were never intended for
me !" exclaimed the weeping Janet. " Heath-
cote never felt a moment's preference for me !
Oh, Philippa ! I know you intended kindness to
me, but this was cruel kindness."

And poor Janet now indeed felt the cope-stone
placed on her humiliation ; she would have
much rather believed Heathcote to be fickle and
inconstant, than have discovered that he had
never loved her at all. She pressed Philippa's
hand, however, in token of forgiveness, and
left the room ; and the bride elect, for the first
time in her life, was called upon to listen to a
lecture from her guardian, beginning with some
strictures on her own officious folly, continuing
with a few allusions to the vanity and blindness
of her friend Janet, and concluding with an
earnestly expressed hope that none of his friends
would ever place a young lady under his guar-
dianship again !

Philippa's wedding-day arrived. Janet was
present at it, not as a bridesmaid, for she had
refused to spoil the group of beautiful girls who
appeared in that character by joining them — she
was plainly and quietly dressed ; none among
the brilliant assemblage prayed more fervently
than she did for the happiness of Philippa ; but
her cheek grew paler than ever, and her tears
fell fast, as she listened to the solemn ceremony,
feeling that similar vows could never be plighted
to herself, and that domestic happinoss was as

THE FOUNTAIN VERY FAR DOWN.

145

much beyond her reach as if she had been a
being of another sphere. She left London on
that day to return to the village where her mo-
ther died, and where she took up her residence
with an old friend, with whom she had pre-
viously communicated by letter.

Almost a year has elapsed since that time :
she is calm and composed, but her spirits have
never recovered the severe shock that they have
sustained ; she feels that for a short time she
was living in an unreal region, and her violent
descent to earth has humbled and bewildered
her. Had she never been led to fancy that she
was an object of tenderness and affection, her
good sense would in time have reconciled her to
the disadvantages under which she labored ; but
the fitful light thrown across her path only served
to make the darkness more unbearable when it
was withdrawn. Mr. Chetwode and Philippa
have each requested her to visit them, but she
has resolutely excused herself from again joining
a world for which she feels herself alike unfitted
in person and in spirit.

The marriage of Philippa and Captain War-
rington has, to use the words of Theodore Hook,
produced as much " happiness for two" as the
world can be expected to give. Philippa is as
charming as ever, and in one respect her cha-

racter has materially improved. Formerly, Phi-
lippa, ptirtly from good-nature, and partly from a
wish to be universally popular, was very much in
the habit of saying things to her friends that were
more pleasant than true ; she would tell fourth -
rate poetasters that everybody was in raptures
with their genius ; she would assure mothers
that their sickly pedantic prodigies were extolled
in every circle ; and she would protest to faded
spinsters that the gentlemen declared them to be
handsomer than they were a dozen years ago.
Now, however, Philippa, although still kind and
courteous, is as particular in the veracity of her
civil speeches as if she had studied Mrs. Opie's
" Illustrations of Lying" for the last five years ;
and all are delighted to obtain her praise, be-
cause all feel that she is sincere in bestowing it.

One day her husband found her in tears, and
anxiously inquired the reason of her sorrow.

" It will soon pass away," she said ; " but I
have just been thinking with grief and repent-
ance of a very faulty action in my life, although
you, to console me, are in the habit of calling it
an amiable weakness. I allude to my unjustifi-
able imposition on poor Janet ; the present day
causes it to recur most forcibly to my mind — it
is the anniversary of Valentine's Day !"

THE FOUNTAIN VERY FAR DOWN

T VIRGINIA F. TOWN SEND.

" I don't believe it," said my cousin Ned,
who was passing his college vacation at our
house, and there was a world of unwritten scep-
ticism in the air with which he dashed down
the paper over whose damp columns his eyes
had been travelling for the previous half hour.

" You see, Cousin Nelly," continued Ned,
getting up and pacing the long old-fashioned
parlor with quick, nervous strides, "it's all
sheer nonsense to talk about these doors in every
h uman heart. It sounds very pretty and pathetic
in a story, I '11 admit ; but so do a great many
other things which reason and actual experience
entirely repudiate. There are hearts — alas !
that their name should be legion — where 'far
away up' there is no door to be opened, and ' far
away down' are no deeps to be fathomed. Now
don't, Cousin Nelly, level another such rebuk-
ing glance at me from those brown eyes, for I
have just thought of a case illustrative of my
theory. Don't you remember Miss Stebbins,
the old maid, who lived at the foot of the hill,
vol. xlviii. — 13

and how I picked a rose for you one mornrng
which had climbed over her fence into the road,
and so, of course, became 'public property?'
Faugh ! I shall never forget the tones of the
virago's voice, or the scowl on her forehead as
she sallied out of the front door and shook her
hand at me. A woman who could refuse a half
withered flower to a little child, I wonder that
roses could blossom on her soil ! At the ' smit-
ing of the rod,' no waters could flow out of such
a granite heart. In the moral desert of such a
character, no fertilizing stream can make its way."
I did not answer Cousin Ned's earnest, elo-
quent tones, for just then there was the low rap
of visitors at the parlor door ; but I have always
thought there was a good angel in the room
while he was speaking, and that it flew straight
to Miss Stebbins, and looking down, down, very-
far down in her heart, he saw a fountain there,
rank weeds grew all around it, the seal of years
was on its lip, and the dust of time deep on the
seal ; but the angel smiled, as it floated upward.

146

godey's magazine and lady s book.

and murmured, "I shall return and remove the
set»l, and the waters will flow."

Stern and grim sat Miss Stobhins at her work,
one summer afternoon. The golden sunshine
slept and danced in its play-place in the corner,
Mid broke into a broad laugh along the ceiling,
and a single beam, bolder than the rest, crept to
the hem of Miss Stebbins's gown, and looked
up with a timid, loving smile in her face, such
as no human being ever wore when looking
there.

Poor Miss Stebbins ! those stern, harsh fea-
tures only daguerreotyped too faithfully the
desolate, arid heart beneath them ; and that
heart, with its dry fountain, was a true type of
her life, with the one flower of human affection
which had blossomed many years before along
its bleak, barren highway.

She never seemed to love anybody, unless it
was her brother William, who was a favorite
with everybody ; but he went to sea, and had
never been heard of since. Sally had always
been a stray sheep among the family ; but dark
hours, and at last death, came upon all the rest,
and so the homestead fell into her hands. Such
was the brief verbal history of Miss Stebbins's
life, which I received from Aunt Mary, who
closed it there, in rigid adherence to her favorite
maxim, never to speak evil of her neighbors.

But, that summer afternoon, there came the
patter of children's feet along the gravel-walk
which led to Miss Stebbins's front door; and, at
the same moment, the angel with golden-edged
wings came down from its blue-sky home into
Miss Stebbins's parlor.

She raised her head and saw them, two weary-
looking little children, with golden hair and blue
eyes, standing hand in hand under the little porti-
co, and then that old termagant scowl darkened her
forehead, and she asked, with a sharp, disagree-
able note in her voice, like the raw breath in
the north-east wind —

" Wa-all ! I should like to know what you
want standing there V

" Please, ma'am," said the boy, in a timid, en-
treating voice, which ought to have found its
way straight into any heart, "little sister and I
feel very tired, for we have walked a long way.
Will you let us sit down on the step and rest a
little while?"

" No ; I can't have children loafing round on
my premises," said Miss Stebbins, with the same
vinegar sharpness of tone which had character-
ized her preceding reply. Moreover, the sight
of any of the miniature specimens of her race
aoemed always fated to arouse her belligerent

propensities. " So just take yourselves off; and
the quicker, the better 'twill be for you."

" Don't stay any longer, Willy. I am afraid,"
whispered the little girl, with a tremor rippling
through her voice, as she pulled significantly at
her brother's coat sleeve.

" Willy ! Willy ! That was your brother's
name; don't you remember1?" the angel bent
down and whispered very softly in the harsh
woman's ear ; and all the time his hand was
gliding down, down in her heart, searching for
that hidden fountain. " You must have been
just about that little girl's age when you and he
used to go trudging down into the meadows to-
gether to find sweet flagroot. And you used to
keep tight hold of his hand, just as she does.
Oh, how tired you used to get ! Don't you re-
member that old brown house, where nobody
lived but starved rats and a swarm of wasps, who
made theif nest there in the summer-time ? And
you used to sit down on the old step, which the
worms had eaten in so many places, and rest
there. How he loved you ! and how careful he
was always to give you the best seat ! and, then,
he never spoke one cross word to you, if every-
body else did. Now, if you should let those
children sit down and rest, jast as you and Willy
did on the old brown step, you could keep a
sharp eye on them, to see they didn't get into
any mischief."

The angel must have said all this in a very
little time, for the children had only reached the
gravel-walk again, when Miss Stebbins called
out to them ; and, this time, that spiteful little
note in her voice was not quite so prominent —
" Here, you may sit right down on that cor-
ner a little while ; but, mind you, don't stir; for,
if you do, you '11 have to budge."

" Little sister," said the boy, in a low tone,
after they were seated, " lay your head here, and
try to go to sleep."

The little girl laid her head, with its shower
of golden bright curls, on her brother's breast ;
but, the next moment, she raised it, saying —
" I can't sleep, brother, I 'm so thirsty."
" Don't you remember that day you and Willy
went into the woods after blackberries, and how
you lost your way groping in the twilight of the
forest1?" again whispered the angel, with his
hand feeling all the time for the fountain. " You
found an old lightning-blasted tree, and you sat
down on it, and he put his arm round you just
so, and said, ' Try and go to sleep, little sister."
But you couldn't, you were so thirsty ; for you
had walked full three miles. Who knows but
what those children have, too ?"

There was a little pause after the angel had

THE FOUNTAIN VEKY FAR DOWN.

147

said this, and then Miss Stebbins rose up and
went into her pantry, where the shelves were
all of immaculate whiteness, and she could see
her face in the brightly scoured tin. She brought
out a white pitcher, and, going into the garden,
filled it at the spring. Returning, she poured
some of the cool contents into a cup which stood
on the table, and carried it to the children ; and
she really held it to the little girl's lips all the
time she was drinking.

Farther and farther down in the heart of the
woman crept the hand of the angel ; nearer and
nearer to the fountain it drew.

Miss Stebbins went back to her sewing, but,
somehow, her fingers did not fly as nimbly as
usual. The memories of bygone years were ris-
ing out of their mouldy sepulchres ; but all
freshly they came before her, with none of the
grave's rust and dampness upon them.

" That little boy's eyes, when he thanked you
for the water, looked just as Willy's used to,"
once more whispered the angel, bending down
close to Miss Stebbins's ear. " And his hair
looks like Willy's, too, as he sits there with that
sunbeam brightening its gold, and his arm thrown
so lovingly around his sister's waist. There !
did you see how wistfwlly he looked up at the
grapes, whose purple1 side are turned towards
him as they hang over the portico ? How Willy
used to love grapes ! And how sweet your bowls
of bread and milk used to taste, after one of
your rambles into the woods ! If those children
have walked as far as you did — and don't you
see the little boy's coat and the little girl's faded
dress are all covered with dust ? — they must be
very hungry, as well as tired and thirsty. Don't
you remember that apple-pie you baked this
morning'? I never saw a pie done to a finer
brown in my life. How sweet it would taste to
those little tired things, if they could only eat a
piece here in the parlor, where the flies and the
sun wouldn't keep tormenting them all the
time !"

A moment after, Miss Stebbins had stolen with
noiseless step to her pantry, and, cutting out two
generous slices from her apple-pie, she placed
them in saucers, returned to the front door, and
said to the children —

" You may come in here, and sit down on the
stools by the fire-place and eat some pie ; but
you must mind and not drop any crums on the
floor."

It was very strange, but that old harsh tone
had almost left her voice. The large, tempting
slices were placed in the little hands eagerly
lifted up to receive them ; and, at that moment,
out from the lip of the fountain, out from the

dust which lay heavy upon its seal, there came
a single drop, and it fell down upon Miss Steb-
bins's heart. It was the first which had fallen
there for years. Ah, the angel had found the
fountain then !

The softened woman went back to her seat,
and the angel did not bend down and whisper
in her ear again ; but all the time his hand was
busy, very busy at its work.

"Where is your home, children?" inquired
Miss Stebbins, after she had watched for a while,
with a new, pleasant enjoyment, the children,
as they dispatched with hungry avidity their pie.

"Mary and I haven't any home now. We
had one once before papa died, a great way over
the sea," answered the boy.

"And where are you going now? and what
brought you and your little sister over the sea?"
still farther queried the now interested woman.

" Why, you see, ma'am, just before papa died,
he called old Tony to him — now, Tony was
black, and always lived with us — ' Tony,' said
he, ' I am going to die, and you know I have
lost everything, and the children will be all alone
in the world. But, Tony, I had a sister once
that I loved, and she loved me ; and, though I
haven't seen her for a great many years, still I
know she loves me, if she's living, just as well
as she did when she and I used to go hand in
hand through the apple-orchard to school ; and,
Tony, when I 'm dead and buried, I want you
to sell the furniture, and take the money it
brings you and carry the children back to New
England. You '11 find her name and the place
she used to live in a paper — which anybody '11
read for you — in the drawer there. And, Tony,
when you find her, just take Willy and Mary to
her, and tell her I was their father, and that I
sent them to her on my death-bed, and asked her
to be a mother to them for my sake. It '11 be
enough, Tony, to tell her that.' And Tony
cried real loud, and he said, ' Massa, if I^forget
one word of what you 've said, may God forget
me.'

" Well, papa died, and, after he was buried,
Tony brought little sisterv and me over the wa-
ters. But, before we got here, Tony was taken
sick with the fever, and he died a little while
after the ship reached the land and they had
carried him on shore. But, just before he died,
he called me to him and put a piece of paper in
my hand. ' Don't lose it, Willy,' he said, ' for
poor Tony's going, and you '11 have to find the
way to your aunt's all alone. The money 's all
spent, too, and they say it's a good hundred
miles to the place where she lived. But keep
up a good heart, and ask the folks the way, and

148

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

for something to eat when you 're hungry ; and
don't walk too many miles a day, 'cause little
sister ain't strong. Perhaps somebody '11 help
you on with a ride, or let you sleep in their
house nights. Now don't forget, Willy; and
shake hands the last time with poor Tony.'

" After that, we stayed at the inn till the next
day, when they buried Tony; and, when they
asked us what we were going to do, we told
them we were going to our aunt's, for papa had
sent us to her, and then they let us go. When
we asked folks the way they told us, though
they always stared, and sometimes shook their
heads. We got two rides, and always a good
place to sleep. They said our aunt lived round
here ; but, we got so tired walking, we had to
stop."

"And what was your father's name?" asked
Miss Stebbins, and, somehow, there was a chok-
ing in her throat, and the hand of the angel was
placed on the fountain as she spoke.

" William Stebbins ; and our aunt's name was
Sally Stebbins. Please, ma'am, do you know
her?"

Off, at that moment, came the seal, and out
leaped a fresh, blessed tide of human affection,
and fell down upon the barren heart-soil that
grew fertile in a moment.

"William! my brother William !" cried Miss
Stebbins, as she sprang towards the children
with outstretched arms and tears raining fast
down her cheeks. " Oh, for your sake, I will
be a mother to them !"

A year had passed away ; college vacation had

come again, and once more Cousin Ned was at
our house. In the summer gloaming we went
to walk, and our way lay past Miss Stebbins' s
cottage. As we drew near the wicket, the sound
of merry child-laughter rippled gleefully to our
ears, and a moment after, from behind that very
rose-tree so disagreeably associated with its
owner in Cousin Ned's mind, bounded two
golden-haired children.

" Come, Willy ! Mary ! you have made
wreaths of my roses until they are wellnigh
gone. You must gather violets after this."

" Mirabile dictu!" ejaculated Cousin Ned.
" Is that the woman who gave me such a bless-
ing a long time ago for plucking a half withered
rose from that very tree?"

" The very same, Cousin Ned," I answered ;
and then I told him of the change which had
come over the harsh woman, of her love, her
gentleness, and patience for the orphan children
of her brother ; and that, after all, there was a
fountain very far down in her heart, as there
surely was in everybody's, if we could only
find it.

« Well, Cousin Nelly," said Ned, " I '11 agree
to become a convert to your theory without fur-
ther demurring, if you ' 11 promise to tell me
where to find a hidden fountain that lies very
far down in a dear little somebody's heart, and
whose precious waters are gushing only for me."

There was a glance, half arch, half loving,
from those dark, handsome eyes, which made
me think Cousin Ned knew he would not have
to go very far to find it.

VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY.

ARI.AXD COULTAi

The Process of Fertilization. — All or-
ganic beings, animals, and plants reproduce
themselves by means of fecundated germs, which
we call embryos. The embryos of plants form
in a particular organ called an ovule, and the
matter which fecundates them is termed pollen.

The character of an embryo in organic beings
is that it contains, in a rudimentary state, all
the organs of which the organic being is com-
posed in its entire developments. Thus, in the
animal, the uterine foetus is composed of the
head, the trunk, and the extremities ; in other
words, of all the parts of which the adult ani-
mal is composed. In like manner, the embryos

of plants, like those of animals, contain all the
parte which compose the fabric of the fully de-
veloped plant in a rudimentary condition. The
embryo of a bean, for example, consists of a
plumule or young stem, a pair of leaves or
cotyledons, and a radicle or young root, or
the entire plant in a rudimentary state ; and,
by the act of germination, analogous in its
effects to the commencement of life in the c\\ ra-
uterine foetus, all the parts of the plant develop
themselves into their wonted figure and hues,
in accordance with those peculiar organic laws
to which the plant is subjected. But germinal ion
does not increase the number of these parts,

VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY.

149

which existed before its influence was exercised
on them.

Now, plants have sexes, or sexual organs, as
well as animals. The female sexual organs in
plants are named carpels. The pistil, already
described, consisting of stigma, style, and ger-
men, is only a fully developed carpel. The
male sexual organs are named stamens, the an-
thers of which contain the pollen or fecundating
matter. The stamens and carpels are therefore
the essential organs of reproduction in plants,
since it is by the mutual action of these bodies
that the embryo of the future plant is formed,
and the same form of life continued in the earth.
Fig. 1 is a representation of a petal, stamen, and

Fig. 1.

the pistil of Berberis vulgaris, or the common
barberry. In this plant, the anthers open by two
valves to let out the pollen. These valves are
seen in the figure, and the pistil is exhibited in
section, to show the ovules in the cavity of the
germen.

The reproductive organs only appear at the
epoch when plants attain the full develop-
ment of all their parts, or arrive at an adult
state. The period when this occurs varies
greatly in each species, and depends entirely on
the peculiarities of its constitution. When this
epoch arrives, a visible change takes place in
the organic, functions ; the stem ceases to elon-
gate, and its internodes no longer developing,
the leaves remain crowded together in closely
approximated whorls, and, after undergoing
those peculiar modifications in form and coloring
which we have already described, a flower is
produced.

The process of fecundation appears to be as
follows : As soon as the calyx and corolla are
fully expanded, the stamens rapidly develop,
their filaments elongate, and the anthers, at first
moist and closed, become dry, and, rupturing,
discharge the pollen on the stigma of the pistil,
which at this time is bedewed with a clammy
fluid, which serves to retain the grains of pol-
len that fall upon its surface. The grains

13*

of pollen, after remaining for some time on the
humid stigma, absorb its moisture, and are seen
to swell so that those which are elliptical assume
a spherical form. The thin and highly extensi-
ble intine or inner covering of the pollen grain
ultimately is pushed, in the form of a tube,
through one of the pores or ostioles in the sur-
face of the extine or outer covering, the mode
of dehiscence of the pollen grain being always
determined by the character of its surface. The
pollen tube enters .the lax tissue of the stig-
ma, and, by gradual increments of growth,
pushes its way down the style into the germen
or ovary in which the ovules are found, up to
this period, unfertilized. The tube enters one
of the unimpregnated ovules through a small
hole called the micropyle (from (Atn^cc a little,
7tv\» gate), conveying the fecundating fluid mat-
ter contained in the cavity of the grain into the
young ovule. This fluid matter is called fovilla,
and its flow through the pollen tube is easily
perceived by the movement of those microscopic
corpuscles which it contains.

Fig. 2 is a section through the stigma, and

Fig. 2.

part of the style of Antirrhinum majus, or the
common snapdragon. The pollen grains are seen
adhering to the surface of the stigma, and the
tube is pushing its way down the pistil to the
germen.

The ovules having received the impregnating
matter, the flower loses its beauty, and nothing
remains but the germen, which swells into <i
fruit abounding with seeds, by which the species
is continued. An attentive observer may waleh
these changes throughout the summer months
in any plant that produces flowers and fruit,
and may thus satisfy himself of the general cor-
rectness of these statements.

AUNT TABI TEA'S FIEESIDE.

No. IX. — THE MISERY CAUSED BY USING THE WRONG PUDDING-DISH.

BY EDITH WOODLEY.

" I believe, Lizzy, that I never told you my
own experience about goin' out to sarvice. I
didn't go out. 'cause 'twas necessary that I should,
for at my father's there was a house full of
everything. We al'ays lived like the sweet
cheeses, as the sayin' is.

" You 've heern me tell of Aunt Keziah Hig-
gins. She wasn't my aunt, on'y a cousin to my
mother ; but I al'ays called her aunt, out of re-
spect, seein' she was so much older than I was.
"Well, she was one of the most partic'lar bodies
that ever breathed the breath of life, except
Uncle Higgins, and he went a hair furder'n she
did in some things. She al'ays chose to do her
own work, for there wa'n't a pairson on airth
that could suit her; but one fall she took a
dreadful bad cold, and was threatened with the
rebellious fever. Everybody knew how awful
nice she was, to say nothin' of Mr. Higgins, and
they couldn't git a soul to come and stay with
'em for a single day.

" At last, Uncle Higgins come arter me ; and,
when I found how 'twas, I consented to go, for
it seemed to me a sin and a shame — what I called
right down heathenish — to let the woman suffer
for want of bein' took keer on. I didn't expect
that I should suit in everything ; but I felt de-
termined, in my own mind, to put the best foot
for'ard, and exart every narve to the utmost to
do the best I could, and that was all that could
be expected of anybody.

" They were both so tickled to think I con-
sented to come, that they neither of 'em uttered
a single word of complaint for the two first days.
All I said or did was jest right. I was young,
and didn't understand a dreadful deal about
cookin' ; but Aunt Keziah wasn't so sick but
what she could give off the orders, so I got along
nicely. The third day she said to me, arter
breakfast —

"'Tabitha, I guess I'll have a rice puddin'
made for dinner to-day. A rice puddin', if 'tis
made jest right, is Mr. Higgins's favorite.'

" So she told me how to proportionate all the
'gred'encies — how many eggs, how much rice,
sugar, milk, and everything. I mustn't vary the
vally of a thimbleful in an individwal thing, she
said, 'cause, if I did, it wouldn't suit Mr. Hig-

gins. The sass to eat on't, too, must be made
jest so.

" Well, I told her I 'd do my best; and I did.
If the rice, sugar, and so on had been goold dust,
I couldn't 'ave been an atom more partic'lar
about measurin' 'em ; and, arter I got the pud-
din' into the oven, I watched it as narrer as
ever a cat watched a mouse, so as to be sure
'twas bakin' jest fast enough, and none too fast.

" When 'twas drawin' along towards dinner-
time, I thought I 'd hunt up a dish to turn the
puddin' into, 'cause, you see, I baked it in a
brown, airthen dish that wa'n't fit to set on the
table. Well, I come across a deep, blue-edged
one, jest like one we had at home, that my mo-
ther bought on purpose to put puddin' into. We
were to have, besides the puddin', a grand good
b'iled dish — pork and corned beef, and all sorts
of garding-sass, sich as cabbage, turnips, bates,
carriots, and so on. 'Twas no fool of a job to
prepare so many kinds of sass ; but I didn't vally
the trouble, all I aimed at was to suit Uncle
Higgins. When I 'd got everything on the table,
they looked so nice I felt quite proud. Accordin'
to my mind, 'twas a dinner fit to set afore a
king.

" Uncle Higgins was blest with an amazin'
good appetite, and, I tell you, he did good justice
to the b'iled dish. Arter a while, he begun to
slack off a leetle mite, and I could see him
eyein' the puddin' purty sharp. At last, says
he—

" ' What 'ave you got there, Tabitha V

" 'A rice puddin', sir,' says I.

" 'A rice puddin'?' says he.

" * Yes, sir,' says I.

" ' Well, then, I guess you never sarved much
of a 'prenticeship at making rice puddin's,' says
he.

" ' If you '11 jest taste of it, sir, I guess you '11
like it,' says I.

" ' I sha'n't taste of sich a lookin' thing as
that,' says he, and up he jumps from the table,
appearantly jest as mad as a March hare.

" I felt purty much riled myself, and should
'ave been glad if the tarnal puddin' had been
right in the middle of the Red Sea. Arter I 'd
taken so much pains, worried myself e'en jest

AUNT TABITHA'S FIRESIDE

151

to death about it, as 'twere, I thought 'twas too
bad for him to speak about it in sich a short,
scornful way.

" I didn't tell Aunt Keziah anything about it,
'cause, as she was sick, I was afeared 'twould
worry her ; but, afore I 'd finished doin' the
work up arter dinner, Uncle Higgins got cooled
down a leetle atom, and went into aunt's room
to see how she was. She mistrusted by his looks
that everything wasn't raly right, so she says to
him —

" ( How did the dinner suit you ?'

" i Well enough,' says he.

" ' Did Tabitha make the rice puddin' to yer
likin' ?' says she.

" ' I didn't eat any rice puddin',' says he.
* There was a mushy-lookin' thing on the table
that she called a rice puddin' ; but it didn't look
like an eatable to me.'

" ' What appeared to be the matter with it?'
says Aunt Keziah.

« < Why, one thing that ailed it was, there
wa'n't a drop of whey in it; 'twas dry as a#con-
tribution-box, and you know I never eat sich
puddin's.'

" ' I guess you put a leetle too much rice in
your puddin' accordin' to the other gred'ences,'
says Aunt Keziah, the first time I went into the
room arter Uncle Higgins was gone.

" ' I put in jest as much as you said I must,'
says I.

" ' Well,' says she, ' Mr. Higgins told me 'twas
too dry — that there wa'n't any whey in it.'

"'If that 's all,' says I, 'I '11 try my luck
ag'in to-morrow, and make jest the same, on'y
scant the rice the least mite that ever was.'

" ' So do,' says Aunt Keziah. * I rather guess
you were a leetle too heavy-handed when you
measured the rice.'

" Well, I do declare that I didn«t think of
anything but that tarnal rice puddin' all the
arternoon ; and, the minute I fell asleep at
night, rice puddin's were settin' round in every
direction, jest as thick as a swarm of bees. Once
I thought I went to draw a pail of water, when
up came a bucket full of rice puddin'. Then,
ag'in, I thought I was starchin' some of Aunt
Keziah's best caps, and found I 'd been dippin'
'em in a mess of rice puddin', instead of starch.
That was the way I was tormented all night
long. My sleep didn't do me an atom of good ;
but, arter breakfast, I brightened up a little, and
felt detarmined in my own mind, if there was
any sich thing as makin' a rice puddin' that
would suit Uncle Higgins, I would do it. So I
went to work, and, the land o' massy ! if I should
live to be as old as Methuselah, and forty years

on to the eend of that, I shall never forgit how
I fussed and worried over that 'ere puddin'. If
I measured the rice once, I raly b'l'eve that I
measured it half a dozen times, so that, at last,
I got to be so addle-pated that I could 'ave hard-
ly told B from a broomstick.

"Aunt Keziah said there sartainly couldn't
be any danger of its bein' too dry ; and, if it
erred a leetle bit on t'other hand, I could dip
out two or three spoonfuls of the whey.

" I don't know how the President feels to be

at the head of government ; but, if the affairs

» of the nation weigh as heavy on his shoulders as

that puddin' did on mine all the time 'twas

bakin', he 'd soon give up beat.

" There was never anything that looked a
mite nicer than it did when I took it out of the
oven. 'Twas enough to make a pairson's mouth
water to look at it. ; but, the moment I put the
tarnal thing into the deep, blue-edged dish, it
looked 'xact as t'other did, on'y, it anything, a
leetle more mushy, as Uncle Higgins called it.
If there 'd been time, I 'd 'ave gone off by my-
self and had a good cryin' spell. It was my
fairm belief that the puddin' was bewitched.
What to do I didn't know. One minute I
thought I 'd put it on the table, and Uncle Hig-
gins might eat some of it or not, jest as he was a
mind to. The next minute, I made up my mind
to hide it away, and not let him know that I 'd
made one. I was right in the midst of my
quandary, when, the first thing I knew, Uncle
Higgins walked into the kitchen, and marched
right up to the table, where sot the puddin'.

" ' What do you call that?' says he.

" ' A rice puddin',' says I; and, judgin' by my
feelin's, I turned all manner of colors.

" ' Well, don't put sich a lookin' thing as that
on to the table,' says he. ' It don't look fit to
be sot afore anybody but a heathen. 1 've no
notion of havin' what leetle appetite I 've got
sp'ilt by havin' that dispisable-lookin' thing
afore my eyes.'

" So I goes and pokes it away in a sly corner,
for it had tried my feelin's so 1 parfectly hated
the sight on 't. I wa'n't much afeared that Un-
cle Higgins would starve, if he didn't have the
puddin' to top off with. He was a dreadful
great eater — eat as much as two Christian men
ought to ; but I guess he didn't take a terrible
sight of comfort eatin' his dinner, for he had on
an awful long face the whole time. I s'pose
that tarnal old puddin' was runnin' in his head.
If 'twa'n't in his, it was in mine.

" Well, Aunt Keziah was mighty airnest to
know what luck I had with it. I meant to ave
told her afure dinner, and should, if Uncle Hig-

152

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

giBI hadn't come in so, all of a Budding, while I
was tryin' to settle in my mind what I should do
about puttin' it on to the table for dinner.
When she asked me about it, I had tough work
to keep from bu'stin' right out a cryin' ; for I
felt sorry, and I felt 'shamed, and, to tell the
plain truth, a leetle mite put out.

" ' Well, it does seem curious,' says she, arter
1 'd finished tellin' her about it. * Run, Tabitha,
and bring the puddin' here, and let me have a
squint at it. If I ever made one puddin' by that
resait, I 'm free to say I 've made a hundred,
and al'ays had first rate luck. The very witches
have got into the puddin', I b'l'eve.'

" So off" I goes and gits the puddin', and car-
ries it in for Aunt Keziah to look at.

" i La, child,' says she, the minute she clapped
her eye on it, ' I 've found out the marvellous
mystery. You ' ve put it into the wrong puddin' -
dish.'

" ' What odds can it make,' says I, ' whether
it 's in this or any other V

" * Why, don't you see, child, that the dish,
by bein' so deep and so small over, don't give
the whey a chance to settle off round the edges,
but makes it all mix in with the rice ? I al'ays
puts it into that shaller, Chany dish, with a gilt
edge, that you '11 find on the lower shelf of the
cupboard. Now, if you '11 jest shift the puddin'
into that 'ere dish, you '11 see 'twill look as dif-
ferent as light and darkness.'

" Well, off I went and put it into the dish she
told me about, when, lo and behold ! the whey
settled off jest as calm and purty as a summer's
mornin', and made a streak round the outside
of the puddin' clear and bright as crystchal. I
could hardly b'l'eve my own eyes, and I s'pose

I was as tickled and proud a critter as ever
walked on the face of the airth. I carried it
right along to let Aunt Keziah see it.

" ' There,' says she, ' that looks right ; that '11
suit Mr. Higgins. Say not a word about it, Ta-
bitha; but jest set it into the kittle to-morrow
and heat it over with the steam, and 'twill do
for dinner ; for, if you should try forty thousand
times, you wouldn't hit it righter than you have
this time.'

" ' Well,' says I, ' if you or any other pairson
had told me that I should undergone so much
misery on account of usin' the wrong puddin' -
dish, I wouldn't 'ave b'l'eved 'em.'

" The next day, I steamed the puddin', put it
into the Chany dish, and sot it on the table for
dinner.

" ' There, now, that looks somethin' like,'
says Uncle Higgins. ' I '11 tell you what, Tabi-
tha, it isn't best for young, inexperienced gals,
like you, to be too wilful — too fond of havin'
their own way. You thought you 'd tire me
out, and git me to eat one of your mushy pud-
din's at last ; but I must be nigh on to famishin'
afore I could eat sich a puddin' as you made
yesterday.'

" ' I 'm glad it suits you, sir,' says I, lookin'
meek and innocent as old Aunt Peggy's cosset
lamb, when it turns its basin of milk over.

" You 've no idee how I wanted to tell him
'twas the identical puddin' he run down so to
the very lowest notch the day afore ; but, you
see, I daresn't, so all the pay I could git was the
privilege of laughin' in my sleeve as he sot there
eatin' the puddin', and praisin' it every other
mouthful."

A PLEASANT LETTEE.

Campbell Co., Va.

Mr. L. A. Godey — Dear Sir : I owe you
for my subscription to the " Lady's Book" for
1852 and 1853. I send you five dollars inclosed.
Give me such credit as you may think proper to
extend to an old subscriber of fifteen years' stand-
ing, who sometimes pays in advance, and some-
times don't, yet never clubs, and never fails to
pay without charge to you. I call that a pretty
strong appeal.

Having a moment of leisure on my hands
while addressing you on business, I am tempted
to put in a word to you extra — to you, who have
been talking to me steadily for fifteen years,
while I have never had a chance for a syllable

in reply. Indeed, I am not positively assured
that editors, however fond they may be of hold-
ing forth before their readers, do manifest any
remarkable solicitude to have them " answer
back again." I should take it they were rather
of that class, Irishman-like, who prefer to have
"all the reciprocity on one side." I believe it
may be justly said of them, that they do not ad-
mire any sort of correspondence that don't pay
well. It, however, seems that an old subscriber
will, once in a while, presume on long acquaint-
ance, and treat you as a familiar friend, with
whom he has the right to make free. I, at this
present moment, feel an impulse of this kind ;
but apprehend my position may appear to you

A PLEASANT LETTER.

153

rather gawky, and even peradventure unwar-
rantable. But old men, you know, and espe-
cially conceited ones, are garrulous.

By the way, Mr. Godey, are you phrenologist
enough to tell me why it is that, when all the
other faculties are growing smaller, the organ of
self-esteem is increasing in size? We hear a
great deal said about " the aggressive" and " the
progressive." Well, it appears to me that this
same organ of self-esteem deserves to bear off all
the first class premiums at the next " World's
Fair" of Active Principles, whether "aggressive"
or " progressive." I beg your pardon, my dear
sir, I had no idea of being at all personal. But
you politely intimate that " brevity is the soul
of wit." Thank you ! I remark this, with
editors, is quite a favorite prescription (you see,
1 naturally fall into professional figures)1. Never-
theless, it is one they are not overly fond of
calling into requisition themselves. Albeit, Mr.
Godey, you and I shall not fall out here. For,
as we possess none of the corporeal parts, nei-
ther of us has much use for " the soul." Don't
frown ; I '11 praise you presently.

I can remember, in time past, when conclud-
ing the perusal of a number of the " Lady's
Book," I have found myself soliloquizing thus :
" Well, I have read it through, and what is in
it? Absolutely nothing that I can remember,
or, what is worse, nothing that is worth remem-
bering. I will discontinue. I wish Godey was
more of a utilitarian, and would give us a little
less of his whipped syllabub, and a little more
of solid food." But another year would come
in and go out, and I still remained a subscriber
to the " Lady's Book 3" and, all this time, its
strides "progressive" were very humble and
moderate, indeed. But times have changed, and
the " Lady's Book" has changed with them. I
am glad to say there has been a great improve-
ment— a very great improvement in your maga-
zine. Thanks to your industrious, judicious,
and sensible editress, the ratio of the useful and
valuable is fast gaining on the trashy, " flat, and
unprofitable." Go on.

I, some time back, said to my daughter — only,
and motherless —

" Well, child, I believe I must discontinue
< Godey.' "

"Why, pa?"

" It is not suited to my taste, and you are al-
ways at school."

" But, pa, I always read the numbers through
when I come home. I like it very much. It is
very interesting. I prefer it to any of the maga-
zines."

" There is ' Harper's' — more solid matter."

" I don't like ' Harper's.' I can't read it. 1
greatly prefer ' Godey.' I do not know what ]
should do without it. Do, pa, continue to take
it for me."

I saw at once you had a strong hold on hei
regard, and I dropped the subject. Since then,
I observe she has got out the old numbers for
many years back (we keep them carefully filed
away), and has been very busy with them ; and,
when she is done with them, she sorts them all
over nicely and puts them away again. The up-
shot of the matter is this letter and the inclo-
sure. Trusting that none other than benign in-
fluences will ever be derived from the pages of
your popular magazine, I subscribe myself,

Your ob't s'v't, W. S. G.

(Underscored.) P. S. — A word about under-
scoring. I would thank my excellent friend,
Mrs. Hale, to give her lady contributors a gentle
hint — a very gentle one. Lady authors are
much given to underscoring ; that the practice is
considered, by some of the readers of the " La-
dy's Book," not to be in good taste, and far
" more honored in the breach than in the ob-
servance." It generally is declaratory of about
this : " Reader, here is the point, which I fear
you have not penetration to perceive ;" or,
" How funny that is !" or, " What a nice thought
is here !" or, " How smart and striking this !" or
the like. Now, I would respectfully suggest
that the better way is to write nothing that does
not deserve to be underscored, as might be ex-
emplified, if my modesty did not forbid, in the
preceding delectable epistle. If a writer deems
a composition to be superlatively fine, as authors
not unfrequently do, just recommend that the
word " underscored" be written at the top, as I
have done at the top of this postscript, with the
assurance that the editor will put that in type,
too, and then the thing will be fixed. For
really some readers do not think it polite in
authors to be everlastingly reminding them that
" Here is a beautiful idea, which I fear you are
too obtuse to discover." We poor readers would
be gratified by finding we had a little credit for
common sense. Any way, for one, I prefer to
emphasize for myself. Now, I have not the
same prejudice or objection, whichever you
choose to call it, to capitals. They may be often
used with fine effect. As, for instance, in the
preface to D'Aubigne's " History of the Re-
formation," where the author states his principle
to be that there is a " GOD IN HISTORY." I
am pleased to see that some of your best con-
tributors have no use at all for the underscore.

W. S. G.

INSTRUCTIONS FOE MAKING ORNAMENTS IN
RICE SHELL-WORK.

In our January number we described the
whole process of preparing the shells, and mak-
ing all those separate portions necessary to

BPRAYS IN RICE SHELL-WORK.

form a wreath ; the same instructions apply
equally to the present branch of our subject ;
but then we only spoke of the " simple" form
of this work, or that composed merely of shells
and silver wire. It is doubtless the most chaste,
from its extreme purity ; but it is also the most
perishable, for we all know how quickly silver
tarnishes ; it likewise is not so convenient for
wear, especially in the hair, for, be as careful
as ever we will, we cannot entirely avoid
roughness and projecting points.

The " composite form," which we are now

about to describe, admits of the ornaments

being made to match, or contrast with, or set

off, any hue of dress or complexion. In the

154

making of composite rice shell-wreaths, &c,
various materials are brought into use, as floss-
silk ; fine wire-chenil ; Roman-pearl beads, and
beads of a similar kind of coral color, turquoise,
pink, green, or yellow ; flower-seeds ; velvet or
satin, or silver leaves ; and silver bullion.

To make a wreath, and a set of sprays for a
bridal-dress, we should use white floss-silk,
white chenil, and silver bullion. The shells are
to be " wired," as directed in our former article ;
but, in making them up into leaves and flowers,
instead of using the fine wire, we use the floss-
silk to wind or bind them ; and thus, instead of
the wires being all exposed, they are hidden, and
the stems present a smooth silken surface.

For making a simple, or single flower, we use
the five shells as before, but we cut half an inch
of silver bullion, thread it on one of the cut
lengths of wire (of which we directed there
should always be a supply), fold it into a loop,
twist the wire to keep the bullion firmly in form
and place, and put this in the centre of the
flower, arranging the five shells round it, and
binding the stem with the silk.

In making the " double flower," we use twenty
instead of the seventeen shells before directed ;
viz. five for the flower, and fifteen for the five
leaflets of three shells each ; in the centre of the
five shells we put the loop of bullion just de-
scribed, and between the flow-
er and the leaflets we arrange
five loops of fine wire-chenil
at equal distances, as in this
cut, allowing each loop to
project nearly half an inch,
and binding them on with the
fine wire ; the leaflets are then
arranged round the stem so
that the centre shell of each
one appears between, and just
beyond each two loops ; the
whole is bound together with
silk, and the stem covered to its extremity. The
" bud" may either have a loop of chenil standing
up on each side of the shells of which it is com-
posed, or it may be formed solely of two or three
loops of chenil bound on to a stem of wire with
floss-silk. When the flowers arc colored, by
adding chenil and beads, or seeds to them, green
leaves and green buds have a very pretty effect.

DOUBLE FLOWER.

ORNAMENTS IN RICE SHELL-WORK.

155

The leaves for the bridal ornaments we were
speaking of, may either be composed of shells
and wound with white silk or silver, or white
satin or velvet, or crepe leaves may be used. Wp
need scarcely add that silk must be used to bind
all the parts together.

Let us imagine, now, that a brunette desires
to dress her hair, and decorate her snowy ball-
dress with wreaths, and sprays, &.c, of scarlet or
coral color.

The shells must be prepared, and wired in the
ordinary way, and half a dozen reels of floss-
silk, and a knot of chenil of the desired hue, and
four strings of small coral-colored beads, and
two of beads about the average size of peas, got.
These beads must each be threaded separately
like the shells, but on rather shorter lengths of
wire, and the wire folded and twisted to make it
hold its beads firmly. One of the larger beads
should be put in the centre of every double
flower, and three of the small ones in the centre
of every single flower. The flowers may be
made simply with the five shells and five loops
of chenil, omitting the leaflets. If the leaves
are to be made of shells, the stems must be bound
with this colored silk ; but velvet, or satin, or tin-
sel leaves of the same hue may be substituted for
or intermixed with the shell leaves with good
effect.

Ornaments for blue, pink, green, or maize
toilettes may in like manner be formed en suite
by substituting beads, silk, and chenil, of the
chosen shade, for the color we have given.
Mourning-wreaths, &c, may likewise be made
by using black silk, chenil, and beads ; or gray
silk and chenil with pearl beads, and gray or
white satin leaves.

When once our readers have begun to carry
our directions into practice, they will perceive
how possible it is to create an infinite variety
of tasteful articles, all differing in style, form,
and hue. Coronets, wreaths, and headdresses
of every conceivable pattern maybe made ; sprays
for the dress of any size, length, or shape ; bou-
quets for the waist or bosom ; trimmings for the
corsage; tiny wreaths to put between quilled
ribbon or blonde for the purpose of ornamenting
gloves, or sleeves, or the top of the dress ; flow-
ers for caps ; studs or buttons for the front of
a dress; in short, more things than we have
time or space to name. And all these may be
made very economically, for less than one-third
of the ordinary cost of such decorations.

We have given, at the commencement of this
article, a cut of a spray, or rather of a portion
of one, for want of space compelled us to short-
en it j it has green velvet leaves ; the flowers are

surrounded by chenil loops, and have in their
centres flower-seeds ; it is wound with silk.

BOUQUET IK RICE SUEI.L-WORIC.

This cut represents a small bouquet to be worn
brooch-fashion in the bosom of the dress ; it is
composed of shells and turquoise beads, and
wound with light blue silk. The leaves are of
shells, and gradually increase in size towards the
end of it.

The advantage of using silk instead of the
fine silver wire for binding the stems, &c, is,
that not only are all points and inequalities thus
smoothed over, but, with ordinary care, the
articles wear much longer — for even if the
small portions of silver wire left exposed do tar-
nish, they cannot mar the beauty of the whole,
forming then so very trifling a portion of it, in-
stead of the leading feature, as they do in "sim-
ple rice shell-work.'*

We said just now that studs or buttons could
be formed with shells ; we will now explain how
this may be done.

Cut out a set of circular pieces of white car-
tridge-paper, or very thin card-board of the size
it is wished the buttons should be ; from the
diameter of a dollar to that of a twenty-five cerJ
piece is the ordinary scale. Have ready wired
some middle-sized and small shells, and a pearl
or colored bead the size of a pea for each button.

156

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

With a good-sized pin perforate a circle of
holes, about a third of an inch in, all the way
round, and pass the wire of a middle-sized shell
through each, bending the shells down, so that
they lie evenly round with their backs upwards,
and their points projecting just beyond the edge
of the card-board. Without disturbing the wires
on the wrong side, now make another circle of
perforated holes, and put in another round of
shells, bending them so as just to overlap the
outer ones. Still leave the ends of wire, and pierce
a third circle of holes, and into these put small
shells, and bend them in like manner, to fit on
the former rounds. Three circles will generally
be sufficient for a good-sized button. Pierce a
hole in the centre, and put in the wired bead,
which will fill up and complete the surface.
Now carefully flatten down the wires at the
back, and cover the back with silk, arranging
any shell which may have become misplaced
afterwards.

The floss-silk may be obtained at any large
Berlin wool shop ; it is sold on small reels, of
which from two to six or eight will be required,
according to the quantity of work which has
to be wound.

The chenil is procurable at the same place ;
one knot goes a great way. It is the small wired
chenil we use, not the fine embroidery chenil.

The beads are sold at most fancy repositories.

It is not the crystal glass, or the seed bead which .
we use, but those French colored glass beads
that have lately been so much worn. It is not
absolutely necessary they be only round; for
there is a long, or rather an oblong variety,
which is very effective.

The leaves and flower-seeds may be bought at
any artificial florist's ; but the best way is to ob-
tain them from the makers, then they can be
ordered of any color or pattern.

A circular wreath of simple daisy flowers, like
the third flower cut given in our last article, has
a very chaste and graceful appearance ; or these
flowers may be combined with the wheat-ears
with good effect.

But we have said enough to open the path to
our readers ; and once entered therein, they will
find the work infinitely suggestive, and offering
scope for every graceful and tasteful vagary. So
we will only add a little word of advice — aim at
lightness, not only of appearance, but of actual
weight, and never crowd or load any ornament
with too much work. The leading principle of
artistic excellence in every department of art is
simplicity; and this may be attained by close
and severe attention. The eye is most pleased
when it can retain at a glance the chief points
of attraction.

In our third article, we shall give instructions
for making baskets, &«.

VALENTINE'S DAY.

In the western counties, the children, decked
with the wreaths and true-lover's knots present-
ed to them, gayly adorn one of their number as
their chief, and march from house to house,
singing—

"Good-morrow to you, Valentine I
Curl your locks as I do mine,
Two before and three behind;
Good-morrow to you, Valentine!"

They commence in many places as early as
six o'clock in the morning, and intermingle the
cry, " To-morrow is come !" Afterwards they
make merry with their collections. At Islip,
Oxfordshire, England, I have heard the children
sing the following, when collecting pence on this
day —

"Good-morrow, Valentine!
I be thine and thou be'st mine.
So please give me a Valentine,"

And likewise the following —

" Good-morrow, Valentine !
God bless you ever I

If you '11 be true to me,
I '11 be the like to thee ;
Old England for ever !"

Schoolboys have a very uncomplimentary way
of presenting each other with these poetical
memorials —

" Peep, fool, peep,

What do you think to see ?
Every one has a Valentine,
And here 's one for thee !"

Far different from these is a stanza which is a
great favorite with young girls on this day, of-
fered indiscriminately, and, of course, quite in-
nocently, to most of their acquaintances —
" The rose is red,
The violet's blue;
Pinks are sweet.
And so are you !"

The mission of Valentines is one of the very
few old customs not on the wane ; and the streets
of our metropolis practically bear evidence of
this fact in the distribution of love-messages on

VALENTINE S DAY.

157

our stalls and shop-windows, varying in price
from a sovereign to one halfpenny. Our read-
ers, no doubt, will ask for its origin, and there
we are at fault to begin with. The events of
St. Valentine's life furnish no clue whatever to
the mystery, although Wheatley, in his " Illus-
tration of the Common Prayer," absurdly dis-
poses of the question in this way : " St. Valen-
tine was a man of most admirable parts, and so
famous for his love and charity, that the custom
of choosing Valentines upon his festival, which
is still practised, took its rise from thence." We
see no explanation here in any way satisfactory,
and must be contented with the hope that some
of our antiquaries may hit on something more to
the purpose.

It was anciently the custom to draw lots on
this day. The names of an equal number of
each sex were put into a box, in separate parti-
tions, out of which every one present drew a
name, called the Valentine, which was regarded
as a good omen of their future marriage. It
would appear from a curious passage quoted in
the " Dictionary of Archaisms," that any lover
was hence termed a Valentine ; not necessarily
an affianced lover, as suggested in " Hampson's
Calendarium," vol. i. p. 163. Lydgate, the
poet of Bury, in the fifteenth century, thus men-
tions this practice —

" St. Valentine, of custom year by year
Men have an usance in this region

To look and search Cupid's calendere;
And choose their choice by great affection :
Such as be prick'd with Cupid's motion,

Taking their choice as their lot doth fall :

But I lore one which excelleth all."

The divinations practised on Valentine's day
are a curious subject. Herrick mentions one by
rose-buds —

a She must no more a-Maying;
Or by rose-buds divine
Who'll be her Valentine."

Perhaps the poet may here allude to a practice
similar to the following, quoted by Brand : " Last
Friday was Valentine day ; and the night before
I got five bay-leaves, and pinned four of them
to the four corners of my pillow, and the fifth
to the middle ; and then, if I dreamt of my
sweetheart, Betty said we should be married
before the year was out. But, to make it more
sure, I boiled an egg hard, and took out the
yelk, and filled it with salt ; and, when I went
to bed, eat it shell and all, without speaking or
drinking after it. We also wrote our lover's
names upon bits of paper, and rolled them up in
clay, and put them into water ; and the first
that rose up was to be our Valentine. Would
vol. xlviii. — 14

you think it? Mr. Blossom was my man. I
lay abed, and shut my eyes all the morning, till
he came to our house, for I would not have seen
another man before him for all the world."
According to Mother Bunch, the following lines
should be said by the girl on retiring to rest the
previous night —

" Sweet guardian angels, let me have
What I most earnestly do crave,
A Valentine endowed with love,
That will both kind and constant prove."

We believe the old custom of drawing lots on
this eventful day is obsolete, and has given place
to the favorite practice of sending pictures, with
poetical legends, to objects of love or ridicule.
The lower classes, however, seldom treat the
matter with levity, and many are the offers of
marriage thus made. The clerks at the post-
offices are to be pitied, the immense increase of
letters beyond the usual average adding very in-
conveniently to their labors. Such is Mr. Hal-
liwell's account of Valentine's day.

In "Poor Robin's Almanack," 1676, the
drawing of Valentines is thus alluded to —

" Now, Andrew, Antho-
Ny, and William,
For Valentines draw
Pruo, Kate, Jilian."

Many curious customs are related by different
writers in honor of this day ; but, of all the
quotations that could be made, none is more
quaint and striking than the following from the
Diary of the celebrated Pepys. On the 14th of
February, 1667, is there entered : " This morn-
ing came up to my wife's bedside, I being up
dressing myself, little Will Mercer to her Valen-
tine, and brought her name written upon blue
paper in gold letters, done by myself very pretty ;
and we were both well pleased with it. But I
am also this year my wife's Valentine, and it
will cost me £5 ; but that I must have laid out,
if we had not been Valentines." He also adds :
" I find that Mrs. Pierce's little girl is my Valen-
tine, she having drawn me ; which I was not
sorry for, easing me of something more than I
must have given to others. But here I do first
observe the drawing of mottoes as well as names ;
so that Pierce, who drew my wife, did draw also
a motto, and this girl drew another for me :
what mine was I forget ; but my wife's was most
courteous, and most fair, which, as it may be
used on an anagram upon each name, might be
very pretty. One wonder I observed to-day,
there was no music in the morning to call up
our new married friend (Peg Penn), which V»
very mean, methinks,"

153

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

That Valentines were not confined to the
lower classes in the days of Pepys, and were
sometimes of a very costly description, may be
judged from the following statement : " The
Duke of York being once Mrs. Stuart's Valen-
tine, did give her a jewel of about £800, and my
Lord Mandeville, her Valentine this year, a
ring of about £300."

And, in the following year, he notes down :
" This evening my wife did with great pleasure
show me her stock of jewels, increased by the
ring she hath made lately, as my Valentine's
gift this year, a Turkey stone set with dia-
monds ; with this, and what she had, she reckons
that she hath above £150 worth of jewels of one
kind or other, and I am glad of it ; for it is fit
the wretch should have something to content
herself with."

With regard to the origin of this festival in
the calendar, there are many conflicting opinions.
St. Valentine, who suffered martyrdom in the
reign of the Emperor Claudius, was eminently
distinguished for his love and charity j and the

custom of choosing Valentines, or special loving
friends on this day, is by some supposed to have
thence originated. The following solution is,
however, the more probable one. It was the
practice in ancient Rome, during a great part of
the month of February, to celebrate the Luper-
calia, which were feasts in honor of Pan and
Juno, whence the latter deity was named Feb-
ruata, or Februalis. On this occasion, amidst a
variety of ceremonies, the names of young wo-
men were put into a box, from which they were
drawn by the men, as chance directed. The
pastors of the early Christian church, who by
every possible means endeavored to eradicate
the vestiges of pagan superstitions, and chiefly
by some commutations of their forms, substitut-
ed, in the present instance, the names of par-
ticular saints, instead of those of the women ;
and, as the festival of the Lupercalia had com*
menced about the middle of February, they ap-
pear to have chosen Valentine's day for cele-
brating the new feast, because it occurred nearly
at the same time.

"MUSTARD TO MIX."

A RECEIPT FOR YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS.

BY THE AUTHOM OF " MISS BREMER'S VISIT TO COOPER'S LANDING," « GETTING INTO SOCIETY," " BOARDING-HOUSE POLITICS," ETC.

"And the ice it isn't water, and water isn't free — and I
ean't say that anything is what it ought to be."

Cricket on the Hearth.

" I feel as if I should fly .'"

No wonder poor Mrs. Bunker longed for the
wings of a dove, if they could bear her to any-
thing like rest. It was Monday — washing-day
— and blue Monday into the bargain. The par-
lor was in disorder (the Bunkers always sat in
their parlor on Sunday, and held it sacred the
rest of the week) ; the front hall tracked and
littered up with the arrival of a visitor's bag-
gage— the spare room was not ready — the clothes
not counted out — the girl idling away her time
at the pump — the breakfast dishes unwashed —
and the baby screaming, as only a cross child
can scream, in its mother's arms, showing not
the least symptom of a morning nap, or, indeed,
of anything but colic.

Mrs. Bunker, as she sat in the midst of this
confusion, and expressed her desire to fly, bore
no resemblance whatever to an angel — except
that angels are usually represented with loose
robes and unconfincd hair. We question if she
had looked at a brush since the day before, and

her morning- dress was of the style denominated
" wrapper" — a not over-clean chintz. The
room itself was cheerful enough, so far as sun-
shine and comfortable furniture would go ; but
nothing was in its place ; and this disorder, added
to the forlorn appearance of Mrs. Bunker, hold-
ing the baby in its sour, crumpled night-dress
and soiled flannel, was anything but an inviting
prospect to a newly arrived guest.

Mrs. Bunker expected her every minute —
Aunt Lovey — her husband's aunt, who had
brought him up, and had given him all those
particular ways that were the bane of Mr;.
Bunker's wedded life, she having very little
idea of the necessity he attached to method in
managing a household. Mrs. Bunker, only two
years from school, had written very nice letters
to this friend of her husband's orphaned child-
hood. She loved her Joshua, in spite of his
unsentimental name, and was inclined to adopt
all his family in her affectionate little soul. Nor
was it unnatural that she wished them to think
well of her in return ; she particularly desired
to gair. Aunt Lovey's good opinion, and when
the long talked of visit was decided on, had

"mustard to mix.'5

159

hoped to make a grand first impression. If it
hadn't been Monday morning, and if baby
hadn't been so cross — if the spare room had only
been cleared up after her brother's departure —
if the girl was " worth tw;o straws" — in fact, if
everything had'nt been exactly what it shouldn't
be, Mrs. Bunker would have got up herself, her
house, and her baby, to the best advantage. She
had a very pretty face and figure, a fact of which
she was well aware, and as a school -girl and
young lady in society, had made the most of.
Since her marriage, this was not so apparent to
Mr. Bunker, however, as in the days of their
courtship. Then, she never allowed herself to
be seen without her hair in the most wonderful
French twists and Grecian braids — or her dress
put on to the utmost advantage. Now, "it
wasn't worth while to dress just for Joshua" —
or " baby was so troublesome" — or " she hadn't
a thing to put on." It was worth while to dress
for Aunt Lovey, and she desired to look her very
best — only baby wouldn't go to sleep. " Rock-
a-by baby" —

(Mrs. Bunker had been considered to have
the best voice in the Highville Seminary, but
now her music was confined chiefly to that
charming ballad writer, Mother Goose.)

" Rock-a-by baby, father 's gone a hunting" —
Oh, dear, she will be here before I can get him
down ! There — therey — did the drayman say his
Aunty Lovey was a-goin' to walky uppy to the
housey ? Johnny shall ride, Johnny shall ride
(you provoking little monkey, why don't you
shut your eyes !) — " Wid a white pussy-cat tied
to his side !" — sang, and rocked, and trotted Mrs.
Bunker.

" Where is that Jane ? Not a dish washed —
and I don't believe the hot water's on for the
clothes. Therey, therey, mother's baby, mother's
only little man ! Did the naughty colic bother
mother's little son 1 Send the wind right up, so
I would. Ride a cock horse to Banbury cross —
therey, therey, don't cry so, mother's little man —
c Had a little dog, sir, Banger was his name, sir'
— Banger, Buffer, Kicker, CufFer, Banger was
his name, sir ! Jane ! Jane ! Where is that
girl 1 I feel as if I should fly !"

At which remark — the energy of which we
nave endeavored to portray in the most crumpled
italics — the door opened to admit, not Jane, but
Aunt Lovey, and our history of Mrs. Bunker's
tribulations began.

She gave one glance at her visitor, one to
herself, and round the room. There was no
help for it — she was obliged to deposit baby in
the cradle, screaming as he was, and advance to
make a " first impression." Aunt Lovey did

not look shocked or disgusted — a little surprised
certainly, for, knowing her nephew's orderly
propensities, this was not what she expected to
find his home, and the untidy, tired, fretted-
looking woman who introducod herself as his
wife, did not certainly answer to the lover's
descriptions of his betrothed. However, she
had been a housekeeper, and knew what Mon-
day mornings were, with only one maid of all
work, and a young child to see to. So she kissed
her niece very cordially for the warm welcome
she offered, and begging * not to be minded, as
she understood these little troubles,' sat down,
laid aside her bonnet and shawl, and asked for
the baby.

There it was again — hardest of all ! Mrs.
Blinker's personal vanity, in departing from her
as a married woman, had rested and centred it-
self on the baby. Aunt Lovey had taken the
utmost interest in its advent — knitted all its
socks, the very blue pair, soiled and dirty, which
he was kicking out at that moment — and in
return, had been favored by rapturous accounts
of his beauty at three days old, his knowingness
at three months. Mrs. Bunker had pictured
herself presenting the baby in grand toilet to his
great-aunt, and seeing her surprise, as the old
lady confessed the half had not been told her —
" oh, dear !"

But there was no help for it, and she was
obliged to withdraw the poor little juvenile from
its involuntary confinement, ready to cry with
weariness and disappointment, as she tried to
coax it into something like good-humor. Jane,
drawn by curiosity where duty failed, arrived to
complete the tableau, slamming the door, and
slopping over the pump-water on her way to
the wash-kitchen. She must have been experi-
menting on the principle that "the longest way
round is the shortest way home," for there was a
door in the work-kitchen leading directly to the
street.

Good Aunt Lovey was no more discomposed
by the bold stare the "help" fixed upon her, than
she had been by the rest of the picture. It must
have cost her an inward tremor to lay down her
dove-colored cashmere shawl and split straw bon-
net with its white satin ribbons, on the littered
bureau, but she did so without invitation, Mrs.
Bunker having fairly forgotten to offer one in
the combined annoyances and embarrassments
of the moment, and then, seated in the rocking-
chair, from which her niece had risen, she spread
the cradle blanket in her lap, and held out her
hands for the baby.

It was really a very nice child, as babies go.
in spite of its rumpled costume. Aunt Lovey ■'«

160

godey's magazine and lady's book.

first proceeding was to "straighten it out,"
smoothing the uncomfortable folds of cloth and
flannel from under its back, and thus covering
its cold little feet. Her handkerchief was pro-
duced to dry the little face from the mingled
effects of tears and teething, and then warmed
on the stove— there was very little fire— the
stove never did draw on washing-day — to cover
the mottled arms and hands. Baby thus smoothed,
soothed, and comforted, presented a much more
respectable appearance, and received a hearty
kiss from its grand-aunt, by way of an anodyne.
It seemed to have the desired effect, for, after
staring with its round blue eyes in the old lady's
face, as if endeavoring to recall the features, it
gradually winked and blinked itself to sleep, cer-
tainly contrary to its most determined intentions.

Mrs. Bunker, who had excused herself as if
to overlook Jane's operations, but in reality to
take up the crying fit where the baby left off,
returned, with eyes very much swollen in con-
sequence, and tried to offer an apology for her-
self and her house, but broke down again into
a little sob, and a clean pocket-handkerchief.

" Come, come, my dear, no excuse is needed,"
hummed Aunt Lovey, at the mother and the fast
retiring baby, to the old-fashioned melody of
" Banks and braes." "Just warm a pillow — there,
that 's right ; now shake it up, and make it soft ;
have every feather smooth and light," uncon-
sciously relapsing into rhyme as well as chime,
while she deposited the placid' Johnny in his ac-
customed bed. " And now, my dear, I see how
it all is. Could you lend me a clean check apron ?
— never mind, this towel will do, and will wash
up these dishes post haste. What 's your girl's
name ? Jane ? Jane, here, come and rake up
this fire a little ; there 's nothing helps matters
along faster than a bright, cheerful fire; it's like
a lively disposition, which I'm sure you have
naturally."

It was wonderful to see Jane's alacrity in
obeying these instructions, given in a quick,
inspiriting, and, at the same time, not-to-be-
trifled- with tone. Mrs. Bunker, captain as she
was, placed herself willingly under the orders
of so skilful a pilot, and was steered triumph-
antly through the household difficulties that had
gathered so thickly around her.

" And now, my dear," resumed that excellent
woman, unpinning the towel that encircled her
ample waist, and folding it smoothly before she
laid it down, " what else is there to do this
morning?"

The fire was burning cheerfully, the dishes
put away, the carpet swept, the chairs set back,
and the baby still sleeping soundly in the bright

warmth that had diffused itself throughout the
room. Mrs. Bunker already felt as if she had
known Aunt Lovey for a long time ; they had
talked all the while they were busied about
household affairs, and the new niece felt as if she
could almost open her heart to the kind old lady,
and consult her about those constantly occurring
domestic drawbacks and trials. Joshua, good
husband as he was, did not seem to understand.
It was more effective than a week of formal
visiting, and Mrs. Bunker's face and step bright-
ened with the room. Now came the cloud*
again. " There was so much to be done, she
didn't know where to begin."

"But what is it?" urged Aunt Lovey, stoop-
ing down admiringly over the cradle, for the
baby looked very lovely in his quiet sleep, one
little round hand pushed under his cheek — he
was making as good an impression as his mother
could desire.

" Oh, everything /" responded the baby's mo-
ther, in a despairing tone.

" Ah, I see, mustard to mix" and with these
cabalistic words, the visitor took a deliberate
survey of her hostess for the first time. " Con-
sider me your grandmother, Sophia, and let me
advise you to tidy yourself a little ; that will be
the first step towards it. A neat morning-dress
and clean apron are next best, or perhaps better,
than a good fire, in any house. I '11 see to the
baby."

Aunt Lucy certainly made herself at home.
She put the tips of her prunella buskins on the
stove hearth, and examined the hem of her skirts
to see if they had contracted any dampness or
mud stains in her recent walk, and then pro-
duced her knitting, as if she was settled down
for some time. Mrs. Bunker took the advice,
as she had former prescriptions, and found it to
work as well. The morning's duties were ac-
complished with an ease and alacrity that aston-
ished herself, even to making the great chamber
as neat as Aunt Lovey's heart could desire,
without the mortification of her knowing it had
ever been otherwise.

It was not until Mr. Bunker had come from
the store, and been duly astonished and delighted
at his aunt's unexpected arrival, and the tidy
appearance of the whole household — to tell the
truth, he wondered how the last happened to
be so — that Mrs. Bunker found time to seek an
explanation of the significant sentence applied
by the old lady to her state of despondency with
regard to domestic affairs. Significant she was
convinced, though she could not exactly make
out the application, as her aunt had seen the
mutton chops destined for dinner arrive from

INSTANTANEOUS FLOWERING OF PLANTS.

161

the butcher's, and she had never heard of mus- :
tard being taken with them. They had been duly j
served, praised, and eaten; the dinner dishes
were washed and put away, so was the baby for
his second diurnal nap, and Mrs. Bunker, not-
withstanding she had company, found herself
seated to her sewing by three o'clock for the
first in a month, while Jane, like the unfortu-
nate "maid" mentioned in one of the baby's
favorite lullabies, was

" In the garden
Hanging out the clothes."

Aunt Lovey, looking thoughtfully over her
spectacles, thought her nephew's description of
his wife not so far out of the way after all, as
she hemmed away industriously at a pile of new
towels, the most fascinating work next to crochet
one can undertake ; it slips by so fast and even-
ly, and there seems to be so much accomplished.
" But, Aunt Lovey," said Mrs. Bunker, look-
ing up suddenly, and finding those penetrating
gray eyes fixed on her, " what did you mean by
' mustard to mix V "

" Oh, I did not explain, did I ? Well, when
I was first married and moved out west — Utica
was out west then, from Connecticut — I knew
no more about managing for myself than you
do now. I used to find my work accumulate,
and I would get discouraged and go about a
whole week, feeling as if the world rested upon
my shoulders ; and that made me mope, and
your uncle John got discouraged, because I did,
and there was no end of the snarl things would
get into. Our only near neighbor was a nice
tidy body, who always looked like wax-work."
" Something such a person as you," inter-
rupted Mrs. Bunker, playfully.

" Well, perhaps so ; but you never saw my
house ; her house was like a pin from one end to
the other. One day I just ran in to borrow a
little meal — ours had given out unexpectedly —
and I found my good neighbor in a flurry, act-
ing just as I used to feel sometimes."

" ' Oh, she had everything to do,' she said,
' and company coming to dinner.'

"'Everything? Well, what? As far as I
could see, everything was done.'

" ' Oh, the table 's to set;' and up and around
the room she went again.

" ' But it was two hours to dinner — what
else?'

" ' Why ! — well, then, mustard to mix?

" That was every earthly thing, come to think

of it ; but she had been flurried by the sudden

arrival, and did not stop to see that it could not

possibly disturb any of her arrangements. So I

14*

went home, and found I generally had mustard
to mix, when my flurries came on ; that is, if I
set myself right to work to clear up the snarl,
it wasn't half so bad as I felt it was. Setting
down to fret over matters only snarled things
the more, and then poor John was troubled to
see me worried, and things would go from bad
to worse."

" But, aunty," said the young wife, with a
half sigh, ending in a smile, "do you think
I shall ever make a housekeeper? I know
Joshua is disappointed."

" Yes, yes, my dear ; why not? Only you will
have to learn how to mix mustard to begin
with."

INSTANTANEOUS FLOWERING OF
PLANTS.

M. Herbert, a gentleman who has recently
arrived from France, on Saturday exhibited to
a few ladies and gentlemen his method of
causing plants to blow almost instantaneously.
The plants selected — a group of geraniums and
a rose-tree — were planted in two rather deep
boxes of garden mould, previously prepared with
some chemical manure, and were then covered
with glass shades. M. Herbert next proceeded
to pour over the roots, from a small watering-
pot, a chemical mixture, which, uniting with the
ingredients already in the earth, caused a great
heat, as was shown by an intense steam or vapor,
which was evolved within the shades, and al-
lowed to some extent to escape through a small
hole in the top, which at first was kept closed.
The effect upon the geraniums was certainly
almost instantaneous, the buds beginning to
burst in about five or six minutes, and the plants
being in full bloom within ten minutes, when
the blossoms were gathered by M. Herbert and
distributed amongst the ladies present. With
the rose-tree the exhibitor was less fortunate,
M. Herbert explaining that it had only been in
his possession about half or three-quarters of
an hour, and he had therefore not had sufficient
time to prepare for the experiment, thereby
evincing that it occupies more time than would
appear to the casual observer to be the case.
The invention may prove useful where ladies
require to decorate their drawing-rooms or bou-
doirs with the beauties of Flora somewhat ear-
lier in the seasons than can otherwise be obtained.
The experiments took place at the residence of
M. Laurent, Onslow-house, Brompton. [How
far does this account for the Chinese " magical"
method ?]

162

godey's magazine and lady s book.

floetrj).

THE EVENING WALK

B7 RICHARD COE.

(See PMc)

Upon her head she gently threw

A reil of fabric light,
To shield her from the pearly dew

That mingled with the night :
Then with a motion light and free —

No proud and stately stalk —
The lady of the mansion rose

To take her evening walk.

Thou placid moon, and you, ye stars,

That nightly deck the sky,
To must not look in envy on

The brightness of her eye ;
And you, ye babbling waters near,

That make my soul rejoice,
Ye must be silent when ye hear

The music of her voice !

Ye moon and stars and babbling fount,

Your choicest blessings throw
Across the pathway of my fair,

Wherever she may go !
And if I soothe her cares the while,

With fine poetic talk,
Perhaps on me she '11 deign to smile,

In some sweet evening walk !

THE CHILDREN-ANGELS.

BY JAMES A. BARTLET.

Seven bright ones in the angel-land,

With stars to crown each brow ;
The mother spied them hand in hand,

Around the Saviour bow ;
And oh ! that whiteness, heavenly bi&nd.

That clothed their bodies now 1

Seven bright ones in that sunny clime,

Hope would her tears condemn,
She blessed the eagle wings of Time

Which bore her nearer them,
Where she would join the seraph chime,

And wear a diadem.

Seven dear ones born of her heart's love,

Now safely housed in heaven,
She humbly sought that test to prove,

To every mortal given,
To labor for her King above,

Who keepeth these her seven.

And ofttimes, at her daily toil,

Seven bright ones would alight,
And each -with sweet and holy smile,

Fill her with deep delight,
(Jntil the very earthly wild,

To her, looked strangely bright.

And oft, when stars gleamed forth on high,
And silence reigned around,

She heard their pinions swoeping by,

A far, unearthly sound ;
And then her spirit reached the sky,

At one ecstatic bound.

Seven bright ones in the land called Light,

And oft with her below I
Far fled the frighted shades of Night

From Faith's celestial glow,
Wherein she walked with humble might,

Till she lay humbly low.

Then her free spirit walked in Light,
And smiled, but wept no more,

And with her, seven, all dazzling bright,
Beheld all perils o'er;

The goal of which mysterious flight,
None living may explore.

WORKING AND DREAMING.

All the while my needle traces

Stitches in a prosy seam,
Flit before me little faces,

And for them the while I dream.

Building castle, light and airy,

For my merry little Kate,
Wond'ring if the wayward fairy

Will unlock its golden gate.

Scaling Fame's proud height for Willie,
Just as all fond mothers do,

And for her, my thoughtful Lily,
Twining laurel leaflets too.

In the far-off future roving,

Where the skies are bright and fair ;
Hearing voices charmed and loving,

Calling all my darlings there.

Through the distant years I 'm tracing
Dewy pathways bright with flowers,

And along their borders placing
Here and there these pets of ours.

And the while my fancy lingers
In that hope-born summer clime,

Pretty garments prove my fingers
Have been busy all the time.

And I care not, though around me
Romp the little merry band ;

Never could the spell that bound mo
Break at touch of softer hand

Than the little hand of Nora,

Soiled in search of blossoms rare ;

For she says they 're gifts that Flora
Bade her bring to deck my hair.

So my summer days are flying
On their swift oblivious track;

But while love meets fond replying,
I would never wish them back.

But their precious fragrant roses
I would gather and entwine

In a wreath, ere summer closes
For the autumn's pale decline.

THE ORPHAN BOY.

163

THE MISER.

BY CHARLES LELAND PORTER.

Away from the gladsome and life-giving breeze,

In his damp and mouldering cell,
Away from the rustle of waving trees,

Alone did the miser dwell ;
Around his wrinkled and careworn brow

Hung wild his hoary hair,
A nd the spectre look of death e'en now,
And the furrows deep of the Ruler's plow,

Sat grim on his temples there.

He grasps the gold with his fingers cold,

And counts it o'er again,
And he envies the stiuggling beam of light

That creeps through the broken pane;
And he starts at every passing sound,

And hastily turns the key,
And casts a hurried glance around,
And. hugging his chest, on the cold, damp ground

To his god he bows the kneo.

The owl on the roof-tree flrfps his wings,

And moans a plaintive strain,
And griinly peers with his glassy eye

Over the golden gain ;
And the pallid smoke from the chimney crawls

Away from its mean abodo ;
It cannot rise to heaven, but falls
Adown the damp and mouldering walls,

And hurries beneath the sod.

Oh, I have thought that a mother's love

Was tho fondest passion yet,
As she breathes the breath of her infant babe— »

Still, a mother may forget;
But the miser's throne is his gold alone,

His passion is centred there;
His life, his love, his dearest one,
The joy of his breast is the tinkling tone,

Gold, gold is his fondest fair.

The midnight moon looks lovingly down

On the sleeping laborer's head ;
Hushed and still is the busy mill,

And the infant's cradle bed;
But the miser springs, if a footstep rings^

Like a wild beast from his lair ;
He feels the poison of conscience stings,
He fears the robber a bandit brings,

And he creeps to his golden care.

The beggar stopped at the rich man's door,

And paused at the miser's stone,
Yet stayed he not there, for he did not dare

To cross the word " begone. /"
The wretch felt not for others' woes,

No soul in his body dwelt;
The trembling sprite took a final flight-
Though he seemed to live — on the dismal night

When he first to the gold-god knelt

In a village near, his sister lay

At the door of the demon death ;
Starving was written on her brow,

And hot was her fevered breath :
" Oh, give me bread!" in accents low,

Was the burden of her prayer-

"Fm dying, brother!" 'twas even so;
While her eye was glazing, the miser's "No!"
Startled the chilly air.

Cheerily rang the Sabbath bells,

And from each hush'd abode
The aged sire, and the cheerful child

Moved on to the house of God;
While prayer was ascending towards the Throne,

The miser also prayed ;
To his golden altar he bowed, alone,
And prayed from out his heart of stone

That his god would lend him aid.

He lieth upon the bed of death,

And alone he pines away ;
As dieth the fool, so passeth his breath,

And clay is mingled with clay;
No marble is there to mark the spot,

No flowret weeps o'er his tomb ;
Unwept, unhonored, and forgot,
Ay, none can weep that he there doth rofc-

The miser has gone to his doom !

Oh, ye who roll in splendor and wealth

Go to the poor man's home ;
Comfort the .«ick — employ your gold

As gain for the world to come ;
And the widow's heart shall leap for joy,

And the orphan upon your bier,
When the summons bears you from earth away
To dwell in the mansions of endless day,

Shall pour the sorrowing tear.

SONNET.— WASHINGTON

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

A sculptured cenotaph thy sons will raise,

That they eternize may thy honored name;
Nor this, nor Story's scroll can tell thy praise,

So blended with thy glorious country's fame.
Lo! in a corner of Mount Vernon's field,

Past which Potomac's peaceful waters flow,
Eeclined hast thou upon thy sacred shield,

To sleep till the archangel's trumpet blow.
Around thy lone and ever-honored grave,

The Muses of thy noble country sing,
While the tall corn in plenty still shall wave,

To speak of Peace thy valiant sword did bring.
Best peacefully, then, Patriot, Hero. Sage,
Best, brightest name to grace fair Clio's sacred page

THE ORPHAN BOY.

I saw a smiling little boy,

Not to childish pastime given;
His countenance radiant with joy,

ne seemed just ripe for Heaven.
I asked, " Where are thy parents dear ?

Hast thou from them been riven ?"
He said, " My parents are not here,

They have gone home to heaven."
A year had sped — I passed that way
On the eve of a balmy autumn day ;
I asked, " Where is the charming orphan dot.
With face so radiant with joy ?
Is he to the cold world driven ?"
The answer was, " He had gone homo to Heai en.*

164

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

EDNA.

BY ELLEN ALICE MORIARTT.

Hear you not the night-wind moaning,

Sadly moaning all the time,
Like a spirit doomed to wander

O'er the earth for some dark crime?

Round the door it ever lingers,

Calling mortal aid in vain,
And with gaunt and spectral fingers,

Feebly knocks upon the pane.

Love I well to hear it wailing,

And I listen, pensively;
Strange sad thoughts, unearthly dreamings,

Mournfully it wakes in me.

Such a night did Edna leave us,
When she with Lord Ronald fled ;

Better, ere she thus had grieved us,
She was numhered with the dead.

Yet my mother, we 'd forgive her

Did she seek her home at last,
Kindly in our arms receive her,

Bidding her forget the past.

Ah! she loved Lord Ronald truly;

She was young and sweetly fair ;
Loved — and we were all forgotten —

When Lord Ronald tarried here.

Dost rememher, mother dearest,

The sad day hefore she went,
How the fleetly passing moments

By thy side she fondly spent ?

And I marked her, mother dearest,
When was said the soft " good-night,"

How her cheek so sadly faded —
Faded to a marble white.

To her door I followed gently,
Raised the latch, and in I went,

And the thoughts that so oppressed me
Pound in gushing tears a vent.

"Jessie, Jessie," murmured Edna, ,
" Weeping sister ! Why is this ?"
And she pressed with gentle fondness
On my brow a soothing kiss.

Spoke I not. My heart was breaking
'Neath some vague, uncertain woe;

W°pt I, on her breast reclining,
Mother — and I slumbered so.

When from out that sleep, awaking,

I upon her pillow lay,
Through the half-divided curtain

Faintly streamed the dawning day.

Then we missed her. Oh, my mother,
Who our woe's excess can speak !

Not a father, not a brother—

Who the loved and lost could seek.

Mother dearest, you are weeping 1
Why did I remembrance wake ?

I should near my grief in silence,
Oh, my mother, for thy sake.

Listen! listen! on the night-blast
Heard you not a well-known tone?

Oh, it seemed so much, my mother,
Like my sister Edna's own 1

There are feet upon the threshold I
And a hand is on the door —

Mother ! mother ! — it is Edna,
Coming back to us once more !

* Oh, forgive me ! Oh, forgive me !"
Thus my sister Edna prayed —

" Oh, forgive me !" " Edna ! Edna !"
That was all my mother said.

But she oped her arms unto her,
Drew her upward to her breast,

And in fair and tearful beauty
Bowed that gentle head to rest.

"Well I loved Lord Ronald, mother,
Ay, far better than my life ;
Home I come to thee," said Edna,
" Proudly his acknowledged wife.

"Cared he not for rank or station,
But a loving heart sought he ;
Mother, sister, love my husband —
See, he claims it now of ye."

Turned we then. He stood beside us,
Bending low with manly grace,

With his soul's true love for Edna
Lighting up his noble face.

We are happy, I and mother,
Now that all our care has gone ;

Ever seems it like a shadow
Scarcely cast ere it bad flown.

VETERAN SAILOR'S SONG

BY "CARYL."

The flag that floats above us, boys,

So proudly in the gale,
Old Neptune never yet had seen,

When first I clewed a sail ;
St. George's cross flamed o*er the seas

With undisputed sway,
With English oak, and British tars,

Beneath it, in that day.

The Stars and Stripes above us, boys,

Since then have been unfurled ;
In tempest tried, baptized in blood;

'Tis the pride of Ocean-world !
And freer, nobler hearts sustain

Your banner floating proud ;
Than e'er before Atlantic bore,

Or wrapped in seaman's shroud.

The glorious flag above us, boys,

Was ne'er disgraced in fight;
No foeman ever saw it struck,

But dearly bought the sight ;
Wherever prow has cleft the waves,

In every zone and sea,
Tis known and honored as the flag

Of a nation bravo and free.

TO THE GAND'HRAJ.

165

REMEMBER THE POOR.

DYING

BY MRS. 0. H. E SLING.

Oh ! remember the poor, said a sad little voice,

As the shadow of evening grew dim,
And the thick, heavy snow-flakes fell silently down,

Benumbing each halPcovered limb ;

Oh ! remember the poor, and the face of the child

Was as white as the thick-falling snow,
And my heart, how it readily aided my hand,

In the little I had to bestow !

A smile checked the tear in her dim, sunken eye,
As she clasped the small alms in her hand,

And I thought what a joy in this bright world of ours,
The wealthy might have at command ;

To purchase a smile from a grief-stricken heart,

To chase back the tear ere 'tis shed,
To call a glad look to a wan, saddened face,

With a pittance that scarco would buy bread.

Oh think, ye glad children of affluence, think,

As ye sit by the firelight's glow,
Yes, think, as it gleams on your carpeted floor,

Of the poor little feet in the snow.

Yes, think, as those gems glitter bright on thy hand,

With a light from the diamond's mine,
Of the little blue fingers benumbed with the cold,

That else were as dainty as thine.

God fashioned thee both — the poor, shivering child,

Alone in the cold winter night,
Who begs for its bread, and the pampered, who bask

Forever in luxury's light.

Then " remember the poor," for their wants are but few ;

Let thy much but a little insure
To the needy; the world will be better, by far,

When the rich shall remember the poor.

A VALENTINE.

BY CLARA M0RET0N.

Pair as Lucrece, and as serenely cold,

Art thou, sweet maiden, with thine eyes of blue;
Thy tresses long, in bands of burnished gold,

Cast shadows o'er a cheek of rose-leaf hue.

The silken lashes of those violet eyes
Droop with a sunny curve from snowy lid,

Half shading all the purity that lies
Within their quiet depths so sweetly hid.

The matchless arching of thy coral lip,
The glittering pearl thy smile discloses,

Thy mouth, fresh as the dew the flowers sip,
And redolent of sweets as budding roses.

Too fair for my unskilful hand to trace!

Never a poet could thy charms combine,
Nor artist draw thee in thy winning grace

Unless a monarch of his art divine.

For such a boon, how dare my heart aspire?

Trembling, I bring its wealth of love to thee,
No Persian worshipper of flaming fire

E'er bent his god a more devoted knee.

BY BELL.

Is this dying? round me gathers
Such a silent, countless throng,

Beaming on me smiles that bockon,
As if I with them belong.

This is dying ! raise my pillow ;

Come and kiss me, mother dear;
When I 'm gone away you '11 miss me,

But for me weep not a tear.

Is this dying ? waters rolling
Bear me on to yonder shore,

Love to Christ my bark has freighted,
Not a billow surges o'er.

This is dying! pain, returning,
Shows how nature clings to earth,

While the prisoned soul is pantiug
For the clime that gave it birth.

Is this dying? strains of music
Seem upon the air to float,

Such could only come from angels,
And I almost catch the note.

Now my crown and harp are coming,
Borne by seraphs' hands along,

And a robe of whitest linen
Clothes me like the angel throng.

Is this dying ? pain may writhe me,
But has Death not lost his sting ?

And since Christ has gone to glory,
Death is but a conquered king !

TO THE GAND'HRAJ.*

WRITTEN IN INDIA, BY MRS. E. LOCK.

Oh ! beautiful Gand'hraj ! sweet is thy breath ;
Thou art pale, too, as bearing the impress of Death,
Like the velvety touch of the Kokila'sf wing,
Or the flakes that the snow-spirits playfully fling,
Are thy robings unstained by a glance from the sun ;
To me thou art welcome, my beautiful one !

Like a penitent nun at the hour of prayer,

Thou inclinest to earth, though no shrive-priest be there ,

Pale, innocent darling! would we were as pure,

Then ours the blessings that ever endure.

Gaze not downward so sadly, still bloom on thy stem,

Thou Nature's adornment! sweet, pearly-hued gem !

The fibre that links thee to life, ah ! how slight !

The dealings of Death with the flowers are light ;

The delicate tintings that vein thy array

Must be changed ere the scene dons its mantle of gray,

And heavenly ones thy aroma will bear

Away to the gardens more pure and more fair.

As the moon-ray dissolves on the lake's tranquil bres.^t,
Or the morn-mists float off to their home in the west;
Like the iris that gladdens a moment our eyes,
With its colors prismatic, then blends with the skies,
Such peaceful and holy departure is thine ;
Euthanasia like this, sweetest flow'ret, be mine!

* Gardenia florida.

f The KoUiia, or Koil, is the Indinn Cuckoo.

DECOKATED PAELOK WINDOWS

(See Plate.)

Our readers will notice that the models for
parlor window drapery are, as usual, furnished by
Mr. W. H. Carryl, who is rare authority in such
matters. Draperies arranged by him are shutting
out the cold air from northern firesides, and ex-
cluding the already fervent glow of a southern
sun. His constantly increasing establishment is
filled with busy workmen ; and the choicest ma-
terials that are manufactured abroad, whether
in silk or lace, are to be found among his im-
portations. Among the public calls upon his
taste and skill, we notice particularly the fitting
up of the La Pierre House, the new and model
Philadelphia hotel ; and, still more recently, the
draperies of the State House at Harrisburg.

The La Pierre is situated on Broad, our finest
street, and was opened to the public the past
October. It is not one of the mammoth toy-
shops now so much the rage, where everything
is too fine to use, and comfort is swallowed up
in carving and gilding. Comfort is, in fact, the
distinguishing characteristic of the La Pierre, the
rooms being of an inhabitable size, and furnished
with united neatness and elegance, giving the
traveller a cheerful welcome and a homelike
feeling. To this the draperies of Mr. Carryl,
which are found all through the house, even in
the fifth story, contribute ; for it is now an un-
disputed axiom in decorating, that nothing goes
so far as curtains in furnishing a room. On the
principal floor, we find the drawing-room win-
dows draped with crimson, garnet, and gold broca-
telle, finished by heavy cornices and the richest
corresponding decorations, as will be seen in Fig.
1, which is nearly identical with the style. Of
course, there are exquisite lace curtains, as in the
plate, falling below. The reading and sitting-
rooms, appropriated to the gentlemen, are made
etieerful by crimson brocatelle draperies, while
the tea-room is distinguished by the heavy green
lambrequins, with their rich bullion fringe. It
would take a practised eye to detect it from gold
bullion, so perfect is the imitation. The effect,
especially in the evening, is precisely the same.
In the elegant suite of parlors on the second
floor, Mr. Carryl has placed curtains of broca-
telle, crimson, yellow, and green and gold, equally
rich and suited to the style of the apartments,
as in the drawing-room below (see Fig. 2) ;
while throughout the bed-chambers, many en-
tile suites, curtains of Paris stripe, in satin laine,
give the cheerful aspect we at first noticed.
166

The bridal chamber — that modern abomina-
tion to good taste and common sense, yet de-
manded by the fashion of hotels — is, of course,
the chef-d'oeuvre of the whole house. Mr. Car-
ryl has chosen " celestial rosy red, love's proper
hue," instead of the pure white of the St. Nicho-
las, or the staring yellow of the Metropolitan,
for the draperies of the apartment. A rose red,
be it understood, of the most delicate shade,
softened still more by the pure transparency of
the lace embroideries falling from the rich cano-
py above the bed, or shrouding the broad arch
that divides the two apartments — a triumphal
arch to Mr. Carryl's decorative art. The whole
house is decorated in good keeping with the
already far-famed character of this luxurious
hotel, which may be justly regarded as one of
the most fashionable and distinguished in the
United States,

The State House at Harrisburg is fitted from
drawings made expressly for it, in a style now
become classic in public buildings. The deep
crimson India damask of our grandmothers'
times, lined with white India silk — the most
judicious choice, as it never grows yellow by
age — is disposed in full folds above the Speakers
chair ; and from these, which take the place of
a lambrequin in a modern curtain, falls a similar
heavy drapery to the floor. The whole is sur-
mounted by a superbly carved eagle in gilt, with
expanded wings, done expressly for Mr. Carryl
from a life model. The curtains of the windows
are to be in the same rich and simple style, and
the clock has also a decorative drapery. The
whole is arranged with a classic taste far more
appropriate to the hall than modern French
fripperies, and will add much to Mr. Carryl's
rapidly growing celebrity in this branch of do-
mestic art. Mr. Carryl has also furnished the
State House at Austin, Texas, with rich broca-
telle hangings, diversified with emblems and
mottoes of the Southern State of the Gulf, all
finished in superb style.

Through the very extensive establishment of
Mr. Carryl, No. 169 Chestnut Street, our South-
ern and Western merchants can conveniently
fill their orders for curtains and trimmings, gilt
ornaments, &c, being sure to get the newest
styles and the best qualities. The height ivom
floor to top of window-frame, and width of frame
at the top, should always accompany an order.

THE SALAMANCA AND THE MOSCOW WRAPPER.

[From the establishment of G. Brodie, No. 51 Canal Street, New York.]

^^rH^S^

THE SALAMANC A

The engravings presented this month are so
very clear in the design, that any person at all
conversant with the fabrication of garments can

construct either of them without the aid of any
special information. We, however, will merely
say that

1G7

168

godey's magazine and lady's book,

THE SALAMANCA

Is composed of maroon or black satin. The
skirt is set in box plaits upon the yoke in the
back ; it is plain in front. The yoke is deep,
and is pointed in front. The sleeves are flow-
ing. A trimming of very deep black lace (from
ten 'to twelve inches) ornaments the skirt and
the bottom of the yoke. The whole is finished
by a neat ornament made of a succession of
small loops of No. 6 satin ribbon terminating in
streamers.

THE MOSCOW WRAPPER.

(See Plate in front of Book.)'
Consists of three three-quarter circular capes
upon a circular skirt. The first is plain,- the
others full, and are of equal depth. The skirt,
however, is about ojie-third less in depth below
the capes than they are with each other. It
may be constructed of cloth, but the one illus-
trated is of royal purple velvet, edged around
each cape with royal ermine six inches wide.
The bottom of the skirt, however, is wider, the
fur there being eight inches. It is lined with
white enamelled satin.

OUR PRACTICAL DRESS INSTRUCTOR.

This dress, which is a combination of the
" Polka Jacket" and ordinary dress, is exceed-
ingly pretty and elegant, and well calculated to
«how off the figure to advantage. It is made up
in silk or French merino, and the trimming
consists of broad ribbon velvet, about an inch
io width, uf the same color as the dress, or one
in good contrast. To those who are averse to

wearing the jacket as a single garment, this ma$
form a pleasing substitute.

DESCRIPTION Or DIAGRAMS.

Fig. 1. — The front of body — the trimming to
be brought up in the form of stomacher.

Fig. 2.— Back of body. Join a to a (Fig. 1),
b to b, c to c, d to d.

EMBROIDERED DRESSING GOWN.

EMBROIDERY FOR SHIRTS,

169

Fig. 3.— Jacket. Join e to e (Fig. 1) / to / j Fig. 4.— Sleeve.
(FiS.2).

EMBEOIDEEY FOE SHIETS.

VOL. XL VIII. — 15

170

godey's magazine and lady's book.

NOVELTIES FOR THE COMING SEASON.

Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

EMBROIDERED SCREEN.

171

Fig. 1, it will be seen, approaches more to
the style of the pelisse than the mantilla, a
fashion that bids fair to be quite general the
entire winter for outside garments, or pardessus,
as the French call them. This, however, is in-
tended for the milder season of spring, being
made of rich violet-colored taffeta, trimmed with
bows of thick satin ribbon, the same shade in
front, and encircled by two falls of black lace.

Figs. 2 and 3 are breakfast caps, Fig. 2 being
intended for a bride or young married lady, be-
ing composed of lace and close bows of rose-
colored satin ribbon; the cap fits close to the
head, a fall of broad ribbon coming behind the
ear.

Fig. 3 is more novel in shape, and intended
for an older person, the trimming encircling the
face.

EMBROIDERED SCREEN

Materials. — Black satin, three shades of green chenille,
gold twist, and gold heads.

Work the shamrock with the green chenille,
veining the leaves with gold twist; the foliage
in the background is also worked with green

chenille. The frame-work of the harp is exe-
cuted with beads, and the strings with twist.
The wolf-hound is worked with brown chenille
in embroidery stitch, as also are the stems of the
shamrock and foliage.

172

godey's magazine and lady's book.

PATTERNS FOE EMBROIDERY.

BRAID PATTERN

^^M0mT$M

BRODERIE ANGLAISE FOR FLOUNCING.

173

PETTICOAT TEIMMING.— IN BEODEEIE ANGLAISE.

Materials. — French muslin, with royal embroidery cotton,
No. 30, and Moravian, No. 24. n

Tins engraving is on a scale just half the size
of the original pattern. It is so strong that it is
peculiarly adapted for jupons, which are worn,
generally, most elaborately trimmed. The edge,
which consists of a single scallop, is considera-
bly raised; the Moravian cotton is to be used

for this purpose. The wheels are all worked
round in button-hole stitch, over a tracing of
three threads, a rosette being in the centre of
each. Indeed, if the entire pattern be overcast,
instead of being sewed in the usual way, it will
contribute much to the durability as well as the
appearance of the work.

BEODEEIE ANGLAISE FOE FLOUNCING.

(See Blue Plate in front of Bool:)

Material.— French embroidery cotton, No. 20.

This description of work, now so extremely
fashionable for every description of dress, is
usually done on fine jacconet muslin ; and, to
prepare the pattern, either of the following me-
thods may be used : Place the muslin over the
pattern, taking care to keep it even and tight ;
then, with a fine camel-hair brush, and a solu-
tion of indigo or powder blue, mixed with gum-
water, copy the outline of the pattern, and, to
continue it, take care, after one length of the
design is drawn, to place the muslin so that the
pattern joins correctly. The other method, which
is useful for thicker material — take the design,
and, with a fine penknife or scissors, cut out the

15*

blue parts of the pattern, place it over the ma-
terial to be used, and trace it round the cut-out
parts as above directed ; pierce the small eyelet-
hole with a stiletto. When the pattern is pre-
pared, tack the muslin on a piece of oil-cloth
(green is the best color to work on for all de-
scriptions of embroidery) ; run twice round the
outline of the pattern with the cotton used dou-
ble, and join the open spaces, cut a small piece
out of the centre of the rounds and ovals, and,
with the single cotton, work the edges in over-
cast stitch — the cotton run round, and the eages
cut, forming the foundation. In the parts be
tween the ovals and rounds, when there is onl)
a small division of muslin, the whole should be

174

godey's magazine and lady's book

overcast so as to form one bar between the open
spaces. Repeat the same for the ovals which
form the scallop round the outer edge, the dia-
monds of twelve ovals, and the rounds which
form the Vandykes. The remainder of the pat-
torn is worked in the same manner; but, instead

of the overcast stitch, the open spaces are to be
sewn thickly over. A small portion only of the
pattern should be cut out at a time ; and, should
the design be worked on a fine material, use
cotton No. 24 or 30.

BMBSOIDEEED COLLAR.

Materials! — French muslin, with embroidery cottons,
Nos. 70 and 50: and boar's head sewing cotton, No. 90.

As the popularity of embroidery in muslin has
become greater during the past year than it had
been for a long period previous to it, so the skill
of the majority of lady- workers has greatly in-
creased ; and we can now venture on presenting
them with designs of a more elaborate nature
than we have hitherto done, in the hope that
our friends will be tempted, by the novel style
of the pattern, to try the effect of a blending of
the open work with satin-stitch.

The medallions are given of the full size, and
any number may be used for a collar, according

to the taste of the wearer. One half must fall
in one direction, and the other half in the oppo-
site one. Perhaps the design may appear hardly
deep enough to those who are accustomed to the
outrageous size of some of the mousquetaire col-
lars ; but very large collars are entirely exploded,
and the dimensions of this now gives are quite
in accordance with the mode.

The design is so clearly seen in the engravir.-
that no description of it is required. The finest
embroidery cotton is to be used for the sat in -
stitch, and for sewing round the eyelet-holes;
the coarser for the button-hole stitch ; the boar's
head cotton for the herring-bone.

ECHOES' TABLE,

Our American Peripatetics — that is, travelling lecturers
— ai'e now, and have been since last October, in full voice
among us. To number the amount of "good sentences
and well pronounced*' uttered by these popular instructors
during the season, would require the assistance of a calcu-
lating machine. Let us hope the effect of all this speechi-
fying may be salutary. At any rate, none will deny that
the general tendency of this mode of evening entertain-
ments is innocent, and if the knowledge tlius acquired is
not of great amount, the love of knowledge is warmed into
new life, and the desire to improve awakened ; and then,
women are admitted to these lessons of literature and
philosophy, a vital improvement on the Aristotelian plat-
form. Let the educator be rightly instructed — woman is
the educator of the race— and who shall set bounds to the
progress of humanity? But the lectures — among those
wo have heard or read, as reported for the press, none
pleased us better than one on Poetry, by Mr. Saxe; one
on - Books," by Mr. Giles; and the series on " The Poetry
of Poets," by Dr. Holmes. The lecture on " Books" was,
pftrhaps, the most original, and a few paragraphs we will
select as illustrative of the style and tone of thought.

The Power of Books. — "Fragments of divine biography
swept away the bloody power of the Cresars, and books
may set in action the most resistless natures — overturn and
obliterate empires. The elements, even, are weak to what
a book may be. The most accessible, the most managea-
ble, it may possess that which will change nation?, and
make empires disappear.

******

"When we inquire what it is that causes the words of
men to live upon the earth after they have departed, we
may say, Truth; but that is undennable: but if we could
arrive at the greatest cause, we would say, Humanity —
those attributes which constitute man's universal nature.

Of Books, good and bad. — "A good book is among the best
of good things, and its contents are embalmed and trea-
sured up ' to life above life.' Good is not alone that winch
is fact, but that which gives impulse — which does not fiat-
tor into content, but quickens into inspiration: and while
a good book is the best of good things, a bad book is the
worst of bad things. But we must take a tree literature
with its imperfections as well as its advantages, for an in-
quisition of literature would be no more tolerable than an
inquisition of religion. Preaching, even, on bad books is
worse than vain — it only advertises them, and makes the
hearer eager to read and examine their contents, for how can
the preacher know that it is a bad book uuless he reads it ?
and why arc hi3 hearers not as capable to judge as well as
himself? The true gtiard against them is education, and
the next step is to treat them with silence and contempt.
There are those who desire a book as a liviug companion
of the mind; and to such, a good work is society to his
loneliness — a balm to his troubles — a friend to the friendless
—wealth to the poor, and moreover, can keep the mind in
action though the body dies.

2'Iie Pleasures of Books. — "There is a joy in books which
tho«o alone can know who read them with desire and with
enthusiasm; as from time to time there were books which
.•reated order out of disorder, and made states, and shaped

empires. By books we can accompany the traveller, and
take a voyage with the navigator, see what they have
seen, and thus go back to other days, and other times;
can listen to eloquence which was not so much the
thought of man as of nations, and read speeches of men
who incarnate whole civilized nations in their views —
whose impulse was the common heart. There is a
genius for reading as well as for writing, and there are
probably as few successful readers as writers— that is, those
who come in material relation to the meaning of the au-
thor ; for, without imbibing the spirit of the writer, there
can be no criticism."

LITERATURE FOR LADIES.

Among the books of interest lately published, we must
place the last work* by Miss Bremer, which needs to be read
in the spirit of the writer — that is, in the love of the true
and the good, which she deeply manifests, in order to be
justly appreciated. We gave in our last number a short
notice of this remarkable work, intending to prepare a
longer critique for this month ; and regret we have been
hindered from completing our intention. But as the work
cannot now be readily obtained, our readers who have not
read it, will, we are sure, be gratified by a few selections
expressive of Miss Bremer's opinions concerning the posi-
tion, prospects, and progress of American women.

The Ideal of Man and Woman in America. — " The ideal
of the men of America seems to me to be, purity of inten-
tion, decision in will, energy in action, simplicity and gen-
tleness in demeanor. Hence it is that there is something
tender and chivalric in his behavior to women, which is
infinitely becoming to him. In every woman he respects
his own mother.

" In the same way it appeared to me that the ideal of the
women of America, of the women of the New World, is
independence in character, gentleness of demeanor and
manner. The American's ideal of happiness seems to me
to be, marriage and home, combined with public activity.

" Of the American home, I have seen enough and heard
enough for me to be able to say that the women have, in
general, all the rule there that they wish to have. Woman
is the centre and lawgiver in the homes of the New World,
and the American man loves that it should be so. I must,
however, say, that in the happy homes in which I lived,
I saw the wife equally careful to guide herself by the wishes
of her husband, as he was to indulge her; affection and
sound reason make all things equal."

Female Education in America. — "The educational in-
stitutions for women are, in general, much superior to
those of Europe, and perhaps the most important work
which America is doing for the future of humanity, con-
sists in her treatment and education of woman. Woman's
increasing value as a teacher, and the employment of her
as such in public schools, even in those for boys, is a pub-
lic fact in these States; which greatly delights me. Semina-

* " Homes of the New World ;" published by the Harpers
— and the last edition destroyed by the fire that oonsumed
their Marehouses.

175

176

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ries hare been established to educate her for this vocation. J
It even seems as if the daughters of New England had a
peculiar faculty and love for this employment. Young
girls of fortune devote themselves to it. The daughters
of poor farmers go to work in the manufactories a suffi- 1

cient time to earn the necessary sum to put themselves to
school, and thus to become teachers in due course. Whole
crowds of school teachers go from New England to the
Western and Southern States, where schools are establish-
ed and placed under their direction. In the schools for
young ladies, they learn the classics, mathematics, physics,
algebra, with great ease, and pass their examination like
young men. Not long since, a young lady in Nantucket,*
not far from Boston, distinguished herself in astronomy ;
discovered a new planet, and received in consequence a
medal from the King of Denmark." — Vol. i. pp. 190, 191.

Womayi Vie Physician for her own Sex. — "When one re-
flects how important for future generations is the proper
estimation of the woman and the child, how much depends
upon diet, upon that fostering which lies beyond the sphere
of the physician and his oversight, and which woman alone
can rightly understand, who can doubt the importance of
the female physician, in whose case science steps in to
aid natural sense, and to constitute her the best helper and
counsellor of women and children? That women have a
natural feeling and talent for the vocation of physician, is
proved by innumerable instances from the experience of
all ages and people, and it is a shame and a pity that men
have not, hitherto, permitted these to be developed by

" In the old times, the physician was also the priest, and
consecrated to holy mysteries. The descendants of iEscu-
lapius were considered a holy race, and among them were
also women ; the daughter of iEsculapius Hygeia, one of
them, was called the Goddess of Health. Of this race came
Hippocrates. We now talk about Hygeia, but we only
talk. She must be recalled to earth, she must have room
given her, and justice done her, if she is to present the
earth with a new Hippocrates."— Vol. i. pp. 143, 144.

Family Affections in America. — "The family relationship
between parents and children seems to me particularly
beautiful, especially as regards the parents towards the
children. The beautiful maternal instinct is inborn in
the American woman, at least, in all its fervent, heart-
felt sentiment; and better, and more affectionate family-
fathers than the men of America, I have seen no where in
the world. They have in particular a charming weakness
for — daughters, and God bless them for it! I hope the
daughters may know how to return it with interest."— Vol.
i. p. 387.

The American Thanksgiving.— ■" After breakfast, we went
to church, for this day (Thanksgiving) is as sacred through-
out the country.

******

" Why have not wc, why have not all people such a fes-
tival in the year? It has grown here out of the necessities
ef the nobler popular heart: it is the ascribing of our
highest earthly blessings to their heavenly Giver. We, in
Sweden, have many publicly appointed days for prayer,
but none for Thanksgiving ; it is not right and noble."

Suoh was Miss Bremer's appreciation of our Thanksgiving
festival, and thus it will be approved and followed in all

* Miss Mitchell. See" Woman's Record," by Mrs. Rale.

Christendom, when the popular heart aud voice shall bear
sway. A national Thanksgiving Day ! — If this could once
be established in our own land, Americans would soon in-
troduce its observance and cheerful festivities into every
part of the world where they are found, and thus, our
American Thanksgiving would be the example for all peo-
ple.

The last Thursday in November has these advantages-
harvests of all kinds are then gathered in — summer travel-
lers have returned to their homes — the diseases that, during
summer and early autumn, often afflict some portions
of our country, have ceased, and all are prepared to
enjoy a day of Thanksgiving. The unanimity was nearly
perfect last November; still it would be better to have the
day so fixed by the expression of public sentiment that no
discord would be possible, but, from Maine to Mexico, from
Plymouth Hock to Sunset Sea, the hymn of thanksgiving
should be simultaneously raised, as the pledge of brother-
hood in the enjoyment of God's blessings during the year.
How this national festival can be made sure, we must
leave to those who have the guidance of public affairs ; but
we do earnestly desire to see the last Thursday in Novem-
ber become the fixed time for this American jubilee.

A True Heroine. — Margaret of Valois, sister of Francis I.
of France, was the most celebrated woman of the seven-
teenth century, and deservedly esteemed for her piety as
well as great talents. Theodore de Beze thus eulogizes
Margaret: "Her name is worthy of perpetual honor, on
account of her piety and the holy zeal she manifested for
the advancement and preservation of the Church of God, so
that to her we owe the life of many a good man."

To Margaret, also, is due the glory of elucidating the true
principles of royal government, which no man of that age
understood or taught. She says : " Kings and princes are
not the masters and lords of the multitude, but only minis-
ters whom God has established to serve and protect them."

An Excellent Example.— A school for street children
has recently been established in Brooklyn, N. Y., by an
association of ladies, which is supported entirely by volun-
tary contribution. In order to induce the children to at
tend regularly, a good dinner is provided every day. The
number of scholars — all girls — at the present time, is
thirty.

This plan might be adopted in every city, and thus the
saddest sorrow of humanity, the sufferings of childhood
from the want, ignorance, or wickedness of their parents.
be greatly alleviated. Christian ladies of Philadelphia,
will you not enter on this good work?

To Correspondents. — The following articles are accepted,
and will appear as we have room : "Vesuvius," "Niagara."
"Little Effie," "The Maniac's Parting Salute." "The Lady
Doctor," "A Patient of the Insane Hospital," " The Last
Banquet of the Girondists," "The Wanderer's Return."
" The Was. and the Is," " I was robbed of my Spirit's Love,'
" Mary," and " Home, Sister, Home."

The following articles are declined : " Idylls,'' " The Ve-
netian Girl," "I'm Sad," "Woman's Heart." "Andre's
Prayer to Washington," "The Angel's Whisper." "Lines
to a Bride," "True Love for True Love," "Cui Bono?"
"The Future," "A Tradition of Sicily," and -Morning
Dreams."

A number of articles on hand have not been examined,
for want of time. The writers will, we trust. w;iit-i atienl',\
another month.

LITERARY NOTICES.

177

£iter am Notices.

Books by Mail.— Now that the postage on printed matter
is so low, we offer our services to procure for our subscrib-
ers or others any of the books that we notice. Informa-
tion touching books will be cheerfully given by inclosing a
stamp to pay return postage.

From Henry Carey Batrd (successor to E. L. Carey),
No. 7 Hart's Buildings, Sixth Street above Chestnut, Phila-
delphia : —

SPECIMENS OF THE BRITISH POETS ; with Biogra-
phical and Critical Notices, and an Essay on English Poetry.
By Thomas Campbell, Esq. This is a new edition, revised
and with additional notes, of a work which has long since
passed the ordeal of criticism unscathed. Nothing more
remains to us, therefore, than to notice the beautiful ap-
pearance of the present edition, with its appropriate illus-
trations, elegant binding, and attractive typography. But
of this few need be told. Mr. Baird's poetical publications
are already celebrated.

From Blanchard & Lea, Philadelphia : —

ON THE USE AND ABUSE OF ALCOHOLIC LIQUORS
IN HEALTH AND DISEASE. By William B. Carpenter,
M. D., F. R. S., Examiner in Physiology in the University
of London, Professor of Medical Jurisprudence in Univer-
sity College, etc. With a preface by D. F. Condie, M. D.,
Secretary of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia, etc.
The author of this essay takes strong ground against the
habitual use of alcoholic liquors, even in moderate quanti-
ties. Medically, he favors their employment in certain
cases ; but with the same precautions that are observed in
administering " any other powerful remedy which is poi-
sonous in large doses." With a view to its circulation as
an auxiliary in the temperance cause, Dr. Condie, the
American editor, has added to the popular elements of the
work by explaining concisely, yet clearly, its technical lan-
guage ; while Messrs. Blanchard & Lea have prepared co-
pies in flexible cloth, suitable for mailing, which they will
forward, free of postage, to any part of the United States,
on receipt of fifty cents. For $30, one hundred copies may
be obtained, the purchaser to pay freight charges.

A HISTORY OF ROMAN CLASSICAL LITERATURE.
By R. W. Browne, M. A., Ph. D., Prebendary of St. Paul's,
and Professor of Classical Literature in King's College,
London. Unlike the generality of works of its class, this
volume is not made up wholly of the names of authors and
the titles of their works. These, however, it does not omit ;
but there is nothing dry or uninteresting in their enume-
ration. Well adapted for the use of classes in schools, it
need not be shunned by such readers as desire a graceful
style and entertaining narrative, while they would be fully
informed with regard to the subject upon which it treats.

From Lippincott, Gramro, & Co. (successors to Grigg &
Elliot), No. 14 North Fourth Street, Philadelphia :—

LINES FOR THE GENTLE AND LOVING. By Thomas
MacKellar. A modest-looking, but charmingly printed
little collection of unpretending poems, which, though they
may not possess the sublimer elements of poesy, are never-
theless well calculated to touch the heart and excite it to
tender and generous action.

A DICTIONARY OF DOMESTIC MEDICINE AND
HOUSEHOLD SURGERY. By Spencer Thomson, M. D.
Fir-1 American from the last London edition. Revised,

with additions, by Henry H. Smith, M. D. A work of this
kind should be found in every family. It would prove an
invaluable assistant to a mother, or those who have the
care of the family. Diseases are described simply and
clearly; all the ordinary medicines are treated of, and
their use explained; and, although it by no means takes
the place of the physician, yet it would be of great use in
an innumerable number of cases, especially where the aid
and advice of a medical practitioner cannot be readily ob-
tained. The names of the compiler and editor are a suffi-
cient guarantee for the correctness of the work

From Lindsay & Blakiston, Philadelphia :—
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF TASTE ; or, Transcendental Gas-
tronomy. Illustrated by Anecdotes of Distinguished Artists
and Statesmen of both Continents {Europe and America). By
Brillat Savarin. Translated from the last Paris edition, by
Fayette Robinson. A book for epicureans, gastronomists,
and the admirers of Parisian wit ; but one which, with all
its peculiar merits, we cannot consider an extremely de-
sirable addition to our translated literature.

From Leary & Getz, No. 138 North Second Street, Phila-
delphia : —

THE LIFE AND SPEECHES OF HENRY CLAY. Two
volumes in one. In this very heavy volume of more than
a thousand pages, we have a succinct narrative, somewhat
partisan in its tone, of the career of the great statesman
and orator, together with full and correct reports of all his
more important speeches, from that " On the Line of the
Perdido," to the later effort in support of the " Compromise
Bills."

From Willis P. Hazard, No. 178 Chestnut Street, Phila-
delphia : —

THE AMERICAN FAMILY ROBINSON; or, the Adven-
tures of a Family Lost in the Great Desert of the West. By
D. W. Belisle. With illustrations. Aside from its interest
as a tale abounding in strange and stirring adventures,
with which the young cannot fail to be delighted, this vol-
ume will prove attractive to "the larger growth" of chil-
dren, as one imparting in a pleasant way all the existing
knowledge with regard to those antiquities of the Great
West which render it wellnigh certain that those wilds
were once peopled— centuries ago, perhaps— with a race
infinitely more cultivated than the restless, barbarous
tribes that now wander there. Pleased with the design
and execution of the literary portion of this entertaining
work, we must also notice the beautiful appearance of its
typography and binding, and the excellence of its four
steel plate illustrations.

From D. Appleton & Co., No. 200 Broadway, New York,
through C. G. Henderson & Co., corner of Fifth and Arch
Streets, Philadelphia : —

AN ATTEMPT TO EXHIBIT THE TRUE THEORY OF
CHRISTIANITY AS A CONSISTENT AND PRACTICAL
SYSTEM. ,By William S. Grayson. The author of this
volume displays much ingenuity of argument and origi-
nality of thought in his discussion of questions so moment-
ous as those of man's fall, redemption, and free moral
agency. His " object," he informs us, " has been primarily
to reconcile the philosophy of reason with the spiritual
laws of the Gospel."

THE HEARTH-STONE: Thoughts upon Home-Life m
our Cities. By Samuel Osgood, author of "Studies in
Christian Biography," " God with Men ; or, Footprints of
Providential Leaders," etc. Mr. Osgood's reflections show
him to be a man of kindly feelings. Christian sympathy,

178

godey's magazine and lady's book.

and cultivated intellect. His book is a most acceptable
one. None who love the peaceful joys and quiet beauties
of home should be without it.

THE INVALID'S OWN BOOK : a Collection of Recipes
from various Books and various Countries. By the Hon.
Lady Cust. In its peculiar province, this is an invaluable
little book.

A "WEEK'S DELIGHT ; or, Games and Stories for the
Parlor and Fireside, v Prepared for the use of the young.
This volume of entertaining games and stories will, we
doubt not, find a welcome reception in families who love
their children, and wish them to enjoy themselves inno-
contly.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Lindsay &
Blakiston, Philadelphia : —

HISTORY OP THE INSURRECTION IN CHINA ; with
Notices of the Christianity, Creed, and Proclamations of the
Insurgents. By MM. Callery and Yvan. Translated from
the French, with a supplementary chapter, narrating the
most recent events, by John Oxenford. With a fac-simile
of a Chinese map of the course of the insurrection, and a
portrait of Tien-Te, its Chief. Probably no movement of
modern times presents so important an aspect as that of
the revolution now going on in the great empire of the
" Celestials." To those desiring information with regard to
its origin, leaders, and progress, the work under notice will
prove interesting and acceptable.

THE CZAR AND THE SULTAN ; or, Nicholas and Abdul
Medjid : their Private Lives and Public Actions. By Adrian
Gilson. To which is added, " The Turks in Europe : their
Rise and Decadence." By Francis Bouvet. Like the fore-
going volume, this little work has been brought out to
meet the demand created by stirring events of the day.
Giving a clear and concise statement of the character and
antecedents of the two monarchs, upon whose doings the
attention of half the world has of late been riveted, it also
contains an account of the past and present condition of
the Turkish empire, in which the manners, customs, and
religion of the people are treated of briefly, but comprehen-
sively.

HISTORY OF GREECE. By George Grote, Esq. Vol. 11.
Reprinted from the London edition. In this volume, the
learned historian brings down his narrative to the death
of Philip of Macedon. One other volume, embracing the
reign of Alexander, will conclude the work.

MEMOIRS OF JOHN ABERNETHY, F. R. S. With a
View of Ids Lectures, Writings, and Character. By George
Macilwain, F. R. C. S., author of " Medicine and Surgery,"
" One Inductive Science," etc. This work the author con-
fesses to have been a labor of love. Both his heart and in-
tellect -were with the great physician, whose life and cha-
racter he has so skilfully delineated that, while the medical
practitioner cannot fail to peruse his account with px-ofit,
the general reader will find himself continually and deeply
interested in it. With regard to Aberuethy's rudeness, of
which so many anecdotes have been related, Professor
Macilwain remarks: " His manner was at times, and in all
serious cases, and to hospital patients, as unaffectedly kind
as could be desired. On many occasions of minor import,
his impulsiveness of character led him to say things which,
however much we may palliate, we shall not attempt to
excuse." But "his roughness was really superficial. It
was the easiest thing in the world to develop the real kind-
noss of heart which lay beneath it."

LIFE OF BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON, HISTORICAL
PAINTER, from his Autobiography and Journals. Edited
and compiled by Tom Taylor, of the Inner Temple, Esq.,
late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge ; and late Pro-

fessor of the English Language and Literature in Univer-
sity College, London. " My task," says the editor of these
two thick volumes, "has been that of presenting the self-
portraiture, which Haydon left behind him, in such a light
as may show the work intelligibly. ... It is not the bio-
graphy of Haydon, but his autobiography — not a life of hhn
by me, but his life by himself." And, truly, Mr. Taylor
has performed his part with discrimination and judgment.
Strangely interesting is the record that has thus been
given us of the great but unfortunate painter's struggles
through the world. Even as a study of character, it will
not lack readers.

HISTORY OF THE CAPTIVITY OF NAPOLEON AT
ST. HELENA. From the Letters and Journals of the latt
Lieidenant-General Sir Hudson Lowe, and Official Docu-
ments not before made public. By William Forsyth, M. A.,
author of " Hortensius," and " History of Trial by Jury ;"
late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. In two vol-
umes. Nothing relative to the first Napoleon, however
trifling, can be valueless or unattractive. The work before
ns is an important one, and of deep interest, inasmuch as
it is a very full, though not unprejudiced account of the
captivity and last days of the great Corsican. But, while
acknowledging the historical value of Mr. Forsyth's labors,
we reserve to ourselves the opinion that his special plead-
ing in behalf of Sir Hudson Lowe and the British govern-
ment will fall far short of its intended effect.

From M. W. Dodd, opposite the City Hall, New York,
through Willis P. Hazard, 176 Chestnut Street, Philadel-
phia : —

OLD SIGHTS WITH NEW EYES. By a Yankee. With
an introduction by Robert Baird, D. D. Written in a con-
cise, plain, and yet graceful style, this little volume of
European travels will be found an entertaining and useful
guide to any one designing to pursue the route adopted by
its author; who, we are told, is a "young New England
clergyman, whose modesty" has constrained him from pre-
senting his name to the public.

From J. S. Redflrle, 110 and 112 Nassau Street, New
York, through W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia:—

MINNESOTA AND ITS RESOURCES. To which are
added Camp-Fire Sketches; or, Notes of a Trip from St.
Paul to Pembina and Selkirk Settlement on the Red River
of the North. By J. Wesley Bond. Lying along and
around the head waters of the Mississippi, the new Terri-
tory of Minnesota offers one of the most attractive homes
for emigration. For the variety and picturesqueness of its
scenery, the salubrity of its climate, and the number and
completeness of its agricultural advantages, it is scarcely
equalled by any other portion of our country. As contain-
ing a comprehensive, clear, and pleasantly-written account
of the past history and present condition of Minnesota, the
work before us will be found indispensable by those design-
ing to emigrate there, while the general reader will derive
from it much valuable information, with a great deal that
may prove entertaining.

A MONTH IN ENGLAND. By Henry T. Tuckerman.
Favored by the completeness of the railway system of Eng-
land, Mr. Tuckerman was enabled to inspect many more
" specimens" of that country's peculiarities than we might
have expected him to do in so brief a visit. With quick
and cultivated powers of observation, refined in his tastes,
well-informed in all that relates to literature and art. and
mastering an elegant style, he has succeeded in investing
his pen pictures of well-known scenes with all the attractive
brightness of novelty, vol retaining the mellow softness of
tone so well suited to the character of the subjects.

LITERARY NOTICES.

179

From Derby & Miller, Auburn, New York, through T.
B. Peterson, Philadelphia : —

LITTLE PERNS. By Panny Fern. We have received
this most agreeable little book, which is full of the pecu-
liar characteristics of Fanny's mode of writing. The work
is worthy of her, and she has given us some of the most
beautiful children's stories we have ever read. The first
edition was 20,000. We presume now it is 40,000. ■

From C. M. Saxton, Agricultural Book Publisher, New
York :—

LANDSCAPE GARDENING; or, Parks and Pleasure
Grounds. With Practical Notes on Country Residences, Vil-
las, Public Parks, and Gardens. By Charles H. G. Smith,
Landscape Gardener, Garden Architect, etc. With notes
and additions. By Lewis F. Allen, author of "Rural
Architecture," etc. We have already spoken favorably of
this excellent and most desirable volume. For the benefit
of our distant subscribers, who may wish to send for the
work, we may state that its price is $1 25.

RURAL ARCHITECTURE. By Lewis F. Allen. Con-
taining numerous designs for cottage and other residences,
farm-houses and out-buildings, carriage and wagon-houses,
stables, poultry-houses, piggery, barns, and sheds for cat-
tle. Also, the best method of conducting water into cattle-
yards and houses, &c. &c. Containing an immense num-
ber of designs beautifully engraved. We can furnish our
subscribers at $1 25. A very cheap work.

From Charle3 Scribner, Nassau Street, New York,
through T. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadel-
phia : —

UP THE RIVER. By F. W. Shelton, author of " Rector
of St. Bardolph's," and " Salander the Dragon." With il-
lustrations from original designs. This is a series of let-
ters professedly written from a country-seat, '-'up the
river," and somewhere in the vicinity of that most beauti-
ful portion of the Hudson, the Tappaan Sea. Suns setting
lovely and uprising gloriously, Shanghai chickens, cottages,
pig-styes, cows, horses, playful lambs, delightful landscapes,
and all the pains, pleasures, and occupations of rural life
during the year, are here talked of in the most natural
way in the world; but in good taste withal, and with
hearty, genial, delicate humor. Nor are literary topics left
untouched ; while, occasionally, a sage reflection is thrown
in unobtrusively, yet so as to attract thoughtful attention.
The volume will enhance the already high reputation of
its author, and deserves, as it will obtain, many and ad-
miring readers.

From Charles Scribner, New York, through A. Hart,
Philadelphia :—

HEALTH TRIP TO THE TROPICS. By N. Parker Wil-
lis. We have here collected and printed, in one elegant
volume, the interesting letters, already given to the public
through the columns of the " Home Journal," which were
written by Willis during his " health trip" to the West In-
dies, and to several of our western and north-western
States. These letters bear no evidence of their author's
having been in any condition but that of cheerful health,
and contain many piquant reflections and observations,
along with much useful information with regard to the
places and peopl-es visited.

AUTUMN HOURS AND FIRESIDE READING. By
Mrs. C. M. Kirkland. Such as are so fortunate as to pos-
sess Mrs. Kirkland's two previous miscellanies may form
some idea of the perfection to which the engraver, the
printer, and the binder have carried their respective arts in

the preparation of this exquisite volume. Its contents arc
worthy the grace and beauty in which they are enshrined.
Still better, like a pure heart in a fair body, they have
qualities that will long outlast their exterior elegance-
Wit, humor, philosophy, and sentiment, all of a tender,
womanly kind, pervade the various tales, sketches, and
essays of which the book is composed, and cannot fail to
render it what it was intended to be — something to amuse
the "cool, delicious hours that relieve the summer ex-
haustion, and incline the mind to quiet reading."

THE BLOODSTONE. By Donald MacLeod, author of
" Pynnhurst," " Life of Sir Walter Scott," etc. Pleasant,
fascinating, and tenderly natural are the pictures of boy-
hood and home-life in the earlier portions of this simple
little story. What follows, " over the sea," abounds with
thrilling scenes and touching, healthy sentiment. Purely
English in its style, and eminently moral in its tone, this
"new venture" of Mr. MacLeod will add fresh lustre to
his already brilliant reputation.

From Evans & Brittan, New York : —

BOOK OF SONGS FOR CHILDREN. Elustrated to the
heart's content of any child. A very beautiful collection
of songs and very pretty engravings. Evans & Brittan de-
serve the thanks of everybody having children for the
admirable works for the young they have published. They
have two of the best writers of children's stories in this or
any other country — Cousin Alice and Mrs. Manners. May
they prosper! We can furnish the above for 75 cents in
cloth, and in cloth, gilt extra, for $1. " The Schoolfellow
for Boys and Girls," a magazine we have often praised,
price $1 a year, is also published by the same firm.

From Evans & Brittan, New York, through J. W. Moore,
Philadelphia : —

PRETTY POLL : A PARROT'S OWN HISTORY. Edited
by the author of " The Amyott's Home," " Older and
Wiser," etc. With illustrations by Harrison Weir. Quite
an interesting little story, intended to be read by children,
whom it cannot fail to please as well as instruct.

THE ILLUSTRATED BOOK OF SONGS FOR CHIL-
DREN. The engravings from designs by Birket Foster. A
very neat volume, prettily illustrated. Most of the songs
in it are from the German. The airs to which many of
them are adapted come evidently from the same source, j

From G. P. Putnam & Co., 10 Park Place, New York :—
LYRICS FROM THE "WIDE, WIDE WORLD." The
words by W. H. Bellamy. The music by C. W. Glover.
None of the numerous readers of the " Wide, Wide World"
should be without this beautiful volume.

A DAY IN THE CRYSTAL PALACE. This work may
be termed a memento of the Crystal Palace. It is a beauti
ful book, containing the finest of the specimens of statuary,
and other articles of special interest in the Palace. The
engravings are amongst the finest specimens we have ever
seen, and the whole work reflects great credit on its able
author, W. C. Richards, A. M.

From Garrett & Co., New York, through T. B. Peterson,
Philadelphia : —

SCENES IN THE LIFE OF AN ACTOR. This work is
compiled from the journals, letters, and memoranda of the
late Yankee Hill. The illustrations are original. Pool
Hill ! we knew him well. " He was the noblest Yankee of
them all." The journal is very amusing, and gives the
eventful and amusing scenes in the life of an actor with
great truth. There are many side-splitting scenes in the
" Lifo," reminiscences of the great " stars" of the day, and

180

godey's magazine and lady's book,

amusing scenes with some of the lesser lights. In fact, it
is one of the most amusing books we have ever read.

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through W. P.
Hazard, Philadelphia : —

II UFELAXD'S ART OF PROLONGING LIFE. Edited by
Erasmus Wilson, F. R. S. Our everyday observation is con-
clusive of the fact that the art of shortening existence is
one with which but few are unacquainted; yet the ma-
jority of men have the desire, if they do not act upon it, to
add to the number of the days of their earthly pilgrimage.
For such the philosophic Hufeland, at one time professor
of medicine in the University of Jena, has prepared the lit-
tle volume under notice. Stored with valuable facts and
hints, and sound advice, which, if attended to, must ine-
vitably contribute towards health and longevity, the work
will, we hope, soon become as popular here as it has long
since been in Germany.

From James Munroe & Co., Boston and Cambridge :—
LUCY HERBERT ; or, the Little Girl who tvould liave an
Education. By Estelle. With eight engravings. This is a
very pretty and simply told story of successful effort and
self-discipline. The heroine, left an orphan and dependent
on her own exertions at a very early age, resolves to carry
out her mothers strong desire that her little Lucy should
be an educated woman, fitted as well to occupy an elevated
station as the more humble one which seemed her lot.
Her perseverance in pursuing this object, and the happy
termination of her labors, are related in an easy and agree-
able style.

FRIENDS IN COUNCIL : a Series of Headings and Dis-
courses thereon. In two volumes. The first volume of this
w-ork has long been a familiar and favorite book with us.
To read it is like holding familiar converse with a man of a
large, generous, and kindly heart, and with an intellect at
once deep, comprehensive, and penetrating into the veiy
pith and marrow of the subject discussed. Vexed political
questions, and those connected with our social life and
happiness, are viewed with thoughtful consideration and
an evident desire to look on both sides with impartiality ;
and, mingled with this, there is a genial undercurrent of
humor and fancy, which makes the book an attractive
one even to those who generally avoid the abstruser sub-
jects. The clear and simple, yet elegant style in which the
work is written shows that the author is a man of high
cultivation as well as of earnest thought.

NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, Ac.

From T. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia:
" First Love. A Story of Woman's Heart." By Eugene
Sue. This is said to he the author's best book. Powerful,
pathetic, and witty, by turns, and of exciting interest, it
undoubtedly is ; but we can discover no other merit in a
hasty examination of its pages. Far more to be read and
admired, if not so intricate in plot or so lively in narration,
are the two companion volumes, from the same publishers,
respectively entitled, "The Iron Rule; or, Tyranny in the
Household," and "The Lady at Home; or, Happiness in
the Household." When we state that these interesting,
naturally written, lifelike fictions are from the pen of T. S.
Arthur, no one need be told of their excellence. Happy
will it be if the lessons, so pleasingly and so touchingly in-
culcated by them, take root in the hearts of many and bear
I'he-ir proper fruit — charity, peace, humanity, and love.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Lindsay &
Wakistou, Philadelphia: "Charles Auchestcr. A Memo-

rial." By E. Berger. This purports to be the autobiogra-
phy of a musical artist, portraying, in a somewhat senti-
mental, though not unattractive style, the early impulses
and maturer struggles of one bountifully endowed with
the tender and childlike feelings which the world is pleased
to allot to the softer types of genius.

From A. Hart (late Carey & Hart), Philadelphia : " Old
England and New England, in a Series of Views taken on
the Spot." By Alfred Bunn, author of " The Stage Before
and Behind the Curtain." Two volumes of the London
edition complete in one. We have received, with the pub-
lisher's respects, a cheap American reprint of this volume
of travels through the United States. As containing anec-
dotes and sketches of sixty or seventy of our notabilities,
it will create some stir and attract many readers. With
the usual amount of cant in regard to the " spitting" pro-
pensities of our population, we find much amusing matter,
and no little philosophic consideration for manners and
customs undoubtedly strange and singular to a thorough-
bred Englishman. Mr. Bunn, while peregrinating the
States, must have encountered an unusual number of our
" fast men," who seem to have passed upon him for truth
many of the broadly-humorous, if not profane stories, the
relation of which is one of their peculiar amusements.

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through T. B.
Peterson, Philadelphia: "Hearts and Faces; or, Home-
Life Unveiled." By Paul Creyton, author of "Father
Brighthopes," etc. This is a charming little collection of
domestic tales and sketches, making no pretensions to lite-
rary merit, but really possessing it in a high degree.

From J. S. Rcdfield, Clinton Hall, New York, through
W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia: "The Yemassee; a Romance
of Carolina." By W. Gilmore Simms, Esq., author of •' The
Partisan," "Guy Rivers," "Martin Faber," "Richard Ilur-
dis," " Border Beagles," etc. This is a new and revised
edition of a standard romance, of whose acknowledged
merits it is not necessary for us to speak.

From H. Long & Brothers, 43 Ann Street, New York :
"The Old Doctor; or, Stray Leaves from my Journal:
beiug Sketches of the most interesting Reminiscences of a
Retired Physician." A volume of well-told, thrilling, and
instructive tales, the character of \vhich is sufficiently
shown by the title of the collection.

From D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway, New York,
through C. G. Henderson & Co., Philadelphia : " The Flush
Times of Alabama and Mississippi." A Series of Sketches.
By Joseph G. Baldwin. Many of these sketches, which arc
mostly humorous, have already been admired and laughed
at, as they appeared from time to time in the " Southern
Literary Messenger."

From Lamport, Blakeman, & Low, 8 Park Place, New
York, through H. C. Baird, Philadelphia: "The Ladies'
Glee-Book : a Collection of Choice and Beautiful Glees, for
three Female Voices; in English, French, and Italian.
Designed for the Use of Classes, School Exhibitions, and to
add to the Pleasures of the Home Circle." Translated,
adapted, arranged, and composed, with an accompaniment
for the piano-forte, by Henry C. Watson. Recommended
by Wallace, Strakosch, and Maretzek.

From Garrett & Co., 18 Ann Street, New York, through
T. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia: "Ro-
mantic Incidents in the Lives of the Queens of England."
By J. P. Smith, Esq., author of " Stanfield Hall," " Amy
Lawrence," etc. This is a deeply interesting volume of
semi-historical sketches.

From Moore, Anderson, Wilstach, & Keys, Cincinnati,
through Lippincott. Grambo, & Co., Philadelphia: "Mrs.
Ben Darby ; or, the Woal and Woo of Social Life." By A.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

181

Maria Collins. This is a graphic story of real life, from the
pen of a western authoress, who, if we may judge by her
present volume, is a lady of superior abilities.

From Hermann J. Meyer, 164 William Street, New
York : Parts 8 and 9, Vol. 2, of " Meyer's Universum."

Parts 6 and 7 (East and West) of " The United States Hlus-
trated ; or Views of the City and Country." With descrip-
tions and historical articles. Edited by Charles A. Dana.
This truly valuable and beautiful national publication
eminently deserves a hearty national support.

(Sobtfl'-f Srm-Ctiau*

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! and are happy to
hear that you agree with us. We told you that our Janu-
ary number would far exceed in beauty and worth any
other magazine, and your unanimous approval is grateful.
Well, what think you of the February? The Evening
Walk is a fine line engraving. But a word with you upon
that subject. It is a portrait of a lady of our city whose
least charm is her beauty. The graces of her mind and
the kindness of her heart far exceed the beauty of her face.
To know her is to love her.

We commence in this number " The Trials of a Needle-
woman," by T. S. Arthur, one of Mr. Arthur's best stories.
It will take some five or six numbers to complete it.

We publish in this number a Valentine story, and the
6upposed origin of St. Valentine's day. These two articles
are for our subscribers. In return, we should be pleased
to receive a Valentine from them, inclosing $3, $6, $10, or
$20. It can be addressed as follows : —

Registered.

<=£/. Zs/fr.

XJfOCWW,

J/3

wncd-triut £ft.,

0 diiada.

We shall promptly answer the receipt of every such Valen-
tine.

We cannot help it. — If our friends will send us such let-
ters, we must publish them. Mrs. J. D. M., of New Jersey,
writes : " Allow me to thank you for the pleasure your
' Lady's Book' has afforded me for the last twelve years.
As for the first sweet flowers of spring, so do we each month
watch for and welcome thy agreeable messenger."

Mrs. M. F. W., of Mauch Chunk, writes : •' Permit an old
subscriber and admirer to congratulate you upon the great
success and unusual esteem with which your efforts have
been met. I am sure you deserve and get the thanks of
all the ladies for your untiring zeal in their behalf, and the
gentlemen also owe you many thanks for the patterns to
which they are indebted for many a pretty keepsake."

How Sad!— An editor writes us, and even in writing his
sad condition is shown ; not that the writing is bad, that
is very good; but the words convey his desolation. "As
yd I am a single man." What a world of expression there
is in that "yet!" "Your 'Book' accompanies me occa-
sionally on a visit to my female friends." Take it along
with you, and, if that does not get you a wife, you may as
well give it up.

VOL. XLVIII. — 16

The " Danbury Times" says : " While speaking of the
' Lady's Book' to a friend the other day, she remarked that
she had taken it from the first number issued in July,
1830, and that there was nothing like it." We know two
others who have taken it from January, 1831, within six
months from the commencement. It is needless to add
that such subscribers always pay regularly.

Since writing the above, we have received a letter from
a lady in Virginia, inclosing her twenty-second year's sub-
scription.

We clip the following from the " Philadelphia Inquirer,"
of this city : —

"American Stories. — American stories are becoming
quite popular with the conductors of some of the foreign
periodicals. We observe that two, viz., ' My Brother Tom,'
and ' Marrying through Prudential Motives,' which ap-
peared in 'Godey's Lady's Book' some time since, were
soon after republished in England, without credit, and
have more recently been republished in some of the New
York papers as of foreign origin. Quite a compliment this
to Godey and his contributors."

"My Grandmother's Bracelet," by Mrs. Hentz, a story
that we published in 1844, is now revived, and is going the
rounds of the press as a new story. No credit is given the
" Lady's Book" — of course not.

Christ Healing the Sick. — We have a few copies of this
splendid plate, printed on paper of a good size for framing,
still for sale at 50 cents each.

We now print precisely 9800 copies more than we did
this time last year, and we are anxious to make it up even
10,000. If all our subscribers would follow the suggestion
made by the " Huntingdon Democrat," and many, we are
proud to say, have already done what that paper suggests,
we would soon have that other 200: " We are compelled to
consider Mr. Godey the most successful intellectual caterer
for the ladies in all magazine-dom, and all who agree with
us (and all who take the ' Book' must), should each one get
another subscriber to it, as a compliment to its enterpris-
ing publisher for his untiring efforts to please."

Covers by Mail,— We cannot send covers for binding by
mail, as the Postmaster-General has decided that they must
pay letter postage. Rather queer! when you can send
the whole Book, cover and all, and only pay book or
pamphlet postage. We can supply agents, and will send
any ordered in their packages.

A lady writes us to know how she can receive her " La-
dy's Book" without being folded. She is the only sub-
scriber in the place. Our answer is : Get another sub-
scriber, and the "Book" will then be done up without
being folded.

132

godey's magazine and lady's book.

A lapy, who sent us a club, writes as follows: "I ex-
I your Inestimable 'Book— and why should I not?—
showed them the benefit to be derived from it, in order to
induce them to subscribe, knowing, if they could be per-
suaded to do so for one year, that they couid not be pre-
vailed upon in future to be without so interesting and use-
ful a book, especially a lady."

Editors turning Lecturers. — Graham and Fitzgerald.
The former delivered a lecture before the Excelsior Tempe-
rance Circle of Honor, gome days since, which did honor to
his head and heart. The Circle have had the lecture print-
ed, and we have read it with great satisfaction. Fitzge-
rald's lecture was upon music, and well he handled the
subject. The audience were much pleased, and so much
so that Mr. Fitzgerald has been solicited to repeat the lec-
ture. He would be a card for the lyceums in want of a
good lecturer.

L.v Pierre House. — We advise all our subscribers who
visit this city to stop at the La Pierre House. It is situated
on the widest street and highest part of the city. Messrs.
Taber & Son are indefatigable in their efforts to please.
Their table is admirable, and their "grand hops" are the
most neatly managed affairs we have ever seen.

R. H. See & Co.'s New Book-Store, No. 106 Chestnut
Street, is one of the neatest establishments in the city,
with the most gentlemanly attendants. All the new pub-
lications will be found there; and great inducements are
held out to subscribe for " Godey's Lady's Book" and " Gra-
ham's Magazine," in the shape of splendid premium plates
of a large size, and most beautifully engraved. This is a
great opportunity. Mr. See has also become one of the
publishers of that old and favorite monthly, " Graham's
Magazine."

We hope this extravagance will not extend to this coun-
try:-

" European Fashions. — Letters from Paris state that the
extravagance in dress for the last winter will be outdone
by the magnificence of the toilettes in preparation for the
approaching season. Enormously expensive toilettes are
not confined to the older members of society; the juvenile
part of the beau-monde is loaded with velvets, embroide-
ries, flounces, and feathers. As an instance of the vanity
and extravagance of private families in Paris, we may cite
an instance in which a baptismal dress of an infant has
been prepared, of exquisite embroidery and lace, at an ex-
pense of eighteen thousand dollars. The establishment
where these tiny articles were produced has been thronged
with lady visitors, to see the rich and costly dress in which
the little creature is to renounce the pomps and vanities of
the world."

Juixien the celebrated, and his band, have been here, and
we confess that we have never heard anything approaching
them. Concert Hall was crowded every evening they
played— and the repetition of the " Prima Donna Waltz,"
the "Katydid Polka," and the "American Quadrille,"
seemed more and more to please the delighted audience.
Jullieu himself is an admirable leader. He is devoid of af-
fectation, although we were led to suppose he had a great
deal of it. His leading is most judicious, using his baton
ao more than what seemed absolutely necessary, not
thumping constantly, as wo have seen other leaders do,
seemingly with no other purpose than to call attention to
themselves. He is nbly represented in his out-door busi-
ness by Dr Joy and W. F. Brough, Esq.

Dempster, the delightful ballad-singer, has been with us
once again. He always pleases. Aud, wherever he may
go, we wish him great success, and commend him to the
kind consideration of our friends of the press. They will
find him a thorough, good-hearted gentleman.

Frankenstein's Panorama of Niagara. — This great exhibi-
tion of the most stupendous waterfall in the world, which
has excited wonder and admiration for so many months in
New York, is now at Concert Hall, in this city. The bro-
thers Frankenstein say, with a perfect enthusiasm, that
the sight of it will remain like a vision of glory forever
upon your memories — for,

" A thing of beauty is a joy forever."

This may by some be thought a high tone, but in these
days of panoramas, it is necessary to speak emphatically,
and they fear not the result, if you but see this work.

We extract from the Philadelphia "Evening Argus" a
notice of a very powerfully written book : —

" ' The Old Doctor' is the norm de plume of the author of
a book bearing the same title, and filled with fragmentary
sketches of various incidents that have actually occurred
in the practice of the unknown physician who records
them. The style is easy and pleasant, and the sketches —
some twenty in number — possess a thrilling interest that
will amply repay perusal. There are four superb illustra-
tions, and the book will prove a valuable addition to the
library or the centre-table. Since the publication of Dr.
Warren's ' Diary of a Physician,' nothing of the kind has
appeared that will vie. in point of interesting narrative,
with these reminiscences of a retired physician. Physicians
have opportunities for observation and for learning secret
histories that never can be allowed to any one else, and the
expositions of this book show how much stranger truth is
than fiction. H. Long & Brother, 43 Ann St., are the pub-
lishers; and this volume is well entitled to take a front
rank in the serial of family books which this house is en-
gaged in publishing."

" We see that several of our bachelor brothers of the
' press gang' have taken up with Godey's offer to choose a
wife for each of them from among the ' Filadelfy Gals.'
We hope they are not all spoken for, and will put in our
order. Friend Godey, you will please look us up one with
rosy cheeks, not over five feet high, nor more than nine-
teen years old ; and of good ' mettle.' One who can set type,
and act as sub. in our office, when we are out, preferred.
Have her ready by the first of the coming year, and we
will call for her in person."

Friend " Argus," we would like you to call at once, for
we have here now some of the finest specimens of ladies
ever presented to an admiring public. But we do not
claim them as Philadelphians. There are three ladies on
exhibition here, the largest of which weighs 769 pounds,
and the least, some 600. The youngest is about nineteen.
Just the age you want, and if she can't set type now, she
could soon learn. She is ready now for you.

The " Iowa Sentinel" says : " We have but one objection
to Godey, and that is the devoting entire of his magazine
to the ladies. However, it is just what it purports to be — a
Lady's Book."

Now, we do not consider this an objection, but a compli-
ment. We endeavor to please the ladies, and how glorious-
ly have they responded to the appeal we made to them some
few months since, and how from our heart we thank llir-m !
Still, friend Sentinel, look over each number of the " Book'*'

godey's arm-chair.

183

and see if you cannot find enough to interest a gentleman.
Read the article upon Artesian Wells.

John Ross Dix, Esq., has become one of the editors of the
" Waveriey Magazine," published in Boston. This gentle-
man and W. R. Lawrence, Esq., its old editor, between
them are able to make the "Waveriey Magazine" even
better than it has been, if that were necessary.

"The Deserted Bride, and other Poems." By Geo. P.
Morris.— A contemporary, in speaking of this work, says :

'• Its splendid exterior, gay in gold and morocco, the fine-
ly executed portrait, by which the reader may see that tho
poet is no hard-featured wight, but has the impress of a
noble soul upon his features, and the beautiful steel en-
gravings, will attract the admirers of sumptuous books ;
but they will find their taste purified and elevated, and
their hearts made better by the poems, which will cling to
the memory as they are read like strains of bewitching
music. Space docs not permit us to point out our special
favorites; but they may be found almost passim. Wre
counsel all who have libraries or drawing-rooms to procuro
the volume as an ornament to be proud of; while those
who have not, will find it a meet companion either in tra-
vel or seclusion."

It is a most beautiful work, and is a suitable volume
either for a New Year or birthday present, aud would be a
beautiful Valentine to send to a ladjT.

Prom the " New York Spirit of the Times" we extract the
following. It is an excellent-book, that we can vouch for.

"The New Household Receipt Book; contaiuing Maxims,
Directions, and Specifics for Promoting Health, Comfort,
and Improvement in the Homes of the People. Compiled
from the best Authorities, with many Receipts never before
collected." By Sarah Josepha Hale. This is a very useful
book, and every housekeeper should have a copy. Young
women just married, or about to be married, would do well
to look into it, as much time may be saved and trouble
avoided by attending to its instructions. Mrs. Hale must
be exceedingly industrious, and if those masculine feminines
who go prating about ;: Women's Rights" would employ
themselves as usefully and virtuously, they would, like
her, have the thanks of the women of the world, and be
respected by the men of the world. Published by Long &
Brother, 43 Ann St.

The " Florist and Horticultural Journal" continues to
come to us elegantly illustrated, and containing useful and
well-written articles on all that relates to fruits, flowers,
and vegetables. Each number contains a beautifully co-
lored plate of some new or rare plant. Some of the en-
gravings are executed in Europe. It is published by H. C.
Hanson, at $2 per annum.

" The Saturday Evening Mail." Geo. R. Graham, editor ;
R. II. See, publisher. — Graham in a new character — editor
of a weekly newspaper. Won't he make the old fogies of
the press mind their P's and Q's ! Already has the " Mail"
assumed its place among those of a "large circulation."
It is a splendid quarto, beautifully illustrated, and most
ably edited.

We ask attention to our new work, " How to Make a
Dress." It is by our Fashion Editor, and we think it will
be useful to every one of our lady subscribers. Orders for
materials of all kinds, jewelry, patterns, etc. etc., will be
attended to, by inciting a remittance to T.. A. Oodey, Phi-
ladelphia.

T. S. Arthur's Home Maoazine. — This invaluable monthly
comes to us, as usual, richly freighted with literary gems
and treasures. In our estimation, it stands in the first
rank of our periodical literature. It is conducted with
ability and taste, and presents a well-selected variety of
choice reading, in which are mingled the grave and the gay,
the solid and the less weighty, with a felicity seldom ob-
tained in works of this character. It requires a rare dis-
crimination and a still more rare combination of the moral
and literary element to make a magazine what it ought to
be — what the high interests of society and the family de-
mand it should be — what a Christian parent would fee'
a pleasure in putting into the hands of his children. Bu.
such, we are happy to say, in our opinion, is the " Home
Magazine." The Little Colporteur story of Arthur in this
number, is worth, for its touching Christian simplicity and
its power to awaken and enliven the better feelings of the
heart, the price of the work for a year many times told.
May he write many such Christian parables! It is safe
copying the Great Master here. We warmly commend
the •' Home Magazine" to all our friends as a cheap, but
valuable magazine, and one every way worthy of their
confidence and patronage. — Central New Yorker.

Arthur's Home Gazette.— We give to this journal our
meed of praise, it being one of the best, if not the very
best weekly paper published. It is a paper which no one,
possessing even a spark of goodness, can attentively read
without being benefited by it. The public should in all
cases show a preference for such papers. Parents, espe-
cially, in addition to the best daily paper they can procure,
should supply their families with two or three of the best
weeklies ; and we would mo3t cordially recommend " Ar-
thur's Home Gazette" as one of the number. Money thus
spent would be very profitably invested. — Cliristian Ban-
ner, Fredericksburg, Va.

No. 3 of our " Splendid Gallery of Engravings" is now-
ready. See advertisement on cover.

The " Boston Post" says that " a young man, a member
of an Evangelical church," advertises in a New York paper
for board " in a pious family, where his Christian example
would be considered a compensation."

Rapp's Gold Pens. — We have received orders for more
than one hundred of these pens. We repeat the terms,
and also our hearty assurance that they are the best gold
pens we have ever used. Price of pens, condor size, with
a holder, $6; in a silver case, $7 ; swan-quill size, with
double extension silver cases, $i; goose-quill size, suitable
for ladies, with holders, as above, $3.

Moore, the poet, always had an eye to, we were going to
say, dollars and cents; but pounds, shilling, and pence
would oe more appropriate: —

" I have been passing three days with the Duchess of
Kent and our little future Queen at Earl Stoke Park, and
we had a great deal of music. The duchess sang some of
my melodies with me better than I ever heard them per-
formed. I promised to send her some of the songs of
mine she most liked, and I should be glad if you would
get them bound together (net too expensively) for me to
present to her. They are as follows : Meeting of Ships —
Indian Boat— The Evening Gun— Say, what shall be our
Sport, (can you detach this from the Nationals?) — Keep your
tears for me — The Wratchman — I love but thee (beginning
' If after all") — Reason and Folly and Beauty. She has pro-
mised me copies of some very pretty German things she
sang. '

184

godey's magazine and lady's book.

THE SCOTCH PIPER.

Draw a design upon cardboard, similar to the annexed
eugraving. Then cut it out neatly with a pair of scissors,
and gum a piece of black cloth or
velvet over tbe part intended as the
cap; attach two pieces of China
ribbon to the side of the cap, and
gild or paint the epaulettes. Sew a
small band of tape or webbing to the
back part of the kilt, large enough
to allow the two forefingers to pass
through it ; and when this is done,
gum a portion of tartan over the
lower part of the design, so as to re-
present the kilt, and otherwise orna-
ment the figure so that it may repre-
sent a Highland piper.

If the whole figure is only intended
to be painted, the band at the back
of the kilt must be glued on instead
of sewing it. Thus far the figure is
complete, and you must now make the boots, which may
be easily done from a piece of plaid ribbon or stuff, and
some black cloth, leather, or velvet. Take care that they
are large enough to admit the tips of your fingers at the
tops, which should be ornamented with some strips of
China ribbon of various colors. The figure is now finished.
To make the piper dance, introduce the two forefingers
of the right hand through the bands, at the back of the
kilt, so that tbe knuckles only are seen ; then place the
boots upon the tips of the fingers, and as the back of the
hand and other fingers are concealed, the Scotchman may
be made to dance by moving the fingers in such a manner
that the knuckles are bent during the performance.
This forms a very amusing trifle for children.

We will furnish any of the following from the esta-
blishment of Mrs. Suplee, the originator of this style
of patterns. But few persons can imagine how complete
they are in every respect, fit, trimming, &c. At a little
distance, they look like the real garment. The stock and
variety of patterns for ladies' dresses, cloaks, mantillas,
sacks, sleeves, and every article of ladies' and children's
wear, are unequalled in the United States. Every new de-
sign from Paris and London is regularly received, so that
persons wishing something new can always be supplied.
The patterns are cut in tissue paper, and trimmed as the
article is made.

Cloaks, Mantillas, Dress Bodies, Sleeves, Basques, Full
Dress, Children's Dresses, Basques, Sacks, and Aprons,
Boys' Jackets and Pants.

In ordering patterns, please say if for ladies or ehildren.
Address FASHION EDITOR,

Care of " Godey's Lady's Boole," Phila.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

"Mary Vale."— It may be interesting to this lady to know
that her story of " Marrying through Prudential Motives"
nas been copied from the " Lady's Book" for March, 1853, in
two of the English magazines, recopied into the New York
" Albion," that professes to give nothing but the cream of
the English magazines, credited to an English magazine ;
and now, being an English story, will no doubt be published
by half the papers in the United States. So much for the
British stamp.

" Nannie" is informed that MSS. for publishing must
only be written on one side of the paper, as plainly as pos-

sible, done up neatly in an envelop, sealed, and postage
paid. MSS. always come to hand. We have never lost
one through the mails. To her other question, we have
repeatedly asked of our book publishers to name theli"
price, but they will not study their own interests enou^t
to do it. We could sell thrice as many books for them if
they would attend to it. In London, the price of the work
is invariably mentioned in the advertisement.

" A. L. II." — Sent your box by Adams's Express. Wrote
by mail and inclosed receipt.

" G. L. M." — Sent cloak pattern by mail on the 16th.

"H. S." — We furnish any of Mrs. Suplee's patterns.

" M. A. B." — Sent cloak pattern by mail on 25th.

" N. B. D."— Jefferson's, or Mathias's, or Sutherland's
Manual.

" J. S."— Sent pattern by mail on 12th.

" Mrs. S. J. F." — Sent your patterns by mail on 30th.

" Mrs. S. M. B." — Sent your articles by mail on 3d.

" W. G." — Sent your Rapp pencil on the 6th.

"M. N." — Sent patterns by mail on 7th.

" E. C. H." — Answered yours about the polish on 5th.

" F. M. B."— Sent the silk on the 6th.

" J. H.," New York.— Will please mention what particu-
lar one she wants explained. The different artists that
compose the work use different terms, and what will ex-
plain one will not another.

" C. V. S." — Sent your order by Kinsley's Express on the
7th.

" Mrs. C. E. S."— Sent your patterns on the 9th.

" H. S." — Sent your patterns on the 7th.

" H. B. S."— Sent ear-rings on the 9th.

" F. L. K." — Will please accept our thanks for the pat-
tern for " muslin flouncing." It is very pretty, and shall
be engraved. We will be pleased to receive any origiual
designs from our subscribers for any kiud of fancy work.

" Miss L. J. T." — Sent your handkerchief by mail on 9th.

" Mrs. R. F. L." — Sent your pattern by mail on 10th.

" L. J." — Sent the Talma by Adams & Co.'s Express, and
sent you their receipt.

« Mrs. A. E. S."— Sent pattern on the 13th.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies it.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-
office stamp.

Qllje Borrower' 0 ^Department.

*' The wicked borroweth. and paycth not again."

The " Wadesboro' Argus" says : " We have been lending
the ' Book' for the last year or two; but Godey positively
forbids it, and we will have to refuse it to borrowers. We
are now making up a club for the work for next year, and
ask those whom we have been supplying the present year
to send us their names with two dollars, and we will set
that they have the 'Book' supplied in their own names for
the next twelve months."

Will one of these borrowers subscribe? Doubtful. But
we shall see.

Letter from a Lady. — " I am trying to raise a large club
here. Our only trouble is from borrowers. During my
absence in the country this past summer, the whole of last
year's numbers were taken out of the house, and two or
three of them were never returned. I have come to the
determination, as New Year is a time to make good resolu-
tions, one of mine shall be not to lend ' Godey.' II."

"Your 'Book' is very popular; but many of your sub-
scribers wish that it was more popular, at Least enough so

ENIGMAS.

185

to cause those who borrow to subscribe for themselves.
Our copy generally goes round to a dozen families, the
rightful owner receiving little or no benefit from it; for, by
the time it is returned, it is so defaced that we can scarcely
recognize it. J. D. M."

(JUjcmistrg for JJoutl).

HEAT, LIGHT, AND FLAME.

Loco-foco Matches, etc. — The oxygenated or chlorate
matches are first dipped in melted sulphur, and then tipped
with a paste made of chlorate of potass, sulphur, and sugar,
mixed with gum-water, and colored with vermilion;
frankincense and camphor are sometimes mixed with the
composition, and the wood of the match is pencil cedar, so
that a fragrant odor is diffused from the matches in burn-
ing. To obtain light, a match is very lightly dipped in a
bottle containing a little asbestos soaked in oil of vitriol.

Lucifers consist of chips of wood tipped with a paste of
chlorate of potass mixed with sulphuret of antimony,
starch, and gum-water; when a match is pinched between
the folds of glass-paper and suddenly drawn out, a light is
instantly obtained.

Prometheans consist of small rows of waxed paper, in one
end of which is a minute quantity of vitriol, in a glass bulb,
sealed up and surrounded with chlorate of potass ; when
the end thus prepared is pressed so as to break the bulb,
the vitriol comes in contact with the composition, and pro-
duces light instantly.

Loco-foco Matches are made of a compound of phosphorus,
rice-flour, &c, colored with any suitable article.

Phosphoric Fire-bottle. — Take a common brimstone
match, introduce its point into a bottle containing oxide of
phosphorus so as to cause a minute quantity of it to adhere
to it; if the match be then rubbed on a common bottle
cork, it instantly takes fire ; care should be taken not to
use the same match immediately, or while still hot, as it
would inevitably set fire to the oxide of phosphorus in the
bottle. The phosphoric fire-bottle may be prepared in the
following manner: Take a small phial of very thin glass,
heat it gradually in a ladleful of sand, and introduce into
it a few grains of phosphorus ; let the phial be then left
undisturbed for a few minutes, and proceed in tbis manner
until the phial is full; or, put a little phosphorus into a
email phial ; heat the phial in a ladleful of sand, and when
the phosphorus is melted, turn it round, so that the phos-
phorus may adhere to the sides of the phial ; and then cork
the phial closely.

A Combustible Body pet on Fire by Water. — Fill a saucer
nearly full of water, and drop into it a small piece of po-
tassium the size of a pepper-corn (about two grains); the
potassium will instantly become red-hot and dart from one
Bide of the saucer to the other, and burn vividly on the
surface of the water.

Curious Experiment. — Procure three basins, and put
water of the temperature of thirty-three degrees into one
basin, of fifty degrees into another, and of a hundred degrees
into the third; tben plunge one hand into the water of thirty-
three degrees, and the other into that of a hundred degrees,
and when they have both remained a few seconds, with-
draw them, and plunge both hands into the water of fifty
degrees: the one which was before in warm water will now
feel cold, and the eno that was in the cold water will feel
warm.

16*

Vivid Production of Fire. — Take three parts by weight
of flowers of sulphur, and eight parts of copper filings, mix
them intimately together, and put the mixture into a large
test-tube, or small glass matrass. If the tube be now
placed upon red-hot coals, the mass begins to swell, and a
small ignited spark becomes first visible at the bottom,
which rapidly increases in size, and lastly, the whole mass
glows and exhibits a brilliant combustion without the
access of air or oxygen gas.

The Fiery Flash. — Pour iron filings upon the flame of
a candle, from a sheet of paper, about eight or ten inches
above it; as they descend into the flame, they will enter
into a very vivid scintillating combustion.

Spirits of Wine.— Put a small quantity of spirits of wine
into a glass, and put a halfpenny or shilling in with it;
then direct the rays of the sun, by means of a burning
glass, upon the coin, and in a short time it will become so
hot as to inflame the spirits.

(Enigmas.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN JANUARY NUMBER.
1. Inside. 2. Air. 3. Mal-ice.

ENIGMAS.
4.
A museum am I, and my pictures so true
That their merits are never disputed by you
Such graphic expression each sketch must reveal
Of all I present to engage the ideal :
My collection abounds in so varied a stock
(Some sure to enchant, while some others may shock)
Of portraits and landscapes, and scenes of the past-
Historic and classic ; some others are cast
In chimerical moulds, and stand out to the sight
In colors of fancy illusively bright.
Some are visions of dreams that appeal to the sense
With a mystical fervor, so fair their pretence.
Now this Exhibition at will you may view,
For you '11 aye find it open and gratis to you:
Though you '11 enter it solus, your gaze none can shaje.
So it 's not like the show in Trafalgar-square.
5.
My first " to know" might signify;
My second " melody" imply ;
My third must " fashionable" mean;
And in my whole much fashion 's seen.
6.
More truly valuable am I,

As visibly is shown,
Than California's gold could buy—
Which you at sight must own.

Of one alone, or else of three,

You'll fabricate my name;
Tben, even backwards spelling me,

You '11 find me still the same.
7.
As introductory, I '11 state,
We are a family of eight,
Fluent of speech as e'en are you,
And quite as comprehensive, too.
Our character is somewhat strange —
One-half of us are apt to change

186

godey's magazine and lady's book.

In constitution frequently,
As you continually may see:
Although the other four, 'tis plain,
Unalter'd always must remain;
And in their own primeval state,
Your constant exigence await.
Collectively, our family
With reasoning humanity
Must o'er retain the first degree.

To Assist thk Hearing of Elderly Persons when Suffer-
ing from Deafness. — Deafnoss is usually accompanied with
confused sounds, and noises of various kinds in the inside
of the ear itself; in such cases, insert a piece of cotton
wool, on which a very little oil of cloves or cinnamon has
heen dropped.

Rheumatic Embrocation.— Take of spirit of turpentine,
spirit of hartshorn, liquid opodeldoc, of each one ounce.

My first is what you all must share
So long as you respire the air ;
And when deceased, survivors will
Your proper share attribute still.
My second 's what I think you 'd do
Whene'er my firs' might do so too.
Theu let the two united be,
To form what you 'd not wish to see.

il 1 1 1 1 p t 5, $t t.

THE SICK ROOM AND NURSERY.

Improved Mode of Administering Senna.— Take of senna
three drachms ; lesser cardamom-seeds, husked and bruised,
half a drachm; boiling water, as much as will yield a fil-
tered infusion of six ounces. Digest for an hour, and filter
■when cold. This is a well-contrived purgative infusion,
the aromatic correcting the drastic efforts of the senna. It
is of advantage that it should be used freshly prepared, as it
is apt to spoil very quickly.

Warm Water. — Warm water is preferable to cold water,
as a drink to persons who are subject to dyspeptic and bil-
ious complaints, and it may be taken more freely than cold
water, and consequently answers better as a diluent for
carrying off bile, and removing obstructions in the urinary
secretion in cases of stone and gravel. When water of a
temperature equal to that of the human body is used for
drink, it proves considerably stimulant, and is particularly
suited to dyspeptic, bilious, gouty, and chlorotic subjects.

Uarley-water. — To make good barley-water, choose the
best pearl-barley, boil it for a few minutes, then throw
away the water and add fresh, in the proportion of a pint
to an ounce of barley. Boil quickly, and then let it simmer
for an hour ; strain and sweeten ; flavor with lemon, or ac-
cording to taste. It is a very mucilaginous drink, and
beneficial to invalids.

Advantages of Cleanliness. — Health and strength can-
not be long continued unless the skin, all the skin, is washed
frequently with a sponge or other means. Every morning
is best, after which the skin should be rubbed very well
with a rough cloth. This is the most certain way of pre-
venting cold, and a little substitute for exercise, as it brings
blood to the surface, and causes it to circulate well through
the fine capillary vessels. Labor produces this circulation
naturally. The insensible perspiration cannot escape well
if the skin is not clean, as the pores get choked up. It is
said that in health about half the aliment we take passes
out through the skin.

Antidotk to Arsenic. — Magnesia is an antidote to arsenic,
equally efficacious with peroxide of iron, and preferable to
it, inasmuch as it is completely innocuous in almost any
quantity, and can be procured in any form.

Remedy for Toothache.— Take of alum, in powder, two
drachms; spirit of nitre, seven drachms. Mix, and apply
it to the teeth.

DOMESTIC RECEIPTS.
CUSTAKDS, CKEAMS, JELLIES, AND BLANC

MANGE.
[Second article.]

Common Baked Custard. — Mix a quart of new milk with
eight well-beaten eggs, strain the mixture through a fine
sieve, and sweeten it with from five to eight ounces of
sugar, according to the taste ; add a small pinch of salt,
and pour the custard into a deep dish, with or without a
lining or rim of paste : grate nutmeg or lemon rind over
the top, and bake it in a very slow oven from twenty to
thirty minutes, or longer, should it not be firm in the cen-
tre. A custard, if well made, and properly baked, will be
quite smooth when cut, without the honey-combed appear-
ance which a hot oven gives ; and there will be no whey
in the dish. New milk, one quart ; eggs, eight ; sugar, five
to eight oz. ; salt, one-quarter salt-spoonful; nutmeg or
lemon-grate ; baked, slow oven, twenty to thirty minutes,
or more.

Chocolate Custards. — Dissolve gently by the side of the
fire an ounce and a half of the best chocolate in rather
more than a wineglassful of water, and then boil it until
it is perfectly smooth ; mix with it a pint of milk well fla-
vored with lemon-peel or vanilla, and two ounces of fine
sugar, and when the whole boils, stir to it five well-beaten
eggs that have been strained. Put the custard into a jar
or jug, set it into a pan of boiling water, and stir it with-
out ceasing until it is thick. Do not put it into glasses or
a dish till nearly or quite cold. These, as well as all other
custards, are infinitely finer when made with the yolks
only of the eggs.

Rice Custards without Cream.— Take one teaspoonful
of rice flour, a pint of new milk, the yolks of three eggs,
sugar to your liking ; mix the rice very smooth, and stir
it, with the eggs, into the boiling milk. An excellent dish
for children.

A finer Baked Custard. — Boil together gently, for five
minutes, a pint and a half of new milk, a few grains of
salt, the very thin rind of a lemon, and six ounces of loaf-
sugar; stir these boiling, but very gradually, to the well-
beaten yolks of ten fresh eggs, and the whites of four;
strain the mixture, and add to it half a pint of good cream ;
let it cool, and then flavor it with a few spoonfuls of brandy
or a little ratafia; finish and bake it by the directions given
for the common custard above; or pour it into small well-
buttered cups, and bake it very slowly from ten to twelve
minutes.

Apple or Gooseberry Souffle. — Scald and sweeten the
fruit, beat it through a sieve, and put it into a tart dish.
When cold, pour a rich custard over it. about two inches
deep ; whip the whites of the eggs, of which the custard
was made, to a snow, and lay it in small rough pieces on
the custard; sift line sugar over, and put it into a Black
oven for a short time. It will make an exceedingly pretty
dish.

G008EBERRY-F00L.— Put the fruit into a stone jar, with some

CENTKE-TABLE GOSSIP.

187

good Lisbon sugar ; set the jar on a stove, or in a saucepan
of water oyer the fire ; if the former, a large spoonful of
•water should be added to the fruit. When it is done
enough to pulp, press it through a cullender; have ready
a teacupful of new milk and the same quantity of raw
cream boiled together, and left to be cold; then sweeten
pretty well with tine sugar, and mix the pulp by degrees
■with it. Or: — Mix equal proportion of gooseberry pulp
and custard.

Apple-fool may be made the same as gooseberry, except
that when stewed the apples should be peeled and pulped.
French Flummery. — Boil one ounce and a half of isin-
glass in a pint and a half of cream for ten minutes, stir-
ring it well; sweeten it with loaf-sugar, flavor with two
tablespoonfuls of orange-flower water, strain it into a deep
dish.

Fruit Creams.— Take half an ounce of isinglass, dissolved
in a little water, then put one pint of good cream, sweetened
to the taste; boil it; when nearly cold, lay some apricot
or raspberry jam on the bottom of a glass dish, and pour
it over. This is most excellent.

Burnt Cream. — Set over the fire in a pan three ounces
of sifted sugar, stir it, and when it browns, add a quart of
cream, and two ounces of isinglass; boil and stir till the
latter is dissolved, when sweeten it, and strain into moulds.
Or, this cream may be made by boiling it without sugar,
adding the yolks of four eggs, sweetening and sifting over
it in a dish loaf-sugar, to be browned with a salamander.

Lemon Cream. — Take a pint of cream, add the zest of a
lemon rubbed on sugar; whip it well; add sugar and
lemon-juice to palate. Have half an ounce of isinglass dis-
solved and cool ; when the cream is thick, which it will be
when the lemon-juice is added, pour in the isinglass, and
immediately mould it. A smaller quantity of isinglass
may suffice, but that depends on the thickness of the cream.
Other flavors may be used, as orange, almond, maraschino.
Or .-—Take a piut of thick cream, and put to it the yolks
of two eggs well beaten, 4 oz. of fine sugar, and the thin
rind of a lemon ; boil it up, then stir it till almost cold;
put the juice of a lemon in a dish or bowl, and pour the
cream upon it, stirring it till quite cold.

Raspberry Cream. — Put six ounces of raspberry jam to
a quart of cream, pulp it through a lawn sieve, add to it
the juice of a lemon and a little sugar, and whisk it till
thick. Serve it in a dish or glasses.

Strawberry Cream.— Put six ounces of strawberry jam
with a pint of cream through a sieve, add to it the juice
of a lemon, whisk it fast at the edge of a dish, lay the
froth on a sieve, add a little more juice of lemon, and when
no more froth will rise, put the cream into a dish, or into
glasses, and place the froth upon it, well drained.

Cei^ebrated Honey Almond Paste. — Take honey, one
pound; white bitter paste, one pound; expressed oil of
bitter almonds, two pounds ; yolks of eggs, five. Heat the
honey, strain, then add the bitter paste, knead well to-
gether, and, lastly, add the eggs and oil in alternate por-
tions.

Invaluable Ointment —Obtain a pint of real cream, let it
simmer over the fire, or on the side, till it resembles butter,
and forms a thick oily substance, which may be used as
ointment for fresh or old wounds, cracked lips or hands.

Chapped Hands. — Mix a quarter of a pound of unsalted
hog's-lard, which should be washed first in water and then
in rose-water, with the yolk of a new-laid egg and a large
spoonful of honey. Add to this as much fine oatmeal or
almond paste as will make the whole into a paste, and ap-
ply this after washing the hands.

To make Wash-balls. — Take two pounds of new white
soap, and shave thin into a teacupful of rose-water, pour-
ing in as much boiling water as will soften it. Put into a
pipkin a pint of sweet oil, fourpenny worth of oil of almonds,
half a pound of spermaceti, and set all over the fire till
dissolved; then add the soap, and half a pound of camphor
that has been first reduced to powder by rubbing it in a
mortar with a few drops of spirit of wine or lavender-water.
Boil ten minutes ; then pour it into a basin, and stir till it
is quite thick enough to roll up into hard balls.

To Clean White Veils.— Put the veil in a solution of
white soap, and let it simmer a quarter of an hour ; squeeze
it in some warm water and soap till quite clean. Rinse it
from soap, and then in clean cold water, in which is a drop
of liquid blue ; then pour boiling water on a teaspoonf ul of
starch, run the veil through this, and clear it well by clap-
ping it. Afterwards pin it out, keeping the edges straight
and even.

Certfn-CaMe (Sasidp

A WARNING TO LOVERS.

The following delicate translation from the German we
commend to all just betrothed lovers, or those who are en-
during the anxieties and suspense of a long engagement.
It has the burden of more than one life in which pride
has made a wreck of happiness.

HOW IT HAPPENS.

FROM THE GERMAN OF EMANUEL GEIBEL.

They said to her, " He loves thee not, he speaks
False vows, he plays but with thee." Then she grieved

And bowed her head, and tears pearled from her cheeks,
Like dew from rodes. Oh, that she believed!

For when he came, and saw her doubting mood,
His heart grew wayward : not to show his sorrow,

He sang, and played, and drank, and laughed aloud-
Then wept in secret till the morrow.

" He is not false, give him thy hand agaiu !"

Thus a good angel still her heart doth move.
He, too, yet feels, 'mid bitterness and pain :

" She loves you still 1 oh, she is still your love!
Speak one kind word, let her speak one to you,

And then the spell that parts you will be broken."
They went— they met— but what will pride not do ?

That single word remained unspoken !

188

godey's magazine and lady's book.

They parted, a<nd as in the minster's choir

Doth die away thfl altar lamp's red glow —
At Brat crows dimmer, then the sacred fire

Burns bright once more, at length expires — 'twas so;
Lamented first, then longed for bitterly,

And then— forgotten, love within them perished;
Till an illusion vain it seemed to be

That each the other e'er had cherished.

Twas only sometimes, in the moon's pale gleam,

They 'd from their pillow start : 'twas wet with tears,

And wet with tears their face. They 'd had a dream,
I hardly know of what. And then the years

Of bliss, long past, came to their memory ;

And how they 'd vainly doubted, how they 'd parted,

And now were sundered so eternally —

0 God ! forgive these stubborn-hearted I M. A. R.

AN ANTIDOTE.

Mb. Brown says Mrs. Green— Miss White that was—
doesn't live happily with her husband. The poison works
and comes to Mrs. Green's ears. But stop, dear madam,
before you have exhausted your week's supply of fresh
pocket-handkerchiefs by tears — didn't you refuse Mr.
Brown's brother? There's the antidote.

Mrs. Knight tells all her acquaintances that Mrs. Day is
abominably extravagant, and caused her husband's failure.
Mrs. Starr is sorry to hear it, but recollects in time that
Mrs. Day once declined making Mrs. Knight's acquaint-
ance, because there were already more names on her visit-
ing list than she could do justice to. Mrs. Knight feels in-
jured, and sets it down to her living in a two story house
in a cross street. Hence her remarks.

And if our lady readers, young and old, would but no-
tice it, a similar antidote might be found for almost all the
troublesome reports that come to their ears. It is not in
human nature to give a kiss for a blow ; and fancied or
real injuries are often visited upon one's character or
standing. The next best thing to being " let alone," is not
to mind what is said, so one is conscious of the right, and
never willingly to listen to what people say of you. If
disagreeable, you will be sorry you heard it ; if the reverse,
the best of U3 are sensibly inclined to vanity.

TRANSPLANTING ROSES.

The season for transplanting roses "is from the end of
October to the middle of March. The autumn is generally
preferred ; although, I think, it matters but little, provided
they are not removed during frosty weather. If standards
are chosen, each plant should be tied to a stake to preserve
it from the action of the wind ; and, whether standards or
dwarfs, it is an excellent plan to cover the soil with old
hotbed manure, describing a circle round the plant about
eighteen inches in diameter. This done, pruning is the
next operation, and this should be performed in Febru-
ary or March. As the roots of the plants will have been
curtailed by the act of removal, more pruning is necessary
the first year than at any subsequent period. It is scarcely
possible to acquire a correct knowledge of pruning other-
wise than by watching a proficient in the art. Neverthe-
less, a few hints may prove serviceable. A young plant
should have from three to seven shoots ; if more are pre-
sent, those best situated foi the formation of a well-
balanced plant should be singled out, and the others cut
away. This is called thinning. It is now necessary to
shorten the shoots that are left. It is an axiom in rose-
pruning— the more rigorous the growth, the less should

the shoots be shortened. The kinds of weak growth may
be shortened to two, or at most three eyes (buds), the mo-
derate growers ranging from three to five eyes, and the
strong growers from five to seven. In the early growth of
spring, it is necessary to look through the plants occasion-
ally, to remove the caterpillars which infest them at that
season, and which travel from bud to bud, eating out the
core, and destroying the future flowers. The autumnal
blooming kinds require higher cultivation than the sum-
mer ones. The latter flower in summer only ; the former
give a succession of flowers during the autumn months.
By strict attention to these directions, a beautiful collec-
tion of roses may be formed."

PARLOR WORK.

Collars and undersleeves being so expensive once more,
many ladies prefer to embroider for themselves, as the
style is by no means difficult. The pattern, principally of
eyelets, and with deep points of button-hole stitch (such as
we have given, from time to time, in the " Lady's Book"
Work-Table), is traced on the muslin or cambric. Instead
of the old-fashioned hoops, or tambour-frames, a piece of
dark morocco or kid is basted beneath, to keep the strip
quite straight and even, then worked over the finger. The
same is used for scalloping cr pointing skirts, or. in fact,
for any style of cambric or muslin embroidery.

Slippers are principally in applique. That is, a pattern
of velvet, be it a scroll, leaves, or flowers, is applied to
black broadcloth by braiding or chain-stitching. It takes
much less time than canvas-work, and, though it will not
last so long, has a much richer effect. This style of work
is much used in smoking-caps, also in silk and velvet for
mantillas, short Talmas, etc. For canvas patterns, some
of the latest styles introduce the heads of animals, as the
fox, or the whole figure, a tiny kitten — on the toe, looking
out from a wreath of leaves or flowers, with a groundwork
of some plain color. Scrolls, octagons, diamonds, etc.,
shaded from black to the palest colors, are also much used.

JUVENILE BOOKS.— FROM EVANS & BRITTAN.

A celebrated publisher in our own country has come to
the conclusion that there are but three classes of readers
it is a bookseller's pleasure or interest to cater for — young
ladies, college students, and children. Medical works, law
books, or, indeed, those pertaining to any of the profes-
sions, are to be considered as the tools of trade ; but we
refer to those who read for pleasure simply, and enjoy
what they read without carping or cavil. Yet children are
critics, often admirable, though always genial, neverthe-
less very observant of good morals and truthfulness to na-
ture; and, this most favorite class of readers constantly
increasing, it has become a distinct branch of business at
the present time — the selection and publication of juvenile
books.

Of the firms especially devoted to it, we have before no-
ticed Evans & Brittan, of New York, now the publishers
of our old and well-beloved friend, "The Schoolfellow.*'
They are issuing many attractive volumes for the little
people, even though the holidays are over, and among
those destined to a permanent place in juvenile literature,
we notice " At Home and Abroad ; or, How to BeJtave." By
Mrs. Manners. " Pleasure and Profit," an admirable series
of stories on the Lord's Prayer, was the first claim put
forth by this pleasant friend and instructress upon the
attention of the little people and their elders. The praise
which it won will be still farther secured to the authored
by her secoud book, which is exactly what MNM needed in

FASHION S.

189

every nursery and school-room in the country, and we pre-
dict that it will become a text-book speedily. There is
running through every chapter the kindliest Christian
politeness, the truest of all, as well as many judicious hints
on the customs of good society ; and yet, with all its valu-
able instruction, it is neither dull nor prosy, but a series
of interesting stories, conversations, or rather " talks," in
the most good-natured and cheerful vein. We fancy this
will be the most popular of the series, in which the " Pet
Bird," by Cousin Alice, " Pleasure and Profit," and many
others are numbered. It is published in a uniform style
with these.

Then, again, for still younger people, is the capital
"Laughter-Book," and "Naughty Boys and Girls," with
their broad German mirth and brilliant pictures; the won-
derful "Adventures of a Bog," with text and illustration to
make any boy's holiday feast: "Pretty Poll," also illus-
trated: and, above all, that perfect gem for the nursery,
" The Book of Songs," with its quaint nursery tales and
quiet hymns, illustrated by no less a pencil than Birket
Poster, of English celebrity. We particularly commend
the editorial taste and style in the letter-press and illustra-
tions of all these volumes.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

" Helen" desires to know if it is proper to allow the
salesman at a shoe-store to fit on boots and slippers. If by
proper she means customary, we reply in the affirmative ;
and, indeed, if the attendant is respectful, there can be
nothing more to say. If in the least rude, his employer
should at once be spoken to; a few such lessons Avould
teach civility. In Philadelphia, and sometimes in New
York, ladies are the attendants, which is much more agree-
able, and should be made a general custom. Whenever
the reverse is the case, the motto of the " garter" should
be taken for the shoe — " Honi soit qui mat y pense."

" Miss L. S. D." will find a reply to her queries in our
"Centre-Table Gossip." We prefer the old style of can-
vas-work, which should never be done in the evening hour,
as the threads of the canvas, counting stitches, or sorting
the wools strains the strongest eyes. Pilling up the ground-
work is not so objectionable.

" La Tablier "—Aprons are not worn in the street, but
are very fashionable for morning or home-dress. They are
two breadths wide, and reach a little below the knee, and
can be made of plain black or fancy silk, with outside
pockets or not, at pleasure. Velvet ribbon and galloon
are sometimes used in trimming the^. Others are flounced
across the bottom by graduated ruffles, or ornamented by
knots of ribbon in the old style.

" E. Jane B." need not fear that we will betray her in-
quiries to any of her acquaintances. We cannot recom-
mend any perfectly safe cosmetic but soap and water, disap-
proving of the whole plan. Elder-flower water is said to be
efficacious, and is certainly simple. Powder of any kind
will eventually dry up the skin, and produce wrinkles and
discoloration, however much it may seem to improve the
complexion at first.

" A Southern Subscriber" must remember that we have
no claims to medical skill as a journal. The word dyspep-
sia explains the nature of the ailment. It came from the
Greek, and signifies, "I digest with difficulty." For the
oppression he speaks of after meals, we have always found
a cup of water taken clear, and as hot as it is possible to
drink it, the best remedy. Ginger, or any other stimu-
lant, has its mischievous reaction or consequent.

" Mrs. C." can have the curtains cleaned at any dyers ;

they are the persons to apply to, and will often restore
them wonderfully. The shawl will probably look almost
as well as new, though crapes have invariably a stiff,
washed look that betrays them.

" Rosa" will find that we continue our gardening hints,
finding them very popular. As regards the other matter,
she will find all necessary information in "Godey's Hand-
Book of Dress-making," just published.

" A School-Girl" should never use common brown soap
if she is liable to chapped hands, as it contains turpentine,
which roughens the skin. Oatmeal will answer instead
of any soap; also, honey softens the skin.

" A Housekeeper." — French mustard differs materially
from what is used in England, for vinegar, more or less,
enters into the composition, and the grain itself is not the
same ; the finer sorts have always the addition of aromatic
herbs, so that there are no less than twenty-four different
sorts of French mustard. The common kind is made with
the grain of the Lenvoye, which is of a darker color than
English mustard seed. It is ground up with vinegar on a
stone slab, and then put into pots for use. Provide your-
self with the seneve or senvy seed, and then reduce it to a
fine powder, mixing it with the French vinegar sold by the
grocers.

5a s 1) ion s.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Orders, accompanied by checls for the proposed expendi-
ture, to be addressed to the care of L.A. Godey, Esq., who will
be responsible for the amount, and the early execution of cam-
missions.

JYo order will be attended to unless the money is first re-
ceived.

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 Levy's or Stewart's, bonnets from Miss Wharton's,
;ewelry from Bailey's, Warden's, Philadelphia, or Tiffany's,
New York, if requested.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION PLATE FOR
FEBRUARY.

Fig. 1st. — Morning or home-dress, of violet-colored cash-
mere, embroidered with black, in a new and very elegant
style. The basque has deep points, and a trimming to cor-
respond extends up the points and surrounds the sleeves.
Chemisette in imitation of a vest pattern; sleeves and cap
of Honiton lace.

Fig. 2d. — Dinner or evening-dress of pale rose-colored
watered silk, made perfectly plain, with a tunic skirt and
berthe cape of a white brocaded pattern. The hair is ar-
ranged in very rich puffs and bands, and dressed with rose
colored plumes falling to the throat.

190

EMBROIDERED DRESSING-GOWN.

(See Plate.)
We give the pattern of a beautiful dressing-gown In
needlework embroidery. It may be done on plain casb-
mere or merino for winter, or muslin or cambric as a sum-
mer dress. It consists of a petticoat and sacque, the latter
loose, with flowing sleeves.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR FEBRUARY.

February, with its few mild days, is still to be reckoned
as one of the winter months by dress as well as the calen-
dar. The shop windows themselves present very few
novelties, and the side-walk none at all. The endless va-
rieties of cloaks and mantillas — the Hungarian, the Galeta,
the Nabob, the Victoria, the Norma — are still in season,
and the winter bonnets, with their profusion of trimming
inside and out, will be worn until April. We particularly
notice for the benefit of those having a large or expensive
stock on hand, the edict of a late foreign fashion journal :
although large collars are the fashion, it must not be sup-
posed that small ones are altogether laid aside. They are
still worn with cloth and merino dresses, and for the street, •
as large ones do not set well over cloaks and mantillas.
Plain linen collars and undersleeves are still worn for the
street, and travelling, and for the morning.

For making dresses, there are every variety of sleeves.
For morning-dresses, the fulness at the wrist is gathered
into a wide cuff turned over. It is a mistake to copy the
full-puffed or slashed sleeve of Charles V.'s costume with
any other style of waist. Such fanciful costumes should
not be copied piecemeal ; they lose all their effect. Better
be a little behind the fashion. Costumes invented for rich
materials expressly cut a very shabby figure in mousse-
lines or chintzes.

Basques are as much in fashion as ever, the favorite
Ftyle being renamed "Odette Bodies." The basque, or
lappets, being of the same piece as the body— not attached
to it, but gored out, as it were, over the hips. For slender
waists, the Parisian dress-makers have used gathered bo-
dies, with the lappets sewed on, as the Odette body, being
quite plain, is not considered becoming.

We conclude our chat by an article upon mourning, co-
pied from a valuable little publication, to which we would
call the attention of our lady readers. The title is signifi-
cant— " How to Make a Dress : a Help to those who wish to
Help themselves." The American edition is altered and en-
larged by our own editress, from whom we quote the fol-
lowing chapter: —

"MOURNING.

a Some guiding hints as to the choice of mourning goods,
and the general effect of close and half mourning, may not
be amiss.

"Close mourning, more commonly called deep mourn-
ing, is usually worn only for the nearest relations — a hus-
band, parents, child, brother, or sister. A widow's mourn-
ing, called ' weeds' in England, is not so distinct in this
country. There the close tarleton or muslin cap, with its
crimped border, is its accompaniment for a year at least.
The fashion has of late years been adopted in this country,
particularly in New York, where it is so common as not
longer to excite the curiosity it called out at first, when
worn by young persons. Bombazine, trimmed with folds
of crape (the dress, mantilla, and bonnet), with a veil of
double Italian or heavy English crape, is considered the
deepest mourning. Nothing white, as collar, cuffs, or un-
dersleeves, is worn by those who thus follow the dictates

of fashion, even in their sorrow, through the first six
months or year.

" Another style — also considered deep, and usually worn
for parents or children — allows of a variety of material,
as black cashmere, mousseline, Taniese cloth, alpaca, etc.
etc., trimmed with silk or ribbon, even plain braids and
galloons. Undersleeves and collars of Swiss muslin, tarle-
ton, or linen, relieve the sombre shade, and add a neatness
to the dress which it can never have where black crape is
used for the purpose. This is the most general style.

" A lighter mourning is black silk trimmed lightly with
crape, mode bonnet, etc. etc.

" Again, half mourning admits of as great a variety in
shade and material as colors; lead and stone colors being
considered appropriate ; lavender, and even deep purple,
are often used. What is thus denominated ' dressy black,'
or, by the witty author of ' How to get Married,' ; mitigated
grief.' seems to us to lose the sacredness with which sorrow
usually invests the dress of a mourner.

"In choosing mourning goods, the first essential, even
be/ore quality, is a good shade of black, neither blue nor
rusty ; a dead, solid color is considered most desirable. If
possible, have the dress, mantle, and bonnet from the
same piece, either in bombazine or silk. It gives the whole
dress the same shade, and will wear alike. Never get a
cheap material in black ; it will be sure to fade or grow
rusty. Here, especially, the dearest is always the cheapest in
the end. For constant wear, we prefer cashmeres, or even
plain mousselines, to bombazines. Black English chintzes
make nice morning dresses, and fade very little in wash-
ing. For summer wear, bareges, silk tissues, and grena-
dines are considered deep mourning. The cross-barred
bco-ege is the strongest, and grenadines of good quality will
wear several years.

"Although not exactly belonging to eur present pur-
pose, we would mention that drawn hats of crape and
grenadine, or even black straws trimmed with crape, are
appropriate to the second style of dress we have men-
tioned, when the heat of the weather is too great for bom-
bazine and silk.

"Veils are of double crape, single English, and crape
lisse. ' Love veils' are a thick tissue or grenadine, with a
deep silk border.

"In making up mourning, if in a thick material, a lead-
colored lining will be sufficiently dark; in a thin material,
it is usual to have the lining covered with thin Florence
silk. Black linen will, however, answer the purpose. It
should be boiled first in salt and water, and pressed out
while damp. Black cambric, etc., will color the skin, and
the stain be found very difficult to efface. The same is true
of plain black lawns as a dress material.

" Very little trimming suffices for mourning ; indeed, the
very intention of the dress would be lost if much were
used. We know this is often the case; but it is sanctioned
neither by taste nor economy. We have even seen ruffled
bombazines. We object to them decidedly. Folds, by gene-
ral consent, seem to be the most appropriate style; in the
first place, from the thickness of the material generally in
use, and again, from the plainness of the effect which is
generally required. Broad flat galloons have also been the
style the present year; but that is only a transient shade
of fashion.

"As travelling has always its accompaniment of dust,
gray dresses are almost invariably worn even by those in
deep mourniug. There is a material of silk and linen
which will be found very serviceable, and is sufficiently
dark trimmed with black braid. As there can he very lit-
tle variety in close mourning, neatness is con.*idcrr<l its j>rin-
cipal elegance, and is the point to be aimed at."

SCOTT'S WEEKLY PAPER

FOR 1853 AND 1354.
THE GREATEST ARRAY OF LITERARY TALENT,

And most splendid Series of Legends, Nouvellette3, Romances, Stories, &c,
ever offered to the American Public.

The Publisher of " Scott's Weekly Paper," in making his announcement for the Fall and Winter campaign,
takes more than ordinary pleasure in stating that his popular Family Journal for the coming year will present

A COMBINATION OF LITERARY ATTRACTIONS

nnd marks of distinguished ability entirely unprecedented in newspaper publishing. Grateful for the liberal
and highly flattering support extended to his favorite paper in

EVERY SECTION OF THE UNION,

and determined, regardless of expense, to place it in a position above all competition, he has entered into ar-
rangements with the leading

FIRST CLASS AMERICAN AUTHORS,

by which he will be enabled to furnish his subscribers with THE CHOICEST LITERARY GE3IS ever
offered in a weekly journal.

Among the NEW FEATURES of tne coining year, the publisher would announce a new and brilliant
series of POPULAR ROMANCES from the gifted and distinguished pen of

GEORGE LIPPARD,
Entitled, "LEGENDS OF THE LAST CENTURY,"

written expressly for " Scott's Weekly Paper," and now first offered to the public.

All who enjoyed the rare felicity of reading Mr. Lippard's famous " LEGENDS OF THE AMERICAN
REVOLUTION," published in the "Saturday Courier" for fifty -six consecutive weeks, will, we fee! satisfied, be
delighted with the prospect of a new series, embracing the leading events in American and French history
during the last hundred years. The scenes, incidents, and characters of this, his last work, have been collared
with the greatest care and most diligent research, from the records, reminiscences, and popular traditkns of fuo
people of both continents, and form the most reliable HISTORICAL CYCLOPEDIA of the present age.
Mr. Lippard has, in these Legends, displayed all the original power, brilliancy, and classic beauty of style,
which rendered his previous works so popular at the firesides of all true lovers of A SOUND AMERICAN
LITERATURE ; and we feel proud in having the opportunity to announce that the readers of " Scott's Weekly
Paper" shall be the first to peruse them, and admire their separate and numerous excellences.

As Mr. Lippard will contribute solely to " Scott's Weekly Paper," the American public will see the necessity
of sending their orders at the earliest possible moment, in order to secure these GREAT HISTORICAL PRO-
DUCTIONS, which will not be published in any other form.

In connection with the above-named Legends of the Olden Time, we have the satisfaction to announce that

EMERSON BENNETT,

the eminent Novelist, author of " Viola," " The Forged Will," and other works of unmistakable genius, has been
engaged to write one or more POPULAR NOUVELLETTES, the publication of which will shortly be commenced.
These will be followed by

HENRY C. WATSON'S

sjdendidly illustrated story, entitled

THE TWO-EDGED KNIFE,

the incidents of which are taken from the early history of the hardy Pioneers of Kentucky.

To these, we expect to add contributions from the followin DISTINGUISHED FEMALE WRITERS,
with whom negotiations are now pending : —

Mrs, Caroline Lee Hentz, Mrs. D. E. N. Southworth, Mrs. M. A, Dennison, and Lille Lilberne :

So that it may be fairly presumed and confidently promised that SCOTT'S WEEKLY PAPER, in excellence,
variety, and originalit}' of reading matter, will be acknowledged at once as

THE LARGEST AND BEST FAMILY NEWSPAPER OP THE WORLD.

The Paper will also contain the choicest selections from the best American and European publications of the
day, together with Editorials on Current Events, Domestic and Foreign News, Graphic Letters on the Old
Wcrld and the New, Interesting Outlines of Social and Political Life, and, indeed, every feature that can d©
light the reader and store the mind with useful and practical knowledge of the times we live in.

TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION.

ONE COPT, ' One Year,

TWO COPIES, "

FOUR COPIES, "

NINE COPIES, " and one to the getter-up of the Club,

TWENTY COPIES, " " " " " "

Address, postpaid, A. SCOTT, Publisher

JTo. Ill Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. **o

Full Price

4- a

READING FOR THE MILLION!

T. S. ARTHUR'S HOME MAGAZINE.

THE CHEAPEST MONTHLY PERIODICAL IN THE WORLD.

ONLY $1 25 A YEAR IN CLUBS OF FOUR.

Eighty large, double- column Octavo Pages of Choice Reading Matter in each
Number. Elegantly Illustrated with Steel and Wood Engravings.

THE THIRD VOLUME OF THE HOME MAGAZINE BEGINS IN JANUARY, 1854.

In conducting this work, the editor (T. S. Arthur) pledges himself to keep its pages free from everything
that is ill-natured, profane, or vulgar; while, at the same time, he will seek to impart thereto the highest
possible degree of interest.

Of its quality we will let the press speak. From hundreds of editorial notices of a highly commendatory
character, the following are taken: —

Arthur's Home Magazine. — The publishers of this valuable monthly have added a new feature to its
attractiveness. The second volume, beginning with the number for July, opens with a beautiful steel plate,
besides a great number of fine wood engravings. The Home Magazine only lacked this feature, of illustra-
tions, to make it not only one of the best, but one of the most beautiful and attractive of all our month-
lies. With this addition, it will certainly rank among the first, if not at the head of the list. — Journal,
Greenville, N. Y.

Arthur's editorial department is characterized by sense, energy, and progress. — Philadelphia Delta.

Parents, if you wish to create and foster a love for reading in your children, obtain Arthur's Magazine.
— Courier of Reform, Concord, N. H.

Arthur's Home Magazine is before us with its endless variety. It is the finest breakfast-table companion
we meet with. A person can peruse its pages with pleasure and profit for a moment, or for hours. — Herald,
Fond du Lac, Mich.

This monthly, although one of the youngest, is certainly one of the most popular periodicals in the
ountry. — Philadelphia Inquirer.

This periodical should be a " standard" in every family. — Intelligencer, Amsterdam, N. Y.

Arthur's Home Magazine is rapidly making its way into public favor, as it deserves, «and will, before
very long, assume its place among the best and most widely circulated magazines in our country. — Phila-
delphia Hews.

We can confidently recommend this magazine. — Times, Maumee City, Ohio.

The contents are of the most interesting and useful character, and it is exactly what it purports to be,
a " Home" Magazine. — Literary Journal, Washington, Ind.

We predict for this magazine a popularity never exceeded in this country. It is the best and cheapest
published this side of the Atlantic. — Herald, Springfield, A7". Y.

Mr. Arthur has succeeded in getting up, in our opinion, one of the best and cheapest magazines of the
day. We wish the talented editor and author success in his new enterprise. — Cincinnati Daily Atlas.

The number before us is of rare interest, and we doubt not of its success. — Scientific American.

Arthur's Home Magazine. — This monthly is a constant and welcome visitor at our table, and should be
in every family in the land. T. S. Arthur has done, and is still doing, more to promote the dissemination
of chaste and unexceptionable literature amonjj his countrymen than any other writer of his times. —
Chronicle, Gowanda, N. Y.

Arthur's Home Magazine. — This is an admirable magazine, conducted with great ability, and is en-
tirely free from everything that can vitiate or in the least deprave the mind. It is just what it purports
to be, a Home Magazine, eminently adapted to the wants of the family. — Miscellany, Thomaston, Me.

Arthur's Home Magazine. — Eighty pages per month of choice reading for $1 25. That is, four can
club and get it for $5 — a little less than ten cents per month. You may pay twenty-five cents for a red-
covered volume by Mrs. Somebody, and the Home Magazine will be worth a dozen of that same — Fact ! —
Advertiser, Roxhury, Mass.

If you want good reading for your family, try the Home Magazine for a year. The price is so low
that you need not deprive yourself of any favorite publication in order to make the experiment.

Terms of Arthur's Home Magazine,

One Copy for One Year, $2 OO

Two Copies " " 3 00

Three " " « 4 OO

Four « " « 5 OO

J0t* All additional subscribers beyond four at the same rate, that is, $1 25 per annum.
fpM" Where twelve subscribers and $15 are sent, the getter-up of the club will be entitled to an additional
copy of the Magazine.

fl££" Send for specimen numbers.

jZgf AT THESE PRICES, THE HOME MAGAZINE IS THE CHEAPEST MAGAZINE IN
THE WORLD.

JP®- For $3, a copy each of the HOME GAZETTE and HOME MAGAZINE will be sent for one yoa*.

For $3 50 a copy of HOME MAGAZINE and LADY'S BOOK will be sent for one year.

Address, T. S. ARTHUR & Co.

No. 107 Walnut Street. Philadelphia,

FASHIONABLE BONNETS.

From the celebrated Establishment of Thomas White & Co., No. 41 South Second Street.

No. 1. — Opera Bonnet. No. 2. — Spring Fancy.

vol. xlviii. — 17

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PHILADELPHIA, MARCH, 1854

EYEKYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XVII.

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER.

BY C. T. HINCKLEY.

Fig. 1. — PA PER -MA KING BY HAND.

THE MANUFACTURE OF PAPER.

The advantages which the civilized world
owe to the invention of paper are beyond calcu-
lation, and almost out of the reach of thought.
The great blessing of knowledge which it has
conferred on mankind, together with its peculiar
mission, renders it a subject of interest to all
classes of society. The material of which the
sheet of paper which the reader now holds in
her hand, a few months ago, perhaps, hung with

, its ragged fellows from the back of some mendi-
$ cant, fluttering along the street — or perhaps
\ commenced its career in the lining of some dress,
i) in all its purity of white and stiffening, and gra-
il dually descended through the various grades of
usefulness, until at last it was fished up out of
the gutter and thrust into the rag-picker's bag to
meet a host of others that had travelled over
the same despoiling scenes of ragdom. Rags
have, at times, held no mean position in the
political arena, for we read that " the chiffoniers,

139

200

gopey's magazine anp lady's book.

or rag-dealers of Paris, rose against the police
some years ago, because it was ordered, in cer-
tain municipal regulations, that the filth of the
streets should be taken away in carts, without
time being allowed for its examination by those
diligent savers of capital."

Many experiments have been made upon sub-
stances proposed as substitutes for rags in the
manufacture of paper. The bark of the willow,
the beech, the aspen, the hawthorn, and the
lime have been made, into tolerable paper ; the
tendrils of the vine, and the stalks of the nettle,
the mallow, and the thistle, have been used for
a similar purpose ; and bind of hops ; and pa-
tents have been granted for making paper of
straw. The process of bleaching the coarser
rags, so as to render them fit for the purposes to
which only those of the finest qualities were
formerly applied, will, however, render the use
of these inferior substances unnecessary for
many years. The advance of a people in civili-
zation has not only a tendency to make the sup-
ply of rags abundant, but, at the same time, to
increase the demand. The use of machinery in
manufactures renders clothing cheap ; the cheap-
ness of clothing causes its consumption to in-
crease, not only in the proportion of an increas-
ing population, but by the scale of individual
expenditure ; the stock of rags is therefore in-
creasing in the same ratio that our looms pro-
duce more linen and cotton cloth. But then
the increase of knowledge runs in a parallel line
with this increase of comforts ; and the increase
of knowledge requires an increase of books. The
principle of publishing books and tracts to be
read by thousands, instead of tens and hundreds,
has already caused a large addition to the de-
mand for printing-paper. If, therefore, the de-
mand for books in all civilized countries should
outrun, which it is very likely to do, the power
of each individual to wear out linen and cotton
clothing to supply the demand, paper must be
manufactured from other substances than rags.

A species of paper was manufactured at a re-
mote period in Egypt, from the papyrus or paper-
reed, a plant growing freely on the banks of the
Nile. A manufacture of paper from the bark
of trees and other substances existed also in
China from a very early date ; but among the
nations of antiquity, before the introduction of
paper, such substitutes were used as lead, brass,
bricks, and stone, on which national edicts and
records were written or engraved ; or tablets of
wood, wax, and ivory, skins of fishes, intestines
of serpents, backs of tortoises, and the inner
bark of trees for ordinary purposes. Indeed,
tLere are but few sorts of plants that have not

been used for making paper and books, and
hence have arisen the terms biblos, codex, liber,
folium, tabula, tillura, philura, scheda, &c,
which express the several parts of the plant
which were written on. The use of these was
discontinued in Europe after the invention of
papyrus and parchment, but they are still used
in other parts of the world. The two early
kinds of manufacture above alluded to must first
be noticed, before we describe the later inven-
tion of making paper from cotton and linen rags,
which, in the greater part of the world, has
superseded all other methods of producing a ma-
terial for writing on. The Egyptian papyrus
was made by laying thin plates of bark, taken
from the middle of the paper-rush, side by side,
but close together, on a hard, smooth table :
other pieces of the same size and thinness were
then laid across the first at right angles; the
whole was moistened with the water of the
Nile, which was supposed to have some aggluti-
nating property (though this probably resided
in the plant itself), and pressure was then ap-
plied for a certain number of hours. Thus a
sheet of paper was formed which required no
other finishing than rubbing and polishing with
a smooth stone, or with a solid glass hemisphere,
and drying in the sun. This very simple pro-
cess was rather a preparation of a natural paper
than a manufacture — properly so called. The
process adopted by the Chinese comes more
legitimately under that head. The small branches
of a tree resembling our mulberry-tree, are cut
by them in lengths of about three feet, and
boiled in an alkaline lye for the sake of loosen-
ing the inner rind or bark, which is then peeled
off, and dried for use. When a sufficient quan-
tity of bark has been thus laid up, it is again
softened in water for three or four days, and the
outer parts are scraped off as useless; the rest is
boiled in clear lye, which is kept strongly agi-
tated all the time, until the bark has become
tender, and separates into distinct fibres. It is
then placed in a pan or sieve, and washed in a
running stream, being at the same time worked
with the hands until it becomes a delicate and
soft pulp. For the finer sorts of paper, the pulp
receives a second washing in a linen bag ; it is
then spread out on a smooth table, and beaten
with a wooden mallet until it is extremely fine.
Thus prepared, it is put into a tub with a slimy
infusion of rice and a root called oreni ; then it
is stirred until the ingredients are properly
blended : it is next removed to a large vessel to
admit of moulds being dipped into it. These
moulds are made of bulrushes cut into narrow
strips, and mounted in a frame ; as the paper is

THE MANUFACTURE OF PAPER.

201

moulded, the sheets are placed on a table covered
with a double mat. The sheets are laid one on
the other, with a small piece of reed between ;
and this, standing out a little way, serves after-
wards to lift them up leaf by leaf. Every heap
is covered with a board and weights to press out
the water ; on the following day, the sheets are
lifted singly by means of the projecting reeds,
and are placed on a plank to be dried in the sun.
This paper is so delicate that only one side can
be written on ; but the Chinese sometimes dou-
ble the sheets, and glue them together so neatly
that they appear to be a single leaf.

This manufacture of the Chinese extended also
to the making of sheets of paper from old rags,
silk, hemp, and cotton, as early as the second
century of the Christian era, and is supposed to
have been the source whence the Arabs obtained
their knowledge of paper-making. The latter
people first introduced the valuable art of mak-
ing paper from cotton into Europe, in the earlier
half of the twelfth century, and established a
paper manufactory in Spain. In 1150, the paper
of Xativa, an ancient city of Valencia, had be-
come famous, and was exported to the East and
West. Notwithstanding its fame, this paper was
of a coarse and inferior quality, so long as its
manufacture was confined solely to the Arabs,
in consequence of their employing only mortars,
and hand or horse-mills for reducing the cotton
to a pulp ; but when some Christian laborers ob-
tained the management of the mills of Valencia
and Toledo, the different processes of the manu-
facture were greatly improved. €otton paper
became general at the close of the twelfth and
beginning of the thirteenth centuries ; but, in
the fourteenth century, it was almost entirely
superseded by paper made of hemp and linen
rags. The paper made of cotton was found not
to possess sufficient strength or solidity for many
purposes ; a very strong paper was therefore
made of the above substances, not weakened by
bleaching, according to the present mode, which,
by removing the natural gum, impairs the
strength of the vegetable fibre. Some of these
old papers, having been well sized with gelatin,
are said to possess their original qualities even
to this day.

The manufacture of paper from linen rags be-
came general in France, Italy, and Spain in the
fourteenth century ; the first German paper-mill
was established at Nuremberg in 1390. English
manuscripts on linen paper date as early as 1340;
but it is believed that the manufacture did not
exist in England until the end of the fifteenth
century, when the Bartolomcpus of Wynkyn de
Worde appeared (149b'), in which it is stated

that paper of a superior kind was made for that
work by John Tate, Jr., at his mills in Steve-
nage, Hertfordshire. In 1588, a German named
Spielman, jeweller to Queen Elizabeth, esta-
blished a paper-mill at Dartford. In 1770, the
manufacture of fine paper was established at
Maidstone, in Kent, by a celebrated maker,- J.
Whatman, who had worked as journeyman in
some of the principal paper-mills on the Conti-
nent. Not long before this, wove moulds had
been invented by Baskerville to obviate the
usual roughness of laid paper, and these, attract-
ing attention in France, led to the improvements
which characterized the vellum paper of that
period. Holland, too, contributed its share to
the advancement of this manufacture, by in-
venting cylinders with steel blades for tearing
the rags, and thus facilitating their conversion
into pulp, which, by the old method of stampers
only, was a very slow and defective process.

In 1799, the first attempt to produce paper in
an endless web was made in France by a work-
man in the employ of M. Didot. The invention
was brought to England by M. Didot, in 1801,
and made the subject of patents, which, in 1804,
were assigned to the Messrs. Fourdrinier. Mr.
Bryan Donkin, the engineer, carried out the de-
sired plans, and produced, after intense applica-
tion, a self-acting machine or working model,
on an improved plan, of which he afterwards
constructed many others for home use and for
exportation, which were perfectly successful in
the manufacture of continuous paper. In 1809,
Mr. Dickinson, the celebrated paper-maker in-
vented another method of making endless paper,
the highly ingenious details of which will be
noticed hereafter. The Fourdrinier machines
have been greatly improved by the inventions
of other skilful manufacturers.

At one time there were serious apprehensions
that the supply of linen rags would fail, and
various researches were entered upon by inge-
nious individuals to find substitutes. A book
written in German by M. Shaffers, so long ago as
1772, contains sixty specimens of paper made of
different materials. This ingenious person made
paper from the bark of the willow, beech, aspen,
hawthorn, lime, and mulberry ; from the down
of the asclepias, the catkins of black poplar, and
the tendrils of the vine ; from the stalks of net-
tle, mugwort, dyer's weed, thistle, bryony, bur-
dock, clematis, willow-herb, and lily; from
cabbage-stalks, fir-cones, moss, potatoes, wood-
shavings,* and sawdust. Paper has been likewise

» A successful experiment of making paper from this
material, as also of reeds, has lately been tried in Balti
more.

20_!

godey's magazine and lady's book.

made from straw, rice, hopbind, liquorice-root,
the stalks of the mallow, and the husks of In-
dian-corn. The fear of a failure of linen rags,
and the consequent necessity for these experi-
ments, were obviated by the discovery of chlo-
rine. This powerful bleaching agent will restore
many varieties of colored linen to their original
whiteness, as well as discolored papers and
manuscripts, so that the same substances may
be used over and over again as a material for
paper.

SUPPLY OF RAGS — SORTING WASHING

GRINDING, AND BLEACHING.

The quality of the paper depends greatly on
that of the linen worn in the country where it is
made. Where that is coarse and brown, the rags
and the paper made from them must be so too.

The quality of the rags depends very much
upon the state of civilization of the countries
which produce them ; the lower the degree of
civilization, the more coarse and filthy are the
rags. When the rags are received at the mill,
they are sorted according to their respective
qualities ; for if rags of different qualities were
ground at the same engine, the finest and best
parts would be ground and carried off before the
coarser were sufficiently reduced to make a pulp.
In the sorting of rags intended for the manufac-
ture of fine paper, hems and seams are kept apart,
and coarse cloth separated from fine. Cloth
made of tow should be separated from that made
from linen, cloth of hemp from cloth of flax.
Even the degree of wear should be attended to,
for if rags comparatively new are mixed with
those which are much worn, the one will be re-
duced to a good pulp, while the other is so com-
pletely ground up as to pass through the hair
strainers ; thus occasioning not only loss of ma-
terial, but loss of beauty in the paper ; for the
smooth velvet softness of some papers may be
produced by the finer particles thus carried off.
The pulp produced from imperfectly sorted rags
has a cloudy appearance, in consequence of
some parts being less reduced than others, and
the paper made from it is also cloudy or thicker
in some parts than in others, as is evident on
holding a sheet up before the light. When
it is necessary to mix different c valities of rags
together to produce different qualities of paper,
the rags should be ground separately, and the
various pulps mixed together afterwards.

The rag-merchants sort rags into five qualities,
known as Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. No. 1, or super-
fine, consisting wholly of linen, is used for the
finest writing-papers. No. 5 is canvas, and may,
after bleaching, bo used for inferior printing-

papers. There is also rag-bagging, or the canvas
sacks in which the rags are packed ; also cotton
colored rags of all colors, but the blue is usually
sorted out for making blue paper. Common pa-
pers are made from rag-bagging and cotton rags.

An operation sometimes required after un-
packing the rags, is to put them into a duster,
which is a cylinder four feet in diameter and five
feet long, covered with a wire net and inclosed in
a tight box to confine the dust. A quantity of rags
being put into this cylinder, it is made to rotate
rapidly on its axis, and thus a good deal of dust
is shaken out, which might otherwise vitiate the
air of the rag-cutting room.

The sorting is done by women and children
in a large room ; each sorter stands before a
table frame, covered at the top with wire cloth,
containing about nine meshes to the square inch.
To this frame a long steel blade is attached, in a
slanting position, as shown in Fig. 2 ; and the

Fig. 2.— CUTTING RAGS.

sorter divides the rags into shreds by drawing
them against the sharp edge of this knife; a
good deal of the dust which is shaken out in
this operation falls through the wire-cloth into
a box beneath. The sections of rag are thrown
into the compartments of the frame, according to
their fineness. In importing rags, some attention
is paid to their quality by the foreign dealers, so
that each bale is tolerably uniform. Formerly,
this was not the case, and in sorting a bale the
woman had apiece of pasteboard hung from her
girdle and extended on her knees, upon which
with a long sharp knife she unripped seams and
stitches, and scraped off any adhering dirt. The
rags were sorted, according to their fineness, into
the superfine, the fine, the stitches of the fine, the
middling, the seams and stitches of the middling,
and the coarse. These divisions are more or
less observed at the present day. The very
coarse parts are rejected or laid aside for making
white-brown paper.

THE MANUFACTURE OF PAPER.

203

The sorted rags are washed with hot water and
alkali, in an apparatus formed exactly on the
principle of the bucking keirs or puffers, de-
scribed under Bleaching (June number, 1852) ;
or the washing is performed at one of the mills
or engines described below.

The rags are ground into pulp in mills, now
made sufficiently powerful to reduce the strong-
est and toughest rags. Formerly, before the in-
vention of mills, or when they were of much
less power, it was customary to pile the rags in
large stone vats, and leave them for a month or
six weeks with frequent stirring and watering to
ferment or rot, by which means the fibres be-
came sufficiently loose to be reduced to pulp by
pounding in wooden mortars with stampers.

The vats were superseded by what are called
engines, a Dutch invention well adapted to the
purpose. The engines are sometimes arranged
in pairs on different levels, the bottom of one
being higher than the top of the other, so that
the contents of the higher engine may be let
off into the lower. In the upper engine, called
the washer, the rags are first worked coarsely
with a stream of water running through them
to wash and open their fibres : this reduces them
to what is called half stuff; they are then let

Fig. 3.

down into the beating engine to be ground into S

pulp fit for making paper. Each engine consists s
of a large wooden vat or cistern V V, Figs. 3,

4, of oblong figure on the outside, with the \

angles cut off; the inside, which is lined with
lead, has straight sides and circular ends. Or
the vat may be entirely formed of cast-iron. It
is divided by a partition P P, also covered with
lead. The cylinder C is firmly fixed to the
spindle s, which extends across the engine, and
is put in motion by the pinion w, which engages
other wheels set in motion by water or steam-
power. The cylinder is of wood, but is furnish-
ed with a number of teeth or cutters attached to
its surface parallel with the axis, and projecting
about an inch from it. Immediately below the
cylinder is a block of wood B, also furnished
with cutters, so that when the cylinder revolves
its teeth pass very near those of the block, the
distance between them being regulated by ele-
vating or depressing the bearings I I, on which
the necks of the spindle s s are supported.
These bearings are made on two levers I I,
which have tenons at their ends fitted into up-
right mortises made in stout beams bolted to the
sides of the engine. The levers I I are mova-
ble at one end of each, the other ends being
fitted to rise and fall on bolts in the beams as
centres. The front one of these levers, or that
nearest the cylinder C, can be raised or lowered
by turning the handle of the screw ; the cylinder
is thus made to cut coarser or finer by
enlarging or diminishing the space be-
tween the two sets of cutters. At one
part of the vat is a breasting B', made
of boards and covered with sheet lead,
curved to the form of the cylinder and
nearly in contact with its teeth. An
inclined plane I, passes from the bottom
of the vat to the top of the breasting
which terminates in the block B. The
vat is supplied with water from the
mill-dam by means of pumps worked by
the water-wheel. The water is first dis-
charged by the pipe P, Fig. 4, into the
cistern c, the supply being regulated as
occasion may require. A grating cover-
ed with a hair strainer is fixed across the
cistern to prevent any solid impurity
from passing into the vat ; or the water
may be strained through a flannel bag
tied over the mouth of the pipe P, as
shown in the figure. The vat being full
of water and a quantity of rags put in,
the cylinder is set in motion, the effect
of which is to produce a regular current
in the water in the direction of the ar-
rows, by which the rags are drawn between the
cutters of the cylinder and the teeth of the
block; this cuts them to pieces : they are then
thrown over the top of the breasting upon the

204

godey's magazine and lady's book.

inclined plane, down which they slowly slide
and pass round the partition, and in about twenty
minutes are again brought between the teeth of
the cylinder and the block. The mode in which
the rags are cut will be understood by consider-
ing that the teeth of the block are placed some-
what inclined to the axis of the cylinder, while
the teeth of the cylinder are parallel to its axis,
so that the cutting edges meet at a small angle
and pass over each other something like the
blade of a pair of shears, and the rags between
them are cut up in a similar manner ; and as
they are brought many times under the action
of the cutters, and must necessarily present their
fibres each time in different directions, they are
reduced to the condition of pulp.

The beater, with sixty teeth, and twenty to
twenty-four cutters in the block, makes 180,000

Fig. 5. — BEATING-ENGINE.

cuts per minute, the effect of which is a low
musical note or hum, audible at a distance from
the mill. In the washing-engine the rags are
opened, their fibres separated, and the dirt re-
moved. Any small solid impurities are collect-
ed in the trough a, Fig. 4. When first put in
the beating-engine, the rags are worked gen-
tly, the cylinder is raised some way above the
block, so as to rub rather than cut the rags ; at
the same time a copious stream of water is ad-
mitted ; after twenty or thirty minutes, the cy-
linder is let down so as to cut the rags, and the
operation is at first so violent that the cylinder
is often jerked or heaved up. After three or
four hours the engine works steadily; the rags
are cut up very small, and form what is called
half stuff ; this is let out into a basket, which
retains it while the water flows off. For some
kinds of paper the half stuff is left to mellow,
or ferment ; but it is usual at this stage to bleach
the stuff, which is done by a solution of chloride
of lime, in stone vats, or by using this solution

instead of water in the engine at the last stage
of the washing process, the slides g g being put
down in the cover to prevent the loss of the
solution. In the course of an hour, the yellow
rags or half stuff are converted into a snow
white. This is then put into the beating-engine,
and in four or five hours it is ground into a fine
pulp, a little water being let in from time to
time, but none being allowed to escape. The
quality of the water has considerable influence
on that of the paper ; the purest water is of
course the best ; water from chalky soils intro-
duces lime into the pulp, and this forms a slight
incrustation upon the moulds, which is washed
off from time to time by vinegar.

In order to prevent common ink from running
upon paper, size is introduced at a certain stage
of the manufacture ; but printing-ink being oily
instead of watery, and, moreover, of greater
consistence than common ink, is not so lia-
ble to run. Hence, for certain printing-
papers, the sizing is done in the beating-
engine towards the close of the operation.
The size consists of finely pounded alum
mixed with oil, about a pint and a half of
the mixture being thrown into the engine
at intervals during the last half hour of the
beating. The blue is produced by smalt, or
artificial ultramarine.

PAPEK-MAKING BY HAND.

When the stuff is properly prepared, it is
run out by the pipes o o', Fig. 4, into the
stuff-chest, where the different kinds are
mixed preparatory to moulding. From this
chest it is tranferred to vats or tubs, each about
five feet in diameter and two and a half feet
deep, provided at top with planks inclosed in-
wards to prevent the stuff from running over
during the moulding. Across these planks is a
board pierced with holes at one extremity, for
supporting the mould. The stuff in the vat is
kept at the proper temperature by a small grate
placed in a hole lined with copper, at the side
of the vat. The fuel is charcoal or coke, or the
fire is entirely confined to the other side of the
wall, a hole through it being made into the side
of the vat. In this way smoke is prevented.

The paper is made into sheets by means of
the mould and deckle, Figs. 6, 7. The mould is
a square frame, or shallow box of mahogany,
covered at the top with wire-cloth ; it is an inch
or an inch and a half wider than the sheet of
paper intended to be made upon it. The wire-
cloth of the mould varies in fineness with that
of the paper and the nature of the stuff; it con-
sists of a number of parallel Wires stretched

THE MANUFACTURE OF PAPER.

205

across a frame very near together, and tied fast
through holes in the sides ; a few other stronger

wires are also placed across at right angles to
the former ; they are a considerable distance
apart, and they are bound to the small wires at
the points of intersection by means of fine wire.
In several kinds of writing-paper the marks of
the wires are evident from the paper being
thinner in the parts where the pulp touched
the wires. In what is called wove paper, there
are no marks of the wires ; these are avoided
by weaving the wire in a loom into a wire-
cloth, which is stretched over the frame of the
mould, and being turhed down over the sides
is fastened by fine wire. The water-mark in
paper is produced by wires bent into the shape
of the required letter or device, and sewed
to the surface of the mould ; — it has the effect
of making the paper thinner in those places.
The old makers employed water-marks of an
eccentric kind. Those of Caxton and other
early printers were an ox-head and star, a col-
lared dog's head, a crown, a shield, a jug, &c.
A fool's cap and bells employed as a water-mark,
gave the name to foolscap paper ; a postman's
horn, such as was formerly in use, gave the
name to post paper.

The deckle is a thin square mahogany frame,
bound with brass at the angles ; its outer dimen-
sions correspond with the size of the mould, and
its inner with that of the sheet of paper. The
use of the frame is to retain the pulp upon the
wire-cloth ; it must be quite flat, so as to fit the
cloth of the mould, otherwise the edges of the
paper will be ragged and badly finished. When
the deckle is placed upon the wire of the mould
it forms a shallow sieve, in which the paper-
maker takes up a quantity of the pulp suspend-
ed in water, and, the water draining through,
leaves the pulp in the form of a sheet upon the
wire. The deckle is not fastened to the mould,
but is held to it by the workman grasping the
mould and deckle together in both hands at the
opposite sides. When the sheet is moulded the
«leckle is removed, and the sheet is taken up
from the wire by laying it on a piece of felt or
woollen cloth. These felts prevent the sheets
from coming together, and they also serve to im-
vol. xlviii. — 18

bibe a portion of the water from the damp and
loosely cohering sheet.

The wood-cut at the commencement of this
article represents the process of making paper
by hand.

Upon looking at the cut, it will be seen that
one of the two men employed is dipping the
deckle into the vat. This vat is supplied with
miff from the chest already described; and that
stuffis kept warm by a copper within the vat, te
which heat is communicated by a steam-pipe.
It is also agitated by machinery within. The
workman forming the sheet, who is called a
vatman, is provided with two moulds. These
are slight frames of wood, covered with fine
wire. Fitting to each mould is a deckle, or
movable raised edging, which determines the
size of the sheet. The vatman, putting tiie
deckle on one of the moulds, dips it vertically
into the stuff; and bringing it to the surface
horizontally, covered with pulp, shakes it gently.
It must be evident that this operation require*
the greatest nicety, both in determining the
general thickness of the sheet, and in producing
it of an uniform thickness throughout. The
vatman then pushes the mould with the sheet
towards his fellow- workman, who is called the
coucher ; and, taking off the deckle, applies it to
the second mould, and proceeds as before. The
coucher, who receives the first mould, having a
heap of porous pieces of flannel by his side.
called felts, turns the mould over upon a felt,
upon which the sheet remains ; and, placing a
felt on the sheet, he is ready to turn over an-
other from the second mould. Thus the vatman
and the coucher proceed, the one moulding a
sheet of paper and the other placing it upon felt,
till they have made six or eight quires. The
heap is then subjected to the action of a power-
ful press. The sheets, after this pressure,, have
acquired sufficient consistency to enable them to
be pressed again by themselves. The felts are
accordingly removed, and me sheet being laid
upon another, the heap is subjected to a mode-
rate pressure.

When the paper is taken out of the press, it
is separated iato small parcels of seven or eight
sheets in each, for the purpose of drying. The
drying is conducted in extensive lofts in the up-
per parts of the mill. The sheets are taken up
upon a piece of wood, shaped like a T, and
hung upon hair lines stretched across large hori-
zontal wooden frames, called tribbles, and as
these are filled they are lifted up between up-
right posts to the top of the room, and retained
by pegs put into the posts ; another frame is
then filled, and put up in its turn, until the loft

206

godey's magazine and lady's book.

is filled. Air is admitted to the lofts by means
of louvre boards. When sufficiently dry, the
paper is taken down, and sleeked, dressed, and
shaken, to get rid of dust, and to separate the
pages. It is then laid in heaps in the ware-
house, preparatory to sizing. _ The size is made
from the shreds and parings of leather and
parchment ; it is nicely filtered, and a little
alum added. A number of sheets are then
dipped into the size and separated, so as to ex-
pose both surfaces of each sheet ; the sheets are
taken out, turned over, and dipped a second
time. About a dozen handfuls being thus dipped,
they are made into a pile, with a thin board or
felt between every two handfuls, and pressed to
get rid of superfluous size, which flows back into
the size vessel. The paper is again transferred
to the lofts, and dried. This being complete, it
is taken down, carried to a building called the
Saul (probably a corruption of the German saal,
or the French salle, a hall, or large room), where
it is examined, finished, and pressed. The im-
perfect sheets are removed. The press called
the dry-press is a powerful one, or the hydrosta-
tic-press is used. After one pressing, the heaps
of paper are parted; that is, they are turned
sheet by sheet, so as to expose new surfaces :
the press is again used ; then there is another
parting, and so on, several times. The paper is
next made into quires and reams, and once more
pressed.

Connected with the sizing of papers is the
blueing, which is said to have originated in the
suggestion of a paper-maker's wife, who thought
that the practice of improving the color of linen
while passing through the wash, by means of a
blue bag, might also be advantageously applied
to paper. A blue-bag was accordingly suspend-
ed in the vat; and the effect proved to be so
satisfactory that it led to the introduction of the
large and important class of blue writing-papers.
It was soon found that smalt gave a better color
than common stone-blue ; and smalt continued
to be used for many years ; but when artificial
ultramarine came to be manufactured at a very
low cost, and in a great variety of tints, this
beautiful color gradually superseded smalt in the
manufacture of writing-paper.

PAPER-MAKING BY MACHINERY.

The slow and difficult process of moulding the
separate sheets of paper by hand has, to a great
extent, been superseded by the introduction and
gradual improvement of the very beautiful ma-
chinery of Fourdriniei, referred to in our intro-
ductory remarks. By means of this machine, a
process which, under the old svstem, occupied

about three weeks, is now performed in as many
minutes. Within this brief space of time, and
the short distance of thirty or forty feet, a con-
tinuous stream of fluid pulp is made into paper,
dried, polished, and cut up into separate sheets
ready for use. The paper thus produced is mo-
derate in price, and, for a large number of pur-
poses, superior in quality to that which was
formerly made by hand. In fact, the machine-
made papers can be produced of unlimited di-
mensions ; they are of uniform thickness ; they
can be fabricated at any season of the year ; they
do not require to be sorted, trimmed, and hung
up in the drying-house— operations which for-
merly led to so much waste, that about one sheet
in every five was defective.

The paper-machine moves at the rate of from
twenty-five to forty feet per minute, so that
scarcely two minutes are occupied in converting
liquid pulp into finished paper, a result which,
by the old process, occupies about seven or eight
days. If the machine produce ten lineal yards
of paper per minute, or six hundred per hour,
this is equal to a mile of paper in three hours,
or four miles per day of twelve hours. The pa-
per is about fifty-four inches wide, and, suppos-
ing three hundred machines to be at work on an
average twelve hours a day, the aggregate length
of web would be equal to 1,200 miles, and the
area 3,000,000 square yards.

Paper is sent into the market in various forms
and sizes, according to the use for which it is
intended. The following table contains the
name and dimensions of various sheets of pa-
per : —

Inches.
Foolscap, . . . 14 by 17
Crown, . . . 15 by 20

Folio Post, . . . .16 by 21
Demy, . . . . 17 by 22
Medium, . . . 19 by 24
Royal, .... 20 by 25
Super Royal . . 22 by 27

Imperial, . . . 22 by 32
Medium and Half, . 24 by 28$
Royal and Half, . . 25 by 29
Double Medium, . . 24 by 38
Do. Super Royal, . 27 by 42
Do. Imperial, . 32 by 44

Many of the papers above enumerated are
made by hand, of the exact size indicated; but,
if made by the machine, the roll of paper has to
be cut to the required dimensions. In order to
do this with precision and expedition, various
cutting- machines have been contrived, in which
the paper, as it comes from the manuftmtring
machine, is cut to any size required.

LITTLE CHILDREN.

207

HOT-PRESSING, GLAZING, AND FINISHING

STATISTICS.

Fine papers are, in some cases, hot-pressed
and glazed. In hot-pressing1, a number of stout
cast-iron plates are heated in an oven, and then
put into a screw-press in alternate layers, with
highly glazed pasteboards, between which the
paper is placed in open sheets ; and the hard
polished surfaces of the pasteboards, aided by
the heat and pressure, impart that beautiful ap-
pearance which belongs to hot-pressed paper.
A yet more smooth and elegant surface is pro-
duced by the process of glazing. The sheets of
paper are placed separately between very smooth
clean copper-plates. These are then passed
through rollers, which impart a pressure of from
twenty to thirty tons. After three or four such
pressures, the paper is called rolled, and some-
times also hot-pressed ; but, if passed more fre-
quently through the rollers, the paper acquires
a higher surface, and is then called glazed.

The general introduction of steel pens has in-
creased the demand for smooth papers, and has
led to improvements in finishing them.

As an improvement in the manufacture of pa-
per sized by the machines now in use, it is pro-
posed to conduct the web of paper, after it has
been either partially or completely dried, through
a trough of cold water, then to pass it through a
pair of pressing-rolls, and afterwards to dry it on
reels, or over hot cylinders. The paper thus
treated will be found to " bear" much better,
and admit of erasures being made on the surface
of such paper, and written over, without the ink
running in the way it does when the paper is
sized and dried in the usual manner.

It has been found that when paper is dried,
after sizing, by the drying-machines in present
use, the paper is very harsh ; and, until it stands
for some time to get weather (as it is technically
termed), great difficulty is experienced in glaz-
ing the paper. This inconvenience is proposed
to be overcome by passing the paper partially
round a hollow cylinder, through which a small
stream of cold water is made to run. By this
means the heat in the paper is carried off, and
the paper is rendered more tractable, and brought
to a proper state for undergoing the glazing ope-
ration.

It is stated that, " in England, writing-papers
are sized with gelatin, and are stronger and
harder than those of other countries ; they are
also cleaner, generally better put up, and show
greater care in the manufacture, than those of
France and of other countries. The old cream-
laid papers, now so fashionable, were reintro-

duced a few years since, and they are still pre-
ferred for letter and note-paper. The thinner
post writing-papers, however, are much better
manufactured in France, Belgium, and other
parts of the Continent, than in England. Those
exhibited at the World's Fair from Angouleme,
in France, and Heilbronn, in Germany, are the
best ; those made in Belgium are not sufficiently
hard-sized. The white of the letter-papers of
France, Germany, and other foreign countries is
of great purity and beauty ; and these papers
being sized in the vat with farina, in addition
to rosin-soap, instead of gelatin, they are less
greasy under the pen, and consequently can be
written on more freely than those which are
sized with animal size ; they do not, however,
bear the ink so well. English printing-papers
generally maintain a superiority over those of
foreign countries ; as also drawing-papers and
strong account-book blue-laid papers. Tinted
printing and drawing-papers, formerly made ex-
clusively in England, are now produced by most
foreign paper-makers.

LITTLE CHILDREN.

I am fond of children (says a celebrated au-
thor). I think them the poetry of the world —
the fresh flowers of our hearths and homes —
little conjurors, with their natural magic; evok-
ing by their spells what delights and enriches
all ranks, and equalizes the different classes of
society. Often as they bring with them anxie-
ties and cares, and live to occasion sorrow
and grief, we should get on very badly without
them. Only think — if there was never any-
thing anywhere to be seen but great grown-up
men and women ! How we should long for the
sight of a little child ! Every infant comes into
the world like a delegated prophet, the harbin-
ger and herald of good tidings, whose office it
is " to turn the hearts of the fathers to the chil-
dren," and to draw "the disobedient to the wis-
dom of the just." A child softens and purifies
the heart, warming and melting it by its gentle
presence ; it enriches the soul by new feelings,
and awakens within it what is favorable to vir-
tue. It is a beam of light, a fountain of love,
a teacher whose lessons few can resist. Infantf
recall us from much that engenders and en-
courages selfishness, that freezes the affection?,
roughens the manners, indurates the heart ,
they brighten the home, deepen love, invigorate
exertion, infuse courage, and vivify and sustain
the charities of life. It would be a terrible
world, I do think, if not embellished by little
children.

SELLING THE LOVE-TOKEN

MY GRANDMOTHER'S STORY.

ET ALICE B. SEAL.

(See Plate^

i( Very well done !" said my grandmother ;
" very well done, sir — you have succeeded better
than I expected."

The foreign-looking gentleman bowed and
smiled, showing his white teeth through a dark
overhanging moustache, as my grandmother bent
forward again from the easy-chair, and raised her
double silver-rimmed eye-glass.

Now, Josephine and myself had been sent to
her room on some household errand connected
with the coming festivities of Christmas, and
were not sorry to find the door slightly ajar.
We had seen the strange-looking gentleman,
with the large square case, arrive, and knew
that it was not his first visit to the sitting-room,
which we young people never entered without
knocking first for admittance. Everybody said
Madam Evelyn was peculiar; but everybody
loved her, or rather regarded her with that min-
gling of trust and respect which-wre call defer-
ence, in its warmest and most grateful sense.
This was one of her peculiarities, that her room
was held free of all intrusion, except from such
visitors as she chose to admit. I do not believe
papa, her favorite son, ever broke through the
rule of asking audience, though she had made
his home her home for many a year. Poor
mamma used to declare that she envied her this
privilege. Her chamber was a perfect tho-
roughfare. The seamstress always occupied one
corner. The servants were coming for orders
incessantly. Maude, my oldest sister, who had
her grandmother's name, retreated to mamma's
lounge if she chanced to disagree with Eliza-
beth, and at any hour of the day a little horde
of Goths, in the shape of us younger children,
were liable to overrun and take possession of
this neutral territory between the parlor and the
nursery.

Poor mamma ! no wonder her favorite expres-
sions were — " I 'm sure I shall go distracted some
day," and " I am just ready to die." I dare say
she was at any time ; but there seemed to be no
refuge. Grandmother often remonstrated with
her, and told her that every person needed
sooie time in the day to collect their thoughts,
208

and balance accounts with themselves. After
these talks, mamma would sometimes make the
attempt to have an undisturbed five minutes,
" sitting with closed doors j" but nurse would
come with the baby, Charley with his cut fin-
ger, Josephine with her torn frock or hard
spelling lesson, and I with a mutilated doll that
required instant surgical aid. Maude and Eliza-
beth were sure to have a dispute about the joint
occupancy of some desk or closet; the cook was
in want of some receipt, or the newspaper car-
rier insisted on sixty cents for the " Journal,"
and could not be put off. No wonder that
mamma was always " nervous" and delicate,
and that those periods of seclusion were few and
far between.

But our grandmother's room, as T said before,
was sacred from intrusion. It was a large, cheer-
ful apartment, with old-fashioned, heavy ma-
hogany furniture, and chintz curtains lined with
Colored cambric in the winter season, as you
may see in the bedrooms of old-fashioned En-
glish houses. Her bed was in an adjoining " light
closet," as she called it, for she never yet could
conquer a prejudice against sleeping in a room
with a fire ; and hence we all of us, from oldest
to youngest, esteemed it a wonderful favor to
visit her.

And now, thought Josephine and myself, steal-
ing in on tiptoe, we should find out what the
errand of the strange gentleman is, and what
he has brought to grandmother in the square
packing-case.

But, alas for our hopes ! she very quietly
closed the cover as she discovered us in the
background, and the only satisfaction we had
was seeing her go to the tall cabinet in the cor-
ner, and take out five bright gold pieces, which
she gave to the stranger, and which seemed to
please him quite as much as her commendation
had done. I dare say he needed the gold more
than the praise, though both were grateful to
the friendless foreigner.

We did not mean to betray our unlawful curi-
osity, but I suppose we must have done so, for
grandmother said —

En ' l

SELLING THE LOVE-TOKEN.

209

"All in good time, children," and nodded a
little towards the mysterious box. I took Jo-
sephine to task, as we hastily retreated in the
wake of the strange gentleman, while she, on
the contrary, was convinced it was me who had
drawn forth the implied reprimand.

We always made a great account of Christmas,
much more than any of our friends, to whom
Thanksgiving Day was the high festival of the
year. I suppose it was on account of our En-
glish descent ; and then our grandmother always
took such an active and happy part in the day's
household festivities.

On this day she always came down stairs to
dinner, carefully dressed in an old-fashioned
brocaded silk, the snowy lawn handkerchief
crossed on her breast, fastened with a brooch
containing my grandfather's hair, in a setting of
alternate pearls and garnets. My uncle John
and his family were usually of the party, but
she leaned on papa's arm, and always called him
" my son."

The evening of the coming Christmas we
were to pass in grandmother's room, by special
invitation. Chester Adams, who was in papa's
counting-house, and indeed always treated like
one of the family, was the only stranger present.
Our grandmother was always especially kind to
him, for he was a frank, modest young man ;
an orphan, with no home circle but our own.
Papa thought him possessed of unusual business
talents and integrity, but he had no other fortune ;
while Robert Winthrop, the next most constant
visitor at the house, was the son of a rich man,
and member of Congress. We used to wonder,
Josephine and I, why Maude always sent us to
bed the instant either of them came, and why
our favorite, Chester Adams, would sometimes
take up his hat and go away again, when he
heard young Winthrop was in the parlor, with-
out so much as saying good-evening. However,
we are older now, and have visitors of our own.

I think Maude was in hopes Robert Winthrop
would be asked to stay, for he called in the af-
ternoon, and brought her a bouquet from his
mother's conservatory, one of the few kept up
through our rigorous Boston winters. But though
he paid a very long call, sitting almost until the
candles were lighted, no further invitation was
given. Maude consoled herself, howTever, by
coming to the dinner-table with a branch of the
scarlet geranium in her dark hair, which suited
the coral ornaments, papa's gift, and was won-
derfully becoming. Chester Adams moved a lit-
tle, to make way for her, and then spilled the
gravy he was helping grandmother to, as she sat
down. We children thought he was very dull —

18*

he did not tell one amusing story, or eat philo-
poenas with us, as he generally did.

Our Christmas dinner was the great feast of the
year. On other days, the orthodox two o'clock
rule of our neighbors was adopted, but there
was a lunch after church on Christmas, and the
dinner was not served until it was quite dark.
The shutters were closed, lights placed along the
table, a great dessert-dish of fruit, ornamented
with evergreens, occupied the centre, while the
roast beef before papa, and the turkey in mam-
ma's vicinity, were the finest the market could
afford. We used to wonder how people could
eat beef, when there was roast turkey with dress-
ing !

Then, at dessert, the plum-pudding made from
our grandmother's receipt came on all in a blaze,
which we thought the most curious thing in the
world, and used to excite the incredulity of our
schoolmates with describing. Then there were
raisins and almonds, figs and apples, aiid a dish
of sugar-plums, which mostly fell to our share.
There, too, we could not account for the indif-
ference of our elders and betters, though we
were so much the gainers by it. There never
will be such dinners as those again — never,
never, Josephine and I both agree, though we
should live to have houses of our own, and be
able to order almonds and raisins every day for
dessert.

After we young people had disposed of all we
could, and much more than was good for us, I
dare say, the whole party adjourned to grand-
mother's room. Chester Adams had never been
in it before, and exclaimed at its cheerful air
of comfort, which pleased grandmother — and
papa, too, for that matter, for he was still an
affectionate and dutiful child. The chintz cur-
tains were let down, the round-table drawn up
near the blazing grate, and the brass-headed
nails that studded the old-fashioned furniture
glowed in the light of the wax candles in the
high silver candlesticks on the mantle and table.
Our grandmother never took kindly to lamps.
I don't know what she would have said to gas.

This was the way we sat — papa on one side
of the fire, with Joe on his knee, and Charlie
nestling up to mamma's side, already half asleep.
Then Uncle John opposite, and quiet Aunt Mary,
with Cousin Kate and Ellis, their only children.
Elizabeth was on that side, for she and Ellis
were great friends ; and so it happened thai
Chester Adams was left the place on the sofa
between Maude and myself. Maude drew her
dress up carefully when he sat down and put
his arm around me. I was only ten years old,
and we had always looked upon him as our bro-

210

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ther. I thought Maude heed not have been so
careful, though she did have on her best silk,
far Chester was very nice. Maude often spoke
of how particular he was.

Grandmother had promised us a story that
evening. She and papa often talked about Eng-
land on Christmas evening, and sometimes of
our grandfather. Uncle John was too young
when they came to this country to remember
much that happened before.

" Tell us about the old stone Grange, grand-
mother, where you were born," pleaded Jose-
phine.

" Yes — about your tumbling into the moat,
like pussy in the well and little Johnny Green,"
Charlie called out, suddenly rising up from
mamma's shoulder.

Grandmother pulled up her black silk mitts,
and smiled very kindly. I can see her now,
sitting up as straight in her high-backed chair
as if she had never known any burden of care,
or sorrow, or disappointment. Mamma always
stooped much more. Just then, Josephine and
I discerned the square case standing on the shelf
of the cabinet. We both saw it at the same
time, and even papa's eyes wandered curiously
i a that direction.

He certainly had the best right to solve the
mystery — it contained his Christmas present
from grandmother; a picture in a bright gilt
frame, which he brought forward, at her re-
quest, and placed in an excellent light. I never
saw my father more affected than when he had
the first glimpse of that picture. He did not say
one woi'd ; but the tears rose to his eyes, and he
went directly to grandmother, and, stooping
down, kissed her forehead, putting back the
silvery hair as he would have done to one of us,
and holding his hand there a moment as if he
said, " God bless you !" in his heart. It was the
only affectionate caress I ever saw him give her,
for he was usually self-composed, almost stern
in manner, which was her own way.

"But what is it about, grandmother— the
story?" asked Josephine.

" What a funny little baby !" commented
; 'liarlie. " Not half so pretty as ours. And
such an ugly old gentleman ! What isjie doing
with that eye-glass, mamma? It isn't double,
like grandmother's."

Maude and Elizabeth seemed interested to
know whether it was to be hung in the parlor,
and said the frame was very handsome. For
myself, 1 saw in the picture a dark room, not at
all like any in our house, with an old gentle-
man, whose long pointed beard reminded me of
the Jewish doctors in the Temple — one of the

prints in grandmother's large Bible. He seemed
to be examining a ring through an eye-glass, and
before him stood a lady with a very sad, anxious
face. She wore a dark robe, of a quaint, though
graceful fashion, and held a little child in her
arms. I thought it was as pretty a picture as
any in the annual Chester Adams had given
Maude that morning, though I felt almost in-
clined to cry ; the lady's face was so very sor-
rowful.

" Who will read my story for me ?" said
grandmother, by and by, when papa had moved
away from the back of her chair, and stood look-
ing at the picture again with his hand over his
eyes, to get a better light, I dare say. " I have
written it, because there are some of these little
people who would forget if it was only told
them, and I should like to have it remembered-
as long as the picture is kept in the family ;
when you do not come to pass your Christmas
evenings in grandmother's room," she added,
after a little pause. It was the first time I
heard her allude to her going from us ; not that
I think she dreaded death — no one was ever bet-
ter prepared to meet i t — but she was naturally
reserved.

I wondered papa did not offer to take the
manuscript she held out ; but he did not change
his position ; and Aunt Mary, always kind and
thoughtful, volunteered her services.

Grandmother said she was afraid the children
would not be interested, and that it might trouble
Aunt Mary to make out an old lady's crabbed
handwriting. " It was not very long, to be sure,"
and then she straightened herself to listen, hold-
ing a little Chinese screen to shade her eyes
from the fire, while Aunt Mary read :—

"THE TEMPTATION OF ALICE GRAY.

"It was a long time ago," said my grand-
mother's story, " that Alice Gray left her En-
glish country home, to follow the fortunes of her
husband, a generous, kind-hearted sailor. It was
hard parting with the old place, though her pa-
rents were dead, and she was an only child.
She was going to foreign countries, where even
the language was strange to her, with no one to
turn to but Richard Gray, and, though he was
very kind and noble-hearted, she knew there
would be hours of loneliness when her heart
would travel back to the old haunts of her child-
hood, yearning for the household faces that were
familiar in her cradle. Injustice had made her
poor, as well as an orphan, though she had never
yet felt the lack of abundant means; nor did she
know, until she had been long a wife, what a
painful dependence the love and protection of

SELLING THE LOVE-TOKEN,

211

Richard Gray had saved her from. The frank-
nearted sailor loved her the better that she
needed his care ; she tried in turn to be cheerful
and brave, in looking forward to their long sepa-
rations, and to welcome him home with a new
happiness and trust. For a time, these partings,
which shorten the life of every sailor's wife,
were not necessary. She had a bold heart, and
went with him to many strange countries, seeing
more wonderful things than she had ever dream-
ed of in her old home in Devon. So their first
parting was very hard ; and while she could
scarcely close her eyes to rest, for fear of the
hour that was to take him from her, he stole
away from her side as she lay asleep. He never
trembled at the wildest gale ; but he could not
bear the agony of parting with one he loved bet-
ter than life. You can imagine how weary and
desolate that waking was to Alice Gray, and
how she tried to shut out the daylight, and put
away for a time all comfort that was offered to
her. It was not as now, when letters can come
from those in distant lands almost with the
swiftness of a loving thought — it was months,
and sometimes years, before any tidings could
arrive. The dangers of the sea were little un-
derstood, but greatly dreaded, and loss and ship-
wreck far more frequent. So Alice Gray shut
up her sorrows in her own heart from the
strangers around her, and listened to the sobbing
wind and moaning sea through the long dreary
nights, until her child, her first-born son, was
given to her arms. There was pain even in
that new happiness; for there was no father's
blessing for her little one, and no kiss of ten-
derness for herself, as she pressed her child to
her heart.

" But the boy grew so like his father. The same
curly rings of hair lying on his broad forehead,
though many shades fairer, and the clear blue
eyes, haunted her with a well-remembered look.
She had need of all comfort, for she passed through
many trials, sickness, loss, and at last poverty, still
among strangers, though not where her husband
had left her. She could not stay so far from the
sea, where it would be many days after he landed
before he could reach her. So she came to the lit-
tle seaport from which his vessel had sailed for the
far-off Indian Ocean, and there watched for the
first glimpse of its white sails. Months passed
on in sickening, harassing anxiety ; and then
came news of disaster, shipwreck, death ; an aw-
ful certainty for the fear that had haunted her
day and night. She and her child were doubly
orphaned.

" Midwinter, and death, and pressing pover-
ty ! She could not give up all hope at once, but,

j through the long autumn, paced the rocky line
i of coast day after day, her child cradled warm-
ly in her arms, and looking out with straining
I eyes towards the horizon. She thought she
| must go mad, and almost prayed for it, if forget-
j fulness came to — but, then there was her child —
j there would be no one to care for him, and she
could not abandon him with the new mother-love
< growing up in her heart. Many pitied the * poor
| English lady,' as they saw the chill sea-breeze
tossing her thin garments, she standing on the
very verge of the bleak rocks, with the cold,
black waves breaking sullenly beneath heK.
There was one who did more than pity. She
welcomed him as a friend first, for he came with
sympathizing looks and kind words, and would
have relieved the pressure of her poverty. But
Alice Gray was still too proud for that, and she
parted one by one with the few treasures, costly
toys, her husband had gathered in foreign lands,
to keep away starvation. She had no idea of
toiling for a subsistence, as the poor creatures
around her did, and was too much wrapt up in
her grief to think or plan any lighter task. He
saw it all, rich and prosperous as he was, and
patiently waited his time. It came at last, when,
with a shudder, she drew off her ring of be-
trothal, scarcely dearer or more sacred than the
wedding-ring itself, and offered it in ' exchange
for gold, to buy bread for herself and child.
Heaven help her when that was exhausted ! It
was all she had. It was very late when she
hurried through the narrow street, to offer it,
where all her trinkets had gone before. They
were celebrating Christmas night in her own
land, with its blazing fires, and tables spread
with plenty. She hurried as if to put aside such
goading memories, past low wine-shops, and
groups of fishermen, and common sailors, until
she came to the house of the Israelite, who
exchanged whatever was brought to him, without
questions, so he could get it at half its worth.
The dingy shop was closed, but she was admitted
for the first time into the inner apartment,
which the broker had fitted up with the spoils
of his hard trade. Pictures, goblets, and vases,
musical instruments, and embroidered cushions,
and antique carved chairs, gave it a novel, but
curious air, this cold, wintry night. There was
no light save the broad glare of the brands on
the hearth, and of the lamp that burned still in
the outer rocm, and fell through the casement,
by which all visitors were reconnoitred. A heavy
curtain of velvet, a little faTOd, but once the
hangings of a palace-like mansion, concealed the
rough wall on one side, as she stood there noting
all these things with a strange, minute interest

212

godey's magazine and lady's book,

she did not feel, and wondered at even then.
It seemed as if he would never name the value
of the ring. She could not bear to see him
handle it so carelessly, when it was so dear to
her.

" Outside the gusty wind was sweeping the
narrow streets, and coarse songs and jests, hard
trampling feet went by, and she had yet to go
out and encounter these perils of darkness and
storm : she, who had been so tenderly reared
as a child, and so closely sheltered as a wife.
She had removed the brown braided tress that
filled the centre of the ring ; but it was of vir-
gin gold, massive and antique in design, as suited
the sailor's fancy, with a circlet of precious
stones. She knew little of its real value ; to
her it was beyond all price as the first love-
token from her husband, who was gone forever.
The careful dealer saw this, and noted the in-
difference of her manner as she stood before
him in her dark robes and linen coif, for she
had thrown down the coarse mantle that had
wrapped herself and child at the entrance of the
outer apartment. He" did not anticipate much
wrangling as he slowly drew forth the key of
his treasury, and as slowly counted out the price
at which he valued the token. He was right ;
for the sacrifice had cost her too much for words,
and she went out slowly from his presence with
that same fixed, hopeless expression. When
that small sum was exhausted, she had no other
earthly resource.

" Still pressing his child to her bosom, Alice
Gray passed along the dingy street to her mise-
rable home, though it was no home, with its
blank walls and tireless hearth ; but it served to
shelter her when night came, as she was driven
from her lonely watch on the beach. But, be-
fore she reached it, a roving band of sailors,
landed that day from a ship she had seen enter
the harbor, filled up the narrow path, shouting
and rolling with the wine they had quaffed, and
ringing a wild bacchanalian song. She shrank
aside to let them pass ; but the foremost seized
her with an oath and rude grasp, and would
have torn the mantle from her face in another
instant, had not a blow struck him breathless
against the wall. The strong arm of her de-
liverer set aside the assailants, and conducted
her safely on her way. It was the one friend
who seemed always to mark her movements, and
to whom she was indebted for many kindnesses.

" He, too, wasa stranger ; and, wandering on
the cliffs, had first noteu the pale, unquiet wo-
man that haunted them. When he had learned
her story from the fisherman, his pity grew to
sympathy, and ended in love. He was rich and

free; and that night, as she clung gratefully to
his arm, it was offered to her, with protection
from all care and want and contact with the
world. He had come out to seek her, he said,
and that very night stood ready to make her his.
The priest awaited them ; his arms should shel-
ter her ; he urged and pleaded with her to be-
come once more a wife.

" You must not blame her, children — you
must not, at least, judge her too harshly that she
listened to the temptation, knowing, as she did,
that the new vows would be an empty mockery ;
that all her love was buried fathoms deep with
Richard Gray. She still trembled from the in-
sult of the sailors; the night was black and
pitiless ; she was alone, and almost starving. It
was like one, benumbed with cold and hunger,
standing on the threshold of a mansion blazing
with light and warmth and costly cheer. Many
a young maiden has bartered her hand for gold
without Alice Gray's bitter need, now, even in
our own day, or for the baubles of rank and
position.

" Oh, it was cruel in that kind voice to plead
so earnestly, knowing her heart was starved —
craving for kindness and care ! For her child's
sake, he said, and pictured the boy growing up
under his fatherly protection, or, skilfully re-
versing the lines, showed him to her neglected
and abandoned among the rude fishermen. No
wonder that consent hung on her very utter-
ance, when the child stirred in her bosom, and
passed its little hands caressingly over her hag-
gard face as she bent towards it. Richard/ s
child! She -could not give another the hus-
band's right he had been proud to claim ; no,
she would work, ay, starve, if it must be so, but
not wrong his memory by falsehood and the en-
durance of caresses from which she must ever
shrink, as the memory of his love came between
her and the present.

" Her child saved her from the great sin of
going to another home and another love that
night, when she had nothing to offer in return.

" So her last friend was repulsed, and deserted
her, trying to keep down the bitterness of spirit
that pride called up to take the place of rejected
love. She sat alone and hopeless with her child
through the midnight darkness, and the love-
token sparkled beneath the lamp of the grasping
broker, who sat counting the day's gains.

" A knock at the outer entrance did not startle
him, for he conducted many a shrewd bargain
while others slept ; but he looked to see that all
his treasures were within a sweep of his arm
before he admitted the visitor.

"It was a sunburnt, swarthy-looking man,

A CHAPTER OX NECKLACES.

213

with jewels from the Orient to be exchanged for
gold. He knew their full value, and demanded
it ; but, while the Jew demurred, his quick eyes
scanned the whole room at a glance. Travel-
worn as he was, something arrested his gaze
that made his lips tremble and grow white, and
his heart beat fast as he bent forward and clutched,
heedless of the old man's remonstrances, the
love-token he had given years ago to his wife,
Alice Gray.

" You can see it all now, my children, from
what a fearful sin the sacrifice of that night
saved her, though you are too young and too un-
tried to imagine even the swoon of jo}' in which
she lay clasped to her husband's bosom, till the
dim morning light revealed those dear features,
and the nut-brown curls threaded with silver
from the toil and exposure he had endured. No
wonder that she shuddered at the remembrance
of her temptation, or that she loved the uncon-
scious child, who had saved her from it. above
all that were afterwards given to her arms."

So ended Aunt Mary's reading, while papa
still shaded his eyes from the light, and grand-
mother's hand trembled as she supported the

screen. Mamma's eyes were full of tears, and
she kissed Charlie, now sleeping on her shoulder,
over and over again, as if stooping down over
him could hide therm Josephine and myself
could not understand the scene till we were
much older, and the picture had come to be
spoken of as an heirloom in the family. But I
saw something else that interested me very
much, for I thought she might better have given
it to me — Maude pull Robert Winthrop's scarlet
geranium from her hair, and finally crush it un-
der her slipper, as the decision of Alice Gray
was told. Some one else saw it, too, I fancy,
for presently Chester Adams's hand dropped
from my shoulder upon Maude's, lying near me,
and she did not withdraw it. Maude was cry-
ing, too ; but a smile, like sunshine, came into
her eyes as she stole a timid, wistful look up
into his affectionate eyes, as I have seen chil-
dren ask for pardon.'

When we separated for the night, grandmo-
ther took a hand of each of them in one of hers,
and said, "Good-night, my children; be true to
yourselves and to each other !" and it was in
this way I noticed a ring, like the love-token in
the picture, on my grandmother's wedding-finger.

A CHAPTER ON NECKLACES, OLD AND NEW,

BY MRS. ffSIT:

It is curious to trace the first appearance of
necklaces amongst the Egyptians, in the same
form as they exist at the present day upon the
necks of the Patagonians, and the natives of
the islands of the Pacific ; for the ancient dwell-
ers by the Nile wore necklaces of the seeds of
leguminous plants, berries, and feathers (especi-
ally those of the poule de Numidie), precisely the
same substances which are used in this ornament
by the above people, except that the emu sup-
plies the feathers, and that shells are occasionally
mingled with the bright-colored berries. But
shells were also used in necklaces by the Egypt-
ians, as our readers may perceive in the table-
cases of the Egyptian gallery in the British Mu-
seum.

Here, we may trace the next appearance of
this trinket, when art began to be applied in its
composition, and spherical beads of various sub-
stances were used; as well as its progression
from a simple ornament to its superstitious use
as an amulet.

In one of these cases some very interesting
specimens of our subject may be seen, tracing,

as plainly as more important things might do,
the gradual advance of art; there is one of round
blue beads capped with silver, another repre-
senting deities and symbols, and a third with
pendants in the form of the lock of horns, fishes,
and cowries, which are well deserving of at-
tention.

The two latter were of course worn as amu-
lets, and, being impressed with sacred images,.
were supposed to ward ofT danger and infection,
to render the wearer courageous or agreeable,
or invest him with the various qualities which
their symbolism, or the substances of which
they were composed, represented in the mythic
language of the East.

Perhaps it might have been with such in-
tentions that we find the necklace so favorite
an adornment with the warriors of antiquity.
The Medes, Persians, Indians, and Etruscans
wore them in the valuable shape of strings of
pearls, sometimes enriched with jewels; while
the chiefs and great men amongst the northern
nations were distinguished by necklaces and
collars of gold, called torques, so that, when con-

214

godet's magazine and lady's book.

quered, the necklaces of both oriental and Cel-
tic nations must have made an important part
of the spoils. Hence, probably, the adoption of
the mantle by the Romans as a reward for mili-
tary valor, and hence also the surname of Tor-
quatus Manlius, who was so called from his
having torn the golden torque from the neck of
an enemy on the field of battle.

Necklaces were worn by both Greek and Ro-
man women, but only within doors, and on oc-
casions of domestic festivity, as at weddings and
dances ; they were especially used as bridal
presents, and the learned in mythology will
remember that it was upon the occasion of Her-
mione's marriage that Vulcan, to revenge her
mother's infidelity, bestowed upon her the fatal
necklace which worked such wondrous evils on
her race. Here we perceive that the Eastern
superstitions connected with this ornament had
accompanied the fashion of wearing it into
Greece: the rich and beautiful necklace of Her-
mione was a talisman — not to counteract evil,
but to produce it ; so that by-and-by we find this
very necklace, which Ovid tells us was of gold,
and to the description of which Nomus devotes
fifty lines of his Dionysica, bribing Eriphyle,
the wife of Amphiaraus, to betray her husband.

At Rome, as with the old Egyptians, the ma-
terials of the necklace soon altered from a sim-
ple row of berries or small spheres of glass, &c,
to pearls and amber, and precious stones ; the
single chaplet, which primitively encircled the
throat, gradually extended to a second, and even
a third row : after which we find the original
necklace adorned with drops or pendents, which,
when worn, fell round the neck like rays from
a centre.

For this description of monile, emeralds, and
other gems of a greenish hue, were greatly
prized ; and amongst the treasures which time
has restored to the museums and cabinets of the
curious, from the buried toilets of Pompeii, a
golden necklace is enumerated, which was en-
riched with twelve small emeralds.

Etruscan graves have also yielded up their
treasures, and amongst a variety of other matters
affording the most interesting illustrations of the
domestic economies of the ancient Tuscan peo-
ple, have preserved for us the fashion of these
ornaments. Those purchased from the Prince
of Canino, and deposited in the British Mu-
seum, are of gold ; one represents a wreath of
ivy-leaves in pairs, the stems of the leaves join-
ing; and the ornaments of the others consist
of circles, lozenges, rosettes, hippocampi (sea-
horses), and a heart depends centrally from one
of them.

Necklaces in the shape of serpents were worn
by the Greeks and Romans, by whom this em-
blem was regarded as a charm against witchcraft
and the " evil eye ;" they were made to coil
round the neck of the wearer, and it is remark-
able that the necklace so fatal to Hermione and
Eriphyle was of this form. Some years back an
inscription, found in France, mentioned a torque
dedicated to iEsculapius, having been made by
twisting together two golden snakes, and offer-
ings of trinkets in this shape were often made
in honor of him by persons during illness, or on
their recovery from it.

Besides decorating the necks of brides and con-
querors with these ornaments, the Romans car-
ried their admiration of the necklace so far as
to adorn the statues of their divinities with them ;
thus, a statue of Fortune, found at Herculaneum,
had the representation of a necklace incrusted
with silver, and a figure of Mercury, in the gal-
lery of Greek and Roman antiquities in the mu-
seum (thought by some to be the most exquisite
bronze in Europe), has a gold torquis round its
neck; this honor, however^ the deities shared
in common with favorite domestic animals ; and
horses were frequently adorned with them.

So much more remains to be said of the use
of them by the ancients, that we leave, reluct-
antly, these classic reminiscences, to trace the
history of the necklace at home, where it ap-
pears to have an existence coeval with Stone-
henge, and to have preserved its memoirs in the
funeral barrows of the Britons and Anglo-Saxons.
In these tumuli, necklaces of various kinds have
been found, and beads of crystal, jet, amber, and
colored glass, are quite common in them. In
some, necklaces of bone and ivory have been
discovered, and the Archaeological Society have
engraved one in their Journal, which is formed
of beads of bone and canel coal.

In the wills of the Anglo-Saxons, we find
the neck-bracelet, as its name implied in their
language, frequently mentioned : and amongst
other articles of jewellery, we read of golden
vermiculated necklaces. Boadicea wore a gold-
en necklace, and subsequently the torquis, or
collar of honor, commonly of gold, was made
the insignia of dukes and earls, both by the
Anglo-Saxons and the Normans. The Norman
kings wore a collar or necklace of gold, adorned
with jewels, and which depended on the breast,
like the collar or knighthood, of which, no
doubt, these antique ornaments were the proto-
types; while such of our Saxon ancestors as
could not procure the precious metals, rather
than be without this favorite ornament, wore
them of brass, and even iron.

A CHAPTER ON NECKLACES.

215

Amber appears, from the very earliest period,
a favorite material for the necklaces of women,
probably on account of its perfume, which Au-
tolycus, the roguish peddler, in the " Winter's
Tale," alludes to in his rhyming list of wares —

" Necklace ambor,
Perfume for a lady's chamber."

In Italy, we learn from an ancient chroni-
cle, that ladies wore them made of bent gold
coins, and that whistles, in the shape of a dragon,
set with gold and pearls (probably to call ser-
vants), sometimes depended from them.

A picture of Joan of Navarre, wife of Henry
IV., in whose reign necklaces were much worn
by ladies, represents her, wearing a collar of
Esses.

A necklace on the ancient effigy of Lady Pey-
ton, at Isleham Church, Cambridgeshire, is
formed of pear-shaped stones or pearls, attached
to a string or narrow band of gold, while another,
represented in the Harleian MS., looks like a
wreath of small stars, and was, in all probability,
of the same precious metal.

In the Middle Ages, we read that the necklaces
of women were set with jewels and stones;
and that some, called serpents, from the fashion
of them, were also in vogue ; and in the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries, the necklaces of Eng-
lish ladies were arranged in the same manner as
the rayed ones of the Romans.

Queen Elizabeth is always represented wear-
ing strings of pearls, or jewelled carcanets, and
the royal example appears to have been very
generally followed by the dames of her realm,
whose taste for a profusion of such ornaments
has been handed down to us by the dramatists
and other writers of the period ; though in her
reign, as in her father's, sumptuary laws were
made to prevent persons below a certain rank
from appearing in them.

Barclay, in his "Ship of Fools," printed A.
D. 1508, speaks of some who had their necks

"Charged with collars and chains,
In golden withes."

And in a curious work called " The Four Pees,"
of John Heywood, written 1560, he makes the
Peddler vaunt, amongst other vanities of women,
" of all manner of beads." The penalty for
wearing anything of gold or gilt about the neck,
in Henry VIII.'s time, unless the wearer was a
gentleman, or could prove that he possessed, over
all charges, 200Z. yearly value, was the forfeit-
ure of the same ; a regulation well calculated
to maintain the restriction in tact.

All this while certain superstitions existed

with regard to the necklace, as well as to all
other trinkets of which gold and precious stones
made part, occasioned, probably, by the antique
use of gems as amulets, and from the pretended
occult powers ascribed to them by the alchemists.
Even Elizabeth, with all her keenness and mas-
culine strength of mind, save where vanity and
its natural craving, the love of admiration, were
concerned, appears to have been just as impres-
sible upon such subjects as a peasant girl ; and
we find the Lord Chancellor Hatton sending
her a ring (in all probability of agate), to be
worn on her breast, against infectious air. The
physicians of those days did much to sustain the
" charm" of our subject. Necklaces made of the
root of the male peony were worn for the pre-
vention of the falling sickness, while those made
of amber were deemed good against infection ;
and to the doctrine of signatures, which con-
nected the medical properties of substances with
their forms and color, we may safely trace the
common practice of ornamenting young chil-
dren with necklaces of coral, as well as the in-
vention of the silver-belled trifle, so called.

With the same purpose (that of assisting their
teething), the anodyne necklace, which is made
of beads of the white bryony, is sometimes hung
around the necks of infants, sustaining, even in
our own times, a lingering faith in the medical
virtues of the amulet.

But that our space forbids, the necklace worn
by nuns might lead us to a dissertation on the
religious uses of this ornament ; but we must
briefly glance at its secular history in modern
times, when its most powerful spells have been
those of fashion.

Coming down to the seventeenth century,
we find the necklace quite as much in vogue as
in the reign of Elizabeth : in Massinger's " City
Madam," after her husband's knighthood, we
find her brother observing to the lady,

" Your borrowed hair,
Powdered and curled, was by your dresser's art
Formed like a coronet — hang'd with diamonds,
Aiid richest orient pearls — your carkanet,
That did adorn your neck, of equal value ;"

so that the love of gems and jewellery was by
no means on the decline. In the picture of
Charles and his queen, in " Heath's Chronicle,"
(1662), Catherine of Braganza wears two neck-
laces, one clasping the throat, and the other. ♦©
which a pendent is attached, falling low oa the
shoulders. Planche tells us that in Mary's reign,
jewelled necklaces sparkled on the bosom, a
fashion continued in that of her sister Anne of
Denmark, who is usually drawn wearing one.
With the accession of George III., the maud

216

godey's magazine and lady's book.

lin sentimentality of the belles and macaronies
of the period gave the name of esclavage to the
lace then in fashion, which consisted of
several rows of gold chains, or beads, or jewels,
arranged one under the other in successive fes-
toons, so as to cover the entire neck.

This was again displaced by the carcanet, or

band of jewels set in gold, and we ourselves re-
member the neglige, with its tasselled ends fall-
ing gracefully beneath the throat; since then
the necklace has gradually grown into disuse, so
that our friend's information, that short golden
ones were again in fashion, sounded pleasantly
as news of an old acquaintance.

GODEY'S COUESE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

LESSON III.

The pupil may now proceed to more ambi-
tious attempts in the art of delineation. Fig.
23 is the representation of a box supposed to be

Fig. 23.

Fig. 24.

standing on a table. It is formed entirely of
straight lines. She should draw the front ob-
long first, then the end, taking care to make the
perpendicular boundary line farthest from the
eye rather shorter than the first line, in order to
give the perspective appearance to the repre-
sentation. In this section we do not give the
rules of perspective delineation, preferring to
let the pupil become acquainted therewith after
she has acquired the necessary facility for copy-
ing objects as they appear presented to her eye ;
this to us appearing the most natural course, as
perspective cannot be taught unless the objects
which illustrate the rules, and which are to be
found in all perspective delineations, can them-
selves be sketched with ease. As soon as a
pupil can copy an object correctly, so far as her
own ideas go, she will at once perceive the
utility of an art which, by stated rules, will
enable her to test the accuracy of her proceed-
ings.

Fig. 24 is a free outline sketch of a pump ; by
drawing the lower square first, thereafter the
end and top, and next the upright oblong, finally
putting in the handle and spout, the delineation
will speedily be effected. The pupil at this
stage should attempt to delineate the forms pre-
ied by placing boxes, square blocks, bricks,
&C, in various positions.

Fig. 25 is the representation of a book lying
on its side; it is formed of both straight and

Fig. 25.

curved lines. She should draw the horizontal
lines first, then the oblique, taking care to make
the two lines forming the top nearly parallel,
and the others slightly to approach each other,
to give the idea of distance; the under lines
may be strengthened as in the figure, which will
compensate for the absence of light and shade.

Fig. 26.

Fig. 26 affords a good exemplification of the
use of the oval or ellipse in forming leaves, &c.

GODEY'S COUKSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING

217

In the first place, a correct ellipse is to be drawn,
thereafter the top a and the end b of the leaf,
rubbing out the parts cc not required, and, lastly,
putting in the fibres, as in the figure. The leaf
is finished by putting in the serrated or saw-like
edges, as in Fig. 27.

Fig. 27.

first making the circle, as in Fig. 30, thereafter

Ffc. 30.

finishing it, as in Fig. 31. The use of the circle
Fig. 31.

Fig. 28 is formed in the same way, the only <(
difference being that the leaf is comprised within \

Fig. 28.

is further demonstrated by Figs. 32 and 33, which
J show the method adopted in drawing an acorn.

Fig. 32.

Fig. 33.

The method here indicated, of using ellipses and

4 circles as the foundation of the outlines, is ap-

,, ., . . . . . , , plicable to the formation of a vast variety of

the ellipse ; the parts a a being rubbed out, and

the edges filled as in Fig. 29.

Fig. 29.

Fig. 34.

Fig. 35.

Fig. 30 exemplifies the use of the circle in
delineating natural objects. A pear is drawn by
VOL. XL viii. — 19

objects ; thus, vases and other forms can be ra
pidly delineated, as shown in Figs. 34 and 35

THE TEIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

Continued from page 127.)

CHAPTER III.

On the next morning, at the earliest dawn,
Mrs. Gaston arose. She found Ella's fever still
very high. The child was restless, and moaned
a good deal in her sleep.

" Poor little thing!" murmured the mother, as
she bent over her for a moment, and then turned
away, and commenced kindling a fire upon the
hearth. Fortunately for her, she had saved
enough from her earnings during the summer to
buy half a cord of wood ; but this was gradually
melting away, and she was painfully conscious
that, by the time the long and severe winter had
fairly set in, her stock of fuel would be exhaust-
ed ; and at the prices which she was receiving
for her work, she felt that it would be impos-
sible to buy more. After making the fire, she
took her work, and drew near the window,
through which the cold faint rays of the morn-
ing were stealing. By holding the work close
to the light, she could see to set her needle, and
in this way she commenced her daily toil. An
hour was spent in sewing, when Emma aroused
up, and she had to lay by her work to attend to
her child. Ella, too, had awakened, and com-
plained that her head ached badly, and that her
throat was very sore. Half an hour was spent*
in dressing, washing, and otherwise attending to
her children, and then Mrs. Gaston went out to
get something for breakfast. On entering the
shop of Mrs. Grubb, she met with rather a more
courteous reception than had been given her on
Ihe morning previous.

" Ah ! good-morning, Mrs. Gaston ! Good-
morning !" said that personage, with a broad,
good-natured smile. " How is Ella?"

" She seems very poorly, Mrs. Grubb. I be-
gin to feel troubled about her. She complains
of a sore throat this morning, and you know
the scarlet fever is all about now."

" Oh, no ! never fear that, Mrs. Gaston. El-
la's not down with the scarlet fever, I know."

" I trust not. But I have my fears."

" Never take trouble on interest, Mrs. Gaston.
Jt is bad enough when it comes in the natural
"way. But what can I do for you ?"

" I think I mu^t have a cent's worth of cof-
218

fee this morning. My head aches so that I am
almost blind. A strong cup of coffee I am sure
will do me good. And as I have a hard day's work
before me, 1 must prepare for it. And then I
must have a pint of milk and a three cent loaf
of bread for the children. That must do me for
the present. We have some molasses left."

" You'll want a little dried meat, or a herring,
or something to give you a relish, Mrs. Gaston.
Dry bread is poor eating. And you know you
can't touch molasses." Half in sympathy did
Mrs. Grubb utter this, and half as a dealer, de-
sirous of selling her goods.

" Nothing more, just now, I believe," the
poor woman replied. " I must be prudent, you
know, and count over every cent."

"But you '11 make yourself sick, if you don't
eat something more than you do. So come
now ; treat yourself to a herring, or to a pen-
ny's worth of this sweet butter. You '11 feel
all the better for it, and do more than enough
work to pay the cost twice over."

Mrs. Gaston's appetite was tempted. The
hard fresh butter looked inviting to her eyes,
and she stooped over and smelled it half invo-
luntarily.

"I believe you are right, Mrs. Grubb," she
said. " You may give me a couple of cents'
worth of this nice butter."

An ounce of butter was carefully weighed out,
and given to the customer.

" Isn't there something else, now, that you
want?" said the smiling shop-keep r, leaning
her elbows upon the counter, and looking en-
couragingly into the face of Mrs. Gaston.

"I've indulged myself, and I shall not feel
right, unless I indulge the children a little also."
was the reply ; " so weigh me two cents' worth of
your smoked beef. They all like it very much."

The smoked beef was soon ready, and then
the mother hurried home to her children.

After the morning meal had been prepared,
Mrs. Gaston sat down and ate her bread and
butter, tasting a little of the children's meat, and
drinking her coffee with a keen relish. She felt
braced up on rising from the table, and, but for
the illness of Ella, would have felt an unusual
degree of cheerfulness.

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

219

Henry attended the common school of the
district, and, soon after breakfast, prepared him-
self to go. As he was leaving, his mother told

him to call at Doctor R 's, and ask him if

he would be kind enough to stop and see Ella.
She then seated herself once more beside her
little work-table. The two foreparts of the
jacket had been finished, except the button-
holes ; and the sleeves were ready to put in as
soon as the body of the garment was ready for
them. As the button-holes tried the sight of
Mrs. Gaston severely, she chose that part of the
day, when her eyes were fresh, to work them.
The jacket was double-breasted, and there were
five holes to be worked on each side. She had
nearly completed one-half of them, when Doctor
R came in. He looked serious upon ex-
amining his patient. Said she was very ill, and
required immediate attention.

"But you don't think it the scarlet fever,
doctor?" the mother said, in a low, alarmed
voice.

" Your child is very sick, madam ; and, to
tell you the truth, her symptoms resemble too
closely those of the fever you have named," was
the undisguised reply.

" Surely, my cup is full and running over !"
sobbed Mrs. Gaston, clasping her hands together,
as this sudden announcement broke down, for a
moment, her self-control, while the tears gushed
from her eyes.

Doctor R was a man of true feeling. He

had attended, in two or three cases of illness,
the children of Mrs. Gaston, and had observed
that she was a woman who had become, from
some cause, greatly reduced in circumstances.
His sympathies were strongly awakened at see-
ing her emotion, and he said, in a kind but firm
voice —

" A mother, the safety of whose child depends
upon her calm and intelligent performance of
duty, should never lose her self-control."

"I know that, doctor," the mother answered,
rallying herself with a strong effort. " But I
was over-tried already, and your sudden confir-
mation of my worst fears completely broke me
down."

"In any event, however," the doctor replied,
" you must not permit yourself to forget that
your child is in the hands of Him who regards
its good in a far higher sense than you can pos-
sibly. He never permits sickness of any kind
without a good end."

" I know that, doctor, but I have a mother's
heart. I love my children, and the thought of
losing them touches me to the quick."

"And yet you know that, in passing from

this to another state of existence, their condition
must be bettered beyond comparison."

" Oh yes. Beyond comparison !" replied the
mother, half abstractedly, but with touching pa-
thos. "And yet, doctor, I cannot spare them.
They are everything to me."

" Do not suffer yourself to indulge needless
alarm. I will leave you medicine now, and call
again to-morrow. If she should be decidedly
worse, send for me towards evening."

After the doctor went away, Mrs. Gaston
gave the medicine he had left, as directed, and
then forced herself from the bedside, and resumed
her work. By the time the button-holes of the
garment she was engaged upon were all com-
pleted, and the back and shoulder seams sewed
up, it was time to see about something for din-
ner. She put aside the jacket, and went to the
bed. Ella lay as if asleep. Her face was
flushed, and her skin dry and hot. The mother
looked upon her for a few moments with a
yearning heart; then, turning away, she took
from a closet her bonnet and shawl, and a little
basket. Passing quickly down stairs, after tell-
ing Emma to keep very still and be a good girl
until she came back, she took her way towards
the market-house. At a butcher's she obtained,
for three cents, some bones, and then at one of
the stalls bought a few herbs, a head of cabbage,
and three turnips ; the whole at a cost of six-
pence. With these she returned home, renewed
her fire, and, after preparing the bones and ve-
getables she had procured, put them into an iron
pot with some water, and hung this upon the
crane. She then sat down again to her work.

At twelve o'clock Henry came in from school,
and brought up an armful of wood, and some
water, and then, by direction of his mother, saw
that the fire was kept burning briskly. At one,
Mrs. Gaston laid by her work again, and set the
table for dinner. Henry went for a loaf of bread
while she was doing this, and upon his return
found all ready. The meal, palatable to all, was
a well-made soup ; the mother and her two chil-
dren ate of it with keen appetites. When it
was over, Henry went away again to school, and
Mrs. Gaston, after administering to Ella another
dose of medicine, sat down once more to her
work. One sleeve remained to be sewed in,
when the garment would only require to have
the collar put on, and be pressed off. This oc-
cupied her until late in the afternoon.

" Thirty cents for all that !" she sighed to hei -
self, as she laid the finished garment upon the
bed. " Too bad ! Too bad ! How can a widow
and three children subsist on twenty cent;: a
day !"

220

godey's magazine and lady's book,

A deep moan from Ella caused her to look at
her child more intently than she had done for
half an hour. She was alarmed to find that her
:'ace had become like scarlet, and was consider-
swollen. On speaking to her, she seemed
e stupid, and answered incoherently, fre-
quently putting her hand to her throat, as if in
pain there. This confirmed the mother's worst
ears for her child, especially as she was in a
raging fever. Soon after, Henry came in from

school, and she dispatched him for Doctor 11 ,

who returned with the boy. He seemed uneasy
at the manner in which the symptoms were de-
doping themselves. A long and silent exami-
nation ended in his asking for a basin. He bled
her freely, as there appeared to be much visceral
congestion, and an active inflammation of the
tonsils, larynx, and air passages, with a most
violent fever. After this she lay very still, and
seemed much relieved. But, half an hour
after the doctor had left, the fever rallied
again, with burning intensity. Her face swelled
rapidly, and the soreness of her throat increased.
About nine o'clock the doctor came in again,
and upon examining the child's throat, found it
black and deeply ulcerated.

" What do you think of her, doctor?" asked
the poor mother, eagerly.

" I think her very ill, madam — and, I regret
to say, dangerously so."

" Is it scarlet fever, doctor ?"

" It is, madam. A very bad case of it. But
do not give way to feelings of despondency. I
have seen worse cases recover."

More active medicines than any that had yet
been administered were given by the doctor,
who again retired, with but little hope of seeing
his patient alive in the morning.

From the time Mrs. Gaston finished the gar-
ment upon which she had been working, she
had not even unrolled the other roundabout,
and it was now nine o'clock at night. A sense
of her destitute condition, and of the press-
ing necessity there was for her to let every
minute leave behind some visible impression,
made her, after Henry and Emma were in bed,
leave the side of her sick child, though with
painful reluctance, and resume her toil. But,
ever and anon, as Ella moaned, or tossed rest-
lessly upon her pillow, would the mother lay by
her work, and go and stand beside her in silent
anguish of spirit, or inquire where she suffered
pain, or what she could do to relieve her.

Thus passed the hours until twelve, one, and
wo o'clock, the mother feeling that her child
A"as too sick for her to seek repose, and yd, as
rvhe could do nothing to relieve her sufferings,

she could not sit idly by and look upon her.
For fifteen or twenty minutes at a time she
would ply her needle, and then get up and bend
over the bed for a minute or two. A thought
of duty would again call her back to her posi-
tion by the work-table, where she would again
devote herself to her task, in spite of an aching
head, and a reluctant, over-wearied body. Thus
she continued until near daylight, when there
was an apparent subsidence of Ella's most pain-
ful symptoms. The child ceased to moan and
throw herself about, and finally sunk into slum-
ber. In some relief of mind, Mrs. Gaston laid
down beside her upon the bed, and in a little while
was fast asleep. When she awoke, the sun had
been up some time, and was shining brightly
into the room. Quickly rising, her first glance
was towards her sick child. She could scarcely
suppress a cry of agony as she perceived that her
face and neck had swollen so as to appear puffed
up, while her skin was covered with livid spots.
An examination of the chest and stomach showed
that these spots were extending themselves over
her whole body. Besides these signs of danger,
the breathing of the child was more like gasp-
ing, as she lay with her mouth half opened.

The mother laid her hand upon her arm, and
spoke to her. But she did not seem to hear the
voice.

"Ella, dear! how do you feel this morning?"
repeated Mrs. Gaston in louder and more earn-
est tones.

But the child heeded her not. She was al-
ready past consciousness ! At an early hour

Doctor 11 came in. The moment he looked

at his patient his countenance fell. Still, he
proceeded to examine her carefully. But every
symptom was alarming, and indicated a speedy
fatal termination; this was especially the case
with the upper part of the throat, which was
black. Nothing deeper could be seen, as the
tonsils were so swollen as to threaten suffoca-
tion.

"Is there any hope, doctor?" asked Mrs. Gas-
ton eagerly, laying her hand upon his arm as he
turned from the bed.

" There is always hope where there is life,
madam," he replied abstractedly, and then in a
thoughtful mood took two or three turns across
the narrow apartment.

"I will come again in an hour," he at length
said, "and see if there is any change. I would
rather not give her any more medicine for the
present. Let her remain perfectly quiet."

True to his promise, Doctor R entered the

room just an hour from the time he left it. The
scene that met li is eye moved his heart deeply,

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN,

221

all used as he was to the daily exhibition of
misery in its many distressing forms. The child
was dead ! He was prepared for that — but not
for the abandoned grief to which the mother
gave way. The chords of feeling had been
drawn in her heart too tightly. Mind and body
were both out of tune, and discordant. In suf-
: ring, in abject want and destitution, her heart
ftill clung to her children, and threw around
them a sphere of intenser affection, as all that
was external grew darker, colder, and more
dreary. They were her jewels, and she could
not part with them. They were hidden away
in her heart of hearts so deeply, that not a single
one of them could be taken without leaving it
lacerated and bleeding.

When the doctor entered, he found her lying
upon the bed, with the body of her child hugged
tightly to her bosom. Little Emma had crept
away into a corner of the room, and looked
frightened. Henry was crouching in a chair,
with the tears running down his cheeks in
streams.

"You are too late, doctor," said the mother,
in a tone so calm, so clear, and yet to his ear so
thrilling, that he started, and felt a chill pass
through his frame. There was something in the
sound of that voice in ill accordance with the
scene.

As she spoke, she glanced at the physician
with bright, tearless eyes for a moment ; and
then, turning away her head, she laid her cheek
against that of the corpse, and drew the lifeless
body with trembling eagerness to her heart.

" This is all vain, my dear madam !" urged

Dr. R , approaching the bedside, and laying

fcis hand upon her. " Come ! Be a woman.
To bear is to conquer our fate. No sorrow of
yours can call back the happy spirit of your
child. And, surely, you would not call her
back, if you could, to live over the days of an-
guish and pain that were meted out to her?"

" I cannot give up my child, doctor. Oh, I
cannot give up my child ! It will break my
heart !" she replied, her voice rising and trem-
bling more and more at each sentence, until it
gave way, and the hot tears came raining over
her face, and falling upon the insensible cheek
of her child.

" ' The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh
away,' Mrs. Gaston. Can you not look up, even
in this sore affliction, and say, { Blessed be the
name of the Lord1?' It is your only hope. An
arm of flesh cannot support you now. You
must look to the Strong for strength."

As Doctor R thus urged her to reason and

duty, the tears of the bereaved mother gradually

19*

ceased to flow. She grew calmer, and regained,
in some degree, her self-possession. As she did
so, she slowly disengaged her arm from the body
of her child, placed its head as carefully as if
it had been asleep, upon the pillow, and then
arose, and stood with her hands tightly clasped
across her forehead.

"I am but a weak woman, doctor, and you
must bear with me," said she, in a changed
voice. " I used to have fortitude ; but I feel
that I am breaking fast. I am not what I was."

The last two sentences were spoken in a tone
so sad and mournful, that the doctor could
scarcely keep back the tears.

" You have friends here, I suppose," he re-
marked, " who will be with you on this a
ing occasion?"

" I have no friends," she replied, in the same
sad voice. " I and my children are alone in this
hard world. Would to Heaven we were all with
Ella !" Her tears again gushed forth, and flow-
ed freely.

" Then I must send some one who will assist

you in your present need," said Doctor R ;

and turning away he left the room, and, getting
into his chaise, rode off at a brisk pace. In
about a quarter of an hour, he returned with a
woman who took charge of the body of the
child, and performed for it the last sad offices
that the dead require.

Upon close inquiry, he ascertained from Mrs.
Gaston that she was in a state of extreme desti-
tution ; that, so far from having the means to
bury her dead child, she was nearly without
food to give to her living ones. To meet this
pressing need, he went to a few benevolent
friends, and procured money sufficient to inter
the corpse, and about ten dollars over. This he
gave to her after the funeral, at which there
were only three mourners, the mother and her
two children.

CHAPTER IV.

Berlaps was leaning over his counter late in
the afternoon of the second day from that on
which the person calling herself Lizzy Glenn
had applied for and obtained work, when a
young man entered and asked for some article
of dress. While the tailor was still engaged in
waiting upon him, the young woman came in,
carrying a small bundle in her hand. Her veil
was drawn over her face as she entered ; but was
thrown partly aside as she retired to the back
part of the store, where she stood awaiting the

222

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

leisure of the man from whom she had obtained
work. As she passed him, the customer turned
and looked at her earnestly for a moment or two,
and then asked in a whisper —

"Who is that?"

" Only one of our sewing-girls," replied Ber-
laps, indifferently.

" What is her name ?"

" I forget. She 's a girl to whom we gave out
work day before yesterday."

This caused the man to look at her more at-
tentively. The young woman, becoming con-
scious that she was an object of close scrutiny by
a stranger, turned partly away, so that her face
could not be seen.

" There is something singularly familiar about
her," mused the young man as he left the store.
" Who can she be? I have certainly seen her
before."

" Ah, good-afternoon, Perkins !" said a fami-
liar voice, while a friendly hand was laid upon
his arm. " You seem to be in a browner mood
than usual !"

" I am a little thoughtful, or abstracted, just
as you please," replied the individual addressed.

" Are you, indeed? May I ask the reason?"

" The reason hardly seems to be a sufficient
one — and, therefore, I will not jeopardize your
good opinion of me by mentioning it."

" Oh, very well ! I am content to have my
friends conceal from me their weaknesses."

The two young men then walked on arm and
arm for some distance. They seemed to be
walking more for the sake of a little conversa-
tion than for anything else, for they went
slowly, and after winding about among the la-
byrinthine streets for ten or twenty minutes,
took their way back again.

"There she is again, as I live !" Perkins ex-
claimed, half pausing as the young woman he
had seen at the tailor's passed quickly by them
on their turning a corner.

" You 've noticed her before, then ?" remarked
the friend, whose name was Milford.

" I saw her a little while ago in a clothing-
store ; and her appearance instantly arrested my
attention. Do you know who she is?"

" I do not. But I'd give something to know.
You saw her in a clothing-store?"

" Yes. In the shop of that close-fisted Ber-
laps. She is one of his seamstresses — a new
one, by the way — to whom he has just given
work. So he informed me."

" Indeed ! She must be in great extremity to
work for his pay. It is only the next remove, I
am told, from actual starvation."

"But tell me what you know of her, Milford.

$• She seems to have attracted your notice, as well
\ as mine."

\ "I know nothing of her whatever," replied
the young man, " except that I have met her five
\ or six times during the last two weeks, upon the
£ Warren bridge, on her way to Charlestown.
{ Something in her appearance arrested my atten-
l tion the first time I saw her. But I have never
\ been able to catch more than a glimpse of her
I face. Her veil is usually drawn."

> "Who can she visit in Charlestown?"

\ " No one, I have good reason to think."
\ " Why so ?"

> " I had once the curiosity to follow her as far
as I deemed it prudent and courteous. She kept

\ on entirely through the town — at least through
{ the thickly settled portion of it. Her step was
too quick for the step of one who was merely
going to pay a friendly visit."

" You have had, if I understand you, at least
\ a glimpse of her countenance?"
| " Yes. Once, in passing her, her veil was half
drawn aside, as if to get a freer draught of air."
| "And her face?"

" Was thin and pale."
"And beautiful?"

" So I should call it. Not pretty — not a mere

j doll's face — but intellectually beautiful ; yet

full of softness. In fact, the face of a woman

| with a mind and heart. But sorrow has touched

< her — and pain. And, above all, the marks of
\ crushed affection were too plainly visible upo'i
j her young countenance. All this could be seen
i at the single glance I obtained, before her veil

< was drawn hurriedly down."

" Strange that she should seek so to hide her

< face from every eye. Can it be that she is some

< one we have known, who has fallen so low?"

" No, I think not," replied Milford. " I am
| certain that I have never seen her before. Her
\ face is a strange one to me. At least the glance
; I had revealed no familiar feature."

" Well, I, for one, am resolved to know mon
1 about her," remarked Perkins, as the two friends
; paused before separating. " Since she has awak-
\ ened so sudden, and yet so strong an interest

< in my mind, I should feel that I was not doing
; right if I made no effort to learn something of

< her true position in our city, where, I am much
inclined to think, she is a stranger."

The young men, after a few more words, se-
parated, Perkins getting into an " hourly" and
going over to Charlestown to see a man on some
' business who could not be at his bouse until Late
in the day. The transaction of this business
took more time than he had expected, and it was
nearly an hour after nightfall before he returned

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

223

to Boston. After passing the " draw," as he
crossed the old bridge, he perceived by the light
of a lamp, some distance ahead, a female figure
hurrying on with rapid steps.

" It's the strange girl I saw at Berlaps', as I
live !" he mentally ejaculated, quickening his
pace. " I must see where she hides herself
away."

The night was very dark, and the form of
the stranger, as she hurried forward, was soon
buried in obscurity. In a little while, she
emerged into the little circle of light that dif-
fused itself around the lamp that stood at the
termination of the bridge, and in the next mo-
ment was again invisible. Perkins now pressed
forward, and was soon clear of the bridge, and
moving along the dark, lonely avenue that led
up to the more busy part of the city. He had
advanced here but a few paces, when a faint
scream caused him to bound onward at full speed.
In a moment after, he came to the corner of a
narrow, dark street, down which he perceived
two forms hurrying; one, a female, evidently
struggling against the superior force of the other.

His warning cry, and the sound of his rapidly
advancing footsteps, caused the man to relax his
hold, when the female figure glided away with
wind-like fleetness. The man hesitated an in-
stant ; but, before Perkins reached the spot
where he stood, ran off in an opposite direction
to that taken by the woman.

Here was an adventure calculated to give to
the mind of Perkins a new and keener interest
in the young seamstress. He paused but a mo-
ment, and then ran at the height of his speed in
the direction the female form, which he had
good reason to believe was hers, had taken. But
she was nowhere to be seen. Either she had
sought a shelter in one of the houses, or had
hurried forward with a fleetness that carried her
far beyond his reach.

Thoughtful and uneasy in mind, he could
hardly tell why, he sought his lodgings ; and,
retiring at once to his chamber, seated himself
by a table upon which were books and papers,
and soon became lost in sad memories of the
past that strongly linked themselves, why he
could not tell, for they had no visible connection
with the present. For a long time he sat in this
abstract mood, his hand shading his face from
the light. At last he arose slowly and went to
a drawer, from which he took a small morocco
case, and, returning with it to the table, seated
himself again near the lamp. He opened the
case, and let the light fall strongly upon the
miniature of a most beautiful female. Her light
brown hair, that fell in rich and glossy ringlets

to her neck, relieved tastefully her broad white
forehead, and the gentle roundness of her pure
cheeks, that were just tinged with the flush of
health and beauty. But these took not away
from the instant attraction of her dark hazel
eyes, thatbeamed tenderly upon the gazer's face.
Perkins bent for many minutes over this sweet
image ; then pressing it to his lips, he mur-
mured, as he leaned back, and lifted his eyes to
the ceiling : —

" Where, where in the spirit-land dost thou
dwell, dear angel? In what dark and undis-
covered cave of the ocean rests in dreamless
sleep thy beautiful but unconscious body?
Snatched from me in the bloom of youth, when
fresh flowers blossomed in thy young heart to
bless me with their fragrance, how hast thou
left me in loneliness and desolation of spirit !
And yet thou seemest near to me, and, of late,
nearer and dearer than ever. Oh, that I couid
hear thy real voice, even if spoken to the ear of
my spirit, and see once more thy real face, were
it only a spiritual presence !"

The young man then fell into a dreamy state
of mind, in which we will leave him for the
present.

CHAPTER V.

The prompt assistance rendered by Dr. R

to Mrs. Gaston came just in time. It enabled
her to pay her month's rent, due for several
days, to settle the amount owed to Mrs. Grubb,
and lay in more wood for the coming winter.
This consumed all her money, and left her once
more dependent upon the meagre reward of her
hard labor to supply food and clothing for her-
self and her two remaining children. From a
state of almost complete paralysis of mind, con-
sequent upon the death of Ella, her necessi-
ties aroused her. On the second day after the
child had been taken, she again resumed Her
suspended toil. The sight of the unfinished
garment, which had been laid aside after bend-
ing over it nearly the whole night previous to
the morning upon which Ella died, awakened a
fresh emotion of grief in her bosom. As this
gradually subsided, she applied herself with
patient assiduity to her task, which was not
finished before twelve o'clock that night, when
she laid herself down with little Emma in her
arms, and soon lost all care and trouble in pro-
found sleep.

Hasty pudding and molasses composed the
morning meal for all. After breakfas', Mr?

224

Gaston took the two jackets, which had been
out now fire clays, to the shop.

" Why, bless me, Mrs. Gaston, I thought you
had run off with them jackets !" was Michael's
coarse salutation as she came in.

The poor, heart-oppressed seamstress could
not trust herself to reply, but laid her work upon
the counter in silence. Berlaps, seeing her,
came forward.

" These kind of doings will never answer,
madam !" he said, angrily. " I could have sold
both jackets ten times over, if they 'd been here
three days ago, as by rights they ought to have
been. I can't give you work, if you are not
more punctual. You needn't think to get along
at our tack, unless you plug it in a little faster
than all this comes to."

" I '11 try and do better after this," said Mrs.
Gaston, faintly.

" You '11 have to, let me tell you, or we '11
cry ' quits.' All my women must have nimble
fingers."

" These jackets are not much to brag of,"
broke in Michael, as he tossed them aside. " I
think we had better not trust her with any more
cloth roundabouts. She has botched the button-
holes awfully; and the jackets are not more
than half pressed. Just look how she has held
on the back seam of this one, and drawn the
edges of the lappels until they set seven ways
for Sunday ! They 're murdered outright, and
ought to be hung up with a basin under them to
catch the blood."

"What was she to have for them?" asked
Berlaps.

" Thirty cents a-piece, I believe," replied the
salesman.

" Don't give her but a quarter, then. I 'm
not going to pay full price to have my work
botched up after that style !" And, so saying,
Berlaps turned away and walked back to his
desk.

Lizzy Glenn, as she had called herself, en-
tered at the moment, and heard the remark of
the tailor. She glided noiselessly by Mrs. Gas-
ton, and stood farther down the store, with both
her body and face turned partly from her, where
she waited patiently for the interview between
her and Michael to terminate.

The poor, heart-crushed creature did not offer
the slightest remonstrance to this act of cruel
oppression, but took the half dollar thrown her
by Michael for the two jackets with an air of
n look resignation. She half turned to go away
lifter doing so, but a thought of her two remain-
ing children caused her to hesitate.

•• Haven't you some more trovvsers to give

out ?" she asked, turning again towards Mi-
chael.

The sound of her voice reached the ear of the
young female who had just entered, causing her
to start and look for an instant towards the
speaker. But she slowly resumed her former
position with a sigh, after satisfying herself by a
single glance at the woman, whose voice had
fallen upon her ear with a strange familiarity.

" We haven't any more ready, ma'am, just
now."

" What have you to give out ? Anything?"

" Yes. Here are some unbleached cotton
shirts, at seven cents. You can have some of
them, if you choose."

" I will take half a dozen," said Mrs. Gaston,
in a desponding tone. " Anything is better than
nothing."

" Well, Miss Lizzy Glenn," said Michael,
with repulsive familiarity, as Mrs. Gaston turned
from the counter and left the store, " what can
I do for you this morning?"

The young seamstress made no reply, but laid
her bundle upon the counter and unrolled it.
It contained three fine shirts, with linen bosoms
and collars, very neatly made.

" Very well done, Lizzy," said Michael, ap-
provingly, as he inspected the two rows of stitch-
ing on the bosoms and other parts of the gar-
ments that required to be sewed neatly.

"Have you any more ready?" she asked,
shrinking back as she spoke, with a feeling of
disgust, from the bold, familiar attendant.

" Have you any more fine shirts for Liz:-*.-
Glenn?" called Michael, back to Berlaps, in a
loud voice.

" I don't know. How has she made them •: "

" First rate."

"Then let her have some more, and pay
for those just brought in."

"That's your sorts!" responded Miehae]
he took seventy-five cents from the drawer and
threw the money upon the counter. " Good
work, good pay, and prompt at that. Will you
take three more I"

" I will," was the somewhat haughty and dig-
nified reply, intended to repulse the low-bred
fellow's offensive familiarity.

" Highty-tighty !" broke in Michael, in m
under-tone, meant only for the maiden's i
"Tip-top airs don't pass for much in these 'ere
parts. Do you know that, Miss Lizzy C!
or whatever your name may be ? We 're all on
the same level here. Girls thai make slop shirts
and trowsors haven't much cause to stand on
their dignity. Ha ! ha !''

The seamstress turned away quickly, and

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

225

walked back to the desk where Berlaps stood
writing.

" Be kind enough, sir, if you please, to hand
me three more of your fine shirts," she said, in
a firm, but respectful tone.

Berlaps understood the reason of this applica-
tion to him, and it caused him to call out to his
salesman something after this homely fashion —

" Why, in thunder, Michael, don't you let
the girls that come to the store, alone ? Give
Lizzy three shirts, and be done with your con-
founded tom-fooleries ! The store is no place
for them."

The young woman remained quietly beside
the desk of Berlaps until Michael came up and
handed her the shirts. She then walked quickly
towards the door, but did not reach it before
Michael, who had glided along behind one of
the counters.

" You 're a fool ! And don't know which
side your bread 's buttered," he said, with a half
leer, half scowl.

She neither paused nor replied, but, stepping
quickly out, walked hurriedly away. Young Per-
kins, before alluded to, entered at the moment,
and heard Michael's grossly insulting language.

" Is that the way to talk to a lady, Michael V
he asked, looking at him somewhat sternly.

"But you don't call her a lady, I hope, Mr.
Perkins?" the salesman retorted, seeming, how-
ever, a little confused as he spoke.

"Do you know anything to the contrary?"
the young man asked, still looking Michael in
the face.

" I can't say that I know much about her, any
way, either good or bad."

" Then why did you use such language as I
heard just now?"

" Oh, well ! Never mind, Mr. Perkins," said
Michael, his whole manner changing as a new
idea arose in his thoughts ; "if she 's your game,
I '11 lie low and shut my eyes."

This bold assurance of the fellow at first con-
founded Perkins, and then made him very in-
dignant.

" Remember, sir," said he, in a resolute voice,
and with a determined expression on his face,
" that I never suffer any one to trifle with me in
that style, much less a fellow like you ; so
govern yourself, hereafter, accordingly. As to
this young lady whom you have just insulted, I
give you fair warning now, that another such an
act will bring with it merited punishment."

Perkins then turned from the somewhat crest-
fallen salesman, and walked back to where Ber-
laps was standing at his desk.

" Do you know anything about that young

woman I just now saw leave here, Mr. Ber •
laps?" he asked.

"I do not, Mr. Perkins," was the respectful
answer. " She is a stranger, who came in some
days ago for work."

"What is her name?"

" Lizzy Glenn, I believe."

" Where does she live?"

" Somewhere at the north end. Michael,
there, knows."

" Get from him her street and number for me,
if you please."

Berlaps asked Michael for the street and
number where she lived, which the fellow took
good care to give wrong. Perkins made a me-
morandum of the name and residence, as fur-
nished, in his note-book, and, bowing to the
man of shears, departed.

With her half dozen shirts, at seven cents,
Mrs. Gaston returned home, feeling as if she
must give up the struggle. The loss of Ella,
after having striven so long and so hard for the
sake of her children, made her feel more discou-
raged than she had ever yet felt. It seemed to
her as if even Heaven had ceased to regard her
— or that she was one doomed to be the sport
of cruel and malignant powers. She had been

home for only a short time, when Dr. R

came in. After inquiring about her health, and
if the children were still free from any symp-
toms of the terrible disease that had carried off
their sister, he said —

" I 've been thinking about you a good deal
in the last day or two, Mrs. Gaston, and have
now called to have some talk with you. You
work for the stores, I believe?"

" Yes, sir."

" What kind of work do you do ?"

" Here are some common shirts, which I have
just brought home."

" Well, how much do you get for them?"

" Seven cents, sir."

" Seven cents ! How many of them can you
make in a day?"

" Two are as many as I shall be able to get
through with, and attend to my children ; and
even then I must work half the night. If I had
nothing to do but sit down and sew all the while,
I might make three of them."

" Shameful ! Shameful ! And is that the
price paid for such work V

" It is all I get."

" At this rate, then, you can only make four
teen cents a day?"

" That is all, sir. And, even on the best of
work, I can never get beyond a quarter of a
dollar a dav."

226

godey's magazine and lady's book

" How in tlie world, then, have you managed
to keep yourself and three children from actual
want?"

" I have not been able, doctor," she replied,
with some bitterness. " We have wanted al-
most everything."

" So I should suppose. What rent do you
■ay for this poor place?"

" Three dollars a month."

'• What! seventy-five cents a week ! and not
able to earn upon an average more than a dollar
a week?"

" Yes, sir. But I had better work through
the summer, and sometimes earned two dollars,
and even a little more, in a week."

The doctor paused some time, and then said —

" Well, Mrs. Gaston, it 's no use for you to
struggle on at this rate, even with your two re-
maining children. You cannot keep a home for
them, and cover their nakedness from the cold.
Now let me advise you."

" I am ready to hear anything, doctor."

" What I would propose, in the first place —
and that, in fact, is what has brought me in this
morning — is that you put Henry out to a trade.
He is young, it is true ; but necessity, you know,
knows no law. He will be just as well off, and
better, too, under the care of a good master than
he can be with you. And, then, such an ar-
rangement will greatly relieve you. The care
of little Emma will be light in comparison to
what you have had to endure."

" You are no doubt right, doctor," the poor
woman said, while the tears came to her eyes
as she glanced towards Henry, who, for want of
a pair of shoes, was compelled to stay home from
school. " But I cannot bear the thought of
parting with him. He is a delicate child, and
only ten years old this winter. He is too young
to go from home and have a master."

" He is young, I know, Mrs. Gaston. But,
then, it is vain to think of being able to keep
him with you. It is a cruel necessity, I know.
But it cannot be avoided."

" Perhaps not. But, even if I should consent
to put him out, I know of no one who would
take him. And, above all, I dread the conse-
quences of vicious association in a city like
this."

" That matter, I think, can all be arranged to
your satisfaction. I saw a man yesterday from
Lexington, who asked me if I knew any one
who had a lad ten or twelve years old, and who
would like to get him a good place. I thought
A you at once. He said a friend of his there,
who carried on the hatting business, wanted a
Uoy. I inquired his character and standing, and

learned that they were good. Now, I think this
an excellent chance for you. I have already men-
tioned your little boy to the man, and promised
to speak to you on the subject."

" But think, doctor," said Mrs. Gaston, in a
trembling voice, " Henry is but ten. To put a
child out for eleven years is a long, long time."

" I know it is, madam. But he has to live
the eleven years somewhere, and I am sure he
will be as comfortable in this place as you can
make him, and, indeed, even more so."

" In some respects he may, no doubt. But a
child like him is never happy away from his
mother."

" But suppose it is out of his mother's power
to get him food and comfortable clothing?"

" True — true, doctor. It is a hard fate. But
I feel that I have only one way before me — that
of submission."

And submit she did, though with a most pain-
ful struggle. On the following day, the friend of
the hatter called upon Mrs. Gaston, and it was
settled between them that little Henry should
be called for by the man who was to become his
master on the morning of the next day but one.
The best that the mother could do for her son,
about to leave his home and go out among stran-
gers, was to get him a pair of shoes, upon Avhich
she paid forty cents, promising to settle the bal-
ance in a couple of weeks. His thin, scanty
clothes she mended and washed clean — darned
his old and much worn stockings, and sewed
on the torn front of his seal-skin cap. With his
little bundle of clothes tied up, Henry sat await-
ing on the morning of the day appointed for the
arrival of his master, his young heart sorrowful
at the thought of leaving his mother and sister.
But he seemed to feel that he was the subject
of a stern necessity, and therefore strove to act
a manly part, and keep back the tears that were
ready to flow forth. Mrs. Gaston, after prepar-
ing her boy to pass from under her roof and enter
alone upon life's hard pilgrimage, sat down to
her work with an overburdened heart. At one
moment she would repent of what she had done,
and half resolve to say " No," when the man
came for her child. But an unanswerable argu-
ment against this were the coarse shirts in henrt
hands, for which she was to receive only seven
cents a piece !

At last a rough voice was heard below, and
then a heavy foot upon the stairs, every tread
of which seemed to the mother to be upon her
heart. Little Henry arose and looked frighten-
ed as a man entered, saying as he came in —

" Ah, yes ! This is the place, I see. V
ma'am, is your little boy ready I"

BEARDED CIVILIZATION.

227

" He is, sir," replied Mrs. Gaston almost in-
audibly, rising and handing the stranger a chair.
" You see he is a very small boy, sir."

" Yes, so I see. But some small boys are
worth a dozen large ones. Come here, my little
fellow ! What is your name ?"

The child went up to the man, telling him his
name as he did so.

"That's a fine little fellow'! Well, Henry!
do you think you and I can agree ? Oh, yes.
We '11 get along together very well, I have no
doubt. I suppose, ma'am," he continued, ad-
dressing Mrs. Gaston, " that the better way will
be for him to stay this winter on trial. If we
like each other, you can come out to Lexington
in the spring and have him regularly bound."

" That will be as well, I suppose," the mother
replied. Then, after a pause, she said —

" How long will it be, Mr. Sharp, before I can
see Henry ?"

" I don't know, ma'am. How long before
3'ou think you can come out to Lexington?"

" Indeed, sir, I don't know that I shall be
able to get out there this winter. Couldn't you
send him in sometimes?"

" Perhaps I will, about New Year's, and let
him spend a few days with you."

" It is a good while to New Year's day, sir.
He has never been from home in his life."

" Oh no, ma'am. It's only a few weeks off.
And I don't believe he'll be homesick for a
day."

" But I shall, Mr. Sharp."

"You?"

" Yes, sir. It is hard to let my child go, and
not see him again before New Year's day."

" But you must act the woman's part, Mrs.
Gaston. We cannot get through life without
some sacrifice of feeling. My mother had to
let me go before I was even as old as your boy."

As Mr. Sharp said this, he arose, adding as
he did so —

" Come, my little man. I see you are all
ready."

Holding back her feelings with a strong effort,
Mrs. Gaston took hold of Henry's small, thin
hand, bent over him, and kissed his fair young
cheek, murmuring in an under tone —

" God be with you, and keep you, my boy !"

Then, speaking aloud, she said —

" Be a good and obedient child, and Mr. Sharp
will be kind to you, and let you come home to
see me at New Year's."

" Oh, yes. He shall come home then," said
the man half indifferently, as he moved towards
the door.

Henry paused only to kiss his sister, and then

followed after, with his little bundle in his hand.
As he was about descending the steps, he turned
a last look upon his mother. She saw that his
eyes were filled with tears. A moment more,
and he was gone !

Little Emma had stood looking wonderingly
on while this scene was passing. Turning to
her mother with a serious face, as the door
closed upon Henry, she said —

"Brother gone, mamma?"

"Yes, dear ! Brother is gone," sobbed the
mother, taking the last child that remained to
her, and hugging it passionately to her bosom.
It was a long time before she could resume her
work, and then so deep was her feeling of deso-
lation, that she could not keep back from her
eyelids the blinding tear drops.
(To be continued.)

BEARDED CIVILIZATION.

It may not be generally known that beards
are singularly connected in history with the
progress of civilization. The early Greeks and
Romans did not shave. The Greeks began to
use the razor about the time of Alexander, who
commanded all his soldiers to shave, lest their
beards should afford a handle for their enemies.
This was little more than three hundred years
before the Christian era ; and thirty years after
Alexander, Ticinius introduced the habit of shav-
ing amongst the Romans. The Gothic invaders
of the Western empire revived the habit of wear-
ing the beard. The Anglo-Saxons were a beard-
ed race when William the Conqueror invaded
England,, and, therefore, the Conqueror and his
Normans ever after wore the chin smooth, in
order to distinguish them from the vanquished ;
and thus, even in the Norman invasion, the
shaven chin became the emblem of an advanced
civilization. In like manner, amidst all the
long controversies between the Eastern and
Western Churches, the Western Church has
invariably espoused the cause of the razor,
whilst the Greek or Eastern Church as resolute-
ly defends the cause of the beard. Civilization
has marched in the West, and remained station-
ary in the East, in the land of beards. When
Peter the Great determined to civilize his Rus •
sian subjects, one of the means which he con
sidered indispensable was the use of the razor ,
he, therefore, commanded his soldiers to shave
every layman who refused to do it himself, and
rare sport they had with the stubborn old patri-
archs, who persisted in retaining their much-
cherished emblems of age and wisdom.

BABYLON, NINEVEH, AND ME. LAYAED

(Concluded from page 136.)

ENTRANCE TO THE SMALL TEMPLE AT NIMROUD

Returning to Konyunjik, Mr. Layard re-
newed his excavations. Soon afterwards, he
discovered what he called the "chamber of re-
cords," which was filled with tablets. These
are of vast importance in a historical point of
view ; and, when completely translated, they
will add immensely to our knowledge of the
ancient Assyrians. Hincks and others, who
have devoted much attention to the study of the
cuneiform character, have employed themselves
in the translation with considerable success. In
other apartments were discovered bas-reliefs,
containing representations of attendants carry-
ing strings of pomegranates and locusts; musi-
cians playing upon harps, tabors, double-pipes,
and an instrument like the modern santour of
the East, consisting of a number of strings
Stretched over a hollow case or sounding-board.

In the mean time, excavations carried on in
the high mound of Nimroud resulted in the dis-
covery of several temples, ornamented with
228

great beauty and effect. One of them had a
gateway formed by two colossal lions, with ex-
tended jaws, gathered up lips and nostrils, flow-
ing manes, and ruffs of bristly hair. The heads
were vigorous and truthful in design. The
limbs conveyed the idea of strength, and the
veins and muscles were accurately portrayed.
But the front of the animal was narrow and
cramped, and unequal in dignity to the side.
The sculptor had given five legs to the animal,
in order that they might offer a complete front
and side view. The height of the lions was
about eight feet, and their length thirteen. In
front of them were two altars, hollow at the top,
and ornamented with gradines resembling the
battlements of a castle. The exterior walls ap-
peared to have been adorned with enamelled
bricks, many of which still remained. The
slabs on the floor of the temple were inscribed
with records of the wars and campaigns of the
earliest Nimroud king.

BABYLON, NINEVEH, AND MR. LAYARD.

229

Another small temple was discovered at the
north-west corner of the mound. Four of its
chambers were explored, chiefly by means of
tunnels carried through the enormous mass of
earth and rubbish in which the ruins were
buried. The great entrances were to the east.

The principal portal was formed by two colossal
human -headed lions, sixteen feet and a half
high, and fifteen feet long. They were flanked
by three small- winged figures, one above the
other, and divided by an ornamental cornice,
and between them was an inscribed pavement

SMALL TEMPLE AT NIMEOUJ).

slab of alabaster. In front of each was a square
stone, apparently the pedestal of an altar, and
the walls on both sides were adorned with ena-
melled bricks.

Having dispatched another lot of very inte-
resting sculptures to Busrah, Mr. Layard deter-
mined to set out for Babylonia. Upon the re-
puted site of ancient Babylon he designed to
carry on extensive excavations, provided his
means would permit. The remains of Babylon
were found upon the banks of the Euphrates.
Towering above all was the great mound of Ba-
bel. Beyond, for many an acre, were shapeless
heaps of rubbish, the ridges that marked the
course of canals and aqueducts. On all sides,
fragments of inscribed glass, marble, and pottery
were mingled with that peculiar nitrous and
blanched soil, which, bred from the remains of
ancient habitations, checks vegetation and ren-
ders the site of Babylon a hideous waste. South-
ward of Babel, for the distance of nearly three
miles, there is an almost uninterrupted line of
vol. xlviii.— 20

mounds, the ruins of vast edifices, the whole
being inclosed by earthen ramparts. On the
west of the Euphrates is the vast ruin called the
Birs Nimroud, which some have conjectured to
be the remains of the Temple of Bel us, which,
according to Herodotus, stood in one of the
western divisions of Babylon. According to the
united testimony of ancient authors, the city was
divided by the Euphrates into two parts. The
principal existing ruins are to the east of the
river.

The hostility of the Arab tribes prevented Mr.
Layard from making excavations at the Birs
Nimroud. He visited that famous ruin, and
formed an opinion in regard to the shape of the
edifice, but made no discoveries worthy of no-
tice. The excavations carried on upon the
eastern bank of the river were not attended with
very remarkable results. Bricks, inscribed with
the name and titles of Nebuchadnezzar, king of
the Chaldees, were numerous. Coffins, contain-
ing skeletons that fell to pieces on exposure to

230

godey's magazine and lady's book.

the air, were discovered. No relic or ornament
seemed to have been buried with the bodies.
Glass Dottles, glazed earthen vessels, and many
other relics of a doubtful period, were found.
Digging trenches into the foot of the mound of
Babei, Mr. Layard came upon walls and masses
of masonry, but failed to trace the plan of an
edifice, or discover any remains of sculptured
stone or painted plaster. The mound called
Kasr was explored, and found to contain some
astonishing specimens of masonry, the bricks
being deeply inscribed with the name and title
of Nebuchadnezzar. But the plan of an edifice
could not be ascertained. The only relic of any
interest discovered was a fragment of limestone,
on which were parts of two figures, undoubtedly

those of gods. This showed that the Babyloni
ans portrayed their divinities in the same man-
ner as the Assyrians. In the mound of Amran
were found some bowls, on which were inscrip-
tions in a curious character. These were deci-
phered by Mr. Thomas Ellis, of the British Mu-
seum, and ascertained to have been written by
Jews. Mr. Layard thinks that there is no rea-
son to doubt that the bowls belonged to the de-
scendants of those Jews who were carried cap-
tive by Nebuchadnezzar to Babylon and the
surrounding cities. From the same mound were
also taken some earthen or terracotta tablets.
They resembled those which had been already
deposited in the British Museum by Colonel
Rawlinson. On one of these is the figure of a

TERRACOTTA TABLET FROM BABYLON.

man leading a large and powerful dog, which
has been identified with a species still existing
in Thibet. The Babylonians prized these dogs
very highly. One of their satraps is said to
have devoted the revenues of four cities to the
support of these animals.

Brick appears to have been the common ma-
terial for building purposes in Babylon. But
such bricks and such bricklaying were never
seen elsewhere. All the bricks were enamelled
and ornamented with figures of men and ani-
mals. They were joined together by the finest
rement. The immense edifices erected from

such materials were even more astonishing than
the pyramids of Egypt or the palaces of Assyria,
as these were the results of greater toil and skill.
Leaving Babylon somewhat disappointed, Mr.
Layard proceeded to the mounds of NifFer. in
the same district. There, however, he had no
better success than at Babylon. Masses of ma-
sonry, inscribed bricks, and sarcophagi of an un-
known date, were all that could be obtained by
excavations. Soon afterwards, Mr. Layard re-
turned to the site of Nineveh to superintend the
removal of his sculptures, and the work of ex-
ploration was relinquished.

BABYLON, NINEVEH, AND ME. LAYARD.

231

It now remains to sum up the results of the
discoveries of Layard to chronology and history.
The translators of the Assyrian inscriptions have
ascertained that the earliest king, of whom they
can gain any detailed account, was the huilder
of the north-west palace at Nimroud, the most
ancient edifice hitherto discovered in Assyria.
His records, however, with other inscriptions,
furnish the names of five, if not seven, of his
predecessors, some of whom erected palaces at
Nineveh, and originally founded those which
were only rebuilt by subsequent monarchs.
The translators, after a careful consideration of
all the evidence, fix the date of the reign of the
earliest king at about 1121 B. C. Colonel Raw-
linson calls him the founder of Nineveh ; but
this is a hasty conclusion. His name is be-
lieved to have been Ashurakbal. He carried
his arms to the west of Nineveh, across Syria, to
the Mediterranean, to the south into Chaldea,
and to the north into Asia Minor and Armenia.
Of his sons, Divanubar, was also a great con-
queror. He waged war, either in person or by
his generals, in Syria, Armenia, Babylonia,
Chaldeea, Media, and Persia. The kings of
Israel and Egypt paid him tribute, so that he
was, indeed, a mighty sovereign. Divanubar
seems to have had two successors, but even their
names are uncertain. The next king of whom
there are any actual records appears to have
been the predecessor of Pul, or Tiglath-Pileser,
who is mentioned in the Scriptures. His name
has not yet been deciphered. He was a success-
ful warrior, and carried his arms into Chaldea
and the remotest parts of Armenia. The suc-
cessor of this monarch was Sargon, the builder
of the palace of Khorsobad — a king mentioned
by the prophet Isaiah. He was a warlike prince,
and carried his arms to the islands of the Medi-
terranean, and into all the neighboring coun-
tries. He made 27,280 Israelites captive in Sa-
maria and its dependent districts. Egypt paid
him tribute. From the reign of Sargon, we have
a complete list of kings to the fall of the empire,
or to a period not far distant from that event.
He was succeeded by the mighty Sennacherib,
whose history is well known. This king ascend-
ed the throne about 703 B. C. After spreading
the terror of his arms in every direction, he was
assassinated, and his son, Essarhaddon, ascended
the throne. This king is mentioned in the Scrip-
tures. He built the south-west palace at Nim-
roud, and an edifice, the ruins of which are now
covered by the tomb of Jonah, opposite Mosul.
In his inscriptions, he is styled king of Egypt

and Ethiopia, and he appears to have been a
great warrior. The son of Essarhaddon wa9
named after the builder of the north-west palace
at Nimroud. His son was the last king of the
second dynasty, and, as Mr. Layard says, may
have been that Sardanapalus who was conquered
by the combined armies of the Medes and Baby-
lonians under Cyaxares, 606 B. C, and who
made a funeral pile of his palace, his wealth,
and his wives.

The records of Nineveh do not go back far-
ther than the twelfth century before Christ.
From Egyptian monuments, however, distin-
guished scholars have gleaned the intelligence
that a kingdom called Assyria, with a capital
called Nineveh, existed as early as the fifteenth
century before Christ. The Assyrian empire
appears to have been at all times a kind of con-
federation formed by many tributary stares,
whose kings were so far independent that they
were only bound to furnish troops to the su-
preme lord in time of war, and to pay him an
annual tribute. On the occasion of every change
at the capital, these tributary states seem to
have striven to throw off the yoke of the Assy-
rians. The Assyrian armies were made up of
many various nations, retaining their own cos-
tumes, arms, and modes of warfare. The Jew-
ish tribes can now be proved to have held their
dependent position upon the Assyrian king from
a very early period — indeed, long before the
time inferred from any passage in Scripture.

The religious system of the Assyrians is still
uncertain. All we can infer is that this people
worshipped one supreme God, as the great na-
tional deity under whose immediate protection
they lived. He was called Asshur, and Assyria
was known as the " country of Asshur." Be-
neath him were twelve gods of vast power, and
there seems to have been about 4,000 inferior
divinities. Asshur was always typified by a
winged figure in a circle.

Mr. Layard does not think that the extent of
Nineveh has been exaggerated. The space
within the ruined ramparts does not seem to
have been occupied with houses. These ram-
parts merely surrounded the magnificent palaces
and their beautiful grounds. The citizens re-
sided beyond them, having the space within for
a refuge in case of invasion. This is the plan
of some modern cities in the East. From a care-
ful survey of the whole ground, Mr. Layard be-
lieves that Nineveh was a " city of three days'
journey round" — say, sixty miles in circum-
ference.

VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY.

BY UARLAND COULTAS

Process of Fertilization. — The young
seeds or ovules are contained in the interior of
the pistil before the flower opens, and continue
to grow until that time, but no longer, unless
they are acted upon by the pollen of the anthers.
The necessity of this process shows why it is
that stamens and pistils are so constantly found
in flowers, and why the former surround the
latter so nicely as they in general do ; and, even
in circumstances which seem somewhat adverse
to fertilization, still some admirable contrivance
is always found to bring about the same end.

In some flowers, we meet with beautiful con-
trivances for securing the fecundation of their
pistils. Thus, such as are erect have usually the
stamens longer than the pistils, whilst in pendu-
lous flowers it will be found that the pistils are
the longest and the stamens the shortest. By
this admirable relative adjustment, the pollen,
in falling, comes into contact with the pistil.
The Fuchsia, or ladies' ear-drop (Fig. 1), shows

Fig. 1.

the character of this arrangement in a pendulous
flower : p is the pistil, and s the stamens, which,
it will be perceived, are much shorter, and situ-
ated above the pistil, in order that its viscid
stigma or summit may receive the pollen as it
falls out of the anther cells.

There are a few well-known instances in

which fertilization is effected by certain special

movements of the stamens. The stamens of the

tiaroerry spring to the pistil, if the lower part

232

of their filaments is touched ; and in Parnassia
palustris, the grass of Parnaasus, a rare and beau-
tiful snow-white swamp flower, the stamens
move towards the pistil in succession to dis-
charge their polliniferous contents.

The flowers of the Kalmia latifolia, or mount-
ain kalmia, a native evergreen, very abundant
on the side of barren hills and the rocky mar-
gins of rivulets, are especially deserving of atten-
tion. The corollas of the kalmia are rotate or
wheel-shaped, and have ten stamens, the an-
thers of which, before the flowers expand, are
contained in ten little cavities or depressions in
the side of each corolla, where they are secured
by a viscid secretion. When the corollas open,
the filaments of the stamens are bent back by
this confinement of their anthers like so many
springs, in which condition they remain until
the pollen in the anther cells becomes ripe and
absorbs the secretion. The anthers, becoming
suddenly liberated by this means from their
cavities, fly up with such force as to eject their
pollen on the pistil. The slightest touch with
the point of a needle, or the feet of an insect
crawling over their filaments, is sufficient to
produce the same effects when the pollen is ma-
ture. Fig. 2 shows, at a, the fully expanded

Fix. 2.

flower with the confined anthers ; at b, the
flower after the anthers have discharged their
pollen.

When the stamens and pistils are together in
the same flower, it is designated as hermaphro-
dite, and complete ; but, if the flower contains
only one of these organs, it is termed unisexual,
and, in this case, it is either male or female, ac-
cording as it is composed uniquely of stamens,
or male sexual organs, or of pistils, or female
sexual organs. This separation of the sexual
organs in flowers is of very frequent occurrence.
The greater portion of our forest trees, and

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.

many herbaceous plants and shrubs, have uni-
sexual flowers.

Sometimes the stamens and pistils are situ-
ated in separate flowers on the same plant.
When this is the case, the staminate flowers are
generally situated above the pistillate. The
Indian corn exemplifies this arrangement. It is
well known that the flowering panicle at the
summit of the stem does not produce corn ;
these are the staminiferous flowers from whose
anthers descend clouds of pollen on the thread-
like pistils forming the silky tuft beneath. With-
out this pollen, the corn in the lower spike
would not ripen ; hence the evident design of
nature in placing the pistillate below the stami-
nate spike of flowers.

In forest trees, these unisexual flowers are

usually borne on separate individuals of the
same species, or the flowers on one tree are
wholly staminate, and those on the other alto-
gether pistillate. It must be obvious that such
plants are still more unfavorably situated for
fertilization. The great abundance of pollen
produced compensates for the unfavorable situa-
tion of the flowers. The wind drives it far and
near, and the air becomes sometimes so charged
with it that rain, in falling, brings it down to
the ground in considerable quantities, producing
the so called sulphur showers of which we read
in history. There is no doubt, also, that the
bee and other insects in search of honey convey
the pollen from the stamens to the pistils in
unisexual plants.

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA .-MAE OH.

ARGO NAVIS.— This beautiful constellation
occupies a large space in the southern hemi-
sphere, though few of its stars are seen in our
latitude. It is situated south-east of Canis Ma-
jor, and may be known by three stars forming a
small triangle in the prow and deck of the ship.
Sixteen degrees south of this triangle is a very
brilliant star in the row-lock, called Naos. This
star is the south-east corner of the Egyptian X,
and comes to the meridian on the 3d of March,
when, for a few hours only, it is visible in our
latitude. It is then eight degrees above the
horizon. Seven degrees south of Naos, on the
7th of March, may be seen Gamma, a brilliant
star which, for a few moments, skims the hori-
zon, and then disappears. It is never in our
latitude more than one degree abovethe horizon,
and is rarely visible. Thirty-six degrees south
of Sirius is Canopus, a star of great brilliancy
and beauty. It is of the first magnitude ; but,
having a south declination of fifty-three degrees,
it cannot be seen in the United States. Twenty-
five degrees east of Canopus is Miaplacidus, a
star of the first magnitude in the oars of the
ship. This is also invisible to us. This con-
stellation contains sixty-four stars, which, seen
from the southern hemisphere, are of singular
beauty and brilliancy.

'•' There they stand,
Shining in order, like a living hymn
Written in light."

According to Greek mythology, the ship was

•JO*

placed in the heavens to perpetuate the expedi-
tion of Jason into Colchis to recover the Golden
Fleece. Hebrew mythology also claims the
origin of it, and with them it perpetuates Noah's
Ark, in which a remnant of every living thing
wras saved during the deluge. There is good
foundation for the supposition that the Argo-
nautic expedition is founded on certain Egyptian
traditions relating to Noah's Ark, and that the
Greeks located them within their territory, and
claimed them as a triumph of Neptune, the god
of the sea.

CANCER. — This constellation is situated
directly east of the Twins, and occupies con-
siderable space in the heavens. Its stars are
small and scattered, yet it may readily be dis-
tinguished by three small stars in the centre,
which form a triangle, and nearly in the centre
of this triangle is a nebula, sufficiently luminous
to be distinguished with the naked eye. The
appearance of this nebula to the unassisted eye
is not unlike the nucleus of a comet, and it was
repeatedly mistaken for the comet of 1832, which
passed in its neighborhood. On being viewed
through a telescope, it resolves into distinct
stars, and we thus catch a glimpse of an inter-
minable range of systems upon systems, and
firmaments upon firmaments ; and, in contem-
plating the immensity of space that encircles
them, the imagination becomes bewildered and
lost. Who can trace the boundless depths of
air ?

234

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Beyond the reach of telescope,
Whose powers o'erstep the spaoa

That lies where eye may never hope
To pierce, or e'en to trace

The bounds of worlds which it reveals

In those illimitable fields?

These minute stars have the appearance ot
planets with oval disks, somewhat mottled, but
approaching in vividness to actual planets. This
constellation is on the meridian the 3d of March.

The Greeks assert that Cancer received its
origin through the favor of Juno, who sent a
sea-crab to annoy Hercules during his famous
contest with the Lernean monster. The Chal-
deans, however, represented the cluster by the
.figure of an ass, whose name, in the Chaldaic,
is viuddiness. It is supposed to allude to the
discoloring of the Nile, which began to rise
when the sun was entering Cancer.

VIA LACTEA.—

"A way there is in heaven's extended plain,
Which, when the sky is clear, is seen below,
And mortals, by the name of Milky, know ;
The groundwork is of stars, through which the road
Lies open to the Thunderer's abode."

There is a luminous zone, varying from four
to twenty degrees in width, which passes quite
round the heavens, called by the Greeks Galaxy,
by the Latins Via Lactea, which, in our tongue,
is Milky Way. " Of all the constellations which
the heavens exhibit to our view, this fills the
mind with the most indescribable grandeur and
amazement. When we consider what unnum-
bered millions of mighty suns compose this clus-
ter, whose distance is so vast that the strongest
telescope can hardly separate their mingled twi-
light into distinct specks, and that the most con-
tiguous of any two of them may be as far asunder
as our sun is from them, we fall as far short of
adequate language to express our ideas of such
immensity as we do of instruments to measure
its boundaries."

" Throughout the Galaxy s extended line,
Unnumbered orbs in gay confusion shine ;
Where every star that gilds the gloom of night
With the faint tremblings of a distant light,
Perhaps illumes some system of its own
With the strange influence of a radiant sun."

All the stars in the universe have been ar-
ranged into groups, which are called nebulae or
starry systems. The fixed star which we call
our sun belongs to that extensive nebula the
Milky Way, and, though evidently of such im-
measurable distance from its fellows, it is proba-
bly no farther from them than they are from
each other. We know very little of the number
and economy of the stars that compose this
group. Herschel counted five hundred and
eighty-eight in a single spot, without moving

his telescope. He found the stars unequally
dispersed in all parts of the constellation, and
apparently arranged into separate systems or
clusters. In a small space in Cygni, the stars
seem to be clustered into two distinct divisions,
and in each division he counted upwards of one
hundred and sixty-five thousand stars.

Various changes are constantly taking place
among the nebula?. Several new ones are being
formed by the dissolution of larger ones, and it
has been ascertained beyond a doubt that many
nebulas of this kind are detaching themselves from
the Milky Way at the present time. In the body
of Scorpio there is a large opening, four degrees
broad, entirely destitute of stars, through which
we get a glimpse of regions of space beyond.

" Oh, what a confluence of ethereal fires,
From urns unnumbered down the steeps of heaven,
Streams to a point, and centres on my sight 1"

Already nearly three thousand nebulas have been
observed, and if each contains as many stars as
the Milky Way in that portion of the heavens
which lies open to our observation, there must
be several hundred millions of stars. How vast
and unfathomable to mortal mind must be the
ways and attributes of that intelligence that cre-
ates and guides in unison these starry worlds !

" The hand of God
Has written legibly, that man may know
The glory of his Maker."

This nebula may be traced in the heaven-,
beginning at the polar star, through the con-
stellations Cassiopeia, Perseus, Auriga, part of
Orion, and the feet of Gemini, where it crosses
the Zodiac, thence over the equinoctial into the
southern hemisphere, through Monoceros and
Argo Navis, St. Charles's Oak, the Cross, the
Altar, and the feet of the Centaur. Here it
passes over the Zodiac into the northern hemi-
sphere, divides itself, one branch running through
the tail of* Scorpio, the bow of Sagittarius, the
shield of Sobieski, the feet of Antonius, Aquila
Delphinus, the Arrow, and the Swan. The
other branch passes through the upper part of
the tail of Scorpio, the side of Serpen tariu?,
Taurus Poniatowski, Goose, neck of the Swan,
head of Cepheus to the polar star, where it
again unites to the place of its beginning.

Anciently, the Milky Way was supposed to
be the sun's track, and its luminous appearance
was caused by the scattered beams left visible in
the heavens. The Pagans maintained it was a
path their deities used in the heavens, which led
directly to the throne of Jupiter.

" Heaven
Is the book of God before thee set,
Wherein to read his wondrous works."

TABLE-MOVING.

T PAULINE FORSTT:

Westbridge is a small town, so near one of
the largest cities in our Union that it can keep
pace with all the vagaries and wild chimeras
with which the fantastic spirit of the age seems
to delight to bewilder and mislead its votaries,
as well as learn the latest news or display the
latest fashions. And yet it is far enough from
New York to have a character and mode of liv-
ing entirely its own. That character is the se-
vere, and the mode of life rigid and exemplary.
All kinds of amusements are looked upon with
a disapproving eye, and many of them have boen
so completely extirpated that they are hardly
ever alluded to. Dancing alone has contrived
to maintain a precarious foothold in the com-
munity, sometimes shrinking down into the mo-
dest cotillion, and again, when the ranks of its
votaries are recruited from some less scrupulous
portion of the country, bursting forth in the full
horror of waltz, polka, or schottisch. Its reign
is, however, short, and the social gatherings soon
regain their usual character for staid propriety.

When you go to a party at Westbridge, to be
invited to which is a sort of a testimonial that
you are a discreet and proper person, you are
expected to take a seat and remain seated. To
move about much argues a lightness of mind,
and will cause talk. Of course, the conversa-
tion will have to be principally carried on with
your neighbor, whoever he or she may happen
to be ; and three hours' uninterrupted conversa-
tion with a shy youth or a heavy old bachelor is
a mental erfort of which let those speak who
have tried it. I have generally taken refuge in
silence, after having made the observations that
are usually considered proper on such occasions.

If you are a lady, books as a subject of conver-
sation are interdicted; for, St. Paul being our
great oracle, puddings, and not literature, are
considered as the proper objects on which the
female mind may exercise itself; and, though
the state of public feeling in Westbridge allows
a critical supervision over the conduct of the
members of its society, yet gossip in its broader
sense is interdicted.

Thus deprived of the aliment that sustains it
in so many places, the social feeling languished,
and sometimes seemed almost extinct. Yet, in
reality, it retained a vigorous vitality, and only
needed an opportunity to show how strong and

deep it had struck its roots in our common na-
ture, so that neither circumstances nor education
could utterly destroy it. The mania for moving
tables in the peculiar way that came in with the
spirit-rappings was just such an occasion as the
people in Westbridge would allow themselves
to seize upon, as a legitimate means for gratify-
ing the love for novelty and excitement that is
inherent in mankind.

They excused, or, I should say, accounted for
their ardor in the cause — for to excuse their
course of conduct is below a true Westbridgeite
— by speaking calmly and wisely of moving
tables in that mysterious way as a new fact in
science yet unaccounted for, and all their efforts
were to be considered as so many scientific ex-
periments to discover whether electricity, or
some hitherto unknown physical influence, were
the agent. For a time in Westbridge, we all,
young and old, became natural philosophers,
and pursued our investigations with a most ex-
emplary zeal.

In a state of benighted ignorance on the sub-
ject of table-moving, never having heard of it
even, I made my entrance into the sewing so-
ciety, held weekly at Westbridge. As soon as
I entered, I became aware that some exciting
topic was under discussion. That being our
only weekly gathering during the winter, in the
calmest times the tongue ran an even race with
the needle ; but on this particular afternoon the
sewing seemed to be forgotten. Work in hand,
I seated myself near a lady to whom a large
circle were listening in open-eyed wonder.

" At my cousin's in New York," she was say-
ing, with animated emphasis, " they moved a
heavy table, with a marble top, up stairs."

" Well, I suppose that is often done," said I,
as yet uninitiated into the mystery.

" Yes ; but with their hands — that is, without
their hands. I mean just by putting their hands
on the top of it, without using any force at all."

" I know a gentleman in the city who can,
after keeping his hands on the table for a little
while, take them off, and it will follow him ait
about the room," said another lady.

" My cousin told me," said a young girl, so
absorbed in listening that her work had fallen
on the floor, " that he had heard of tables being
made to spring up to the ceiling — heavy tables."

235

236

godey's magazine and lady's book,

" Can such things be, and not o'ercome us
with a special wonder!" thought I ; and I asked,
rather skeptically, " Have you ever seen any of
these wonderful things?"

" Oh, yes !" said several at once, and one of
the speakers continued —

" We have been trying experiments at Colo-
nel Dutton's, and Mr. Johnson's, and at our
house, and we find that we can make the tables
move about the room as long as we keep our
hands on them. We have not yet succeeded in
making them follow us or spring up from the
floor; but I have no doubt we shall. Our
power seems to increase every day."

" What kind of power is it ?"

" Some persons think it a new development
of electricity. I think myself it is some myste-
rious physical agent residing in our bodies — a
kind of magnetism that works all these wonders.
That is also Dr. Whitman's opinion."

" How do you try your experiments ?" asked
I, rather more inclined to believe in it, since I
had heard those scientific terms and Dr. Whit-
man's name.

" We sit round a table, and lay our hands
upon it so as to cover as large a surface as possi-
ble ; the thumbs must touch, and the little
fingers of each hand be in contact with the little
fingers of the one on either side, so as to form a
complete circle. You must not allow any other
part of your person or dress to touch the table,
or the communication will be interrupted ; and
it is better not to talk or laugh, but to be perfectly
quiet and intent on your object."

Thus fully instructed, I went home bent on
experimenting. Who could tell but that I
should go to my room at night followed by all
the furniture in the drawing-room in a slow
procession? Though thus extravagant in my
hopes, I showed a proper humility in my first
attempts, selecting a very small tea-poy as the
object of my experiment. I obtained an assist-
ant, a lady, who, at first, when seated opposite
to me with her hands outspread on the table
before her, having nothing else to do, was very
much inclined to converse, but, at my earnest
entreaty, she relapsed into silence ; and thus we
sat for two weary hours. I had been told that
my fingers would tingle, and they did tingle,
and that was the sole result of this patient wait-
ing. Tired out at last, we came to the conclu-
sion either that, in our ignorance, we had neg-
lected something essential to the success of the
attempt, or that we were entirely deficient in
that mysterious physical agent, of which some
crther persons seemed to possess such a super-
abundance.

After having been pursued all night by tables,
from which my utmost efforts hardly enabled
me to escape, I arose with a nightmare-feeling
of oppression upon me, for which a walk in
the bracing air of a cold bright day in February
seemed the best remedy.

" I will run over directly after breakfast to
Mrs. Atwood's, to get the receipt for that new
pudding, which she promised me, and then re-
turn and devote the rest of the morning to mak-
ing calls," thought I.

And, accordingly, a little after nine, I put my
head into Mrs. Atwood's sitting-room.

" I won't come in, thank you, this morning,"
said I, in answer to her invitation. " I cannot
stay a minute. I merely came to ask for the
receipt for that apple and tapioca pudding.
Henrietta isn't as well as usual to-day, and I
thought she might like it. Oh, you are trying
to move a table ! Don't let me disturb you,
then. How do you succeed ?"

" Not very well this morning," said Mrs. At-
wood ; " but last night we were very successful.
It was our first attempt, too. Jane brought
home such wonderful accounts from the sewing
society, that we could not rest until we had
made a trial of our powers. I think this morn-
ing we need a little more assistance, as some of
the children have gone to school. I wish you
would stay a little while and help us."

" I should be very happy to do so," said I,
yielding to her solicitations and my own curi-
osity, and coming forward ; " but I am afraid I
should be a hindrance rather than an assistance."
And I related my failure of the preceding even-
ing.

I found Mrs. Atwood, her two eldest daugh-
ters, and one of her boys sitting anxiously, with
outspread hands, round a very small table. A
more miserable, distressed-looking child than
the little white-headed Charles Atwood I do not
think I have ever seen.

" I made Charley come in from his play to
help us," said Mrs. Atwood, " because Jane was
told that light-haired people possess more of that
peculiar electric power, or whatever it is, than
any other. Charley is the only member of our
family who has light hair. Sit still, my son,"
she added, as Charley gave the table a little
nervous kick.

There was a long silence, broken only once
when Charley looked up, with his face full of
some deep purpose, and inquired the very lowest
price for which wigs could be bought. The
question being considered irrelevant, the only
answer the poor child received was a shake of
the head and a frown from his mother. A

TABLE-MOVING

237

peculiar whistle, the familiar signal of one of
his favorite companions, threw Charley into
such a state of painful suffering that, in com-
miseration for him, I consented to take his
place. He bounded off in an ecstasy of joy, and
I took no more note of time till we heard the
clock strike eleven. In the mean time, the
table had quivered twice, and once moved about
an inch. With a sort of Jonah-like feeling, I
arose, saying —

" It is useless for me to try longer ; I am con-
vinced that I rather retard the movements of
the table than assist you." And, bidding her
good-morning, I turned my steps homeward.

As I passed the house of one of my acquaint-
ances, my attention was arrested by a tap on the
window — a phenomenon that never happened
in Westbridge before within my recollection. I
obeyed the summons, and found the whole fami-
ly assembled, gazing in gleeful wonder at the
clumsy antics a table was playing under the
guidance of three of its members. One of these
was a light-haired boy of about thirteen. There
was a sober mischief .lurking in his face that
awoke a slight suspicion in my mind.

" Are you sure that Robert is not using a lit-
tle muscular force?" asked I.

" Bob ? Oh no ; he wouldn't do such a thing.
He knows how anxious we are to discover the
truth that lies at the bottom of these strange de-
velopments. And look how lightly his hands
rest on the table — the fingers hardly touch it.
But Bob has a great deal of electricity about
him."

He looked as though he had.

"And I have observed," continued Mrs. Dut-
ton, " that boys and very young men are more
successful than any others in moving tables."

If that had not been announced to me as a
scientific fact, I should have regarded it as a sus-
picious circumstance. But manner has a great
effect, and Mrs. Dutton's grand emphatic way
impressed me so strongly that I listened with
the unquestioning reliance of an ignorant, but
trusting disciple.

I watched the table as it went reeling and
pitching, in a blind and purposeless sort of way,
about the room, closely attended by the three
who had set it in motion.

" Now take your hands off*, and perhaps it
will follow you," said I.

That was an unfortunate request of mine, for,
with the lifting of the hands, all movement in
the table ceased. Bob took the opportunity
ihns afforded him, and made his escape from the
room. We spent a long time in trying to
" charge the table," as we called it in our wis-

dom, again, but were unsuccessful. I was asto-
nished in the midst of our attempts, and just as
the table began to make its usual quiver prepa-
ratory to a start, to hear the clock strike three.
I hastened home to dinner without the receipt,
and with the pudding and the calls still unmade,
but with my mind so full of perplexed wonder
at what I had seen and heard, that I hardly gave
a thought to my omissions.

We were discussing the matter in a family
circle in the evening, and I presume most of the
other households in Westbridge were engaged in
the same way, when two young ladies were
shown into the parlor.

" We have come to borrow one of your tables
— your very smallest, Mrs. Forsyth ; and, Pau-
line, we want you to come back with us. You
know how these experiments are tried, I believe.
Mrs. Button says you were in there this morn-
ing, and saw how they did it. We have been
trying in vain for the last hour, and at last I
came to the conclusion that our tables were all
too large, and I told mamma I was sure you
would lend us one, and come and see if we
omitted anything essential."

" Certainly," said I, " I will do all I can —
that is very little. I have not succeeded yet in
any attempt I have made. How shall we get
the table carried round? Our servants are un-
fortunately out or engaged."

" Oh, we can carry it ourselves," said Miss
Preston, an enthusiast, whom no trifling obsta-
cles daunted ; and we passed through the quiet
streets of Westbridge carrying the table between
us, and amusing ourselves with the curious sur-
prise of the few pedestrians we met, as the full
moonlight fell on us and our burden.

At Mrs. Preston's I was successful for the first
time. The table quivered, then rocked, then
tilted, and at last moved a little this way and
that — not much, but just enough to lift from my
mind the oppressive feeling of my own inability
to do that of which all the men, women, and
children in Westbridge seemed to be capable.

When I returned in the evening, I was told
that another one of our set of small tea-poys
had been borrowed by another neighbor; and
for the succeeding fortnight there was little heard
or thought of in Westbridge but moving tables.
We ran into each other's houses unceremoniously
in the evening, and met in little social groups,
and our town began to wear another aspect.

But the heresy of involuntary muscular action
had arisen in some way. The person who first
broached the opinion, abashed perhaps by the
indignant disapprobation with which it was re-
ceived, had shrunk back into silence, but his

238

godey's magazine and lady's book,

opinion remained and was gaining ground. The
parties began to run high. The people in West-
bridge who had performed such wonders with
-heir electric or magnetic force felt called upon
to stand their ground and give some convincing
proof that they had not all this time been duping
themselves.

Those who had lately been devoting themselves
to scientific experiments were invited to a soiree
at Mrs. Dutton's. A few disbelievers in the
science were also asked, that the examination
might be carried on fairly and openly.

On entering the drawing-room at Mrs. Dut-
ton's, I found the company already assembled.
I saw all the familiar faces I had met so often
lately around, not the festive, but the scientific
board, and mingled with them were few not so
often seen of late. Seated in the place of honor,
on the luxurious sofa, were two stout and stately
dowagers, guarding between them their niece,
Edith Floyd, a lovely, blooming little beauty of
sixteen, with brown eyes and fair hair falling in
soft curls on either side of her face. Nearly op-
posite to her, and leaning against a door, stood
Reginald Archer, a young Virginian, at that time
a student at the college in Westbridge.

It was a rare event to meet a college student
in the society of the place, for so many of them
had acted the part of the false young knight
" who loves and who rides away," that they had
been for some time laboring under a kind of po-
lite ostracism. But Mr. Archer had connections
in the town, which fact accounted for his excep-
tion from the social banishment to which his
companions were doomed. The first sight of
Edith Floyd had so captivated him, that ever
since he had been trying, but trying in vain, to
obtain an introduction to her. She was so care-
fully watched and secluded by her two guardians,
that this was the first evening that Mr. Archer
had found himself in the same room with her.
Even then he did not feel equal to encountering
her imposingly dignified aunts, and stood waiting
for a more favorable opportunity of forming her
acquaintance.

Moving about from one group to another,
talking in an excited, earnest way, was Mr.
Harrison, the only man in all Westbridge who
had expressed an utter disbelief in the whole
movement from the first to the last. Even the
idea of involuntary or unconscious muscular
action was scoutod at by him. There had not
been a table moved in the town, he said, which
had not been done by some person who was per-
fectly conscious of what he or she was doing.
He would not reason nor listen to reason on the
subject. It was too purely absurd, he said, for

argument. He never entered a room where it
was going on without being thrown out of all
patience, and yet he haunted the tables and the
groups around them, as if he found some strange
fascination about them, talking, jesting, and
inveighing at our ridiculous credulity, and doing
his utmost to stem the tide that was so strong
against him. But it was all to no purpose. Mrs.
Dutton said, in her oracular way, that " Mr.
Harrison had no faith, and faith was the key to
knowledge."

Though thus summarily disposed of, he fought
on still, not a whit discouraged by his want of
success or the little credit he gained for himself.

After selecting with care a suitable table,
those of the company who chose to be the ex-
perimenters placed themselves around it, and
the number and variety of the fingers that were
spread on that little surface was quite wonderful
to behold. Under such experienced hands, the
table performed its part to admiration. Its mode
of progression was awkward and angular, to be
sure ; but what could be expected from the first
attempt of a candlestand ? It began at last to
turn with such rapidity that it was followed with
difficulty, and the laughing, confusion, and bus-
tle occasioned by the endeavor to keep pace
with its irregular movements created a merry
turmoil seldom seen in a decorous assembly in
Westbridge. Suddenly, the table made ah un-
expected tilt nearly to the floor, thus releasing
itself from most of the hands laid upon it. The
rest, satisfied with the result of the experiment,
withdrew their fingers and went to receive the
congratulations of the company.

Mrs. Dutton, in a state of high excitement,
turned to Mr. Harrison and asked his opinion.

" You have humbugged each other most suc-
cessfully," said he, too intolerant of the affair to
be very choice in his expressions.

Mr. Archer, to whom the whole proceedings
were new and strange, and who had had his at-
tention about equally divided between the table
and Edith Floyd, said, in a low voice, to Mr.
Harrison —

"If I were to find myself seated with hands
outspread at a table, waiting for it to move, I
should certainly think that my head was a little
touched."

" You are the only sensible person in West-
bridge — besides myself," said Mr. Harrison,
warmly.

Meantime, Ellwood Floyd, Edith's brother,
desirous to repeat the experiment, had seated
himself at the table, and was endeavoring to ob-
tain assistants. But, satisfied and tired, most of
the company were more inclined to talk.

TABLE-MOVING.

" Come, Edith," said he, impatiently.

She looked beseechingly at her aunts, who,
with some reluctance, gave their consent. They
evidently regarded her as some precious jewel,
which they were afraid to trust for one moment
out of their care, for fear they should be rifled
of it.

With blushing eagerness, Edith hastened to
her brother's side, and two little hands, white
and soft as snow-flakes, fell softly on the table.
Instantly, two other hands, whose aristocratic
beauty of form Lord Byron might have envied,
although their color was somewhat of the brown-
est, were placed beside them.

" Introduce me, if you please," asked Mr.
Archer, in a whisper, of a cousin of his, a lady
who was standing near ; and, the ceremony
being performed, Mr. Archer felt inclined to
bless the credulity which had thus enabled him
to accomplish what had been for many months
the desire of his heart.

Mr. Harrison looked on in astonishment.

" Is it possible !" he exclaimed.

" I begin to think there is something in it,"
said Mr. Archer.

" Is your brain turned too ?"

" Perhaps it is a little," said Mr. Archer, with
a half smile, while a flush stole over his face.
He would not on any account have Mr. Harri-
son, the greatest tease in Westbridge, suspect the
true reason for his sudden change.

All farther attempts at conversation were
strictly forbidden by Mr. Floyd, who took upon
"iimself the direction of the experiment. Three
other ladies had joined, but he still looked about
for more recruits.

" Come, Mr. Lamb," asked he of a large, mild-
looking man, who had gathered himself up in a
corner, as if he were laboring under a constant
apprehension that he took up too much room in
the world, " you will help us, I know."

Mr. Lamb begged to be excused, and the eflbrt
of speaking before so many brought a faint pink
tinge to his face.

" Have you no faith either?" asked Mr. Har-
rison.

" You would not ask that, if you had seen
him as I did yesterday," said Mr. Floyd, " sit-
ting with outstretched hands over a large dining-
table. He told me, when I went in, that he
had been there all the afternoon, and had not
yet produced the slightest effect."

Mr. Lamb's face was by this time a deep crim-
son, and, feeling it useless to attempt to with-
draw any longer from observation, he advanced
to the table and placed upon it a pair of hands
so large, soft, and yielding that, when they at

last stopped spreading, seemed to cover two-
thirds of the table.

" Ah, that is something like !" said Mr. Floyd,
highly satisfied with his new recruit.

But yet the table did not move as soon as be-
fore. Several times I fancied I observed a pre-
paratory quiver in it, and the exclamations of
those around it showed that they also were in
expectation of some decided result ; but we were
as often disappointed. Looking closely, I though t
that Mr. Archer's hands rested more heavily on
the table than was expedient. I suggested this
to him, and he thanked me politely, and showed
such an evident desire to do nothing out of rule
that he quite won my approval.

"My fingers are tingling," said one of the
ladies.

" So are mine," said Mr. Archer.

But nothing came of it. After a long wait-
ing, Edith Floyd burst out with, " I am so tired !"
in a low, sighing whisper.

Instantly, the table began to move, very slow-
ly and cautiously at first. But soon it increased
its velocity, until the excited group around it
could hardly keep pace with it. It whirled from
one end of the drawing-room to the other with
a rapidity never before seen in Westbridge.

" Not so bad a substitute for the waltz," said
Mr. Harrison, as he watched the movers run-
ning, laughing, and exclaiming, mingled in ap-
parently inextricable confusion. " I would not
object to take a turn myself."

That was an unfortunate speech. One by one
the movers withdrew their hands, until at last
Mr. Lamb was left alone standing by the table
in the middle of the room. In great confusion,
he retired, and very soon the company dis-
persed.

That was the climax of the table-moving
mania in Westbridge. What might have hap-
pened, if we had gone on, cannot be conjectured.
We might all have been hearing mysterious rap-
pings, and conversing with those most earthy spi-
rits, whose utter barrenness and poverty of in-
tellect have not hindered them from misleading
some of our thoughtful and earnest minds.

The very day after Mrs. Button's soiree, Pro-
fessor Faraday's exposition of the whole jugglery
came out, and even the " Westbridge Chronicle"
had the barbarity to publish it, " for the benefit,"
it said, "of some of its readers," when every-
body in Westbridge knew that the editor had
piqued himself on the possession of more elec-
tricity than any one else in town. The subject
of table-moving is now a forbidden one in West-
bridge. I have not heard an allusion to it for
the last six month

240

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Yet, I fancy, it has produced some results; \ of the present day, now make, in their sweeping
fox Edith's two aunts, who were wont to delight \ assertions, a marked exception in favor of Mr.
in the most severe strictures on the young men \ Reginald Archer.

INSTRUCTIONS FOE MAKING ORNAMENTS IN
RICE SHELL-WORK.

[third and concluding article.]

ASKET IN RICE SHELL-WORK,

Wte have hitherto only described those rice-
shell ornaments which are adapted for wear. It
is time we proceed to describe some of those
ornamental articles for the drawing-room which
can be manufactured, and which, from their
delicacy, lightness, and rarity, are admirably
adapted for presents.

Baskets of various kinds and forms may be
made, either of the shells only, or of shells and
card-board. Perforated card-board is the best
when that material is used, as it saves trouble,
and forms the pattern more evenly.

If we would make a card-basket" or tray, for
the reception of visitors' cards, the requisite
number of pieces to form the article must be
shaped out from the colored perforated card-
board, and the pattern or arabesque, which is to

be worked on it with the shells, pencilled. Co-
lored card-board should be used, because that
throws up the pure white of the shells. Having
joined the different pieces together which form
the basket, by sewing them with fine chenil, or
silk twist, we take about half a yard of the finest
silver wire and attach it to the basket at the place
we purpose commencing the pattern, and bring
it through one of the holes or perforations just
there. We then thread a shell on it, and pass
the wire through another hole so situated as,
when the wire is drawn tight, to cause the shell
to lie in ' that direction which will make it fall
into its right position in the pattern. The wire
must then be returned to the right side again, and
another shell threaded on it, and the same ma-
noeuvre gone through ; or, if it be intended to

ORNAMENTS IN RICE SHELL-WORK.

241

work a shell pattern inside and outside the bas-
ket, a second shell must be threaded on the wire
before it is returned to the right side, and that
adjusted into its place by a proceeding similar to
the one just described. It is, however, difficult
to manage the two patterns at once ; one is sure
to mar the other to a greater or less extent;
therefore, it will always be best either to make
the basket very open and tray-shaped, and to
work the pattern on the inside, which will then
be the only one much seen ; or else to make it
rather close and upright, so as to show chiefly
the outside, and to work the pattern there.

Baskets may be made of unperforated card-
board by giimming the pattern with a very thick
solution of gum-dragon, and then sticking the
shells on in their proper places.

In all kinds of baskets made with rice-shells,
the back of the shell is to form the surface,
and the opening to be turned inwards.

The basket, of which we have given a cut, is
composed of shells, and the coarsest of the three
sizes of silver wire. It is made in lattice-work,
or squares, and requires some art to mould or
shape it into form.

We commence at the bottom, and with the
central square. A length of wire, measuring
twelve or fourteen inches, must be taken, and
the small shells used. Thread four shells on the
wire, arranging them so that the point of the first
meets the point of the second, and the end of the
second meets the end of the third ; while the point
of the third meets the point of the fourth. Push
them along the wire to within about an inch of
the end, then bend them into a square, and twist
the short end of the wire firmly and neatly with
the other, and cut off the superfluous bit. Now
thread three shells on the wire, so arranged that
the end of the first and the point of the third
shall meet the corresponding end and point of
that shell of the square already formed, which,
when these three are bent into their positions,
will constitute the fourth side of this second
square. Loop the wire through the corner of
the foundation square, and we have the second
completed.

A certain firmness, divested, however, of
tightness, is requisite in performing these mani-
pulations ; for, if the shells are jammed too
closely together, the work will have an uneven,
stiff appearance, whereas, if they are left too
loose, the fabric will never set in form, and will
look slovenly. The drawing the wire through
the corners of the preceding squares, in order
to complete the one which is being worked too,
is a nice operation, which must be gently done,
or we may crack the work; and securely and
vol. xlviii. — 21

neatly managed, or the squares will not be firm
and compact.

Three shells are now again to be symmetri-
cally threaded, and formed into a square, and
fastened down to the central one. Two other
squares arc then to be formed in like manner,
and we now havo five, or one on each of the
four sides of the foundation square. All the
sixteen shells usea for this should be small, and
as nearly as possible of a size.

The wire is now passed up through the inside
of the shell nearest to it, and it will be found
that the next round of squares will be formed,
first, by threading two shells, and bending them
into position, and fastening them down at the
corner, over the place where the preceding
round has left us two sides of a square, and then
by threading three shells, and bringing them into
shape, where we have only one side ready for
us. The two shells, and the three shells, used
alternately, will produce another round, consist-
ing of eight squares. Care must be taken to
use shells of equal size for a round, although
in each fresh round the size of the shells should
be in a slight degree increased. The backs of
the shells must ail lie one way, and the openings
the other ; the latter constitutes the inside of
the basket, as they do not look so uniform and
handsome.

The following engraving will give an idea of
the appearance of the fabric in an early stage.

When it is necessary to take a fresh length of
wire, it must be joined on close to the corner of
a completed square, by twisting it firmly and
neatly with the end of the length just used up,
and cutting up the superfluous point.

The third round is formed as the second, by
using alternately the two and the three shells
as required to complete the squares.

The number of rounds which are to be worked
for the bottom depends entirely upon the size
which we design to make the basket. In gene-

2-12

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ral, these three, or at any rate four rounds, will
be sufficient to make a very pretty sized one.

The next round is to be worked exactly in the
same way and with exactly the same sized shells
as the last one of the bottom, and, after it is
worked, it is to be turned up like a rim all
round. This commences the basket itself.

These rounds are now to be added with the
small shells, and shaped into form; and then
the middle-sized shells, in rounds of gradually
increasing size, are to be used for about six
rounds ; and then the large shells, in gradually
increasing size, are to be brought in use and
continued until the basket is finished.

It will soon be perceived, while working, that
it will occasionally be necessary to miss a square,
or to add one or more here and there in order
to preserve the raised, and opened, and rounded
form requisite for the oval of a basket. The
symmetrical arrangement of the points and ends
must be carefully attended to, or else the star-
like combinations, which add so materially to the
appearance of the fabric, will be marred or lost.

A pair of tweezers, or very small nippers,
may be used for twisting the wire when fasten-
ing on a fresh length, as the fingers will thus
be saved, and additional firmness obtained.

Having raised the basket-work to the required
height, which, when the bottom consists of four
rounds, should be about six inches, a piece of
round silk wire, either white or colored, and ex-
actly the size, but not larger than the circle of
the top of the basket, must be taken, and firmly
attached to the edge of the basket with middle-
sized wire ; this is to give shape and firmness to
the work, and to this another piece of wire is
attached, to form the handle.

The basket must now be trimmed, and for this
purpose we make two light and graceful wreaths,
one long enough to go round the top of the bas-
ket, and the other as long as the handle. The
single flower, the bud, the spiral group, and
leaves of seven or nine shells each, are what
will be required for an ordinary-sized basket.
When the wreath is made in simple rice shell-
work, the stems must be twisted, and the wreath
bound together with fine silver wire, and at-
tached to the handle and to the circular wire
with the same ; the silk wire used must be white.

If, however, the wreath is to be made in the
"composite" style, light flower-seeds or small
glass beads may be introduced into the centre of
the flowers, and the stems may be wound, and
the wreaths put together with floss silk, and
then they are to be attached to the handle and
circular wire with fine chenil. The following
combinations are pretty and effective : beads or

seeds of pink, or yellow, or coral, or blue, and
the stems of the flowers and buds wound with
silk to match, the stems of the leaves wound
with green, and the wreaths attached in their
places with green chenil. There should not be
more than two colors, the green and one other,
used at a time, and these should be delicate
shades ; for the shells have so pure and light an
appearance, that anything in the least degree
showy or gaudy spoils the effect of the whole.

Pendent from below each end of the handle,
should be a grape-like bunch of shells, not set
on so closely together as in tho wheat-ear, or so
far apart as in a leaf, and reaching about half
way down the basket.

When completed, the article should be pieced
under a glass case to preserve it from dust and
injury, and a few wax or artificial flowers may
be tastefully arranged in it with advantage.

A square basket, or a long, straight-sided one,
or one in almost any given shape, may be made
in this lattice-work, by manufacturing each piece
separately, and in the required shape, and then
lacing them together with silver wire, chenil,
or twist. There is, however, no trimming more
graceful, or better adapted for them, than the
wreath.

If thought fit, the wreath, however, need only
be put round the top of the basket, and the han-
dle made of a succession of squares of the kind
we have described.

Light wreaths, either of " simple" or " compo-
site" rice shell-work, may, with very pretty effect,
be entwined around alabaster vases or baskets.

For wedding-cakes, rice-shell wreaths and
bouquets, with silver bullion in the flowers, are
both tasteful and appropriate.

Intermingled with groups of the wax, or artifi-
cial, or feather, or paper flowers, the shell-leaves
and double and daisy flowers look very pretty.

As the shells never wear out, when any or-
nament is crushed, or soiled, or tarnished, it can
be cut up, the wires picked out, and the shells,
when washed and dried, will be ready to be used
again and again.

But we are sure that we have suggested quite
enough to our readers to enable them to devise for
themselves many other pretty and fanciful uses
for this work, and we feel convinced that, when
once they have overcome the first difficulties of
learning it, they will find pleasure in seeing the
graceful articles that will, as it were, develop
themselves under their busy fingers.

And so we now take our leave of this subject
for the present, commending it to the favorable
attention of those who may have taken the
trouble to peruse what we have written.

KOMAN WOMEN" IN THE DAYS OF THE OESAKS.

The condition of woman constitutes an im-
portant part of the complete history of any age
or country. In her own appropriate sphere, she
exerts an influence, powerful and enduring, for
the political greatness, the moral grandeur, and
general prosperity of a state, as well as for its
social peace and harmony. In her heart dwell,
for the most part, the charity, the virtue, the
moral soundness of communities, and, it almost
might be said, the patriotism of a people. Her
character and condition are the character and
condition of the society of which she is a compo-
nent part. In those countries and climes where
the female is made a slave, or treated with un-
merited severity, the males are not men, but the
most brutal of savages. Where civilization,
Christianity, and refinement allow woman her
proper level, man is the exponent of real hu-
manity and intelligence. The annals of ages
are but an accumulation of evidence establishing
these truths.

The graver of the Athenians, in the age of
Pericles, attributed the decline of those virtues
which, in all ages, have been considered the
brightest ornaments of the sex, and the conse-
quent increase of vice in the republic, to the
pernicious influence of the beautiful and fasci-
nating Aspasia. To her they imputed the crime
of seducing the first orator and statesman of his
time. On the other hand, the stern virtue, the
heroism, the self-denying patriotism of the sons
of Sparta, were legacies from their mothers.
They shunned no dangers, feared no enemy,
shrank from no hardship, and, when they met
an honorable death in combat with the invaders
of Grecian soil, the brave-hearted matrons con-
soled themselves with the idea that for this pur-
pose they had given birth to children.

When Carthage was for the last time besieged
by the Romans, the patriotic women of that de-
voted city imparted to her warrior defenders a
portion of their heroism and love of country,
and cut off their tresses for bowstrings for the
archers.

Roman history has described with great mi-
nuteness the extraordinary virtue and the excel-
lent domestic habits of Lucretia, her sad fate,
and the sympathy it awakened, and the indigna-
tion it aroused in the hearts of all good citizens.

Her sacred regard for her own honor — that ho-
nor insulted by a corrupt nobleman, an unprin-
cipled monarch — proved a death-blow to kingly
power for a season in Rome. Whether the story
of Lucretia be a cunningly-devised fable, or
veritable, sober history, is not material, since it
illustrates a principle well substantiated by all
history and observation, that insults to female
virtue and honor do not escape unavenged.
Cleopatra, the beautiful and accomplished Egypt-
ian queen, subdued successively the hearts of
two stern Romans — heroes who had met the
wildest shocks of battle undismayed, and who
had never quailed with fear, nor scarce melted
with pity. In her magic fingers hung, at an im-
portant crisis, the fate of the Roman empire.
Her influence was as destructive as her presence
was potential and commanding. These are
marked instances of woman's influence, and of
her characteristics.

The reign of Octavius Caesar was the golden
age of Rome. At that period, the almost un-
limited control of the civilized world was hers.
Her colonies were planted on every shore of
the known world — the Roman eagles triumphed
in every clime. Three continents paid her tri-
bute. One intervening sea washed their shores
and wafted her fleets. Extensive sway and the
contributions of wealthy nations had not only
rendered her proud and insolent, but corrupt,
and, in a measure, cruel. The principal distinc-
tions in her society were those of wealth and
power, rather than of talents, sobriety, and vir-
tue. The corrupt and the vile were, for the
most part, the esteemed and highly favored.

There were numerous instances, it is true, of
patriotism, virtue, and highmindedness among
Roman citizens of this period, well worthy of
imitation and remembrance. There was a sort
of refinement of which the earlier Romans did
not boast, and which they openly condemned.
Grecian art and learning, combined with the
wealth and vices introduced from the East, had
wrought a great change in the national character
and habits. Republican simplicity had given
place to excessive extravagance and prodigality.
In this, as in every age, woman acted no indif-
ferent part in the everyday drama of Roman
life. She was herself extravagant, and, if the

243

244

30DEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

history of that period be truly narrated, not al-
ways a discourager of vice and dissipation.
Cicero, the greatest intellect Rome ever pro-
duced, with the exception, it may be, of Julius
Ccesar, lived at this age in Rome, and contribut-
ed, in no small degree, to give it the title golden.
He was, we are told, not only of the highest
order of human intelligences, but a man of wis-
dom and purity of character. While he united
in his own person all the noble qualifications of
an able statesman, a brilliant scholar and orator,
a learned and ingenious lawyer, and a good citi-
zen, as well as a devoted father and husband,
his first wife, Teruntia, was nearly the opposite.
That he did not lack in kindness towards her,
his known characteristics and disposition, as
well as his letters to her when at a distance,
fully prove. His social qualities eminently
fitted him to discharge the duties of a husband
in the most amiable manner. Teruntia, though
of a rich and noble family, was of a turbulent
and impetuous spirit, negligent, intriguing, and
finally became so uncongenial a companion to
fhe illustrious orator that he became divorced
from her. He afterwards connected himself by
marriage with another Roman lady of great
wealth ; but from her likewise he separated
himself, finding her destitute of social kindness,
domestic affection, and humanity.

Tullia, Cicero's daughter, is awarded a high
rank among Roman ladies of her time ; but she
was thrice married, and as many times divorced.
The cause may not have been hers so much as
her husband's, or it may have been more attri-
butable to the loose morals of the age than to
either party in particular. If, however, Tullia
was wanting in those domestic qualities so neces-
sary to the permanent calm of married life, she
was not destitute of learning and the polite ac-
complishments of her time. She is said, by Ro-
man historians, to have been an " admirable
woman" — affectionate and piously observant of
her father — one of the most learned of Roman
women.

In the earlier days of Rome, the noblest ma-
trons were noted for nothing more than their
• ■xcellent domestic habits — industry, frugality,
and devotion to and affection for their families.
The greatness of that vast empire was founded
not more in the devoted patriotism and perse-
vering energy of the Roman citizens, than in
the incorruptible virtue, the sacrificing spirits,
and noble hearts of Roman matrons. Not so in
tht, declining days of the republic. Not so when
the robust and vigorous youth of the nation be-
gan to tremble with advancing years, and to
wreath its brow with gray hairs — a result not of

age and toil and serious care, but of dissipation
and inglorious ease, of wealth, and wine, and
extravagant feasts. Not so when the humble
cottage, the home wherein dwelt domestic peace
and content, was exchanged for a marble palace,
decorated with statues and paintings, lined with
Tyrian couches, bespangled with gold and silver
ornaments, and thronged with slaves. Not so
when the Csesars and Mark Antony ruled the
imperial city with hordes of mercenary soldiers ;
nor when the republic was metamorphosed into
an empire, and all regard to life, property, and
private right had, in a measure, ceased. The
social and domestic character of Roman society
were so sadly changed, and foreign vice and cor-
ruption became naturalized to such an extent,
that the decay of the empire is no marvel.

The simplicity and integrity of earlier times
were the base on which was reared a magnificent
national superstructure. Thereon was based the
sure growth, the gradual, healthy expansion of
Roman power, till all the tribes and nations of
the earth respected and feared it. Therein con-
sisted the peculiar glory of Rome's first estate —
of her earlier conquests — that force of character
and energy of action that wearied Pyrrhus, con-
quered Mithridates, and overwhelmed Carthage.
No coward dared return from a field which he
had dishonored to the bosom of his wife, his sis-
ter, or his family ; for they scorned and detested
cowardice and unmanly and unsoldierly beha-
vior, while they honored bravery and patriot-
ism, whether manifested against the invaded or
in an offensive war against a foreign foe. They
applauded whatever was noble, generous, and
manly ; though, to gratify this spirit, husbands,
fathers, brothers, and sons were sacrificed on
war's grim altar. The inflexible mandates of
the immortal gods were to be observed at what-
ever cost.

The citizens were instruments in the hands
of the deities to avenge wrongs, to enforce right,
and to glorify the city of their birth. The great
dramatic bard, in " Coriolanus," makes Volum-
nia, the mother of Marcius Coriolanus, say:
" Hear me profess sincerely. Had I a dozen sons,
each in my love alike, and none less dear than
thine and my good Marcius, I had rather had
eleven die nobly for his country than one vo-
luptously surfeit out of action." She but spoke
the spirit of her time ; and her language is but
the language of Roman matrons of her age.
Thus grew and flourished, as by magic forces
and divine ordination, the city of Romulus, the
world's hope and dread, at once the saviour and
destroyer of civilization, whose porous social sys-
tem absorbed and quickly dissolved the myste-

ROMAN WOMEN IN THE DAYS OF THE C.ESARS,

245

ries of Egypt, the classic beauties of Greece, and
the wealth of the " exhaustless East."

But the great distinguishing trait in the Ro-
man woman, in the days of the republic and un-
der the earlier kings, was her attention to house-
hold employments. This the Roman expected
of his wife — it was enjoined upon her by the
marriage rite. Thus, indeed, it was among most
of the more enlightened nations of antiquity.
The noble born of both sexes did not disdain to
toil in their appropriate spheres ; the prince of
royal blood was proud of holding the plough and
of acting the husbandman, and daughters of
princes were not ashamed to ply the needle or
tend the distaff.

" So it was of old
That woman's hand, amid the elements
Of patient industry and household good,
Keproachless wrought, twining the slender thread
From the light distaff; or, in the skilful loom,
Weaving rich tissues, or, with glowing tints
Of rich embroidery, pleased to decorate
The mantle of her lord. And it was well ;
For in such sheltered and congenial sphere
Content with duty dwells."

The great veneration for home, and love for
its pursuits and associations, grew weaker and
weaker as the state exchanged a popular govern-
ment for the reign of military dictators and kings.
In the Augustan age, though instances of female
virtue, nobility, and culture are not few, we
find from the scanty records of female history
of those times extant, which, indeed, are merely
incidental, that woman is less often the ideal of
self-sacrificing worth and of retiring modesty,
less noted for her attachment to her family, her
home, and her domestic pursuits, less careful in
the training of her children, than formerly. In
earlier times, no Roman matron coveted the in-
famous character of a masculine conspirator ; no
Roman woman left her quiet hearth disgracefully
to insult the remains of a murdered citizen ; no
Roman woman had instigated a civil war, or
proscribed her victims for assassination.

Fulvia, the ambitious wife of Mark Antony,
did all this. After the assassination of Clodius,
she raised a sedition. Imitating, or rather out-
rivalMng the crueltv of her husband, she joined
in his proscriptions, that Roman blood might
flow by Roman hands still more freely. After
the great Cicero had been slain in a spirit of the
most relentless and vindictive cruelty, and his
head brought to Antony, Fulvia took it on her
knees, broke out in a torrent of cowardly and
abusive epithets on the character of the deceased,
and then, with the most fiendish inhumanity,
pierced his tongue with her golden bodkin.
During the absence of her husband in the East,

21*

she not only endeavored to stir up insurrections,
but sold the government of provinces and de-
creed unmerited triumphs. What an eternity
of infamy should be hers for such deeds as these !
What an example in the wife of a ruler for
the imitation of an empire ! When such a spi-
rit actuates the female mind, when coupled with
\ ambition, recommended by beauty and intelli-
\ gence, and supported by power, it is sadly to be
\ deplored. That ambition which at any time in-
duces woman to step beyond her sphere, to take
\ upon her shoulders masculine responsibilities, to
take part in political struggles and sectional
wrangles, to usurp the places and duties of those
who wero created and destined to cherish and
protect her, it is, for her own sake, to be re-
gretted. Such attempts are not only pernicious
in their influence, but they tend to render those
unhappy who make them. Such are the results
of our reflection and observation, and such is
the lesson taught by impartial history.

In the life of Fulvia, however, we do not get

a fair representation of the female character of

her time, but merely some of its tendencies. A

spirit of insubordination to the laws of place and

the rules of decorum ; an overweening ambition

that steps without household limits ; assumption

of power far beyond the reach of female duties ;

\ arrogance and haughtiness from the high official

) station of the husband ; vindictive cruelty to

> avenge a fancied or a real wrong ; prodigality

\ and masculine pride, oftener perceptible in this

J age than formerly — were unmistakable indica-

i tions of its character and tendencies. Yet the

\ picture was not altogether sad, though at various

| points dark shadows were visible. Here and

\ there the heaviness of the prospect was relieved

by the most delightful views and cheering lights.

| The wife of the second Brutus is portrayed by

the great limner of human character, in "Julius

Caesar," as worthy the beautiful tribute bestowed

by her husband.

In this play, Portia is made to act the part and
display the genuine qualities of a " true wife,"
understanding her duties as such, and manifest-
ing all due sympathy and affection for her hus-
band, as is shown where she beseeches Brutus
to reveal to her why he is heavy in heart, the
secrets of his bosom, and what designs he
cherishes : —

Portia.
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted I should know no secrets
But, as it were, in sort or limitation;
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,
And talk to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in the suburbs
Of your good pleasure ? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus's harlot, not his wife.

246

godey's magazine and lady's book.

BRUTU8.

You are my true and honorable wife I
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sick heart I

Portia.
Then should I know this secret.
I grant I am a woman ; but, withal,
A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife :
I grant I am a woman ; but, withal,
A woman well reputed— Cato's daughter.
Think you I am no stronger than my sex,
Being so fathered, and so husbanded?
Tell me your counsels ; I will not disclose them.
I have given strong proof of my constancy,
Giving myself a voluntary wound.

. Can I bear that with patience,

And not my husband's secrets ?

Brutus.

Oh, ye gods,
Bender me worthy of this noble wife !

In the same play, Shakspeare would have us
believe that Calpurnia, wife of Caesar, had quite
persuaded her husband not to go to the senate
house on the fatal ides of March, though then
and there he was to be crowned and clothed
with regal power. The apprehensions she had
raised in his mind were, however, dispelled by
Oceius Brutus.

Antony's second wife, Octavia, was quite the
reverse of Fulvia in character and disposition.
She was of a gentle and peaceable spirit, doing
her strict duty to her husband long after he had
ceased to deserve her confidence or respect.
The marriage, on the whole, was an unhappy
one, being suggested by policy and public expe-
diency, and effected for the purpose of uniting
two powerful factions. Octavia was, for a con-
siderable period, instrumental in preventing a
rupture between her brother and husband,
though that event finally occurred, with the
most disastrous consequences to Antony. Though
Antony was an able general, a man of capacity
and great personal courage, yet he had so in-
volved himself in the dissipations and luxuries
of the Egyptian court, whose crowning star was
Cleopatra, that he was~no match for the graver
and more calculating Augustus. The charms of
Cleopatra had completely unmanned him, and
smothered, in a measure, his ambition.

Time did not serve to rally him from the
lethargy, hopeless and fatal, into which her
spell had thrown him. The chains which
bound him grew stronger and stronger, and his
desire to break them weaker and weaker. This
he attributed to her unrivalled beauty and the
extent and variety of her accomplishments, to
depict which requires a poet's pen and limner's
art.

" Age cannot wither, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women clog
Tho appetites they feed; but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies."

Happy picture ! yet how inadequate to convey a
correct impression of her entire character or
history ! But that portion intended to be de-
picted, the winning graces, the charming exte-
rior, her manifold accomplishments, and queenly
airs, how delicately, perhaps faithfully, touched
off! The gifted and happy artist was not at
fault here. The usually faithful limner, we
have reason to believe, was not here unfaithful.
He has portrayed the Egyptian queen, as she
walked along the stage with Antony, truly and
well.

But Cleopatra completed the ruin of Antony.
He had wellnigh ruined himself; but it was
hers to give the final stroke. How little he
heeded his vow to Octavia at Rome, after he
had spent part of his dissolute career in Egypt !

" My Octavia,
Bead not my blemishes in the world's report.
I have not kept my square ; but that to coma
Shall all be done by the rule."

Poor Antony ! the sequel of his life, the con-
summation of his destiny, how just, yet how
painful to be observed ! Fit retribution to one
forsaking a true and faithful wife, to one choos-
ing the paths of vice and dissipation and ener-
vating pleasures. The stern warrior, the expe-
rienced general, the able statesman and orator
found, at last, in the hand of the Venus he
adored, the sword of a Nemesis.

Among the many noticeable women of this
age, we would not pass by with seeming indif-
ference the three Cornelias, wives of distin-
guished men, themselves, " withal, well re-
puted." Cornelia, the daughter of Cinna, was
a very estimable woman, and the wife of Julius
Caesar. The best eulogy that has been pro-
nounced upon her character and worth is the
fact related by Plutarch concerning her. It ap-
pears that, though it was at that time contrary
to custom at Rome to have funeral orations on
young women deceased — only on the aged — yet
Caesar, from his high appreciation of the vir-
tues of his wife, himself pronounced hers with-
out regard to the practice of the times. This
was her highest praise — the most worthy com-
mendation of her merit. To recommend her-
self to her husband thus is one of the rarest ex-
cellences of a wife.

Pompey's wife, Cornelia, was Metcllus Sci-
pio's daughter. . Considering the time in which
she lived, the condition of society in which she
moved, and the many examples of corruption

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S.

daily exhibited in and about Rome, she certainly
must be regarded as a woman of remarkable
character and stability of virtue. Her accom-
plishments were many and various, and she was
equally noted for the excellency of her private
character, her domestic habits, and the extent
and variety of her information.

Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, so cele-
brated in Roman history, was the daughter of
Scipio Africanus Major. She also occupied a
high rank among the worthy women of her day.
She had a masculine turn of mind, but an irre-
proachable character. She is said, after the
death of her husband, to have trained and edu-
cated her children in the most exemplary man-
ner. In illustration of her regard for them, is
the anecdote of Valerius Maximus concerning
Cornelia, wherein she is represented, after hav-
ing had displayed to her by a Campanian lady
very many beautiful ornaments, and having been
requested in turn to display her own, as having
said, pointing to her children, " Here are my
ornaments."

From the days of the Caesars, Rome's glory
began to depart. The stars that sparkled in her
imperial diadem one by one faded, and at last
were extinguished, leaving nations long accus-
tomed to bondage and tribute free to grope about
in the night of northern barbarism. Her con-
querors and destroyers, though stigmatized as
cowardly barbarians, without taste, learning, or
genius, and destitute of any appreciation of the
uses or beauty of art, could at least boast of a

higher respect for woman. Ignorant and uncul-
tivated, they yet looked upon the gentler sex
with a kindly eye, and in her presence felt a
generous sentiment, noble in itself and worthy
of men. They looked upon woman as on the
face of the calm heavens, to draw thence a kind
of holy inspiration. They regarded her as mo-
ther, sister, wife, daughter — not as slave, servant,
or a temporary toy. A worthy characteristic,
though manifest in Goth and Vandal, the de-
stroyers of statues, paintings, and magnificent
cities, the dismantlers of queenly Rome, or the
ravagers of Tuscany.

One of the disorders of which old Rome died —
she had many preying on her vitals — was the
rottenness of her social system. The Roman,
in the days of Augustus, could not justify him-
self to his family on any rules of ancient or mo-
dern propriety; and too often it happened that
his family, his wife, sister, and daughter, could
not vindicate their own conduct, much less
atone for that of the Roman man.

The history of that age, with what afterwards
befel that proud empire, teaches with a plain-
ness that is unmistakable that, when a nation
or state loses its self-respect, and the people
cease to pay a proper regard to social proprie-
ties, and due respect and deference to female
character — when woman is denied the charity
she merits, or when she herself is encouraged to
step beyond her generously accorded limits, its
heart is unsound and its path is descending.

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOYER AT SCHOOL, AND HER "DEAR,

DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY

ACE MAYHEW.

THE THIRD LETTER LEFT.

{Dated March 3c?.)

SHOWING WHAT KITTY THOUGHT OF SOME
OF HER SCHOOL-FELLOWS.

I do begin, Nelly, to like this wretched place
a little better. All the girls are not Nobles and
Peacocks ; and it 's lucky they ain't, for I never
met with such a couple of disagreeable things.
They set themselves up for great judges and
wits, ridiculing everything they do not like, and
trying to make the rest feel humbled and worth-
less, because our mas have never been to court,
or our pas do not drive a pair of horses !

Meggy Sharpe and I both think Annie Flower
much prettier than Rosa Peacock, although she
is not a fine lady, and her father is only a farmer.
They call her " Dairymaid ;" but, for all that,
Miss Rosa Peacock is jealous of her beautiful
complexion, and is always imitating Annie's
merry laugh.

That little impudent thing with the turn-up
nose is a Miss St. Ledger. Her pa is a city al-
derman, and a great patron of Mrs. Rodwell.
Meggy calls her " Piggy," because she is always
stuffing — hiding in the closets and the box-room,
to eat by hei self, the things she smuggles into
the college. Whenever you meet her in the

248

passages, she cannot speak — her cheeks are
crammed so full of goodies. They tell a story
against her about the drawing-room piano. It
was terribly out of tune, and upon examination
wras found to be full of orange-peel and peach-
stones. The supposition is that Miss St. Ledger
had taken the peaches and oranges up with her
to be able to eat them on the sly when she was
practising, and, being suddenly disturbed, had
thrown them inside the lid of the grand piano,
so as not to be detected. This greedy girl is
extremely rich, and she is always boasting that
her papa could buy up a whole street of such
poor creatures as Noble and Peacock, who she
says, have nothing but debts for a fortune, and a
title to pay them off with. At the same time, she
flatters them, and tries all she can to get friendly
with them; but they only snub her the more.
But, Nelly, she dresses so beautifully, always in
silks, and her pocket-handkerchiefs are as fine
as muslin, and, I 'm speaking the truth, trimmed
with real Valenciennes ! They give }rou a fever
to finger them. Then she has boxes upon boxes
full of the most lovely ribbons and belts ; whilst
Madame La Vautrien makes her bonnets, and
charges three guineas apiece for them ! But, in
spite of all her finery, she is the meanest girl
in the school — so stingy and greedy, always
borrowing, and never lending — never sharing,
never helping any one. I do not like her a bit
— nasty, disagreeable thing! if she did not go
and pry into my boxes; and I heard her telling
the girls " all was cheap and common — only one
silk dress, and that a turned one of mamma's."
The lady principal is very fond of her (her
money, more likely), and is always sending her
into the drawing-room to practise (though she
can't play a bit), because she is so fat and fine,
and has hot- house grapes sent to her.

Miss Plodder is another favorite. She is the
" Good Girl." Her nickname is " Preterpluper-
fect." Poor girl, her face makes you sad to look
at it ! It seems full of tasks and forfeits. Her
fingers are always inky, and her hand is so cold
that touching it is as unpleasant as the tearing
of silk. My blood runs cold merely to think
of it She never plays or laughs, but is always
thumbing her lessons, though what she does
with her learning no one can tell, for she is
never " up" in class, and is always sent "down"
at examinations.

How different is dear Lucy Wilde ! She
seems to know everything without looking at a
book. It comes as naturally to her as eating.
Ah ! she is clever. The professors pay her such
compliments before all the school, and the go-
vernesses are afraid of her. The lady principal,

however, cannot bear Lucy, because she is idle,
and up to fun. She tries to keep her down ;
but Lucy is like a cork in a pail, she is sure to
come to the top again. The more she is pushed
under, the more she rises. With all her mad-
cap tricks, she is always at the head of the
class. How she learns no one can tell, for she
is never seen with a book. Meggy says it comes
to her in her sleep. Professor Drudge told us
last week that if Lucy could only be tamed into
studying she could do anything, and I believe it.
She writes verses, too — little satirical poems on
the mistresses, and Peacock and Noble; and
sent off on Tuesday the most beautiful Valentine
I think I ever read.

But, Nelly, it is Amy Darling you would love
best — a bright, pleasant girl, all sunshine, except
when she cries, and she cries immediately any
one is hurt. We all run to Amy directly we are
in trouble. She is like a young mother to us,
and treats us with such tenderness that it is
almost a pleasure to be in trouble to be comfort-
ed by Amy. She consoles one so beautifully ;
and I 'in sure, if our puddings were taken away,
we should miss them far less than the absence
of dearest Amy. You should see how the little
girls crowd round her in the play hours, and pull
her about. She romps with them with the great-
est good-humor, and never tires in teaching the
little things some new game. She was in bed for
three days once, and one would have imagined
there was a death in the house ; but when she
recovered, we made so much noise that the lady
principal came down from her boudoir to inquire
what was the matter. It's strange ! She is not
clever, nor altogether pretty, nor even profession-
al (her papa 's a coachmaker), and yet, somehow,
notwithstanding these tremendous drawbacks,
she is the favorite of all the school. Even the
masters and schoolmistresses cannot help giving
the preference to Amy. Professor Drudge him-
self, who seems to love nothing in the world
but his snuff-box, pats her occasionally on the
head, bestowing on her at the same time a
grim snuffy smile, that he accords to no one
else. She is such a dear, dear love ! so sweet —
so full of joy and sympathy — that I really be-
lieve, Nelly, she was intended for an angel, and
was only made a school-girl by mistake. Her
sweetness is best shown by the fact that Pea-
cock and Noble never give themselves airs to
her, though her father is but a coachmaker. She
would shame them out of their vulgarity with-
out retorting a harsh word, and make thera
blush (if that was possible) by merely reproach-
ing them kindly. It is a wonder for a school,
where there are so many girls, that not one of

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY COOK'S.

249

them is jealous of Amy. Such a thing would
appear unnatural. It would be like being jeal-
ous of )rour mother, or of a nurse who had
tended you through a long illness. We are
too grateful to be jealous ; for there is not a
girl in the school, big or little, but who has
some cause to be gratefifl to her. The little
girls she protects, and saves them from being
buliied; and the big ones she advises when
they are in a mess, besides helping them through
their tasks. She is the protectress that all fly
to — the peacemaker that ail abide by (even
those in the wrong) ; and the general confidante
of us all, the poor mistresses included. Meggy
calls her our "Sister Confessor;" and really it
is terrible to think of the heap of secrets that
must be piled up, as high as the boxes on a Mar-
gate steamer, upon her honor. When you think,
Nelly, it is as much as we can do to keep one
secret, I wonder how Amy can breathe with
such a load upon her breast ! Yet she carries
it all as lightly as a fairy does her wand.

Meggy says, " poor Mary Owen is in pawn to
Mrs. Rodwell," which means that she has been
left as security for a debt, as hopeless as any
national one.

Years ago (so Meggy tells me) Mary's father
— a captain in the army — left her at school, with
directions that she was to learn everything, and
no expense spared in her education. With the
exception of one or two small remittances,
nothing has been heard of her father since.
Year after year, Mary grows paler and more sad,
with not a friend in the world to cling to, but
dearest Amy, who treats her more like a sister
than anything else, being always by her side, as
something told her that if the poor girl hadn't
a crutch of some sort to lean upon she would
assuredly fall to the ground. The lady princi-
pal has lost all hope of Mary being ever claimed,
or (worse still) of her bill being ever paid. This
makes Mary's position all the more melancholy,
for she is pointed to as a kind of living monu-
ment to the cardinal virtues of the schoolmis-
tress who keeps her. If there is a little sermon
on charity or benevolence, Mary is always
chosen as its text. Whenever there is a lecture
read about ingratitude, poor Mary is always
brought forward as the disgraceful illustration
of it. It is the same with dishonesty, taradid-
dles, fibbing, and the entire category of school
vices — Mary serves as the example of them all.
It would seem as if the poor girl was kept as a
" terrible warning" to the college ; and I 'm sure
in this capacity alone, that her bill has been
paid more than twenty times over. It is sad to
watch the poor girl while she 's being thus pub-

licly pointed at before her school-fellows. She
never says a word, nor attempts to defend her-
self. She sits quietly in her seat, her face grow-
ing paler, and her head falling lower with each
blow of her accuser ; and if you saw her heavy,
tearless eye, Nelly, and her lips quite colorless,
as I have seen them, you would pity her with
all your heart, and long to go up and kiss her,
and tell her not to mind it. Often and often
have I felt inclined to call out and beg of Mrs.
Rod well to stop such cruelty ; but fear has
pinched my lips, and I have caught myself cry-
ing, and I defy any one to help it. But I don't
mean to say that Mrs. Rodwell ill-treats Mary,
or is positively unkind, or lifts her hand against
her ; but she is always taunting her with her
misfortune in so sharp a manner, that I would
sooner by far be beat outright, or be sent away
at once. It is one unceasing tyranny of little
petty trifles all day long (a tyranny of pins and
needles, Meggy calls it), which I call most cow-
ardly for a woman like Mrs. Rodwell (though she
has lost her money) to use against a poor girl who
cannot defend herself: just as if Mary wouldn't
pay if she could ! On such occasions, Amy is
kinder to her than ever, and struggles, by dint of
affection, and by trying to lead her into play, to
make her forget the harshness she has experi-
enced during school hours. I 'm not certain
that she succeeds very well. Mary tries, in
grateful return for so much kindness, to smile
and to play ; but it isn't smiling nor playing,
Nelly; it's working, and hard working at it.

Her dress is the funniest thing you ever saw.
When I say funny, I do not mean it makes you
laugh — far from it — but that it is extremely odd
and peculiar. At first, Mary used to wear the
cast-off things of two Indian girls, who are
here and never go home ; but since she has
grown tall she is packed up in Mrs. R.'s old
trumpery finery, and flits about like a thin
shadow of what the lady principal was six
months previously. No one, however, is cruel
enough to quiz Mary. Her sorrow throws a
sacred protection over her that is better than
any shield, and even Miss St. Ledger (with her
pert turn-up nose) forgets the sharpness of her
tongue in her presence. Amy, besides, wouldn't
allow any one to slight her. They tell me, Nel-
ly, that when (( breaking-up day" comes round,
and all are skipping about in the wild joy of
being fetched home, poor Mary sits silently
apart, shunning everybody — avoiding the win-
dows where all the girls are heaped together,
watching the arrival of the carriages ; and that
she almost runs away from dear Amy's caresses,
rejecting her loving endeavors to cheer her, as

250

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

if they were a source of pain to her. Dear Amy
always stops the last with her; but, when it
comes to her turn to go away, then poor Mary
flings herself round her devoted friend's neck,
and bursts into one long flood of tears, as if hor
heart was breaking. May we never know such
grief as that, Nelly ! Only think, dearest, how
cheerless must the holidays be to the poor home-
less girl ! The reassembling of school, which
school-girls dread so much, must come back to
her with all the delight of holidays to us.

Once Amy asked for Mary to go home with
her, but the lady principal objected to it. It
would take too much money and trouble to " get
her up." Amy said she should wear her things ;
but Mrs. Rodwell still objected. She was afraid

(Meggy says) to " trust the security of her debt
out of sight !" Poor Mary has never left the
Princesses' College now for four years, except at
such times when she has been out walking with
the school !

This is very sad and terrible, Nelly, and we
ought to think ourselves very fortunate that we
have such good papas and mammas, and that our
positions in life are very different from that of
poor Mary Owen ! But I have written myself
quite miserable, and you too, I am afraid, Nelly ;
so no more at present, dear, from

Your little stupid

Kitty Clover.

P. S. Excuse haste.

P. S. Why don't you write 1

MRS. MUDLAW'S RECIPE FOR POTATO PUDDING

OR, GOSSIP FROM OUR TOWN.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE BEDOTT PAPERS."

[The following story is not now published
for the first time ; but we republish it at the re-
quest of many subscribers, who want it in an
endurable form, and because we wish to pre-
serve a story so characteristic of the peculiar
talent of its amiable writer, whose memoir we
published in our numbers for July and August,
1853.]

mechanic, who has been, for two years past, a
resident of our town, was somewhat surprised
and considerably gratified one day last fall, at
receiving an invitation to dine with Colonel
Philpot, one of the aristocracy.

Mr. Darling enjoys that respect in our com-
munity which mechanical ingenuity and integri-
ty united are always sure to command every-
where. These qualities, and a more than
ordinary degree of information, acquired by the
employment of much of his leisure time in read-
ing, have given him an almost unbounded influ-
ence amongst his own class.

Though the invitation to Colonel P.'s created
some surprise in his mind, he felt more disposed
to be pleased at the honor than to question the
motives which prompted it; for his nature is
wholly free from suspicion and the petty feeling
of jealousy which those in his station sometimes
indulge towards the " upper ten" — feelings with
vvhich, we are sorry to say, the bosom of his
better half was frequently agitated.

" We have been neighbors for some time, Mr.
Darling," said Colonel Philpot; "it is time we
were better acquainted. You must come and
dine socially with me to-morrow. Mrs. Philpot
and the children are out of town, and I am going
to have a few friends to enliven my solitude."

So John Darling " saved his appetite," dressed
himself in his best clothes, and, at the appointed
hour — a somewhat later one than his customary
time for dining — repaired to Colonel Philpot's.

He met there several of his associates — had a
" fine time and a grand dinner" — the utmost
hilarity and good feeling prevailed ; and Mr.
Darling entertained his wife with an account of
it at every meal for several weeks.

" Hester," said he one day, as they were seat-
ed at a codfish dinner, "did you ever taste a
potato pudding?"

" Potato pudding ! No ; I never heard of such
a thing."

" Well, I wish you could, for 'tis delicious '
We had one when I dined at Colonel Philpot's."

" I wonder what you didn't have at Colonel
Philpot's," said Mrs. Darling. " I declare, I 'm
tired hearing about it."

" Well, I '11 tell you one thing we didn't have
— we didn't have codfish. But, that pudding —
I wish you 'd learn how to make it ; it was su-
perb !"

" I presume so ; and I guess, if I had half a
dozen servants at my heels, and a thorough-
trained cook into the bargain, I could havfe

MRS. MUDLAW S RECIPE FOR POTATO PUDDING

!51

things superb, too. But, as long as I have every-
thing to do myself, and very little to do with, I
don't see how I 'm to get up things in style. I
wonder you can expect me to."

" I don't expect you to, Hester. You always
do things to suit my taste. But that pudding
was excellent ; and, being made of potatoes, I
thought, of course, it must be economical, and" —

" Economical ! That 's all you know about
it. What gumps men are ! I '11 warrant it had
forty different things in it, and less potatoes than
anything else. I 'm no hand to fuss up. I like
plain cookery, for my part."

" So do I, as a general thing. But, then, you
know, it's well to have something a little better
than ordinary once in a while."

" Well, if you 're not satisfied with my way
of doing things, you must hire a cook, or go and
board out." And Mrs. Darling put on her in-
jured look, and remained silent during the rest
of the dinner.

But, after all, she was not an ill-natured wo-
man really; and, after her husband had gone to
his shop, she began to feel a little pricked in her
conscience for having been so cross at dinner.
She wished she had not gone on at such a rate.
But, then, John had bored her so about that din-
ner at Colonel Philpot's — she was out of pa-
tience with it. Yet what right had she to be
out of patience with John 1 He never was out
of patience with her, and she could but acknow-
ledge that he often had reason to be so. So she
resolved to make it up as soon as possible.

" John," said she, as she handed him a cup of
tea, " I 've a great notion to try that potato pud-
ding. I believe I could make one."

"No doubt of it, Hester," said her husband;
u you can do almost anything you try to."

n I suppose it takes butter, and sugar, and eggs,
and spices, and so forth ; but I wish I knew the
proportions."

" It 's very easy to find out all about it by
calling at Colonel Philpot's. He said his wife
would be delighted to get acquainted with you."

" So you 've told me a dozen times ; but I
think that, if she wanted to get acquainted with
me, she might call upon me. She 's lived here
longer than I have, and it isn't my place to
Gall first ; and I don't believe the colonel tells
the truth when he says she wants to get ac-
quainted with me."

" Well, I always think people mean as they
say, and I wish you would, too, Hester."

" But it 's very evident that she holds herself
a great deal above me. She has no reason to,
certainly, for her family wasn't half as respect-
able as mine. Mrs. David Potter knows all

about them, root and branch, and she says that
Mrs. Philpot's father kept a very low tavern in
Norridge, and Mrs. Philpot herself tended the
bar when she was a girl. But, somehow, Colo-
nel Philpot happened to fall in love with her,
and he sent her away to school, and then mar-
ried her."

" Well, that 's nothing against her, is it?"

" No, of course it wouldn't be, if she didn't
carry her head so high now. But it 's always
the way with such persons — they never know
how to bear prosperity. There wouldn't be
anything said about her origin, if she didn't put
on such airs ; but, as long as she feels so lifted
up, folks will talk, you know."

" Perhaps you don't do her justice, Hester.
You know nothing about her excepting what
you 've heard. At any rate, it would do no
harm to call upon her."

After repeated conversations and discussions
of this sort, Mrs. Darling concluded to pay Mrs.
Philpot a visit. She could make the potato pud-
ding an excuse, and be governed by Mrs. P.'s
reception in regard to farther intercourse. Mrs.
Philpot has been, for several years past, to use
her own expression, " very unfortunate in her
domestics." With the exception of her cook —
up to the time of Mrs. Darling's call — she had
seldom kept one above a month, and sometimes
not as long as that. This frequent change of
servants was not so much owing to any unkind-
ness on Mrs. Philpot's part, as to the fact that
Mrs. Mudlaw, her cook, could never agree with
them. This functionary had been, for several
years, a fixture in Colonel P.'s establishment ;
indeed, Mrs. P. declared she could not possibly
get along without her. Mrs. Mudlaw was, in
fact, a good cook, and so entirely relieved that
lady from all care in that department that, rather
than part with her, she was willing to submit to
her petty tyranny in everything. The cook
actually " ruled the roast" at Colonel P.'s in
more than one sense. And she did not often
find the subalterns of the household as submis-
sive to her wishes as Mrs. Philpot herself was.
She contrived to quarrel them away in a short
time, for she had only to say to Mrs. P., " Well,
either Bridget or I must quit, so you may take
your choice;" and the offending servant-maid
was dismissed forthwith, there being no appeal
from Mrs. Mudlaw's decision.

A scene of this kind had just occurred when
Mrs. Darling made her visit, and a new raw
Irish girl had that morning been installed in
place of the one discharged. The duty of this
girl was to answer the door-bell, and help Mrs.
Mudlaw. In fact, the hardest and most disa-

252

GOPEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

greeable of the kitchen-work came upon her.
When Mrs. Darling rang-, Mrs. Philpot was in
the kitchen giving instructions to Peggy, or
rather acquiescing in those which Mrs. Mudlaw
was laying down.

" There goes the bell," said that important
personage, and Mrs. Philpot hastened to an up-
per window to see who it was. Having satisfied
herself, she came back and told Peggy to go and
admit the lady.

" Why don't you start, you?" said Mrs. Mud-
law.

" Well, what '11 I do now?" said Peggy, whirl-
ing round in that bewildered way peculiar to
Irish girls.

'•' Do !" roared Mudlaw. " Don't you know
nothin'? Hain't we jest been tellin' ye 'twas
your duty to tend to the door-bell ? Pun to the
front door and let 'em in, and show 'em into the
drawin'-room. You know where that is, don't
you?"

" Faith, I know that" answered Peggy, and
away she ran, thanking her stars that there was
at least one thing that she knew.

" It 's no one that I know, I 'm sure," said
Mrs. Philpot, after Peggy had gone; " at least,
the bonnet and shawl are not familiar to me. I
presume it is somebody I don't care about see-
ing."

" I shouldn't wonder," said Mudlaw. " But
I s'pose you couldn't do otherways, as the curnel
has given orders that nobody ain't to be refused
till after Hection."

With much confusion and toe-stubbing, the
unfortunate Peggy ushered Mrs. Darling into
the nursery, which was also Mrs. Philpot's ordi-
nary sitting-room. It was directly over the
kitchen, and heated from the cooking-stove by
means of a drum, or dummy, as Mrs. Mudlaw
called it. Every word that was said in the
kitchen could easily be heard in the nursery —
quite a convenience to Mudlaw, as it enabled
her often to communicate with Mrs. Philpot
without the trouble of going up stairs. Many
an interesting account of what she did when
Mr. Mudlaw was living, and how they managed
at General K.'s when she was staying there, has
gone up that stove-pipe.

The nursery was in a state of the greatest dis-
order, as was usually the case, though the chil-
dren were all out just then. Sukey, the nurse-
girl, had taken the baby out to ride, and Philip
Augustus had gone with them ; and Zoe Matilda
was at school. Playthings of every description,
carts, horses, dolls, as well as children's books
and clothes, were scattered about the room in
what Mrs. Darling called "awful confusion."

But she had not time for inward comments upon
this state of things, before her attention was
called to the conversation below.

" It 's Mrs. Darling as wushes to see ye, mum,"
said Peggy.

" That Mrs. Darling ! Did you ever !" ex-
claimed Mrs. Philpot.

"She ain't nobody, is she?" said Mrs. Mud-
law.

" Nobody at all. Her husband is a cabinet-
maker ; but the colonel has charged it upon me
to be polite to her just now. He wished me to
call upon her ; but I wouldn't condescend to
stoop so low as that, though he made me promise
to treat her with attention if she called."

" Well, I wouldn't do it, if I was you," said
the cook. " I 'd be mistress in my own house,
anyhow."

" But, you know, it 's for his interest now.
He says that Darling has a great deal of influ-
ence among mechanics — can command a good
many votes."

" Oh, I remember now ! he 's one of them
codgers that dined here while you was away,
that the curnel was laughin' about afterwards,
and tellin' you how awkward they handled the
silver forks."

" Yes ; isn't it provoking to have to be polite
to such people? Well, I shall be glad when
'lection 's over, for the colonel says I may cut
them all then, and I think it won't be long be-
fore they sink back to their own level." And
Mrs. Philpot arose with a sigh, and ascended to
the drawing-room, arranging her features into a
gracious and patronizing expression as she went.

Mrs. Darling's feelings during this conversa-
tion " can be better imagined than described,"
as the novels would say. Her first impulse was
to leave the house without waiting for Mrs.
Philpot's appearance, and she rose and made a
few steps with that intention ; but, on second
thoughts, she resolved to remain, and let her
know that she only came on an errand, and re-
sumed her seat.

When Mrs. Philpot found no one in the
drawing-room she returned to the kitchen, sup-
posing that her visitor had gone.

" She 's gone," said she, " without waiting for
me. She doesn't know enough about good so-
ciety to understand that a lady doesn't make her
appearance the moment she 's called for."

" I shouldn't wonder if she was in the nursery
all the time," said Mudlaw ; " for I heard a step-
ping up there a while ago, and the children
hain't got home yet. Where did you take her
to, you ?"

" Why, I tuck her in the dhra win' -room,

MRS. MUDLAW S RECIPE FOR POTATO PUDDING.

sure, as you tould me, right overhid," said Peg-
gy, in some alarm.

" You blunderin' Irish gumphead ! Don't you
know the drawin'-room from the nursery ?"

" Och ! but I thought it was the dhrawin'-
room ; for didn't I see the young masther a
dhrawin' his cart, and wasn't Shukey a dhrawin'
the baby about the floore by its feet, when I
went up to take the wather this mornin'?"

" There, I told you she was a born fool !" said
Mudlaw, in a rage. " She '11 never know no-
thing— she '11 never learn nothing — you may as
well send her off first as last."

" Hush ! don't speak so loud," said Mrs. Phil-
pot, in a whisper. " She can hear all you say —
she has heard enough already. Dear me, what
shall I do? The colonel will be so provoked !
How could you be so dumb, Peggy ? Run right
up and take her into the drawing-room. Stop !
you needn't ; you will make some other mistake.
I '11 go myself."

In a state of mind not to be envied, Mrs. Phil-
pot hastened to the nursery. But, as she enter-
tained a faint hope that the conversation below
had not penetrated through Mrs. Darling's bon-
net, she endeavored to hide her embarrassment
under an affable smile, extended her hand grace-
fully, and drawled out a genteel welcome to her
visitor.

"Delighted to see you, Mrs. Darling; but
very sorry you should have been brought into
the nursery" — no wonder she 's sorry, thought
Mrs. Darling — " these raw Irish girls are so stu-
pid ! Walk into the parlor, if you please."

" No, I thank you, Mrs. Philpot, I 'd as soon
sit here," returned Mrs. Darling. " I can only
stay a moment I called to ask for a receipt for
potato pudding. Mr. Darling tasted one when
he dined with Colonel Philpot, and liked it so
much that he wished me to get directions for
making it."

" Potato pudding ? Ah, yes, I recollect. Mud-
law, my cook, does make a very good plain
thing that she calls a potato pudding; but I know
nothing about her manner of preparing it. I
will call her, however, and she shall tell you
herself." Thereupon she pulled the bell, and
Peggy shortly appeared, looking more frightened
and bewildered than ever.

" Send Mudlaw here," said Mrs. Philpot.

She would not have dared to address her
" chief cook and bottle-washer" without the re-
spectful title of Mrs. ; but it was rather more
grand to omit it, and she always did so when not
in her hearing.

" The missus said I was to send you there,"
said Peggy.

vol. xlviii. — 22

" You send me!" exclaimed the indignant
cook. " I guess when I go for your sending,
it '11 be after this."

Mrs. Philpot, although conversing in a conde-
scending manner with Mrs. Darling, caught
something of the cook's reply to her summons,
and asked to be excused for a moment, saying
that Peggy was so stupid, she feared that Mud-
law might not understand her, and she would go
herself and send her. So she hastened down to
the kitchen, where she found the head func-
tionary standing on her dignity.

" Pretty well," said she, " if I am to be or-
dered round by an Irish scullion !"

" Mrs. Mudlaw, step here a moment, if you
please," said Mrs. Philpot, meekly, opening the
door of an adjoining room.

The offended lady vouchsafed to comply with
the request, and, with a stern aspect, entered
the room with Mrs. Philpot. The latter closed
the door for fear of being heard overhead, and
began —

" What do you think, Mrs. Mudlaw ? That
Mrs. Darling has come to learn how to make a
potato pudding, and you '11 have to go up and
tell her."

" I sha'n't do it. I make it a point never to
give my receipts to nobody."

" I know it ; and, I 'm sure, I don't blame
you. But, in this case — just now — I really don't
see how we can refuse."

" Well, I sha'n't do it, and that 's the hull
on 't."

" Oh, do, Mrs. Mudlaw, just this once. The
colonel is so anxious to secure Darling, and he
will be so angry if we offend them in anyway."

"But he needn't know it, need he?"

" He certainly will find it out by some means.
I know it is real vexatious to you, and I wouldn't
ask it if election was over ; but now 'tis very
important — it may save us all trouble. The
colonel is so decided, you know."

These last words of Mrs. Philpot had an effect
upon Mudlaw which no wish or entreaty of that
lady would have ever produced, for they sug-
gested to her selfish mind the possibility of a
dismissal from her snug birth at Colonel P.'s,
where she carried it with a high hand ; so she
gave in.

" Well, jest to please you and the curnel, I '11
do it; but I wish 'lection was over."

Mrs. Philpot returned to the nursery, and
Mrs. Mudlaw took off her apron, changed her
cap for one trimmed with pink ribbons and blue
roses, gave numerous orders to Peggy, and fol-
lowed. She was a short, fat woman, with a
broad, red face — such a person as a stranger

254

godey's magazine and lady's book.

would call the very personification of good na-
ture ; though I have never found fat people to
be any more amiable than lean ones. Certainly,
Mrs. Mudlaw was not a very sweet-tempered
woman. On this occasion, she felt rather more
cross than usual, forced, as she was, to give one '
of her receipts to a nobody. She, however,
knew the necessity of assuming a pleasant de-
meanor at that time, and accordingly entered
the nursery with an encouraging grin on her
blazing countenance. Mrs. Philpot, fearing
lest her cook's familiarity might belittle her
mistress in the eyes of Mrs. Darling, and again
asking to be excused for a short time, went into
the library, a nondescript apartment, dignified
by that name, which communicated with the
nursery. The moment she left her seat, a large
rocking-chair, Mudlaw dumped herself down in
it, exclaiming —

" Miss Philpot says you want to get my re-
ceipt for potater puddin' ?"

"Yes," replied Mrs. Darling. "I would be
obliged to you for -the directions." And she
took out of her pocket a pencil and paper to
write it down.

" Well, 'tis an excellent puddin'," said Mud-
law, complacently ; " for my part, I like it about
as well as any puddin' I make, and that 's sayin'
a good deal, I can tell you, for I understand
makin' a great variety. 'Taint so awful rich as
some, to be sure. Now, there 's the Cardinelle
puddin', and the Washington puddin', and the
Lay Fayette puddin', and the — "

" Yes. Mr. Darling liked it very much — how
do you make it?"

" Wal, I peel my potaters and bile 'em in fair
water. I always let the water bile before I put
'em in. Some folks let their potaters lie and
sog in the water ever so long, before it biles ; but
I think it spiles 'em. I always make it a pint to
have the water bile — "

" How many potatoes ?"

" Wal, I always take about as many potaters
as I think I shall want. I 'm generally governed
by the size of the puddin' I want to make. If
it's a large puddin', why I take quite a number,
but if it's a small one, why, then I don't take
as many. As quick as they 're done, I take 'em
up and mash 'em as fine as I can get 'em. I 'm
always very partic'lar about that — some folks
ain't; they'll let their potaters be full o' lumps.
J never do ; if there 's anything I hate, it 's
lumps in potaters. I won't have 'em. Whether
I 'in mashin' potaters for puddin's or for vegetable
use, I mash it till there ain't the size of a lump
in it. If I can't git it fine without sifting, why,
I rift it. Once in a while, when I 'm otherways

engaged, I set the girl to mashin' on't. Wal,
she '11 give it three or four jams, and come along,
'Miss Mudlaw, is the potater fine enough?'
Jubiter Rammin ! that's the time I come as near
gittin' mad as I ever allow myself to come, for I
make it a pint never to have lumps — "

" Yes, I know it is very important. What
next?"

"Wal, then I put in my butter; in winter
time I melt it a little, not enough to make it ily,
but jest so's to soften it."

"How much butter does it require?"

" Wal, I always take butter accordin' to the
size of the puddin' ; a large puddin' needs a good
sized lump o' butter, but not too much. And
I 'm always partic'lar to have my butter fresh
and sweet. Some folks think it's no matter
what sort o' butter they use for cookin', but I
don't. Of all things, I do despise strong, frowy,
rancid butter. For pity's sake, have your butter
fresh."

" How much butter did you say ?"

" Wal, that depends, as I said before, on what
sized puddin' you want to make. And another
thing that regulates the quantity of butter I use
is the 'mount o' cream I take. I always put in
more or less cream ; when I have abundance
o' cream, I put in considerable, and when it 's
scarce, why, I use more butter than I otherways
should. But you must be partic'lar not to get in
too much cream. There 's a great deal in havin'
jest the right quantity ; and so 'tis with all the
ingrejiences. There ain't a better puddin' in the
world than a potater puddin', when it's made
right, but tain't everybody that makes 'em right.
I remember when I lived in Tuckertown, I was
a visitin' to Squire Humprey's one time — I went
in the first company in Tuckertown — dear me !
this is a changeable world. Wal, they had what
they called a potater puddin' for dinner. Good
laud ! Of all the puddin's ! I 've often occurred
to that puddin' since, and wondered what the
Squire's wife was a thinkin' of when she made it.
I wa'n't obleeged to do no such things in them
days, and didn't know how to do anything as well
as I do now. Necessity 's the mother of inven-
tion. Experience is the best teacher after all — "

"Do you sweeten it?"

" Oh, yes, to be sure it needs sugar, the best
o' sugar, too ; not this wet, soggy, brown sugar.
Some folks never think o' usin' good sugar to
cook with, but for my part I won't have no
other."

" How much sugar do you take ?"

" Wal, that depends altogether on whether
you calculate to have sass for it — some like sass,
you know, and then some agin don't. So, when

MRS. MUDLAW S RECIPE FOR POTATO PUDDING.

255

I calculate for sass, I don't take so much sugar ;
and when I don't calculate for sass, I make it
sweet enough to eat without sass. Poor Mr.
Mudlaw was a great hand for puddin'-sass. I
always made it for him — good, rich sass, too. I
could afford to have things rich before he was
unfortinate in bisness." (Mudlaw went to State's
prison for horse-stealing.) "I like sass myself,
too ; and the curnel and the children are all
great sass hands ; and so I generally calculate
for sass, though Miss Philpot prefers the puddin'
without sass, and perhaps you ,d prefer it with-
out. If so, you must put in sugar accordingly.
I always make it a pint to have 'em sweet enough
when they 're to be eat without sass."

"And don't you use eggs?"

" Certainly, eggs is one o' the principal ingre-
jiences."

" How many does it require1?"

" Wal, when eggs is plenty, I always use
plenty ; and when they 're scarce, why I can do
with less, though I 'd ruther have enough ; and
be sure to beat 'em well. It does distress me,
the way some folks beat eggs. I always want
to have 'em thoroughly beat for everything I use
'em in. It tries my patience most awfully to
have anybody round me that won't beat eggs
enough. A spell ago we had a darkey to help
in the kitchen. One day I was a makin' sponge
cake, and havin' occasion to go up stairs after
something, I sot her to beatin' the eggs. Wal,
what do you think the critter done ? Why, she
whisked 'em round a few times, and turned 'em
right onto the other ingrejiences that I 'd got
weighed out. When I come back and saw what
she 'd done, my gracious ! I came as nigh to losin'
my temper as I ever allow myself to come.
'Twas awful provokin' ! I always want the
kitchen help to do things as I want to have 'em
done. But I never saw a darkey yet that ever
done anything right. They 're a lazy, slaugh-
terin' set. To think o' her spilin' that cake so,
when I 'd told her over and over agin that I al-
ways made it a pint to have my eggs thoroughly
beat !"

"Yes, it was too bad. Do you use fruit in the
pudding?"

" Wal, that's jest as you please. You 'd bet-
ter be governed by your own judgment as to
that. Some like currants and some like raisins,
and then agin some don't like nary one. If you
use raisins, for pity's sake pick out the stuns.
It 's awful to have a body's teeth come grindin'
onto a raisin stun. I 'd rather have my ears boxt
any time."

"How many raisins must I take ?"

" Wal, not too many — it 's apt to make the

puddin' heavy, you know ; and when it 's heavy,
it ain't so light and good. I 'm a great hand — "

" Yes. What do you use for flavoring?"

"There agin you'll have to exercise your
own judgment. Some likes one thing, and some
another, you know. If you go the hull figger
on temperance, why some other kind o' flavorin'
'11 do as well as wine or brandy, I s'pose. But
whatever you make up your mind to use, be
partic'lar to git in a sufficiency, or else your
puddin' '11 be flat. I always make it a pint — "

" How long must it bake ?"

"There's the great thing after all. The
bakin' 's the main pint. A potater puddin', of
all puddin' s, has got to be baked jest right. For
if it bakes a leetle too much, it 's apt to dry it
up ; and then agin if it don't bake quite enough,
it's sure to taste potatery — and that spiles it,
you know."

"How long should you think?"

" Wal, that depends a good deal on the heat
o' your oven. If you have a very hot oven,
'twon't do to leave it in too long; and if your
oven ain't so very hot, why, you '11 be neces-
siated to leave it in longer."

" Well, how can I tell anything about it?"

" Why, I always let 'em bake till I think
they 're done — that 's the safest way. I make
it a pint to have 'em baked exactly right. It's
very important in all kinds o' bakin' — cake, pies,
bread, puddin's, and everything — to have "em
baked jorecisely long enough, and jest right.
Some folks don't seem to have no system at all
about their bakin'. One time they'll burn their
bread to a crisp, and then agin it '11 be so slack
tain't iit to eat. Nothing hurts my feelin's so
much as to see things overdone or slack-baked.
Here only t'other day, Lorry, the girl that Miss
Philpot dismissed yesterday, come within an
ace o' letting my bread burn up. My back was
turned a minnit, and what should she do but go
to stuffm' wood into the stove at the awfullest
rate? If I hadn't a found it out jest when I
did, my bread would a ben spilt as sure as I 'm
a live woman. Jubiter Rammin ! I was about
as much decomposed as I ever allow myself to
git ! I told Miss Philpot I wouldn't stan' it no
longer — one of us must quit — either Lorry or
me must walk."

" So you 've no rule about baking this pud-
ding?"

" No r,ule !" said Mudlaw, with a look of in-
tense surprise.

" Yes," said Mrs. Darling, "you seem to
have no rule for anything about it."

" No rule !" screamed the indignant cook,
starting up, while her red face grew ten times

256

godey's magazine and lady's book.

redder, and her little black eyes snapped with
rage. " No rules !" and she planted herself in
trout of Mrs. Darling, erecting her fleshy figure
to its full height of majestic dumpiness, and ex-
tending the forefinger of her right hand till it
reached an alarming propinquity to that lady's
nose. " No rules ! do you tell me I 've no rules !
.Vie ! that 's cooked in the first families for fif-
teen years, and always gin satisfaction, to be
+old by such as you that I hain't no rules !"

Thus far had Mudlaw proceeded, and I know
not to what length she would have " allowed
herself" to go, had not the sudden entrance of
Col. Philpot interrupted her. He being a per-
son of whom she stood somewhat in awe, par-
ticularly " jest at this time," she broke off in
the midst of her tirade, and, casting a look of
ineffable disgust at Mrs. Darling, retreated to
her own dominions to vent her fury upon poor
Veggj, who had done everything wrong during
her absence.

While Col. Philpot was expressing his ex-
treme satisfaction at seeing Mrs. Darling, Mrs.
Philpot emerged from the library, where she
had been shaking in her shoes during the inter-
view between that lady and Mudlaw.

" Matilda, my dear," said the colonel, " this is
quite an unexpected pleasure, for realty, Mrs.
Darling, we began to fear that you did not in-
tend to cultivate us."

" I did not come for that purpose," replied
Mrs. Darling, who, now that she saw through
Col. Philpot, despised him thoroughly, and was
not afraid to let him know it, notwithstanding
he belonged to the aristocracy of our town. " I
came on an errand, and your cook has got very
angry with me for some reason, I scarcely know
what."

"Poor Mudlaw," said Mrs. Philpot, anxious
to screen her main stay from the colonel's dis-
pleasure, yet feeling the necessity of some apo-
logy to Mrs. Darling. " Poor Mudlaw ! I don't
think she intended to.be rude."

" What ! has the cook been rude to Mrs. Dar-
ling?" exclaimed Col. P.

" Not rude, exactly, dear ; but you know she
is so sensitive about everything connected with
her department, and she fancied that Mrs. Dar-
ling called her skill in question, and became
somewhat excited."

" Quite excited, I should call it," said Mrs. D.
with a smile.

" And she has dared to treat Mrs. Darling
ndely !" said Col. P., apparently much agitated.

" Shameful ! disgraceful ! the wretch shall suffer
for it ! To think that a lady like Mrs. Darling
should be insulted by a cook ! in my house, too !"

" And just before election, too ; it is a pity !"
said Mrs. Darling quietly, as she rose, and wish-
ing them good-morning, departed, leaving Col.
Philpot lost in astonishment. Her last remark
rendered necessary some explanation from Mrs.
P. She was compelled to repeat some part of
the conversation that had taken place in the
kitchen, which, though softened down as much as
possible, was sufficient to rouse the colonel's in-
dignation to the highest pitch, for he saw at once
that Darling was lost. He gave his silly wife a
hearty blowing up, but upon Mudlaw his wrath
fell heaviest. No entreaties of her mistress
could save her ; she was commanded to quit the
premises, to troop forthwith " for being rude to
visitors." But Mudlaw knew well enough the
real reason of her dismissal, and when she went
forth in rage and sorrow, she found some conso-
lation in spreading it far and wide, thereby mak-
ing Col. Philpot very ridiculous in the eyes of
the community.

" Well, I 'm surprised, Hester," said John
Darling, after his wife had given him a circum-
stantial account of her visit. " And I 'm right
sorry, too, to have my good opinion of a man
knocked in the head so, for I did think well of
Col. Philpot. I really believed we couldn't
send a better man to Congress. But it won't
do. A man that can stoop to such conduct isn't
fit to go there. I can't vote for him, and my
influence, what little I have, must go against
him. If he gets there, it must be without any
help from John Darling,"

Col. Philpot did not go to Congress, and what
made his defeat the more aggravating was the
fact that his opponent was elected by the small
majority of three votes. And so Col. Philpot
lost his election ; and Mrs. Philpot lost her
cook ; and Mr. Darling lost his esteem for Col.
Philpot, and all through the over-politeness of
the latter.

And was there nothing gained ? Oh, yes ;
Mrs. Darling gained something. Not much in-
formation in regard to the potato pudding, cer-
tainly ; but she gained some knowledge of the
internal arrangements of Mrs. Philpot's house-
hold, which proved of great service to her, for
she confesses to John that she was never so
contented with her own home and her own
husband as she has been since she made that
memorable call at Col. Philpot's.

WE PARTED.

257

|3o etrn.

THE DYING WIFE.

BY PHIL A E A R L E .

You'll think of me sometimes, beloved,

When I am gone from sight ?
"When you can see me nevermore,

You '11 not forget me quite?
You '11 miss sometimes, at twilight hour

My low and loving tone ;
Your heart will sometimes feel a pang,

When beating all alone.

You '11 think of days forever gone,

And grief may wring a tear
From eyes that have but seldom wept,

But I shall not be here;
You '11 come and go ; and yet the smile

That once your fond eyes met,
Will faded be— forever fled,

But oh, do not forget I

When cold and lifeless is the form

That 's nestled on thy breast,
When chill and marble-like the lips

That once thine own have pressed,
Oh, sometimes think of me, and come

Unto the quiet spot
Where I shall slumber lone and still,

But oh not quite forgot 1

You '11 think of me when sitting 'side

My lone and vacant chair;
And sometimes, love, oh ! gaze upon

This golden tress of hair !
And think that with its sister cu.-ls

It floated o'er the brow
That rests within the lowly grave,

So dasip and pallid now.

But yet your grief will pass away \

Like dusky shades of night ;
The cypress wreath you '11 change, belovto

For one with flowers white ;
You '11 fondly love another one,

And call her thine— but yet
Your lost young bride — your first beloved,

Oh, do not quite forget !

And she, thy chosen one, may bring

A heart of love to thee,
But not more loving, true, than mine,

I know it cannot be.
But mine must throbless, pulseless be,

Its warm outgushings still.
But you will sometimes think of her,

Who rests so pale and chill.

Oh ! sometimes fancy that my arms

Are fondly round thee twined,
And that my cheek, once warm and fair,

Is closely pressed to thine.
When I am gone, forever gone,

I 'd be remembered yet,
Oh! think of me sometime, beloved,

And never quite forget !

WE PARTED.

BY M. A. RICE.

We parted at the dawn of day,
While in the east a bright cloud lay
Awaiting the approaching sun ;
The night, with all its dreams, was done,
The birds sang sweetly from each spray ;
Dim mists began to speed away.
We parted at the old street door —
I stood and blessed him o'er and o'er,
As down the dear old grass-grown way
Which sparkling in the dew-drops lay,
He passed with slow, unwilling tread,
With tearful eyes and bended head.

He left us — he, the gifted boy,

The worshipped to idolatry.

But sixteen summer suns had shed

Their gladsome smiles above his head,

And now in memory's mirror fair

He stands before mc just as there —

With that endeared bewitching face,

And form of more than sculptured grace —

With raven hair and eagle eye,

And brow so sunny and so high.

Long days of absence did I mourn
And wish a brother's loved return ;
But, oh ! how lonely were the hours,
How scentless were the sweetest flowers,
How joyless was the summer's sky,
And well I wished the hours gone by!
How oft at evening, sad and lone,
I watched the silent stars that shone ;
And though they were so cold, so high,
They seemed to gaze with sympathy;
And many a gentle whispering gale,
And many a silvery moon-beam pale,
Can witness that the flight of years
Stayed not affection's truest tears.

Three summers, with their flowers, had cheered,

And winter's snow as oft appeared ;

'Twas said that our beloved would come

Once more to his paternal home.

The grape-vine o'er our cottage door

Put out its glist'ning leaves once more;

Fair flowers looked smiling from the ground —

A welcome mingled in each sound.

And one there came with bearing high —

Ambition's fire was in his eye;

But ah! how blighted was my joy,

No feature of the lovely boy

That parted with the bitter tear,

Had left its cherished traces there!

Time leaves an impress — and will bring
A change o'er every human thing.
Seest thou a cloud at hour of even
Soft floating in the vault of heaven?
Gaze on the shadowy vision fair;
'Tis the last time it resteth there.
And dost thou breathe the word '•' farewell f
'Twill be affection's funeral knell.
^And never dream to thy fond arms,
Vy friend, arrayed in cherished charms,
^is cold, vain world will e'er restore
arm and truthful as before.
■ thy heart may chide its pain,
otaod novcr como a<rain.

258

godey's magazine and lady's book.

LAY OF THE CONSTANT ONE

BY MRS. COROLLA H. CRISWE11.

"Why do I doubt thy truth, dear one,

When thou art all to me ?
Why do I doubt thy lore, and deem

Thy fond heart false to be ?
Why do I think thou lovest her,

Although thy thrilling eyes
Do ever shine on me, dear one,

As stars shine from the skies ?

I watch thy roving glances, love,

And when on her they rest,
I feel a pang of jealousy

Shoot through my throbbing breast;
And then, I coldly turn away,

And force a careless smile,
As if my lonely heart was not

In anguish all the while.

Could I believe that thou wert true,

What bliss would then be mine!
I never loved but thee, dear one,

Will never be but thine.
Though many may have sought my heart,

Their vows were nought to me;
For years, long, weary years, mine own,

I have been true to thee !

And still my faith I '11 constant keep,

Though false thou mayest prove,
My heart will never lose for thee

Its life-absorbing love ;
And shouldst thou take her for thy bride,

Though shalt not hear one sigh ;
As melts " the snow-flake in the sea,"

So silently I '11 die.

TO MY BROTHER

BY MRS

A. BIGEL0W

Brother, brother! storms are sweeping
Through the skies on wings of gloom ;

And to-day I have been weeping
At a rising thought of home.

Oh ! the place where first we center

All the love of early years,
When life's stormy clan we enter,

How its memory prompts our tears !

Brother, does the vernal sunlight
Fall the same on the green wood ?

Sings that stream as full of music ?
Or, hath winter changed its mood ?

Are the cowslips still as fragrant?

Still as pure their golden light,
Showing the sweet brooklets pathway

Through the meadows fresh and bright?

Do the zephyrs soft at even
Gently wave the clambering vine ?

Do the brilliant gems of heaven
Make the night about thee shine?

Are the fields around thee lying
Radiant with their former light?

Theugh above them clouds are flying,
Mem'ry sees them always bright!

Oh I there is no place — no other
Where the scenery seoms so fair!

While afar, my dearest brother,

Still my thoughts are ling'ring there

Could I watch the sun declining
Till the skies with crimson burn,

Till the moon-beams softly shiuiug
Might forgotten thoughts return!

Could I take my seat beside thee,
Where the bees' soft lull is heard,

And the young maturing foliage
By the breath of home is stirred !

Wherefore, wherefore am I turning

To conceal my bitter tears !
Wherefore, 0 my heart, this yearning

For the home of earlier years

Dearest, ever faithful brother,
Is that home unchanged to thee?

While I wander with another,
Does thy heart's love follow mc ?

Dost thou miss me in the morning ?

Am I missed at close of day ?
Canst thou let me be forgotten

While afar my footsteps stray ?

Let me know my brother loves me,
That the hearts of home are warm —

Then the heavens may frown above me,
And I will not heed the storm !

'TIS GOLD! 'TIS GOLD

BY JAMES L. ROCHE.

What is it worldlings bow before,
And thievs and murderers adore ;
Corrupts the young, and damns the old
'Tis gold! 'tis gold!

'Tis rot for me ! my heart detests
Its laugh ty rule, its proud behests ;
It urns the warmest natures cold,
Corrupting gold ! corrupting gold 1

What is it dooms to live and die
Unblest, the hearts it could not buy ?
Betrays the honest, tries the bold?

'Tis gold! 'tis gold!
'Tis not for me ! <fec.

What is it sets one friend, one brother,

In deadly strife against another ?

The kind, warm heart turns selfish, cold

'Tis gold ! 'tis gold !
'Tis not for me ! &c.

What is it that doth Earth subdue,
And thinks to conquer Heaven too?
That doth o'er all dominion hold?

'Tis gold! 'tis gold!
Tis not for me! &c.

What is it tempts th' unguarded soul,
From God, and from its destined goal ?
Accursed thing ! still be it told,

'Tis gold! 'tis gold!
Tie not for me ! &c.

OLD, WHILE YOUNG.

259

THE WRECK.

BY MRS. E. LOCK, OP CALCUTTA, AUTHORESS OF A VOLUME OP
POEMS ENTITLED " LEISURE HOURS," AN " EDUCATIONAL WORK
IN THE BENGALI LANGUAGE," ETC. ETC.

Mark yonder light bark 'mid the whitening surge,

And, hark ! how the loud storm is breaking
Around her frail sides, while the howling winds call ;

Destruction's dread powers are waking!
Ay, stand on the rock and behold the last shock,

It has shivered her deck, and no more
Her pennons will stream in the sun's glancing beam —

Her voyage forever is o'er !
Down 'neath the wave she sinks! none can save;

Let us bid her adieu, for, ah ! never
She '11 meet with the light of her Cynosure bright,

For the sea has closed o'er her forever !

The whelming waves of woe swell o'er my soul,

From this affliction I can never rise ;

The dark and heavy rolling surges break

Over my storm-tost bark, and not a star,

A beacon-spark amid the gloomy waste,

Shines forth to light me to the opening grave.

A brilliant star there was — my guiding star;

On it I kept my eye and fondly dreamed

It ne'er would set until my journey's end ;

On it I gazed as on a star of hope,

To the tired wanderer a gift from God,

A star of promise to tbe lonely one !

But, ah! am I deceived? have all my hopes

Been placed on nothing save a shadow bright,

An ignis fatuus, a meteor delusive?

It cannot be, for have I not, since first

That light arose upon my darksome path,

Been guided gently, safely by its rays ?

The glory of this bright, resplendent star

Has ne*er been quite shut by lowering skies,

Though intervening clouds have oft obscured,

And 'neath a mystic veil have sometimes hid

Its soft and radiant light; still, still enough

I 've seen to guide me safe through quicksands, rocks,

Through paths beset with dangers worse than death.

Upward and onward I 've pursued my way,

A way strewn thick with cares and trials too,

And sorrows neither few nor far between.

A timid, untried one launched forth upon

The ocean-world, no friend with counsel kind,

No hand to save or aid the helpless bark

To navigate the sea of foreign waters !

Pale apprehension brooded o'er my heart ;

At length it sank ! but ?re 'twas fully lost,

This star arose benignly o'er the grave

Of my departed hopes, and beaming peace,

Ay, on its brow were written Peace and Love.

They filled my heart, those two celestial rays —

An earnest gave that they would ne'er forsake,

But be my guidance to my long, last home.

My sinking soul was strengthened; I arose

In trust relying on the promise given,

Clasped to my heart the cheering form of hope,

And on her anchor leaned in confidence,

Sustained by faith e'en when enwrapped in clouds,

And darkness palpable my guiding light!

Almost one lustrum now has passed away

Since the soft vision met my lifted eye,

Since first I felt its holy influence.

Its secret spell connecting me with heaven!

And has that Star in gloom impervious set,

Forever set. at least from out my view !

Compact, piled up, dark leaden-colored clouds

Now intervene like demons of revenge

On swift destruction bent. Malice and Hate,

And Scandal's cruel breath unite to doom

The fragile bark to an untimely tomb!

Full many a gloomy night (and all is night

To the lone one now on the boisterous wave, or sea),

Through life's kaleidoscope, with straining eye,

I 've gazed anfl prayed that brighter skies would shine,

Or that, at least, a half-lit solitude #

Upon the deep might still remain for me,

And not Cimmerian darkness cover all

Fore'er in life my only solace stay.

Baseless and unsubstantial promise given,

In that unmeaning " morrow" ne'er to rise!

THE EMBROIDERED SLIPPERS.

AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF A HOLIDAY GIFT.

If a pen full of ink will my feelings portray,
Accept my best thanks for those slippers, I pray ;
I prize them sincerely; they suit to a T ;
And no trifle, dear ma'dam, shall wrest them from me.

Should the sons of St. Crispin their workshops give o'er,
And the cobblers declare they will cobble no more,
What boots it to me if they throw down their awl
And come to an end, and the craft wholly fall ?
Possessing such friends, with those banners unfurled,
No fear of my going barefoot through the world.

'Tis said Cinderella, a well-meaning lass,
Was raised to great wealth by a shoe made of glass;
Now if one single slipper such wonders will do,
How fortunate those who are favored with two !
Still some have their doubts, and hesitate whether
One slipper of glass is worth two made of leather.

The man who is upright (they may think as they choose),
That person's full weight must rest in his shoes ;
Be lowly his station, or high and commanding,
Two slippers secure him a firm understanding.

OLD, WHILE YOUNG.

BY MABEL CLIFFORD.

I asked a friend why she was so sad? Her reply was,
" Sorrow hath made me old, while young."

Tou ask me why I am so strangely tearful,
Why clouds of anguish o'er my brow are flung?

You strive and pray to make me gay and cheerful,
And wonder how I can be sad while young.

Yes, I am young in years, but not in feeling,

For many frosts upon my bosom lie,
And sorrow's mantle o'er my spirit stealing,

Wrapped age within, and cast youth idly by.

I may be young, but, with my blighted spirit,
My clouded heart, and weary head and brain,

I feel, I know I never can inherit
A careless brow, and cheerful mien again.

Then do not scorn me that I have not power
To show a brow where shadows may not come,

For, were your heart like mine, a blighted flower,
You would not wonder I feel old, while young.

260

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY!S BOOK.

PRESENTIMENT.

BY MRS. PRISOILLA P. L 0 M P A Y R A 0 .

I DTOW that I shall die ! and oh, beloved,

Chide me not now if o'er thy heart I send

The echoes of that voice which I have long

In silence heard.

I would have been the sunsnme o'er thy path,

But such was not my lot. The light must fade —

The tones thou lovest linger not. I die

Ere the young freshness of our love hath flown

I die, and thou wilt be on earth alone !

Speak not, dear friend! Let this sad thought now find

An utterance — solemn, strange, as it hath swept

O'er me like some strong whirlwind in its might;

But now 't hath melted to a moaning wind,

Which lulleth me to peace. The flush of health

Is on my cheek, and the cool blood moves on

Through all my veins, unfevered in its flow;

And yet I know that I shall die, and ere

The young fair flowers, which thou and I have sown,

Have faded on their stems, be all at rest!

There is strange music in the air, a^id tones

Upon the twilight breeze, and voices heard

In midnight dreams, for those who early die ;

And I have heard them all, and my doomed heart

With life hath striven until the victory

Is won. I would that we had earlier mot,'

Dear friend, that all the sunshine of my first

Young dreams were poured on thee, for now my love

Hath caught that settled sadness which deep lovo

On earth must ever wear. Have I not looked

On death, and are they not companions e'er?

And memory, grows it not tearful too ?

Do high hopes wither not?

'Twas thus, while life's young spring bloomed on my cheek,

My heart grew sorrowful beyond its years,

And learned to fear and doubt, and for its dreams

And hopes a coffin made, all sealed and hid,

Till thou didst loose them once again.

But, oh ! they could not spring to meet thine own,

With all the freshness of their early day.

There lived the memory of the past,

And when I clasped thy band in mine, and looked

Into thine eyes, and heard thy words of love,

My heart grew dark with sad and tearful thought

I have remembered me,
That hands which I had clasped in love were now
The earthworms' prey; soft eyes were quenched, and tones
Of love were changed by time, or stilled by death!
Oh ! I have drained from even joy the dregs
Of grief, which in its cup have mingled ever.
Perchance its tracery was on my brow,
And all my love, the fond, and deep, and true,
Hath been upon thy lot a shadow cast,
'Tis well that I depart ere it grow deep,
And link the sunshine of its joyous soul
With its dark hues.

Thou wilt remember me? I know thou wilt:
Thou wilt sit here, perchance, where wo recline
Beneath the shade of vines which T have reared
And the sweet flower-scents will go floating by,
Blent with all mournful memories of the past.
Yet do not weep, but think of me as one
Whose heart was like the restless moaning wave,
Which frets itself to peace— whose love was all

Too deep for bliss on earth, and who above
Will watch with anxious ministry thy steps.

I have had dreams— bright, holy dreams— dear friend.

I would have poured the fulness of these thoughts,

Which burn within, upon the breath of song —

Have left my name upon the lips of men

As one whose foot had trod within the realm

Of mind afar, that when upon the breath

Of fame it floatod past, thou might'st have said,

" She was mine own, most worthy of my love."

It was in vain — I die, all unfulfilled

Tho promise of my youth, leaving my name

But in thy heart.

Lay me to rest in that lone lovely spot

Which I have loved, and o'er my grave plant flowers

Let not the funereal willow wave above :

I would remind thee, by all happy things,

Of her thou loved and lovest; and sometimes come

To that sweet spot and think of me, for all

My kindred's graves are far, and they who loved

Me in my early years will see me not.

Friend, dearest friend, thy love, thy love alone

Is all the sunshine which, unshaded ever,

Was thrown upon my path : shall I not bear

•It all away ? and if mine own hath caught

From earth a shade of gloom, will it not soar

Where all is light? I say not now farewell,

But, in that last stern hour, close thou mine eyes,

Which smile adieu to earth and thee, and let

Me rest in peace.

SONNET. — BEAUTY.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

Beauty — 'tis but a beam, a flickering flame,

A flower that withers, whose gay colors die ;
Such, erst, was Helen's, of historic fame,

Such thine, fair lady of the diamond eye.
As fades the lily on the water's breast,

So fades thy coloi", shown thee in thy glass;
As fade the flowers wherewith thy head is drest,

So quick away thy beauty too shall pass.
Love, golden-winged, away doth quickly fly,

When Time's dark pinions heard are flapping near,
And thou, deformed, art left all suddenly,

Who, erewhile, wert to thy acquaintance dear.
" This skull is Helen's" — beauteous relic this,
Of her so famed for form and loveliness.

FAIRYLAND.

BY LAURA M. COLVIN.

Sleeps the old woodland through midsummer night !

Its leafy arches, spreading far away.
Are still, and silvered by the pale moonlight,

From gnarled branch unto the tiniest spray.
O'er the soft moss-beds, by the streamlet's sheen,

And o'er the greensward, are the folded flowers;
A heaven of azure o'er the beauteous scene,

Doth watch the gliding of serenest hours.
The moon smiles fair upon the greenwood glade,

The red lips of the rose new fragrance shed,
And stealing forth, in radiant robes arrayed,

What sprites are those that merry measures tread?
These are the revels of the Fairyland —
It is Titania and her gentle band !

BEAIDED SLIPPEK.

261

O'ER BLEAK ACADIA'S PLAINS,

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO MRS. L. B.
GURLEY.

BY CLARK G ADDIS.

O'er bleak Acadia's plains, where blow

From arctic piles an icy breath,
And earth is wrapped in shrouds of snow,

As if that earth lay cold in death,
I roam, as strangers sadly roam —

For every step its distance lends
From those, the cherished ones at home,

And constant friends.

Still fondly in my breast I wear

(And kindly every feeling glows)
The images of dear ones, where

The loved at home in peace repose :
From distant lands, where'er I roam,

To thee my heart still fondly tends,
My mother, sisters, brother, home,

And constant friends.

Ye are the sunshine on my path,

Dispelling gloom amid the shade;
Though hope that led my boyhood, hath

All withered or all been betrayed;
Still ye are true ! where'er I roam

I know for me the prayer ascends
From those, the cherished ones at home,

And constant friends.

THE LIFE OF MAN.

BY C***f.

As rosy light in eastern skies

Gives hope to all of bright sunrise;

As floweret lays its petal bare

And sheds its fragrance on the sdr ;

As babbling rill 'neath greenwood trees

Wends on its way to distant seas ;

As comet in its rapid flight

Across the azure vault of night —

Thus runs the mortal life of man.

When on his infant form Ave gaze,

Sweet Hope shines bright upon his days ;

With tott'ring steps he treads the ground

And sheds his joyousness around,

Till, wending on through smiles and tears,

He meets the sea in manhood's years ;

Then, for a moment flashing bright,

Is lost fore'er to mortal sight —

And his eternal life's began.

Then breaks to him another day,

In which eternal sunbeams play.

As the sweet floweret fades and dies,

At Spring's soft summons will arise;

As babbling rill, lost in the main,

Returns again in gentle rain;

As comet, when it disappears,

Will glow again in after yeai-s ;

Man may be lost to mortal eye,

The Spirit Man will never die.

BRAIDED SLIPPER

OUR PRACTICAL DRESS INSTRUCTOR.

A LADY'S WALKING-DRESS

LADY'S WALKING-DRESS.

The above is a pattern of a fashionable lady's > It is closed down the front, and ornamented
walking-dress, made of either velvet or cloth. \ with gilt buttons.
262

COTTAGE FURNITURE,

263

DIAGRAMS OF LADY'S WALKING-DRESS.

COTTAGE FURISTITUKE.

Fig. 1 is a small sideboard-table, very conve- J Fig. 2 is another pattern for a sideboard-table,

nient for holding the dessert, the glasses, the >( used for the same purpose as that represented in

plate, and other things in use. It is placed on \ Fig. 1.
castors concealed in the legs.

264

godey's magazine and lady's book

CHEMISETTES AND SLEEYES

Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

Open dresses are still the order of the day;
ancL, as the spring comas in, we select two very
neat and ladylike styles, both of which are easily
followed.

Fig. 1 is composed of alternate rows of inser-
tion and muslin puffs ; the collar is rather large
and square, the favorite style at present.

Fig. 2 can be made either of Swiss muslin,
cambric, or linen, and is suitable for mourning,
when black studs should be used to close it.

Fig. 3 is a sleeve to correspond with Fig. 1.
As we have before remarked, chemisettes and
undersleeves now come in sets to match, and
make a favorite and most acceptable holiday or
bridal gift. A plain sleeve, with band of the
same, will match Fig. 2. Lace will be worn the
coming season ; but, at present, muslin and cam-
bric are most appropriate, except in evening-
dress.

MADAME CAPLIN'S CORSETS.

265

MADAME CAPLIN'S COESETS.

No. 1.

No. 2.

No.

We have before alluded to the establishment
of this lady, at 58 Bemers Street, Oxford Street,
London, and have now procured some cuts of
those peculiar inventions, founded on physical
investigations and principles, which have made
her so famous.

No. 1. — The Registered Coporiform Child's
Bodice offers many advantages, and is valuable
for infants and children, affording ease and com-
fort, supporting the frame, and directing the
growth. It is arranged so as to follow the pro-
minent and receding lines of the body ; a smooth
and comfortable fit is thus obtained, but without
the slightest pressure. A pair of straps passes
over the shoulders, which cross in the back, and
are fastened similarly to a gentleman's brace.
We can at once accord the advantages that this
bodice possesses over those usually made for
children — namely, the straight-corded bodice,
which Madame Caplin states, from a want of
shape and adaptation, slips off the shoulders on
to the arms, causing the head and shoulders to
bend forward ; thus producing a stooping
position, round shoulders, contraction of
the chest, and a flattening of the ribs.

Madame Caplin has introduced an-
other invention, called " The Invisible
Scapula Contractor." (No. 2.) This we
were very much pleased with, and con-
sider it an ingenious contrivance. She
explained its use by stating that, in many
cases, the child's bodice has not sufficient
power of itself to counteract the stoop-
ing of the body, and particularly where
this evil has been of long standing. In
such instances, the contractors cannot
fail to be of the greatest utility. We
were also much gratified in inspecting
the models and numerous inventions
which were exhibited by Madame Cap-
lin at the Great Exhibition, and where
she received the only prize granted in
the United Kingdom for adaptations of
this kind. They are twenty-three in
number, commencing with infancy, and
following the different phases of "wo-
man's life up to old age.

The Contracting Belt (No. 3), among
others, is strictly anatomical in its con-
struction. The front is composed of
elastic materials, in which are inserted
medical plates, thus combining perfect
support and elasticity.

y«l. XLVin. — 23

266

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK,

TAPER STAND.

Materials. — 5 skeins of pink single Berlin wool, 3 shades
of green, 2 skeins of each shade; 2 balls of silver twine,
and a skein of wire, No. 2-t, bell gauge; Penelope needle,
No. 2. The stand is made of mill-board, and may be had
ft»r sixpence.

The Flower. The Centre Divisions. — Com-
mence with the pink wool, *, work 17 chain,
take the wire, and, leaving an end of about 3
inches, place it between the wool and the loop
on the needle, work 1 chain across the wire;
then fold the wire back even with the other
piece, and holding them along the foundation
chain, miss the 1 plain that crosses the wire,
and work 16 plain on the foundation chain,
keeping the doubled wire under the stitches;
then leave the wire, as it will not be required in
the next round, turn ; 1 chain to cross, and up
the other side work 3 plain, 3 treble, 5 long, 3
treble, 3 plain, turn, and down the other side, 2
plain, 3 treble, 5 long, 3 treble, 3 plain. Re-
peat from * 6 times more, and in working the
next 17 chain, leave the same length of wire as
the chain. When the 7 divisions are made,
work 1 single on the 1st plain of the 1st division
to make it round ; then join on the silver twine,
and work the wire under the following stitches :

15 plain up the 1st division, 2 plain in one at
the point, * *, 15 plain down the other side ;
miss 3, 1 plain on the 2d plain stitch of the next
division ; 7 plain more, join to the 7th stitch of
the last 15 plain ; 7 plain, 2 plain in one. Re-
peat from * *, 5 times more ; then 7 plain, join
to the opposite stitch of the 1st division, 8 plain,
then work a plain row along the bottom of the
division, and fasten off.

The Inner Divisions. — Commence with the
pink wool, make 15 chain ; turn, miss 1, and
down the foundation chain, 1 plain, 2 treble, 1
long, 6 extra long, 1 long, 1 treble, 1 plain. Re-
peat 6 times more, then 1 single on the 1st plain
stitch of the 1st division to make it round, join
on the silver twine ; take the wire and work it
under the following stitches : 12 plain, 2 plain
in one, f , 12 plain down the other side ; miss 3,
work 7 single up the next division, join to the
5th stitch of the last 12 plain ; then 5 plain, 2
plain in one. Repeat from f, 5 times mor**- then
5 plain, join to the opposite stitch of tue 1st
division, 7 plain ; then work a plain row along
the divisions. Fasten off; and for

The Leaves. — With the green wool, work 16
chain, turn, miss 1, 2 plain, 13 treble ; 2 chain,

THE ARROGONESE AND THE VALENCIA.

267

1 single in the same stitch as the last ; 3 chain,
turn, and up the other side, work 3 long in one,
8 long, 4 treble, 3 plain, turn, and down the
other side, 2 plain, 4 treble, 8 long, 3 long in
one, 3 chain, 1 single in the same stitch as the
last. Fasten off; and for

The Stem — Commence with the silver twine,
work 10 chain, 1 single on the 1st stitch of the
3 chain of the leaf. Take the wire and work it
under the following stitches : 34 plain round the
leaf; then 10 plain on the stem and fasten.
Work 12 leaves more the same with the 3 shades
of wool ; and for

The Bud — With the silver twine, work 15
chain, turn, miss 5, 1 single.

1st round. — 3 chain (2 treble in one stitch, 5
times), 1 single on the 1st treble stitch.

2d round. — 3 chain, 10 treble, 1 single on the
1st treble stitch ; join on the pink wool, then
miss 1 and 1 treble, 7 times. Fasten off, and
work 2 buds more the same.

The Handle. — With the green wool, work
7 chain, make it round, and work plain round
and round for about 4 inches. Fasten off, and
place the handle through it. The upper part of
the stand should be covered with dark green
velvet or cloth ; place the leaves and buds
around the sconce and sew them to the stand,
then put the large and small divisions of the
flower over the sconce, and sew them to the
stand.

EMBROIDERY.— DESIGN FOR SCREEN.

(See Plate in front of Book.)

Materials. — Drab or black satin, three shades of crimson,
two of brown, three of green, three shades of amber, and
two of blue embroidery silk or chenille.

Frame the satin, and draw the pattern with
a white crayon ; work, in embroidery stitch, the
flowers with the shades of crimson, the leaves
with the greens, the stems with the browns, and
the birds with the shades of blue, amber, and
green, blending the colors as may be suggested
by the taste and judgment of the worker. The
above design is well adapted for a cheval-screen,
but in drawing the pattern, it will be necessary
to considerably magnify the whole. The easiest
method of drawing a design on satin for em-
broidery is to make use of a pounced pattern.
This is prepared in the following manner:
Trace the outline of the pattern on thin paper,
then neatly pierce it with a steel point. Fix the
pattern thus prepared firmly on the material,
rub the pounce over the paper so as to penetrate
the perforated outline ; afterwards trace it over

with a white crayon. Finely-ground pumico
forms the best kind of pounce. Embroidery in
chenille, though rather expensive, if neatly
worked, is extremely rich and elegant in appear-
ance; it is well adapted for screens, provided
when made up the work is protected by glass
from the dust. In working on satin, a long-
eyed needle is preferable. Chenille a broder is
used for embroidery ; and much unnecessary
waste may be avoided if the needle is brought
up close to the preceding stitch.

THE ARROGONESE AND THE
VALENCIA.

(See Plates in front of Book.)

The cloaks we illustrate this month are made
respectively of cloth and velvet, and, although
differing widely in style, are perhaps equal in
their claims upon the favor of our gentle readers.

THE ARROGONESE.

The first, the " Arrogonese," is of black vel-
vet, and is very simple in construction, it being
merely a circular back, which extends in a half
yoke in front ; to this the front portion of the
cloak is attached ; it is box-plaited in four plaits.
These, however, are only continued to the waist,
from thence they escape confinement, and the
material droops in graceful freedom. A collar,
narrow at the throat, but with two scallops upon
each side springing boldly to greater width,
adorns the neck ; from the point formed by the
scalloped cut of the collar depends a fancy tassel
at the back. The cloak is elaborately adorned
with a rich design in needle-work.

THE VALENCIA.

The companion to this, in our pages for this
issue, is the " Valencia," a very graceful cloak
of drab cloth ; it is, however, made of this mate-
rial in all colors which are favorites this season.
The cloak is constructed by box-plaiting the
back upon a plain or smoothly-fitting yoke,
which extends upon the back only from shoul-
der to shoulder ; the points are quite plain, and
fall from the neck smoothly. The peculiarity
of this style of garment chiefly consists in the
mode of the cutting of the sleeve, which is, as
reference to the illustration will demonstrate, a
turning over of the cloth upon itself at the elbow,
the edge of this portion being cut scalloped, and
all the borders of the cloak most beautifully
ornamented in embroidery. Both cloaks are
lined with quilted taffetas in colors to match.

268

godey's magazine and lady's book.

PLANS OF THE ORNAMENTAL COTTAGE.

E M BROIDERED A Z: 7 I T.I A '." • S S A Et.

'oo

WATCH-POCKET.— ERODERIE EN LACET.

EMBROIDERS F ATI's

WATCH-POCKET.

269

AN ORNAMENTAL COTTAGE.
(See Plate in front of Book.)

This design cannot strictly be termed a Gothic
building, but by the term we only intend that
the principal features are taken from the Gothic
style. The walls are of brick or stone, rough-
cast, without pointing. The roof is of slate, and
the chimney-stacks are of brick, also roughcast.

On the second floor are four large chambers
and a bedroom, furnishing ample room for a
family of five or six persons exclusive of serv-
ants. On the first floor, if the size of the family
required it, the dining-room might be used as a
back parlor or sitting-room, the present kitchen
as a dining-room, and the laundry, being re-
moved to an out-house, might be used as a
kitchen. The hall is to receive additional light
by a window in the roof immediately over the
well of the stairs. Beneath these stairs is a
flight descending to the cellar.

EMBROIDERED ANTIMACASSAR.

(See Plate in front of Book.)
Materials. — One and a quarter yards of book muslin,
three skeins of Shetland wool, and twelve skeins of Berlin
wool. The Shetland wool is to be of three different shades,
and the Berlin may match any one of them ; or mohair
braid may be used instead of Shetland wool.

This antimacassar is a sort of bag, slipped
over the top of the chair. The front is orna-
mented either with braid run on, or with chain
stitch, the latter being rather the most work ;
but having a far better effect than the former.
The initials we have selected are given to show
the way in which any initials may be arranged
for the centre. The pattern for the border is
given in the engraving with the utmost accuracy,
but requires, of course, to be greatly enlarged,
and marked on the muslin.

The width of the antimacassar, at the widest
part, is 26 inches ; a margin is left beyond the
border, of about one inch, and the depth is
eighteen inches. The back of the antimacassar
may be of either worked or plain muslin. The
two tucks are run together, near the edges, on
the wrong side, then turned on the right, and a
row of chain-stitch worked at the extreme edge.
All the border is done with one shade of the
Shetland wool ; but the monogram should be in
two or three shades, according to the number of
letters, each letter being done in one shade.
When the muslin is braided, one shade only
need be employed. The Russian mohair braid
is the best adapted for this purpose ; it washes
well, and is easily put on ; but the chain-stitch

23*

is certainly prettier. Marked muslin may be
readily finished for either oblong or oval anti-
macassars ; and those who wish it, can have any
initials marked for them.

The Border. — Take a bone mesh half an
inch wide, and do a strip of common diamond
netting, wide enough for the border of the anti-
macassar. Do four plain rows, and in the fifth
work three stitches in one. In the sixth row,
take three stitches together. Repeat these two
rows, and knot a handsome fringe in the loops
of the last.

The border is composed entirely of Berlin
wool ; the depth of the fringe is four inches.

Our readers will be glad to learn the proper
way of knotting fringe. Wind the wool on cot-
ton as often as you may wish, round a card of
any given width, and slip it carefully off, with-
out cutting either end. Draw all the loops of
one edge through the loops of netting, sufficiently
far to allow the loops of the other .edge to be
drawn through them, and tightly pulled. The
ends must then be cut.

WATCH-POCKET.

BRODERIE EN LACET.
(See Plate in front of Book.)
Materials. — One-quarter of a yard of maroon satin :

two

yards of ribbon to match, an inch and a quarter wide ; a
knot of the narrowest blue silk Russia braid ; a hank of
gold beads; four knots of gold thread, No. 0; and some
blue sewing silk.

Broderie en lacet is the term applied to
the new kind of embroidery. The outlines are
done with silk braid, in the ordinary braiding
style, and then the flowers, leaves, &c, are filled
in with point lace stitches, usually done in silk
the color of the braid. In the design before us,
a fine gold thread is laid on the outer edge of the
braid, and some of the spots are also worked in
this material.

Each watch-pocket has two patterns, one for
the front, which forms the pocket, the other for
that part of the back which is seen above the
pocket.

The pattern may be drawn from the engraving,
or a pounced paper may be purchased. The de-
sign being marked on the satin, is to be braided
and then worked according to the engraving.
At the edge, a row of sorrento, in blue silk, with.
a gold bead dropped in every long stitch, makes
a very pretty finish. The lining of the pocket
must be wadded, and the back must have a piece
of card-board between the satin and the lining.
Finish with satin ribbon bows.

270

godey's magazine and lady's book.

PATTERNS FOR EMBROIDERY.

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E©!T©KS' TAiLE.

" Why in this work did the creation rest,
But that eternal Providence thought you best
Of all his six days' labor? Beasts should do
Homage to man, but man should wait on you."

Randolph's " Praise of Women"

The assertions of the poet are, in a general sense, true,
because they harmonize with the declarations of Holy
Writ. Men should provide for women ; the hard work of
the world belongs, with the government of the world, to
men ; the " household good," the education of the young,
the gentle and spiritual influences that humanize man
and harmonize society, are the appropriate work of women.
When the good time comes, feminine value will be appre-
ciated as highly as feminine virtues, and the last are now
the basis and the glory of Christian life. But the good
time is not fully come even in our happy land, therefore
many women are yet obliged to toil for their own support.
Some mothers have to maintain their little children, other
women must provide for parents and those who helplessly
depend on them. For these reasons, it is necessary that
every young woman in our land should be qualified by
tome accomplishment which she may teach, or some art or
profession she can follow, to support herself creditably,
should the necessity occur. If the trial of self-exertion
never comes, women will be better qualified by such useful
education for their happiest position, that of presiding over,
guiding, and adorning the well-ordered home.

These educational views, that we have always held and
urged on our readers, are now fast becoming the fashion
and rule in society. We are happy to note the change — to
find grave men, whose experience of life is practical wis-
dom, uniting in plans to promote the usefulness of wo-
man's talents. Give her education and opportunity, let it
be seen by actual trial what she can learn and what she
can do, then a true estimate of the best means of promoting
and insuring the happiness of humanity may be made.

Among the various plans for woman's advantage, adopted
In our country within the past five years, three are most
worthy of note, viz., opening " Female Medical Colleges,"
" Schools of Design for Women," and " Schools to Teach the
Art of Type-setting." The first and most important of
these we have often and zealously advocated and described
in our "Book." We shall continue to uphold Female
Medical Education as one of the best and most important
advantages for woman and for the race. Now, however,
we will give some account of another excellent improve-
ment.

The Philadelphia School of Design for Women. — This
school, the first of the kind in America, was founded by
Mrs. Sarah Peter, 1848. It is now an incorporated institu-
tion, with a Board of gentlemen Managers, from among the
most eminent citizens of Philadelphia, and a Board of lady
Assistant Managers, who attend to the internal affairs of
the school, the admission of pupils, their deportment, pro-
ficiency, &c.

" The changes of the last few years," says the editor of a
religious paper, " have deprived woman of some of the
sources of employment and supply which tended to her
«omfbrt, and are bringing her inte & state of dependence

upon man, such as is not compatible with her best inte-
rests. New sources of employment, consistent with he*
nature, are to be sought out, by which her usefulness may
be increased, her comfort promoted, and her true dignity
maintained. One of these will be found opened by the
School of Design.

" The pupils are employed in drawing and coloring, in
copying and in producing original patterns, and on litho-
graphs and wood-engravings. The products of their in-
dustry are used by our manufacturers of cotton prints, de-
laines, and paper hangings, and by the publishers of orna-
mented books and periodicals. Hitherto, the Schools of
Design in France have enabled that country to lay the
world under contribution for tasteful fabrics. We hope
that Philadelphia will encourage an enterprise from which
both city and country will derive a benefit.

" Several specimens of the skill of the pupils are now, we
understand, on exhibition in the Crystal Palace."

Thus our readers will see that this noble institution for
the development of woman's talents is sustained by the
goodwill and good offices of men. An endowment of
$50,000 is in hopeful progress ; when that is obtained, as it
surely will be in this rich city, the Philadelphia School of
Design will become the model for such institutions in every
section of our land.

About ten thousand children of both sexes, from the
working classes, are said to be now under this art instruc-
tion in the city of Paris ; probably twice that number of
scholars are in the different Schools of Design throughout
France. But, then, it is about two hundred years since
their first school of decorative art was established.

The first school of the kind in England was opened about
twenty years ago, through the exertions of Lord Sid mouth.
Now there are many' institutions of the kind, and thou-
sands of English girls and young women engaged in the
study and practice of designing, drawing, &c. We trust
that, in a very few years, thousands of our young and
talented countrywomen will be emulating, if not excelling
the taste, beauty, and perfectness shown by Europeans in
every branch of decorative art.

Influence op Female Education in Greece.— Our readers
are aware, probably, that a Mission School for the instruc-
tion of girls was established in Athens, Greece, some twen-
ty-five years ago. At the head of this school were the Kev.
Mr. and Mrs. Hill. Under their care, about five thousand
young women have received instruction. In a recent let-
ter from Rev. Dr. Hill to the Foreign Mission, he thus de-
scribes the effect of this education : —

"Our prospects for the ensuing season of missionary la-
bor were never more encouraging; on every side we wit-
ness the fruit of our twenty years' toil, in the improved
religious and moral character of those around us. Some of
these have received their training in our schools, and have
carried with them the principles th,ey were taught by ua
into their own domestic and social circles. They are scat-
tered over the whole of Greece. Very pleasing accounts
are continually being brought to our ears by American and
English travellers who visit the Morea, the islands and the
provinces of northern Greece, regarding those who wer<*
once our pupils, and art now mothers of families. But tin*

271

272

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

influence of our principles and our instructions is not con-
lined to those only who were brought up under our imme-
diate care. The ' leaven has leavened,' if not the whole, at
least a large ' lump,' and the affect of our labors, it may be
said with great truth, is visible to a greater or less degree
among the whole commuuity. There is no end to the ap-
plications we have for admission to the privileges of our
schools, nor are there any bounds to the facilities we have
for preaching the Gospel freely, and for the dissemination
Of ihe Word of God, and of religious and other useful tracts.
Under my own roof, I assemble twenty indoor pupils from
the age of six to eighteen, with my own family, for morn-
ing and evening worship, and for religious instruction;
and our outdoor pupils, when our schools shall be reopened,
will outnumber four hundred. I have just added five
more rooms in a contiguous building to those hitherto de-
voted to our missionary schools; and, if I could obtain a
much larger space, or could afford the outlay, we could fill
every portion of it."

Reading without Improvement. — " Some ladies, to whose
conversation I had been listening, were to take away an
epic poem to read. ' Why should you read an epic poem ?'
I said to myself. 'You might as well save yourselves the
trouble.' How often I have been struck at observing that
no effect at all is produced, by the noblest works of genius,
on the habits of thought, sentiment, and talk of the gene-
rality of readers ; their mental tone becomes no deeper, no
mellower ; they are not equal to a fiddle, which improves
by being repeatedly played upon. I should not expect one
in twenty, of even educated readers, so much as to recollect
one singularly sublime, and by far the noblest part, of the
poem in question : so little emotion does anything awake,
even in the moment of reading ; if it did, they would not
forget it so soon."

So says good, sensible John Foster, whose thoughts are
always as clear and pure as rock water. There is another
sentiment of his we should like to have read and remem-
bered, too, by those who are soon to be married : —

Love — how to secure it. — " I have often contended that
attachments between friends and lovers cannot be secured
strong, and perpetually augmenting, except by the inter-
vention of some interest which is not personal, but which
is common to them both, and towards which their atten-
tions and passions are directed with still more animation
than even towards each other. If the whole attention is to
be directed, and the whole sentimentalism of the heart
concentrated on each other ; if it is to be an unvaried, ' I
Vmards you, and you towards me,' as if each were to the
other not an ally or companion joined to pursue happiness,
but the very end and object — happiness itself; if it is the
circumstance of reciprocation itself, and not what is recip-
rocated, that is to supply perennial interest to affection ; if
it is to be mind still reflecting back the gaze of mind, and
reflecting it again, cherub towards cherub, as on the ark,
;md no luminary or glory between them to supply beams
and warmth to both — I foresee that the hope will disap-
point, the plan will fail. Attachment must burn in oxy-
gen, or it will go out ; and, by oxygen, I mean a mutual
admiration and pursuit of virtue, improvement, utility,
the pleasures of taste, or some other interesting concern,
which shall be the element of their commerce, and make
them love each other not only for each other, but as de-
votees to some third object which they both adore. The
affections of the soul will feel a dissatisfaction and a recoil,
if, as they go forth, they are entirely intercepted and
stopped by any object that is not ideal ; they wish rather
to be like rays of light glancing on the side of an object,

and then sloping and passing away ; they wish the power
of elongation, through a series of interesting points, on
towards infinity."

Public Liberality.— The State of New York, which has
expended, from time to time, upwards of half a million of
dollars in the advancement of medical education, has more
recently divided thirty thousand dollars between the two
Medical Colleges at Albany and Geneva.

Would it not be better to devote a little money to edu-
cate those who have the normal care of humanity in their
hands— rather than give all to those who are preparing to
cure its diseases ? Women are the preservers of infancy,
they form the physical constitution of their children; give
women that knowledge of the laws of health which their
duties require, and one-half the present number of male
physicians might be spared.

A Ruling Passion. — I have the highest opinion of the
value of a ruling passion ; but if this passion monopolizes
all the man, it requires that the object be a very compre-
hensive or a very dignified one, to save him from being
ridiculous. The devoted antiquary, for instance, who is
passionately in love with an old coin, an old button, or an
old nail, is ridiculous. The man who is nothing but a mu-
sician, and recognizes nothing in the whole creation but
crotchets and quavers, is ridiculous. So is the nothing but
verbal critic, to whom the adjustment of a few insignificant
particles in some ancient author, appears a more important
study than the grandest arrangements of politics or morals.
Even the total devotee to the grand science Astronomy,
incurs the same misfortune. Religion and morals have a
noble pre-eminence here; no man or woman can become
ridiculous by his or her passionate devotion to them; even
a specific direction of this passion will make a man sublime
— witness Howard; specific, I say, and correctly, though, at
tbe same time, any large plan of benevolence must be com-
prehensive, so to speak, of a large quantity of morals.

He who administers medicine to the sad heart in the
shape of wit and humor, is most assuredly a good Samari-
tan. A cheerful face is nearly as good for an invalid as
healthy weather. To make a sick man think he is dying,
all that is necessary is to look half dead yourself. Open,
unrestrained merriment is a safety-valve to the heart and
disposition. If overburdened with the noxious gases of
care, pull the string of wit, up flies the valve of fun, and
out go the troubles and vexations of life to the four winds
of heaven.

To Correspondents.— The following articles are accepted :
"The Linden," "The Song-Birds of Spring," "My Early
Days," " To one who Rests," " Cupid's Arrows," " Bury me
in the Evening," " To an Absent Dear One," " Some
Thoughts on Training Female Teachers," " The Lily and
the Star" (the two other poems by the same writer are not
wanted, because we are overstocked with poetry), "Truth"
(the other poem is not accepted for want of room), " A
Song," " I miss thee. Love," " The Young Enthusiast," and
" Love and Artifice."

The following articles are declined : " Letter from Eden,"
" The faded bloom of Spring" (the poem is not without
merit, but there are faults of rhythm and rhyme which
make it inadmissible), " True Friendship" (the acrostie
Mr. Godey will give from his " Arm-Chair," and thanks
Theresa for her compliments, which are pleasant, though
her poetry is not perfect), " Sudden Death," " Exercise in
the Morning," " A Long Story," " Arabella," " Sonnets,*
" The Old House," " Ages," " Seeing is not Believing," and
" Good-Bye."

debitors' Cable-lrnrau

PICTURES FROM DANTE.

FAME.

" Now must thou shake off sloth," my guide began,
" For not beneath rich canopies of state,
On beds of down, must fame be sought by man."

FIRMNESS.

Follow thou me, nor heed what others say ;

Be like a tower that stoopeth not its head,

Bellow the tempests fiercely as they may.

He in whose breast springs thought to thought succeeding,

Of his intent is ever frustrated —

The force of one the other's force impeding.

W0RLDLINES8.

Oh, the insensate labor men bestow

On worldly things ! How weak those reasonings are
Which make them stoop their wings to earth below !
One was pursuing medicine ; one a course

Of law; the church employed another's care;
One strove to rule by sophistry or force ;
One was on wicked gains by fraud intent;

By merchandise another ; this one given
To sensual joys ; on ease another bent —
While I, from all these earthly cares relieved,

With Beatrice ascending into heaven,
Was in that sphere so gloriously received.

FEMINOLOGY.
On account of the few lucrative employments that are
left to the female sex, and by consequence of the little
epportunity they have of adding to their income, daugh-
ters ought to be the particular objects of a parent's care
and foresight; and as an option of marriage, from which
they can reasonably expect happiness, is not presented
to every one who deserves it, especially in times when a
licentious celibacy is in fashion with the men, a father
should endeavor to enable his daughters to lead a single
life with independency and decorum, even though he sub-
tract more for that purpose from the portions of his sons
than is agreeable to modern usage, or than they expect. —
W. Paley, Moral Philosophy.

Ladies have sometimes distinguished themselves as pro-
digies of learning. Many of the most eminent geniuses
of the French nation have been of the female sex. Several
of our own countrywomen have also made a respectable
figure in the republic of letters. — C. Buck, Miscellanies.

Emera was much displeased with her maid-servants.
The occasion of her displeasure was great and just, but she
had not the spirit of reproof. Criton happening to be in
his closet, she went up and made her complaint there. He
entreated her to excuse him from the economy of the
kitchen and parlor : It was entirely under her dominion,
and if her maids were so culpable, she must reprove them
sharply. * Alas I" said she, " I cannot chide,"— Isaac Watts,
Miscellanies.

The obvious designation of woman to a different sphere
»f action and influence from that which is occupied by the
stronger sex, suggests the contemplation of excellencies

which, though not peculiar to herself, are delightfully ap
propriate to her character and condition. There is a feel-
ing of heart, a consciousness of dependency, a natural and
amiable timidity, a tenderness and kindness, which unfit
a woman for the rude and tumultuous occupations, and
which, while they assign to her a more retired sphere, as
clearly disclose those qualifications which constitute her
true dignity and glory. — Gardiner Spring, Sermon.

There is not one sentiment I join you more cordially in.
than an utter detestation of all the heartless splendor and
ceremony of fashionable life ; and I trust that my wife will
never suffer herself to be so seduced by the example of
female acquaintances, and advisers, and managers, as to
step down from the dignified simplicity of a minister's fire-
side, and mingle in all the extravagances of parties, and
second courses, and splendid drawing-rooms, and the whole
tribe of similar abominations.— Thomas Chalmers.

DEACONESSES.

That the peculiar gifts of the female sex might be made
available for the outward service of the Church, in rende-r-
ing the assistance of various kinds for which women are
peculiarly fitted ; the office of Deaconess was established, in
addition to that of Deacon, at first in the churches of the
Gentile Christians. — Neander, History of the Church.

It is well known that in the primitive Church there
were women particularly appointed for this work. Indeed,
there was one or more such in every Christian congrega-
tion under heaven. They were then termed Deaconesses,
that is, servants — servants of the Church and of its Great
Master. Such was Phoebe, mentioned by St. Paul, Rom.
xvi. 1, " A Deaconess of the Church at Cenehrea." It is
true most of these were women in years, and well experi-
enced in the work of God. But were the young wholly
excluded from that service? No! neither need they be,
provided they know in whom they have believed, and show
that they are holy of heart, by being holy in all manner
of conversation. — John Wesley, Sermons, vol. ii. p. 335, N.
Y. ed.

Ignatius, in writing to the Church at Antioch — of which
he himself was pastor — says : " Salute the Deaconesses in
Christ Jesus." Tertullian speaks particularly of a Dea-
coness who was of a very tender age.* Their office was so
respected, that a bishop was deposed for having received
into it a woman who had been excommunicated ;f and it
often fell to their lot to share the glories of martyrdom
with the most holy confessors of the faith t

How long this order continued in the Christian Church
is not absolutely certain. Dp to the commencement of th«
fourth century it, however, preserved itself free from
abuses, but became corrupted in the fifth and sixth, and
ended by disappearing in the Latin Church in the eighth,
when the Papacy became finally constituted. In the
Greek Church this office continued several hundred years,
and Deaconesses pursued their self-denying service in th»
Christian Churches of Constantinople to the close of the
twelfth century .g — Wm. A. Passavant, Institution of Dea-
conesses.

* Tertull. vel. de virg. f Sozam, lib. iv. c. 14.

% Tlin. Ep. ad. Traj. <j Suicer, Thesaur, torn. i. p. 896

273

27-i

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

I \ t c x a x g Not i c 1 0.

LIBERIA; or, Mr. Peyton's Erpcrivients. Edited by
Mrs. Sarah J. Halo, author of " Woman's Record," etc. etc.
The author has furnished us with a copy of this work,
which at once addresses itself to the good sense and the
good feeliugs of all persons who are sincerely interested in
Christian practical efforts to ameliorate and to elevate the
coudition of the African race. We think it has been fully
demonstrated in this volume that the only sure plan for
the attainment of those desirable ends is that proposed,
and, it may now be said, successfully carried out by the
American Colonization Society. In order to establish this
important truth, the author has been at great pains to
present us with the real character and condition of the
negro while in a state of slavery, and his improvidence and
want of energy, as generally exhibited, when set free and
furnished with land in the midst of a white population.
The prejudices against which he has to contend in our
large cities, their paralyzing effects, and the wretchedness
to which he is often reduced in consequence, are also fully
contrasted with the independent and prosperous condition
of those who have been settled in Liberia, and who have
raised themselves to a standard of Christianity, civilization,
statesmanship, and orderly government, which might, in-
deed, be questioned, did not indisputable evidences of their
astonishing and successful progress accompany all the
statements of the author. This work, therefore, commends
itself not only to the attention of those who are anxious to
benefit an unhappy race, but also to the serious considera-
tion of such of that race as have sufficient intelligence to
comprehend their true interests, and sufficient energy to
follow their dictates.

From J. S. Redfield, 110 and 112 Nassau Street, New
York, through W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia :—

ART AND INDUSTRY, as Represented in the Exhibition
of Hie Crystal Palace, Nexo York, 1853-4. Showing the
progress and state of various useful and aesthetic pursuits.
From the " New York Tribune." Revised and corrected
by Horace Greeley. This volume will very justly command
the attention of all who are interested in the progress of
the arts, and in the dissemination of useful knowledge
among the people, objects which, it is admitted, form the
basis of all nationality and true civilization.

From Thomas, Cowperthwait, & Co., Philadelphia: —
A NEW HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AME-
RICA. For the use of schools. By John Lord, A. M.,
author of a " Modern History from the Times of Luther to
the Fall of Napoleon." This work is intended to meet the
necessity, which it is thought has long existed, for a new
history of the United States for the use of schools. The
author has long been known to the literary public as a
close investigator of historical subjects, and as a candid and
impartial writer. In the volume before us, as far as we
have been able to judge, he has carefully adhered to the
truths of history, and has, at the same time, presented a
otear and forcible narrative of all the important events on
record, from the discovery of America down to the present
times. As an elementary work, we think it is calculated
deeply to control the minds of youthful readers, and to im-
press upon their memories the important iucidents con-
nected with the progress of their country in the establish-
ment of freedom, and in the diffusion of knowledge, wealth,
and independence among the people.

NOYELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, &C

From S. Hueston, New York: "January and June:
being Outdoor Thinkings and Fireside Musings." By
Benj. F. Taylor. Though not very striking or original,
these " thinkings" and " musings" will probably interest
the reader.

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through W. P.
Hazard, Philadelphia: "Bureliff; its Sunshine and its
Clouds." By Paul Creyton. author of " Father Brightness,"
" Hearts and Faces," etc. This is a very interesting story
by a favorite author.

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through W. P.
Hazard, Philadelphia : " My two Sisters : a Sketch from
Memory." By Emily Judson. This is a most affecting
family memorial, evincing the purity and intensity of that
love which submits to the influences of religion.

From Fetridge & Co., Boston, through T. B. Peterson,
Philadelphia: "Home Scenes and Home Sounds; or, the
World from my Window." By H. Marion Stephens. A
very handsome and agreeable volume, containing nume-
rous poetical and prose articles from the pen of a popular
authoress.

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through T. B.
Peterson, Philadelphia : "Estelle's Stories about Dogs, for
Good Boys and Girls." " Little Mary ; or, Talks and Tales
for Children." By II. Trusta, author of " The Sunny Side,"
etc. " Christmas Holidays at Chestnut Hill." By Cousin
Mary. Illustrated. "Little Blossom's Reward." A Christ-
mas Book for Children. By Mrs. Emily Hare. Illustrated.
These pretty volumes reached us too late for a seasonable
notice. Such books, however, can never be out of season
with those for whom the authors have carefully blended
amusement with important lessons of morality. — "Viola;
or, Adventures in the Far South-West." By Emerson
Bennett, author of the "Forged Will," "Clara Moreland,"
etc. etc. Mr. Bennett is spirited, and therefore a popular
writer. His works are sought after and read with the
greatest avidity by the lovers of romance and wild and
stirring adventure. — " Indiana." By George Sand, author
of " Consuelo," etc. Translated by one of the best French
scholars in this country, a member of the Philadelphia bar.

From J. S. Redfield, Clinton Hall, New York, through
W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia : " Clovernook ; or, Recollec-
tions of our Neighbors in the West." Second series. By
Alice Carey. A collection of very pleasant stories from the
pen of a lady whose talents have long since rendered her
name familiar to the public. — " Vasconselos : a Romance
of the New World." By Frank Cooper. This is a power-
fully written romance, founded on the adventures of De
Soto, which we think deserving of more than the usual at-
tention paid to works of fiction. The style is energetic,
and the incidents and the plot, though the latter is not
altogether agreeable to our taste, are full of the spirit of
the age and of the characters represented.

From De Witt & Davenport, New York : '" Hot Corn :
Life Scenes in New York." Illustrated. Including the
" Story of Little Katy," " Madelina," " The Rag-Picker's
Daughter," " Wild Maggie," &c. With original designs,
engraved by N. Orr. By Solon Robinson. Those stories
originally appeared in the " New York Tribune," and at-
tracted very general attention. They have been published
in a handsome volume, which has generally received fa-
vorable notices from the press. Some, however, have con-
sidered the morality, as well as the purity of its literature,
highly questionable.

From T. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia:
" Henrietta Temple : a Love Story." By B. D'Isracli, M. P.,
P. C. With a portrait of the author. Price fifty cents.

(inhnj's Shm-Ctiair.

We stated in our February number tbat we -wanted just
two huudred subscribers to make even 10,000 more than
we printed last year. They have been received, and more
than 3.000 in addition. We now go in for 20,000 additional,
and we know that we shall get them..

Model Cottages.— We give a very beautiful cottage in
this number, and shall continue to publish them almost
monthly.

Breach of Promise Case— not to come off.— The " Mauch
Chunk Gazette" says: "Godey promises one hundred
pages in each number, and he has never yet been indicted
for ' breach of promise? "

WE do not want the gentlemen to read this paragraph.
But, ladies, did you ever see such superb fashion plates as
we have been publishing? Look at the one in this num-
ber. Pails can't surpass that. They seem even to have
excited to admiration our grave, but good friends of the
press. The " Mercer Whig" says : " The fashion plates
given in the ' Lady's Book' are worth the subscription price
to any lady." The "Plainfield Gazette" adds a remark
which our vanity also induces us to copy: " Godey is the
greatest favorite with ladies amongst publishers, and his
fashion plates lead all other magazines." The " Ebensburg
Alleghanian'' winds up with, u The fashion plates are
graceful and colored, superior to any that we have yet
seen." And they and our other embellishments shall sur-
pass all others. By way of variety, we give in this number
a mezzotint engraving, which the graceful pen of Mrs.
Neal has illustrated—" Selling tfie Wedding Ring or Love
Token,:'

Third Edition. — We are now using our third edition, but,
foreseeing the great demand, we have kept ourselves sup-
plied. Every day's orders have been mailed within the
twenty-four hours.

Is it economical for a family to take the " Lady's Book ?"
that is the question. The " Brandon Republican,'' says "It
is decided economy in any family to take it. The useful in-
formation to be derived from it in a year is worth ten times
the subscription."

Patterns, Patterns. — We shall have the most beautiful
patterns for spring wear that have ever been offered from
this establishment. Send on your orders soon, ladies.

Bachelorism again. — One of them says: "Whatever
amount of ' cooing' we may have in our honeymoon, we
may be pretty sure of having a fearful amount of bill-ing."

Arthur's " Home Gazette" says : —

" ' The Book of the Toilet: Philadelphia, Louis A. Godey
The publisher of the • Lady's Book' has here supplied a
want long felt. In a neatly printed and bound miniature
volume, readily transmissible by mail, we have, separately
treated, the following subjects : ' The Beauty of the Skin,'
' The Care of the Skin,' ' The Toilet,' ' Recipes for Per-
fumes,' ' The Hair,' ' The Teeth,' ' Recipes for Soaps,' ' Po-
matums,' 'Recipes for Improving the Breath,' and 'Mis-
cellaneous Recipes.' A ' Book of the Toilet,' from one so
experienced as the publisher of the 'Lady's Book,' will, of
course, be eagerly sought for by those for whose special use
it has been prer.

A very desperate Joke. — Why should a gentleman, on
paying a visit to a widow, take her a supply of tobacco ?
Because he finds her in weeds.

We are happy to record the great success of Philadelphia
periodicals and newspapers. This has been the greatest
season ever known. "Godey's Lady's Book," "Arthur's
Home Gazette," and " Arthur's Home Magazine," have
nearly doubled their editions of last year, while " Graham's
Saturday Mail," which was only started on the first of the
year, has a circulation nearly equal to the largest.

Hawlet & Co., Perfumers, whose advertisement will be
found in our " Book," now take the lead in this city, and
are the fashionable perfumers. We have examined and
tested their perfumery and fancy soaps, both for ladies
and gentlemen. Their shaving cream, gentlemen, what a
luxury! and the shaving compound military soap, and the
ambrosial tablet of concentrated cream, for shaving, neatly
done up in little boxes that you might carry in your waist-
coat pocket— but these luxuries for shaving are running
away with us, and we are forgetting the ladies. Well, la-
dies, they have for you lip salve — think of that — liquid
hair dye; but none of our subscribers will want that, they
wear their hair the color that nature made it. And then
they have colognes, pomades, bandolines, eau lustrale,
oleate of roses for chapped hands, extracts for the handker-
chief, etc. And, elderly ladies, a word with you ; that is, if
you have any vanity — we will whisper it — there is a certain
tonic lotion for restoring gray hair to its original color,
and lots of other articles, wholesale and retail, which we
have not space to mention.

A remarkable case of table-talking lately took place. A

cabinet-maker was recommending a table to a lady as a

i very fine new mahogany table. At which the table lifted

itself up and exclaimed, " Don't you believe him, ma'am ;

I 'm veneered and second-hand."

Merchant Princes and Street of Palaces.— The splendid
stores of Morris, Hallowell, & Co., and Caleb Cope & Co., re-
cently finished, are the most splendid specimens of store
architecture to be found in the United States. They have
recently been opened for public view, and crowds of ladies
and gentlemen have visited both establishments, and been
delighted with the varied and tasty arrangements so beau-
tifully conceived and admirably executed.

" ' Arthur's Home Gazette' for 1854. — We cheerfully re-
commend this weekly to the public readers. Its past con-
duct proved it to be one of the highest excellence, and we
have good reasons to believe that it will be so for the
future. During the coming year 1854, Mr. Arthur, the
editor, will publish two original nouvellettes in the columns
of the 'Gazette,' one of which is entitled 'The Angel of the
Household.' "—Flo. Democrat, Pcnsacola, Flo.

275

276

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Garrett & Co., of New York, have gent us " Mrs. Parting-
ton's Carpet-bag of Fun." A funny book, from which wo
make the following extracts : —

Modern Science. — " Do you think people are troubled as
much with flea-bottomary now, doctor, as they used to be
before they discovered the anti-bug bedstead?" asked Mrs.
Partington of a doctor of the old school, who attended the
family where she was staying. "Phlebotomy, madam,"
>aid the doctor, gravely, "is a remedy, not a disease."
•• Well, well," replied she; "no wonder one gets 'em mixed
up, there is so many of 'em ; we never heard in old times
of trousers in the throat, or embargoes in the head, or
neurology all over us, or consternation in the bowels, as
we do nowadays. But it 's an ill wind that don't blow
nobody good, and the doctors flourish on it like a green
baize-tree. But of course they don't have anything to do
with it — they can't make 'em come or go."

Mrs. Partington at Sea.— " There 's poor Hardy Lee
railed again!" says Mrs. Partington on a trip to Boston.
The wind was ahead, and the vessel had to beat up, and
the order to put the helm " hard a lee" had been heard
through the night. " Hardy Lee again ! I declare ; I should
think the poor creetur would be completely exaspirated
with fatigue; and I'm certain he hasn't eat a blessed
mouthful of anything all the while. Captain, do call the
poor creetur down, or human natur can't stand it."

Sound Logic. — Mrs. Partington, on reading an account
of a schooner having her jib-boom carried away in Long
Island Sound, one night last week, wondered "why people
would leave such things out o' doors, nights, to be stolen,
when they was so many buglers about, filtering everything
they could lay their hands to."

Popping the Question.— A young lawyer, who had long
paid his addresses to a lady, without much advancing his
suit, accused her one day of being " insensible to the
power of love."

" It does not follow," she archly replied, " that I am so,
because I am not to be won by the power of attorney."

" Forgive me," replied the suitor, " but you should re-
member that all the votaries of Cupid are solicitors."

A Lady a Judge— and why not ?— The " Johnston Echo"
says: " Our wife — and our wife's a judge — says that Go-
dey's fashion plate embellishments, designs for embroidery,
&c, are the very things which ladies often need, and know
not where to get." She judges correctly, too.

"'Arthur's Home Magazine.'— This truly meritorious
and deservedly popular monthly periodical commences the
new year with decided claims to public favor, much im-
proved in its embellishments and well stored with a choice
moral miscellany, rendering it worthy of the home for which
it is admirably adapted. In short, the name of its talented
conductor alone is sufficient to secure for it a general wel-
come. T. S. Arthur, Philadelphia, $2 a year."

Rapp's Gold Pens. — We have received orders for more
than one hundred of these pens. We repeat the terms,
and also our hearty assurance that they are the best gold
pens we have ever used. Price of pens, condor size, with
a holder, $6; in a silver case, $7 ; swan-quill size, with
double extension silver cases, $4 ; goose-quill size, suitable
for ladies, with holders, as above, $3.

Wyman, the magician, has been here delighting the peo-
ple as usual. He is also one of the best ventriloquists we
have ever heard.

Charles Oakford's Fashion Plate for Spring, 1854.— We
present our numerous patrons this month with this plate.
We are pleased to notice the originality of design which is
here displayed. Oakford is now at the head of his profes-
sion. He has infused more life and spirit into his business
than any other competitor in the United States. His store
is pronounced the most beautiful in the world, his stock
the most varied and extensive to be found anywhere.
Oakford's success in his new establishment is unprece-
dented, and he deserves it, for his liberal spirit has spared
no expense whatever to keep ahead in his branch of busi-
ness. Philadelphia should be proud of this, and we feel
assured they know how to appreciate him. We advise
wholesale dealers to bear his store in mind when they wish
to purchase, as they will find hats and caps of every grade
as low as they can be purchased in any city in the Union.
We would also remind the ladies that they can procure the
fiuest quality of children's head gear of the most fashion-
able styles at this establishment. We therefore proclaim
success to Oakford !

The bonnets published on our first page are from the
extensive establishment of Messrs. Thomas White & Co.,
who have the largest bonnet establishment in the United
States. It is from their extensive manufactory in this city
whence most of the fashions emanate. The establishment
in the city is, besides the manufacturing department, also
their sale-room, both wholesale and retail. Added to this,
they have " the Industrial Straw- Works at Boxborough,"
where an immense number of bonnets are manufactured
daily. They employ, in all, some four hundred females.
Here is a concern that gives employment in the right kind
of way. Think of four hundred females in one establish-
ment ! They certainly deserve not only the thanks, but
the united patronage of all the subscribers to the "Book."
Every description of silk, lace, crape, straw, blonde, and
fancy bonnets, of the latest style, artificial flowers, French
and American summer hats for gentlemen, in all their
variety — and it is unsurpassed, as they are importers as
well as manufacturers — can be found at this celebrated
bonnet depot.

Their magnificent new store, erected on the site of their
former stand, No. 41 South Second Street, and the exten-
sive stock, is now open to the public, and it is a pleasure to
visit it, to see how a business of such extent can be carried
on without there appearing anything like hurry or confu-
sion.

"Godey's 'Book of Beauty,' No. 2.— Through the ever
attentive courtesy of Philadelphia's model magazineer,
Louis A. Godey, Esq., we were several weeks since made
the recipient of his ' Parlor Gem,' No. 2, consisting of some
thirty exquisite engravings, all but two or three of which
are on steel, and are pictures of rare excellence and beauty.
We avail ourselves of the earliest opportunity to say to
every one of our friends and readers to send on your fifty
cents to L. A. Godey, and get a bijou that you would not
sell again for $5."— Ellsworth Herald.

Any information asked for by any of our subscribers we
will cheerfully give, if it is in our power.

We will attend to purchasing any goods that may be de-
sired, and will forward them at the lowest market price.

godey's arm-chair,

277

s S'-ms

■ II J i i

'Si 1 1

-. . . ------

A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF BOARDMAN & GRAY's MANUFACTORY, ALBANY, N. Y.

BOARDMAN & GRAY'S DOLCE CAMPANA ATTACH-
MENT PIANO-FORTES.

In our January and February numbers, we gave a de-
tailed sketch of pianoforte making, and selected, as the
subject of our illustration, the extensive establishment of
Messrs. Boardman & Gray. We have therefore deemed it
desirable to present our readers with an exterior view of
this establishment. These buildings were completed about
a year since ; and, at that time, it was supposed they would
be sufficiently large even for the extensive business de-
signed to be carried on in them. But so rapidly has the
demand increased for their instruments, that Messrs.
Boardman & Gray will be obliged to add another wing to
their main building, and will thus be able to supply their
orders with additional promptness.

It is scarcely possible to overrate the excellence of their
piano-forte, with its Doiee Campana Attachment. As a
parlor instrument, it is. we believe, unrivalled. To those
vi ho appreciate rich, full, and sweet sounds, rather than
mere noise ; to those who love an instrument which seems,
as it were, to respond to the feelings and passions of the
player — which can at one time delight the ear with its or-
gan-like tones, at another charm it with a melody so soft
and tender as to start the tear of the listener — it will need
no commendation. The touch and action of the instru-
ment are faultless ; the firmness, the lightness, and the
elasticity of the touch have won the praise of every pianist
who has used it. A marked feature in the instrument to
which we are alluding is its durability of tone, a result
which, as we have already shown, is due to its careful and
methodical construction. In *rery respect, it embodies
within itself the conditions of the finest and most reliable
of instruments. We can therefore confidently commend it
to the reader.

Some wretched bachelor concocted the following: —

A Jury of Females.— In the year 1693, the body of a

female was discovered in Newbury, under circumstances

which rendered a corancr's inquest desirable. A jury of

twelve women was called, and a copy of their verdict has

VOL. XLVIII. — 24

been preserved. As it is about as lurid and satiffatftnTV &g
most modern verdicts, we copy it entire in the quaint, lan-
guage of the period. It was as follows : —

"We judge according to our best light ami cenriemv
that the death of said Elizabeth was not by any vio'.eixe
or wrong dun to her by any person or thing, but by pome
sodon stoping of her breath."'

How true is the following. Read it, ye unhappy bachelor
editors, and follow the example of our friend French, o!
the " Georgetown Herald," another convert to our doctrine:-.
He has announced to us that he has takeu to himself a
" helpmeet."

The Female Temper. — No trait of character is mora
agreeable in a female than the possession of a sweet tem-
per. Home can never be happy without it. It is like tbt-
flowers that spring up in our pathway, reviving anil cheer-
ing us. Let a man go home at night, wearied and worn
by the toils of the day, and how soothing is a word dic-
tated by a good disposition! It is sunshine falling on hi*
heart. He is happy, and the cares of life are forgotten.
A sweet temper has a soothing influence over the minds
of a whole family. Where it is found in the wife and mo-
ther, you observe a kindness and love predominating over
the natural feelings of a bad heart. Smiles, kind words
and looks, characterize the children, and peace and love
have their dwelling there. Study, then, to aequh'e and
retain a sweet temper.

The cottage in this number is from Sloan's beautiful
work on architecture.

From an editor in South Carolina : " On my return home.
I found the pen you were so kind as to send me. I am
very much pleased with it, and again tender my thank*.
I will soon send for another. I need the best pens, or, as
you see, my intentions or words could never be communi-
cated, at least in an intelligible manner." We congratu-
late you, friend B., upon the marked improvement in youi
chirography.

273

godey's magazine and lady's book.

We copy the following from the " Evening Argus." fully
indorsing every particular of it, and especially that part
Speaking of Mr. I'uniy, whom we have, for the last thirty
years, been pleased to call our friend : —

" The House Printing Telegraph. — We observe, with real
satisfaction, ihe rapid extension of the House Printing
Telegraph Lines throughout the North and West ; and in
every instance where this means of telegraphic communi-
cation is adopted it is pronounced the very perfection of
telegraphic inventions. The line recently established be-
tween this city and New York, has now extended its
branches through all the Northern, Middle, and Western
States, while many of these lines, in the extent of their
business, are among the most prosperous in the country.
The main line, from Washington to Boston, has recently
undergone many improvements, and the office in this city
has been removed to Harndeu's Express Building, N. E.
corner of Third and Chestnut Streets, where quarters un-
surpassed in accommodation and comfort have been fitted
up, new instruments introduced, &c, for the purpose of
more expeditiously accommodating the increasing patron-
age which the knowledge of the advantages of this means
of communication is bringing upon the line.

"The lines between this city and New York, Baltimore,
and Washington, are now prepared to dispatch almost any
amount of business ; and their active management being in
the hands of gentlemen fully conversant with the wants of
the business community, we can commend the line to the
public with every confidence. The lines centering in this
city are under the immediate superintendence of J. H.
Purdy, and every attention which experience and sagacity
can suggest is devoted to keeping them in order for the
dispatch of business. Mr. W. J. Phillips, the principal in
charge of the office, is a skilful and experienced operator,
and obliging gentleman, while all his assistants are capable,
experienced, and efficent, thus making the office — as indeed
are all the offices— a model in the prompt and accurate
dispatch of business.

" The House instrument is unsurpassed in speed and ac-
euracy of communication, and its merits and advantages
once understood, it must come into general use with the
telegraphing public."

We thank the editor of the " Litchfield Republic" for
the following : —

" This is the ' Lady's Book' par excellence. We admire
this work, for the plain and simple reason that, like re-
fined, polished, and virtuous female society, it powerfully
tends to improve the manner? and mend the heart."

The "Florist's and Horticulturist's Journal." Vol.3,
No. 1. H. C. Hanson, 63 Walnut Street, Philadelphia.—
We have here the best work upon floriculture and horticul-
ture published in the United States. Each number con-
tains a beautifully colored engraving. In some instances,
these engravings are got up and colored in Paris. Price of
the work only $2 a year.

club. The gentlemen pay it is of no use refusing to sub-
scribe, as their wives consider it a ' woman's right' to have
the ; Book.' My own past year's experience has left me a
deserted home; yet I still wish it for myself, recollecting
how well she liked it who is now an angel in heaven."

Card Writing.— We beg leave to call the attention of our
lady friends to the fact that written cards are now more
fashionable than engraved; and, if they want a handsome
pack written, or linen marked in the most beautifully
florid, or in a plain style, let them apply to Martha A. Tor-
rey, S. W. corner of Filbert and Eighteenth Streets.

The "Germantown Telegraph" has been enlarged and
improved, but only in its typographical appearance, the
matter being already perfect. We consider Major Freas a
model editor, bold and fearless in what is right, never lend-
ing his columns to anything of which he does not approve.
He ought to be in the city, where his power could be felt.
As an agricultural paper, the " Telegraph" stands first in
the State, the major himself being a practical farmer. Ho
has taken premiums upon several occasions, the last for
some particular kind of roosters — crowing ones, we believe;
but the major is used to crowing, the whole press having
crowed upon the occasion of his enlargements and improve-
ments. Success to him ! and may he always entertain a
just sense of his high position as the editor of one of the
most popular papers in the State, and not descend to be-
come a candidate for governor. By the way, major, we
should like to see the first number of your paper, and, un-
til we do, we shall consider ourself as the oldest publisher.

We ask attention to our new work, " now to Make a
Dress." It is by our Fashion Editor, and we think it will
be useful to every one of our lady subscribers. Orders for
materials of all kinds, jewelry, patterns, etc. etc., will be
attended to, by inclosing a remittance to L. A. Godcy, Phi-
ladelphia.

We will furnish any of the following from the esta-
blishment of Mrs. Suplee, the originator of this style
of patterns. But few persons can imagine how complete
they are in every respect, fit, trimming, &c. At a littla
distance, they look like the real garment. The stock and
variety of patterns for ladies' dresses, cloakg, mantillas,
sacks, sleeves, and every article of ladies' and children's
wear, are unequalled in the United States. Every new do-
sign from Paris and London is regularly received, so tba*
persons wishing something new can always be supplied
The patterns are cut in tissue paper, and trimmed as th*
article is made.

Cloaks, Mantillas, Dress Bodies, Sleeves, Basques, Full
Dress, Children's Dresses, Basques, Sacks, and Aprons,
Boys' Jackets and Pants.

In ordering patterns, please say if for ladies or children.
Address FASHION EDITOR,

Care of " Godey's Lady's Book," Phila.

Keep your Eyes Open. — Every one, however busy, bow-
ever poor, however humble, can greatly elevate and enrich
himself by looking around and suffering naught to escape
his notice; and he will not only enrich himself, but the
whole world may be indebted to him for digging from the
rubbish of obscurity a gem to enrich mankind.

We do not deem it improper to publish the following
feeling extract from a letter just received, as we give no
name* or date. It is a credit to the heart of the writer:
"Inclosed you will find twenty dollars for the following

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY

" Miss H. A. J."— Sent your gold pencil on the 16th.

" Miss M. T."— Wrote about hair ear-rings and bracelet
on 16th.

" Mrs. G. L. M."— Sent your package to Princeton, Ky.,
on the 19th.

" M. E. T."— Sent your order on the 10th.

"Julia Hope." — Will find the explanations of croche*
terms in this number.

" Mrs. P. E. H.v— Sent apron patterns by mall on 21st.

CHEMISTRY FOR YOUTH.

279

" Mrs. S. M. B." — Sent your articles on the 21st.
"C. C. B." — Sent ear-rings on 21st by mail.
" Mrs. C. B." — Sent your piano on 12th by freight line,
and sent you bill of lading.
" Mrs. A. S. M."— Sent your bracelet on 22d by mail.
" M. C. S." — Cannot find any Evans's Boar's Head Cotton.
u Geary's" is seid to be better. "Book of Crochet" is fifty
eents
" IT. P. L."— Sent Eglantine patterns on 22d.
" Mrs. R. G. W."— Eglantine pattern sent on 22d.
"J. H." — Sent the Talma ornaments on 23d.
'Miss II. A. J." — Happy to hear that you are pleased
with the Rapp pen. Our own writing has been improved
very much since we have used them.

"M. A. B." — Sent patterns on the 3d.

" D. T. P."— Sent Hungarian Circle on the 6th.

" L. M. S." — Let us know where school is, and we will
send you an answer there. The remittance was received,
and the " Book" sent.

"Mrs. II. M. L." — Club received. The article upon rear-
ing and training Canary birds will appear in the April
number.

" Old Subscriber." — We don't know where to look for de-
signs for chairs of worsted-work. Have never seen any.
Should we find any will publish them.

" Mrs. R. P." — Yes ; we can furnish patterns of any of
the fashions we publish.

"Coralie." — We cannot help you. The gentlemen are
mercenary, and, we are assured, look more after money
than accomplishments.

"Libbie'' will find full explanations of all the crochet
terms in this number.

" C. A. W." — The F. of S. is the same as the common
powdered, the difference being that the first is passed
through a very fine hair sieve. For the white lily, substi-
tute crystallized salt, reduced to powder extremely fine.

"J. H." — Sent pattern 17th.

" J. P." — Sent Hungarian circle on the 16th.

"B. F. II." — Twenty-two cents postage due on the
* Tracts."

" Stella's" letter not understood. Had she not better re-
fer to the publishers of the paper. Much obliged for her
kind compliment to the " Book."

"Fleda," Annapolis, Md. — Must write under her own
name. Cannot answer anonymous communications.

" Miss M. B." — Sent pattern on the 10th.

" Miss J. C. D." — Answered yours on the 10th.

" C. J. D." — Much obliged for the cuff pattern. It is a
very pretty design, and prettily executed; but ctiffs are
not used here now. Flowing undersleeves are now all the
rage.

We publish the following answer to an inquiry, by
u II. E. B.," in our January number. We are much obliged
to the correspondent who sent it: —

"Bath, January 2, 1854.

"Mr. Godey: Muslin embroideries should be squeezed
through a warm suds until perfectly clean, then rinsed
and dried. Then make your starch, have it thick, a little
blue, and use it warm. Dip the article, clap it. and work
every thread out smooth with your fingers until dry : then
lay it on a flannel, and pass an iron over the wrong side.

" Embroidery cleaned in this way will look as clear as
those imported. A Subscriber."

" Rapp's Gold Pens." — We cannot enumerate each person
that we have sent Rapp's gold pens to. It would fill a
column. We say, generally, every order has been filled ;
and gold will become scarce, notwithstanding the Califor-
nia supply, if orders multiply as they have done for the
Last month. See terms, page 276.

Explanation of Crochet Terms.— Sc, single crochet ; do,
double crochet ; pc, plain crochet ; pdc, plain double cro-
chet; dsc, double stitch crochet; oc, open crochet; doe,
double open crochet; tc, treble crochet; stc, single treble
crochet; re, ribbed crochet; ch, chain stitch; 1, loup, and
sometimes long stitch; sq, squares (in a tidy).

The stars in work patterns denote repetition, and what-
ever is inclosed between two stars is to be repeated. Crosses
and dashes often indicate the same thing. There are also
sometimes used crosses, and sometimes stars within crosses,
to avoid a deal of repetition, as the following : X 2 dc, 4
ch, miss 4, * 5 dc, 1 ch, miss 1, * three times, 5 dc, X twice.
This would be at length, 2 dc, 4 ch, miss 4, 5 dc, 1 ch, miss
1, 5 dc, 1 ch, miss 1, 5 dc, 1 ch, miss 1, 5 dc, 2 sc, 4 ch, miss
4, 5 dc, 1 ch, miss 1, 5 dc, 1 ch, miss 1, 5 dc, 1 ch, miss 1, 5
dc. This mode, therefore, of stars, crosses, &c, very much
abbreviates

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies it.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-
office stamp.

&l)emt0trt) for JJoutl)

HEAT, LIGHT, AND FLAME.
A Lantern to give light under Water. — The lantern
must be made of leather, which will resist the waves better
than any other substance, and must be furnished with
two tubes, having a communication with the air above.
One of these tubes is to admit fresh air for maintaining
the combustion of the candle, and the other to serve as
a chimney, by affording a passage to the smoke ;
both must rise above the surface of the water. The tube
which serves to admit fresh air must communicate with
the lantern at the bottom, and that which serves as a
chimney must be connected with it at the top. Any num-
ber of holes may be made in the leather of which th-e
lantern is constructed, into which glasses are fitted; by
these means the light will be diffused on all sides. In the
last place, the lantern must be suspended from a piece of
cork, that it may rise and fall with the waves.

Experiment with a Pipe. — Compose a powder with one
ounce of saltpetre, one ounce of cream of tartar, and one
ounce of sulphur, pulverized singly, then mixed. Put a
single grain of this powder into a tobacco-pipe, and when
it takes fire it will produce a very loud report without
breaking the pipe.

Singular Effect of Heat.— If a piece of tin foil be
wrapped in a piece of platinum foil of the same size, and
exposed on charcoal to the action of the blowpipe, the
union of the two metals is indicated by a rapid whistling,
and by an intense brilliancy in the light which is emitted.
If the globule thus melted is allowed to drop into a basin
of water, it remains for some time redhot at the bottom ;
and such is the intensity of the heat, that it melts and
carries off the glaze of the basin from the part on which it
happens to fall.

Imitation of the Luminous Appearance of the Lunar
Disc— Introduce a few pieces of phosphorus, of the size of
a pea, into a hollow glass ball of three or four inches in
diameter; and having heated it to cause the phosphorus
to inflame, keep turning the ball around, till half the inner
surface is covered with the phosphorus; when the inflam-
mation has ceased, there will be left a whitish crust or
lining, which, in a dark place, shines for some considerable
time.

180

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADf'S BOOK.

(£ nig ma s.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN FEBRUARY NUMBER.
4. Memory. 5. Kensington. 6. Eye — L

7. The part? of speech. 8. Earthquake.

ENIGMAS.
9.
Tnoucrr formed of what by all is priaed,
I 'm universally despised:
Though light* myself, I darken you;
And though I 'm missed, I balk your view.
In cities is my favorite haunt,
Although afloat I also flauut :
Land travellers e'er rail at me,
While sailors wish me in the sea.
Yet, spite of all their dire abuse,
The wise will deem I serve some use.
10.
Of goodness the beginning
Am I, you may depend,
Although also of sinning
Undoubtedly the end.

In grief hard-used I must confess,

As well as gravity ;
But softened e'er by gentleness

And generosity.

Grandees to me give precedence

(So prominent in grace):
For gold I claim a preference,

And guilt also embrace.

But greater far than all of these

In glory I transcend,
And lead the Highest of Degrees

The mind can comprehend.

11.

Though variable as the wind am I,
A steady servant ne'ertheless I prove;

By active drudgery your wants supply,
And moving frequently, yet ne'er remove.

Hard-hearted are my motives ; yet you '11 own
No fairer workman than myself could live ;
Then I 'm a sailor, though a landsman known,
And, fairly dealt with, fairest measures give.
12.
"Tria juncta in uno."
Like the leaf of the shamrock, an union of three,
On the stalk of humanity nourish should we —
Three blossoms of heavenly beauty and grace,
Which you may in the following similes trace.

While one with the sun may in fervor compare,
The fixed centre whose glorious ardor we share ;
The second resembles sweet Phoebe, whose light,
The reflex of the first, must illume the mind's night.
Then our third our own beautiful planet portrays,
Whose beautiful harmonies gladden our days.
The one ever ardent, inspiring, we find,
The other two sanctified spirits enshrined
In their mystical palace : one cheering our heart;
While the other's sweet ministry 'tis to impart

* Lucus a non lucendo.

What may happiness ever to others extend,
And of mundane felicity prove a real friend.
Now the poetized graces extinguished must be,
By comparison e'er with our paragon Three!
Therefore, we presume, with a little address,
The names of our glorious triad you '11 guess.

11 c c je i p t s, &t.

To Remove Stains of Wine of. Fruit from Taele Linen. —
A wine stain may sometimes be removed by rubbing it,
while wet, with common salt. It is said, also, that sherry
wine poured immediately on a place where port wine has
been spilled, will prevent its leaving a stain. A certain way
of extracting fruit or wine stains from table linen is te
tie up some cream of tartar in the stained part (so as to
form a sort of bag), and then to put the linen into a lath-
er of soap and cold water, and boil it awhile. Then trans-
fer it wet to lukewarm suds, wash and rinse it well, and
dry and iron it. The stains will disappear during the pro-
cess. Another way is to mix, in equal quantities, soft
soap, slacked lime, and pearlash. Rub the stain with this
preparation, and expose the linen to the sun with the mix-
ture plastered on it. If necessary, repeat the application.
As soon as the stain has disappeared, wash out the linen
immediately, as it will be injured if the mixture is left in
it.

To make good Ink. — Take one pound logwood, one gallon
soft water, boil it one hour, add twenty-five grains bichro-
mate of potash, twelve grains of prussiate of potash : «+i"
a few minutes while over the fire, take it off, and when
settled, strain it. This ink is bright jet black at first, flows
beautifully from the pen, and is so indelible that even ox-
alic acid will not remove it from paper. No other ink will
stand the test of oxalic acid. It is equally indelible on
cloth.

To Dye Red. — You can dye red with either cochineal,
madder, Brazil wood, or archil : the latter is- generally pre-
ferred for common dyes. Alum is all that is required to
fix a color.

To Preserve Woodwork.— Boiled oil and finely-powdered
charcoal, mix to the consisteuccof a paint, and give the
wood two or three coats with this composition. Well
adapted for water-spouts, casks, Ac

To Remove Iron Spots on Mabels.— Mix equal quantities
of spirit of vitriol and lemon-juice, shake it well; wet the
spots with the mixture, and in a few minutes rub with a
soft linen until they are completely effaced.

DOMESTIC RECEIPTS.

CUSTARDS, CREAMS, JELLIES, AND BLANC

MANGE.

[Third article.]

Pine-Applk Cream. — Have some pine-apple prepared in
syrup, and cut into small dice, putting it in your cream
with a little of the syrup, the other process as before.

Raspberry and Currant Cream.— Use a pottle of rasp-
berries, and the juice of a handful of currants, passed
through the sieve with the raspberries, then proceed as be-
fore, precisely.

Creme Mf.ringuee.— Infuse in a pint of new milk the very
thin rind of a lemon, with four or five bitter almonds
bruised. As the quantity should not be reduced, it should
be kept by the side of the fire until strong); flavored, and

• V ..-!.%••••,>..•. ■

RECEIPTS.

231

not be allowed to boil for more than two or three minutes.
Sweeten it with three ounces of fine sugar in lumps, and
when this is dissolved, strain, and mix the milk with half
a pint of cream ; then stir the whole gradually to the well-
beaten yolks of six fresh eggs, and thicken it like boiled
custard. Put it, when cold, into a deep dish ; beat to a
polid froth the whites of six eggs, mix them with five table-
apoonfuls of pounded and sifted sugar, and spread them
evenly over the custard, which should be set immediately
into a moderate oven, baked half an hour, and served di-
rectly it is taken out. New milk, one pint ; rind of one
lemon ; bitter almonds, five ; sugar, three ounces ; cream,
half pint ; yolks of eggs, six ; frothed whites of eggs, six ;
sifted sugar, five table spoonfuls; baked, half an hour.

Italian Cream.— Mix one pint of rich cream with half
pint of milk ; sweeten it to your taste ; add two gills of
Madeira wine ; one gill of rose-water ; beat these ingredients
thoroughly; dissolve in boiling water one and a half ounce
of isinglass ; strain it through a napkin or sieve, and stir
it into the cream ; fill the moulds, and when firm, turn out.

Almond Cream. — Boil one quart of cream with a grated
nutmeg, a blade or two of mace, a bit of lemon-peel, and
sugar to your taste ; then blanch one-quarter of a pound of
almonds, and beat them very fine with a table-spoonful of
rose-water or orange-flower water ; beat well the whites of
nine eggs and strain them to the almonds; beat them to-
gether and rub them well through a coarse hair-sieve ; mix
it with the cream ; set it on the fire, and stir it all one way
until it almost boils; pour it into a bowl and stir it till
cold. Put it into cups or glasses and send it to table.

Creme a la Vanille. — Boil one ounce of isinglass in a
pint of milk for ten minutes, taking care it does not stick
to the bottom of the stewpan. Put into it half a stick
of vanilla ; cover it down, and let it stand till nearly cold.
Beat up the yolks of five eggs, mix into them six ounces
of pounded sugar, put these into a stewpan; take the
vanilla out of the milk, which add to the eggs, mix them
well, and stir the custard over the fire till it thickens, but
do not let it boil. Strain it into a bowl ; when nearly cold,
add a glass of noyeau or maraschino ; keep stirring it, and
when on the point of setting add three-quarters of a pint of
cream well whipped ; mix it well, and pour it into a mould ;
set it upon ice till wanted, when dip it for a moment into
warm water, wipe it dry, and turn over upon a dish. Or :
Boil half a stick of vanilla in a quarter of a pint of new
milk until it has a very high flavor; have ready a jelly of
one ounce of isinglass to a quarter of a pint of water, which
mix with the milk, and one and a quarter pint of fine
eream; sweeten with fine sugar, and whip until quite
thick ; then pour into the mould and set it in a cool place.
Or: Pound thoroughly with loaf-sugar a quarter of a
stick of vanilla, sift it, taking care that the vanilla is
passed through the sieve ; whip a pint of cream ; add the
vanilla, sugar, aud half an ounce of dissolved isinglass;
pour into a mould.

Creme au Marasquin.— Prepare a cream as the Creme d
la Vanille, adding a quarter ounce more isinglass, and sub-
stituting maraschino for vanilla.

THE SICK ROOM AND NURSERY.
Decoction op Sarsapakii.la.— Take four ounces of the root,
slice it down, put the slices into four pints of water, and
trimmer for four hours. Take out the sarsaparilla and beat
it into a mash ; put it into the liquor again, and boil down
to two pints ; then strain and cool the liquor. Dose — a
wineglassful throe times a day. Use — to purify the blood
after a course of mercury ; or, indeed, whenever any taint

24*

is given to the constitution, vitiating the blood, and pro-
ducing eruptive affections.

To Cure Boils. — The leaven of gingerbread placed on the
boil, and left there until it bursts, has been found to be a
good remedy. When the matter is removed, place some
more leaven on the part. Another, and perhaps easier
mode, is the application of the rough side of the nettle-
geranium leaf to draw the boil, and the smooth side to be
applied to heal it.

Cure for a Dry Cough. — Take of powdered gum-arabic,
half an ounce ; liquorice-j nice, half an ounce. Dissolve the
gum first in warm water, squeeze in the juice of a lemon,
then add of paregoric two drachms; syrup of squills, one
drachm. Cork all in a bottle, and shake well. Take one
teaspoonful when the cough is troublesome.

Medical Effects of Hot Water.— In bruises, hot water
is most efficacious, both by means of insertion and foment-
ation in removing pain, and totally preventing discolora-
tion and stiffness., It has the same effect after a blow. It
should be applied as quickly as possible, and as hot as it
can be borne. Insertion in hot water will cure that trou-
blesome and very painful thing called a whitlow. The
efficacy of hot water in preventing the ill effects of fatigue
is too well known to require notice.

Cure for Toothache. — Dr. Blake recommends two
drachms of alum, to be dissolved in seven drachms of
sweet spirits of nitre; a piece of lint, or a small piece of
sponge, to be dipped in the solution and applied to the
tooth.

Sting of a Bee. — Apply sal eratus wet. It is said to be
an excellent cure.

Earache may be relieved by dropping a little sweet oil
and laudanum, warm, into the ear, and applying hot salt
in flannel bags, so as to keep the part constantly warm.
For sore throat, a gargle of alum and water will frequently
prove of relief at the early stage of the disease.

©I) e Sot let.

Macassar Oil. — Common oil, three quarts; spirit of wine,
half a pint; cinnamon-powder, three ounces; bergamot,
two ounces. Heat them together in a large pipkin; then
remove it from the fire and add four small pieces of alka-
net-root, keeping it closely covered for several hours. Let
it then be filtered through a funnel lined with filtering-
paper.

Wash for Sunburn. — Take two drachms of borax, one
drachm of Roman alum, one drachm of camphor, half an
ounce of sugar-candy, and a pound of ox-gall. Mix, and
stir well for ten minutes or so, and repeat this stirring
three or four times a day for a fortnight, till it appears
clear and transparent. Strain through blotting-paper, and
bottle up for use.

To Remove Superfluous Hair.— Lime, two ounces ; car-
bonate of potash, four ounces ; charcoal-powder, two drachms-
Make up into a paste with warm water, and apply to the
part, which must be previously shaved close. When com-
pletely dry, wash it off with warm water.

Wash for the Hair.— Olive oil, half an ounce : oil of
rosemary, one drachm; strong hartshorn, two drachms;
rose-water, half a pint. Add the rose-water by degrees,
otherwise it will not amalgamate.

To Dye the Skin Olive.— Use walnut-juice mixed with a
small quantity of Spanish anotta. The tint required may
be ascertained by dipping the finger into it.

€tn\xt-€a\iU (lossiji

DRESS OF AMERICAN WOMEN.

Apropos of Godey's Dress-Making publications, we find
the following remarks in a notice of the visitors of the
Crystal Palace, at the time it was most thronged by the
#v«wd of summer and autumn travellers. The compliment
to the ladies of our own city is more noticeable, as coming
from a New York writer: —

'; We may here properly observe that American women
-would be a great deal better dressed if they would more
carefully consult simplicity and sobriety in the colors and
arrangement of their costumes, especially such as are worn
in public places. For a ball or evening party, it is allowable
to be elaborately dressed, gay and brilliant; but the specta-
cles of dress we have seen during our visits to the exhibi-
tion have often been the reverse of grateful to the eye.
Ladies we have seen who, no doubt, fancied themselves
very splendid, poor things, because they were arrayed in
the hues of the raiubow — a bonnet of pink perhaps, a dress
ef bright blue, or of some gay changeable silk, or man-
tilla of yellow, and a parasol of white. We have often
longed to advise such unlucky persons to go to their hotel,
-md put on the neat and appropriate travelling-dress they
had discarded for this horrible finery. Let our fair readers
then be aware that the well-dressed lady is the one who
appears in the street, or in public places, in the fewest,
simplest, and least conspicuous colors, choosing, of course,
such of the neutral hues as are most suited to her com-
plexion, and having every part of her attire of the most
scrupulous fit, neatness, and propriety.

" For perfect taste, the Parisian is unrivalled, and you will
often see her dressed in a single neutral color — bonnet,
dress, cloak, and gloves nearly the same shade. Next to
her in the art of dress is the Philadelphia Quakeress, who
has discarded the awkward and angular forms of costume
prescribed by her sect, but adheres to its simple and sober
colors. No class of American women are so well dressed
in the street, and, indeed, no other class of women in the
world are dressed better, save only the ladies of Paris, who
;>re matchless in taste, and perfect in the most refined
si Lence of costume."

A BIT OF SHOPPING GOSSIP.

" Ox dress, of course," perhaps you say — a safer subject
for gossip than the reputation of one's neighbors; but
everybody knows shopping is considered a legitimate
amusement, from the good substantial purchases of the
farmer's wife, who exchanges butter and cheese for her

1 cottons, to the wife of the Fifth Avenue millionaire,

whose bill at Stewart's for a single year would purchase
t te homestead for which the farmer pays by the sweat of
lis brow. Let us see how they manage this feminine ac-
complishment on the other side of the water.

" When you go to buy gloves in Paris, a young lady not
<jnly knows what size you wear by intuition, but actually
tries on a pair, putting them on you with her pliant fingers,
and, if the glove does not fit, takes it off and throws it by!
And you are told what colors to wear in the street— what
in the evening; and white kids are never worn here, ex-
cept to balls. Gloves for evening are made with two and
282

three buttons at the wrist, and never have any kind of
lace or trimmings at the top.

" Now, as to prices, I find everything a little dearer hero
than in New York; a bonnet, for instance, without fea-
thers or flowers, costs from 90 to lOOf. ; a velvet cloak 350,
400, or 500f ; a simple headdress 50f. I suppose there arc
common stores, where articles are cheap; but who wants
to come to Paris and buy such things as one sees in Canal
Street or the Bowery, at home?

"The embroideries are so exquisite! One never sees
real Parisian needle-work for sale in America ; for there
are certain stores which only work from orders, and not to
sell to merchants, and it is in these little shops one must
go to learn what French embroidery is. For pocket-hand-
kerchiefs, there is a store in the Rue de la Paix, No. 11,
where nothing is sold but ' French cambric handkerchiefs,
from one franc to 1,500 each,' and where they embroider
your name, or ' coronet or crest,' when you have purchased
of them. I find mouclwirs, embroidered in colors (blue, red,
and violet), are very much used.

" You may tell the ladies at home that curls are entirely
the fashion here now, and as long as the hair will admit,
even to the waist (in front). There are no great pufFs at
the temple, such as are worn in New York. The narrow
fronts to the bonnets forbid those now. Curls are termed
d V Anglais, and ladies of a certain age wear their gray curls
as gracefully as young ones do their ringlets of auburn
and black."

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

" Miss N. R." — Ermine and its imitations can be cleaned
to look almost as well as new in New York. Any order of
the kind will be attended to by the editress of the fashion
department. A good imitation is well worth the trouble
and expense.

"Mrs. S."— For reading aloud, we would recommend
"The Artist Wife." Mary Howitt; "A Tear of Wedlock,"
EmilieCarlin; " KnicJmacls ;" Weld's "Life of Franllin ;"
anything by the " Author of the ' Maiden Aunt,' " or Mrs.
Margaret Maitland. Two of the books she mentions are by
no means suited to the family circle, one being too heavy
in topic and treatment for the interest of younger mem-
bers, the other a work entirely unfit for a lady's centre-
table, certainly for her private reading, although she b?<s
" cut the advertisement from a popular family paper." A
mother cannot be too cautious in selecting mental food for
her children. We will furnish either of the above by mail.

" Miss M,," of Ohio, will find a chitchat article on the
topic named in her very clever letter. We are sure she is
a dutiful, affectiouate daughter, and will make a good wife.

" Nannie" can have stamped bands sent to her by mail,
fill find cambric embroidery a very pleasant parlor
By this means she will get a set, sleeves and chemi-
te, at one-third of the importer's price. There arc1 but
two stitches generally used for them, button-hole and tho
plain eyelet, or over and over stitch; the variety is pro-
duced by the different styles of arranging the eyelets.

" L. M. J."' should remember Mrs. Hentz's Btorj of the
"Mob Cap." It is not well to trust the purchase of;
to an inexperienced person, particularly in the ma

: .( I | . i .

mmJaM

FASHIONS.

283

stones, unless they are directed to a well-known, responsi-
ble manufacturer. We recollect to have seen a set of cor-
nelians surrounded by pearls, which proved to be glass co-
lored by sealing-wax on the under side, a perfect imitation,
but worthless in themselves. We would refer her to Bailey
or Warden, in Philadelphia, Ball & Black, Tiffany, or Bait,
in New York.

'• Musidora" has chosen rather a fanciful name for her
correspondence, but we do not seek to penetrate her secret.
1'he best remedy for the strain that she complains of is to
quit reading in Ded, the worst possible practice for eyes and
head. If mischief is already done, we would recommend
bathing them in fresh rose-water, plain cold water, or a
simple mixture of camphor eight ounces, distilled water
sixteen ounces. Worsted-work in the evening should also
be avoided, especially any difficult pattern that requires
much counting.

" An Amateur Gardener" will find Saxton, Fulton Street,
New York, to have the best works on the subject. With
regard to the economy of a kitchen garden, it is a matter
of doubt still to our own minds. At any rate, there is a
great pleasure in having fresh vegetables, sweet peas, and
corn, and unwilted cucumbers, that have not lost their
Savor by lying half of a week in market.

li M. S."— The '; Musical Gift" contains all of Jullien's
music, simply arranged. Price one dollar, and the postage
is but a trifle, as the binding is very simple. As she wishes
it for a person not very far advanced, we think this would
be better than buying difficult arrangements, separately,
at fifty cents a piece.

jFasljions.

FASHIONABLE BONNETS,

FROM THE CELEBRATED ESTABLISHMENT OF THOMAS WHITE AND
CO., NO. 41 SOUTH SECOND STREET, PHILA.

(See Cuts in front of Bool-.)

No. 1. — Opera Bonnet. — Material, white tulle; face,
pointed satin wire, wreath of pink satin pipings around the
front; rows of pink pipings, edged with white blonde lace.
Trimming of green crape leaves ; face trimming composed
of bouquet of rosebuds and mazarine blue flowers ; strings
on the left side, with bouquet loops.

No. 2. — Spring Fancy Bonnet. — Material, lilac glace silk;
pointed edge, with blonde lace fall. Trimming, tulle
ruches, intermingled with violets. Face trimming, lilac
and white flowers.

No. 3.— English Straw Bonnet.— Trimming, white flowers,
mixed with a bouquet of rosebuds and green plaid ribbon.
Face trimming, wreath of the same. Strings same as in
No. 1.

No. 4.— Miss's Flat— Material, white glace silk; front
edge, blocks of wire covered with tulle. Trimming, half
wreath of white flowers; ribbon carried across the crown,
finished with bows at each side.

CHITCHAT UPON PHILADELPHIA FASHIONS
THE JUVENILES.

TAKING always as our motto that comfort and simplicity
are the first principles of dress for children, we have, like
a careful mother, to consider the spring outfit of the little
ones, a task which many mothers dread, because they have
not the tact to manage it rightly. In the first place, com-
fort cannot be insured without cleanliness, another of our

previous axioms, and here, as in an infant's wardrobe, it is
best to choose plenty, rather than fineness or elaboration,
if both are not to be had, particularly in the matter of
underclothing, which would form a separate chapter by
itself.

For a little girl just emerging from babyhood, the change
is almost insensible; but very few mothers know what to
do with a boy under similar circumstances. The present
styles arc more available tlum the little close cloth suit of
jacket and trousers, so long in fashion, transforming the
little urchin into the semblance of a monkey in his hand-
organ costume. All mothers have reason to bless the in-
vention, or rather the revival ox" sacques — for the prettiest,
and at the same time most comfortable and convenient
summer dress we can recommend for boys from two years
old to five, is a loose sacque, girt, by a belt, over white linen
jean drawers or "pataloous," as the young gentlemen will
be apt to call them.

We prefer the sack buttoning on the shoulder, with short
sleeves, and rather full in the skirt, reaching a little above
the knee. It may be made of any material — for spring,
cashmere or mousseline de laine, plain colors or small plrids
— brown Holland, with an edging of linen bobbin sewed on
flat in two or three rows, as the weather grows milder, and
finally, for summer heats, cambric in solid colors, as blue,
buff, pink, or green, also very prettily finished by rows of
bobbin or coronation braid. Needlework scalloping is also
a suitable finish. Nothing "could be more simple or inex-
pensive. Plaid ginghams might also be made up to look
well, with pearl, linen, or porcelain buttons on the shoul-
ders. There are porcelain buttons, as most of our readers
know, with edges of different shades, pink, purple, etc., that
will match nicely. The thin sacques might be low in the
neck, with short sleeves; for a thicker material, as cash-
mere de bege, or mousseline, they should be high in the
throat, with a narrow cambric ruffle or edge basted in the
neck.

The drawers are short, coming a little below the knee,
and not very wide. For ourselves, we prefer them finished
with a plain hem, about an inch in width, but it is much
the fashion to have a ruffle of twice that depth, of em-
broidered cambric flouncing, double the trouble to make
and keep in order, of course. They are slightly full on the
hip, opening on each side, trousers fashion, and gathered
into a waistband, in turn buttoned on a plain low-necked
waist, like the lining of a frock body. Of course, if circum-
stances will not admit of the care and washing necessary
for white clothes, the judgment of the economical mother
can substitute any suitable material for the white lie en.
Belts are worn of morocco, or broad silk, and linen belting
— a kind of galloon — with brass buckles of different styles.
They should be loose and low on the hip, to give the figure
grace and freedom of movement. This dress has, at least,
the merit of convenience and simplicity. Pinafores are, of
course, indispensable, whether of bird's eye, or brown linen.
They are made very much in sacque fashion at present,
the sleeves being long or short, as the health of the child
or the season demands. Many belt the pinafores over the
drawers and waist we have described, without anything
else beneath, in warm weather.

Straw hats are, of course, the most suitable covering for
le head, and there are an infinite^variety to be found at
lenin's and Oal ford's the present spring, from the cosily
Leghorn, with in snowy plumes, to the simple braids of
China pearl, or even coarser varieties, the brims varying
in width. The bands are of Mantua ribbon, white or green
straw and galloi as. Straw caps are still worn, but are Dot
so comfortable, as they afford very little shade to the eyes»
or mi k. They are more intended for boys from five to tan.

284

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Fig. 1 is a sacque of a more ornamental character than
that we have described, and is intended for a little girl's
out of door dress. It is of white cambric, trimmed with
embroidered flouncing, and may be worn with or without
a sacque. Of course, it is calculated for weather several
degrees warmer than March; but a spring wardrobe in-
cludes summer garments as well. Little coats may be
made of nankeen, dimity, or cambric, with a rather full
Ixxly and round cape coming to the waist, and are very
much in favor the coming season. If of nankeen, the
trimming is a hem headed with rows of bobbin, plain linen,
or coronation braid ; if dimity or cambric, the flouncing as
given in the cut is much used, or wide cambric edging.

Fig. 2 is a walking-dress for a little girl of three or four

Fig. 2.

tate a tiny pelerine, when worn on the street.
The usual objection to a fashionable costume
— overloading of ornament — cannot be urged
against this extremely neat dress.

Fig. 3 is still another style for a child of the
same age; it is the simple infant's waist, with
a basque and sleeves of cambric embroidery.

\The waist has alternate rows of plain plaits
and a narrow puffing; it may have the same
effect if plaits and three narrow tucks alter-
'j%<^>X nate, and can be more easily done up. The
skirt is of plain cambric, with a deep hem.
The dress without the basque, and with an
elongated skirt, is very suitable for an in-
fant's wardrobe. A belt of insertion takes the
place of the trimming on the hip.

For the street, children of this age wear
drawn bonnets of white or blue silk, of a very
simple style, or a delicate straw braid, with a
ruche of silk lace or blonde encircling the face.
Flats of straw and Leghorn will be worn, as
the past season, with bows and flowing ends of
white ribbon, or the addition of a white plume,
in some cases. Satin ribbon is much used. Sacques, coats,
and sylphides of dotted, cross-b«rred, and plain Swiss mus-
lin, cambric, or summer silks, are used for surcoats. Fine

years, and is considered very simple and childlike. It is
of a light plain cashmere, any shade that will suit the com-
plexion of the young wearer. The skirt has two broad'
folds, or they may be imitated by two rows of trimming, a
simple braid, galloon, or gimp. I The waist is plain, with a
basque opeuiug on the hips ; a cross piece is made to imi-

printed lawns, French chintzes, brilliantes, cambrics, eta,

he favorite dress materials. Checks of cashmere,

ine, silk, and French gingham are very pretty f"r>r

wear. Gaiters, or morocco slippers, with a s*r:vp

bund the ankle, and white stockings; pantalettes are

still worn rather high.

Fashio*,

${)* Irrbnl of ijj* Xnitj'a 36 n n k ♦

SEASONABLE PATTERNS.

DESIGNED, BY MBS. SUPLEE, EXPRESSLY FOR GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK.

VOL. XLVIII. — 25

yo/erofL

THE COLUMBINE.
[From the establishment of G. Brodie, No. 51 Canal Street, New York.]

For the early portion of the season, we illustrate a mantilla of great beauty. It is made of black-green or ruby-
colored, with a richly embroidered ornamental design. Should it prove desirable, the upper portion of the garment
may be left off, and the lower alone worn. The mantilla is trimmed with a netted fringe, seven inches wide.
290

vo/cr.

0£C. — — =--=-

THE SNOWDROP.

[From the establishment of G. Brodie, No. 51 Canal Street, New York.]

Foil the close of this month and the early summer, we present a mantilla which shares largely the public favor.
This garment has appeared elsewhere before, somewhat in advance of its time; but, as we desire to present accurate
reports of what are actually the reigning modes, we publish it here for the benefit of our lady friends. It is in the
Jwthe style, composed of white poult da soie, heavily embroidered. The collar is slashed upon the shoulder, and
cross-laced with cords terminating in neat tassels. It is fringed with extraordinary richness.

291

=JJ

SEASONABLE PATTERNS

EUGENIE COSTUME.

DESIGNED, BY MRS. SUPLEE, EXPRESSLY FOR GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK.

Suitable for the coming season. Material. — Brilliante or lawn. The corsage is cut square anil full, and trimmed irftt
Inserting and edging. The Bklrt has a hem and two tucks, each ,-ix inches deep, trimmed ts nl a
29'2

SEASONABLE PATTERNS.

L'ANG-LAISE,

DESIGNED, BY MRS. SUPLEE, EXPRESSLY FOR GODEY'3 LADY'S BOOK.

Material.— Tissue, barege or silk. Five folds on the skirt, each five inches deep. Scallops trimmed with No. V/2 ribbon,
looped up at intervals with No. 3 ribbon, as in plate; the ribbons to suit the colors in the dress. Corsage the same.
Gimp or braid is to be used with silk.

293

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294

GODEY'S

Jin dbtko

PHILADELPHIA, APRIL, 1854,

EVERYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XVIII.

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND Gil AVER.
BY C. T. HINCKLEY.

THE MANUFACTURE OF ARTIFICIAL
FLOWERS.

The manufacture of artificial flowers, first
brought to a high degree of excellence by the
Italians, is one of no small importance, consider-
ing the amount of skill and labor which it brings
into requisition. The first attempt at making
artificial flowers among civilized nations was
by twisting ribbons of different colors somewhat
into the shape of flowers, and fastening them to
wire stems. This yielded to the use of feathers,
which were far more elegant, but could not al-
ways be made to imitate in color the flowers
which they represented, there being considerable
difficulty in getting them to take the dyes.
Where the plumage of birds is of great brillian-
cy, the natural colors admirably answer the pur-
pose, and do not fade or lose their resplendent
hues. Thus, in South America, the savage?
have long known how to fabricate beautiful
artificial flowers from such plumage. In Italy,
the cocoons of silkworms are often used, and
have a soft and velvety appearance, while they
take a brilliant dye. In France, the finest cam-
bric is the chief material, while wax is also
largely employed. The arrangement of the
workshop, and the variety and use of tools,
where flower-making is practised on a large
scale, are as follows : —

A large and well-lighted room, which has
the means of warmth in winter, is selected, and
along its whole extent is placed a table, similar
to the writing-tables used in schools, where the
work-people may have a good light as long as
possible. This table is fitted with drawers con-
taining numerous compartments, arranged so as

to receive and keep separate the small parts of
flowers, such as petals, stalks, minute blossoms
catkins, buds, leaves not mounted on their stalks
and all other parts not fit to be placed among
more finished specimens. It is desirable that
the table be covered with oil-cloth, so that it
may be frequently cleansed, by washing, from
the stains of the different colors employed.
Along the whole extent of this table are placed
flower-holders, that is, light frames with hori-
zontal iron wires, to which the flowers, when
attached to their stalks, are suspended by merely
crooking the end of the stalk, and hanging it
on the wire. Sometimes tightly strained pack-
thread is used instead of wire. Figs. 1 and 2

Fig. 1.

represent two forms of flower-holder; in both
cases the frame is fixed to the table. Along the
tables are also ranged bobbin-holders in consi
derable numbers, not unlike those used by weav-
ers. The bobbin-holder is a rod of iron, Fig. 3,
about six inches high, fixed in a massive leaden
or wooden base. On this rod is threaded a large
bobbin, on which is wound a quantity of silk

296

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK

or wool. On its summit may be fixed a nut, to
prevent the bobbin, when in rapid motion, from

Fig. 5.

Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

whirling off the rod, but this is often omitted.
Ladies who work for their pleasure frequently
have this bobbin-holder made in an ornamental
form, the base being covered with bas-reliefs,
and the nut at the top taking the form of an
arrow, a blossom, &c. But the more simple
and free from ornament, the better is the holder
for use, any unnecessary projections only acting
as so many means of entangling the silk.

The flower-maker does not take up flowers
or their parts with the fingers, but with pincers
of the simplest description, Fig. 4, which are

Fig. 4.

incessantly in use. With these, the smallest
parts of the flower can be seized, and disposed
in their proper places, raised, depressed, turned
about and adjusted, according to the taste of the
artist, and her appreciation of natural forms.
It is with the pincers also that any little contor-
tions of the extremities of petals, and irregu-
larities in their form and in the arrangement
of stamens, are copied. The proper length of
this tool is about five inches. Each workwoman
brings one for her own use, and keeps it close
at hand. Dressing-frames of various sizes form
another part of the furniture of the work-room.
On these are stretched the materials, which are
gummed and dyed. A dressing-frame, Fig. 5,
consists of two uprights of hard wood, with two
cross pieces of the same, capable of adjustment.
The frame is fitted with crooks for the attach-
ment of the material, or with a band of coarse
canvas to which the material, can be sewn.
These frames have no feet, and are fitted some-
times against a wall, sometimes upon a chair.
When covered with the material, they are hung
up against the wall by one of the cross pieces,
until it is time to dismount them.

There are also various useful implements,
called by the work-people " irons," for cutting
out petals, calyxes, and bracts, and for giving to
leaves those various serrated and other forms
which produce such wonderful variety in foliage.
These cutting tools, two of which are shown in
Figs. 6 and 7, are of iron, with a hollow handle,
flat at its upper extremity, that the hammer
may be readily applied. They are about four
or five inches long, and of numerous sizes and
varieties. That they may cut rapidly and clear-

Fig. 6.

Fig. 7.

ly, the edges are occasionally rubbed with dry
soap. When a leaf becomes attached to the in-
terior, and cannot be shaken out, a little ring
of wire, Fig. 8, is introduced in a hole j, Fig. 7,
left for that purpose to disengage it. The ma-
terial is doubled several times under the cutter,
so that several petals or leaves may be cut out
at once. The block on which the leaves are
cut out is rather a complicated affair. It is
placed near a window, and as far as possible
from the workers, that the blows of the hammer
may not interfere with their employment.
Sometimes it consists of a very stout framework
of timber, on which is placed a mattress of
straw lo deaden the blows, and upon this mat-
tress a thick smooth piece of lead, forming a
square table, Fig. 9. In some cases a solid block
of timber is used, a portion of the trunk of a
tree taken near the root, and on this the mat

THE MANUFACTURE OF ARTIFICIAL FLOWERS.

297

tress and the leaden table are placed. The
hammers used at this work are short and heavy ;

Fig. 9.

one is especially adapted for smoothing the sur-
face of the lead when it becomes indented all
over by the blows of the workman.

The cutting out of the leaves and petals is
only a preliminary operation to the more per-
fect imitation of nature ; the leaves must next
be gauffered to represent the veins, the fold,
and the endless touches and indentations which
are found in the natural plant. Gauffering is
executed in two ways, the first and simplest
being that which merely gives the hollow form
to the petals of roses, cherry-blossoms, peach,
hawthorn, and numerous other flowers which
preserve, until the period of decay, somewhat
of the form of a bud, all the petals beautifully
curving inwards. To imitate these, the gauffer-
ing tools are simple polished balls of iron fixed
on iron rods, with a wooden handle attached,
as shown in Fig. 10. The balls are of various
sizes, from a pin's head upwards, to adapt them
to the minute blossoms of such flowers as the
forget-me-not, which require only the slightest
degree of curvature, and to the large flowers of
camelia, dahlia, mallow, &c, where the curva-
ture is of often very great. These balls are
made slightly warm, so as to fix the forms de-
Fig. 10. Fig. 11. Fig. 12. 1%. 13.

eidedly, without effacing the colors. The petals
are placed on a cushion, and the iron is pressed
against them. But curvature alone is not suffi-
cient ; there is, in many petals, a decided fold
or plait up the centre, springing from the point
where it is attached to the germen. This fold
can be ob+ained by the use of a prism-shaped

iron, Fig. 11. Conical, cylindrical, and hooked
irons, Figs. 12, 13, are also useful to imitate the
various minutiae of the blossoms. A cushion
near each artist serves as a rest to the gauffering
irons, which must be preserved from the least
taint of dust, seeing that they are applied to
the most delicately-beautiful portions of the
flower. The veins and curves of leaves are
given by gauffers composed of two distinct parts,
on each of which is severally moulded in cop-
per the upper and under surface of the leaf
as shown in Fig. 14. Sometimes, one part is

of iron, the other of copper. It is necessary to
have a very large assortment of these gauffers ;
in fact, they should correspond in number with
the cutting-irons by which the forms of leaves
are punched out. The leaf or leaves being in-
serted in the gauffer, a powerful pressure is
given to stamp the desired form. This is ac-
complished either by means of a heavy iron
pressed on the lid, or by two or three smart
blows of a hammer, or, better still, by the uni-
form action of a press, such as is shown in Fig.
15. Besides the above articles, the workshop

Fig. 15.

is provided with an abundance of boxes, scissors
large and small, for cutting wire, as well as tex-
tile fabrics, camel-hair pencils, sponges, canvas-
bags, &c, that everything likely to be needed
by the work-people may be immediately at
hand.

The material of which flowers are made is,
first and best (as already stated), French cam-
bric, but a great quantity of Scotch cambric,
jaconet, and even fine calico, are also used.
For some descriptions of flowers, clear muslin.

298

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

■, ami gauze, are wanted; and for some
\ tv thick petals, satin ami velvet are necessary.
These materials are provided in various colors,
I well as in white, but fresh tints have fre-
quently to be given. These are laid on with a
sponge, or a camel-hair pencil, or the petal is
dipped in color ; a quantity of green taffeta
should always be at hand for leaves. The color-
matters used in dyeing the material for the
petals are as follows : For red, in its various .
shades, Brazil wood is largely used, also car-
mine, lake, and carthamus. The best way of
treating Brazil wood is to macerate it cold in
alcohol for several days ; a little salt of tartar,
potash, or soap, will make this color pass into
purple ; a little alum gives it a fine crimson-red,
and an acid will make it pass into yellow, of
which the shade is deeper according to the quan-
tity employed. Carmine is better in lumps than
in powder ; diffused in pure water, it gives rose-
color ; a little salt of tartar brightens the tint.
Carthamus is dissolved cold in alcohol ; heat, as
well as the alkalies, causes it to pass to orange.
*' Is render it of a lively and pure red; a
very delicate flesh-color is obtained by rinsing
the material, colored with carthamus, in slight-
ly soapy water. Blue colors are prepared by
means of indigo, or Prussian blue. Sometimes
balls of common blue are used, steeped in water.
Indigo is first dissolved in sulphuric acid. This
is then diluted with water, and powdered chalk
or whiting is added until effervescence ceases.
The liquor is afterwards decanted off, and the sedi-
ment, when washed, gives a paler color. Great-
er intensity is given to indigo by adding a little
potash. Yellow colors are given by turmeric
dissolved in spirits of wine, by saffron, chrome-
yellow, &c. Green colors are obtained by mix-
tures of blue and yellow ; violets, by mixtures
of red and blue, and by archil and a blue bath j
lilacs, by archil only.

The method of making a rose will give a good
idea of the manufacture in general. First of
all, the petals are cut out from the finest and
most beautiful cambric. The pattern-shapes
must be of different sizes, because, in the same
rose, the petals are never equal ; a good assort-
ment of patterns enables the artist the better to
imitate the variety of nature. When the petals
are thus prepared, they have to be dyed in a
bath of carmine in alkaline water. For this
purpose, they axe held separately by means of
pincers, and dipped first in the bath, and then
into pure water, to give them that delicacy of
tint which is characteristic of the rose. But as
the color of the petal usually deepens towards
the centre, a tint is there laid on with the pen-

cil, while a drop of water is laid on the point
of insertion of the petal, to make the color there
fade off, as it does in nature, to white. If the
right tint is not given at first, the processes are
repeated ; any slight imperfection, such as is
seen in the petals of most living flowers, being
also accurately imitated with the pencil. The
taffeta employed in making leaves is dyed of
the proper green in the piece before cutting out.
It is then stretched out to dry, and afterwards
further prepared with gum-arabic on one side,
to represent the glossy upper surface of leaves,
and with starch on the other, to give the velvety
appearance of the under side. This preparation,
colored to suit the exact shade to be given to
the leaf, must be just of the proper consistence,
making the leaf neither too stiff nor too limp,
while it gives the proper kind of under surface.
Where the leaf requires a marked degree of this
velvet texture, it is given by the nap of cloth
reduced to fine powder, and properly tinted. A
little gum is lightly passed over the surface, and
when partly dry, this powder is dusted over it,
the superfluous portion being shaken off. These
preparations having been completed, it yet re-
mains to give to the leaves, after they are cut out,
the appearance of nature, by representing the
veins and indentations which they always ex-
hibit. For this purpose various gauffering-tools
are made use of.

The material for the leaflets of the calyx in
roses, is subjected to another process immediate-
ly on coming out of the dye, in order to preserve
the firmness which it is necessary the calyx
should have. To this end, the taffeta, while
still damp, is impregnated with colored starch
on both sides, and stretched on the drying-frame :
when perfectly dry, the leaflets are cut out ac-
cording to pattern. Buds are made also of taf-
feta, or, if partially open, they are made 01
white kid tinted of a suitable color, stuffed with
cotton, or crum of bread, and tied firmly with
silk to slender wires. The stamens are prepared
by attaching to a little knot of worsted a suffi-
cient quantity of ends of silk to form the heart of
the flower. These ends of silk, cut to the pro-
per length, are then stiffened in kid jelly, and,
when dry, the extremities are slightly moistened
with gum-arabic and dipped in a preparation
of wheaten flour, colored yellow, to represent
the pollen. Each thread takes up its separate
grain, and is left to dry. The heart of the flower
being thus prepared, and fixed to a stem of wire,
the smaller petals are arranged round it, and
fixed by paste at their points. The larger petals
succeed, some of which are hollowed or wrin-
kled, while constant care is taken to give them

THE MANUFUCTURE OF AKTIFICIAL FLOWERS.

299

a natural appearance in disposing them around
the centre. The calyx comes next, and incloses
the ends of all the petals. It is fixed with paste,
and surrounded with more or less of cotton
thread, which also generally incloses one or
more wires attached to that which hears the
heart of the flower, and forming the germ. The
whole is covered with silver-paper tinted green.
The leaves are mounted on copper wire, and
are arranged on the stem in the order which
nature teaches, the covering of cotton and tis-
sue-paper hiding the joints.

In addition to the manufacture of flowers in-
tended as closely as possible to represent their
living models, there is a large branch of the art
in which the aim seems to be to depart from
nature as far as possible. These fancy flowers
are the fruit of the artist's peculiar taste, and
are therefore as impossible to describe as we
sincerely wish they were impossible to execute.
There are also flowers of natural forms, but of
unnatural colors, being made to assume mourn-
ful hues to suit the circumstances of their wear-
ers. There are also gold and silver flowers,
more resplendent, but equally unnatural. Of
these, sometimes the stamens and pistils alone
are metallic ; sometimes the petals are gilded, and
sometimes the leaves and fruit glitter in the same
precious metal. An easy method of applying the
gilt in any device or form, is to prepare a cement
which shall fix it to the cambric, paper, or other
material (this cement may be honey and gum-ara-
bic boiled in beer), and then to moisten with it
the surface, placing thereon rather more gold-leaf
than is necessary to cover it, pressing it down with
a cotton rubber, and, when it is dry, rubbing off
the superfluous gilding with the same.

Flowers are also made in chenille, but do not
pretend to an accurate imitation of nature.
There are two or three methods of making
them, the simplest being to represent merely
the shapes of flowers ; for instance, apple-blos-
soms, represented by small loops of pink che-
nille arranged round a centre. Another method
is, to make out the distinct petals, by rows of
chenille placed close together. A third and
prettier method, is that of uniting chenille with
ordinary flower-making. Flowers made of fea-
thers may be extremely rich and brilliant in
their effect. Yet ordinarily feather-flowers are
more difficult than satisfactory, and there are
very few of our own familiar flowers that can
be successfully copied by them. One of the best
imitations is that of the wild clematis when
adorned, as it is in autumn, with its plumed
seeds. These can be admirably imitated in
white marabout feathers. Some of the most

available feathers for flower-making are those
found under the wings of young pigeons.

The manufacture of wax-flowers is carried on
by using the purest virgin wax, entirely freed
from all extraneous matters. Wax that is either
granular or friable must be rejected. It is ge-
nerally melted in vessels of tinned iron, copper,
or earthenware. To render it ductile, fine Ve-
nice turpentine, white, pure, and of an agree-
able odor, is added. The mixture is constantly
stirred with a glass or wooden spatula. All
contact with iron must be avoided, and if the
vessels are of that material, they must be
and carefully tinned. When stiff leaves are to
be executed, two parts of spermaceti are added
to eight parts of wax, to give transparency.
Much care and tact are needed in coloring
wax. The colors being in fine powder, are ma'e
into a paste by adding little by little of essence
of citron or lavender. When the trituration is
perfect, this paste is mixed with melted wax,
stirring rapidly all the while ; and while the
mass is still liquid, it is poured into moulds of
pasteboard, or tinned iron, of the shape of tab-
lets, and is then ready for use. Sometimes it is
passed through fine muslin as it flows into the
moulds. Another method is, to tie up the color
in a muslin bag, and wave it about amongst the
molten wax until the desired tint is obtained.
To combine colors, it is only necessary to have
two or three bags containing different colers,
and to employ as much of each as shall have the
desired effect. These bags, far from being spoiled
by dipping in wax already containing other
shades, have only to be rinsed in pure water to
fit them for coloring other wax. The colors
most in use in wax flower-making, are pure
forms of white-lead, vermilion, lake, and car-
mine, ultramarine, cobalt, indigo, and Prussian
blue, chrome, Naples yellow, and yellow ochre.
Greens and violets are chiefly made from mix-
tures of the above.

The wax being prepared, the manufacture of
flowers is carried on in two ways. The first
consists in steeping in liquid wax little wooden
moulds rinsed with water, around which the
wax forms in a thin layer, so as to take the form
of the mould, and thus to present, when de-
tached from it, the appearance of the whole 01
part of a flower. In this way lilac and other
simple blossoms are obtained with much rapid-
ity. The branches are also executed with wax
softened by heat, and moulded with the fingers
round a thread of wire. As for leaves and
petals, they are cut out of sheets of colored wax
of the proper thickness. These sheets are glossy
on one side, and velvety on the other. To express

300

godey's magazine and lady's book.

the reining of leaves, they are placed in moist-
ened moulds, and pressed with the thumb suffi-
ciently to get the impression, which is accurately
copied from nature. The petals are made to
adhere simply by pressure ; the leaves are placed
on a little footstalk, and the latter fastened to
the stem. The manner of procuring moulds
for the accurate imitation of leaves, is as follows :
A natural leaf of the plant it is wished to imi-
tate is spread out on a flat surface of marble, for
example. It is lightly but equally greased with
olive oil, and surrounded with a wall of wax,
which must not touch it. Then, in a small
vessel containing a few spoonfuls of water, a few
pinches of plaster of Paris are to be thrown,
and briskly stirred till the liquid has the con-
sistence of thick cream. This is poured over
the leaf, and left till it is well hardened. It is
then lifted up and the leaf detached, when it
will be seen that the plaster has taken a perfect
impression of every vein and indentation. Such

moulds are rendered far more durable if they
\ are impregnated while warm with drying oil.
\ This gives them greater solidity, and prevents
1 their crumbling from frequent immersion in
| water. It is necessary to impress strongly on
| all amateur wax flower-makers the necessity
j for having all tools and moulds completely
| moistened with water, otherwise the wax will
> be constantly adhering, and preventing neatness
i of workmanship.

\ The variety of the materials used in artificial
' flower-making was displayed to an amusing ex-
l tent in the World's Fair. In addition to the
| really beautiful and artistic productions already
noticed, and to the elegant flowers constructed
of palm-leaves, of straw, and of shells, as well as
of all the materials named in this paper, there
were flowers fabricated in human hair, in choco-
late, in soap, in wood, marble, porcelain, com-
mon earthenware, and other unpromising mate-
rials.

ZAISTOTTI: A BOMANTIC TALE OF ITALY AND SPAIN.

BY PERCY.

CHAPTER I.

" Thou favored land
Of art and nature, thou art still before me ;
Thy sonsj to whom their labor is a sport,
So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute
Thy sunburnt daughters, with their laughing eyes
And glossy raven locks."

a Oh, Love, thou art a strange wild thing,
A dancing beam of Mayday sun,
A life-morn song that angels sing,

A gift from Him, the Highest One!
Thou art a claude-tint thrown among

The Rembrandt shades that limn our strife!
The olive on thy lip is hung,
Thou dove, that bringest words of life."

"Love," by Percy.

Count Carlo Zanotti was a son of one
of the noblest families in Venice — the heir of
its titles, its wealth, its hereditary renown, and
his prospects in the spring of life were golden
as the trees in autumn. An incident in his
father's history, which tinged the old man's de-
clining years with a gloomy shadow, had also
its effect upon the son, and, unmindful of the
brilliant future, he brooded in sadness on the
past. His mother, who was the beauty of her
day, had yielded to the fascinations of a young
and handsome Englishman, and in an unguarded
moment left her home and her husband, to
throw herself upon the poor protection of a

profligate, and to meet the cold sneers and sa-
vage slights of a selfish and unforgiving world.
How much the character, in its gradual de-
velopment, is biased by a mother's influence, it
is difficult to estimate ; but we all know that
" the thought which mirrors Eden in the face of
home" has saved even the best of us from many
an error and many a sin, and generated, even
in the ivorst, some softening emotions, and caused
some kindly acts. This holy influence, linked
with a mother's memory, makes each thought
of her, as the German beautifully expresses it,
" a prayer to God," and we rise from musing
upon her gentle love — kinder, better, wiser.
" The wild sea of our hearts lies mute, and o'er
the waves the Saviour walks." How terrible then
to have that sanctuary defiled, to be taught that
purity has fled, even from Bian's temple — to he
brought up an atheist in the religion of the heart !
Calm, gentle, passionless in outward aspect,
the count became noted as an earnest scholar,
and yet his heart contained many a hidden
stratum of volcanic passion, .which burned
scathingly at the thought of his mother's shame !
From an intense consciousness that the conduct
of his parent entailed its measure of reproach
upon himself, he shrank from the society of
men, and sought sources of relaxation in tracing
to their sequences those great thoughts winch

ZANOTTI.

301

the thinkers of all time, in their debasement
and their exaltation, have written down and im-
mortalized— some, on the undying page ; some,
on the living canvas ; some, on the ever-moving
firmament of ceaseless action ! The shadow of
the wing of time fell upon him as a man, at an
age when most of us are immature, unthinking
boys. The epochs of strong natures are dialed
upon the mind not by the sunshine but by the
darkness of the heart ! Our sorrows are the
evil genii who transform in a moment boyhood
to manhood, and manhood to age !

Every day, every hour, this young man ac-
quired something from ancient or from modern
lore ; at twenty-four he was versed in a learn-
ing beyond that of many a lifelong scholar.
His studies, within a year of the period at which
we introduce him to the reader, had taken a
form diiferent from any he had before pursued ;
the old disciples of a gorgeous mythology being
neglected for the mystical and alluring spirit-
ualism of the exponents of modern German
philosophy. The English philosophy is entirely
destructive of the grand, the lofty, the divine!
It lowers and debases by its precepts, and chills
by its explanations. The French, on the other
hand, attempts no explanations ; but the system
is an elaborate sneer at all that is good, and
true, and high, and noble. The aim of the Ger-
man " is at least the nobler one, and elevates,
not dwarfs, the souls of men." " There is a God-
like within us that feels itself akin to the God ;
and if we are told that both the ' Godlike and
the God are dreams,' we can but answer that so
to dream is better than to wake and find our-
selves nothing !"

Who among us — but worms of the dust, low
things, fit only for the mire in which they wal-
low— but has at one time or another demanded
initiation into the secret order of the " searchers
after truth?" Who among us but, unsatisfied
with the knowledge that may be achieved, grasps
wildly after heaven's thunderbolts, and would
embrace the unattainable, feeling, as we so ter-
ribly do, the restlessness and the might of the
Deity in our burning veins 1 Who among us but
has tried to look deep into the future, and read
the fate, not of the next year or moment, but
of the undying spirit in that other world, of
which we dream so much, and know so little ?

And who among us who has had the heroism
honestly to make the attempt, and to pursue to
their sequences the terrible thoughts to which
such reflection gives rise, but has gone down
headlong to the pit ? If no actual phantoms haunt
the waking dreams of such unsuccessful neo-
phytes, yet a more terrible thing is that accursed

VOL. XLVIII. — 26

skepticism — that coldness that does not brook to
be questioned, and that cannot be understood —
that fills his soul. It does not come over his hours
of mirth, when the wine- cup passes and the jeet
goes round; but, like the fabled fiend of the
romancers, comes only over the lost one's soul,
when his intellect would aspire and his genius
dare. Comes it, with its eternal sneer, that sees
nothing so high that it does not make it appear
utterly despicable ! When his genius would
dare, comes it with its evil eyes, and he loses
faith in his genius and doubts his power ; loses
faith when he knows that faith only can bear
him through life's tempests; doubts while he
feels doubt to be the unpardonable sin.*

Count Zanotti had passed through each of the
stages of which I speak — first, an unquenchable
yearning for forbidden knowledge ; next, the
rapture that glows when the lip touches the
sparkle on the brim of the cup — and then the
flatness and the weariness that follow ! But for
him, there was yet a hope. His heart had never
beat with the quick pulse of love ! Its youth-
ful vigor was unimpaired, and in a contest with
the intellect there was strong hope of it proving
victorious. The struggle came soon enough.

CHAPTER II.

" Two souls with but a single thought,
Two hearts that heat as one." — Ingomar.

At the end of the long, gloomy day following
the conclusion of the carnival, Zanotti accom-
panied his father to a midnight mass, and there
for the first time saw Leonora D'Alvarez, the
daughter of Spain's ambassador to the court of
the winged Lion of St. Mark's. She was one
of those beautiful creations that we so often
dream of, and sigh for, and sometimes, but very
seldom, see. Soul there shed its spiritual at-
tributes over one from whose features even the
bloom of youth seemed to catch a brighter hue.
Like all Italians, Zanotti had dreamed of love —
the love of the poet and the dreamer ; and now
he felt it in its strength — the love of a pure,
unselfish, yet deep and ardent nature !

To shorten a long story (for we must leave
much to be divined in this history), he felt the
inspiration growing out of love impelling him to
give him his feelings to the world in immortal
song. He wrote, and he became famous ! Then,

* I have liberally availed myself, in the above theory,
of the hints of my talented friend. J. J. Woodward, con
tained in an epistolatory criticism on Ihilwer's Zauoni.
written to a mutual friend.

302

godey's magazine and lady's book.

when a nation bowed before his genius — when
a world re-echoed his name with reverence — he
sought the woman who had roused his soul to
exertion; he told her that he loved her; he told
her that all the bright thoughts and sparkling
fancies the universe had claimed as its own were
hers — all hers ; that she, and she alone, had made
his name as deathless as the ethereal essence the
Almighty had endowed his body with — and that
unless she gave still another gift — her heart —
fame, fortune, name, genius— were but empty,
and hollow, and useless !

The whispered reply was no denying one, and
he seemed to have attained all of happiness the
world can offer. Months flew by — months in
which life seemed born, like Venus, " of a rosy
sea and a drop from heaven ;" months when
each to-morrow hung an " arch of promise," a
ladder of sunlight, each round of which seemed
made to lead the feet through Ivan gardens — up
— up towards the sky ! The glorious sun, warm-
ing like a lover's glance the beautiful bosom of
the " Doge's bride" — the swelling " Adriatic" —
the churches, the palaces, the prisons, whose
gloom was hallowed by romantic memories, the
legends attached to the palatial home of his
own proud sires — these were subjects upon which,
all the livelong day, he could expatiate, and she
delightedly listen ; and when night stole like a
dream through the soft atmosphere, the stars,
with their Chaldaic interpretations, furnished
a new page from whence he could cull prophe-
cies of their fate ! Then would he weave old
superstitions with the fancies of the poet and
the lover, till he grew amazed at his own strange
eloquence !

She, too, on her part, had an exhaustless theme
in telling how, by degrees, his soul had, as it
were, become a part of hers ; how every emotion
in his own mind, by an imperceptible and view-
less magnetism, awakened hers to action. The
simplest speech had a charm for him ; there was
music in her voice ; her thoughts were dimless
mirrors reflecting the spirituality of her soul ; to
use his own language, " each word was the spray
of her heart, which mirrored in its sparkling
globule all the beauty and none of the defects
of the world around it!" The days glided by
upon the swift pinions lent by unclouded hap-
piness.

They lived in an atmosphere where all was
of the past, save their love and their hopes ; the
multitude of traffickers and idlers that crossed
their daily path were as unheeded shadows ;
they mingled only with beings of other times.
Their friends— for the friends of the scholar be-

came those of the maiden — were Homer and
Virgil, Tasso and Marino, the graceful Catullus,
and the rough, but noble-tongued Lucretius !
They strolled in imagination through Ilion'a
Scam gate, along the luxuriant banks of her
winding rivers, and lay down to repose beneath
her wild and broad-leaved fig-tree. And then,
when they had gathered around them the heroes
and the poets of past and buried ages, unlike
Alaric, they would weigh the myrtle crown
against the laurel wreath, and see glory kick
the beam !

Could year after year of their lives have
rolled away with such feelings and amid such
employments, they would have indeed been
blessed ! But no ! Alas ! that could not be !
Love, and youth, and hope, are but the sun-
fringe of the cloud of life, the flame that gilds
the bark it consumes, the lightning flashes that
foretell a rent and shattered heart ! For love,
if no outward influences assail (or assailing, are
conquered and driven back), there is custom,
that slow, insidious lullaby, singing in Mor-
phean tones unceasingly, till, wearied and over-
come, that passion, that would have repelled a
visible foe, sinks at his post in quietness —
asleep !

It came ! It burst upon them without a warn-
ing ! Fate had suspended a sword above their
heads ; but, unlike the tyrant's envious favorite,
they saw it not ere it fell ! It came — crushing
and blighting the flowers that had blossomed for
them, and, tearing their young hearts from the
beautiful dream-world in which they revelled,
brought them back to the harsh and dull and
cold realities of this ! The father of the lover
was suddenly arrested by the myrmidons of the
terrible Council of Ten. It was discovered he
was the head of a wide-spread conspiracy against
the state, and the expiration of the month of his
arrest saw the noble and powerful family of
Zanotti exiles — its lord sent forth with the boon
of life, but with ruined fortunes and a tarnished
name — its heir an outcast, though spotless of a
single crime.

The parting of the lovers was brief arid terri-
ble. She swore to him that death only should
take the bloom from her love, that, ruined in
name and fortune as he was, he was, as ever,
the high priest of her heart's temple, and that
no other could ever appoach its altar. He offer-
ed 7io vows, but said to her, that if five years sped
by without his presence, to deem him dead, and
know he had died in striving to win laurels
worthy to lay before her fathers daughter !

ZANOTTI.

303

CHAPTER III

Years passed, and in a foreign land Alfieri
sought to win wealth and a new name to offer the
idol of his heart. He succeeded beyond his
wildest hopes, and with an impatience that would
have been unsatisfied with the swiftness of the
lightning, sped over the waters, in a richly
freighted argosy of his own, back to his native
city of the " Siren Sea."

Trusty adherents of his house had, in the
mean time, procured the reversion of the attain-
der as far as it touched him, and, as his father
was no longer alive, there was a strong prospect
of his estate being restored to him.

Arrived at Venice, he learned that the Duke
13' Alvarez had been recalled, and in the course
of conversation the new ambassador mentioned
that there was talk in Madrid of a projected
nuptial between the Donna Leonora and the
Prince Carlos of the blood royal of Spain.

Zanotti's lip quivered, and his eye flashed
fiercely as he heard the rumor, but not a word
escaped to betray the hot feelings that were
pressing at his heart. Ere the sun sank into his
bed of rosy clouds that night, his gallant ship,
with straining masts and every stitch of canvas
set, was speeding, like a gull, over the waters,
and Zanotti paced the deck through that night
and the next with a stride that betokened trou-
bled thoughts. He reached Madrid in safety, and
iost no time in finding the residence of the am-
bassador. There were bright lights flitting from
window to window, and the sound of music
was borne upon the night-wind, betokening re-
velry within. He stopped to question a lackey
who was lounging at the entrance.

" The Donna Leonora was married this night
three weeks ago, and Monseignor gives a feast
to-night to his son-in-law, the prince !"

Zanotti clutched one of the pillars that sup-
ported the massive doorway, and kept his hold
for a moment convulsively, for he felt his limbs
failing him. This movement brought his face
beneath the jet of a lighted chandelier, and the
servant shrank with affright — it was like the
countenance of the dead ! Terrible as was the
struggle in his breast; fearful as was the sudden
contest of passion and despair ; lost as he was to
aught but a blighting sense of the wreck and
desolation of his hopes, he still could not be ob-
livious to the significantly curious glance of the
affrighted servant. By an almost superhuman
effort he repressed further show of feeling, and his
voice was without a particle of tremulousness,
although very hollow, as he told the menial to
announce " General di Romano." Such was his

new rank and name ! Many a fair dame started
as that tall, majestic figure, with its proud head
and features, pale and rigid as if hewn from the
quarries of Pentelicus, passed her, as straight he
proceeded to the extremity of the apartment,
where, in a group conversing with smiling looks,
stood the Duke de la Darca, his daughter, and
the Prince Carlos of Spain. The count (or, as
we should now call him, the general), unobserved
by the group, placed himself near one of the large
Gothic windows, opposite to which was a group
of statuary that effectually concealed him from
view. Here he paused to gaze upon the woman
who had wrecked his happiness ! Four years
had passed without robbing her of a single grace,
and she stood there sparkling with diamonds,
radiant with beauty, and with a regality of bear-
ing that well became her new and princely sta-
tion.

An hour had elapsed, and he had watched her
through many a stately measure in the pompous
dances of her country, and heard her light jest
and her gay laugh, and saw the same haughty
fire in her magnificent black eyes, through all !
Jealousy has often been described, and the burn-
ing words of the poet have wrought out an ap-
palling picture ; but if, during that hour, each
wild throb of his bursting heart, if each shooting
fire of his seething brain, if the madness and the
agony and the fierce black promptings that fash-
ioned each thought into shape, and called it
murder ! could have been conveyed in words or
upon canvas to the minds of less volcanic natures,
they would have laughed to scorn the artist or
the author, and accused him of conjuring up the
Titan agonies of hell to confine them in the
contracted space afforded by the heart of a mere
mortal man !

He turned from the revellers, sick and dizzy,
and gazed out upon the night. The scene was
as fair a one as God's smile ever lighted into
beauty. The moon — floating in a sea of blue,
cloudless, with the exception of one fleecy-look-
ing mass of vapor that covered a small space like
a veil of silver tissue — poured a flood of radiance
upon a garden (surrounding the house on three
sides) filled with rare exotics, and in the distance
the steeples of the city rose up towards the sky,
as if formed of luminous mist. The stars, too,
were scattered round night's queen in rich pro-
fusion, and the air was fragrant with the breath
of orange-blossoms. The Venetian, even in that
land of sunshine and of flowers — his native
Italy — had never looked upon as beautiful a
scene. But it suggested no soothing fancies !
It only revived the memory of hours of which it
was now madness to think ! Hours that were

K)4

godey's magazine and lady's book.

freighted with dreams and aspirations as lovely
as itself! Hours that were passed — and forever ;
and aspirations that were coffined and dead !
His brain seemed bursting with the heat of the
room, and, as the window was a casement but
,i few feet from the ground, ho sprang out, and
walked with a hasty step in a direction in which,
from a plashing sound that smote his ear, he
iioped to find a spring or fountain. He found
nis conjecture a correct one, and, stooping down,
laved his fevered temples in the liquid, which
was as cold as ice, but seemed ineffectual when
applied to the terrible fever that consumed him!
rfe threw himself upon a richly sculptured seat
that was supported by two marble Dryads on the
edge of the fountain, and, in spite of every re-
straining effort, groaned aloud. He had remained
thus for some time, regardless of time, place,
everything but a dull leaden weight of misery,
when a light footfall on the hard gravel roused
him, and, springing from his recumbent position,
he was about to conceal himself amid the foliage
of the adjoining shrubbery, for he was in no
mood for society just then. He also had been
heard, however, and a rich, musical voice ex-
claimed—

"Dear fathe-r, are you there?"

Good heaven ! it was her voice ! He stood
spell-bound — volition was suspended. The next
moment they were face to face ! With a low
thrilling cry, she cast herself upon his breast.
There was a gleam half of terror — partly of sur-
prise and partly of joy — within her eyes. There
were the two again ! ay, even as of yore ! Leo-
nora and Carlo ! The ruined noble and his be-
trothed bride — the princess and the soldier !

CHAPTER IV.

The heart hath whispered rn its bliss,
Who could be sad in scenes like this ?
But. hist, a sound the night-wind bears,
A voice of love and sighs and tears !

MS. Poem.

An instant, but a single instant, the lady re-
mained upon his breast, and then Zanotti, re-
moving her clinging arms, placed her upon the
seat which he had himself just occupied. She
looked upon him, her full dark eyes flowing
with tears, and seemed struggling for utterance,
but no words came ! At length, with an averted
face, he spoke —

" Your highness forgets our relative positions,
and" —

"Forgets!" said she wildly, interrupting him;
" forgets ! Ay ! I did indeed for a moment forget

all but you; and you, Oh Carlo, is yours the
voice to bring back reality ? Is it for you to
whom every pulsation of my heart has been
dedicated ; for whom in the long hours of night
I have wept tears that seemed of blood — is it for
you to restore me to a reality which contains no
elements but those of despair, those that break
hearts, those that frenzy the exhausted brain?"

Alfieri's voice was sepulchrally hollow when
he replied, and the quivering of his manly frame
showed the violence of the emotion within.

" Leonora," said he, " Leonora, four years
ago we parted in Venice. I vowed never to see
you more till I had won a name you could not
shame to wear ; and you swore never to betray
my deep devotion. I was then unacquainted
with life ; I was young and trusting ; I looked
upon the flower and inhaled its perfume, nor
sought to analyze what hidden poisons lurked
within it ; I looked not for a serpent or a viper
in its folded leaves ! I gazed upon the diamond-
sheeted waters, nor thought upon the noxious
elements that, uniting in malaria, might rise from
their bosom to desolate many a neighboring
home. I turned my eyes upon the moonlit sky
without a thought of a possible hour when the
same azure face of heaven would frown and the
live thunder launch its bolts to ruin and destroy !
Ay ! I then looked but at the fair outside of all
created things, and heeded not the motive or the
soul within ! Leonora, I looked on you, and I
believed you ! I went forth cheerfully to the
hard fight I had before me ; I kept my vow — I
am a field -marshal of Austria. Have you kept
yours?"

She cast upon him an imploring, a piteous
glance. The moon was beaming through an in-
terstice in the foliage and shone full upon his
features, making their paleness ghastly, but
showing no violent emotion — nothing but a
hushed, cold, haughty sorrow.

She trembled perceptibly as she replied to his
concluding question.

" Yes, as truly as I have my faith in God ;
Aineri, they told me you were dead. Circum-
stances too complicated to explain placed my fa-
ther in a position with the government that in-
volved his life. Prince Carlos saved him, and,
for the priceless service, asked but the poor re-
payment of my hand. I told him my heart could
not accompany the gift. He still urged his suit.
Could I refuse?"

" Ay, madam, the tale sounds well," was the
bitter reply ; " but your grief seemed of a
strangely merry sort ; but now your laugh was as
light as any in the room, your jest as gay !"

" Zanotti !" said the lady, and there was some-

ZANOTTL

305

thing of indignation in her tone, " I am not what
the world in its cold carelessness deems me, and
you judge me as the greatest stranger of them all
would do ! The face may be wreathed in smiles,
the lips may be musical with laughing jests, and
yet, in its un revealed depths, the heart may
writhe in anguish, the soul sink with despair!
But this recrimination is vain, all vain !"

She clasped her forehead as if in pain, and
hot tears forced themselves through the tightly
pressed fingers. Her lover maintained a cold
and scornful silence. All the pride of his race
had combined with a deep sense of injury in a
trusting and betrayed nature to make him stern
and apparently heartless in his resentment.
Suddenly Leonora started to her feet, the wo-
man's pride within her revolted at what seemed
the silent sarcasm of his look. Her eyes, with
the tears checked suddenly within them, emitted
a wild, singular, startling light ; there was some-
thing of the Medusa in her aspect. She gazed
at him with a strange mingling of supplication
and haughtiness in her look ; her glance pene-
trated his soul and softened it ; he heard the
panting throb of her heart, and knew there could
be no acting in that. Her breath came warm
upon his cheek ; he trembled at the recollections
that were crowding upon him. And then, too,
she spoke —

" You use me too cruelly," she said ; " I do not
deserve this silent scorn ! I have wronged my-
self by giving way to emotions for which you
but mock and despise me !"

He started — were not her words true ? Had
he not been unjust in his grief?

" Leonora," said he, abruptly, " hear me !
From my earliest youth — ever since remembrance
avails me to recall events — rash, impetuous feel-
ing (my inheritance from a long line of hot-
headed ancestors) made me in every feeling
extreme and violent. I rushed to my studies as
to a conflict with a foe, and rested not till I
had conquered every difficulty. The same in
pleasure, obstacles were but the stones that made
the stream of life sparkle brightly in its sun,
and I leaped over them, or cast them aside with
an exulting sense of power. My love for you
concentrated all this vagrant impetuosity into
one earnest and undying passion. It subdued
and soothed the sinuosities of my outward na-
ture ; it checked the headlong restlessness that
was before apparent in all I did, and turned all
the various bubbling springs within me into one
noiseless, but deep, resistless stream. It made
an ocean of the rivers of my being ; that ocean
rose and fell, tinted with the sun's glorious beams
for a brief space ! Oh ! how brief! and then storms

26*

arose ; and now, when I know the tempest is to
last forever, is it strange if I am indignant when
I look on her who wrought all this misery, this
fearful misery?"

He had spoken without looking up at her.
He now raised his eyes, and found her again
weeping bitterly.

" And do I not share that misery, with all the
aggravation of a fruitless remorse? Oh, you
know not," she added, her voice assuming a tone
of beseeching earnestness, "the days and nights
of intense anguish that dragged their slow length
along, when thinking you lay beneath the deep
sea (for they said your grave was there). When
tears would flow, I wept for you, and mourned
in silent anguish when they wero refused me !
You know not how stronger than a woman's
that heart must be that can resist the appeal,
continued day after day, when it comes from the
lips of ' all, whom we believe to be in the wide
world, whom we would bless.' Words may be
met and combated ; but the mute lip and im-
ploring eye — they cannot be resisted ; the ten-
derness that veils its dearest wish for fear of
grieving us ; the grief unspoken, and the more
bitter from concealment ! Who can see this, and
in a father, every day, every hour, every minute,
and nerve their hearts to deny the relief they
can bestow? But all this avails nothing; the
tie is irrevocable that binds me to misery and
severs us forever. For you, Zanotti, you will
go forth into the world ; excitement is an antidote
provided for the grief of man. You will win
admiration and applause ; your fame as a scholar
and a poet, your renown as a soldier, will secure
you a high position among men, higher than
your rank alone would give. You will be loved,
you will love again, and our hours of rapture
will linger in your mind but as the recollection
of a dream ! I ask but a kindly remembrance
and forgiveness of my unintentional sin. Fare-
well !"

" And is it thus we part !" There was a proud
repelling sorrow in the lover's tone as he thus
replied : " Is this, then, the end of our golden
dream !" He paused, and, suddenly advancing,
bent his head close to her ear, "Leonora, do you
love me still ?" The question was in a whisper.
She started, a singular, a terrified expression
mounting into her face. She was about to speak,
but even as the words seemed on the eve of
utterance, a crashing sound, as of some one
forcing his way through the thickly intertwined
branches of the neighboring vines, caught the
attention of both herself and her companion, and,
with a stifled shriek, she looked round as if seek-
ing an opposite path by which to escape. Her

306

godey's magazine and lady's book.

intention was frustrated, however, for in an in-
stant after the intruder made his appearance.

" My husband !"

Leonora said but these two simple words, but
there was a desperate impassibility in the tone
in which thoy were spoken, that told of a heart
whose terror was frozen into despair.

Zanotti, whose face had flushed crimson on
the first appearance of the prince, was again as
pale as death. The moon looked calmly down
upon all, and God knows she had seldom shone
on three persons whose hearts, in their agony,
came nearer epitomes of hell than the group
assembled there. Leonora seemed rooted to the
spot, bound by a spell, a charm. Her small,
beautiful hands were clenched convulsively to-
gether ; her breath came with quick and labored
gasps ; her form seemed convulsed with a terri-
ble and racking agony ! She looked from her
lover to her husband — a look beseeching their
mutual forbearance — made a step forward,
seemed struggling to articulate, and fell heavily
to the earth. i

CHAPTER V.

" Ah, 'mid this scene
Of loveliness and deep serenity,
The traces of despair, and woe, and death
Were darkly visible !"

She fell at the very feet of her husband, and
he looked down with a smile that was sardonic
in its bitterness. Zanotti, under an impulse that
paused not to reflect that under the circumstances
the action was an insult to the man who deemed
himself already foully wronged, advanced with
the intention of raising her, but Prince Carlos
waved him back. Not a syllable had either of
these men uttered. Their glances were suffi-
ciently intelligible without speech. They seemed
mutually fascinated ; a kind of magnetism seemed
to draw upon each the other's eyes. At length,
the terrible silence was broken. It was the
prince that spoke, and, as he did so, his look
was terribly significant.

" Come, senor ! You wear a sword !"

(t What would your highness have?" said Za-
notti, in the low, hoarse tone of a man struggling
to subdue irrepressible emotion.

" I have said it. Draw !" was the short reply.

" What, here ?" The remark escaped Zanotti
unconsciously, as his eye sought the extended
body of the insensible Leonora.

" Ay, sir !" said the prince. " She '11 heed it
«ot. In these little plays, you know, a tragic

scene is indispensable to keep up the interest.
Why should not the heroine witness it?"

Zanotti shuddered beneath the maniac look
that accompanied this affected jocularity.

" As you will, sir," said he, sternly, repress-
ing all show of feeling. " But," he ventured to
add, " the lady, prince. It were unnecessary
cruelty to leave her thus."

" Rather say kindness," said the other, solemn-
ly. " It were a mercy if she never recovered."

The prince drew his sword as he spoke, and
motioned to Zanotti to do the same. He did so,
and, even in the momentary period occupied by
the action, what a world of thoughts thronged
upon him ! He thought of his old cloister life,
when books were at once his mistresses and his
friends ; he thought of his first meeting with
Leonora d' Alvarez ; of their parting, mitigated
by a hope of reunion under happier auspices ;
of the miserable disappointment of that hope ;
and of the fearful future that was before Leo-
nora, whether he lived or died, unless — and how
weak the chance ! — her husband could be con-
vinced of her innocence.

" Prince Carlos," said he, abruptly, as the
other placed himself on guard, " before we enter
upon a struggle beside that inanimate body — a
struggle in which death may seal my lips for-
ever— I must crave a moment's attention. Your
wife" — the word seemed almost to choke him —
" is innocent of any wrong at which your suspi-
cions would point."

The prince smiled — a smile of bitter, disdain-
ful incredulity.

w It is true, and it were useless to deny it, I
love her."

The prince started as if stung by an adder, the
first departure he had made from his courtly im-
mobility. Zanotti observed the gesture, and it
gave him confidence ; it showed this icy statue
had human passions. He added, in a firmer tone
than he had been capable of using before —

" Yes, Prince Carlos, the only being my heart
worships lies there at your feet ; but that love is
of an earlier birth than her knowledge of your
highness, and therefore the acknowledgment
cannot be insulting. To-night I met her for
the first time in the space of four years, and the
meeting was accidental. With scarcely the hope
of its finding faith, I make this asseveration. It
is necessary for the reputation of that much in-
jured lady. Her virtue — her purity is as untar-
nished as yonder sky !"

" Of her reputation," said the other, haughtily
" I know how to guard it. For her virtue"
A cold, venomous look of unbelief said the rest.

" Prince," said Zanotti, and his face showed

ZANOTTI.

307

some indignation, mixed with a haughty assump-
tion of calmness — " prince, my words are proba-
bly those of a man about to solve the mighty
secret of futurity, and I swear to you she is inno-
cent! I pledge you all my hopes of eternal
salvation, and trust that God may spurn me from
his throne of mercy if my words contain an ele-
ment of falsehood !"

" Oaths, on such an occasion," said the other,
coldly, " are worthless. This is a superfluous
waste of words. Leave her defence to herself.
The question is now between you and me. Your
presence here, with the avowal of passion you
have made, is in itself an insult demanding re-
paration. I consent to forget, the difference of
rank between a hireling soldier and a prince of
Spain, and you can hardly refuse to meet my
vengeance."

"Enough, sir!" said Zanotti ; "that slight
was unnecessary. I am ready."

Their blades crossed, and, at first, every move-
ment was studied and cautious, as if each sought
to measure the other's skill, and hesitated to
risk consequences that, in the situation in which
they were placed, involved life or death. Many
a feint passed between them, and each found in
the other a much more formidable antagonist
than he had anticipated. The Italian, the mo-
ment his sword touched that of his adversary,
regained at once the calm, resolute bearing of
one accustomed to rely upon those qualities for
existence 5 and the Spaniard, at first, exhibited
an equal degree of coolness. Gradually, how-
ever, he grew more excited, and made one or
two lunges, which were quickly parried, but no
effort made to return them. This indicated, on
the part of Zanotti, an intention either to con-
fine his action to defence, or murderously wait
an opportunity of ending the struggle by a sin-
gle, fatal stroke. Either supposition, as be-
speaking a consciousness of superiority, was
sufficiently galling to add to his excitement, and
his thrusts increased in number, leaving him at
each more and more exposed. But, suddenly,
Zanotti altered his tactics. He brought his
"forte" in contact with his opponent's "foible"
and the next instant the prince's weapon, twirled
from his grasp, was spinning through the air and
fell upon the ground at some distance from
where they stood.

For one moment, one single moment, the
Spaniard glared upon him, his face bearing a
look of concentrated venomous hate, then,
snatching from its jewelled sheath a short stilet-
to, he sprang with the bound of an enraged pan-
ther upon his foe. Taken unprepared — for, the
moment his adversary was disarmed, he had

dropped the point of his own weapon — Zanotti
staggered and fell, and the next instant the dag-
ger was, as it seemed, plunged up to the very
hilt in his heart.

Drawing the weapon from its still palpitating
sheath, he wiped the blade, and then, with
hands wet with her lover's blood, took the form
of Leonora, yet happily insensible, and bore it
to the palazzo. There was still revelry and
mirth within.

******

Years have passed ; it is night, and the stars
are scattered over the broad, clear face of heaven,
an archipelago of worlds. There has been a
thunder storm during the afternoon, and large
rain-drops still burden the foliage and the grass,
sparkling like a maiden's bridal tears. The sky
hangs, as it were, in quiet fondness over the
earth, and the night- wind is sighing love tales to
the flowers.

In a garden, situated a few miles from Cor-
dova, which incloses within its high walls a
lightly, but tastefully built edifice of consider-
able size, are assembled some six or eight per-
sons of both sexes. Their attitudes and occupa-
tions are various. One young girl reclines
negligently, but gracefully, on the still damp
grass, and touches the chords of a guitar with no
unskilful hand; a fine-looking man, in the
prime of life, paces up and down a long avenue,
and seems to be absorbed in meditation ; and an-
other, a lady, is weaving flowers into garlands.
She is a splendid-looking woman, of perhaps
five-and-thirty years of age, with those large,
liquid black eyes that seem to absorb and reflect
back to you a portion of your own soul. Her
look, however, is sad and hopeless, even her
smile giving but a pale, wintry gleam. Ever
and anon she sighs, too, and talks to herself in
a tone unintelligible to the ear, but breathing a
sad, iEolian strain to the heart. Her eye wan-
ders in bewilderment, seeking imagined forms.
Her emotions seem to be all mute, expressionless,
without a language, and translatable only by
signs. It is Leonora ; she is crazed !

CHAPTER VI.

" And thus, untaught in yotith my heart to tame,
My springs of life were poisoned — 'tip too late :
Yet am I changed ; though still enough the same
In strength to bear what time cannot abate,
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing fate."

Bykoit.

Aga.in 'twas night; but this time deepening
into morn. In a spacious chamber, furnished

308

godey's magazine and lady's book.

with all the appliances of opulent luxury, sat a
man, upon whose massive brow forty winters
had traced many a deep and rugged line. He
seemed one who had not been slighted by for-
tune, for the insignia of several illustrious orders
hung upon his breast. A small cabinet table,
upon which were strewred gorgeously bound
books and written papers of various kinds, was
drawn up beside him. The materials for writ-
ing were also there ; but he heeded them not,
but sat writh his head leaning upon his hands
apparently in abstracted meditation.

He remained in this position for full an hour,
not moving a single muscle, and more like a
dead than a living thing. Then he arose sud-
denly, and paced the apartment with a vigorous
and hasty step. His limbs were firm and his
form athletic ; it was his head only that looked
old. This also lasted some time, and then he
sat down once more, and, unlocking a concealed
drawer, drew forth a letter and a miniature.
Upon the letter he gazed long and earnestly, his
look assuming an expression of mingled terror
and dejection piteous to behold. Laying down
the picture wTith a sigh, he then opened the bil-
let and began to read, his countenance becoming
each moment more careworn and haggard. And
it was not strange it should be so ; for it is a
mournful thing to look upon the letters that
once told of the throbbing affection of some
friend or loved one, when the friendship is dead
or merged in a deeper feeling for another, or the
love is banished forever from its chosen temple.
To recall the words that dropped on the page ;
archangels proclaiming with trumpet notes that
we were the idol of one beating heart at least ;
to bring up again our old smile, and find it
gleams, and with no Promethean power, upon
affection's corse. Ah me, 'tis sad, indeed ! The
reader muttered to himself ever and anon, but
his words were disjointed and unintelligible.
He sighed, too, frequently and deeply, and even
groaned aloud as he read the following passage : —

" Oh, believe me, your highness, it is fate, and
net my own will, that makes me seem ungrate-
ful ! The gratitude your priceless favor has en-
gendered in my breast is so warm, so fervid, that
my life would be cheerfully given in requital ;
but when you ask my heart, alas ! I can only
say, I have it not to give. Years ago, ere I had
seen your highness, or dreamed of the possibility
of our ever meeting, Love had in my heart a
Minerva birth, and, though the object of it lies
in a bloody grave in a stranger's land, it will live
in my own weary soul while it remains on earth,
and accompany it when it flees to join him.
You say, 'Perhaps I have not yet been fortunate

enough to win your lovo or attract your regard
but let me beseech you at least to receive and
weigh the depth, the purity, the strength of my
devotion against that of other men ere you de-
cide.' Monseignor, you compel, even were I
not willing to accord, my ' esteem ;' my worthless
* regard,' and all the love my father and the
dead do not claim, you also have ; but were I to
consent to your request, and become your wife,
at his own altar should I send up a perjured
vow to God."

Carefully, he placed both letter and picture in
the drawer from whence he had taken them ;
but, instead of locking it, drew forth another
" billet." It was much shorter, a mere note, in
fact, but seemed to contain matter as pregnant
with agitation as its predecessor. He paused
some time over the following postscript : —

" You tell me that the grave, in closing over
the object of my love, severed the tie between
him and me forever — that death pronounced a
divorce which gave me liberty to form anothei
attachment. You know not woman's love to
say so. It is impossible, when once ignited, to
quench it entirely. It may be unseen, the ashes
may be cold ; but a spark certainly slumbers be
neath them, and will never, never die ! Oh,
your highness, let me entreat you to select some
worthier object than myself upon which to
lavish your affections ! I can never be yours !"

The man read this to the end. When he had
finished, there was a smile of mockery upon his
face : but a spasmodic shudder which convulsed
his frame evinced the pain which it was meant
to hide. How we learn 'to cheat ourselves by
playing the hypocrite to others ! The letter fell
from his grasp to the floor. His head assumed
its old position on his hand, and he gazed on
vacancy. He remained in this posture so long
that the candles one by one flickered and went
out, not even perceiving, so great was his ab-
straction, the glare they gave just before they
expired. The large gothic window immecliately
opposite to where he sat wras open, and the air
grew cooler and cooler each moment. It seemed,
however, as if there were no stars in the sky —
all was darkness. Suddenly, a terrific flash of
lightning illumined earth and heaven, and cast a
strong ruddy glare upon every object in the
apartment. A tremendous peal of thunder fol-
lowed, and the man started to his feet and ad-
vanced to the window. The rain was now com-
ing down in large drops, and flash after flash of
lightning, and peal after peal of thunder followed
each other with astounding rapidity. The wind,
which had lain motionless and dead previous to
the beginning of the storm, now at one moment

Z ANOTTI.

809

went rushing by with extreme violence, and the
next sank into a low moan that was awful
enough to blanch the cheek and palsy the heart
of the stoutest. It was like the wailing voice
of a God sorrowing over the sins of man, or the
spirit of earth singing a dirge over vanished
time.

The tenant of the chamber stood with folded
arms, regardless of the fierce gusts that ever and
anon dashed the heavy rain-drops in his face,
and the ghastly blue tint cast upon his counte-
nance by the lightning made him look unearthly
enough to be the arbiter of the dreadful con-
test then raging between the shrieking storm
fiends. His eye grew brighter and more glisten-
ing. There seemed a sympathy between the
unchained elements in their rage and his own
proud spirit. His form dilated, and he seemed
to look with a strange delight upon the swaying
trees bending beneath the terrific blasts of wind,
and to list to the crashing thunder with a fierce
joy. A magnificent oak, which had resisted
every attempt of the tempest to more than shake
its smaller limbs, was suddenly torn up by the
very roots, and, with a rushing noise, fell to the
ground. The very earth seemed to groan as it
fell.

" Thus would I die," exclaimed the looker on,
exultingly — " thus would I die ! Amid a world's
agonizing throes, when the mountains seem to
bend their scathed tops, and the ocean roars its
submission to the storm."

As he spoke, he advanced, heedless of the
elements, through the casement, and stood upon
the extreme edge of the battlemented parapet.
A shrill, mocking laugh greeted his concluding
words, and a voice, that seemed to his excited
imagination preternaturally hollow, exclaimed —

"And die thus you shall !"

For a moment he stood perfectly paralyzed ;
but a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder,
and he turned to meet the glare of two eyes that
shone as if lit with fire from hell. The person
from whom the glance proceeded held in a
threatening position a long, keen-looking dag-
ger, and the blade gleamed brightly in the elec-
tric light with which a sudden flash of lightning
illumined the scene. The man who had a mo-
ment before looked defiantly upon the wrathy
heavens shrank from the danger which now
threatened him from a human foe. It was, how-
ever, but for a moment. He saw in the impla-
cable countenance of the man who had so

strangely come upon him, sufficient evidence of
some dark and evil purpose to make him look
for mischief. He suspected the existence of a
danger that would tax his every energy. He
turned upon the intruder a look of inquiry, firm
and proud, and somewhat rebuking in its aspect.
The next moment, however, recollecting that,
in the intervals between the flashes, all was in-
visible, he put the question audibly, which be-
fore he had mutely expressed. A tremendous
peal of thunder drowned the words in its fright-
ful reverberations, and the lightning that fol-
lowed showed him the arm of his foe raised to
strike. Even as the blade touched his breast he
caught his adversary's wrist and threw himself
upon him. Powerful he found him beyond all
expectations, and his cheek turned ghastly pale,
for he felt hope deserting him.

The struggle was terrible ; a look of vengeful
despair sat on the beaded brow of one, and deep,
dark, unmitigable hate gleamed in the strained
eyeballs of the other. The assailed man chafed
like a maimed lion in the hunter's toils, and his
efforts bore that character of ruthless savageness
which is the consequence of hopeless fear — of
rayless despair. The other, in the proud con-
sciousness of tried strength, dashed his dagger
into the bosom of the clouded chaos that formed
the atmosphere in which they fought, and, by
the exertion of resistless bodily power, bore his
victim back towards the verge of the parapet.
Too pale to seem human, like the animated sta-
tues of two contending gladiators, they rocked
to and fro on its extremity. A momentary strife
ensued, in which the muscles of each seemed
cracking with the might of their exertions. For
a single instant, the assailant seemed to give
way, and the heart of his victim beat with a
hope that intensity made an agony ; but the re-
laxation was but the prelude to a more violent
effort. Again they were upon the verge of the
battlement — they balanced upon the edge — and
then sank into the darkness. A wild, sardonic
laugh, and a cry of agony that seemed to freeze
the very elements and hush their destructive
howl into silence, went up to heaven, succeeded
by a dull, heavy sound that announced the de-
parture of two souls to judgment.

The next day the patrol discovered, beneath
the postern that opened upon the castle fosse,
two mangled bodies, quite dead. The one was
the Prince Carlos, Regent of Spain, and the
other the Count Carlo Zanotti.

THE ORPHAN'S DEPARTURE.

BY MARGARET FLOYD.

{Sec Plate)

The early years of few have been so carefully
ruarded and protected as were those of Edith
Frazier. Her father was the rector of a church
in a beautiful but secluded country village in the
south of England. In addition to his sincere
piety and high-toned moral character, Mr. Fra-
zier possessed a well-cultivated mind. His wife
was also a superior woman, and as Edith was
their only child, her early training was the ob-
ject of their most careful attention. In a lovely
and sequestered home, surrounded not only by
the comforts and luxuries, but the elegances of
life, and in close association with persons of high
refinement and elevated goodness, the young
girl grew slowly up t6 womanhood. There was
no undue excitement of vanity or the passions
to force her, like some hothouse plant, into an
early maturity ; and no unseasonable call upon
her for self-reliance or exertion, which entirely
blots out of some lives the sweet carelessness
of girlhood. At sixteen, she was still almost a
child, when the death of her mother, her first
great sorrow, made her sensible for the first time
that this world is not the place for that uninter-
rupted happiness which had, until then, been
her portion.

Edith was almost heart-broken at the loss of
her mother. They had been constant com-
panions, and she missed her every moment more
and more. Mr. Frazier tried to supply to his
daughter the place both of father and mother,
but he was a studious, reserved man, and him-
self suffering deeply from his bereavement, so
that they did little else but remind each other
constantly of their great sorrow.

About a year after Mrs. Frazier's death, find-
ing that his daughter did not rally from the de-
pression so foreign to her nature, Mr. Frazier
proposed a tour through the northern part of
England and Scotland. It was just at the be-
ginning of the pleasant summer weather, and,
arranging matters in his parish so that his absence
for two or three months would not be felt, he
decided to leave immediately.

On the Sunday before his departure, a stranger

was seen in the little parish church. He was a

man who would have been noticed in any place,

and who, in a quiet country village, was an ob-

310

ject of general attention. Tall, handsome, and
with a strikingly high-bred and gentlemanlike
appearance, he would have been singled out
anywhere as one of nature's nobility. Edith
was struck and gratified by the stranger's evident
interest in the sermon her father preached that
day. It was one with which he had taken espe-
cial pains, and the daughter, pioud as well as
fond of her father, was glad to see that he had
at least one appreciative listener.

A few days • after, Mr. Frazier and Edith set
out on their journey. London was their first
stopping-place, and several very busy days were
spent there, while Edith, with the vivid interest
of one to whom almost everything in that vast
and crowded city was strange and new, visited
the many places of interest and note within it.
While they were standing in St. Paul's, the
stranger who had attracted their attention in
Hillcomb, their own village, a few days before,
passed them with a look of evident recognition.
They met again while going over Westminster
Abbey ; and it so happened that they were at
the same time paying to the genius of Shakspeare
the homage of a visit to his grave at Stratford,
and that they passed each other again while
strolling over the grounds around NewMead Ab-
bey.

By this time they had advanced so far on the
way to acquaintanceship, that, when they again
encountered each other near the lakes in West-
moreland, the home of so many of the poets of
England, a bow was the almost involuntary
mark of recognition. English reserve and shy-
ness might have prevented any more intimate
intercourse, but for an accident that happened to
Edith in Scotland.

Mr. Frazier, finding that the cool and bracing
air of that country had as favorable an effect on
his daughter's health as the wild and romantic
scenery had on her mind, and being pleased with
a quiet country inn which he had found, pro-
posed that they should make it their home for
two or three weeks. They could not have found
a pleasanter resting-place, for Lock Lomond
was spread out in its calm serenity at their feet,
and Ben Lomond towered in savage grandeur
above their heads.

THE ORPHAN S DEPARTURE.

311

The first person whom they recognized on
taking their seats at the table of the inn was the
stranger whom they had met so frequently.
Edith could not repress a smile as she shyly re-
turned the stranger's salutation, at the chance
that seemed to take such a whimsical pleasure
in thus bringing them together. A few days
after, while walking with her father in the rude
paths on the side of the mountain, she strayed a
little way from him when he stopped to admire
the scene from some particularly favorable point
of view ; and when she attempted to return, she
found herself, to her dismay, so perplexed by the
intricate windings of the paths that she was at a
loss which to take. She called to her father and
heard his voice in reply, but it grew fainter and
fainter, until, at last, it could no longer be dis-
cerned. Becoming aware that every step she
took only led her farther from home, she stopped
to see if she could not in some way distinguish
the right path. But she was so utterly bewil-
dered that she found it to be impossible. She
thought that the only thing that was left for her
to do was to remain stationary ; in that way she
would, at least, avoid the danger of falling into
the mountain streams around, or down any of the
precipices.

Night closed around Edith as she sat alone
under the shelter of a gray rock that jutted out
from the side of the mountain. She had around
her only the light shawl she had thrown on for
an afternoon's walk, and it was but a slight pro-
tection from the chilling night-air. In her hur-
ried and toilsome search after her father, she had
bruised her feet and wearied herself so that she
could no longer stand. She called at intervals,
in the faint hope that some wanderer might hear
her and come to her assistance; but her voice
died away from exhaustion, and she was still
alone.

It was not so much a feeling of fear that
weighed upon her, for the perfect trust in her
all-seeing Father, which her mother had taught
her from her childhood, was a tower of strength
to her in this her hour of neid-; and the physi-
cal discomfort she could bear ; but the thought
of her father's anxiety and distress on her ac-
count almost overcame her.

The stars were going out one by one, when
Edith heard in the distance a faint shout. She
could hot answer it, but, almost as if led by some
unseen spirit, it came nearer and nearer. At last
she gathered voice to reply, and she had evi-
dently been heard. She could distinguish the
sound of footsteps, and at last dimly discern a
man's figure as it stopped before her.

"Is this Miss Frazier?" said the mam in a

voice that revealed its owner to be a person of
refinement and tenderness.

" Yes," said Edith, rising with difficulty.

" I am Mr. Hildreth, the gentleman whom
you have met so frequently lately. I heard of
your disappearance from your father, and have
been seeking for some hours. Could you walk
a little way with me? He is not far from here j
we can soon find him."

Edith tried to walk, but found it impossible.
Taking her in his arms, Mr. Hildreth carried her
a little way ; then meeting her father, he resigned
her to him while he went before to act as a guide.
With some difficulty they reached the bottom of
the mountain, and obtaining a rude vehicle from
some of the country people near, conveyed Edith
to the inn.

The acquaintance thus begun soon ripened
into a friendship. Mr. Frazier and Edith learned
that Mr. Hildreth was an American from the
city of New York. The letters of introduction
that he had with him proved that he had a right
to the best society in England, for which his
polished manners and uncommon conversational
powers showed that he was well fitted. He had
been taking an invalid aunt to the south of
France for the benefit of the climate, he told
them, and after seeing her comfortably established
there, he had taken advantage of a few months'
leisure to travel wherever his fancy led him.
He readily accepted Mr. Frazier's invitation to
join him and his daughter in their tour. The
similarity of taste they had shown so singularly
was a sufficient evidence, he said, that any course
they might take would be equally agreeable to
both parties.

The next six weeks, Edith thought, were the
most delightful she had ever spent. Nowhere
does the society of an agreeable and intellectual
person add more to the enjoyment of the com-
pany than in travelling. Although grave and
quiet, Mr. Hildreth was full of thoughtfulness
and observant care for the comfort of his fellow-
travellers. Whenever he spoke to Edith, there
was a gentle deference in his manner that, from
one of his superior abilities, was irresistibly at-
tractive.

On his side, Mr. Hildreth was no less charmed
by those with whom he had been so strangely
thrown. On the Sunday in which he had first
seen them, he had been pleased and impressed
by Mr. Frazier's sermon, and thought that he
had never seen a face of more artless and attract-
ive loveliness than Edith Frazier's. She re-
minded him of Chaucer's beauties, of a rose half
opened and still wet with the morning dews,
and of all that was most fresh and delicate in

312

godey's magazine and lady's book.

*nture. Her mind answered to the promise of
her countenance. Ignorant of the world and
uncontaminated by it, she walked in almost un-
conscious innocence the simple path of duty.
Her disposition, naturally cheerful and bright,
had already begun to recover its buoyancy, and
her happiness reacted on her graver companions,
who seemed to vie with each other as to which
should add most to her pleasure.

Seasons of unshaded happiness are generally
as brief as bright. By the end of the six weeks,
Mr. Hildreth received a letter from his aunt,
who wrote urgently for his immediate presence.
He took a reluctant leave of his companions, but
not before he had had a long conversation with
Mr. Frazier, in which he asked his permission
to reveal to Edith the love that had already be-
come a strong feeling in his heart.

Heretofore he had been thrown, he said, among
a set of worldly and fashionable women, and had
come to look upon simplicity and unworldliness
as traits no longer to be met with among the
educated and polished members of society, and
Edith Frazier exhibited a character as new as
attractive to him. She was the only woman
that he had ever met, whose society and con-
versation never wearied or lost their interest to
nim.

Mr. Frazier's paternal pride was gratified at
the tribute thus paid to Edith by a man like Mr.
Hildreth, but he could not bear to think of
giving up the only object of affection left to him,
nor contemplate without pain the idea that his
daughter's home might be in a distant land. He
did all that he felt justified in doing to avert the
day of separation, and pleading Edith's youth,
requested Mr. Hildreth to postpone for a year
his declaration. To this delay Mr. Hildreth was
unwilling to consent; but at last was obliged
unwillingly to yield to a probation of six months.

He left Edith, in accordance with the promise
he had made Mr. Frazier, entirely unconscious
of his feelings towards her, and for some time
almost equally unaware of her own. She knew
that the loss of his society had deprived her of
the greater part of the pleasure she had taken in
the new scenes through which she was journey-
ing, but it was not until she was again settled in
her own home at Hillcomb that she began to feel
that Mr. Hildreth had been far more to her than
a mere agreeable casual acquaintance.

This discovery mortified her extremely. She
felt as though it was both wrong and humiliating,
that one whom she had known so short a time,
and who had shown no proof of regarding her as
anything but a very young and rather pleasing
girl, should engross so much of her thoughts.

She resolved to use every means to crush the
feelings that, new as they were, seemed to have
struck their roots so deeply in her heart. But
first she could not resist asking hex father one
question.

" Do you think we shall ever see Mr. Hildreth
again, father?" said she one day, with affected
indifference.

" Perhaps so," said he, quietly; "we can never
tell what may happen."

" He can never have spoken to my father
about coming here," thought Edith, " or he
would not have seemed so uncertain about it;"
and, with true feminine pride, the young girl
forbore any farther mention of the one whom
yet she found it impossible to forget.

Two months of the six had passed away, when
Edith was called to bear another heavy trial.
Her father died suddenly, leaving her unpro-
vided for and alone in tne world. Such an event
was apparently the last in the world to be ex-
pected, as Mr. Frazier had always seemed to be
a man in vigorous health, and with a fair pros-
pect of long life. To a long life he had evi-
dently looked forward, for he had made no ar-
rangements for his cherished daughter, and had
left no directions by which she might guide her
future course.

In her desolation, Edith could think of but one
person from whom she might expect protection ;
a half-sister of her father's, who resided in Lon-
don. She had seen her aunt, Mrs. Burnleigh,
but seldom, but knew that she was a widow in
easy circumstances, with a large family of chil-
dren. To her she accordingly applied, and re-
ceived in return an invitation to come to her
until she had decided on her future course.

With a sorrowful heart, Edith left the home
where so many bright and happy j^ears had been
passed. As she sat alone waiting for the coach
to pass that was to convey her to London, with
no attendant but the gardener's boy, and no
companion but her canary, a parting gift from
Mr. Hildreth, sent to Hillcomb by him from
Dover just before he embarked for France, the
contrast between her present desolation and the
warm, sheltering love in which she had so long
lived, almost overcame her. But the lonely soon
acquire the power of self-control, and Edith had
already begun to learn the hard lesson of self-
reliance. With an outward composure that hid
the painful throbbings of her heart from her
travelling companions, she took her seat in the
coach, and in a few hours arrived safely at Mrs.
Burnleigh's.

Edith found her aunt an apparently well-
meaning, proper kind of a woman, kind and

THE ORPHAN'S DEPARTURE.

813

sympathizing in her manners, but who evidently
had not the slightest intention of denying her-
self or her children the smallest luxury for the
sake of her brother's orphaned daughter. For a
few weeks Edith was left to the quiet indulgence
of her grief, and then Mrs. Burnleigh, thinking
that she had done all that society could possibly
demand of her in the way of respect to her bro-
ther's memory or kindness to his child, began to
sound Edith as to her intentions for the future.

The young girl, thrown so suddenly upon her
own resources, had not yet begun to think for
herself, and the idea of seeking a home among
strangers made her heart sink within her. She
begged her aunt to take upon herself the task of
finding for her some position that she could fill
creditably, but she hoped, she said, timidly, that
it might be somewhere near her aunt, her only
remaining relative.

This did not suit Mrs. Burnleigh exactly, who,
being of that turn of mind that always foresees
the possible evil in all cases, was not pleased
with the idea that she might at any time be called
upon to offer a home to her friendless relative.
Like a prudent woman, however, she forbore
saying anything that might reveal her true feel-
ings, but was none the less resolved that, if two
equally favorable situations offered themselves,
it would be wiser for her to advise Edith to
accept the one at the greatest distance.

She succeeded beyond her hopes. Coming in
one day, she said to Edith, with unusual anima-
tion—

"My dear, I have found a most delightful
situation for you. Two hundred pounds a year
for teaching one little girl. You can speak
French, can you not?"

" Yes, I have spent a year in France."

" And you play unusually well, and draw and
paint beautifully, so that I think the parents of
the child may consider themselves quite fortu-
nate."

" Who are they ?" asked Edith

" They are Americans — a Mr. and Mrs. Blake,
from South Carolina."

Edith's heart had bounded at the mention of
the country, but it sank when the state was
named to which Mrs. Burnleigh wished to send
her. Unlike most English girls, she knew
enough of the geography of the United States to
remember that a wide distance separated South
Carolina from New York, so that, even if Mr.
Hildreta had returned to his own country, which
was unlikely, she would be almost as distant
trom him there as if she remained in England.
The idea of going so far away from all on whom
vol. xlviii. — 27

her relationship or early association gave her any
claim, was exceedingly painful to her.

" Don't you think, dear aunt," said she, hesi-
tatingly, " that I might find something to do
nearer home?"

" It would be impossible for me to find you
another situation so advantageous in every re-
spect ; but, if you think you could succeed, you
had better make the attempt," replied Mrs.
Burnleigh, coldly, while a displeased expression
settled upon her face.

There were a few moments' silence, and then
Edith said —

" How soon will Mr. and Mrs. Blake expect
me?"

" They are now here. I have just met them
at one of my friends, who had been speaking to
them about you. They told me that they in-
tended to sail for America in about two weeks,
and that, if you were ready by that time, they
would like you to accompany them."

" Very well," said Edith ; " you can tell them
that I shall be ready to go with them."

" They are charming people," said her aunt,
caressingly ; " I am sure, my dear, you will like
them very much, and be very happy with them.
Of course, I would not wish my brother's child
to go where she would not be with those who
are likely to take some interest in her."

Edith could not help perceiving that her aunt
was relieved by the prospect of her departure ;
and this thought, while it strengthened her in
her resolve, made her feel her isolation still more
deeply.

On board the same steamer with Mr. and Mrs.
Blake and Edith was a little girl, an invalid,
who interested the young English girl extremely.
Edith had brought her bird with her. It was
the only thing she had to remind her of happier
days, and she could not bear to part with it.
At little Ellen's earnest request, she hung the
cage in her state-room, and, before the end of
the voyage, the little sick girl had become so
attached to the pretty bird, whose sweet song
was almost the only cheering sound she heard
during the long and weary days at sea, that she
could not speak of parting with it without show-
ing by her tearful eyes the pain it gave her.
« Edith felt that she ought not to deprive the lit-
tle sufferer of so great a pleasure, and, conceal-
ing her reluctance to give up a souvenir she had
cherished so long, she told little Ellen that the
bird was to be hers. The child's evident delight
was some compensation to Edith for her self-
denial, yet it was with a sharp pang that she
watched the cage as it was put in the carriage,

314

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

after the arrival of the steamer at New York, to
be conveyed to the upper part of the city, while
Edith, Avith her new friends, went on board an-
other steamer about to sail for Charleston.

Mr. Blake's residence was among the pine
forests of the State; a region healthful, it is true,
but peculiarly desolate, especially to one accus-
tomed to the soft verdure and smiling landscape
of England. The tall dark trees, unceasingly
sighing forth their low and mournful murmurs,
seemed to Edith a fit emblem of the griefs that
were henceforward to darken her life.

There was but little in her new home to call
her thoughts from the sad recollections to which
they were constantly recurring. Mr. Blake and
his wife were very kind to her, treating her
rather as a guest than one to whose services they
were entitled ; but they lived in a part of the
country very thinly settled, their nearest neigh-
bor being at a distance of seven or eight miles,
and there was a wearying monotony in Edith's
daily life that weighed upon her spirits. Grati-
tude for the unvarying and thoughtful kindness
shown to her by Mrs. Blake induced Edith to
make every exertion to regain her accustomed
cheerfulness, and she had, in some measure,
succeeded, when the Christmas holidays came
to remind her, by the contrast between her own
position and that of the persons by whom she
was surrounded, more painfully of her isolation.
The little family gatherings, from which she
could hardly absent herself without appearing
unmindful of Mrs. Blake's gentle yet urgent re-
quests, and yet where she felt herself among
them, but not of them, recalled to her so forci-
bly the former seasons, when her happiness and
pleasure were to all around her the one thing of
the greatest importance, that, for the first time
since her departure from England, Edith yielded
to her feelings of loneliness, and every night wet
her pillow with her tears. The reply of the
Shunamite woman to the prophet's inquiry about
her wants, " I dwell among mine own people,"
came with a new and touching significance to
her mind, now that she began to feel that never
again would she feel the sweet security and pro-
tection implied in such a position.

On New Year's eve, Edith slipped away from
the merry group assembled in Mr. Blake's par-
lors to indulge her sad meditations for a little
while without interruption. As she stood on
the porch listening to the mournful music of the
pines, whose aromatic incense filled the air with
its healthful fragrance, and watching the moon
ae it slowly waded through the clouded sky,
now shining out in full brilliancy, and then al-
most entirety darkened as it passed behind the

thick masses of vapor that were hanging in the
vast concave, she thought that just such sudden
alternations of darkness and light had been her
lot in this life.

" The clouds hang heavily over me now,"
thought she; "but there will be brightness
soon."

Almost at the same moment there came the
sound of an approaching arrival, and Edith
hastily retreated to the house. She had hardly
time to mingle with the gay family party, when,
hearing her name called, she turned suddenly,
while a thrill of amazed delight passed over her
at the familiar tone, and saw before her Mr.
Hildreth, whose smile shed a light and warmth
upon her heart to which it had long been a
stranger.

The clouds were at once lifted off from her
soul, and she was once more the light-hearted
girl she had been in her English home. In the
midst of her happiness there was a feeling of
insecurity, a doubt as to its continuance. But
that Edith would not allow herself to dwell
upon. It was happiness enough for the present
to think that one whom she so highly esteemed
still cared enough for her to seek her out in her
secluded home.

But before the last hours of the old year had
passed away, walking in the serene moonlight
under those pine-trees to whose mournful mur-
mur her thoughts had been so long attuned,
Edith listened with a bea+ing heart to the avowal
of the same feelings which Mr. Hildreth had
confessed to her father more than a year before.
What had become of all the sadness that had
brooded over Edith's heart so many months ? It
was gone like the clouds from the sky, but not
to return, like them, in a few short hours.

"How did you find me out?" asked Edith,
after many more important questions had been
asked and answered.

" Ah, a little bird told me where I should find
the runaway."

" A bird?" said Edith, wonderingly.

"Perhaps it was the cage rather than the
bird," replied Mr. Hildreth. " I had been for
some two or three months in search of you, or
rather your aunt, with whom I was told you
were staying. But she seemed to be possessed
by some perverse and wrandering spirit; for.
when I went to London to find her, she had
just left with her family on a tour through Ger-
many, and, when I followed her there, I learned
she had gone into Italy. Lito Italy I went post
haste, and reached Naples just in time to learn
that Mrs. Burnleigh had left the week before for
Egypt and the Pyramids. No whit daunW, I

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.

815

was about to seek you, even if I had to go to the
•heart of Ethiopia, when the sudden illness of
my aunt recalled me to Marseilles. Her death
obliged me to return to New York ; but I ar-
ranged my business there as soon as possible,
and had already engaged my passage in the next
steamer to Liverpool, when, walking through
Fifth Avenue, my eye was attracted by a cage
that I recognized instantly, by certain peculiari-
ties, as one that I had sent you just before I left
England after our pleasant tour. A sudden hope
seized me that some happy impulse had led your
travel-loving aunt to my very hearthstone, and
I lost no time in making inquiries of the lady
of the house, from whom I learned all about the
little Edith for whom I had been seeking in such
far away places.

" And now, dearest," he continued, after a
pause, " have you any objection to a tour through
Europe 1 I went in such haste before that, far
from satisfying my curiosity, I only increased
the desire to see everything more at my leisure."

" None at all," said Edith, with a smile and
blush.

" Well, then, I will see how soon Mrs. Blake
can spare you, and we will set off on our travels.
I hope she will be very obliging about it."

She was very obliging, and gave Edith, to
whom she had become strongly attached, a grand
wedding in the southern fashion, which lasted
two days, and she hung the pine grove with co-
lored lamps, so that the dark woods took, for
that occasion only, quite a festal appearance.

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA .—A P E I L .

BT D. W.

LEO. — This is one of the most clearly denned
and brilliant constellations in the winter hemi-
sphere, containing an unusual number of very
bright stars. It is situated east of Cancer, and
comes to the meridian the sixth of this month.
This constellation contains ninety-five stars
visible to the naked eye.

" Two splendid stars of highest dignity,
Two of the second class the Lion boast1?.
And justly figures the fierce summer's rage."

Five very bright stars in this constellation are
grouped in the form of a sickle. Regulus, in the
shoulder of Leo, is the lowest of this group, and
forms the end of the handle in the sickle. It is
the brightest star in the cluster, and is of great
use to nautical men in determining their longi-
tude at sea. Eta, a small glittering star, marks
the other end of the handle, while Al Gieba
Adhafera, Ras al Asad, and Lambda form the
blade. Two small stars, at an equal distance
from Lambda, form a small right-angled triangle.
Denebola, in the brush of the tail, is a star of
the first magnitude, and, with Zozma in the
back, and Theta in the thigh, form a triangle
whose vertex is Denebola.

According to Greek mythology, tb^, Lion was
one of the formidable animals killed by Her-
cules in the -forests of Nemsea, and was placed
by Jupiter in the heavens to commemorate the
event. Egyptian mythologists claim the honor
of having placed it there, asserting it was placed
in the heavens to commemorate the haunting of

the banks of the Nile during the heat of summer
by these monsters, the river then being at its
highest elevation.

LEO MINOR.— This constellation is of mo-
dern origin, occupying the space between Ursa
Major and Leo Major. The stars in the cluster
are of the third and fourth magnitude, with no
particular interest attached to them. It comes
to the meridian the 6th of April.

SEXTANT.— This is a small constellation
south of Leo, and contains forty-one stars, all
very small and unimportant, and comes to the
meridian the 6th of ApriL This constellation
is sometimes called Urania's Sextant, in honor
of one of the muses who presided over Astrono-
my. Urania was daughter of Jupiter and Mne-
mosyne.

HYDRA. — This is an extraordinary constel-
lation, winding through a vast space from east
to west for more than one hundred degrees. It
lies south of Cancer, Leo, and Virgo, and reaches
from Canis Minor to Libra. It contains sixty
stars, principally of the second, third, and fourth
magnitudes. The head of Hydra may readily be
distinguished by four bright stars south of Acu-
bens, in the Crab. They form a rhomboidal
figure. The three upper stars form a beautiful
curve, and are too distinct and conspicuous to
be forgotten when once seen. Alphard, twenty -
three degrees south south-west of Regulus, is a
very brilliant star of the second magnitude, and

316

godey's magazine and lady's book.

is in the heart of Hydra, and comes to the meri-
dian twenty minutes before nine o'clock on the
1st of April. When the head of the Hydra is
on the meridian, its other extremity is many de-
grees below the horizon, so that its whole length
cannot be traced out in the heavens until its
centre is on the meridian.

" Xear the Equator rolls
The sparkling Hydra, proudly eminent,
To drink the Galaxy's refulgent sea ;
Nearly a fourth of the encircliug curve
Which girds the ecliptic his vast folds involve ;
Yet ten the numher of his stars diffused
O'er the long track of his enormous spires;
Chief heams his heart, sure of the second rank,
But emulous to gain the first."

According to mythology, the Hydra was a ter-
rible monster that infested the Lake of Lerna,
tn the Peloponnesus. It was reported to have
nod i. hundred heads, and, as soon as one of
these was cut off, two grew in its place, unless
'he wound was stopped by fire.

" Art thou proportioned to the Hydra's length,
Who, by his wounds, received augmented strength?
tie raised a hundred hissing heads in air;
When one I lopped, up sprang a dreadful pair."

I 'he, formidable monster was at last destroyed by
Hercules, with the assistance of Iolaus, and who
afterwards, dipping his arrows in the gall of the
Hydra, rendered every wound inflicted by them
incurable and mortal.

HIE CUP.— This small constellation lies
•fouth of the Lion, and rests upon the Hydra.
Six of the principal stars form a crescent or semi-
circle, opening to the west. The crescent of the
Ccip is so striking and clearly defined, when the
moon is absent, that no description is necessary
to point it out, as it is the only one of the kind
in that part of the heavens.

COMETS. — These objects of extraordinary
interest form a part in the economy of the solar
system. Since the time when the presence of a
comet was considered by nations to be the sure
precursor of war, famine, and pestilence, up to
the present period, these visitors have created
much speculation and excitement ; and, no
longer ago than the fall of 1853, it was predicted
by an eminent " professor" that one of these
waifs in the heavens would come in collision
with the earth, and destroy a portion of China.
This, however, like many other pieces of mis-
ohief which had been predicted it would ac-
complish, failed, and the professor has retired
from observation covered with the laurels won
by his research.

A comet, so brilliant that it could be seen at
noonday, made its appearance seventy-three
years before the birth of our Saviour. This date
was just after the death of Julius Caesar, and by
the Romans the comet was believed to be his
metamorphosed soul, armed with fire and ven-
geance. This comet appeared again in 1106,
and then resembled the sun in brightness, being
of great size, and having an immense trail.

In 1456, a large comet made its appearance.
The terror it created extended through all classes,
and the belief was universal that the day of
judgment was at hand. At this time, the Turks,
with their victorious armies, seemed destined to
overrun all Europe. This added to the gloom
and terror. The people became regardless of the
present, and anxious only for the future. To
prepare the world for its expected doom, Pope
Callixtus III. ordered the Ave Maria to be re-
peated three times instead of twice a day, and
to it was added, " Lord, save us from the Devil,
the Turk, and the Comet !" and thrice each day
these obnoxious personages suffered excommuni-
cation. At length, the comet began to retire
from eyes in wrhich it found no favor, and the
Turks retired to their own dominions.

The comet of 1680 was of the largest size,
having a trail ninety-six millions of miles in
length. Dawning science, howTever, robbed it
of its terrors, assisted by the signal failure of its
illustrious predecessor.

Such are many of the fantasies which these
peculiar visitors have called up. The beautiful
comet of 1811, the most splendid of modern
times, was considered, even by many intelligent
persons, as the harbinger of the war which was
declared the spring following; and the remem-
brance wrill be fresh in the minds of many of an
indefinite apprehension of some dreadful catas-
trophe, which pervaded both continents, in
anticipation of Bela's comet in 1832.

Comets, unlike the planets, observe no one
direction in their orbits, but approach to and re-
cede from their great centre of attraction in
every possible direction. Some seem to come
up from immeasurable depths below the ecliptic,
and, having doubled the heaven's mighty cape,
again plunged downward with their fiery trains,

"On the long travel of a thousand yours.''

Again, they seem to come from the zenith of
the universe, and, after doubling their perihelion
about the sun, reascend far above human vision.
Others, again, seem to be dashing through the
solar system in every conceivable direction, ap-
parently in an undisturbed path ; others are
known, however, to obey laws like those which

MKS. MURDEN'S TWO DOLLAR SILK.

317

regulate planets. Nothing is known with cer-
tainty as to the composition of these bodies, al-
though it is certain they contain very little mat-
ter, for they produce little or no effect on the
motions of planets when passing near those
bodies. Upon what errands they come, what

regions they visit when they pass from view,
what is the difference between them, the sun,
and planets, and what is their mission in the
economy of the universe, are questions often
pondered over, but the solution of which is be-
yond the limited powers of human understanding.

MES. MURDEN'S TWO DOLLAR SILK.

ET THE AUTHOR OF "MISS BREMER'S VISIT TO COOPER'S LANDING," "GETTING INTO SOCIETY," "MUSTARD TO MIX," ETC. ETC.

" Isn't it perfect ?" said young Mrs. Murden,
drawing her husband towards a shop window as
she herself made a halt in front of it. " I think
it is the loveliest shade I ever saw, and that
satin stripe gives it such an air so perfectly
genteel !"

"What?" asked Mr. Murden, simply, roused
from his calculation of percentage on certain
articles just consigned to him. " It" was cer-
tainly an indefinite pronoun, with all that dis-
play of elegant silks, ribbons, laces, and em-
broideries, so skilfully arranged to attract the
promenaders of Chestnut Street.

" Why, that silk. I 've stopped to look at it
twice this week."

" That blue and red plaid ? Yes, it is very
handsome ; just the pattern of your woollen
shawl, isn't it?"

" Plaids !" exclaimed Mrs. Murden, contemptu-
ously. " Why, that 's only a dollar silk ; be-
sides, everybody wears plaids — they 're so com-
mon /"

" Then a thing is not pretty when it 's com-
mon ?"

" Why, of course not. I heard Mrs. George
Barker say yesterday that no real lady wore
such gay colors on the street; that, in Paris,
plain colors are all the rage. I mean that rich
purple, with the thick satin stripe. It 's per-
fect."

Young Mrs. Murden had thougjit the plaids
Die very height of fashion, until she overheard
this conversation between Mrs. George Barker
and her mother. Who should know what was
stylish, if Mrs. George Barker did not, when
she lived in a house with a marble front, had a
coachman in livery, and the family arms, done
in the best manner, on the panel of her crimson
lined carriage ?

People said she had made a mistake in the
last, however; that the stately swan of the crest
should have been a tailor's goose. But, then,

27*

these were people who had no carriage of their
own, and were obliged to patronize omnibuses.
No doubt, if they could have afforded it, the
paternal awl and lapstone would have been
transposed into a dagger and shield, in a similar
manner; so their opinion is no manner of con-
sequence.

Mrs. Murden had gone into Evans &, Gilman's
to " price," as she called it, the very plaid she
now scorned — for her best silk was giving way —
when she overheard its sentence pronounced by
those red lips, with a shrug of the sable-caped
shoulders of the fashionable lady. Mrs. Barker
pronounced the purple " exceedingly stylish ;"
Mrs. Murden "caught the verdict as it fell;"
and, from that moment, her affections were cen-
tred upon it.

Not that she had any claims to being stylish
herself; on the contrary, her little home, in a
far away cross street, was exceedingly plain ;
but the young wife had undeveloped aspirations
towards a less humble sphere, shown by being,
in some sort, a leader of the circle in which she
visited. It was not large, or very select, but
there were some well-educated, well-bred peo-
ple, some very warm, true hearts, and, as the
case will always be, others as empty-minded,
selfish, and frivolous as if they were really in
fashionable life. Mrs. Murden, as her husband
sometimes noticed, had rather an inclination to
court the latter party, as they dressed and fur-
nished the most showily, and, in fact, to outvie
them — a disposition which the far-sighted Mr.
Murden dreaded not a little.

He was decidedly a domestic man, and, be-
sides, as his wife often said, so her dress was put
on properly, with a clean collar and undersleeves,
he did not know half the time whether it was
silk or calico. Indeed, he had brought quite a
serious attack of pouting upon himself, by catl-
ing his wife's new green foulard a calico. Yo\4
may be sure, he had entirely forgotten that pur-

318

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK

pie silks were ever manufactured by the next
day at dinner, when he was reminded of it by
Mrs. Murden abruptly terminating a long fit of
musing by the exclamation —

" I should be perfectly happy, if I had it."

Mr. Murden, foolish man, supposed at first
that she meant a picture of the children, who
were marvellously near of an age — two of them.

" Well, dear, when shall we take them down
to Root's ? Say the word." For Mr. Murden
himself thought it a great pity that such remark-
able beauty should be lost to the world. No
doubt, Root would insist on a duplicate for his
show-case.

" Root's ! I was talking about that silk, Mr.
Murden. What has Root got to do with it, I 'd
like to know1?" Mrs. Murden seemed inclined
to help to tarts before the dessert was served.

" Oh !" And Mr. Murden resumed his carver,
helping himself to a second cut of beef. " Bless
my soul, how much women do think of dress !
Who 's going to have a new one ?"

"It's high time I had, dear. Only think,
we 've been married three years next month,
and I 've only had one silk in that while."

"Why, you had one in the summer — that
striped frock and cape."

"That's an India; we don't call these thin
things anything. I mean a good, heavy poult de
sole, like my mazarine blue I had when we were
married. It 's fairly gone now, careful as I have
been. It 's been turned and cleaned, and now
it's so shabby I hate to put it on."

" I 'm sure, you never look better in any dress
you 've got," insisted Mr. Murden, who had
very pleasant associations connected with their
early married life and the dress in question.

" Why, it 's a perfect fringe around the bot-
tom, and has two great stains on the skirt. What
are you thinking of, John ?"

" Well, well, I '11 give it up. I like it, that 's
all. How much will a new one cost ?"

Mrs. Murden, slightly diplomatic, could not
present an estimate. Her husband had told her
of a business loss when he came in ; it was not
a very favorable moment.

Wonderful as it seemed to her, the purple silk
was still unsold when a week had passed ; but,
then, it is a color very few dare to try their com-
plexions by, which Mrs. Murden did not reflect
upon. The celebrated " Purple Jar" was not
more attractive to " Rosamond," as chronicled
by Miss Edgeworth, than was the dress to its
constant worshipper, who made an errand into
Chestnut Street daily that she might pause for a
moment before it. Mr. Murden said she re-
minded him of his father's old pony, who always

halted of his own accord at the houses of the
doctor's principal patients. Mrs. Murden " did
not thank him" for any such comparisons.

That same evening there was a perceptible
rise of spirits observable in the father of the
family. He tossed the baby, accordingly, so far
that its anxious mother was sure its poor little
head would be dashed against the ceiling ; he
gave George Washington, the eldest hope, three
several rides on his boot, and carried him up to
bed in a fashion best known to nurses as " pig-
a-back." Mrs. Murden wondered what had
happened ; she little knew the good fortune in
store for her.

" Well, Barney" — Mr. Murden always called
his wife Barney when in particularly good hu-
mor, though her name was a very romantic one,
Adelaide Matilda — " how about that dress ?
Tell us, out and out, how much it would cost.
Let 's see if it would break a fellow."

" It 's a splendid piece," began Mrs. Murden.

" So I have been told every day for two
weeks."

" You know I 'm not very extravagant ; and,
once in a while, dear, I do take a fancy for
something handsome."

Mr. Murden thought the proposition would
have been stated correctly, if she had said,
" every little while ;" but Mrs. Murden was
warming his slippers for him, and looking very
pretty in the bright firelight, so he made no un-
gracious comment ; he only said —

" Come, Barney, out with it. What 's the
entire figure ?"

" Well, it's a two dollar silk, I find"— Mrs.
Murden made a desperate attempt to look un-
concerned— " and it will take ten yards."

" Whew !" Mr. Murden had thought a ten
dollar gold piece would have been all-sufficient,
and was turning one over in his pocket at the
moment. " Why, as much as an overcoat al-
most."

" And will last twice as long, dear ; just re-
member that."

" Well, well, for once in my life — there 's a
nice piece of extravagance ; but, as you 've set
your heart upon it, you shall be indulged, Bar-
ney. Take them both." And he dropped the
two eagles, received that afternoon for what lie
had considered a bad debt, into her outstretched
hand.

It was thus that Mrs. Murden came into pos-
session of her two dollar silk, the envy of hjer
next door neighbor, Mrs. Keyser, her intimate
friends, Mrs. Hopkins and Miss Lippincott, to
whom it was shown in the pi

"How arc you £eing to have it made?" as

MRS. MUEDEN'S TWO DOLLAR SILK,

819

Mrs. Keyser. " I 'd have a basque, by all means,
and have it open." Mrs. Keyser was one of
those ladies who accomplish so much on a com-
mittee of foreign affairs, and so little in the
home department.

" Oh, so would I," said Miss Lippincott, who
always assented to everything that was said.

" I don't believe a basque would be becom-
ing," enviously interposed Mrs. Hopkins, who
was herself remarkably stout and dumpy in
figure.

" Perhaps not," said Miss Lippincott ; " very
likely not."

" I don't believe Miss Johns could fit a basque
either," pursued Mrs. Hopkins, who had no in-
tention of being outdone by her neighbor ; her
dresses were all made for the winter.

" Nor I," added Miss Lippincott.

" I wouldn't trust Miss Johns to put scissors
into that silk anyhow," Mrs. Keyser said; for,
having relations living in Spruce Street, she was
considered to have unusual claims to knowing-
ness in matters of fashion, and was not slow to
put them forth.

"Surely," thought Mrs. Murden, "it never
would do. Miss Johns was well enough for a
plain dress; but a two dollar silk /"

" How I wish you could afford to have it made
at Miss Stringer's now," continued Mrs. Keyser.
"Emma Louisa always has everything done
there, and so does Mrs. Coleman, she 's so inti-
mate with, and Mrs. George Barker. You never
saw such splendid fits."

It is presumed that Mrs. Keyser did not allude
to convulsions ; but Mrs. Hopkins always ele-
vated her little flat nez on a mention of these
Spruce Street relatives; for every one knows
she said to Miss Lippincott, as they walked
down the street together —

" Every one knows that she never is invited
there when any one else is expected, not even
to the wedding. J wouldn't own such relations,
if I had shoals of them ; would you, Miss Lip-
pincott?"

" No, indeed," returned that lady, with unu-
sual animation for her, for she was rather worn
out with allusions to the Spruce Street, relations
herself, in an intimacy of some months' standing.

It was a very daring thing, but young Mrs.
Murden, revolving all these things in her mind,
the basque, the open front, Miss Johns's lack of
style, and that she was employed by all her ac-
quaintances, came to the conclusion that her
dress should be made at a Chestnut Street shop,
although she had never had anything made out
of the house before. " But it 's once in a life-
time," as she said to Mr. Murden, walking down

with him after dinner; and he, who had never
seen a fashionable mantuamaker's bill, thought
it of very little consequence to whom the import-
ant commission was intrusted.

The little woman felt rather nervous, it is
true, on entering such awful precincts as the
shop of Miss Stringer, which was by no means
diminished by the manner of the lady in wait-
ing, who pursued, at the same time, her gossip
with another damsel seated in the window with
a " dummy" on her knee, shaping a cap on its
unconscious head, not less empty, perhaps, than
the one it was destined to grace.

" I should like a dress made, if you could do
it," stammered forth Mrs. Murden as the girl
leisurely surveyed her from head to foot, taking
an exact inventory of her dress, and knowing to
a fraction the cost of every article.

" Certainly, madam." And then over her
shoulder to the cap-maker at the window: "Is
it possible that she has white feathers on a blue
bonnet ? I wouldn't wear such a thing myself.
Who's with her?"

" Young Rushton," returned the street sur-
veyor, turning dummy's blank face for another
fold of lace. " He 's devoted, they say."

" I beg your pardon, madam." It was not a
pardon asked for inattention, but a suggestion to
Mrs. Murden to finish her business.

" A dress," continued Mrs. Murden, faltering-
ly. " When could you make it ?"

" Next week, or week after, perhaps, or early
next month. You can call on Wednesday, and
Miss Stringer will make an appointment to fit
you," vouchsafed the attendant with the Jenny
Lind silk apron. " You can send round the
material in the mean time. Street or evening-
dress ?"

Strictly speaking, Mrs. Murden never had had
an evening-dress; her silks were worn to the
parties she usually attended. She had the pre-
cious purchase with her, and she considered it
quite handsome enough for any ball that ever
was given ; but she would not have offered it to
the young woman then on any consideration.
She felt convicted of carrying her own bundles,
and consequently carried this one home again,
to be left next day by Mr. Murden on his way
to the store.

Wednesday, and Mrs. Murden, dressed in her
best, waited again upon Miss Stringer. This
time, the lady herself appeared, and proved not
to be quite so withering as her assistant — prin-
cipals seldom are. There were several fashion-
able ladies in waiting, all on the most gossipping
and familiar terms with Miss Stringer, who was
besieged with petitions for impossible work to

>20

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

l>e done in incredible haste, enforced by " You
kind, good creature/' and otber terms of endear-
ment written in the wheedling vocabulary.
According to their piteous statements, not one
o{ these splendidly attired women had a dress to
cover them, or a cloak to shield them from the
cold. Mrs. Murden had a fine opportunity of
peeing and hearing while she waited exactly one
hour for Miss Stringer. She had never been in
such close contact with fashionable women be-
fore. Like many others of her own position in
lite, they had always been her envy and her
admiration from a distance, as they swept across
the pavement from their carriages, or brushed
past her at the entrance of Bailey's or Levy's,
at whose fascinating windows she was spell-
bound. They could not have a wish ungratified,
the was sure : their lives must pass like a fairy
tale, all flowers and music. But, now that she
saw them nearer, the wan and restless eyes, the
half hidden wrinkles painfully distended in the
glare of a bright winter's morning, and the
querulous, fretful tones, told another story.

" They were tired to death" — they whose feet
scarcely touched the pavement, and who had
servants at every call. " The party of last
night was so stupid !" "The ball of Thursday
wouldn't be worth the trouble of dressing for."
•• What should they wear ? Miss Stringer must
tell them." " Did she know Rushton's engage-
ment was broken with Bell Hamilton ? Her ill
health, it was said ; but every one knew, be-
cause he had been flirting so all winter with Mrs.
McCord. But then she had such a brute of a
husband, Coleman McCord, who could blame
her ? He was devoted to the southern beauty,
Miss Legree." " Was lemon color quite out of
date ? and should they get crimson fuchsias with
gold tips for the wreath ?"

Mrs. Murden was so deep in moral reflections
suggested by this style of conversation, that she
did not perceive Miss Stringer was ready for her
fit first She was almost sorry when the mo-
ment arrived, for she dreaded an interview with
this maker of fine ladies, who dictated to them
so coolly, and was so besieged, and coaxed, and
petted by them. The lady's distant, preoccu-
pied manner added to her embarrassment, when,
finding she had an unoccupied half hour, she
proposed to fit her forthwith, and asked Mrs.
Murden into the inner apartment, with its cur-
tains and lounges, its cheval glass reflecting the
little woman's figure from head to foot, and re-
minding her that the dress she wore was at least
two inches shorter than the flowing robes of the
I'irds of paradise who had just taken their de-

parture. Silly little body, she felt so awkward
and old-fashioned, and wished in her heart she
was in her own back parlor, with Miss Johns
and her heart-shaped pin-cushion. She was
quite a mirror of fashion to Miss Johns, who
was indebted to Mrs. Murden for half her new
sleeves and trimmings, caught by those observ-
ing black eyes, and shaped out at home with the
aid of old newspapers. But here it was the
mantuamaker's place to dictate.

" A basque, of course, or is it an evening-
dress ? What name ?"

" Murden — Mrs. Murden." And she knew
perfectly well it was one entirely foreign to the
ears that caught it, low as was her tone. But
when Miss Stringer came to see that silk her
opinion might change. Mrs. Murden longed to
have it brought forth and note the effect.

" A silk ; for the street, I suppose 1 Basque,
of course. We only make bodices in full dress.
Open body ?" And Miss Stringer's rapid fingers
measured the shoulders, the waist, the arms,
presented to her, mechanically. Customers were
but lay figures to the fashionable modiste, to be
made up at pleasure. "Miss Elbert, Mrs. Mur-
den's silk."

But Miss Elbert feigned entire ignorance of
its reception. " Mrs. Murden — she could not
remember the name." And a bustle of search
ensued, while the forewoman from the work-
room made her appearance for orders, bringing
skirts and waists of such rich and dazzling ma-
terials as Mrs. Murden had never dreamed of,
while she trembled for the fate of her own pre-
cious purple. Two errand girls, charity children
they looked like, with their little sharp, thin
faces and faded shawls, were dispatched to match
buttons, and gimps, and galloons, with handsful
of patterns, and heads full of instructions, which
last did not stay where they were put, which
accounted for Miss Lawrence appearing at the
Thursday ball with yellow fringe on a lemon -
colored dress, and Mrs. Johnson Rogers finding
her gray silk — she was in half mourning for the
late lamented Mr. Johnson Rogers — decorated
by brown velvet acorn buttons. However, both
passed for Parisian novelties, and were greatly
admired ; so Miss Stringer, and not the stupid
errand girls, who came back too late to admit of
a change, received the credit of these novel
decorations.

Much to Mrs. Murden's relief, the silk was at
last forthcoming, from an out-of-the-way drawer,
and she awaited with inward satisfaction Miss
Stringer's inspection. But two-dollar silks were
everyday bread and butter to that lady, who

MRS. MURDEN's TWO DOLLAR SILK.

821

merely glanced at it, and tossed the package
upon a neighboring sofa, as if it had been so
many yards of crash towelling.

" Very good quality," she remarked. "You
got it at Evans St Oilman's. Trying to most
complexions. What now, Miss Elbert? No, I
shall not touch Mrs. Cadwalader's dress before
Monday. Tell her she can wear her white
moire oT antique ; she 's only worn it twice this
season to my knowledge. Tell her to wear her
Honiton scarf, and no one will know what kind
of a dress she has on. That will do, Mrs. — I
beg your pardon — Mudon. You can come again
on Thursday week. How will you have it
trimmed?"

Mrs. Murden did not venture to suggest a
trimming, and prudently left the whole matter
to Miss Stringer's abler hands. Prudently, in
one sense ; she had never seen a bill from a
fashionable shop, recollect. She had been just
about to inquire vbat Miss Stringer would
charge. Eortunate escape ! The question would
have been met with paralyzing coldness. It is a
risk to procure your own trimming; but to seek
to place a limit as to ultimate expense — unpar-
donable in the eyes of an autocrat of fashion.

So Mrs. Murden departed very much cast
down, and very insignificant in her cashmere
dress and the fur she had thought so handsome —
so it was in her own set ; but her eyes had been
dwelling upon velvet cloaks and sable victo-
rines the past two hours. Alas ! for her last
year's mantle, pretty as it had been ; embroi-
dered merinos looked so common — fatal word.

Miss Stringer had entirely forgotten the ap-
pointment when she presented herself again on
Thursday week. Meantime, it had been very
difficult to parry the inquiries of her trio of inti-
mates as to when and how the dress was to be
made, without betraying her all-important secret.
But she succeeded to admiration. It was in
vain for Mrs. Hopkins to remark that Miss
Johns was engaged for nearly all the week, to
her certain knowledge, or for Mrs. Keyser to
allude to Emma Louisa's green poplin, the
"sweetest" thing she had ever seen ; Mrs. Mur-
den did not give out a clue. She saw the identi-
cal green poplin at Miss Stringer's, on her se-
cond audience, and heard Miss Elbert remark,
with her accustomed freedom, upon its possessor,
who was set down by Miss Stringer's young wo-
man as decidedly vulgar and over-dressed. Mrs.
Keyser never would have survived overhearing
this assault upon her kinswoman. Mrs. Murden
treasured it up for future remembrance.

" It does make me sick," remarked Miss El-
bert, " to see people load on such things. Thank

my stars, I 'm not a rich Woman ! Poor things,
I pity them ! in a fever from morning till night
about a dress or a cloak. Half of them murder
the king's English. Don't you say so, Miss
Replier?"

Miss Replier, who still fitted "dummy" to
one unending round of caps, assented with a
nod.

" Then they 're so afraid some one else will
have something," continued this free-spoken,
candid young person. " Did you see Mrs. James
Thomas, the day of our opening, take up that
garnet hat Miss Stringer had ordered out for
Mrs. McCord ? Mrs. McCord wouldn't have it,
after all, when she heard there was one made
from it. And there 's Miss Thornton thinks
she 's got the only Eugenie robe in the country.
Levy imported three to my certain knowledge.
For my part, it makes me sick as the head boy
at a confectioner's. If I was as rich as Mrs.
Rush, I wouldn't have a thing better than I have
now." And here she condescended to see if
Miss Stringer was disengaged, and ushered the
possessor of the purple silk into the fitting-room.

It was quite a picture as Mrs. Murden entered
it. The lounges spread with dresses that sur-
passed her imagination. Two bonnets, all lace
and flowers, the frame seeming only intended to
support them, were on stands in one corner, and
wreaths, gloves, ribbons, and embroideries made
up the graceful confusion. Miss Stringer was
on her knees before a large deal box, folding and
packing these wonderful creations.

" A bridal order," she said, " for the South.
Look around, if you would like to."

Mrs. Murden would, not have touched any of
them for a kingdom ; it seemed as if a breath
would soil the gossamer-like evening-dresses,
with their light garlands of flowers. A velvet
robe fit for a queen, destined for the mother of
the bride ; a morning-dress of French cambric
embroidery, over a violet-colored silk ; flounced
dresses, with borders of woven embroidery, in
the most delicate contrasting shade ; glove-knots,
shoulder-knots, breast-knots, of ribbon and gold
lace, were some of the items of this costly trous-
seau.

The cherished purple silk faded, as if it had
been exposed to a summer sun, in Mrs. Mur-
den's eyes. It looked so very " common^ — to
think of a two dollar silk being common — beside
those brocades and flounced taffetas, when if
came to be tried on; and then the prices dealt
out in the most amiable manner by Miss Stringer
conscious that she had made a good thing of it.

The velvet had cost a hundred dollars " before
scissors had touched it." The lace on the skirt

322

godey's magazine and lady's book.

of the bridal-dress was seventy-five dollars a
yard ; the morning-dress was a robe imported, of
course, at sixty dollars ; and so on to the ermine-
bordered mantle, at four hundred and fifty.

Mrs. Murden asked when her dress would be
sent home, as she resumed her bonnet and cloak.
She had lost nearly all interest in it, as Miss
Stringer pulled and puckered, let out, and let in,
the nicely fitting basque. It was not lost, per-
haps, but swallowed up for the time in the con-
templation of so much elegance, which, come
what would, she could never hope to attain.
And she colored, we grieve to record it, as she
gave the lynx-eyed Miss Elbert her address, so
far away from the fashionable quarter. Perhaps
she saw the glance exchanged with Miss Replier
as it was named.

Mrs. Murden anticipated the arrival of the
purple silk with dread forebodings. She hoped
her husband would not be at home if the bill
came with it. " Making up" was a trifle when
she sewed with Miss Johns, and found her own
trimmings. She knew that Mr. Murden had
not calculated on any extra demands, the dress
once purchased. Besides, he had been losing
money all the week, and besides, she had antici-
pated the last dollar of her month's allowance.
She was more abstracted than ever as the time
drew near.

But it came, and there was no help for it — on
Saturday evening, the night of all others when
Mr. Murden was sure to be at home. It was
very, very stylish ; the trimming, a broad em-
bossed velvet ribbon, matched the shade to per-
fection. Mr. Murden wanted to have it tried on
at once, and did not think the absence of a
chemisette detracted at all from the tout ensemble.

He felt very much pleased with himself for
having allowed his pretty wife to have her own
way, and gave her a kiss by way of approval to
her taste, which chaste matrimonial salute was
interrupted by the reappearance of their one
servant, to say that the girl was waiting in the
hall, as the bill was receipted.

" Ah, the bill !" There it was, .pinned con-
spicuously on the flap of the basque. Mr. Mur-
den detached it, and read the amount: " $13 29
cts. Received payment, Ann Stringer."

" Good gracious, my dear, what a mistake !
More than half as much as the dress cost !"

Mrs. Murden caught at the straw. Perhaps it
was a mistake, and the wrong bill had been sent
to her. But there was no such good fortune ;
there it was, in Miss Elbert's own hard, angular
handwriting, item by item. And Mr. Murden
paid it on the spot, for he never allowed a bill
to be presented twice ; but he went out without

returning to the parlor, and shut the front door
with a bang, to countermand the new overcoat
which he had been measured for that afternoon,
and which he needed badly.

It was weeks before the purple silk was again
alluded to by him, and spring before Mrs. Mur-
den could afford to purchase undersleeves and a
chemisette to wear with it. She walked to
church in the mazarine blue beside the shabby
overcoat, with its threadbare sleeves and rusty
collar, a humbler and a better woman. It was
only when Mr. Murden discovered what a cure
the surfeit of finery in Mrs. Stringer's fitting-
room had wrought, that he quite pardoned the
folly and extravagance of the purple silk. " For,"
as Mrs. Murden said, "there must always be a
great many people better dressed, spend whal
she would, so where was the use? And, after
all, comfort was the thing, not show."

The purple silk became quite a favorite
eventually, for Mr. Murden did not consider
the lesson dearly bought at thirty-three dollars
and twenty-nine cents, since it was to last a
lifetime.

MANAGEMENT OF CANARY BIRDS.

By request of a correspondent, we publish the
following from Mrs. Hale's " New Household
Receipt-Book :" —

" Canary birds that are kept tame will breed
three or four times in the year. Towards the
middle of March begin to match your birds, put-
ting one cock and hen into the breeding-cage,
which should be large, so that the birds may
have room to fly and exercise themselves. Place
two boxes or little basket-nests in the cage, for
the hen to lay her eggs in, because she will
sometimes have a second brood before the first
are fit to fly, leaving the care of them to the
father bird, who feeds and brings them up with
much care, while she is sitting on her second
nest of eggs. Whilst your birds are pairing feed
them, besides the usual seeds, with the yolks of
hard-boiled eggs, bread that has been moistened,
or, if hard, grated fine, and pounded almond-
meat. When the young birds are to be fed, give
the same soft food, and be sure have it fresh
every day ; also furnish the old birds with fresh
greens, such as cabbage-lettuce, chickweed,
groundsel, Sec. Give fresh water every day, ami
a clean bath every morning. The hen lays,
commonly, four or five eggs, and sits fourteen
days. When the young are hatched, leave them
to the care of the old birds to nurse aad bring up
till they can fly and feed themselves, which is,
usually, in about twenty days."

GODEY'S COUKSE OF LESSONS IN DKAWING.

LESSON IV.

Fig. 36 shows the position of the two ellipses
a and b, which form the bases of the ornamental
sketch shown in Fig. 37. In like manner, the

half-ellipse, formed on the horizontal line in
Fig. 38, is the foundation of the sketch shown
in Fig. 39. So also is the foundation of a flower-
petal, shown in Fig. 40, made clear by the ana-
lytical sketch in Fig. 41, where the preliminary

Fisr. 38.

Fig. 42.

forms are shown drawn. Again, the or-
namental scroll in Fig. 42 is drawn by
sketching a half-ellipse on the horizon-
tal line.

The convolvulus flower and stem in
Fig. 43 are also drawn by previously
sketching an ellipse to form the flower.

In sketching the flower in Fig. 44, the
pupil must first draw an outline which will take
in the whole figure, making it as near the shape

of the sketch as the eye dictates. After the cor-
rect outline is formed, the details must be drawn.

323

324

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Fie. 43

Fig. 44.

The flower, stem, and leaves of the sketch in
Fig. 45 must be drawn in, the form being esti-

Fig. 45.

mated chiefly by the eye ; the stem ought to be
put in first, thereafter the distances between the

Fig. 46.

leaves, and then filling in the details. The ivy-
leaf in Fig. 46 is to be drawn in the same way

Fig. 47.

as the last. The ivy-stem and leaves shown in
Fig. 47 should be drawn by first sketching out

Fig. 49.

tne length, form, and direction of the stem, then J the leaves, and filling in the details as before,
ascertaining and marking the distances between i The leaf in Fig. 48, and the leaves in Fig. 49,

godey's course of lessons in drawing.

325

Fig. 50.

Fig. 51.

should next be copied. Fig. 50 is the leaf of the
common " dock." It is to be copied by first
drawing an ellipse, thereafter filling in the de-
tails. Fig. 51 is the stem and leaves of the

" burdock." The sketch may be put in at once
by the assistance of the eye ; it may be better,
however, to draw a circle for the part a, and an
ellipse for that of b.

Fig. 52.

Fig. 53.

The scroll in Fig. 52 may be sketched by
drawing an outline which would touch all the
parts of the design, thereafter filling up the de-
tails.

In drawing the sketch shown in Fig. 53, the
pupil will have to trust greatly to the eye. The
vol. xlviii. — 28

stem should be drawn first, its length and direc-
tion being carefully noted ; the distances of the
extremities of the leaves from the stem should
next be marked off; next, their general outline,
and thereafter the details. The proportions the
parts bear to one another must be attended to.

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN*

Y T. S. ARTHUR.

(Continued from page 227.)

CHAPTER VI.

The efforts made by Perkins to find the resi-
dence of the stranger proved unavailing. Half
suspecting that Michael had deceived him, he
returned to the shop of Mr. Berlaps, and asked
the direction anew. It was repeated precisely
as at first given.

"But I have been there."

" Well, wasn't she at that number?"

"No."

" I don't know anything about her, then. It
often happens that these sewing-girls deceive us
as to their whereabouts."

Perkins turned away disappointed, but with
his interest in the stranger more than ever excited.

" Who and what can she be ? and why do I
feel so deep an interest in a perfect stranger,
who cannot possibly be anything to me'?" were
involuntary questions which the young man en-
deavored, but in vain, to answer.

That night, as he sat alone in his room, his
friend Milford came in and found him with
the miniature before alluded to in his hand.

" Whose sweet face is that? Bless me ! But
she is a lovely creature !" said Milford, as his eye
caught a glimpse of the picture which Perkins
made a movement to conceal. "Aha! Mr.
Sobersides ! have I found you out at last?"

But seeing that his remarks had the effect to
disturb, even agitate his friend, he said, in a
changed tone —

" Forgive me if I have thoughtlessly jarred
a string that vibrates painfully ! I knew not
that you carried in your heart an unhealed
wound."

" And yet I do, my friend. A wound that, I
fear, will never cicatrize. Five years have
passed since I parted with the living original of
this picture. The parting was to be only for a
few months. We have never met since, and
never will, in this world ! The sea gives not
up its dead !"

There was a solemn earnestness in the voice

* Entered according to Act of Congress, by T. B. Peter-
son, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern
District ©f Pennsylvania.

i2()

of Perkins that showed how deeply the loss still
affected him.

" To me," said his companion, after a pause,
" it seems strange that you should never have
alluded to this subject, even to your nearest
friend."

" I could not, Milford. The effort to keep
my feelings under control has been severe enough,
without permitting myself to speak of the matter
at all. But now that it has been alluded to, I
feel inclined to talk upon the subject, if you
have any desire to hear."

"I certainly have an anxious desire to hear,"
replied Milford.

Perkins shaded his face for a few moments
with his hand, and sat silent and thoughtful.
He then gave, in a calm voice, the following
narration : —

" You are aware that, when I came to this city
to reside, a few years since, I removed from Troy,
New York. That is my native place — or, at
least, I had lived there from boyhood up, when
I removed to Boston. It is now about ten years
since a man named Ballantine, who seemed to
possess considerable wealth, made his appearance
in the place, accompanied by his daughter, a
young girl about thirteen years of age. He came
from New Orleans, where his wife had died, and
where he was still engaged in business. His
object in coming north with his child was to
secure for her the advantages of a good seminary.
He seemed to prefer Troy, and after remaining
there for some months, concluded to place his
child in the family of a newly-married man,
whose wife, somewhat matronly in age and in
habits, happened to please his fancy, as a ma-
ternal guardian for his child. After making
every requisite arrangement in regard to her
education, he returned to New Orleans, from
which city money to defray her expenses was
regularly transmitted. Once a year he came
north to visit her, and remained in our town for
a few weeks.

" I happened to know the family in which
Eugenia Ballantine was placed, and became ac-
quainted with her immediately. I was then but
a boy, though some four years her senior, yet
old enough to feel for her, from the beginning,

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

327

something more than a mere fraternal regard.
And this sentiment was reciprocal. No place
was so pleasant to me as that which was cheered
by her presence — no smile warmed my heart like
her smile ; and I could always see her counte-
nance brighten the moment I came where she
was.

"Gradually, as year after year passed, and
she still remained among us, our early preference
for each other, or rather our early affection, as-
sumed a more serious character. We loved each
other ; she was just seventeen, and I twenty-one,
when I ventured to tell her how deeply, fer-
vently, and purely I loved her. The formal
announcement did not seem to create surprise,
or agitate her in the least.

" ' I never doubted it,' was her innocent re-
ply, looking me tenderly in the face.

" ' And do you love me as truly as I love you,
Eugenia?' I asked.

" 'Have you ever doubted it?' was her quiet
response to this, also.

"From that moment I was bewilderingly
happy. My family was one of wealth and
standing, and I immediately wrote to Mr. Bal-
lantine, who, after sufficient time to make in-
quiry in regard to the character and position of
his daughter's lover, returned a cordial assent
to my proposal for her hand. Thus far every-
thing had gone on as smoothly as a summer sea.
We smiled sometimes together at the carping
adage, ( The course of true love never did run
smooth,' and referred to our own case as a signal
instance of its falsity.

" During the summer succeeding our engage-
ment, Mr. Ballantine did not come on to the
north. In the ensuing spring, Eugenia's term
of instruction closed at the seminary, after having
been in Troy nearly five years. She was a tall,
beautiful woman, with a mind highly cultivated,
and externally accomplished in every respect.
I was proud of her beauty and acquirements, at
the same time that I loved her with fervent de-
votion. Spring passed away and summer came ;
with the advancing season her father arrived
from the south. He had not seen his child for
two years, during which time she had grown up
into a mature and lovely woman. I could for-
give the jealous pride with which he would look
into her face, and the constant tenderness of his
allusions to her when she was away from his
side.

" ' I do not think, Mr. Perkins,' he would say
to me, sometimes, ' that I can let you have my
Eugenia, unless you will go south. I am sure I
cannot part with her again.'

" ' Why not come north, Mr. Ballantine?' I
would suggest.

" But he would shake his head as he made
some disparaging remark in regard to the north.
and playfully insist that I must go with him to
the sunny south. It was about the first of Sep-
tember that I asked that our marriage might take
place at an early day. But the father shook his
head.

" ' Be content that the flower is to be yours.
Do not become too eager to pluck it from its
parent stem. I must have my dear girl with me
for at least one winter. In the spring she shall
be yours.'

" ' Oh, no ! Mr. Ballantine,' I said, in alarm.
1 you are not going to rob me of her for so long
a time?' I spoke with warmth.

" ' Rob you of her !' ejaculated the father, in
seeming half indignation. * You are unreason-
able and very selfish, my dear boy ! Here you
have had her for five years, and after a little
while are to have her for life, and yet are un-
willing to give me even the boon of a few short
months with my own child. You are not gene-
rous !'

" I felt the rebuke, and confessed that I had
been moved by too selfish feelings.

" ' If you think the time long,' he added, ' all
you have to do is to take a packet and come
round — we shall welcome you with joy.'

" ' That I shall no doubt be compelled to do,
for I will not be able to exist for five or six long
months away from Eugenia.'

" ' So I should suppose. Well, come along,
and after I get you there, I will see if I can't
inoculate you with a love of Southern people,
Southern habits, and Southern manners. I am
sanguine that you will like us.'

" ' Well, perhaps so,' I said. ' But we will
see.'

"The time for the departure of Mr. Ballan-
tine and his daughter was set for the first of
October. The few remaining days passed on
fleet wings, and then, after completing the ne-
cessary arrangements, Eugenia left Troy with
her father for New York, thence to go by sea
to her native city. I accompanied them down
the river, and spent two days with them in the
city, previous to the sailing of the ship Empress,
in which they were to embark. Our parting
was tender, yet full of hope for a speedy meeting.
I had already made up my mind to visit New
Orleans about January, and remain there during
the winter. Our marriage was then to be so-
lemnized.

" After the sailing of the Empress, I returned

328

godey's magazine and lady's book.

to Troy, to await the news of her safe arrival at
New Orleans. I felt gloomy and desolate, and
for my uncompanionable humor received sundry
playful jibes or open rebukes from my friends.
Tn about a week I began to examine the shipping
lists of the New York papers, in the hope of
seeing some notice of the good ship that contained
my heart's best treasure. But no record of her
having been spoken at sea met 'my eyes as I
scanned the newspapers day after day with an
eager and increasing hope, until four, five, and
six weeks had passed away. So much troubled
had I now become, that I went down to New
York to see the owners of the ship.

" 'Has the Empress arrived out yet?' I asked,
on entering their counting-room.

" ' Not at the latest dates,' was the reply, made
in a voice expressive of concern.

" * Is not her passage a very long one ?'

" ' We should have had news of her arrival
ten days ago.'

" 'Has she been spoken on the passage V

tt i Never but once, and that after she was
f,hree days out.'

" 'Is she a good ship?' I next inquired.

" ' None better out of this port,' was the
prompt answer.

" For ten days I remained in New York,
eagerly examining each morning the shipping
lists, and referring to all the southern papers to
which I could get access. I met during that time
but one reference to the Empress, and that was
contained in a paragraph alluding to her long
passage, and expressing great fears for her safety.
This thrilled my heart with a more palpable and
terrible fear. On the next day but one, I met in
a New Orleans paper a farther allusion to her,
coupled with the remark that a suspicious-looking
vessel, clipper-built, with a black hull, had been
seen several times during the past few weeks
cruising in the Gulf, and expressing a fear lest
she had come across the Empress. I thought
this would have driven me beside myself. But
why prolong this painful narration by attempting
to describe my feelings, as day after day, week
after week, and month after month passed, and
no tidings came of the missing ship ? From the
day I parted with Eugenia, I have neither seen
her nor heard from her. The noble vessel that
bore her proudly away neither reached her des-
tination, nor returned back with her precious
freight. All — all found a grave in the dark
depths of the ocean.

" It is a terrible thing, my friend, to be thus
pjft of all you hold dearest in life. If I had seen
her touched by the hand of disease, and watched
thp wse fading from her check, leaf after leaf

falling away, until death claimed at lasi his
victim, I could have borne the severe affliction
with some degree of fortitude. Even if she had
been struck down suddenly at my side, there
would have been something for the bruised heart
to rest upon. But to be taken from me thus !
her fate shrouded in a most fearful mystery!
Oh ! it is terrible !"

And the young man set his teeth firmly, and
clenched his hands, in a powerful struggle with
his still o'ermastering feelings. At length he
resumed, in a calmer voice —

" No matter what terrors or violence attended
her death — no matter how deep she lies in the
unfathomable sea, her spirit is with the blessed
angels, for she was pure and good. This ought
to be enough for me. The agonies of a fearful
departure are long since over. And why should
I recall them, and break up afresh the tender
wounds that bleed at the slightest touch ? Hence-
forth I will strive to look away from the past,
and onward, in pleasing hope, to that future
time when we shall meet where there will be
no more parting."

" She must have been a lovely creature, in-
deed," said Milford, some minutes after his
friend had ceased, holding, as he spoke, the
miniature in his hand, and looking at it atten-
tively.

" She was lovely as innocence itself," was the
half abstracted reply.

" Although I never saw her, yet there is an
expression in her face that is familiar" — Milford
went on to say — " very familiar ; but it awakens,
I cannot tell why, a feeling of pain. This face
is a happy face ; and yet it seems every moment
as if it would change into a look of sadness —
yea, of deep sorrow and suffering."

" This may arise, and no doubt does, from the
melancholy history connected with her, that I
have just related."

"Perhaps that is the reason," Milford re-
turned, thoughtfully. "And yet I know not
how to account for the strangely familiar ex-
pression of her face."

" Did you ever see a picture in your life that
had not in it some feature that was familiar?"
asked Perkins.

" Perhaps not," the friend replied, and then
sat in mental abstraction for some moments. He
was not satisfied with this explanation, and was
searching his memory for the original of that
peculiar expression which had struck him so
forcibly. He was sure that it did exist, and that
he had looked upon it no very long time before.
But he tried in vain to fix it. The impression
floated still in his mind only as a vague idea.

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

329

" There ! I have it !" he at length exclaimed,
but with something of disappointment in his
tones. " I remember that the young seamstress
we were speaking of a few days ago, a single
glimpse of whose face I obtained, had that very
look which strikes me as familiar in this picture.
I thought I had seen it somewhere else."

Perkins started, and looked surprised and agi-
tated. But this was only momentary.

" Now you speak of her," he said, calmly,
" I remember that I always thought of Eugenia
when I saw her, which is no doubt the reason
why I have felt strongly interested for the young
stranger, who has doubtless seen better .days. I
related to you, I believe, the adventure I had
near the bridge, in which she was concerned?"

" You did. I wonder what in the world takes
her over to Charleston so often ? She goes, I
believe, almost every day, and usually late in
the afternoon. Several persons have spoken of
her to me ; but none seemed to know her errand
there, or to have any knowledge of her what-
ever."

" There is some mystery connected with her,
certainly. This afternoon I went in to make
some inquiries in regard to her of Berlaps. I
was just in time to hear Michael, his salesman,
give her some insulting language, for which I
rebuked the fellow sharply."

" Indeed ! How did she take it?" said Mil-
ford.

" She did not seem to notice him, but glided
quickly past, as he bent over the counter to-
wards her, and left the store."

" Did you see her face ?"

" No. Her veil was closely drawn, as usual,"
answered Perkins.

" I don't know why it is, but there is some-
thing about this young female that interests me
very much. Have you yet learned her name?"

" It is Lizzy Glenn — so I was told at the
clothing store for which she works."

" Lizzy Glenn ? An assumed name, in all
probability."

" Very likely. It sounds as if it might be,"
said Perkins.

" If I were you," remarked the friend, " I
would learn something certain about this stran-
ger; if for no other reason, on account of the
singular association of her, in your involuntary
thought, with Miss Ballantine. She may be a
relative ; and, if so, it would afford a melancholy
pleasure to relieve her from her present unhap-
py condition, for the sake of the one in heaven."

" I have already tried to find her; but she was
not at the number where Michael said she re-
sided."

28*

" She may not have given him the right direc-
tion," said Milford.

" So he pretends to infer. But I would rather
believe that Michael has purposely deceived me
than that she would be guilty of falsehood."

" If I see her again," said Milford, " I will
endeavor, by all means, to discover her place of
residence."

" Do, if you would oblige me. It is my pur-
pose not to lose sight of her at our next meeting,
be it where it may. Our present conversation
has awakened a deeper interest, and stimulated
a more active curiosity. I am no blind believer
in chance, Milford. I do not regard this meet-
ing with the stranger as something only fortui-
tous. There is a Providence in all the events of
life, and I am now firmly assured that th§se en-
counters with the seamstress are not merely
accidental, as the world regards accidents, but
events in a chain of circumstances that, when
complete, will result in positive good. Of the
nature of that good — as to who will be blessed
or benefited — I do not pretend to divine. I
only feel ready to act my part in the drama of
life. I must and will know more about this

CHAPTER VII.

As little Henry, after parting with his mother,
hurried on by the side of Mr. Sharp, who took
his way directly across the bridge leading over
to Charleston, where he had left the chaise in
which he had ridden from Lexington, a hand-
some carriage, containing a mother and three
happy children, about the age of himself, Emma,
and the sister who had just died, drove rapidly
by. The children were full of spirits, and, in
their thoughtless glee, called out gayly, but with
words of ridicule, to the poor, meanly clad child,
who was hurrying on at almost a run beside the
man who had become his master. Their words,
however, were heeded not by the full-hearted
boy. His thoughts were going back to his home,
and to his much-loved mother.

This incident is mentioned here, as a striking
illustration of the practical working of that sys-
tem of grinding the poor, especially poor females,
by which many men make fortunes, or at least
acquire far more than a simple competence for
life. That carriage belonged to Berlaps, and
those happy children were his. But how could
he buy a carriage and horses, and build fine
houses, and yet not be able to pay more than the
meagre pittance for his work that the reader has

330

godey's magazine and lady's book.

seen doled out to his half-starving workwomen?
How could his children be fed and clothed sump-
tuously every day, and the widow, who worked
for him from early dawn until the silent watches
of midnight, not be able to get wholesome bread
and warm garments for her little ones, unless he
took more than his just share of the profits upon
his goods ? If he could only afford to pay seven
cents for coarse shirts, and so on, in proportion,
up through the entire list of articles made, how
came it that the profits on these very articles
enabled him to live in elegance, build houses,
and keep his own carriage and horses ?

Such questions apply not alone to the single
instance of Berlaps, here introduced. They are
pertinent in their application to all who add to
their profits for the purpose of a grand aggre-
gate, at the expense of reducing the pay, even a
few cents, upon the hard toiling workwoman
whose slender income, at best, is barely suffi-
cient to procure the absolute necessaries of life.
This cutting down of women's wages, until they
are reduced to an incompetent pittance, is a sys-
tem of oppression too extensive, alas ! in this,
as well as many other countries. It is one of
the quiet and safe means by which the strong
oppress the weak — by which the selfish build
themselves up, cruelly indifferent to the suffer-
ings of those who are robbed of a just compensa-
tion for their labor. The record of a conversa-
tion overheard between two of the class alluded
to will illustrate this matter. They were tailors
— or, rather, what are sometimes called slop-shop
or clothing men. Let it not be supposed that
tailors alone are the oppressors of workwomen.
In most of the employments at which females
engage, especially such as admit of a competition
in labor, advantage is taken of the eager demands
for work, and prices reduced to the lowest pos-
sible standard. In the eager scramble for mo-
nopolizing more than a just share of custom, or
to increase the amount of sales by the temptation
of extremely moderate rates, the prices of goods
are put down to the lowest scale they will bear.
If, in doing this, the dealer was content with a
profit reduced in some proportion to the increase
of his sales, no one would have a right to com-
plain. He would be free to sell his goods at
cost, or even below cost, if that suited his fancy.
Instead of this, however, the profits on his arti-
cles are often the same that they were when
prices were ten or fifteen per cent, higher, and
he reaps the advantage of a greatly increased
sale, consequent upon the more moderate rates
at which he can sell. The evil lies in his cut-
ting down his operatives' wages ; in taking off
of them, while they make no party to his volun-

tary reduction of prices, the precise amount that
he throws in to his customer as a temptation to
buy more freely. But to the promised dia-
logue • —

" Money don't come in hand-over-fist, as it
ought to come," remarked Grasp, of the flourish-
ing firm of Grasp & Co., Merchant Tailors, of
Boston, to the junior partner of the establish-
ment. " The nimble sixpence is better than the
slow shilling, you know. "We must make our
shears eat up cloth a little faster, or we sha'n't
clear ten thousand dollars this year by one-third
of the sum."

" Although that would be a pretty decent
business these times."

" I don't call any business a decent one that
can be bettered," replied Grasp, contemptuously.

" But can ours be bettered?"

" Certainly !"

"How?"

" By selling more goods."

" How are we to do that?"

" By putting down the prices, and then mak-
ing a confounded noise about it. Do you un-
derstand?"

" I do. But our prices are very low now."

" True. But we may reduce them still fur-
ther, and, by so doing, increase our sales to an
extent that will make our business net us be-
yond the present income quite handsomely.
But, to do this, we must cut down the prices
now paid for making up our clothes. In this
way, we shall be able to greatly increase our
sales, with but a slight reduction upon our pre-
sent rates of profit."

" But will our workmen stand it? Our needle-
women, particularly, work very low now."

" They '11 have to stand it !" replied Grasp ;
" most of them are glad to get work at any price.
Women, with half a dozen hungry mouths
around them, don't stand long to higgle about a
few cents in a garment, when there are so many
willing to step in and take their places. Be-
sides, what are three or four cents to them on a
vest, or pair of pants, or jacket ? The difference
in a week is small and will not be missed — or,
at the worst, will only require them to econo-
mize with a little steadier hand ; while upon the
thousands of garments we dispose of here, and
send away to other markets, it will make a most
important aggregate on the right side of profit
and loss."

" There is no doubt of that," replied the part-
ner, the idea of the aggregate of three or four
cents on each garment occupying his mind, and
obscuring completely, for a time, every other
idea. " Well, I 'm with you," he said, after a

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

331

little while, " in any scheme for increasing pro-
fits. Getting along at the rate of only some two
or three thousand a year is rather slow work.
Why, there 's Tights, Screw, &. Co., see how
they 're cutting into the trade, and carrying
everything before them. Tights told me that
they cleared twenty thousand dollars last year."

" No doubt of it. And I '11 make our house
do the same before three years roll over, or I 'm
no prophet."

" If we are going to play this cutting down
game, we had better begin at once."

" Oh, certainly. The sooner the better. But
first, we must arrange a reduced scale of prices,
and then bring our whole tribe of workwomen
and others down to it at once. It will not do to
hold any parley with them. If we do, our ears
will be dinned to death with trumped-up tales
of poverty and distress, and all that sort of thing,
with which we have no kind of concern in the
world. These are matters personal to these in-
dividuals themselves, and have nothing to do
with our business. No matter what prices we
paid, we would have nothing but grumbling and
complaint, if we allowed an open door on that
subject."

" Yes, there is no doubt of that. But, to tell
the truth, it is a mystery to me how some of
these women get along. Very few make over
two dollars a week, and some never go beyond
a dollar. Many of them are mothers, and most
of them have some one or more dependent upon
them. Food, rent, clothes,- and fuel, all have to
come out of these small earnings. By what
hocus-pocus it is done, I must confess, puzzles
me to determine."

" Oh, as to that," returned Grasp, " it is, no
doubt, managed well enough. Provisions, and
everything that poor people stand in need of,
are very cheap. The actual necessaries of life
cost but little, you know. How far above the
condition of the starving Irish, or the poor
operatives in the manufacturing portions of Eng-
land, is that of the people who work for us !
Think of that for a moment."

"True — very true," replied the partner.
" Well," he continued, " I think we had better
put the screws on to our workwomen and jour-
neymen at once. I am tired of plodding on at
this rate."

" So am I. To-night, then, after we close the
store, we will arrange our new bill of prices, and
next week bring all hands down to it."

And they were just as good as their word.
And it happened just as they said — the poor
workmen had to submit.

But we must return from our digression.

The child who, under the practical operation
of a system of which the above dialogue gives
some faint idea, had to go out from his home at
the tender age of ten years, because his mother,
with all her hard toil early and late, at the prices
she obtained for her labor, could not earn enough
to provide a sufficiency of food and clothes for
her children — that child passed on, unheeding,
and, indeed, unhearing the jibes of the happier
children of his mother's oppressor, and endea-
vored, sad and sorrowful as he felt, to nerve
himself with something of a manly feeling. At
Charlestown, Mr. Sharp got into his chaise, and,
with the lad he had taken to raise, drove home.

" Well, here is the youngster, Mrs. Sharp,"
he said, on alighting from his vehicle. " He is
rather smaller and punier than I like, but I have
no doubt that he will prove willing and obe-
dient."

" What is his name?" asked Mrs. S., who had
a sharp chin, sharp nose, and sharp features
throughout; and, with all, rather a sharp voice.
She had no children of her own — those tender
pledges being denied her, perhaps on account of
the peculiar sharpness of her temper.

" His name is Henry," replied her husband.

"Henry what?"

" Henry Gaston, I believe. Isn't that it, my
boy?"

Henry replied in the affirmative. Mr. Sharp
then said —

"You can go in with Mrs. Sharp, Henry.
She will tell you what she wants you to do."

" Yes, come along." And Mrs. Sharp turned
away as she spoke, and retired into the more in-
terior portion of the house, followed by the boy.

" Mrs. Sharp will tell you what she wants
you to do !" Yes, that tells the story. From
this hour the child is to become the drudge — the
hewer of wood and drawer of water — for an un-
feeling woman, whose cupidity and that of her
husband have prompted them to get a little boy
aa a matter of saving — one who could do the
errands for the shop and the drudgery for the
house. There was no thought for, and regard
towards, the child to be exercised. He was to
be to them only an economical little machine,
very useful, though somewhat troublesome at
times.

" I don't see that your mother has killed you
with clothes," said Mrs. Sharp to him, after tak-
ing his bundle and examining it, and then sur-
veying him from head to foot. " But I suppose
she thinks they will do well enough ; and I sup-
pose they will. There, do you see that wooden
pail there ? Well, I want you to take it and eo

332

godey's magazine and lady's book.

to the pump across the street, down in the next
square, and bring it full of water."

Henry took the pail, as directed, and went
and got the water. This was the beginning of
his service, and was all well enough, as far as it
went. But from that time he had few moments
of relaxation, except what the night gave him,
or the quiet Sabbath. All through the first day
he was kept busy either in the house or shop,
and, before night, had received two or three
reprimand? from Mrs. Sharp, administered in no
very affectionate tones.

When night came, at last. — it had seemed a
very long day to him — and he was sent to bed
alone, in the dark, he put off his clothes and
laid himself down, unable, as he did so, to re-
strain the tears and sobs. Poor child ! How
sadly and yearningly did his heart go back to the
narrow apartment, every nook and corner of
which were dear to him, because his mother's
presence made all sunshine there ! And how
earnestly did he long to be with her again ! But
he soon sank away to sleep, from which he did
not awaken until the half angry voice of Mrs.
Sharp chided him loudly for " lazing it away"
in bed until after sunrise. Quickly getting up
and dressing himself, he went down and com-
menced upon a new day of toil. First he had
to bring in wood, then to grind the coffee, after-
wards to bring water from the pump, and then
to scour the knives for breakfast. When these
were done, he was sent into the shop to see if
Mr. Sharp didn't want him, where he found
plenty to occupy his attention. The shop was
to be sprinkled and swept out, the counter to be
dusted, and various other little matters to be at-
tended to, which occupied him until breakfast-
time. After he had finished this meal, Mrs.
Sharp managed to find him plenty to do for some
hours, and then her husband laid out work for
him, at which he devoted himself all the rest of
the day, except when he was wanted in the
kitchen for some purpose or other. And so it
continued, day after day, from morning until
night. Not an hour's relaxation was allowed
the child; and if, from weariness or disheartened
feeling, he sometimes lingered over a piece of
work, a severe scolding or some punishment
from Mrs. Sharp was sure to follow.

Thus things went on, every day adding to the
cold of a rapidly advancing northern winter.
But Mrs. Sharp still thought, according to her
first conclusions in regard to Henry's clothes,
that " they would do." They were not very
warm, it is true — that she could not help admit-
ting. (* But then he is used to wearing thinner
clothes than other children," she reasoned, " or

else his mother would have put warmer ones on
him. And, any how, I see no use in letting
him come right down as a dead expense upon
our hands. He hasn't earned his salt yet, much
less a suit of winter clothes."

But the poor little fellow was no more used
to bearing exposure to the chilling winds of
winter than she had been when a child. He
therefore shrunk shiveringly in the penetrating
air whenever forced to go beyond the door
This did not fail to meet the eye of Mrs. Sharp —
indeed, her eye was rarely off of him when he
was within the circle of its vision — and it al-
ways irritated her. And why? It reproved her
for not providing warmer clothes for the child ;
and hurt her penurious spirits with the too
palpable conviction that before many weeks had
passed they would be compelled to lay out some
money for "the brat," as she had begun fre-
quently to designate him to her husband, espe-
cially when she felt called upon to complain of
him for idleness, carelessness, dulness, stupidity,
wastefulness, uncleanliness, hoggishness, or some
other one of the score of faults she found in a
child of ten years old, whom she put down to
work as steadily as a grown person.

A single month made a great change in his
external appearance ; such a change as would
have made him unfamiliar even to his mother's
eye. While under her care, his clothes, though
poor, had always been whole and clean — his
skin well washed, and his hair combed smoothly.
Now, the color of hjs thin jacket and trowsers
could scarcely have been told for the dust and
grease which had become imbedded in their
texture. His skin was begrimed until it was
many shades darker, and his hair stood stiffly
about his head, in matted portions, looking as if
a comb had not touched it for weeks. One
would hardly have imagined that so great a
change could have passed upon a boy in a few
weeks as had passed over him. When he left
his mother's humble abode, there was something
about him that instantly attracted the eye of al-
most any one who looked at him attentively,
and won for him favorable impressions. His
skin was pure and white, and his mild blue eyes,
with their expression of innocent confidence,
looked every one in the face openly. Now
there was something repulsive to almost every
one about the dirty boy, who went moping about
with soiled face and hands, a cowed look, and
shrinking gait. Scarcely any one seemed to feel
a particle of sympathy for him, either in 01 out
of the house where he dwelt.

Time passed on. and New Year's day rapidl}
approached, that anxiously longed-for time, to

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN,

333

which Henry had never ceased to look forward
since he left his mother's presence. Every pass-
ing day seemed to render his condition more and
more uncomfortable. The air grew colder and
colder, and the snow lay all around to the depth
of many inches. A suit of cloth clothes had
been " cooked up" for him out of an old coat
and trowsers that had long since been worn
threadbare by Mr. Sharp. Thin though they
were, they yet afforded a most comfortable sub-
stitute for those their welcome appearance had
caused him to throw aside. But the pair of
shoes he had worn when he left Boston were
still considered good enough, if thought of at all,
notwithstanding they gaped largely at the toes,
and had been worn so thin in the soles that
scarcely the thickness of a knife-blade lay be-
tween his feet and the snow-covered ground.
In regard to sleeping, he was not much better
off. His bed was of straw, upon the floor, in a
large, unplastered garret, and but scantily sup-
plied with covering. Here he would creep away
alone and in the dark every night, on being
driven away to bed from crouching beside the
warm kitchen fire after his daily toil was done,
and get under the thin covering with all his
clothes on. There he would lie, all drawn up
into a heap to keep warm, and think of his mo-
ther, and long for New Year's day to come, un-
til sleep would lock up his senses in uncon-
sciousness.

At last it was New Year's eve, but the poor
child had heard no word about going home. He
could sleep but little through that night for
thinking about the promised return to his mother
on the next day, and for the dread he felt lest
Mr. Sharp had forgotten, or would disregard his
promise. The bright morning of another new
year at length arose, clear and piercingly cold,
and Henry crept early from his bed, and went
down stairs to make the fires as usual. When
Mr. Sharp at length made his appearance, he
looked wishfully and inquiringly into his face,
but no notice whatever was taken of him, except
to give him some order, in the usual short, rough
tone in which he always addressed him.

" Ain't I going home to see my mother to-day,
sir?" was on his tongue, but he feared to utter
it.

After breakfast he watched every movement
of Mr. Sharp, expecting each moment to see him
go out and get the chaise ready to take him to
Boston. But no such idea was in the mind of
the thoughtless, unfeeling master. Nine, ten,
and eleven o'clock came and went, and the poor
child's anxious heart began to fail him. Several
times he was on the point of recalling to the

mind of Mr. Sharp his promise to his mother
that he should be sent home at New Year's, but
as often his timid heart caused him to shrink
back. At last dinner-time came, and yet no-
thing was said, nor were there any indications
that the boy was to go home. The meal passed,
and then Henry was directed to go on some er-
rand about a mile away.

" But ain't I going home to-day, Mr. Sharp?"
said he, with a sudden, despairing resolution,
looking up with tearful eyes, as he spoke.

"What's that?" eagerly asked Mrs. Sharp,
coming forward. " What 's that, ha ?"

The frightened boy slunk back, and stood with
his eyes upon the floor.

"Go where, did he say, Mr. Sharp?"

" Go to see his mammy, to be sure !" replied
the hatter, in a half-sneering tone of surprise.

"His mammy, indeed! And pray what put
that into his head, I should like to know?"

"Mr. Sharp told mother he would send me
home to see her on New Year's day," the child
ventured to say, in explanation.

" Clear out ! Off with you, Mr. Assurance !"
exclaimed Sharp, in an angry voice, at this, half
raising his hand to strike the lad. " How dare
you !"

Henry started back trembling, at once con-
scious that all hope of seeing her he had so pined
to meet for many long and weary days of suffer-
ing and privation, was at an end. Slowly he
left the house, shrinking in the cold blast, and
went on his errand through the hard frozen
snow.

" Did any one ever hear such impudence !"
ejaculated Mrs. Sharp, in breathless surprise.
" Sent home on New Year's day to his mammy !
A pretty how-do-you-do, upon my word ! the
dirty little ill-conditioned brat !"

" I believe, now I come to think of it," said
Sharp, "that I did say something of the kind
to his mother, just to pacify her, though I had
no thought of doing it ; and, indeed, I don't
suppose she cares any great deal about seeing
him. She didn't look as if she could keep soul
and body together long."

" If she wanted to see him so dreadful bad,
why didn't she keep him at home with her, tied
all the while to her apron-string?" said the un-
feeling woman.

" She would have had to work a little harder
to have done that. No doubt she was glad
enough to get rid of the burden of supporting
him."

" Well, all that I can say is, that any mothei
who is not willing to work to take care of her
children, don't deserve to see them."

331

godey's magazine and lady's book.

" So say I," returned the husband.

\ :id as to Henry's going home, I wouldn't
hear to any such thing. He 'd not be a bit too

good to trump up any kind of stories about not
being treated -\vell, so as to prevail upon her not
to let him come back. I know just how boys
like him talk when they get a chance to run
home. * Even when they do come back, they 're
never worth a cent afterwards."

" Oh, no ! As to his going home, that is out
of the question this winter," replied Sharp.
"If his mother cares about seeing him, she '11
find her way out here."

With a sadder heart than ever did poor Henry
grope his way up into the cold garret that night,
with but one thought and one image in his mind,
the thought of home and the image of his mo-
ther. He dreamed of her all night. He was at
home. Her tender voice was in his ear, and his
head rested on her bosom. She clothed him in
warmer garments, and set him beside her at the
table, upon which was tempting food. But

morning came at last, and he was awakened
from visions of delight to a more painful con-
sciousness of his miserable condition by the
sharp, chiding voice of his cruel mistress.
Slowly, with stiffened limbs and a reluctant
heart, did he arise, and enter upon the repulsive
and hard duties of another day.

As he had not been permitted to go home, his
next consolatory thought was that his mother
would come out at once to see him. This hope
he clung to day after day, but he clung to it in
vain. It mattered not that, every time the shop
door opened when he was in it, he turned with
a quickened pulse to see if it were not his mo-
ther, or that he would pause and listen, when
back in the house, to hear if the strange voice
that came suddenly from the shop, were not the
voice of her he so longed to see. She came not;
nor was any word from her brought to him.

And thus passed the whole of the severe
month of January, the long and cold winter
adding greatly to his other causes of suffering.
(To be continued.)

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND HER "DEAR,

DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY HORACE MAYHEW.

THE FOURTH LETTER LEFT.

(Dated March 9th.)

SHOWING WHAT KITTY THOUGHT OF SOME
MORE OF HER SCHOOLFELLOWS.

In my last letter, I forgot to tell you about
the two Miss Suetts, Emilia and Julia. They
are fat, and round, and heavy, like (Meggy says)
a couple of yeast dumplings. Their parents are
in India, and they never go home. No one
cares much about that, however ; for they are
great teazers, and the most dreadful tell-tales.
But they are never without preserves and pic-
kles of some kind, and have such delicious pome-
granates and guava jelly sent to them, in such
large blue jars, that, after all, I doubt if any
two girls would be more missed from the school
than the two Suetts — disagreeable things as they
are. You should only taste their tamarinds,
Nell !

There is also Ada Steele, the poetess, who
writes verses, some of which have actually ap-
peared in print (in the " Family Page," I think),
and you cannot imagine how conceited she is

about it. I am told she knows every line of
poetry that ever was written. She is such a
dreadful plague, that I never go near her if I
can avoid it. You cannot ask her what 's the
day of the month, but she '11 give you a hundred
lines of poetry right off from some poet or other.
Meggy calls her " a tap of poetry," which once
turned on, will go on running till you stop it.
Byron is her especial favorite, and she always
calls him " dear." His works are not allowed
in the college ; but Ada Steele has got a copy
of them, and she puts it under her pillow every
night.

But the girl I dislike most is Susan Carney.
Fancy a tall, thin creature, with hair the color
of blotting-paper, and with eyes like an owl's,
that cannot look at you, and you have her stand-
ing before you. She is the "sneaAr" of the
school ; and moves about like a cat. When we
are talking secrets, and turn round, there she is
— pretending to look for something, but in reali-
ty listening. Or, if a girl has comfortably gol
one of James's delicious novels inside her gram-
mar, and looks up to see that it is all right am.

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S

835

snug, Ihere is Carney's cold, fishy eye sure to
be fixed sideways upon her. Meggy says her
eye is so sharp, she 's confident that, like a
needle's, it would cut thread. We cannot have
a bit of fun but Miss Carney is sure to spoil it.
We cannot read or write a letter in class with-
out her knowing it. We cannot talk to the
masters, or have a comfortable bit of gossip
about the filthy dinners and the lady principal,
without our being requested, before the day is
half over, " to step to Mrs. R.'s boudoir," after
which you will see the girls coming back with
red eyes and burning cheeks.

The oddest thing is, no one is sure that it is
Carney who tells, though every one is convinced
that she does. She manages it so cleverly that
she is never found out. We tease her as much
as we dare, calling her "policeman," "spy,"
"tell-tit," and everything we can think of; but
it takes no effect upon her. She turns a little
pale, talks morality in a whining tone, and
leaves it to Mrs. Rodwell to redress her wrongs.
Another curious thing is the way in which
she wheedles a secret out of you. Though on
your guard, she flatters and fawns, and coaxes
and lectures till you have parted with your se-
cret long before you are aware of it. You would
imagine she was chloroform, so cleverly does
she extract it, without the smallest consciousness
on your part. The fact is, she crawls over you,
Nelly ; and as for talking, it is my firm belief
she would talk a letter out of a letter-box. She
is exceedingly neat and clean, with not a single
hair out of bounds ; and, somehow, her dresses
do not rustle, nor her shoes creak, as other per-
sons' do. She is down upon you, like a shower
at the horticultural fete, before you have time
to run for it. What with her crawling, and her
sleek appearance, and her gliding so noiselessly
about the room, she looks like a big lizard, or
some slippery serpent, that was advancing to-
wards you ; and I always feel inclined to scream,
or to put up my parasol, when she comes near
me, to frighten her away.

Nor is she much a favorite with the remainder
of the school. The little girls bribe her with
oranges and cakes, and lend her small sums of
money, to prevent her telling. But the big girls
know it's no use, and waste nothing upon her;
they know well enough she will take the bribe
one minute, and go and blab the next. The
governesses are even afraid of her, and begin
talking of the weather whenever she approaches.
But what shocks me the most, Nelly, is that
she is righteous. She moans and groans, and
turns up the whites (or the yellows, rather) of
her eyes, and is so pious at church, and is always

inveighing against " the shameful wickedness"
of the school. Then she reads hymns, and is
embroidering a prie-dieu for her godpapa, who
is something in the church, and exceedingly
rich ; and she writes such insufferably long ser-
mons, twice the length of anybody else's ; and
after service she begs to see Mrs. Rodwell, pour
confier son cczur as she calls it, but we all know
what that means, for as sure as plum-pudding on
Sunday, some one is sure to be punished that
same afternoon ! I only wish we could find her
out in anything. I really believe the entire
school would rush up to the lady principal, and
tell of her. But Miss Carney is far too cautious
to be caught tripping ! They tell me she even
sleeps with her eyes open.

Let us turn from this hateful creature (I can't
help hating her, Nelly) to some more agreeable
subject. I will not tire you with descriptions
of Miss Smiffel, the butcher's daughter, or Miss
Embden, the baker's daughter, except to tell
you that they have a sad time of it, and are
called rare ugly names, because their papas hap-
pen to be butchers and bakers, just as if they
could help it. I need not tell you, either, about
Lizzy Spree, a little, merry, fidgety, laughing
thing, with black eyes, who is the romp — the
" bad girl" of the school. She is always playing
tricks, making apple-pie beds, or sewing up the
tops of our stockings, or hiding the dancing-mas-
ter's shoes, or tying the cat's tail to the parrot's
leg, or filling Miss Blight's bed with bread-crumbs
and cockchafers, or breaking a window, or tear-
ing her dress every day. The consequence is,
she is always in punishment ; but she cares no
more for it than a duck cares for an umbrella.
She spends all her pocket-money on crackers
and detonating balls and valentines, and is al-
ways going to be expelled ; only Mrs. Rodwell
relents, and gives her " one chance more." The
maid fell down stairs with the soup-tureen yes-
terday, from the fact of her strewing the kitch-
en-steps with marbles and orange-peel. It was
too bad. We had to go without soup in conse-
quence.

But, Nelly, you would quite love little Jessie
Joy ; she is the wee'st little thing you ever saw.
You might hang her to your chatelaine. You
would declare that she was not more than ten,
and yet she was sixteen last birthday. She has
a rosy round face, and little flaxen curls, exactly
like a pretty doll, if you could only keep her
still for a moment to look at her. She plays
about the room like the sun on a looking-glass,
and her whole body seems to quiver with light.
I defy .you to catch her, unless, perhaps, it was
in the dark. We call her " pet" and w tiny."

336

godey's magazine and lady's book

I don't know how it is Jessie cannot be
taught ; and yet she is far from being an idiot,
for the little thing understands ; nor is she
stupid, for she is quick enough to outwit us all.
Still, they have never been able to teach her
anything. Her eyes (I don't know what color
they are) fly away like butterflies directly you
attempt to catch them, and settle on all places
but on her book. We think she can read, but
no one is sure of it. If told to learn, she pouts
her lips like cherries, until you feel inclined
to bite them ; and her little head swings to and
fro, Nelly, like the bells on a fuchsia when set a
dancing by the wind. The lady principal cannot
scold her. The utmost she can do is to call her
to her in an angry tone, when she takes up her
little head in her two hands as if it were a bowl
of milk, and kisses her gently on the forehead.
This is all her punishment ; and the little culprit
runs back into her place as quick as a rabbit.

But if she can't read, or spell, or learn, you
should only hear her sing, Nell ! It is like a
wild bird. She warbles every air she hears.
Music seems to gush from her like water from
a fountain. Once she was caught, playing, and
they say it sounded like the rejoicing of good
spirits ; but she cried when they wanted her to
do it again, and has never touched the instru-
ment since. She dances more like a fairy than
a human being. And yet when Monsieur Viau-
lon (the French dancing-master) attempted to
teach her the polka, she ran away and hid her-

self behind the great globe in the music-room.
The truth is, her dancing has nothing of the
ball-room in it. She flits about so restlessly,
it makes your eyes wink to look at her. Her
feet never seem happy on the ground, and I al-
ways have a curious fear when the window is
opened that Jessie will fly out of it.

The girls are rather frightened at her restless
ways and her strange beauty, which seem to
belong more to the air than to the earth. They
declare that she is a fairy changeling ; and that
the tale which is told of -her father being shot
in a duel, and of her mother dying when Jessie
was born, is all a story. Jessie rarely goes home.
The only person who comes to see her is an aged
aunt, with a face all over lines, like a railway
map. She brings her plenty of toys and plenty
of sweeties ; but Jessie, apparently, does not
care the least about her. The only person her
flighty disposition stops in its giddy career to
alight upon is Amy Darling. She listens to no
one else without impatience — she will play with
no one else, except it is a young kitten that be-
longs to the cook — she will obey no one else. But
then I believe, if Amy spoke to the lightning,
that she would stop it.

I am so tired of scribbling, dear Nelly, that
I can't write any more to-day, though I could
fill a whole band-box with particulars about this
place. So no more at present from your dear
affectionate.

Kitty.

SOME THOUGHTS ON TKAININGr FEMALE TEACHEES.

BY MISS M .

In a former communication, we sought to
awaken the more lively and practising interest
of ladies generally (especially those possessed of
large means and influence), in the subject of
teacher-training to an extent and thoroughness
of method which have hitherto been scarcely
deemed requisite, especially in those portions of
the country where education has been conducted
too much, if we may say so, at hap-hazard.
Such of our readers as have traversed various
sections of our wide-spread land will realize
what we mean, as they recall juvenile groups,
collected or bustled together, because something
must be done with them, to be coaxed, awed, or
driven by a leader who occupied the post as a
pis alter, or as a mere half-way house to some
less wearisome or more lucrative avocation. We

are not fearful here of wounding the self-love or
better feelings of any truly estimable or con-
scientious teacher, for such we have ever found
the most prompt to welcome improvement, the
most open to suggestions of amendment. But
perceiving, as we do, throughout the community,
marked signs of a willingness, a desire to assign
to instructors a more elevated position, a post of
honor among the benefactors of the race, and
knowing, by experience, the readiness of many
to meet the requisite claims of expenditure, it is
to teachers themselves, to young teachers espe-
cially, and to those aspiring to that high and re-
sponsible office, that we would now offer a few
earnest, and we trust heart-stirring questions
and remarks.

We would ask on whom and on what must

DON'T OVEKTASK THE YOUNG BKAIN.

337

mainly rest the position they are to hold, the
character of the work to be effected ? Surely, in
themselves and in the disinterested and docile
spirit with which it is entered on and pursued.
Short of high aims and pure motives, no course
can leave its valuable impress, and it is an ac-
knowledged, even if too little credited, maxim,
that they who best learn to obey and submit to
lawful rule, best know how to govern. Let us
therefore be permitted to persuade the young
and high-spirited to remember that their time
will come to take the lead, and that no premature
assumption of authority or airs of control will
avail for half the benefit to be derived from a
teachable spirit, and quiet observing and waiting
for opportunity. We know full well and prac-
tically that this simple method is capable of
eliciting the most harmonious and beautiful re-
sults, and that between teachers of experience
and those seeking preparation for the work, a
friendship will grow of a character the most ex-
tended and the most varied in its points of inte-
rest. We will not pause to enlarge on the sad
fontfast to this state of things, its multiform
evils — for we do not like looking on the dark
side of subjects which should bring out every
latent grace and virtue of the soul. Moreover,
we are fully persuaded of better things, so far at
least as intention and desire are concerned, yet
a friendly hand may offer some warning hints
of evils which are wont to creep in and mar the
benefit and beauty of fulfilment.

A trite motto tells us that " manners make
the man !" It is, at least, by all conceded that
they are the outward garb and indication of that
which is within, and that to a degree of which
the actor is often unaware and unconscious.
Can the young teacher then deem unimportant
any measure of care in deportment, or regard as
too severe a self-sacrifice the gentle and habitual
control of those ebullitions of spirits, those out-
of-place familiarities which we have oftentimes
seen sweeping away the outguards of reverence
by action, word, or look? If these are in an
isolated individual annoying or unseemly, how
great are their effect and potency when a sympa-
thetic influence pervades a number met for the
same purpose, and that avowedly one of the
highest improvement and culture ! A little true
refection on this point would, we are assured,
convert many a well-meaning, but unpolished,
and therefore ill-prepared young woman into
the well-mannered lady, the true helper of her
presiding teacher, and, in time, the consistently
dignified instructress of others.

Again, we know that simplicity is ever the
VOL. XL vm. — 29

expression of the highest truth, of elegance, and
of purity. We need not rake up classical au-
thority, or quote the poets, to prove what makes
its own way to every unsophisticated mind and
heart. But would indeed that the " daughters of
the land" might consider this, and reflect on St.
Paul's caution, "Not the outward adorning of
plaiting the hair, or of wearing of gold, or of
putting on of apparel," ere they present them-
selves as examples to the young, so especially, on
this point, prone to imitation and emulation.
Far higher, we feel assured, would they then
rise in the true esteem of their juniors, far more
secure would they be of reaching and maintain-
ing that position to which every teacher should
aspire, that of feeling that in a real superiority
none has the claim or the power to surpass them.
Our time and space are limited, and we do not
desire to crowd on our readers too much of our
own practical experience, and " notes taken from
life by the way." If welcomed, however, with
the sincere good-will with which they are offered,
other " thoughts" may yet find utterance, and,
we would fondly trust, find their counterpart in
the efficient action of many an unknown young
teacher, and their reflection in many a childish
scholar.

DON'T OVERTASK THE YOUNG BRAIN.

The minds of children ought to be little, if
at all, tasked, till the brain's development is
nearly completed, or until the age of six or
seven years. And will those years be wasted ?
or will the future man be more likely to be de-
ficient in mental power and capability, than one
who is differently treated? Those years will
not be wasted. The great book of nature is
open to the infant's and the child's prying in-
vestigation ; and from nature's page may be
learned more useful information than is con-
tained in all the children's books that have ever
been published. But even supposing those years
to have been absolutely lost, which is anything
but the case, will the child ^e eventually a loser
thereby ? We contend, with our author, that
he will not. Task the mind during the earlier
years, and you not only expose the child to a
greater risk of a disordered brain — not only, it
may be, lay the foundation for a morbid exci-
tability of brain, that may one day end in in-
sanity— but you debilitate its bodily powers, and
by so doing, to all intents and purposes, the mind
will eventually be a loser in its powers and ca-
pabilities.— Dr. Robertson.

THE SOUVENIK; OK, THE ARKIVAL OF THE "LADY'S BOOK."

A SKETCH OF SOUTHERN LIFE.

Y PAULINE FORSYTH.

(See Plate.)

" You may train the eagle

To stoop to your fist,
Or you may inveigle

The Phoenix of the East ;
The lioness, you may move her

To give up her prey ;
But you '11 ne'er stop a lover,

He will find out the way." — Old Song.

A Southern" plantation lying, as so many of
them do, at some distance from any town or vil-
lage, presents a phase of life peculiar to itself,
and very singular to one unaccustomed to it
from childhood. It has not the loneliness of
isolation, for each planter's house is in its way
a sort of a palace, the residence of the superior
authority, while at a little distance are clustered
together the cabins of his retainers, sometimes
in such numbers as to form almost a little village
of their own. Yet the members of the family
are often separated for weeks or months from all
congenial companionship, excepting what they
can find in each other ; for, besides the distance,
the state of the roads is often an insuperable
obstacle to all intercourse with their far-off
neighbors. Eminently social as Southerners
usually are, this is no slight drawback to their
enjoyment, and the arrival of the post is looked
forward to as the one great weekly event to re-
lieve the monotony of " the leaden-footed
hours."

Bessie Egerton was in this respect more fortu-
nate than many of her companions, her father's
plantation being but about five miles from the
village of Oxford, in South Carolina. This was
only a pleasant ride when the roads were good ;
but there were weeks during the winter and
early spring when even Bessie Egerton, general
belle and favorite as she was throughout the
surrounding country, had nothing but the mails
to remind her that there were other interests and
more stirring events in the world than those of
which her home was the centre.

Mr. Egerton was not one of those wealthy
planters whose income rivals that of the mer-
chant princes of the North, and would be a pretty
fortune for a person of moderate wants ; but he
was in comfortable circumstances, and Bessie's
338

home was a very pleasant one. The house
stood on a gentle slope, and with its wide veran-
das covered with roses, jessamine, and honey
suckles, and overhung by live-oak trees, from
whose gnarled branches hung drooping long
fringes of the gray moss, giving them the vene-
rable appearance of age, it suggested ideas of
coolness and shade, the peculiar comforts of that
part of the country.

It was in the latter part of February ; the early
spring was already coming on with the laggard
steps of one sure of its dominion, and therefore
in no haste to assert it. The rose-bushes, that
had but a few weeks before shaken off their
summer's burden of leaves and flowers, gave
tokens that they were about to take it up once
more, and the yellow jessamine in the woods,
with those many beautiful, but as yet unnamed
vines and flowers that adorn the swamps and
marshes of the South, had already begun to
awaken from their winter's slumber.

Bessie had been busy all the morning. Her
mother was a confirmed invalid, and upon the
eldest daughter of the house were devolved all
the active duties that belong to the mistress of a
plantation — much heavier and more arduous
than those of a Northern housekeeper, requiring
the exercise of more thought and discretion.
After breakfast, with her basket of keys, that
invariable accompaniment of a Southern house-
keeper, she went to the store-room to give out
the dinner for the family. There, after having
measured out the flour and spices, and counted
the eggs, and portioned off the vegetables re-
quired, she stood to see that everything was re-
placed in its proper order. Her next visit was
to the smoke-house for the meat, and there she
was often required to superintend the distribu-
tion of certain portions of it, both to the house
and field-servants on her father's place. Then
giving a scrutinizing glance at the poultry-yard
as she passed, she sought the spring-house,
which was a dairy also, and remained there for
an hour overlooking the operations of the dairy-
woman. From thence she bent her steps to the
negro -quarter, where there were two or three

THE SOUVENIR; OE, THE ARRIVAL OF THE LADY S BOOK.

339

sick servants, of whose condition her mother
wished to have a particular account. To obtain
an idea of their ailments and their needs was the
work of no little time, for to be sparing of words
is not a characteristic of either the ignorant or
the suffering. She ended her duties here by a
visit to her nurse, now a bedridden old woman,
and. after talking with her for a little while, and
reading to her, as was Bessie's daily practice, she
returned to what was called, par excellence, " the
house."

When she entered her mother's room to give
a detailed account of all that she had done, she
was greeted with —

" Bessie, dear, I want you to cut out directly
a shirt and a pair of trowsers for Peter. He has
just been in to say that his old ones are not fit
to wear to church, and, if he don't have some
new ones, he cannot go next Sunday ; and, as it
is communion-day, I do not like to have him
compelled to stay away by any neglect of mine."

" But he ought to have given us a little more
time, I think," said Bessie. " To-day is Fri-
day."

" Yes, dear ; but Dinah can make the shirt,
and you can have Elsie, your little maid, to help
you with the trowsers. She is quite a neat
seamstress."

" But I told Elsie to sew on my new dress to-
day. I intended to wear it next Sunday."

" You have plenty of old ones that you can
wear, my dear. Peter must be attended to first
in this case, I think."

Bessie was so accustomed to be the hands to
do the bidding of her mother's thoughtful and
considerate head and heart, that she made no
farther objection to complying with Mrs. Eger-
ton's suggestion. Since she was fifteen, she had
been in the habit of cutting out, under her mo-
ther's supervision, not only nearly all her own
clothing, including her dresses, that very ab-
struse and difficult portion of female attire, but
also the clothing for all the servants, men, wo-
men, and children, on her father's place; so that
the particular portion of the work assigned her
was quickly and skilfully performed. But,
pressed for time as they were, she had also to
assist in the sewing, and she was busily em-
ployed with her needle, preparing for Peter his
Sunday habiliments, when the noise of a car-
riage driving up to the door attracted her atten-
tion.

" It is Nannie and Virginia Lanning," said
Bessie to her mother, after a glance from the
window, and she ran to welcome her guests.

"Now, I hope you have come to stay with me
two or three days," said Bessie, after the first

greetings were over, with the hospitable warmth
common to the class to which she belonged ; an
invitation to pass the night at their houses being
usually the shortest time to which a Southern
planter restricts his invitations, equivalent to
the " Stay and take tea with us," of the North-
erners.

" Yes," replied Nannie, " we have come to
pass Sunday with you, and the idea of going to
church once more is quite a treat ; it is three
months since we have been off our place. The
roads have been so bad, and Prince got lame,
and pa, who thinks almost as much of his horses
as he does of us, would neither sell him and buy
another, nor allow him to be used till he was
quite well ; so that we have really been pri-
soners. It is a great favor that he allowed us to
drive with him so far, but we promised to come
very slowly. We have been nearly six hours
coming these ten or eleven miles."

"Don't you often feel very lonely?" asked
Bessie.

"Yes, indeed. Sometimes for two or three
weeks we do not see a human being out of our
own family; and it comes very hard at first,
after we have been travelling about all summer ;
but it is astonishing how soon we get accustomed
to it. We have occasional visitors, though, that
break in on the monotony, if they do nothing
else. You know we have no tavern within
twelve or fifteen miles of us, and, as father has
the largest house in the neighborhood, travellers
are often directed there to pass the night, and
sometimes they prove to be very agreeable peo-
ple."

" Yes," said Virginia, " there was a lawyer
from Philadelphia travelling through the coun-
try on business, that Nannie declares she fell in
love with ; and then there was a Yankee quack
doctor that stayed with us nearly a week, and
amused us very much. He took our house for
a tavern, and ordered the servants about, and
made himself quite at home. He told father
that he thought that he had rather a tumble-
down sort of a place, but, if he would just spry
up a little and go to work, he might fix up con-
siderable."

"And," continued Nannie, "when he was
going away, he pulled out an old pocket-book
and said, 'Wall, Squire, what's the damage?'
And when pa told him, * Nothing, that it was a
private house, but that he was very happy to
afford travellers the shelter they could procure
nowhere else,' the man looked quite confounded.
' Wall, really,' said he, ' ef I ain't beat out. I
hadn't the least idea that this wasn't a public
house ; but I thought you had a dreadful shift-

3-40

less way of doin' business. Why, there was
enough on your table at dinner to last our folks
to hum for a hull week. But, I must say, you 've
treated me fust rate ; and, ef you ever get up as
far as old Connecticut, and will come to Peter-
boro', just ask for Isa Jeffries, and I will do as
much for you.' And he went to see if his horse
was ready ; but he soon came back with a bottle
in his hand. 'Here, Squire,' said he, 'that
youngest darter of your'n has a very peaked
sort of look. Ef she will take some of my Elec-
tron here, it will do her a sight of good.' And
so he left the bottle for Virginia. Poor Vir-
ginia ! It was quite a shock to her to hear her-
self called peaked-looking, especially since Mr.
Chapman has persuaded her that she was sylph-
like."

" It only shows with what different eyes dif-
ferent people look on the same thing," said Vir-
ginia, with philosophic composure. " And now
let us go to your mother."

" You seem to be very busy, Bessie," said
Nannie, after they were seated in Mrs. Eger-
ton's room. " What are you doing ?"

" Making some clothes for Peter, our waiter.
He is something of a dandy, and made the dis-
covery this morning that he had nothing fit to
wear to church next Sunday, so we have been a
little hurried about it."

" Oh, we can help you after dinner ; and, to-
gether, we can soon finish them," said Virginia.
At dinner, Bessie asked her father if he could
not send Peter to the post-office that afternoon.
" Why, Bessie," said her father, " I sent him
for you yesterday, and I cannot conveniently
spare him to go every day. You seem to have
a post-office mania lately, coming on at regular
intervals."

" Yes, father," said Agnes, Bessie's younger
sister ; " ever since the ' Lady's Book' began to
come so mysteriously, Bessie is never easy till
she gets it ; and I want it quite as much. Do,
please, send for it."

Of course, Mr. Egerton could not resist his
children's entreaties, and Bessie had the satis-
faction of seeing Peter set out for Oxford soon
after dinner.

Towards the close of the afternoon, Bessie
proposed that the work now nearly completed
should be left to Elsie to finish, while they went
out to enjoy the fresh, soft air, full of the sun-
shine and life of the early spring.

" Don't you think the other side of the house
is less sunny?" suggested Nannie, as Bessie
seated herself on the green bank by the house,
with Agnes standing at her side.

" This is much pleasanter, I think, and the

sun will soon be away. But take my parasol,
dear ; I have a bonnet, and do not need it."

" Oh no, thank you ; I am going to finish this
story, and could not trouble myself to hold it.
Virginia and I pride ourselves on complexions
that neither sun nor wind can affect."

And, in truth, their clear, dark, colorless, yet
healthful complexions gave to their features the
firm, unimpressible look of finely polished
marble.

" I will tell you," said Agnes, " why sister
always chooses this seat. We can see Peter
from here long before he reaches the gate."

" Then," said Nannie, " I quite agree with
her in thinking it decidedly the pleasantest. 1
am as impatient as she can be to see the ' Book ;'
but I candidly confess that the fashions are its
chief attraction to me. It is a great thing to
know exactly how other people dress, so as to
be sure, when you come out of your winter's
shell, that you are not making a fright of your-
self."

"Pa and I like the stories," said Agnes.

" So do I," said Virginia.

" But ma likes the serious part of it," con-
tinued Agnes, " and Bessie the poetry, especially
if it is marked. I see her crying over it some-
times."

" Oh, Agnes !" said Bessie, while her face
flushed suddenly.

"I would like to know what all those blushes
mean," said Nannie ; " whenever we mention
the ' Lady's Book,' I see Bessie's cheeks grow-
ing red. What can be the association of ideas
that produces such a remarkable effect?"

"You know Wallace Cuthbert?" said Agaes.

" Agnes, hush ; you do not know anything
about it," interrupted Bessie.

" Yes, dear, I know Wallace Cuthbert. Go
on," said Nannie, encouragingly.

" Do, just let me tell this," said Agnes, too
eager to impart what she considered her won-
derfully acute conjecture to show her usual de-
ference to her elder sister. " You know, Wal-
lace Cuthbert asked pa if he might not write
occasionally to Bessie when he went away, and
pa would not consent to it. But ever since he
first went to Philadelphia the ' Lady's Book' has
been coming regularly, and I have no doubt he
sends it, and marks the poetry, too."

"Now, Agnes, I hope you have finished your
revelations," said Bessie, a little impatiently.
" Of course," continued she, turning to Nannie,
" this is a mere conjecture of Agnes's, and a
very childish one."

" On the contrary, I think it a very shrewd
one; it is putting cause and effect together in a

THE SOUVENIR; OR, THE ARRIVAL OF THE LADY'S BOOK.

341

wise and discreet way that is entirely satisfactory
to me. For one, I feel myself under great obli-
gations to Wallace Cuthbert, and intend to tell
him, when I see him, that he could not have
chosen a more judicious means if he wished 'to
keep his memory green,' and connect pleasant
associations with thoughts of himself. Pa has
promised me that, when I am eighteen, I may
take the ' Lady's Book' for myself, and I am
quite impatient for my next birthday to come."

" See, there is Peter !" said Virginia, who had,
with her usual quiet sagacity, seated herself so
that she could catch the first glimpse of him.
" He seems to be waving something."

" Oh, he has brought it !" said Agnes, spring-
ing up joyfully. " I am so glad ! I was afraid
it would not come before Monday, because,
when you wait and watch so for anything, you
are almost sure to be disappointed."

" Peter seems to understand what we are ex-
pecting, and to be as delighted as any of us,"
said Nannie.

"Oh, yes," replied Agnes; "he knows how
glad we are to get it ; besides, he feels sure that
it comes from Wallace Cuthbert, and he has al-
ways been very fond of him. He said to me one
day, after the ' Book' first began to come regu-
larly, and when we were all wondering about it,
' I am certain sure, Miss Agnes, Mas'r Wallace
has a finger in dat pie.' That gave me my first
suspicions about Mr. Cuthbert ; and I asked pa
about it, and he said, ' Very likely.' Peter says,
too, that if ' Miss Bessie will only marry Mas'r
Wallace, and take him for her head waiter, his
earthly hopes will be suspended.' "

"Agnes, how can you repeat such nonsense?"
said Bessie, in a state of desperate confusion.

" I like to hear little people talk," said Nan-
nie ; " a great deal of useful information can be
obtained from them. You seem to have a won-
derful faculty, Agnes, for putting this and that
together ; but I have a little sister at home that
is almost equal to you."

" Give it to me, Peter," said Virginia, spring-
ing forward to take the offered prize ; " the
others seem to be absorbed in such an interest-
ing discussion that they will not care about it."

But, notwithstanding this assertion, the cover
was no sooner torn off, which Bessie took an
opportunity, when unobserved, to slip into her
pocket, than the four heads were crowded to-
gether over the engravings and fashion plate
with an eagerness and delight that it would be
difficult to express. For the first few minutes
they all talked at once, exclaiming, " Isn't this
pretty?" "Isn't it lovely ?" "I wonder what
it means !" " Let 's read the story about it."

29*

" Do look, what an odd fashion ! It is pretty,
though. I mean to make my new dress so."

" See here, girls," said Mr. Egerton, leaning
over the veranda, " if you go on in that way I
shall have to make the same rule the Scotch
laird did with his thirteen daughters — that not
more than seven of them should speak at a time.
What has caused this outburst of enthusiasm?"

" The ' Lady's Book,' pa," said Bessie. " Look
at that picture; isn't it beautiful?"

" It is, indeed," replied he, taking the " Book."
" How much they have improved lately in the
art of engravings ! Why, when I was a boy, a
picture like that would have been considered
wonderfully fine, and would have been carefully
laid away and preserved as a rare treasure ; and
now they are flying about on the wings of the
post-office department into the most distant
parts and by-places of the country. They must
be of no small advantage in cultivating the taste
of the community, coming as they do to many
persons who see but few other books during the
year. Here, Bessie, you had better take the
' Book' to your mother; she is always pleased to
see it, and this evening we will have a family
reading party."

Excusing herself to her companions, Bessie
hastened to comply with her father's suggestion,
but returned with the welcome arrival after a
few minutes, when an animated discussion was
held over the fashion-plates and the descriptions
of them. The conversation was serious and
earnest. No assembly of divines ever debated a
knotty point in theology with more intent gra-
vity than these young girls wasted over the
questions as to whether bodices, which were
evidently going out, were not in the main supe-
rior to round waists, which were coming in ;
whether basques were likely to be a permanent
fashion, or a mere fleeting freak of fancy, was
also warmly discussed ; and the question of trail-
ing skirts, or those just long enough to touch
the ground, might have caused a schism, if Bes-
sie, with great presence of mind, had not changed
the conversation to the arrangement of the hair.
Here all differences were swept away by the
unanimous agreement that bandeaux of curls, a
la Jenny Lind, was a much prettier and easier
way of dressing the head than any other.

A summons to tea interrupted all farther dis-
cussion. After tea, the whole family assembled,
as was their custom, in Mrs. Egerton's room.
Mr. Egerton, without his hat, which many
Southerners seem to think as useful in the house
as out of it, was seated in the large arm-chair by
the side of a blazing fire, which the chilliness of
the evenings still rendered necessary ; Nannie

342

godey's magazine and lady's book.

heaped up the cushions on the lounge, a home-
made, chintz-covered affair, and made herself
perfectly comfortable ; the other two girls, con-
stituting themselves the readers for the rest,
seated themselves by the centre-table ; while
Agnes sometimes sat on the bed by her mother,
and sometimes hung over the reader, to make
sure with her own eyes that they were scrupu-
lously giving each word — skipping was, in her
eyes, a most unjustifiable and unpardonable act.

" There is still enough to occupy us to-morrow
evening," said Bessie, as she closed the " Book ;"
"but it is time now for mother to go to sleep."

As she bent over to kiss her mother for good-
night, Mrs. Egerton whispered —

" That was a very cunning plan Wallace hit
upon, dear, to evade your father's prohibition
about letters. He gives us all so much pleasure
that we do not think of objecting to it. Don't
you think he must be a very designing sort of a
man?"

" We don't know at all that it is Wallace,"
said Bessie, stoutly.

" We shall see what we shall see. Has he
marked anything?"

" There are a few foolish verses marked ; but
I do not know who did it," replied Bessie.

" Well, leave the ' Book' with me ; I would
like to read them."

That was very hard. Bessie had only had
time to glance hastily over some lines signed
W. C, and speaking in woful strains of the
pangs of absence and hope deferred, but breath-
ing the most devoted constancy and love. These
verses which, in her reckless confusion, she had
stigmatized as foolish, she was longing to read
over and over in the silence of her own room.
But she would not, for the whole of Carolina,
have expressed her wish. She quietly laid the
"Book" on her mother's bed, placed the can-
dies near her, and retired with her companions.

" Did you hear, my dear," said Mrs. Egerton
to her husband, when they were left alone,
" what Mr. Littleton, who has just returned
from Philadelphia, says of Wallace Cuthbert —
about the high estimation in which the profes-
sors of the university hold him ? One of them
told Mr. Littleton that he regarded Mr. Cuth-
bert as one of their most promising students, and
that he bid fair to become one of the first physi-
cians in the country."

" No, I have not heard it before ; but I al-

ways had a good opinion of him. I refused to
allow him to write to Bessie when he went
away, three years ago, because they were both
too young, I thought, to entangle themselves in
any way. Bessie was hardly sixteen, and he
but four or five years older. And he had not
only his profession to acquire, but also to esta-
blish himself; for he has little else than his own
talents to depend upon. Besides, I did not think
Bessie cared much about him ; she did not ap-
pear to."

" I think she always preferred him ; but her
preference was not a very decided one when he
went away," said Mrs. Egerton. "Indeed, she
was too young to know herself exactly whether
she loved him or not ; but it has happened that
in each one of these monthly souvenirs that Mr.
Cuthbert has been sending, there has been some
pathetic story or touching little poem, by mark-
ing which he has contrived to indicate his own
feelings, and not only preserve, but deepen
Bessie's interest in him. I can perceive, I think,
that her liking for him has grown stronger al-
most day by day. It is very clear that she cares
for no one else. Here were George Musgrave
and Robert Linn, two of the richest and finest
young men about, whom Bessie dismissed with-
out a moment's hesitation."

" Well," said Mr. Egerton, " I am perfectly
willing to trust Bessie to make her own choice,
now that she is old enough to judge for herself.
We will leave the matter to time to settle."

Time justified Mrs. Egerton's previsions.
Wallace Cuthbert did not disappoint the high
expectations that had been formed of him, and
was soon able to claim Bessie's hand as a re-
ward for his assiduity and devotion to his pro-
fession.

"I think you may thank the 'Lady's Book'
for Bessie's constancy," said Mrs. Egerton one
day to Mr. Cuthbert. " If it had not been for
some such suggestive memorial, I am afraid she
would hardly have resisted all the attacks made
upon her."

" Very likely," said Mr. Cuthbert, smiling.
But, though his words expressed such proper
humility, in his inmost heart, with that generous
self-appreciation so unusual perhaps in his mo-
dest sex, he attributed the love and the patient
waiting of Bessie Egerton entirely to his own
peculiar merits.

Peter's " earthly hopes were suspended."

THE WILD FLOWERS OF EARLY SPRING-TIME.

" There is at times a solemn gloom
Ere yet the lovely Spring assume
Sole empire, with the lingering cold
Content divided sway to hold ;
A sort of interreign, which throws
On all around its dull repose;
Dull, not unpleasing; when the rest
Nor snow, nor rains, nor winds molest;
Nor aught by listening ear is heard
Save first- fruit notes of vernal bird,
Alone, or with responsive call,
Or sound of twinklings waterfall;
Yet is no radiant brightness seen
To pierce the cloud's opposing screen,
Or hazy vapor to illume
The thickness of that solemn gloom."

Mant.

Those accustomed to the gay and busy life of
a city know little of the ennui that generally
attends a rural life. Those who live in the
bosom of nature, as it were — in the very midst
of God's beautiful works — ought not to feel
wearisome ; and they would not if their eyes
were open to the interesting phenomena that
continually go on around them. Every season
of the year, every day, nay every hour, brings
about some instructive change on the face of
Nature ; and there is no more interesting and
improving pursuit than the observation of
natural phenomena. To watch the opening of
the buds, the leafing of the trees, the blooming
of the flowers, the ripening of the fruit, and the
decay and death which autumn brings, is of
itself an interesting occupation ; but when we
connect these various events with their proxi-
mate causes, and endeavor to trace those general
laws by whose operation they are regulated,
then the study becomes a truly philosophical as
well as a pleasant one. We may also gather
spiritual wisdom from such contemplations. Our
beloved Saviour sought to illustrate his teachings
by a reference to the phenomena of plants ; we
are directed to " Consider the lilies how they
grow ; they toil not, neither do they spin ; yet I
say unto you that Solomon in all his glory was
not arrayed like one of these." Every reader
of this page may have " considered" the lilies
and admired the beauty of their various parts ;
but in the passage which has been quoted there
is, perhaps, a deeper meaning than many have
guessed at. Consider the lilies how they grow ;
examine their structure, and their beautiful mode

of development; see how the fair form of this
beauteous flower rises, " like a resurrection from
the dead," out of its scaly, withered-like bulbous
root, perfects its fruit, and then decays. To know
how the lily grows is to know the most important
principles of vegetable physiology. It is a
gratifying fact that the physical sciences are now
becoming important branches of general educa-
tion, and no department is more popular than
botany. It is a science peculiarly adapted foi
ladies ; the objects whose purpose it is to inves-
tigate are beautiful, and esteemed by every one —
a striking contrast to the forbidding directions
and dirty experiments which are necessary in
the prosecution of many other departments of
natural science ; even Entomology — the study
of insects — requires the bottling of poor beetles
in spirituous solutions, the pinning of innocent
moths and gay butterflies, and other cruel ope-
rations, at which every kind-hearted woman
ought to shudder.

In pursuing botanical investigations, even very
slightly, it is necessary to form a herbarium, or
collection of dried specimens of plants. In thpse
collections much taste may be displayed in the
arrangement, as well as in the careful drying of
the specimens; and the writer of these observa-
tions— a public teacher of botany to extensive
classes of both ladies and gentlemen — can testify
to the fact that the herbaria formed by ladies
are, as a general rule, pre-eminent for neatness
and artistic beauty in the arrangement of the
specimens. It is difficult, however, for ladies
who have not the benefit of a teacher, nor friends
devoted to botanical pursuits, to get an acquaint-
ance with the method of preserving plants pro-
perly; and it is therefore deemed advisable to
offer a few observations on this subject on the
present occasion, before going on to consider the
characteristics of the Spring Flora.

The process of preparing botanical specimens
may be shortly described to be, the pressure of
plants between sheets of soft absorbent paper for
the purpose of extracting their moisture without
destroying their beauty, and thus enabling them
to be kept for an indefinite period in an arranged
form, for future reference and study. When
well dried, plants may be kept for hundreds of
years ; they are almost as indestructible as books,
if properly cared for.

343

godey's magazine and lady's book.

German botanists excel in the beauty, and
well-preserved specific characters, of their spe-
cimens ; as is well evidenced by the beautiful
specimens which they send to this country.
One reason of their success is no doubt to be
attributed to the very soft paper (made from
woollen rags) which they use in the process;
but it is no doubt due, in a larger measure, to
the great care which they take, and the time and
patience which they bestow upon their specimens.
Plants ought, in all cases where practicable, to
be gathered when dry; or, if moist with rain or
dew when gathered, they ought to be exposed
to the atmosphere of a dry room for an hour or
two previous to being put into papers. For the
conveyance of specimens a tin box, called a
vasculum, is used, which prevents the plants
withering during a long journey, and otherwise
protects them. Some of our readers may not
think the japanned tin vasculum a very elegant
accoutrement, but it is quite usual for ladies to
carry such along the streets of Modern Athens,
where, through the labors of Professor Balfour
and others, botany has, of late years, become of
high repute as a feminine accomplishment.

In proceeding to dry the plants, procure a
quantity of soft blotting-paper. Four or five
sheets are to be laid down on the table (each
folded within the other, as in a ream), and on
the uppermost one the specimen is to be laid.
Spread it out carefully, separating the branches
and leaves so that they do not overlap ; and
after this is done, a slip of paper or " label" put
beside the specimen, indicating its botanical
name, the locality where collected, and the date
when ; then another four or five sheets, folded
as before, are to be laid over the plant. On the
surface of this latter layer of paper, another spe-
cimen or specimens may be spread — an additional
layer of four or five sheets being placed over
them — and so on until all the specimens collected
are spread out. A board of the same size as the
paper is to be placed above the uppermost sheet,
and on the top of that a heavy weight, fifty or
sixty pounds. A bundle of large volumes will
serve the purpose of a weight, if no better is at
hand. Some recommend a screw-press for press-
ing the plants, instead of a weight ; but presses
of all kinds are objectionable, as the shrinking
of the plants renders the pressure unequal from
the want of elasticity, which is so easily attained
by means of an ordinary weight. After the
j-pecimens have been allowed to stand in this
manner twenty-four hours or so, they should
be taken carefully out; such leaves as are dis-
arranged should be spread out properly, and the
whole put into dry paper, in the same way as in

the previous operation. The moist paper from
which they are taken should be spread before
the fire to dry ; it will be ready for use another
time. The plants are to be supplied with dry-
paper, in this manner, once every twenty-four
hours, until they have become quite dry, when
they may be taken out and put apart in single
sheets of gray paper.

The operation of drying the specimens has
been here described, but that of mounting them
on white paper is equally important. Gum
Arabic is generally used for this purpose, but it
is very bad; does not adhere sufficiently, and
thus allows the specimens to spring off from the
sheets. Fine glue, prepared in a very thin state,
is the best material for fixing the plants. The
melted glue should, when very hot, be spread
over the specimen carefully with a brush, a
sheet of dirty absorbent paper lying beneath the
specimen to prevent the glue soiling anything,
and then the specimen is to be put down upon
the sheet of white paper previously laid out for
its reception. A towel is then taken to press the
different branches or leaves gently down upon
the surface of the paper. After this is done, a few
sheets of drying paper are to be laid over the
specimen, and on the top of this another sheet
of white paper for the reception of another glued
specimen, and so on until all are completed. A
board is then to be placed over the whole, and a
weight, in order to press all parts of the plants
equally to the sheets of paper, until they are
made firm by the drying of the glue. After the
specimens have stood in this manner a few hours,
they are to be taken out, their names, localities,
and dates written at the bottom of the sheet, and
the whole arranged in such manner as the pos-
sessor may think proper. Any refractory stems
or branches that have sprung up from the paper
in spite of the glue, may be fastened down by
slips of gummed paper. The marginal portion
of postage-stamp sheets supplies these to those
who can obtain them in sufficient quantity.

The plants of each genus are to be put together
inside of a double sheet of paper, with their
generic name written at the bottom of the shot t
upon the outside at the left hand corner; for
instance, the pansy, the sweet violet, the dog
violet, the yellow mountain violet, &c, are all
to be put inside of one double sheet, the generic
name "Viola" being written upon the corner
of it. This is to facilitate references.

We now proceed to point out what spring
flowers are likely to reward the exertions of
those who go in search of them among the woods
and fields. And first of all the primrose and
the cowslip demand attention as general favorites.

THE WILD FLOWERS OF EARLY SPRING-TIME.

345

The wild plant, with its modest flower of pale
yellow hue (which has given rise to the name
of a tint known as primrose yellow), is probably
familiar to every one, but. it may not be so well
known that the gay polyanthus of our florists,
and the rich double-flowered primroses of every
hue which decorate our gardens, all owe their
existence to the wild plant as their original
stock. The cowslip, although local in its geo-
graphical distribution, is abundant in many lo-
calities, and is associated right pleasantly with
cowslip wine. Beneath the hedges in early
spring-time there is a pretty little plant which
seldom catches the eye of the passer-by; it is
aptly styled the " gloryless," for its little flowers
are of greenish-yellow hue, and so small as to
be inconspicuous to any one save the botanical
explorer. When examined, however, it is an
object of great, though simple beauty. It sends
up a delicate stem, which bears a little rosette
of divided leaves, and from amidst this rises the
flower-stalk, pale and slender, bearing on its
summit a compact head of a few tiny showless
flowers. Its botanical name is Adoxa Moscha-
tellina.

It is summer time before the buttercups begem
the pastures; but one member of the family
already welcomes us by hedge-rows; it is the
Lesser Celandine of Wordsworth, which re-
ceived a special favor from his pen in the dedi-
cation of a pretty little poem. The Lesser Ce-
landine (Ranunculus Ficaria) grows abundantly
on wet shady banks, and produces a profusion
of its bright glossy golden flowers, which, in
fading, assume a pure white hue. This ranks as
one of the economical plants of Britain; and
humble as it is, it has been brought forward as a
substitute for that unfortunate vegetable, the po-
tato. Plants of the Lesser Celandine, raised from
roots which had been gathered in Silesia by the
Rev. Mr. Wade in 1848, were grown in the Edin-
burgh Botanic Garden, and exhibited by Mr.
M'Nab, the curator of the garden, to the Botanical
Society. These roots had been exposed over a
large extent of country in Austria by heavy
rains, and the common people gathered them
and used them as an article of food. Their sud-
den appearance gave rise to various conjectures
as to their nature and origin, and in the Austrian
journals they were spoken of as if they had
fallen from the sky. The " small bodies" (roots)
were used as peas by the inhabitants. Either
in a dried state, or when fresh, they are found,
on boiling, to be very amylaceous; that is, they
contain much starchy matter. There is no

acridity in the roots even in a fresh state, which
is a remarkable fact when we take into con-
sideration the acrid and poisonous nature of the
entire race of plants allied to it in structure,
viz., the Ranunculacese, to which order it belongs.
For instance, one of these plants, the Indian
Aconite, is thus spoken of by Professor Bal-
four : —

" The root of the plant possesses extreme ac-
rimony, and very marked narcotic properties.
It is said to be the most poisonous of the genus,
and as such has been employed in India. Wal-
lich says that in the Turraye, or low forest-lands
which skirt the approach to Nipal, and among
the lower range of hills, especially at a place
called Hetounra, quantities of the bruised root
were thrown into wells and reservoirs, for the
purpose of poisoning our men and cattle. By
the vigilant precaution of our troops, however,
these nefarious designs were providentially frus-
trated. In the northern parts of Hindoostan,
arrows poisoned with the root are used for de-
stroying tigers. The root, according to Rayle,
is sent down into the plains, and used in the
cure of chronic rheumatism, under the name of
Metha tellia. Roots, apparently of this plant,
were sent by Dr. Christison from Madras under
the name of Nabee. Pereira made a series of
experiments on the roots which had been kept
for ten years, and still retained their poisonous
properties. The roots were administered to
animals in the form of a powder, and spirituous
and watery extract. The spirituous extract was
the most energetic, the effects produced being
difficulty of breathing, weakness, and subsequent
paralysis, which generally showed itself first in
the posterior extremities, vertigo, convulsions,
dilatation of the pupil, and death apparently from
asphyxia."

One grain of the alcoholic extract killed a
rabbit in nine and a half minutes, and two grains
introduced into the jugular vein of a strong dog
caused death in three minutes.

This is the general character of the crowfoots,
and they are indeed the most destructive cattle
poisons that infect our pastures ; it is a curious
fact, therefore, that one of them should be so
harmless and so nutritious as we have seen the
Lesser Celandine to be; and a still more curious
fact that Linnaeus, the father of naturalists,
should have thought that agriculturists should
endeavor to extirpate this pretty flower, not oniy
as acrid and poisonous, but as injurious to ail
plants growing near it.

BEAUTY.

BY MISS M .

Yes, there is beauty in this world of ours.
In looking throughout Nature, we see its im-
p ress everywhere. At early morn, wander forth
into the verdant fields, mark the flowers of every
tint, and inhale their perfume. When Spring
dawns, see the trees laden with delicate blos-
soms, foretelling a plentiful harvest ; watch the
tall grass waving so gracefully as the zephyrs
sport there. Surely such a sight is beautiful.

Stop for a moment and list to the murmuring of
the streams as they skip on joyfully; watch the
pearly bells which dance upon their brOw all
sparkling and bright. Look above, and view the
thousand birds on gay wing, singing so merrily,
welcoming the dawn of Spring, and chanting a
lay as a requiem to the departure of Winter.
Look around still, and view the myriads of
insects sporting in the sunlight or sipping nectar
from flowers. Oh, is not beauty there ?

When Night comes forth with spangled robes
and diadem of gems upon her brow, while each
planet and star with tiny harps welcome her
coming, touching those gentle chords, the echo
of which glides like a bright meteor to earth,
charming the very soul — is this not beautiful ?
Or, when spirits from dream-land watch by our
couch during the hours of repose, painting scenes
to enchant us — are they not beautiful ?

Nor are all these scenes alone lovely.- There
is that which hath greater beauty : it is woman.
She stands forth, like some brilliant star, to
guide man through the path of life and cheer his
way. Whether she be in the lofty or lowly
walks of life, if she possess certain mental quali-
fications and traits of character, she is beautiful.
Her beauty does not consist alone in the bright
flashing eye, which seems to speak the senti-
ments of her heart; it depends not upon the
graceful form or gorgeous equipage ; it is her
niind, well cultivated and endowed with all those
intellectual qualifications, which will make her
a brilliant star, and which will enable her to en-
lighten these with whom she may become con-
versant. It may be found, also, in her heart,
one which possesses all those fine and exquisite
feelings whereby she can sympathize with the
sufferings of others and minister to their wants.
Woman holds a dignified position in life, and
ehe should cultivate all those traits which will
her to be the very pillar of the society in
346

which she moves. Yes, woman is truly beauti-
ful ; she is earth's greatest ornament ; of her too
much cannot be said. In whatever light we
view her, she is lovely.

Although Nature possesses so much beauty.
Art has also her share, for she endeavors to copy
her works and invest them with beauty, as one
has said of man —

" He plucks the pearls that stud the deep,
Admiring beauty's lap to fill;
He breaks the stubborn marble's shape,
And mocks his own Creator's skill."

Look at the artist, who toils day after day upon
a painting which he has copied from Nature ;
he endeavors to paint the flowers with accuracy,
give that exquisite emerald hue to the leaves of
the trees, the same tints to the horizon, and that
gorgeous light to the sun. Why? He saw
beauty in Nature, and desired to imitate it. The
sculptor works with all his skill upon the bust
of some celebrated person, all his power is em-
ployed ; he wishes to delineate every feature
with accuracy, and determines, if possible, to
accomplish it. Soon he has the gratification of
seeing the soulless and once rugged block of
marble transformed into an image of symmetry
and beauty.

Is there not great pleasure to be felt while
beholding works of art? We can but admire
and love the fruits of genius. It is very true
that there are many who can look upon the
works of art, still no effect will be produced ;
yet a person of nice perception and correct taste
could gaze for hours upon them, and see each
time something to admire. It is so in Nature
even. Many might walk forth on a lovely
morning when Spring first smiles, yet see no
beauty whatever, but merely cast a careless
eye upon all around. One may see much to ad-
mire in the storm-cloud which rises darkly o?er
the sea, while streaks of lightning dive 'neath
the briny waves, and the peals of thunder rattle
furiously; we may have feelings of awe, yet, at
the same time, see sublimity, and in our hearts
we exclaim, " How beautiful !"

Yes, beauty dwelleth everywhere; from the
tiny flower which blooms, to the stupendous
heavens at night lighted with innumerable stars,
being the impress of the One who created all
things.

DEES8 — AS A FINE ART.

Y MRS. MEERIFIELD.

ORNAMENT — ECONOMY.

Ornament, although not an integral part of
dress, is so intimately connected with it that we
must devote a few words to the subject.

Under the general term of ornament, we shall
include bows of ribbon, artificial flowers, fea-
thers, jewels, lace, fringes, and trimmings of all
kinds. Some of these articles appear to be suit-
ed to one period of life, some to another. Jew-
els, for instance, though suitable to middle age,
seem misplaced on youth, which should always
be characterized by simplicity of apparel ; while
flowers, which are so peculiarly adapted to youth,
are unbecoming to those advanced in years : in
the latter case, there is contrast without har-
mony— it is like uniting May with December.

The great principle to be observed with regard
to ornament is that it should be appropriate, and
appear designed to answer some useful purpose.
A brooch, or a bow of ribbon, for instance,
should fasten some part of the dress ; a gold
chain should support a watch or an eye-glass.
Trimmings are useful to mark the borders or
edges of the different parts of the dress, and in
this light they add to the variety, while by their
repetition they conduce to the regularity of the
ornamentation.

The subject of economy in dress, an essential
object with many persons, now claims our atten-
tion. We venture to offer a few remarks on
this head. Our first recommendation is to have
but few dresses at a time, and those extremely
good. If we have but few dresses, we wear
them, and wear them out while they are in fash-
ion ; but, if we have many dresses at once, some
of them become quite old-fashioned before we
have done with them. If we are rich enough to
afford the sacrifice, the old-fashioned dress is got
rid of; if not, we must be content to appear in a
fashion that has long been superseded, and we
look as if we had come out of the tombs, or as
if one of our ancestors had stepped out of her
picture-frame and again walked the earth.

As to the economy of selecting the best ma-
terial for dresses, we argue thus : Every dress
must be lined and made up, and we pay as much
for making and lining an inferior article as we
do for one of the best quality. Now, a good silk

or merino will wear out two bad ones, therefore
one good dress, lining and making, will cost less
than two inferior ones, with the expenses of lin-
ing and making them. In point of appearance,
also, there is no comparison between the two;
the good dress will look well to the last, while
one of inferior quality will soon look shabby.
When a good silk dress has become too shabby
to be worn longer as a dress, it becomes, when
cut up, useful for a variety of purposes, whereas
an inferior silk, or one purely ornamental, is,
when left off, good for nothing.

Plain dresses, that is to say, those of a single
color, and without a pattern, are more economi-
cal, as well as more quiet in their appearance,
than those of various colors. They are also
generally less expensive, because something is
always paid for the novelty of the fashion ; be-
sides, colored and figured dresses bear the date
on the face of them as plainly as if it was there
in printed characters ; the ages of dress fabrics
are known by the pattern, therefore dresses of
this description should be put on as soon as pur-
chased, and worn out at once, or they will ap-
pear old-fashioned. There is another reason
why dresses of various colors are less economical
than others. Where there are several colors,
they may not all be equally fast, and, if only one
of them fades, the dress will lose its beauty.
Trimmings are not economical ; besides their
cost in the first instance, they become shabby
before the dress, and, if removed, they generally
leave a mark wThere they have been, and so spoil
the appearance of the dress.

Dresses made of one kind of material only are
more durable than those composed of two, as, for
instance, of cotton and silk, of cotton and worst-
ed, or of silk and worsted. When the silk is
merely thrown on the face of the material, it
soon wears off. This is also the case in those
woollen or cotton goods which have a silken
stripe.

The question of economy also extends to co-
lors, some of which are much more durable than
others. For this we can give no rule, except
that drabs and other " quaker colors," as they
are frequently called, are amongst the most per-
manent of all colors. For other colors, we must
take the word of the draper. There is no doubt,

347

godey's magazine and lady's book.

however, that the most durable colors are the
cheapest in the end. In the selection of colors,
the expense is not always a criterion ; some-
thing must be paid for fashion and novelty, and
perhaps for the cost of the dye. The newest
and most expensive colors are not always those
which last the longest.

It is not economical to have the dresses made
in the extremity of the fashion, because such
soon become remarkable ; but the fashions
should be followed at such a distance that the
wearer may not attract the epithet of old-
fashioned.

We conclude this part of our subject with a
few suggestions relative to the selection of dif-
ferent styles and materials of dress.

The style of dress should be adapted to the
age of the wearer. As a general rule, we should
say that in youth the dress should be simple and
elegant, the ornaments being flowers. In mid-
dle age, the dress may be of rich materials, and
more splendid in its character ; jewels are the
appropriate ornaments. In the decline of life,
the materials of which the dress is composed
may be equally rich, but with less vivacious
colors ; the tertiaries and broken colors are par-
ticularly suitable, and the character of the whole
costume should be quiet, simple, and dignified.
The French, whose taste in dress is so far in ad-
vance of our own, say that ladies who are fifty
years old should neither wear gay colors nor
dresses of slight materials, flowers, feathers, or
much jewelry ; that they should cover their
hair, wear high dresses, and long sleeves.

Tall ladies may wear flounces and tucks, but
they are less appropriate for short persons. As
a general rule, vertical stripes make persons ap-
pear taller than they really are, but horizontal
stripes have a contrary effect. The latter are
not admissible in garment fabrics, "since, cross-
ing the person, the pattern quarrels with all the
motions of the human figure, as well as with
the form of the long folds in the skirts of the
garment. For this reason, large and pronounced
checks, however fashionable, are often in bad
taste, and interfere with the graceful arrange-
ment of drapery." Is it to show their entire
contempt for the principles of design that our
manufacturers introduced last year not only hori-
zontal stripes of conspicuous colors, but checks
and plaids of immense size, as autumnal fashions
for dress fabrics? We had hoped that the ladies
would show the correctness of their taste by
their disapproval of these unbecoming designs,
but the prevalence of the fashion at the present
time is another evidence of the triumph of fash-
ion over good taste.

A white and light-colored dress makes the
wearers appear larger, while a black or dark
dress causes them to appear smaller than they
actually are. A judicious person will therefore
avail herself of these known effects, by adopting
the style of dress most suitable to her stature.

To sum up in a few words our impressions on
this subject, we should say that the best style of
dress is that which, being exactly adapted to the
climate and the individual, is at once modest,
quiet, and retiring, harmonious in color and de-
coration, and of good materials.

We conclude with the following admirable ex-
tract from Tobin's " Honeymoon," which we
earnestly recommend to the attention of our fair
readers : —

" T '11 have no glittering gew-gaws stuck about you,
To stretch the gaping eyes of idiot wonder,
And make men stare upon a piece of earth,
As on the star-wrought firmament — no feathers,
To wave as streamers to your vanity —
Nor cumbrous silk, that, with its rustling sound,
Makes proud the flesh that bears it. She's adorned
Amply that in her husband's eye looks lovely —
The truest mirror that an honest wife
Can see her beauty in!

Julia. I shall observe, sir.

Dale. I should like well to see you in the dress
\I last presented you.

Julia. The blue one, sir?

Duke. No, love — the white. Thus modestly attired,
A half blown rose stuck in thy braided hair,
With no more diamonds than thee eyes are made of,
No deeper rubies than compose thy lips,
Nor pearls more precious than inhabit them,
With the pure red and white, which that same hand
Winch blends the rainbow mingles in thy cheeks;
This well-proportioned form (think not I flatter)
In graceful motion to harmonious sounds,
And thy free tresses dancing in the wind,
Thou 'It fix as much observance as chaste dames
Can meet without a blush."

THE TURKISH COSTUME.

"I remember," says Mr. St. John, "once
seeing a Falstafl fasten his Kashmire, six or seven
yards long, to a door-handle, and having gone with
the other extremity to the opposite side of his
court-yard, began to wind his huge form into it
with as much gravity and decorum as if he were
performing a pious mystery. He had a peculiar
theory as to the position of every fold, and if he
failed in arranging them exactly, would unwind
himself again with a rapid rotary motion, his
hands raised in the air. The operation, with
all its vicissitudes, generally lasted about half
an hour ; and I have rarely seen a magnificent
Effendi, without thinking of how he must have
looked whilst putting on his shawl."

DAIRY-HOUSE AND PIGGEKY.

CHEESE D A I H Y - H 0 U S E .

"We do not present our readers the following
as model cottages ; but we give them a model
" Dairy Building" and a model " Piggery."
They are from C. M. Saxton's work on " Rural
Architecture."

CHEESE DAIRY-HOUSE.

This building is one and a half stories high,
with a broad, spreading roof of 45° pitch ; the
ground plan is 10 feet between joists, and the
posts 16 feet high. An ice-house is at one end,
and a wood-shed at the opposite end, of the same

size. This building is supposed to be erected
near the milking-sheds of the farm, and in con-
tiguity to the feeding-troughs of the cows, or the
piggery, and adapted to the convenience of feed-
ing the whey to whichever of these animals the
dairyman may select, as both, or either are re-
quired to consume it ; and to which it may be
conveyed in spouts from the dairy-room.

Interior Arrangement. — The front door is pro-
tected by a light porch a, entering by a door 6,
the main dairy-room. The cheese-presses c, c,
occupy the left end of the room, between which

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VOL. XLVIII. — 30

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350

godey's magazine and lady's book.

a passage leads through a door I, into the wood-
shed h, open on all sides, with its roof resting on
four posts set in the ground. The large cheese-
table d stands on the opposite end, and is three
feet wide. In the centre of the room is a chim-
ney e, with a whey and water boiler, and vats
on each side. A flight of stairs /, leading into
the storage-room above, is in the rear. A door
b, on the extreme right, leads into the ice-house
g. There are four windows to the room — two
on each side, front and rear. In the loft are
placed the shelves for storing the cheese, as soon
vs sufficiently prepared on the temporary table
below. This loft is thoroughly ventilated by
windows, and the heat of the sun upon it ripens
the cheese rapidly for market. A trapdoor,
through the floors, over which is hung a tackle,
admits the cheese from below, or passes it down
when prepared for market.

The cheese-house should, if possible, be placed
on a sloping bank, when it is designed to feed
the whey to pigs ; and even when it is fed to
cows, it is more convenient to pass it to them
on a lower level than to carry it out in buckets.
It may, however, if on level ground, be dis-
charged into vats, in a cellar below, and pumped
out as wanted. A cellar is convenient — indeed,
almost indispensable — under the cheese dairy ;
and water should be so near as to be easily
pumped or drawn into the vats and kettles used
in running up the curd, or for washing the
utensils used in the work. When the milk is
kept over night for the next morning's curd,
temporary tables may be placed near the ice-
room, to hold the pans or tubs in which it may
be set, and the ice used to temper the milk to
the proper degree for raising the cream. If the
dairy be of such extent as to require larger ac-
commodations than the plan here suggested, a
room or two may be partitioned off from the
main milk and pressing-room for washing the
vessels and other articles employed, and for set-
ting the milk. Every facility should be made
for neatness in all the operations connected with
the work.

Different accommodations are required for
making the different kinds of cheese which our
varied markets demand, and in the fitting up of
the dairy-house, no positive plan of arrangement
can be laid down, suited alike to all the work
which may be demanded. The dairyman, there-
fore, will best arrange all these for the particular
convenience which he requires. The main plan
and style of building, however, we think will be
generally approved, as being in an agreeable
architectural style, and of convenient construc-
tion and shape for the objects intended.

PIGGERY.

The design here given is for a building 36 feet
long and 24 feet wide, with twelve-feet posts ;
the lower, or living-room for the swine, 9 feet
high, and a storage chamber above for the grain
and other food required for his keeping. The
roof has a pitch of 40° from a horizontal line,
spreading over the sides and gables at least 20
inches, and coarsely bracketed. The entrance
front projects 6 feet from the main building, by
12 feet in length. Over its main door, in the
gable, is a door with a hoisting beam and tackle
above it, to take in the grain, and a floor over
the whole area receives it. A window is in
each gable end. A ventilator passes up through
this chamber and the roof, to let off the steam
from the cooking vats below, and the foul air
emitted by the swine, by the side of which is
the furnace-chimney, giving it, on the whole, as
respectable an appearance as a pigsty need pre-
tend to.

Interior Arrangement. — At the left of the en-
trance is a flight of stairs b, leading to the cham-
ber above. On the right is a small area a, with
a window to light it. A door from this leads
into the main room c, where stands a chimney d,
with a furnace to receive the fuel for cooking
the food, for which are two kettles, or boilers,
with wooden vats on the top, if the extent of
food demands them; these are secured with
broad wooden covers, to keep in the steam when
cooking. An iron valve is placed in the back
flue of the furnace, which may fall upon either
side, to shut off the fire from either of the ket-
tles, around which the fire may revolve ; or the
valve may stand in a perpendicular position, at
will, if both kettles be heated at the same time.
But, as the most economical mode is to cook one
kettle while the other is in process of feeding
out, and vice versa, scarcely more than one at a
time will be required in use. Over each kettle
is a sliding door, with a short spout to slide the
food into them when wanted. If necessary, and
it can be conveniently done, a well may be sunk
under this room, and a pump inserted at a con-
venient place ; or, if equally convenient, a pipe
may bring the water in from a neighboring
stream or spring. On three sides of this room
are feeding pens e, and sleeping partitions/, for
the swine. These several apartments are ac-
commodated with doors, which open into sepa-
rate yards on the sides and in rear, or a large
one for the entire family, as may be desired.

Construction. — The frame of this building is
of strong timber, and stout for its size. The sills
should be eight inches square, the corner posts

DAIRY-HOUSE AND PIGGERY.

351

PIGGERY.

of the same size, and the intermediate posts 8
by 6 inches in diameter. In the centre of these
posts, grooves should be made, two inches wide,
and deep, to receive the plank sides, which
should be two inches thick, and let in from the
level of the chamber by a flush cutting for that
purpose, out of the grooves inside, thus using no
nails or spikes, and holding the planks tight in
their place that they may not be rooted out or
rubbed off by the hogs, and the inner projection
of the main posts left to serve as rubbing posts
for them. Above the chamber floor thinner

planks maybe used. The centre post in the
floor plan of the engraving is omitted, by mis-
take, but it should stand there, like the others.
Inside posts at the corners, and in the sides of
the partitions, like the outside ones, should be
also placed and grooved to receive the planking,
four and a half feet high, and their upper ends
be secured by tenons into mortices in the beams
overhead. The troughs should be made of cast-
iron, or the hardest white oak plank, strongly
spiked on to the floor and sides.

,09 8 7 <? 54 J 2

GROUND PLAN.

352

godey's magazine and lady's book.

JJoctnj.

THE INTERVIEW.

BY T. HEMPSTEAD.

TnERE arc oracles true in the depths of the mind,
There are prophecies borne on the wings of the wind,
There are omens that dwell in a flower or a leaf,
To unbosom the future, its rapture and grief;
There are voices of night with a language as plain
As the accents of love or the moanings of pain,
And I turn from the glare and the murmur of day,
To the warnings and woes which their whispers betray.

There is gloom on thy brow, there is grief in thine eye,

There is night in thy heart, on thy lip is a sigh,

And thy summer of beauty has faded away,

Like a dream from the brain, like a leaf from the spray

Oh! dark must the cloud of thy sorrow have been,

And mighty the fetter that bound thee, and keen

As the fangs of despair, as the arrows of Death,

As the terrors that rain from the hurricane's breath,

Thus to wilder thy brain, thus to wither thy brow,

As thou standest before me all tremblingly now.

Thou art come to my hall with the sound of the storm;

Oh, the tears of his pity flow fast from thy form,

And the beams on thy face but a shadow impart

Of the strength of the woe that is wringing thy heart.

In the silence that midnight around me hath thrown,

In moments the brightest my bosom hath known,

In the glooin of the tomb, on the slope of the waYe,

"Where the green hills grew red with the life of the brave,

In its desert of sorrow, its garden of bliss,

My heart hath dreamed never of meeting like this !

My Inez, the love of my manhood, my bride,

Who art won from the arms of the grave to my side,

From the last hour thy brow to my bosom was prest,

Have thy tones and thy form been a shrine in my breast ;

Thou hast haunted my steps when the breathings of spring,

The light swallow and bee to the water-brink bring;

In the calm of the hills, by the blue rushing streams,

I have gazed in thine eye through the mist of my dreams ;

Thou art come with the storm and the banners of night,

Pale Inez, the love of my youth, my delight!

Like a wreck from the wave, like a shade from the tomb,

Thou art now at my side, and thy step in my room,

But the glory that beamed 'neath thy lashes is gone,

There is woe in thy mien, there is grief in thy tone,

And the beauty that fed on those sweet lips of thine

Has died with the lustre that made it divine.

Where the dim-whispered sounds that gave car to our vows

Were the audible steppings of God in the boughs ;

By the beaming of stars through the tremulous vine,

Thou didst pledge through the rolling of years to be mine!

Let oblivion steal from my bosom that hour —

May the frosts of forgetfulness wither that bower;

They have darkened my soul, they have furrowed my brow,

But my manhood no more to that sceptre shall bow !

Thou wast won by the perishing glitter of gold,
From my heart to the arms of another wast sold,
Who hath cast thee away as a scorn, as a weed,
On the love of a world that hath doomed thee to bleed.
Like a palace whoso feasting and music are ended,
Whoso lights to the dim gulf of death are descended,
Whose footfalls arc silent, whose arches lie strown,
Where Uie cold wind of night makes a desolate moan,
Thy trusted hath left thoe, deserted, alone,
To the rains and the ivy, sad, beautiful one!

Had thy heart been as true — ah, no! never my longue

May add gall to the grief Jhat thy spirit hath wrung;

'Tis enough that I gaze on thee here as thou art,

On the wreck of thy hope, in thy ruin of heart,

Who art drifting right on to that desolato shore

Where the storm of thy sorrow shall chase thee no more.

As I slept, o'er my spirit strange terrors there came,
Wrought with drapery of midnight, in crimson and flame,
Dread as death-fires that burn on the fear-smitten eye,
When the far-shaking thunder-tramp reels through the

sky.
On a fragment that flew from the van of'the blast,
Like a leaf on the stream of the hurricane cast,
Now spurned from their bosom, now hid in the abyss
Of black waves that sparkle, crack, thunder, and hiss,
It was thou on my breast through the war of the storm,
Pale, pale as the shroud that shall compass thy form.
There was death on the gale, there was night on the sea,
Where I sat on that wreck with the tempest and thee ;
Through darkness and thunder, flash, shriek, din, and

foam,
Now deep-clasped in the vale, and now rocked on the dome
Of the wave, I was borne o'er the windy expanse
Of chill vapor and spray by the terrible glance
Of the lightning ; I pressed thy cold cheek unto mine ;
From thy locks fast down-trickled the luminous brine;
By thy breath on my brow, by the serpentine path
Of the death-flame that blazed on its journey of wrath,
I knew thee ; I knew, my beloved, thou wast there,
In the battle of waves, through my night of despair.
Lips of blood through the gloom, and pale phantoms of fear
Howled the peals of their horrible glee in my ear ;
The thin fingers of demons stooped round me to clasp,
To wring thy cold form from the strength of my .grasp ;
With their dim eyes upturned, newly torn from the grave,
Glared the dead from their weltering shrouds on the wave ;
Oh ! dark was the struggle and fearful and vain
Thy cold limbs from their place in the deep to restrain ;
Dread as Death the black bulk of a surge rumbled o'er,
I clasped thee, I felt thee, I saw thee no more !

That vision of woe, that wild dream of the sea,

Is fulfilled, 0 pale, desolate weeper, in thee ;

No more shall the joy of thy glance on me shine ;

While the sun on me beams, I may never be thine ;

Yet know in thy sorrow, sad Inez, my love,

Thou art mine in the Eden that blossoms above !

Ah, the pent tears, at last, 'neath thy dark lashes start,

And the words that would heal it have broken thy heart.

SONNET. — CLOUDS.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

Ye welcome clouds ! what praises have ye won !

Host after host ye ever thronging come,

Careering on athwart the ethereal dome,
To tell of tempests past or hastening on.
With magic hues ye often deck the sky,

Enamelling it with i-ed and purple, gold;

Like molten silver oft ye are unrolled,
And oft changed into palaces, yo lie.
The rainbow oft is pictured on your breast,

To tell of peace and plenty ye do bring ;

Hail, snow, ye bear oft 'neath your ebon wing,
And tempests in your blackest mantle rest.
The thirsty earth ye wet with freshening showers.
Floods flowing from ye speak your desolating powers.

DREAM PICTURE.

353

WILLIE MAYLIE.

BY CORNELIA M, D0WLING.

Oh! do you not remember, love,

The sunny morn when we were plighted?
Your eye was bright in loving light,

And dancing like a star benighted.
That eye is dim and sunken now,

But still around it love reposes ;
And bright the smile upon your cheek,

Though withered long are all its roses.
Oh ! my Willie Maylie dear,
My true, my noble Willie Maylie,
Years have rolled,
And we are old,
But still together, Willie Maylie !

And do you not remember, love,

The baby bright we used to cherish,
Not dreaming that so fair a bud

Might early fade away and perish ?
Oh ! sad it seemed to lay the form

So bright upon an earthy pillow ;
Now, she is softly sleeping, love,

Alone, beneath the drooping willow!
Oh ! my Willie Maylie dear,
My loving, earnest Willie Maylie,
Roses bloom
Upon the tomb
Of her we loved, my Willie Maylie!

And do you not remember, love,

That we have journeyed long together,
The heart-light ever gilding o'er

The path of life in wintry weather?
We 've almost crossed the ocean now,

Still breasting every billow gayly;
We soon shall reach the heavenly shore,

And rest together, Willie Maylie !
Oh ! my Willie Maylie dear,
My own true-hearted Willie Maylie,
Heart to heart,
And ne'er to part,
We '11 rest together, Willie Maylie I

ELLIE MAYLIE.

BY JENNIE DOWLING DE WITT.

The light of other days, my love,

Is o'er my vision softly stealing;
The music of thy bridal vows,

Like harp-notes, up the past is pealing.
But lip, nor eye, nor sunny brow,

Nor cheek with witching dimples lighted,
Were half so dear to me as now,

When years have proved the love we plighted.
Oh ! my Ellie Maylie dear,
My ever-winning Ellie Maylie,
Love like thine
To hearts like mine
Is air and sunlight, Ellie Maylie.

Down Youth's bright tide, our shallop light
Went floating on through banks of flowers ;

But riper years brought clouds and night,
Tor Life must have both sun and shovm-s

Well might thy Willie brave the storm,

And "breast the adverse billow gayly;"
For what were Youth and Flowers to Love,

Or all the world to Ellie Maylie
Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,
My artless, clinging Ellie Maylie,
Breath to being,
Eye to seeing,
Wert thou to me, my Ellie Maylie.

Not where above a little grave

The earty summer buds are springing,
Where willows in the sunlight wave,

Not there — not there my heart is clinging ;
But there, amid those deathless flowers,

That up from Ilcav'n's pure soil are springing,
Where waits that angel-babe of ours,

'Tis there — 'tis there my heart is clinging!
Oh ! my Ellie Maylie dear,
My gentle, trusting Ellie Maylie,
Lulled to rest
On Jesus' breast,
We'll meet in Heav'n, my Ellie Maylie!

THERE 'S MUSIC.

BY HORACE G. EOUGHMAN.

There 's solemn music in the billows
Of the mighty, restless sea;

Lively music poured from brooklets,
As they gambol in their glee.

There 's stirring music in the gale;

Soft music in the breeze ;
Music sweet when winged minstrels

Carol 'mid the verdant trees.

There 's awful music in the thunders;

Lulling music in the rains ;
Music echoed from the forest,

In a thousand living strains.

There 's silent music in the flowers,
And in the planet's genial fires ;

Music grandest in the rivers,
Where they tune their cat'ract lyres.

There 's cheering music all around us,
Thrilling music from above;

And those magic tones should teach us
Sweeter, nobler strains of love.

DREAM PICTURE

AN IMPROMPTU.

Behold, upon Life's swelling tide,

A little boat doth gently glide !

Its freight a Soul ; Sin guides the helm,

And steers for Pleasure's baseless realm :

At prow, the gay-robed Tempter stands,

Obscuring, with his jewelled hands,

The Spirit's view ; whilst shines afar

Hope's radiant, but deceiving star ;

For, see, it fades, e'en as we gazing stand,

And leaves that bark a wreck upon the .strand !

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354

godey's magazine and lady's book.

I WAS ROBBED OF MY SPIRIT'S LOVE.

BY JARONETTE.

On! give me some strong human will,

To lull this dream of woe ;
It binds me with its iron chain,

And will not let me go.
Oh! give me strength to curb this strife,

And make my spirit know
My early days of happy life,

Of days long, long ago

But now there 's darkness on my path,

A shadow on my heart;
I each fond feeling seek to hide,

Trembling in ev'ry part!
They think that I 'm forgetting thee ;

But ah! they do not see
The coursing tears, when I 'm alone,

Flowing so fast and free !

I list my bird's sweet matin song,

Its wild and gladsome chants ;
But no, the dead'ning weight is here,

And still my spirit pants
For long-lost dreamy hours of joy,

When thou wert by my side,
And care seemed but a thing of name,

Not to my life allied.

Now, when the smile is on my lip,

It turns that smile to tears,
Stemming the life-blood of my heart

With weary weight of years.
It makes the strong proud limbs refuse

To roam this gladsome earth,
And sends me reeling, mad, within,

From out the sounds of mirth.

I pet each blossom from my shrubs,

And call them by thy name;
I ask them if their spirits tell

That I am still the same.
A pure white rose that bloomed this morn

I went this eve to take ;
« The spirit of the flow'r" had fled,

The cold its heart did break !

They tell me that thou carest not

For woman's love or fame;
That thou speak'st lightly of them all

That bear the gentle name.
But oh ! I heed them not the while,

They have not read thy heart ;
I kuow you have not chang'd so much

Since we were forced to part.

And though they bid me see thee not,

My spirit meets thee oft
In dream-land, whe:-e the flow'rs bloom bright,

The air so calm and soft.
The angels then are by my side,

They kiss me with thy lips,
A nd clasp hope's rainbow round my heart,

Tn that dream-hour of bliss.

And sometimes in thy weary hours

Recall the past, and weave
Tiie dream of hallowed love and hope

I '11 ever for thee breathe.

Then wander forth amid the throng,
And seek some gentle one,

One that will honor thy dear name,
And take her to thy home.

( %'

THE ELIXIR OF LIFE.

BY CHARLES ALBERT JANVIER.

The following lines were suggested by a remark in Wash-
ington Irving's <•' Student of Salamanca," that the old nl-
chymist died just as he was on the point of discovering the
philosopher's stone.

The walls were sweating with a festering damp,

An icy coldness filled the dreary room,
A little solitary flickering lamp

With sickly radiance glimmered through the gloom,
While on a tattered couch an old man lay,
Half-starved with hunger, weary, gaunt, and gray.

His feeble eyes with ardor yet were strained
Upon a yellow parchment dull with age,

As, while one lingering ray of life remained,
That single ray must shine on Learning's page;

And while he lay immersed in study deep,

He murmured thus, as one who speaks in sleep :—

" One little hour more, and all is mine!

Mine the bright prize so long I 've sought in Tain!
Mine the lost secret, which for countless timo

Philosophers have labored to regain !
Mine wealth, and youth, and joy, and nevermore,
0 Death ! shall I be subject to thy power !

" One hour more, and all those golden dreams

Which still have cheered me on from day to day,
Shall be no more like fleeting radiant beams,

Glancing one moment bright, then snatched away;
But all my visions, howe'er bright their hue,
No more be false, no more be aught but true !

" Ye elementary spirits, who 60 long

With ready wiles have baffled all my ar*
One hour more, and I in power strong

Shall see ye all in helpless rage depart!
At last your devilish malice all o'erthrown,
At last the great elixir all my own !"

Thus spoke the alchymist; but ruthless Death,
Who strikes alike the mighty and the low,

And stops the monarch's and plebeian's breath
With equal haste, and with the selfsame blow,

Had laid his icy hand upon his heart,

While bidding him in iron tones " depart!"

The lamp burnt lower, still his eye was fixed
Upon the parchment, while his trembling hand

Within a crucible the compound mixed,
With which completed he would soon command

Unending treasure, boundless glittering wealth,

The priceless draught of endless youth and health.

But from his stiffening hand the parchment dropped,
As from his lips broke forth a hollow moan,

The coursing current of his life-blood stopped,
His spirit fled just as its task was done!

Closing his eyes upon the lifelong strife,

He left untouched the sparkling cup of Life.

TO AN ABSENT DEAR ONE,

355

THE SONG-BIRDS OF SPRING.

BY NORMAN W. BRIDGE.

From out the airy balcony

Of many a sylvan cot and dome,
Is poured soul-melting minstrelsy,

That cheers my lonely heart and home.
Around each warbler's chosen haunt

Are heard sweet notes of joy and praise;
From fruit-trees comes the robin's chant,

And from each bush the sparrow's lays.

Amid the poplar's trembling lyre,

That o'er the lawn its shadow throws,
Rich warbliugs of a linnet-choir

My soul with melody o'erflows;
While from a willow waving near,

And where the vine its trellis girds,
Steals softly o'er the tuneful ear

The symphony of yellow-birds.

Upon the elm-tree's lofty bough

The oriole serenely sings,
While from a puerile branch below

His loved one in her castle swings :
And in the flower-enamelled leas,

Where alders graco the streamlet's brink,
I hear the charming melodies

Of many a sweet-voiced bobolink.

And from yon wildwood's emerald crown

Come oft, in notes of heavenly tone,
The hymns of thrushes, " wood," and " brown,

And warbling throats to me unknown.
Bird-notes are all so rich and clear,

It seems as though their vocal powers
Were borrowed from some higher sphere

Than this discordant world of ours.

Nor is their magic gift of song

The only charm they o'er me throw ;
They ne'er the poor and helpless wrong,

Nor swell the tide of human woe.
Their voice is ne'er with slander fraught,

Or friendships in misfortune change,
Nor speech or deed betrayeth aught

Of av'rice, hatred, and revenge.

They seek not, with malicious tongue,

To stir the bosom with mistrust,
By telling what 's been said and sung,

How all our faults have been discussed ;
Till Jealousy within awakes,

And Love with doubt is much annoyed,
The golden clasp of Friendship breaks,

And peace of families destroyed.

No rival's fame they derogate,

A brother falsely charge with sin,
Hoping thereby to elevate

Their name above more worthy kin :
They seem not e'er to envy those

Whose brilliant plumes their own owtshinc,
Or to rejoice at others' woes

Whose powers of song are more divine.

Nor have their hearts the cruel pride

O'er humbler garbs and gifts to
The lame, their hapless fate deride,

Or o'er the weak to domineer.

No bitter taunt, unfeeling jest,

The boast of pow'r, wealth, rank, or birth,
E'er flow from soaring warbler's breast,

To wound the heart of lowly worth.

Nor do they play the hypocrite

With faithful, fond, confiding friends .
Looks, manners, language counterfeit,

To gain ignobly selfish ends.
No word or act their aim belies,

Or yield they e'er to sin's control,
And sell, for worldly merchandise,

The jewels of a virtuous soul.

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

TO A YOUNG FRIEND.
BY MARY NEAL.

Thy heart is young and light, maiden;

Thy sunny brow is fair ;
For Love, and Joy, and Hope now weave

Life's brightest sunbeams there.
Brothers and sisters turn to bless

Thy ever-welcome form,
And a father's arm is near to shield

Thee from life's lightest storm.

But more, still more than this, maiden —

A mother's heart is near,
To watch thy fair cheek, pale or flush —

To note each starting tear —
To gaze upon thy happy face,

And pray that thy young heart
May long be spared the bitter woe

From cherished friends to part.

Ob, Love will make fond hearts, maiden,

To offer at thy shrine ;
And Friendship many a blooming wreath

Around thy path entwine :
But the tears that o'er thy restless couch

From a mother's eyes were shed,
Will moist a green spot in thy hear+

When those bright flowers are dead !

Then watch those loving eyes, maiden,

That beam upon thee now ;
And cherish every silver hair

That stealeth o'er that brow:
For a mother's love 's the purest ray,

The brightest day-star given,
To light us o'er Life's darkened way,

And lead us up to Heaven.

TO AN ABSENT DEAR ONE.

BY FANNIE M. C.

Oh, where art thou, beloved one, at this hour,
So meet for fond affection's holy power,
For all the tender memories that will
The lonely bosoms of the absent fill?

Far, far away ! Yet as my tearful eye
Dwells on yon little watchnrc in the sky,
This thought comes stealing on its beam of light,
Our hearts shall meet at Mercy's throne to-night 1

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godey's magazine and lady's book.

TO IDA.

r, Y HORACE PHELPS, m . d .

The gale is fresh upon my brow,

The evening clew my cheek has wet,
The bark moves merrily, and now

The moonlight and the wave have met;
The mountain heights their shadows throw,

In dark and frowning majesty,
Upon the rolling waters' flow,

As sorrows cross young memory :
What wants this scene to be divine?
Thy gentle heart to beat with mine.

The lovers star her watch doth keep

In the blue vault of yonder sky ;
While all around is hushed to sleep,

I deem thy angel spirit nigh ;
'Twere rapture never felt before

In this serene and midnight noon,
To hear from yonder lonely shore

The watch-dog bay the full bright moon,
Couldst thou be here to share this hour
My heart's beloved and buried flower.

There is a spirit rides the air ;

I hear its murmur on the stream,
I see its form of beauty fair

Disporting in the moonlight beam
It is the spirit of delight

Of young affection's ecstasy,
And in its form and features bright

Thine own fair face and form I see :
It hovers o'er my head, and now
I feel its hand upon my brow.

I see the light of feeling play

And sparkle in its winning smile,
To chase my brooding cares away,

And all my sorrows to beguile;
I hear the voice I loved to hear

Mix with the music of the stream ;
The well-known accents strike my ear :

Away ! 'tis fancy's wildest dream :
I am alone beneath the star,
And thou art in thy grave afar !

THE WAS AND THE IS.

BY 0. EVERT8, M. D.

Away in the mist of past ages,
The was-h'fe of wondrous renown —

(Which lives but in History's pages,
And the tales which Traditions hand down,
Or in marbles that still o'er us frown) —

Tet looks as if towering away
Far above all the Is or To-be

And a power still seemeth to sway,
Though the present convulse to be free,
A.nd the future no prophet-eyes see.

But only it seemeth — not real!
A shadowy monster untruth!

An image of vapors ideal,
That floats in the sky of our youth,
Ere we see with strong visions in sooth!

And thus, while we gaze it departs,
And a better, a nobler appears ;

The Is-life more wonderful starts
From its homo in the heavenly spheres,
And fills us with hopes and with fears !

And we rise, while aur hearts strongly beat,
And say to our fears, all begone !

They vanish, like clouds that retreat
Before the all-conquering sun —
And we nerve for the deeds to be done!

Ah! now does the youth feel his strength!

See his cheeks, how they glow! and his eye,
How it sparkles and gleams ! till at length

His soul reaches out to the sky,

And his thoughts through the universe fly !

And his steps are elastic as air,
Yet consciously proud — and his tread

Over ruins of temples that were —
And religion whose priesthoods are dead,
Is as if there no prayer had been said.

The Is-life is now all to him !
With a glance toward the future, inspired

He moves with his might every limb —
His soul with ambition is fired —
And he grows in his task never tired.

He triumphs ! The truth is his sword,
And the shams and the. phantoms that are,

Shrink back to antiquity's horde,
To be buried with falsehoods that were,
Whilst fame everlasting's his share!

Oh ! the 7s is the life then for me !
The Was had its tasks and its men ;

And others will crowd the To-be,
And laugh at all this that hath been —
But to me, what matters it then ?

THE LAST MOMENTS.

BY K. GRIFFIN STAPLES.

It was a beauteous eve ! On high,

The moon's bright silver ray,
And stars gleamed softly down, to guide

The traveller's weary way.

Gently the balmy breath of night

Sighed o'er the distant lea,
And birds their cheerful warblings hushed

With eve's serenity.

The shades of death were falling slow

Within a chamber, where
A meek one lay. and, sinking, gazed

Into a world more fair.

Sweet hour for one so pure to die,

To pass from earth away
To that bright land where naught corrupts,

And all is " perfect day."

"Father!" she breathed, "Thy will be done!';

And closed her eyes in death ;
" Father !" re-echoed through the sky,

" Thy will be done on earth !''

OUR PRACTICAL DRESS INSTRUCTOR

LADY'S SCARF MANTELET,

The newest style of mantle is the Scarf Man- ; We also add the diagrams of a very pretty

tclet. Its graceful shape, lightness, and elegance j jacket,

have made it a great favorite. This mantle is j

made of muslin or silk, and trimmed with lace j
as fetncy dictates.

DESCRIPTION OF DIAGRAMS OF LADY'S
SCARF MANTELET.

Fig. 1. — Front.

Fig. 2.— Back. Join a to a and b to b.

DESCRIPTION OF DIAGRAMS OF LADY'S
JACKET.

Fig. 3.— Front.

Fig. 4.— Back.

Fig. 5. — Side-piece. Join a, a, a.

Fig. 6. — Sleeve in full. (This shape is very
much worn for morning and evening dress.) A
Shoulder.

3C>7

858

godey's magazine and lady s book

DIAGRAMS OF LADY'S SCARF MANTELET, AND LADY'S JACKET.

CKOCHET TASSEL COVEK.

Material. — Crochet thread. No. 1; Penelope needle, No. 3.

Commence with 12 chain, make it round by
working a single stitch in the first chain stitch.

1st round. — (4 chain and 2 plain in the foun-
dation chain, 7 times.)

2c?. — 1 chain (2 treble, 3 chain and 2 treble,
all in the 4 chain of the first round), then 1
chain, 1 plain on the 2 plain. Repeat 6 times
more.

3d. — Miss 1, 1 plain in the 1 chain, 3 chain,
miss 2 (3 treble, 3 chain and 3 treble, in the 3
chain of the last round), then 3 chain, miss 2, 1
plain in the next 1 chain. Repeat 6 times more.

4//i. — 5 chain, keep this chain at the back of
the last round, and work 1 plain between the 2
plain stitches of the last round. Repeat 6 times
more, leaving the points formed in the last round
in front.

CKOCHET TASSEL COVER.

359

5th. — (2 chain and 1 plain, 3 times, in each
of the 5 chains of the last round.)

6th, 1th, 8th, and 9th. — (2 chain and 1 plain,
in the 2 chain, 21 times.)

10th. — (1 chain and 1 plain, in the 2 chain,
21 times.)

Uth.— 42 plain.

12th. — 41 plain, 1 single.

13th. — (6 chain, miss 4, and 2 plain, on the
lower edge of the stitches of the last round, 7
times), the upper edge of the stitches of the 12th
round are left at the back to form the founda-
tion of the inner part of the tassel.

Uth.—2 chain (3 treble, 3 chain, and 3 treble,
all in the 6 chain) ; then 2 chain and 1 plain,
on the 2 plain of the 13th round. Repeat 6
times more.

15th. — 1 chain, miss 2, 1 plain in the 2 chain ;
then 2 chain, miss 2 (3 treble, 3 chain and 3
treble, in the 3 chain), 2 chain, miss 2, 1 plain
in the 2 chain. Repeat 6 times more ; then 1
plain in the 1st chain stitch.

16th. — 4 chain, miss 6, 3 treble in the 3 chain;
then 5 chain, turn, miss 4, 1 single on the 1st
stitch of these 5 chain to form a round loop ;
turn, and work (5 chain and 1 plain, in the
round loop, 5 times), then 3 treble in the same

3 chain of the 15th round as before, 4 chain, miss
6, 1 plain in the 1 chain. Repeat 6 times more,
and fasten off, which finishes the outside.

To form the under part of the tassel, return
to the 12th round, the upper edge of the stitches
having been left on the inside of the tassel, and
commencing on the first stitch, work for the

1st round. — 42 plain, 1 single on the 1st stitch
of the round.

2d. — (5 chain, miss 2, and 1 plain, 14 times.)

3d. — (5 chain, miss 4, and 1 plain, in the 5
chain, 14 times.)

4th. — 1 chain, miss 4, 1 plain in the 5 chain,
then 9 chain, 1 plain in the same 5 chain, then
1 chain, 6 treble in the next 5 chain. Repeat 6
times more.

5th. — 1 chain, miss 5, 1 treble in the 9 chain
(then 3 chain and 1 treble in the same 9 chain,
3 times) ; 1 chain, miss 5, 3 treble in the 3d
stitch of the 6 treble, then 3 treble in the next
stitch. Repeat 6 times more.

6th. — 1 chain, miss 5, 1 plain in the 3 chain,
then 3 chain, miss 3 (2 long, 5 chain and 2 long,
all in the next 3 chain), 3 chain, miss 3, 1 plain
in the next 3 chain, 1 chain, miss 5, 3 treble in
the 3d treble stitch, and 3 treble in the next
stitch. Repeat 6 times more.

360

godey's magazine and lady's book.

1th. — 1 chain, miss 5, 1 plain in the 3 chain,
then 2 chain, miss 3, 1 plain in the 5 chain, then
(5 chain and 1 plain, in the same 5 chain, 5
times) 2 chain, miss 3, 1 plain in the 3 chain,
then 1 chain, miss 5, 3 treble in the 3d treble
stitch, and 3 treble in the next stitch. Repeat
6 times more.

8/A. — 3 chain, miss 9, 1 plain in the 5 chain,
3 chain, miss 5, 1 treble in the next 5 chain, 3
chain, miss 5, 1 treble in the next 5 chain, 3
chain, 1 treble in the same 5 chain as before, 3
chain, miss 5, and 1 treble in the next 5 chain,
3 chain, miss 5, 1 plain in the next 5 chain, 3
chain, miss 9, 1 plain on the centre of the 6
treble. Repeat 6 times more ; then 3 chain,
miss 3, 1 plain in the first 3 chain.

9th. — 3 chain, miss 3, 1 treble in the next 3
chain, then 3 chain, miss 3, 1 treble in the next
3 chain, 3 chain, miss 3(1 long, 3 chain, 1 long,
both in the 3 chain), 3 chain, miss 3, 1 treble, 3
chain, miss 3, 1 treble, 3 chain, miss 3, 1 plain
in the 3 chain, miss 1, 1 plain in the next 3
chain. Repeat 6 times more.

10th. — Miss 2, 3 plain in the 3 chain, *, miss
1, 1 plain, 1 treble, 3 chain, 1 treble, and 1
plain, all in the next 3 chain. Repeat from * 4
times more ; then miss 1, 3 plain in the 3 chain.
Repeat from the commencement of the round,
6 times more, and fasten off.

NETTED CAP, FOR MORNING WEAR.

Materials. — Crochet thread, No. 4; and, to embroider the
pattern, a skein of pink or blue Shetland wool, or embroi-
dery cotton, No. 16; steel mesh, No. 14, and a flat ivory-
mesh, one quarter of an inch in width — this will make an
ordinary cap ; but, if any Other size is required, the meshes
and thread must be coarser or finer.

Commence with the crochet thread, and No.
14 mesh, on a foundation of 20 stitches; work
40 rows of 20 stitches each. This piece forms
the centre of the crown, cut it off the founda-
tion, and run a string along the four sides, about
four or five stitches from the edges, so as to work
all round the square.

1st round. — Work down the first side thus :
net a stitch plain, then net 2 stitches in one
stitch, 15 plain, 2 stitches in one, 2 plain, and
along the other side, *, net 2 stitches in one, 15
plain, 2 stitches in one, and 2 plain. Repeat
from * twice more.

2d. — Net 3 plain then (2 stitches in one, and
10 plain, 8 times).

3 d.— Plain.

Ath.— (Net 11 plain, and 2 stitches in one, 8
times.)

It will now be advisable to take out the string,
and run it into -the 1st round to keep the work
even. Net 15 rounds plain.

20//i.— Net 2 stitches in one, then 20 plain, 2
stitches in one, 79 plain. Net 4 rounds more
the same as last, working 2 stitches more at the
end of each round, so that the 20 plain stitches
are always over those of the preceding round ;
when finished, turn back. Net to within 20
stitches of the end of the round, turn back again,
and leaving the 20 stitches to form the back of
the cap, work for the front, 8 rows plain, net-
ting two stitches in the last stitch of each row.
Then 12 rows plain without increasing ; and for
the foundation of the border double the cotton
and work 6 rows plain.

Embroider the cap with the pink wool in
darning stitch, passing the needle about 6 times
in each square of the netting.

The Border. — With the thread, and No. 14
mesh, net 6 stitches plain, and continue work-
ing backwards and forwards for about 9 yards ;
then to form

The Edge. — Run a string in the loops which

BORDER AND CORNER FOR POCKET HANDKERCHIEF.

361

form the selvedge, so as to work on the other
selvedge.

1st row. — "With flat mesh, net 4 stitches in
every other stitch of the selvedge.

2d. — With 14 mesh, plain netting, working a
stitch in every stitch of the first row. Then,
with the pink wool, embroider the plain netting.

To make up the cap, sew a row of the border
to the last thick row of the cap, fulling it at the
ears, plain across the front to the centre, then
draw 5 loops close together to make it rather
pointed, plain again, and full at the other ear,
and across the back, sew on another row of the
border the same, attaching it to the first thick
row -, then sew on a third border, very full, and

in a zigzag form on the ears, but the same as
before across the front.

The Strings. — With the thread and No. 14
mesh, net 12 stitches, and continue working
backwards and forwards for 5 inches, then net 2
stitches in one at the end of every third row, un-
til it is increased to 28 stitches ; then net 8 rows,
leaving 3 stitches unworked at the end of each
row ; and for

The Edge. — With the flat mesh, commence
in the last stitch of the side, and net 4 stitches
in every other stitch across the uneven rows ;
then one row plain, with No. 14 mesh. Work
another string the same, and embroider them as
the cap.

BOEDER AND CORNER FOR POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF.

VOL. XLVIII. — 31

362

godey's magazine and lady's book.

CHEMISETTES, UNDEESLEEVES, AND CAPS.

Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.

WSMS:

Fiff. 3.

Our readers can scarcely imagine the difficulty
we meet with in presenting novelties in this de-
partment. The shades of fashion are so various,
and yet so slight, that, in giving new designs
from month to month, those not accustomed to

scrutinize closely may not notice the peculiari-
ties they are intended to present, or that each
month has its peculiar and seasonable adaptation.
For instance —

Fig. 1, a wrought lace chemisette and sto

APE.ON IN ERODERIE EN LACET.

lady's slipper.

363

macher, is intended for the mild opening season,
when cambric embroideries would be too heavy
for the style of dress. The prevailing form of
the opening of the basque corsage is also de-
noted by it — low, square, or a broad oval on the
bust. The construction of the chemisette of
broad scalloped lace, is simple enough, on a
foundation of Grecian net or coach blonde.

Fig. 2 is an undersleeve to correspond, made
sufficiently loose at the wrist for the hand to
pass through. The box plaiting or quilling of
satin ribbon, which heads the lace in both Figs.
1 and 2, is fastened in the sleeve by a rosette.
This is of course only caught on, and is easily
removed when the lace is to be done up ; it may
be of any shade, and is very stylish in evening
dress.

Fig. 3 is a rather close morning cap for a lady
of middle age, made of alternate rows of clean
muslin puffs and fine Valenciennes insertion. It
has a crown, front piece, and frill. The border
is a medium Valenciennes edge sewn in the in-
sertion, two rows slightly frilled. Bows and
strings of violet-colored satin ribbon.

Fig. 4. — Breakfast cap for a young married
lady, consisting of a crown piece, and two rows
of edging, of Maltese lace. Bows and ends of
rich ribbon, medium width between the rows, a
knot of broader ribbon behind, a little to the
right. For description of Maltese lace, see fash-
ion article.

APRON IN BRODERIE EN LACET.

(See Blue Plate in front of Book.)

Materials.— Seven-eighths of a yard of wide hlack glace

silk, two knots of cerise Russia silk braid, one knot of pale

yert-islay ditto, and a dozen skeins of sewing-silk to match

each braid.

Broderie en Lacet signifies a design out-
lined as if merely for braiding, but with the
flowers and other parts filled in with point lace

stitches, so as to make a solid piece of embroider-
ing on the silk. For no article is this novel style
of work more suitable than for aprons, which it
renders exceedingly ornamental, at a very small
expenditure of time and trouble, the very sim-
plest of the point lace stitches only being used
in this work. Of course, the size of our page
precludes our giving even the half of the apron
the full size. The design must be enlarged ac-
cording to the size required, the pattern pro-
cured, and the silk marked in the same way as
ordinary braiding or embroidery.

Braiding should always be done with a strand
of the silk of which the braid is made. Before
beginning, cut off a yard of the braid and draw
out the threads for sewing with. Thread the
end of the braid on a large darning-needle, and
draw it through the silk to the wrong side for
the commencement, and do the same at every
necessary break, sending the ends down. Run
the braid on very smoothly, taking the stitches
across it slanting and cut along the centre, as is
usually done. The braid should lie perfectly
flat, and the edges be smooth and even.

The knots at the side suspending the wreath
are done in the green braid, the two parallel
lines of which are connected by close herring-
bone stitch, or point d'Alencon, as it is called
in lace-work. All the fancy stitches are done
with the common sewing-silk, not with the
strands of the braid. The leaves need have
merely the veinings worked in Venetian bars ;
those, however, who do not mind the trouble,
will do well to fill them first with Brussels lace,
and work the fibres over that; the improved
effect will quite repay the extra work. The
roses are filled up closely in the Brussels and
Venetian lace, the narrow parts being connected
with English bars. The lower part of each bud
has a rosette in it, the remainder is filled with
Venetian lace.

LADY'S SLIPPEE.

Gold braid on velvet or cloth.

164

godey's magazine and lady's book.

JACKET FOE A RIDING-DRESS.

The material is merino, or very fine lady's
cloth ; the color a light shade of cinnamon
brown. The basque, or skirt, at the waist is
rather long, and the jacket is edged all round
with a Greek border in soutache. It is made
rather open in front, so as to show a waistcoat
of plain blue cashmere fastened with gold but-
tons. The collar to be worn with this jacket is
of cambric, and may be either worked or plain.
The undersleeves, also of cambric, are full, and

the fulness gathered at the wrists on bands of
needlework. Necktie of black velvet. Our il-
lustration shows only the jacket of this riding-
dress ; but we may mention that the skirt of the
habit should be of the same material, and that
the hat worn with it should be of gray felt, orna-
mented with a feather of the same color, and the
crown encircled by a band of blue ribbon fastened
in a rosette on one side.

COTTAGE FURNITURE,

The above figure is a handsome pattern for a couch. The castors are sunk in (he legs.

PATTERNS FOR EMBROIDERY,

365

PATTERNS FOR EMBROIDERY.

31*

EBfTOftS* "FABLE.

Wb put aside, for this month, a number of short articles,
in order to give our readers the pleasure of an introduction
to the celebrated singing-master, to whose instructions the
Swedish Nightingale owes, in a great measure, the restora-
tion of her wonderful voice, and her unequalled power in
using it. Yery important lessons are contained in this in-
teresting sketch, translated from the German of Elise
Polko.

Rue. Chabannais, No. 6.— In one of the most insignificant
streets of splendid Paris, the narrow little Rue Chabannais,
there stands a tall, dark-looking house known as No. 6,
Ugly, rambling, old-fashioned buildings stand on each side,
and have posted themselves opposite to it also, like old
duennas mounting guard, squinting down incessantly with
their dim eyes, their unwashed windows, upon the gray
house with its broad doorway. The inhabitants of the little
street, on the contrary, regard it with a certain pride min-
gled with a tender friendliness of feeling, and rejoice like
children over each brilliant equipage that stays its rapid
course before No. 6, as well as over every unpretending
fiacre that there deposits its light burden.

At all hours of the day, graceful female figures glide over
the threshold of the large dark house, and the modiste of
the Rue Chabannais, who arranges her fluttering caps,
ribbons, and veils so invitingly in the corner window,
might make valuable studies for costume from the many
and divers figures, great and small, who so heedlessly pass
by her well-displayed treasures. One may see rich heavy
silks, and simple black woollen robes, superb velvet man-
tillas and delicate light shawls, the careless and yet striking
costume, the carefully-chosen and usually brilliant garb of
slender German women, the elegant and coquettish French
bonnet, and the great roof-like straw hat which shelters the
fair brow of the English lady. One might be tempted to
think some skilful gardener must have his abode here, and
all the flowtrs were flocking to him for advice about their
tender lives, from the glorious exotic of the greenhouse to
the humblest field flower that needs only its drop of dew.

But men too, young and old, whose figures and faces re-
mind us neither of flowers nor spring, enter mysterious
No. 6 with rapid steps, and strangely do their countenances
differ in expression as they come out again. Sometimes
there is a bright smile and a beaming eye, but most of
them have a deep and earnest look, and a brow furrowed
with anxious thought — traces which vanish soon enough
in the Place Louvois or the gay and brilliant Rue Richelieu.

"Perhaps a second Lenormand has fixed her residence
in the large house, disclosing strange secrets to the curious,
and uttering dark oracles!" Ah, no! such magicians are
sought only under cover of twilight and the dark shadows
of night — never in bright day.

Now, shall I solve the riddle of the gray house ? Yf ill
you follow me up the broad stone stairway? Forward,
then ! Many a light foot has lingered anxiously on these
steps, doubtful whether to go further; this iron railing has
been touched by many a trembling hand, and these white
walls have echoed many a sigh. At last we have mounted
the third flight ; let us take breath ! Many a youug heart
366

has beat audibly before this closed door, believe me ! for we
are standing before the dwelling of

Manuel Garcia,
the greatest singing-master of our time...

One of the most charming of fairies (and I tell you for
your comfort there are still many of them who, to escape
the roar and tumult of our mad world, hide themselves far
down in the flower-cups), at my earnest request, has lent
me her fragrant veil for an hour or two; we wrap it around
us and are invisible, and now we can boldly enter the
rooms of the artist. Passing through a small antechamber,
we carefully open a folding door on the right, and enter a
simple apartment, partially darkened, and tastefully and
comfortably furnished. Two beautiful busts arrest our
attention; one bears the inscription " Eugenie Garcia," the
other the immortal name " Marie Malibran." Two familiar,
portraits adorn the walls : the pleasant kindly face of the
Swedish Nightingale, and the earnest countenance of Pau-
line Yiardot.

Silvery sounds, full and powerful, reach our ear from
the adjoining room ; they attract us irresistibly ; we follow
them, gently open a side door and find ourselves in the
very sanctum of the master, in the atelier of the artist.
The long folds of the red silk curtains are partially drawn,
so that a rosy light falls upon every object; a fine piano
stands in the middle of the room ; arm-chairs by the fire-
place ; a luxurious divan on one side covered with scattered
music; the elegant marble table loaded with books, port-
folios, music-books, papers of all kinds; music-stands in
every direction, on one of which, beside the singer, we see
an open volume of exercises. " L'ecole de Garcia, Tart du
chant." A breath of poetry seems to pervade the apart-
ment. Garcia sits at the piano, his scholar stands at some
distance before him.

The maestro is very tall, unusually slender, and of a
truly feverish vivacity. His face is small and deadly pale;
his dark, slightly curled hair falls over a high forehead.
His eyes are dark, restless, flashing, and inspired. Now
he listens with fixed attention to the full, swelling notes
that flow from the lips of the songstress; the next he
throws back his head impatiently ; a word of warning or
of blame is rapidly addressed to the pupil; sometimes a
kindly smile, a slight sarcasm, a pleasant jest, all strangely
intermingled with sudden starts, angry stamping of the
feet, and stern frowns of displeasure. How rarely a word
of praise! But one single warm word of commendation
from such a master is a sunbeam (hat has power to pene-
trate and unfold every fast closed bud of zeal and earnest
effort.

IIow cautiously Garcia handles the precious possession
intrusted to his care, the human voice! IIow tenderly he
protects it! how carefully he watches it! how anxiously
he strives to preserve that pure, brilliant freshness of youth
which is the greatest charm a voice can possess.

It is really impossible to lose this flower-like bloom un-
der Garcia*s guidance ; whatever may be said or has already
been said to the contrary, such a reproach can never come
home to a master whose whole method is so entirely ac-

editors' table.

367

cording to nature. And how strenuously does lie insist
upon resting pauses in his hours of instruction ! Hear
■what he says to that listening pupil who looks up to him
with such eager expectation : —

"Freshness and epontaneousness are the most precious
qualities of the voice, hut they are also the most fragile.
The voice which loses them never regains them ; its tone
is gone, never to return."

" During the first days of practising, the pupils should not
devote themselves to their exercises more than five minutes
consecutively; hut studies thus regulated may be resumed
four or five times a day, provided they be separated by long
intervals. Afterwards, the time devoted to practice, by in-
creasing it five minutes at a time, may I 'j extended to half
an hour, a limit which should never he exceeded. At the
end of five or six months, you may increase the number of
half hours of exercise to four, but be careful in going be-
yond it, remembering always that these periods be separated
by long rests."

The singer begins again. Her own figure stands before
her in the large mirror that hangs behind the master's
back ; no movement of her face can escape her ; every
contraction of her eyebrows, every slight wrinkle in her
forehead, every ungraceful movement of her mouth is truly
reflected there. And no trick passes uureproved, for Gar-
cia's piercing eye watches with fixed attention every feature
of the singer. But he does not arrange and prescribe how
the cheekbones are to move, or the lips to open ; he does
not confuse the ideas of his pupils by incomprehensible,
wordy descriptions of the position of the mouth and the
posture of the head ; he simply repeats the teaching of the
famous old Italian singing-masters, Tosi and Mancini:
u Every singer should hold his mouth as he is in the habit
of doing when he smiles naturally, that is, so that the up-
per teeth may be moderately and perpendicularly sepa-
rated from the lower ones." Without directing the posture
of the body like a drill-sergeant, Garcia says briefly, but
decidedly : " Keep the body erect, tranquil, well-balanced
on the two limbs, and at a distance from any other point
of support." The arms must be held a little back, " so as
not to interfere with the play of the chest." The lesson is
finished. The maestro kindly dismisses his pupil, again
repeats, with condensed brevity, the main point of to-day's
instruction, appoints the task for home practice, and en-
courages the timid departing scholar with heart-cheering
words of courage and hope.

But look ! scarcely has the door closed when it is again
opened. A pale young man, accompanied by some sober-
looking, elderly gentlemen, bows in an awkward and yet
assuming manner, and, with a smile of conscious self-satis-
faction, presents different letters of recommendation, among
which such names as Meyerbeer, Auber, Spontini, shine
out. It is a singer from one of the provinces ; enchanted
with the praises of his table-companions, he is about to
devote himself to the stage. His rich father and richer
uncle have come with him to Paris ; Cousin Meyerbeer
Bends him to Garcia, as he has already sent him from Pon-
tius Auber to Pilate Spontini. With what indifference
Garcia throws aside these great letters, but how carefully
he begins to test the young man's abilities! The aspiring
devotee to art has brought with him his favorite air, his
ehow-piece ; Verdi is his idol among composers ! The re-
citation begins ; Garcia accompanies him. The voice is
weak and yet sharp, already half-cracked ; the flow of it
unnatural and cramped; the most terrible effort is apparent
at every note ; false respiration too, and indistinct pro-
minciation. The master grows more and more impatient;
his feet begin to jerk as if seized with Ruclden cramps ; he
plays faster and faster; with feverish haste; his slender

hands run over the keys, his face changing with every
sound; his eyes flash more and more restlessly; his teeth
are pressed against his lips; suddenly, he springs from his
seat, with the half-smothered exclamation, " Assez. Mon-
sieur, assez, je vous prie!" He sinks exhausted into a
chair ; an awful pause ensues. At last the master quietly
and decidedly explains to the singer the grounds upon
which he is obliged to refuse his request, in spite of all the
recommendations of Meyerbeer and Spontini. His candor
and calmness towards the offended amateur are worthy of
admiration. He concludes by kindly advising the astonished
aspirant, if he has not implicit faith in his words, to seek
another teacher, and dismisses the deluded worshipper of
Verdi with the most refined courtesy.

How frequently does he reject lady pupils who, with
great assumption and half-ruined voices, come to him that
his hand may scatter a few flowers over their remains!
How impatient he is of all musical narrowness, want of
talent, and laziness! His severity in such cases has given
him a bad reputation, his violence has forced tears from
many eyes; but his justice remains unimpeachable. He
will not for a moment feign for a scholar an interest he does
not feel, or that has been forfeited by any of the defects I
have mentioned; he is unsparing in making them feel
how little he cares for such pupils. Holding a book in one
hand, with the other he carelessly strikes an accompani-
ment, and as he diligently reads on, only the monotonous
" encore" at the end of a solfeggia proves that the ear of
the master has been attending.

The more untrained and untutored the voice that is
brought to him, the more thankfully he receives it. How
joyfully does he then devote himself to his arduous task !
how unwearied is his attention! how carefully and con-
scientiously does he watch over the treasure intrusted to
him ! On the other hand, he is most unwilling to under-
take " repairs" and " final embellishments," which, artist-
like, he confesses without disguise ; and singers who, with
this in view, seek the master's studio, will have but little
satisfaction in his lessons. * * * * * . *

But hush! hush! My gracious protectress gives me a
gentle warning, and touches the magic veil we had wrapped
' about us. Let us obey her timely hint, nor provoke
one kind spirit to anger! Farewell, good master Garcia!
Heartily do we rejoice that we have listened to thee; be-
lieve me, we shall often wing our way back to thee with-
out fairy help, even in the spirit, that we may look on thee
with gratitude and admiration. And the golden and sil-
very sounds which thy magic power draws from young
rosy lips will again flow forth and bear us on in their clear
stream ; the bright, pearly drops of brilliant roulades will
refresh and quicken us into new life ; and oh, joy ! the poor
troubled heart will hear no more the sharp, cutting, irre-
concilable discords of the everyday world.

An American Artiste abroad.— Miss Adelaide Phillips,
of Boston, has lately made a very successful d£biit at Bres-
cia (Italy), in the character of Arsace in Rossini's Semira-
inide. " The public were lavish of well-merited applause,"
says the Italian critic. Miss Phillips first sang, as a child,
at the Boston Museum. She went, about two years since,
to Italy, to complete her musical education. Biscaccianti
sang for her benefit, and Jenny Lind, though she refused
to sing for her, it is understood, gave her $1,000, and letters
of recommendation to her old teacher, Garcia. Miss Phil-
lips is the fifth American who has, within the last few
years, succeeded on the Italian stage.

True Happiness in a Palace. — Frederick William III.,
King of Prussia, married, in 1793, Louisa, daughter of the

368

godey's magazine and lady's book,

Duke of Mccklenburg-Strelitz. The union was one of ele-
vated love and perfect confidence, the character of the wife
presenting a combination of excellencies that dignify her
sex. and ennoble humanity. Among her graces, that of
doing good to the poor was always in exercise. The king
allowed her a certain sum for her charities, which she
often exceeded, and when the treasurer iuformed the king
of this, he had a way of gradually replenishing the drawer
in her desk.

She would say, " What angel has filled that drawer for
me again ?" To which the king — that the angels were
legion, although he knew only one; and then repeated the
beautiful verse—

" He gives his favors to his favorites while sleeping."

This high and tender appreciation of the queen's graces
aud virtues appeared at all times. Himself grave, often
morose, silent, and somewhat sarcastic, he knew well how
1o make use of and shelter himself behind the serene
smiles and ever-genial, gracious demeanor of the queen, to
whom he used to say, when assailed by the plaudits of
their subjects: "Now, Louisa, you must salute them for
me ; you can do it better than I ; but how you can hold
out so long, I cannot think."

Much is said of her sly playfulness and ready repartee,
one anecdote of which we cannot resist giving. The king,
who was extremely careful and judicious in his expendi-
ture, and whose maxim it was that the secret of dollars
1 ies in groschen— exactly similar to our saying about pen-
nies and pounds — on entering the queen's apartments one
morning, espied a pretty new headdress, of which he jest-
ingly inquired the price.

The queen replied in the same tone: " It is not always
right that men should know the price of women's dress;
they don't understand it, and think everything too dear."

" Well, but do tell me the price for this cap, for I should
like to know."

" Oh, certainly I will ! I bought it a great bargain ; 1
only gave four dollars for it."

" Only ! an enormous price for such a thing. What a
large sum of money 1" and running on in the same vein,
he saw from the window an old invalid veteran of the
guard, whom he beckoned to come in, saying to him as he
entered : " The lady who is sitting on that sofa has a great
deal of money ; now, what ought she pay for that little cap
on the table ? You must not be dazzled by the beautiful
pink ribbons, but say what you think it is worth."

The old soldier shrugged his shoulders, and said, after a
pause : " Why, I suppose it would cost some groscften"
(pence).

"There, now!" said the king; "do you hear that?
Groschen, indeed ! That thing cost four dollars. Now go
and ask that pretty lady for four dollars. She can well
afford to give you as much as she can afford to pay for that."

The queen smilingly opened her purse, and presented the
four dollars to the old man. " And now," continued the
cfueen, archly imitating the king's tone, "you see that
noble gentleman standing at the window ; he has much
more money than I have. All I have is from him, and he
gives very freely. Now go and ask for double of what you
have got from me : he can afford to give you eight dollars."

The king saw at once that he was caught in his own trap,
and laughingly gave the old man the sum she had so
charmingly forced from him.

Such domestic happiness is seldom found in a palace ;
when it is, we see how it adds to the glory of royalty. Every
married pair are royal in then- own home, and if every

husband and wife would study to make each other happy,
like Frederick and Louisa of Prussia, there would be no
question about the " rights" of either. Both would find their
best happiness in their respective duties.

A Mistake. — The following paragraph we are sorry to
see ascribed to the lady editor of the " Book" : —

" Mrs. Hale says there is more talent and general infor-
mation displayed by the press of the United States, taken
collectively, than can be found in Congress and all the
Legislatures taken collectively."

Mrs. Hale never presumed thus to criticize or compare
the merits of editors and statesmen. The opinion belongs
to Mr. Godey — he can answer for himself.

To Correspondents. — The following articles are accepted:
" Mrs. Clark's Experience as a Servant," " The Schottisch
Partner," "Stanzas," "Autumn Dying," "The Thrice
Wedded," " Memory's Retrospect," " The Mother's Lesson,"
"My blighted Rose-buds," "Come unto me," "To Miss
Laura," " Lines," " Two Mothers," " I Pray for the Loved
at Home," " The Smiling Boy," " A loving Heart," " Legend
of Long Pond, or Lake of the Golden Cross," "Deacon
Downright."

The following articles are declined: "Valuable Copy-
rights," " The Grave ;" " The Sahbath of the Soul." (Poetical
in idea, and evinces genius as well as taste ; but unequal,
and the closing lines poor. The writer may feel sure of
success if energy does not fail.) " Turkish Battle Song,"
and the translation of the " Forty-seventh Ode of Anacreon,"
are both declined. Neither war nor wine is a fitting
theme for our " Book," nor do we need poetry of any kind.
" To Belle Irene." The following, the first and hest stanza,
is all we have room for. (There is power in the writer, and
he does not lack imagination, but he dashes off his lines in
such hot haste, that he often leaves metre and measure far
behind. A little more care in the versification would be a
great improvement.)

" I may not love thee, yet within my heart,

When night and darkness set my spirit free,
And I am musing from the world apart,

Soft low requiems murmur words of thee;
And upward gushing from joy's smouldered fire,

Shadowlessly, in fresh and tameless glee,
A wind-wail sweeps through Hope's halcyon lyre,

Like zephyr's music o'er summer's golden sea."

" Lines about Tecumseh," " To Mary," " I Would;" " Tears."
We give below an extract, the poem being too extended for
its one idea ; the writer is capable of better things :—

" Tears my bleeding heart hath known,

Tears of sorrow sadly shed,
Tears I've mingled with thine own,

Tears- while weeping for the dead.
Tears so brightly let them flow

Tears from eyes too freely given,
Tears that none but angels know,

Tears from kind hearts wildly riven.

"Mrs. Penelope Pennington's Disappointments." (The
article is well written, the subject commonplace. " A Leaf
from the Life of an Old Maid" was declined ; 0
noted in Septemberwas by mistake; the "Book" is sent,
nevertheless, .is the author will undoubtedly Buoeeed, and
v, e can wait. Many articles on band are not yet examined.

LITERARY NOTICES.

369

£ i t c v a r g Notices.

From Lippincott, Grambo, & Co. (successors to Grigg &
Elliot), No. 14 North Fourth Street, Philadelphia :—

A NEW AND COMPLETE GAZETTEER OF THE
UNITED STATES. Giving a full and comprehensive re-
view of the present condition, industry, and resources of
the American confederacy; embracing, also, important
topographical, statistical, and historical information, from
recent and original sources ; together with the results of
the census of 1850, and population and statistics in many
cases to 1853. By Thomas Baldwin and J. Thomas. M. D.
The enterprising publishers of this valuable and important
work may very justly feel gratified in being able to present
it to the public, and with equal truth do they claim it to
be the most elaborate, comprehensive, and perfect " Gazet-
teer" of the United States that has ever issued from the
press. Instead of 800 pages, to which the work was origin-
ally restricted, it has swelled to 1,'400 pages, embracing at
least 10,000 names of places not to be found in any other
" Gazetteer," together with the appropriate statistics and
information. Neither the hope of profit, nor the pressure
of competition has induced the publishers to present their
work before it was complete, or before all the ample mate-
rials furnished by the census of 1850, and other statistics
and important facts in the hands of editors, were " fully
digested and arranged." The expense incurred in the pro-
duction of this unequalled " Gazetteer," in which, besides
the editors and their assistants, several thousand corre-
spondents in all parts of the United States were engaged,
has consequently been very great, amounting, as we learn,
to more than $30,000.

But, if the publishers have reason to feel gratified in the
result of their labors, we think the American public should
be congratulated in having within command and ready for
use a volume which presents so faithfully the present con-
dition of the country, in all the ramifications of population,
trade, commerce, wealth, etc., and which foreshadows the
future as unerringly as it records the history of the past.
The great public, therefore, always alive to its own inte-
rests, will lose no time in discovering the propriety, as well
as the justice of rewarding the spirited publishers of the
"New and Complete Gazetteer," by purchasing the vol-
umes as fast as they can be got ready. And this, we think,
will be the result as soon as its merits are generally known.
As a book of reference, it wijl, be indispensable to editors,
authors, merchants, and men of enterprise in all the de-
partments of business. In families, it will also be found
to furnish the readiest means in impressing the young in-
quirers with an amount of history in relation to the ex-
tent, climate, soil, productions, and general statistics of
their country, which they might search in vain for in the
various histories prepared for their exclusive benefit.

From A. Hart (late Carey & Hart), corner of Fourth and
Chestnut Streets. Philadelphia: —

HEROIC WOMEN OF THE WEST: containing Thrilling
Examples of Courage. Fortitude, Devotedness, and Sel /-Sacri-
fice, among the Pioneer Mothers of the Western Country. By
John Frost. LL.D., author of " Pictorial History of the
World," " History of the United States," etc. etc. This is a
handsome and interesting volume, in which are graphi-

cally narrated the heroic deeds of forty of the pioneer wo-
men of the West. It has many beautiful illustrations.

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through C. G.
Henderson, Philadelphia : —

HAPS AND MISHAPS OF A TOUR IN EUROPE. By
Grace Greenwood. This is a very clever and readable book,
its style fluent, flashy, and flowery. Every sentence is
highly wrought and carefully polished, and every senti-
ment, good, bad, and indifferent, is expressed in the high-
est pitch the English language will bear ; and, when it
would bear no more, the climax has sometimes been given
in words borrowed from softer, sweeter, or stronger and
more thrilling vocabularies than our coarse mongrel Saxon.
We know Grace Greenwood to be a graceful and polished
writer; but in this volume she has evidently labored too
ardently to dignify and garnish poetically common inci-
dents and common sayings, which would have appeared to
much better advantage in commonplace prose. But nil
this, we presume, proceeds from her determination to let
her feelings have their full sweep; and thus, as they have
directed her, and as she has been differently impressed by
similar sights and images, we find her at one time subdued
and almost in tears before a painting of the Madonna, and
at another hurling impassioned imprecations upon the
heads of those who foster a woi*se than pagan superstition.
We do not wonder, therefore, after reading her book, that,
near the close of her tour, the over-excited author felt an
inexpressible longing for rest " in a comfortable home among
her dear English friends."

From R. T. Yol'nq, New York, through J. L. Gihon, Phi-
ladelphia : —

HISTORY OF NEW AMSTERDAM ; or, Ncio York as it
was in the Days of the Dutch Governors. Together with Pa-
pers on Events connected with the American Revolution, and
on Philadelphia in the Times of William Penn. By Professor
A. Davis, Corresponding Member of the N. Y. Hist. Society,
Hon. Member of the N. Y. S. of Letters, and formerly Chap-
lain to the New York Senate. Six fine illustrations. The
younger classes of historical readers will find this a very
attractive and very instructive volume.

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through W. P.
Hazard, Philadelphia : —

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN ACTRESS ; or, Eight Years
on Vie Stage. By Anna Cora Mowatt. These simple and
unaffected memoirs will greatly interest the many warm
and ardent friends of the authoress. They will, at the
same time, endear her to a numerous class of readers
who have hitherto had no opportunities t:- form just judg-
ments of her character, her talents, and her noble strug-
gles through a professional life, such as is generally sup-
posed to be more dangerous to those who enter upon it
than almost any other they could make choice of. We see,
however, in this instance, as in many that have passed be-
fore, that where the virtues of the heart and the energies
of the mind are combined in motive and effort, the profes-
sion itself is elevated, and the professor triumphs.

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through R. II. See
& Co., Philadelphia :—

OUTLINES OF THE GEOLOGY OF THE GLOBE. AND
OF THE UNITED STATES IN PARTICULAR: with two

Geological Maps, and Sketches of Characteristic American
Fossils. By Edward Hitchcock, D. D., LL.D..' President of
Amherst College, and Professor of Natural Theology and
Geology. This work has been prepared as a sequel to
u Elementary Geology," published by the author in 1S47.

370

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

It forms a most valuable addition to the original work, as
will be seen by a single glance at the maps.

From M. W. Dodd, opposite the City Hall, New York,
through C. G. Hkndehson, Philadelphia:—
THE LECTURES COMPLETE OF FATHER GAVAZZI,

as Delivered in New York. Reported by an eminent Steno-
grapher, and revised and corrected by Gavazzi himself.
Including translations of his Italian addresses with which
the greater part of the lectures were prefaced. To which
are prefixed, under his authority and revision, the life of
Gavazzi, continued to the time of his visit to America. By
G. B. Nicolini, his friend and fellow-exile, author of the
'■ History of the late Roman Republic." The fulness of the
title, and the great celebrity acquired by the author in the
delivery of his lectures, release us from any obligation we
might otherwise be under of explaining the controversial
character of this work.

ORIENTAL AND SACRED SCENES, from Notes of Travel
in Greece, Turkey, and Palestine. By Fisher Howe. This
is a very beautiful volume, with maps and colored illustra-
tions. The incidents narrated, the descriptions of the
cities and monuments visited, and the just and appropriate
reflections of the author, are calculated not only to gratify
the curiosity, but to leave deep and salutary impressions
upon the mind of the reader. The Christian public will be
the more interested in the sale of this handsome volume,
when informed that the profits are specifically devoted to
the cause of promoting the Gospel in the East under the
American Board of Commissions for Foreign Missions.

From J. S. Redfield, 110 and 112 Nassau Street, New
York, through W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia : —

SKETCHES OF THE IRISH BAR. By the Rt. Hon.
Richard Lalor Shiel, M. P. With Memoir and Notes, by R.
Shelton Mackenzie, D.C. L. In two volumes. These vol-
umes will greatly interest such readers as may desire to
investigate the Irifh character, as displayed under the
higher influences of education, talents, and patriotism, and
when aroused into action by motives of rivalry or ambition
for place and power. Independent of these personal cha-
racteristics, the volume contains a great deal of information
connected with the actual history of Ireland not yet embo-
died in any other work that has come under our notice.

THE PARTISAN. A Romance of the Revolution. By
W. Gilmore Simms, Esq., author of "The Yemassee,"
"Guy Rivers," "Martin Faber," etc. etc. A new and re-
vised edition. The first edition of this work was so favor-
ably received by the critics, and was so generally read, it
would seem unnecessary for us to call particular attention
to its merits as a history or a romance. We may say, how-
ever, with great justice, that in his revision of the work the
author ha*s availed himself of all the new facts brought to
bear upon his subject by the critical observations of friends,
and that the volume now presents a complete history of
all the leading events in the war of the Revolution in
South Carolina, dating from the fall of the city of Charles-
ton, in 1780.

From J. P. Jewett & Co., Boston : —

DRESS AS A FINE ART. By Mrs. Merrifield. The
publisher, in his preface, says: "This work of Mrs. Mcrri-
field's has been circulated among the forty thousand sub-
scribers of the ' London Art Journal.' " He might have
added, " and also among the hundred thousand subscribers
of the ' Lady's Book ;' " for we have published nearly every
word of it. Still, the book before us is beautifully got up,
and, the articles being gathered together and placed before
the reader upon beautiful type and paper, it must com-

mand a great sale, as it is an admirable work. That may
be taken for granted, or it never would have appeared in
" Godey." The book is a splendid specimen of typography.

NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, &C.
From Garrett & Co., 18 Ann Street, New York, through
T. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia : " Dashes
of American Humor." By Howard Paul. Illustrated by
John Leech. This is a collection of amusing stories.

From Bunce & Brothers, New York, through T. B. Peter-
son, Philadelphia: "Annie Vincent; a Domestic Story."
By the author of the " Twin Sisters."

From D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway, New York,
through C.G.Henderson & Co., Philadelphia: "An Attic
Philosopher in Paris; or, a Peep at the World from a Gar-
ret." From the French of Emilie Souvestre. There are
many excellent thoughts and worthy examples within the
unpretending paper cover of this little volume. — "Linny
Lockwood : a Novel." By Catharine Crowe, author of " Su-
san Hopley," etc.

From T. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia:
"The Young Duke; or, the Younger Days of George the
Fourth." By B. D'Israeli, M. P., P. C, author of " Hen-
rietta Temple," etc. etc. With a beautiful portrait of the
author. Complete. Price 37 cents. — " Memoirs and Cor-
respondence of Thomas Moore." Edited by the Rt. Hon.
Lord John Russell, M. P. Part 6. Price 25 cents.—" Con-
tarini Fleming: an Autobiography." By B. D'Israeli, M. P.,
P. C, author of " The Young Duke," etc. With a portrait
of the author.

From J. S. Redfield, New York, through W. B. Zieber,
Philadelphia : " The Partisan : a Romance of the Revolu-
tion." By W. Gilmore Simms, Esq., author of " The Ye-
massee," " Guy Rivers," etc. etc. This is a new and revised
edition of one of the author's most popular works. — " Poems,
Descriptive, Dramatic, Legendary, and Contemplative." By
William Gilmore Simms, Esq. In two volumes. The fir st
of these volumes contains " Norman Maurice : a Tragedy ;"
« Atlantis : a Tale of the Sea ;" " Tales and Traditions of
the South ;" " The City of the Silent." The second volume
embraces " Southern Passages and Pictures;" " Historical
and Dramatic Sketches ;" " Scripture Legends ;" " Fran-
cesca da Rimini." These, and the prose writings of Mr.
Simms, have established his fame as a chaste and brilliant
writer. We hope he will receive from the publication of
his prose and poetical writings, in their present complete
and uniform editions, the pecuniary reward to which his
incessant literary labors so justly entitle him.

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through W. P.
Hazard, Philadelphia: " Poems and Parodies." By Phoebe
Carey. The name of this author and the character of her
poetry are familiar in every town and country in the
United States that can boast a newspaper. This is a hand-
some collection, and will be sought after by her numerous
friends. — "The Young Voyagers: or, the Boy Hunters in
the North." By Captain Mayne Reid, author of the " Boy
Hunters," " The Desert Home," etc. With twelve illustra-
tions by W. Harvey. Captain Reid has been a great tra-
veller, and he describes men, and birds, and beasts, and
strange and startling incidents with wonderful minute-
ness.

From Herman J. Mover. New York : " The United States
Illustrated ; in Views of City and Country." With descrip-
tive and historical articles. Edited by Charles A. Dana.
We have received Parts 8, 9. and 10, Bast and West, of the
first volume of this beautiful and truly national work.
All connected with this work deserve great credit for the
literary and artistic excellence exhibited in every number.

dafoij's Slrm-Cjjnir.

Our April Number — We do not perceive any falling off
in the " Lady's Book." As we commenced, so we go on.
We have, at a very considerable expense, procured the very
latest style for bonnets, dresses, and mantillas, for spring
wear. These may be depended upon, as they are not mere
reprints taken from other publications, but designed and
engraved expressly for Godey. We will furnish patterns
of the dresses for $1 50, and of the mantillas for $1.

The Dairy House and Piggery in this number are from the
excellent work on Rural Architecture published by C. M.
Saxton, New York. We can furnish the work complete,
postage free, on receipt of $1 25.

" The Trials of a Needlewoman" continues to increase in
interest. Our exchanges and private letters pronounce
this Mr. Arthur's best story.

Br the way, for the last ten or fifteen years, we have
considered Godey's Fashions unrivalled. No other maga-
zine equals him in this particular. So says the " Illinois
Union," and so says almost every one of our exchanges. It
is useless to enlarge upon this subject. It is conceded.

The "Germantown Telegraph," whose editor was also
caught with the imported story — " Marrying through Pru-
dential Motives" — comes out like an honorable gentleman,
as he is, and thus speaks he: —

u Justice, though the Heavens Fall ! — Some two or three
weeks ago, we found in one of our respectable New York
exchange papers an excellent story, purporting to have
been taken from ' La Belle Assemblee,' entitled ' Marrying
through Prudential Motives,' which was no doubt much
admired by our readers ; but the paternity of which belongs
to 'Godey's Lady's Book,' instead of the Parisian journal,
which, it appears, had unhandsomely appropriated the pro-
duction without any acknowledgment of the original
ownership. Coming back to us with a French godfatber,
of course, it was a thousand times better than the domestic
article, and therefore it 'took' surprisingly. Our own
apology is, not that we ever deny our friend Godey any of
the merit that belongs to his elegant and popular maga-
zine, but simply that the story in question was overlooked
at the time of its publication, in the multiplicity of good
things always filling its pages, and that when it was pub-
lished in our own columns, it came under our eye for the
first time at the opportune moment. Our desire is at all
times to do 'justice though the heavens fall ;' and to none
would we yield it more promptly than the gentlemanly
proprietor of the ' Lady's Book.' "

Back numbers from January can be supplied throughout
the year, as the work is stereotyped.

White's Bonnet Establishment in Second above Chestnut
Street. — Mr. White has got into his new building, and we
unhesitatingly pronounce it one of the handsomest fronts
in the city. It is of brown stone of the finest quality, and
is now the palace of the longest business street probably in
the world. Second Street is about five miles long, and if
©ne side of the street was placed at the end of the other, it
would make a straight line often miles of stores.

The "Georgia Times" has caught us. We certainly must
plead guilty to his charge: —

" Godey is up to the highest notch, and seems determined
that none shall outstrip him. Our junior has just given
us an idea. Oh, we 've got you. Uncle Louis — caught you
in a mistake one time! You said there should be no
'difference between your January and February numbers :'
and there is, for the February number is the better 1 Now
then, sir, ain't you caught?"

A Proper Acknowledgment.— We find in the New York
journals copies, of a correspondence between W. C. Bryant,
Gulian C. Verplank, Jonathan Sturges, F. W. Edmonds.
A. B. Durand, and other eminent citizens, as a committee,
and Abraham M. Cozzens, Esq., President of the American
Art Union, on the occasion of presenting a service of plate
to the latter, as a testimony on the part of the donors of
their " appreciation of his long aDd faithful services to the
cause of Art in the United States." We can add our own
assurance to that of the committee — for circumstances have
made us familiar with the fact — that, "for a series of years,"
Mr. Cozzens has " devoted both time and labor, at a great
sacrifice of his personal interests, to the promotion of a
taste for the Fine Arts among his countrymen, and to the
encouragement of native artists," and we cordially agree
with them that his "distinguished services render him
worthy of this tribute" — the tribute being a complete and
costly dinner set of massive silver. We may add, more-
over, that besides his special merits as a patron and pro-
moter of Art, Mr. Cozzens is a fine, frank, generous, right-
minded, true-hearted gentleman, who wins his honors
fairly, and knows how to wear them gracefully.

Burton has produced " Shakspeare's Midsummer's Night
Dream"' in most splendid style at his theatre in New York,
and Marshall has brought it out at the Bowery. Opinions
seem to differ among the New York press as to which house
has produced it in the best manner.

A Happt Hit. — " The Three Bells," gratefully dedicated
to the noble Captain Crighton. A very pretty piece of music,
which everybody ought to purchase. It will keep before
them the memory of " the greatest captain of the age."

The Sewing-Machine published in our February number
is Messrs. Grover, Baker, & Co."s patent, whose advertise-
ment will be found on our cover.

That " Republican" man of McArthur is hard to please.
We have not a little "Godey" to spare. There are five of
them, and we wish there were a dozen.

French Furniture. — The furniture which is now made
in the ateliers of Paris is unparalleled in magnificence and
extravagance. Bedroom, as well as drawing-room furniture,
is laden with sculpturing and ornaments. Gilt furniture
is much in vogue for drawing-rooms ; the rich brocatelles
and damasks produce a beautiful effect in the gilt frames.
The superb furniture of the state-rooms of the Tuileries is
of gilt; when illuminated by a thousand wax lights, the
effect is gorgeous. This style of furniture is only suitable
for large reception-rooms.

371

372

godey's magazine and lady's book.

The following is dreadfully touching, and what is more,
it is pointed. It cannot possihly atTect any of our sub-
scribers, however, for there is not one of them but would
scorn the implication of being a delinquent to the " Lady's
Book." We need hardly say that it is an imitation of
Hood's " Song of the Shirt" :—

" Toil, toil, toil !
As the constant drop on a stone,

So this ceaseless, endless work,
Wears away body and bone !

Though the Poet sputter and write,
Though the Orator bully and bawl,

If it were not for the Editor's pen,
What were the use of it all?

Toil, toil, toil,
Christians, Mormons, and Jews :

Is there a man on this weary earth
But grows richer by reading the news ?

Richer, richer, richer,
As they read it by sunlight and taper?

And yet there isn't a soul of them all
But grudges to pay for his paper !"

The Instructive Character op the Lady's Book.— This is
the point that we wish to urge upon the public; that every
number is full of instruction as well as amusement.
Several of our exchanges have commented upon this mat-
ter. Our title would seem to mislead — and why it should,
it is hard to tell. We would not publish a book for a lady,
and pay so poor a compliment to her understanding as to
fill it with mere trifling matter. We aim at nobler pur-
poses, and we challenge an investigation and a comparison
with any magazine, as to which contains the most instruct-
ive matter, either to a lady or gentleman. Look at our
descriptions of Factories of various kinds ; our Model Cot-
tages; our receipts upon every subject; our essays; our
practical instructions to every lady how to cut and make
her own dresses; the various kinds of needlework for
ladies ; our accounts of the several gold regions, Nineveh,
Babylon, &c. The editor of the " Ithaca Chronicle" says :
" We have just received the January No., for 1854, and can
truly say it is more welcome to our table than any other
magazine we now receive. The present number contains
one hundred pages of reading matter — not flimsy trash —
but of such as is instructive to any person who will read it
with a desire to gain knowledge."

Young Hyson and Potatoes.— The " Stroudsburg Jeffer-
souian" says: "Our wife would rather go without her
Young Hyson at any time (and she is passionately fond of
it too), than miss the smiles of Godcy; or a new dress,
rather than to be without his patterns for making it."
The " Christian Advocate" of Missouri expresses his aston-
ishment that we are acquainted with the virtue of the
potato : —

" Mr. Godey, at the back of his arm-chair, gives a list of
excellent receipts for cooking potatoes. From the nice and
superb manner in which he has always gotten out his book
for the ladies, we had no certain evidence that he had much
acquaintance with that invaluable esculent, the potato. It
seems, however, we were mistaken. Success to him."

Not acquainted with potatoes ! Why, my dear sir, it is
the ABC of cooking, and is the first thing to be learned ;
besides, as a caterer for the ladies, we are bound to know a
little of everything.

The New Manteau de la Cour. required to be worn by
the ladies at the French court, is even more unpopular than

was anticipated. Husbands don't like it on account of the
expense, and wives shrink from the dancing-master's drill,
without which, the wearers of the costume cannot hope to
avoid appearing ridiculous. The Empress alone has train-
bearers ; but other ladies must concentrate all the powers
of their mind upon their trains to escape a catastrophe.
At the last reception-night there were not more than two
hundred ladies present out of eight hundred invited.
Under these circumstances it is thought impossible to en-
force the regulation announced, that ladies not availing
themselves of invitations on January the first, would not
be again asked to court during the year.

Very neat and pretty compliment from the "North
Carolina Whig and Advocate" : —

"Godey is always prompt, always welcome, and always
interesting. If we were asked to point out the best num-
ber of the ' Lady's Book,' we should reply in the language
of Dr. Johnson when asked which of Shakspeare's plays he
most admired ? ' The last I read,' the Doctor answered."

There has been some pleasantry on the part of the press
touching that unfortunate milkmaid in our February
number being on the wrong side of the cow. Our answer
is very plain, and gentlemen should make inquiry before
they criticize. The girl was left-handed, and the cow would
not be milked on the other side. She was— that is the cow
—a queer creature.

Dedicatory Address, delivered before the members of
Hesperian Lodge, upon the opening of their new hall, by
Anson G. Chester, of the " Morning Express." In as short
a notice as our space will permit us to give, we cannot do
justice to the merits of this beautiful address. We could
only do so by publishing the whole of it. Mr. Chester is
well known as one of the best poets in this country. His
prose is poetic, and worthy of its distinguished author. We
wish also to pay a compliment to the handsome dress in
which the pamphlet is presented to the public. Messrs.
A. M. Clapp & Co. may well be proud of it. The cover is
the prettiest piece of type-work we have seen in a long
time.

Franklin Institute Report of the twenty-third exhibi-
tion. The address, by George Harding, Esq., that is given
in this number, is an able production, and worthy of its
author. There is perhaps no similar case on record of a
young man, who has hardly been at the bar for two years,
who has taken so high a stand as Mr. Harding. He is en-
gaged in almost every patent case that is brought before
our courts.

The "Charleston Weekly News" says of Mrs. Hale's
" New Book of Cookery," and the " New Household Receipt
Book" :—

" These two works will prove invaluable to housekeepers.
Mrs. Hale has absolutely exhausted her subject. There is
nothing in the wide world, we believe, appertaining to the
'cuisine,' from the homeliest to the most recherche dishes,
receipts for the preparation of which cannot be found in
these volumes. We think that all the ladies who have tha
direction of ' a home department,' should send a vote of
thanks to the author of thi3 Encyclopaedia of what should
certainly be ranked among the fine arts."

We can furnish one or both.

We enter our protest against those children's savings
that are now going the rounds of the press. They are hor-
ribly blasphemous ; and the whole wit in them seems to
be in making a familiar use of God's holy name.

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

373

TfiE " Boston Olive Branch" comes to us in a new dress,
and looks very handsome. It is an excellent paper, and
well conducted. Its circulation is very large. Mr. Norris,
the publisher, has authority from us to club his paper with
the " Lady's Book." We wish also to say a word of another
excellent paper published in another part of our Union,
the " Georgia Citizen," L. F. W. Andrews, editor and pub-
lisher. There is no paper we open with more satisfaction.
It is sprightly and solid. Mr. Andrews, its editor, is a man
of sterling sense and honesty. We know him well, and
esteem him highly. Our merchants would do well to
select it for their advertising patronage. The price is $2 50
a year.

" Dorset's Dispatch," at Wetumpka, Ala., is another of
our excellent exchanges. Mr. D. formerly edited the
"State Guard," which is now the " Dispatch." Dorsey is
as well known in Alabama as we are in Pennsylvania, and
the reason is that he publishes an excellent paper

Rapp's Pens. — If those persons ordering these pens will
please say whether the order is their own writing, we shall
be the better able to tell what kind of a pen will best suit
them.

Much obliged to "A. T. T.," and publish her acrostic. —
ACROSTIC.
God speed thee, beauteous book, in thy pathway to fame !
Oh, may thy life be long, and cherished be thy name !
Deem not my humble song one-half thy charms could tell,
E'en if I were a bard of some romantic dell ;
Yet can I sing thy praise in my own humble way :
Sweet friend of lonely days, despise not thou my lay.
Long may thy coming be welcomed by young and old,
As, gathering round the hearth, they do thy leaves unfold!
Dressed in thy wintry garb, or in thy summer sheen,
Yet beautiful art thou, our literary queen.
Bright are the smiles thou bring'st unto the humble cot,
Our lonely hours to cheer, to ease our humble lot.
Oh, may'st thou ever be admired as thou art now,
Kind wishes thee attend, and laurel wreath thy brow!

Theresa.

Bedchamber of the Empress Eugenie of France. — The
upholsterers have furnished it a magnificent sky-blue silk
tenture along the walls, which is fixed by gold frames, in
the style of Louis XY. The arm-chairs, chairs, sofas, and
lounges are of the same style and like silk. As for the bed,
all made with gilt carved wood, it is covered with a cotwre
pieds of Maline lace, and the curtains, of blue silk and lace,
are hung down all around it, in the same manner as the
old beds of our grandmothers. The carpet is also of a blue
color, and so thick that one would take it for a bear skin.
It was made at Aubusson, expressly for the place in which
it lays. The ceiling of the room was painted by Mr. Bres-
son, and it represents a group of geniuses throwing flowers
from rich baskets. The painting is so well done that no
one could believe that the figures are not alive. In short,
this magnificent bedroom is the neplus ultra of riches and

Well, this is all well enough in its way ; but who would
not prefer being plain Mrs. Smith or Mrs. Godey, or any
other Mrs. — never being certain, for a moment, when your
husband goes out, that he is not to be shot at. Even if you
want to go and pay a friendly visit only one or two squares
off, you must wait until six horses are harnessed up, a body
of cavalry dressed and mounted, the streets cleared of the
crowd, and a host of other little etceteras. Dear me, we
should soon be tired of royalty!
VOL. XLVIII. — 82

Female Shoemakers. — It is stated that in Washington
some of the most respectable women, married and single,
engage in the shoemaking business as an agreeable pastime,
as well as from motives of economy. " The gaiters which
cost us three dollars at the stores," writes a female, " cost
us one day's labor and sixty cents for the best material
bought at retail. One of us has made five pair of ladies'
gaiters in a week. Many of us make shoes for ourselves
and children, without neglecting other household duties.
On Capitol Hill, alone, there are thirty ladies thus employed,
and about two hundred in the city. We find it very easy
to make two pair of children's shoes in a day, and they cost
here one dollar and twenty-five cents a pair."

We understand that many ladies in this city stitch and
prepare their own gaiter boots, and have them made up by
the shoemaker. Others again find out the journeymen and
employ them. We understand that at least one to one and
a half dollars are thus saved on one pair of boots.

Punch — than whom there is no greater satirist upon wo-
men—says : —

A Living Superiority. — Woman has this great advantage
over man — she proves her will in her lifetime, whilst man
is obliged to wait till he is dead.

" New York Spirit of the Times." — This excellent paper,
under the editorial supervision of W. T. Porter, Esq., con-
tinues to flourish and take the lead as a paper of genius,
wit, and humor. It is one of the most successful and
popular publications of the day.

A Compliment to Two. — "I inclose you the amount ne-
cessary to pay for ' Godey's Lady's Book' and ' Arthur's
Home Gazette,' which I have taken and paid for since the
first number was issued. The ' Lady's Book' I have taken
for fourteen years. I would not be without either of them
for twice the amount of the subscription. S. A. M."

It is a pleasure to record such instances as the above.
This is one of our long-continued subscribers.

Precocity. — A young lady, twelve years of age, has sent
us a club of subscribers to the "Lady's Book." She will
make a good wife some day for one of the unfortunate
bachelor editors who loan their " Lady's Books."

Tears and Laughter.— God made both tears and laugh-
ter, and both for kind purposes ; for as laughter enables
mirth and surprise to breathe freely, so tears enable sorrow
to vent itself patiently. Tears hinder sorrow from becoming
despair and madness, and laughter is one of the very
privileges of reason, being confined to the human species.

An old maid, who confesses to thirty-five, says "she
doesn't believe — not a bit of it — in the nonsense that men
talk about breaking their hearts!" It's her firm belief
that there never was a man yet who broke his heart, or,
if there was, that he broke it as a lobster breaks one of
his claws, another one shooting up very gradually in its
place.

Little Children. — "No man can tell," wrote Jeremy
Taylor, "but he who loves his children, how many de-
licious accents make a man's heart dance in the pretty
conversation of those dear pledges. Their childishness,
their stammering, their little anger, their innocence, their
imperfections, their necessities, are so many little emana-
tions of joy and comfort, to him that delights in their per-
sons and society."

874

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

We are receiving repeated applications from our sub-
scribers to publish in soniomunl.fr this year the celebrated
engraving of "Christ Healing the Sick," from Benjamin
West's great picture. If we thought it would be agreeable
• i the mass of our subscribers, we would do so with plea-
sure, but we don't like the idea of publishing one engraving
twice, it looks as if we were short of engravings. Shall we
republish it for the benefit of the new subscribers this year?
What say you?

The spring patterns in tlus number, from the establish-
ment of Mrs. Suplee, must command general attention.
They are the style for the present season.

•• Railroad Polka" and the " Reading Polka," the first
dedicated to R. L. Stevens, President of the Camden and
A in boy Railroad, and the other to the Rev. W. A. Good,
A. M. "The Grave of my Mother," aud '• Mary's Beauty,"
two songs. These last have the prettiest colored vignettes
we have ever seen printed on music sheets. J. W. Gougler,
of Reading, is the publisher of the above, and our city mu-
sic publishers must look to their laurels, for such attractive
music is seldom found. J. G. Gould, Swaim's Buildings,
has all the above for sale.

The " Keeseville Gazette" is responsible for the follow-
ing :—

'■When is 'Godey's Lady's Book' as great a source of
self-abnegation as a certain observance in the Catholic
Church ? When it is Lent."

" How to Make a Dress."— By the time this number
reaches our subscribers, the second edition of this work
^s^^ll be ready. We have been obliged to delay numerous
orders ; but we shall now be ready with a very large edi-
tion to supply all who may order the work.

The editor of " Moore's "Western Lady's Book" says : —
" We have heard it said that Godey is a bachelor, but we
don't believe it, for we cannot see how he can remain such
in his present business. How is it. Godey ? Suppose you
'• let the cat out.' The Western ladies are very curious to
know."

Yes, my dear madam, we are married. Sorry to disap-
point the Western ladies; but we have a son fast growing
up to man's estate. He will be in the market soon, and is
almost as good-looking as his father. It was to him that
the following lines were addressed : —

" I believe you isn't married, Ned ?

You doesn't know the sweets

Vat waits upon that happy state

Ven man and vomen meets.
The buzum's warm emotions, Ned,

The drops within the eyes ;
The nice vashed things, the darned stockings,
And all them tender ties."

Very brief, expressive, and complimentary : —

" P. S. When 's subscription runs out, don't stop

her ' Book.' Next to myself and her sister, loves she 'Go-
dey's Lady's Book.' "

Worthy op being Imitated.— A subscriber in Maryland,
who was in arrears, sent on his subscription at the full
price, $i a year, and added the interest. Another, a lady,
sent us $4 a year for three years, and paid her subscription
to 1855. Another, a gentleman, remitted his subscription
in full up to 1-860. We fancy that there are few other pub-
lications can give such instances as these.

Something about Cooks.— Wo heard an anecdote about
" the new cook" that is worth telling. " Betty," says the
mistress, " I want those shells warmed for dinner" —
meaning the pastry shells. " Yis, ma'am." And, sure
enough, Betty brought up the shells after dinner — a large
tray full of them. "Why, what have you thgre, Betty f"
" The shells, ma'am ; and they are quite hot." " Shells !"
exclaimed the indignant mistress. " Why, those are oyster
shells !" "Sure they are, ma'am ; and, as you had oysters
last night, and I didn't see any other shells, I thought it
Avas these you wanted warmed."

We extract the following from Mrs. Partington's " Carpet
Bag of Fun" : —

A string of epitaphs.
" Weep, stranger, for a father spilled
From a stage-coach, and thereby killed:
His name was John Sykes, a maker of sassengers,
Slain with three other outside passengers."

" Here lies the body of James Monk,
Suddenly drowned when he was drunk ;
He paid his score, and cheated no man —
De mortius nil nisi bonum."

" Hisjacet, Tom and Titus Tressel,
Lost by the swamping of their vessel.
A leak she sprung and settled fast ;
Payment of Nature's debt was asked,
Aud it was paid — the debtors failing
To give security by bailing.
Full many a siorm they nobly braved,
And tho' they 're lost, we hope they 're saved."

Mrs. Partington on Funny-graphy. — And Ike read, "Mr.
Wightman submitted a detailed report on the subject
of introducing phonotopy. as a study, into the primary
schools." " Stop, Isaac," said Mrs. Partington, threaten-
ingly holding up her'finger, and slightly frowning, "don't
make light of anything serious- that you are reading — it
isn't pretty." " But it's so in the paper, aunt," said Ike;
and he again read the sentence, emphasizing the word
" phonotcqvf prodigiously. Mrs. Partington adjusted her
specs, and looked at it, letter by letter, to be assured,
"Well, if ever!" said 6hc, holding up her hands; "I de-
clare I don't know what they 're gwine to do next. They 're
always organizing or. piano-fortin the schools, and now this
funny topy comes along to make 'em laugh, I s'pose, when
they ought to be getting their lessons. Sich levity is offal.
They do have sich queer notions, nowadays 1 I can't make
head nor tail of 'em, I 'm shore."

Concert Hall, Philadelphia. — We beg leave to recom-
mend this splendid room to all who wish to occupy it for
exhibitions of any kind, concerts, balls, lectures, &c. Mr.
Andrews, the lessee, is very attentive, and he is ably se-
conded by his right-hand man, Mr. Hood. In fact, polite-
ness to visitors by all concerned seems to be the ruling
feature.

The Eyelashes and Eyebrows. — In Circassia, Georgia,
Persia, and India, one of the mother's earliest cares is to
promote the growth of her children's eyelashes by tipping
and removing the Sue gossamer-like pointo with a pair
of scissors, when they are asleep. By repeating this every
month or six weeks, they become, in time, long, close,
finely curved, and of a silkly gloss. The practice never
fails to produce the desired effect, and it is particularly
useful when, owing to inflammation of the eyes, the lashes
have been thinned or stunted.

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

375

La Pierre ITouse. — The Boston " Olive Branch" says of
this magnificent hotel : —

uiLa Pierre House.' Such is the name of a new hotel
just opened in Philadelphia, of the most magnificent cha-
racter. As described in the '. Inquirer,' we should deem it
to surpass, in finish and in splendor of furnishment, the
regal glory of a palace. Hear how it describes one of the
suite of rooms : ' It consists of a parlor and chamber, is ex-
tremely beautiful, and furnished in the very richest possi-
ble manner, yet with a quietness and repose of taste that
are very pleasing and striking. The rooms are separated
by a rose-colored and white brocatelle curtain, intertwined
with a graceful drapery of lace, suspended from a golden
arch. The bedstead is of the richest carving in rosewood,
exquisitely adorned with rose and lace drapery, pendent
from an ornamental canopy above.' "

A circumstance of this kind could only happen in Paris,
and we somewhat doubt that it ever occurred there: —

On Thursday, a beautiful equipage was seen in the
Champs Elysees, containing an elderly gentleman and a
lady ; the latter, though her face was covered with a thick
,-eil. appeared to be young and handsome. The gentle-
man, an Englishman, Sir Edward , is said to be one

of the oddest and most eccentric fellows ever produced by
prolific Albion. A talented pianist was lately summoned
to bis house. His services were required for an evening
party, and a generous recompense was promised. The
nusician came early, and he was introduced into a spa-
cious drawing-room, where many persons were already as-
sembled. This apartment, which was magnificently fur-
nished, was but dimly lighted by two lamps, and scarcely
heated at all — the splendid fireplace, adorned with costly
bronzes, containing only a wretched fire, which cast a
sepulchral glare over the rich furniture. The host went
to meet the musician as soon as the footman had announced
him, and received him in a most flattering manner. A
lady, most sumptuously and elegantly dressed, was seated

on a sofa. " Allow me to introduce you to Lady , my

wife!" said Sir Edward. The musician made a profound
obeisance, which the lady, nevertheless, took no notice
of; she sat straight and immovable, and fixed an unearthly
gaze on the new-comer. There was another lady in an
arm-chair, leaning with her elbow on a round table, and
apparently reading a book with the greatest attention.
" My sister, Miss Emily," said Sir Edward. " Mademoi-
selle." said the pianist, with a bow; but in vain did he
repeat the word and the salutation to call the attention
of the young lady; she neither moved nor raised her eyes
from the book. " She has always loved reading very
much." said Sir Edward. " Rather more than politeness
would warrant!" thought the artiste to himself. The re-
mainder of the company consisted of five or six gentle-
men. The artiste observed, with astonishment, that all
these persons affected a strange immobility, just like the
lady and sister of Sir Edward. "Will you take a seat at
the piano?" said Sir Edward. "What do you wish me
to play?" asked the musician. " Shall I select the pieces,
or will madam have the kindness to point out some fa-
vorite morceaur' Miladi did not reply, and Sir Edward,
answering for her, said, " My wife and I have the same
taste in music, so play a piece of Mozart or Listz, and one
of your own compositions." "I will begin my own, there-
fore ; for after those masters mine would not be accept-
able!" modestly replied the artiste. The sofa on which
Miladi was seated was very near the piano, and placed in
.such a manner that the artiste had the lady opposite
him. He looked at her while he was playing, in order to
read in her countenance the impression which the music

might produce on her. The handkerchief which Miladi
held in her hand, having, after a while, fallen to the
ground, the musician rushed forward to pick it up : and,
in doing so, could not refrain from uttering an exclama-
tion of surprise. "What is the matter with you?' said
Sir Edward. "Oh, sir, the lady — the pretended lady!'"
'• Alas!" interrupted Sir Edward, " I only possess the iu>a re
of an adored wife!" And it was then explained that the
worthy baronet, being inconsolable for the loss of certain
friends, always travelled about with their image in wax !
A party of living friends afterwards assembled, and the
evening was spent very agreeably.

Housekeepers, look at this ; and, before you engage a
cook, inquire if she has a husband. This is an illustration

of that said husband going to the paternal abode, with
something to feed the young ravens, after having paid a
visit to his wife. It is simply " the husband of your cook
leaving your house."

Sound Reasoning — and, as such, will be recognized by
those who have been humbugged by the Brown and other
lecturers who have honored us with visits from abroad : —

Lectures vs. Boolcs. — Why a man should put on his over-
coat and comforter, and a woman wrap herself in furs,
mufflers, cloaks, and shawls, and the children bundle up,
to face a strong nor'-wester, and go out to hear a lecture
of dubious excellence, or a concert that, after all, is little
better than a bore, while at home a goodly array of philo-
sophers and poets, story-tellers and grand advisers, stand
waiting to offer their services ; yet not one of which looks
sad if his neighbor is preferred before him — this we would
wonder at, if it were not everybody's habit. If a man has
weak eyes, or his thoughts find no anchorage, and if he
cannot afford the luxury of a private reader, let him visit
the public lecture-room, and he can get much good from it.
Or if, for his sins, he has lost his home, let him go to the
concert and mortify himself. But we who have homes
cannot afford, first, the sacrifice of our home comforts, se-
cond, the loss of precious winter evening hours, and third,
the price of tickets, unless we know of a surety that they
will admit us to choice performances.

376

godey's magazine and lady's book.

SINGULAR INSCRIPTIONS ON TOMBSTONES.
On the Duke of Marlborough :—

Here lies John, Duke of Marlborough

"Who run the French through and through ;

He married Sarah Jennings, spinster,

Died at Windsor, and was buried at Westminster.

In St. Bennet's, Paul's Wharf, London :—
Here lies one More, and no more than he :
One More and no More ! how can that be ?
Why one More, and no more, may well lie here alone,
But here lies one More, and that is more than one !

From Broom Churchyard, England :—
God be praised !
Here is Mr. Dudley, senior,
And Jane, his wife, also,
Who, while living, was his superior ;

But see what death can do.
Two of his sons also lie here,

One Walter, t'other Joe ;
They all of them went in the year 1510 below

In St. Michael's Churchyard. Aberystwith, is another, to
the memory of David Davies, blacksmith : —
My sledge and hammer lay reclined,
My bellows, too, have lost their wind,
My fire 's extinct, my forge decayed,
And in the dust my vice is laid ;
My coal is spent, my iron gone,
My nails are driven — my work is done.

The following epitaph Is transcribed from one of the
local histories of Cornwall : —

« Father and mother and I,
Lies buried here as under,
Father and mother lies buried here,
And I lies buried yonder.

From Cunwallow Churchyard, Cornwall. [It may be
read cither backwards or forwards.]
Shall we all die?

We shall die all,

All die shall we—

Die all we shall.

In St. Germain's, in the Isle of Man, the following very
singular epitaph is yet to be seen, in Latin, over the tomb
of Dr. Samuel Rutter, formerly prebendary of Litchfield,
and afterwards Bishop of Sodor and Man : —

In this house,

Which I have borrowed from

My brethren, the worms,

lie I,

Samuel, by Divine permission,

Bishop of this island.

Stop, reader ;
Behold and smile at

THE PALACE OP A BISHOP !

who died May 30,

in the year

1653.

Some few Instructions in Crochet-Work, which may be
of use to some of our lady readers.

In the first instance, the crochet-hook should be very
smooth, made of fine steel, and fixed in handles. The
stitches used are chain, slip, single, double, treble, and long
treble crocluet.

Chain Stitch (eh) is made by forming a loop on the thread,
then inserting the hook, and drawing the thread through
the loop already made. Continue this, forming a succes-
sion of stitches.

Slip Stitch is made by drawing a thread at once through
any given stitch and the loop on the needle.

Single Crochet (sc). Having a loop on the needle, insert
the hook in a stitch and draw the thread through in a loop.
You have then two on the hook; draw the thread through
both at once.

Double Crochet (dc). Twist the thread round the hook
before inserting it in the stitch, through which you draw
the thread in a loop. There will then be three loops on
the hook ; draw the thread through two, and then through
the one just, formed and the remaining one.

Treble Crochet (tc), and Long Treble (long tc). are worked
in the same way; in treble the thread is put twice, in long
treble three, times, before inserting it into the stitch.

Square Crochet is also sometimes used. The squares are
either open or close. An open square consists of one dc,
two ch. missing two on the line beneath before making the
next stitch. A close square has three successive dc. Thus
any given number of close squares, followed by an open,
will have so many times three dc, and one over ; therefore
any foundation for square crochet must have a nunibci
that can be divided by three, having one over.

To contract an Edge. This may be done in dc, tc, or long
tc. Twist the thread round the hook as often as required,
insert it in the work, and half do a stitch. Instead of
finishing it, twist the thread round again, until the same
number of loops are on, and work a stitch entirely; so
that, for two stitches, there is only one head.

To join on a Thread. In joining, finish the stitch by
drawing the new thread through, leaving two inches for
both ends, which must be held in.

To use several Colors. This is done in single crochet.
Hold the threads not in use on the edge of the work, and
work them in. Change the color by beginning the stitch
in the old color and finishing it with the new, continuing
the work with the latter holding in the old. If only one
stitch is wanted in the new color, finish one stitch and be-
gin the next with it; then change.

To u FurV in Netting. Bring your thread forward, and
take up the inner side of the stitch, putting your needle
downwards in the stitch instead of upwards, as you do in
plain knitting.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

" W. J. M." — Cannot send the "Lady's Book" previous to
January, 1851. Wish we had the eight years to send you.

" Clara S." — Will find explanations of the abbreviations
of crochet terms in this number; also March number,
page 279; and in our May number we will give further
directions.

" L. M. II.'' — Sent you patterns by mail on 18th.

" Miss A. R." — Sent your hair bracelet on the 18th.

" Miss P. S."— Sent your ring and thimble on the 19th.

" 0. V. H." — Sent your gold pen on 19th.

"B. A. C." — Sent the cap patterns by mail on 19th.

"M. P. R." commits the common error of not dating
letter nor giving place of residence. The postmark, like
every other postmark, is illegible. One-half the letters
we receive have the same omissions, giving us a great deal
of trouble. We can supply the numbers: but how can wo
tell what the postage will be when we don't know their
destination? The price of the numbers will be 26 cents.
The communication was received too late for Mnreh num-
ber.

" Miss E. P." — Sent your patterns on 20th.

ENIGMAS.

377

"Graduate" is informed that he had better advertise in
the papers here for the situation he wants. There is no
other way of procuring it. We have used the masculine
in answering this, as " Graduate" omits letting us know
whether we are addressed by a male or female. If a fe-
male, why not write the first name in full, or prefix Mrs.
or Miss ?

" T. G. B."— Sent Rigolet by Adams's Express on 28th.

" C. C. D."— Sent Odd Fellows' Regalia by Adams & Co.

" Miss E. C. G."— Sent cotton on the 30th.

" J. W. K."— Sent jet cross on 30th.

" Miss C. R. L." — Sent apron pattern on the 2d.

"M, R. E. P."— Sent jacquette pattern 4th.

One of our subscribers wrote us upon the subject of cut-
ting dresses by our patterns. "We have mislaid the letter.
Will she please write again?

"Miss T."— Sent cotton by mail. The postage will be
expensive ; but cheaper than express.

" A. S. C;" — Sent dress on the 7th by mail.

" Miss D. H." — Sent patterns by mail on 7th.

"Helen." — Boots to button at the side for winter wear
are very fashionable here. Bronze or blue gaiter boots $3,
French kid slippers $1 50. Never heard of such a mono-
mania ; make him wear girl's clothing until he reforms.

"S. S. S." — Sent goods by mail (the cheapest way) on the
7th.

" T. S. II."— Sent Rapp's pen by mail on the 14th.

"Miss M. F." — Sent breastpin by mail on 14th.

"Mrs. J. A. C." — Wrote and sent you circular of prices
of Boardman & Gray's pianos.

" M. S. L." — Sent jewelry by mail on 18th.

"Bed Quilts." — Marseilles are almost invariably used
now. Of course, they are fashionable.

"J. S. B." — Too late for March number. Cannot furnish
" Lady's Book" from the commencement. We have only
as far back as 1851.

"Mrs. A. V. Du B." — Sent patterns by mail on 18th.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies them.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-
office stamp.

®l)c Borrower' 0 department. \

" The wicked borroioeth and payeth not again." $

The u Pennsylvania Trojan" says : " The present is de-

cidedly the best number, in point of illustrations, reading i

matter, paper, and typography, ever issued, and every way >
Worthy of the wide-spread reputation of L. A. Godey. We

cannot lend this number, to show it to our friends, for Mrs. >

M. has taken charge of it, and is copying some very pretty )

patterns of embroidery from it. However, she will take \
pleasure in displaying its beauties to you."

Sent you a duplicate of that prospectus sheet, friend ]

" Trojan." $

Good.— A letter from a Ky. editor: "I have about one
dozen borrowing subscribers, who all like your ' Book' re-
markably well, I presume, from their eagerness to get hold
of it. I have lost one or two of these, however, as they >
have sent on aud subscribed for themselves."

Don't lend, and we shall have the remainder of them
soon.

A letter from a lady in New York State : —
" Sir : I have endeavored to be as punctual as possible
hi making up my club for 1854. The ' Lady's Book,' with
its many charms, has become very necessary to our happi-
ness. I am gratified that there are a few ladies among us

32*

who are sufficiently endowed with a sense of the beautiful
and interesting to appreciate its worth. One of its admira-
ble traits is that it bears acquaintance well. That race of
beings who borrow everything they read is not extinct in
this vicinity. But that habit, like that of drinking ardent
spirits, is growing less, as decent people are ashamed to
practise it."

" No loss but what falls on my head." The " Advocate,"
Stamford, says : li By the way, if the individual who so un-
ceremoniously borrowed the August number will be kind
enough to return it. we shall be saved the necessity of
troubling Mr. Godey for a duplicate."

Of course, we had to send it.

One of our lady subscribers takes two copies of the " La-
dy's Book," so that she can have one to lend. Hard case ;
but it is the only way, she says, that she can secure a copy
for her own perusal. We would suggest to her to slip in
the copy proposals for a club of six. The price to each one
would only be $1 67 for a year's subscription.

(Enigmas.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN MARCH NUMBER.
9. Mist. 10. The letter G.

11. A windmill. 12. Faith, Hope, Charity.

ENIGMAS.
13.
The treasure that I render you

Surpasses any mine of gold ;

'Tis clear my sterling value, too,

Is far too precious to be sold.

My current stock your wants supplies,
Your draughts on me I liquidate,

Relieving your necessities,
And keeping solvent your estate.

In my transactions, though I 'm deep,
Still truth is e'er ascribed to me ;

And well continually I keep

With folks who use me prudently.

In banks, I never do intend
My " floating capital" to trust;

On firmer footing I depend,

And what I am would you be — just.

14.
I 'm able, by the aid of tea,

A banquet to support;
And when I :m following the sea,

Retain my ship in port :
But when effaced, then must I be

Fictitious in report.

15.
I 'm good for nothing, save when kept,

As many a soul can tell ;
And should exist conceal'd, except

'Gainst honor I rebel.

The happiness of many a heart

Will oft depend on me ;
Its ease, alas! will oft depart,

Whene'er I cease to be.

378

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

ft ex e t p 1 0, ^r(.

Cheap Contrivance for Filtering. — A very cheap and
good contrivance for filtering is to take a large garden
flower-pot, and lay in the bottom a piece of sponge, so as
to cover the hole. Upon this put a few smooth, clean
pebbles, to keep the sponge in its place, and fill up the
pot, to within two or three inches of the brim, with a
mixture of one part of powdered charcoal to two parts of
fine sharp sand. Then cover the top of the pot with a
piece of clean white flannel, tied tightly round the rim
with a twine, but so as to sink or swajT down in the cen-
tre. Set the flower-pot in a pan or tub, and pour the water
into the flannel, letting it filter through the charcoal, &c. ;
and, by the time it has passed through the sponge, and
come out at the bottom, it will be clear.

To Cleanse a Teakettle from Fur.— Heat the kettle
rapidly over a fire of shavings, having previously made it
quite dry. The expansion will separate the fur from the
metal, and it may then be easily removed.

To Remove Stains of Acids, &c. — Stains caused by acids
may be removed by tying some pearlash up in the stained
part; scrape some soap in soft cold water, and boil the
liuen till the stain is gone. Many stains may be removed
by dipping the linen in some sour buttermilk, and drying
it in a hot sun, washing it afterwards in cold water. It
may be found necessary to repeat this once or twice.

To take out Ironmould.— Wet the ironmould with water,
and then lay the linen on a hot water-plate and put on
the part a little essential salt of lemons. When it becomes
dry, wet it again, and renew the process, being particular
that the plate is boiling hot. Dip the liuen into a good
deal of water, and wash it as soon as the stain is removed,
to prevent any damage from the acid.

To Preserve Steel Pens. — Metallic pens may be preserved
from rusting by throwing into the bottle containing the
ink a few nails, or broken pieces of steel pens, if not
varnished. The corrosive action of the acid which the
ink contains is expended on the iron so introduced, and
will not therefore affect the pen.

French Polish. — To one pint of spirits of wine add a
quarter of an ounce of gum copal, a quarter of an ounce
of gum arabic, and one ounce of shellac. Let your gums
be well bruised, and sifted through a piece of muslin. Put
the spirits and the gums together in a vessel that can be
safely corked ; place them near a warm stove, and fre-
quently shake them. In two or three days they will be
dissolved; strain it through a piece of muslin, and keep it
tightly corked for use.

add to this half a pint of new milk. Put it over the fire till
it begins to thicken like custard, but do not let it boil ;
then add half a pint of very stiff calves-foot jelly. Strain
it through a napkin ; put in a pan placed on ice, a pint of
very rich cream, flavored or not, as you like, and whip it
until it looks like float; pour the cream into another dish,
and put the custard in the pan on the iee; stir it on the
ice with a paddle until it becomes thick like jelly ; then
add the cream very lightly. The mixture should look like
light sponge-cake before it is baked. A round tin pan
must be prepared with sponge-cake, called ladies' fingers,
placed around and at the bottom very evenly and closely ;
pour the charlotte in it, and place it on the ice till wanted.
When wanted, put a round dish or plate on it, and turn
it out. The bottom will then be at the top — and no cake
at the bottom.

Cream Hasty.— Take a gallon of milk from the cow, set
it on the fire, and when it begins to rise take it off the fire,
skim off all the cream and put it on a plate, then set the
skillet on the fire again and repeat the skimming till your
plate is full of cream ; put to it some orange flower and
sugar, and serve it.

Cream "au Naturel." — Take some thin cream, mind and
let it be fresh, and put it in a bowl on ice to cool ; add to
it powdered sugar, and serve it.

Cream, to Keep. — Cream already skimmed may be kept
twenty-four hours, if scalded without sugar; and, by add-
ing to it as much powdered lump sugar as w«ll make it
sweet, it will keep good two days in a cool place.

Curds and Cream.— With about half a table«poonful of
rennet, turn two quarts of milk just from the cow ; drain
off the whey, and £11 a mould with the curd ; when it has
stood an hour or two, turn it out. Strew colored comfits
over it, sweeten some cream, mix grated nutmeg with it,
and pour it round the curd.

Curds and Cream, as in Scotland. — Put two quarts of
new milk into the dish in which it is to be served, and
turn it with a teaspoonful of rennet; when the curd has
come, serve it with the cream in a separate dish.

Naples Curd. — Put into a quart of new milk a stick of
cinnamon, boil it a few minutes, take out the cinnamon,
and stir in eight well-beaten eggs and a tablespoouful of
white wine ; when it boils again, strain it through a sieve ;
beat the enrd in a basin, together with about half an ounce
of butter, two tablespoonfuls of orange-flower water, and
pounded sugar sufficient to sweeten it. Put it into a mould
for two hours before it is sent to table. White wine, sugar,
and cream may be mixed together and poured round the
curd, or it may be served in a sauce tureen.

D0MESTIC RECEIPTS.

CUSTARDS, CREAMS, JELLIES, AND BLANC

MANGE.

[Fourth article.']

Charlotte Russe. — Line the bottom of a plain round

mould with Savoy biscuits, placing them close together in

a star or some device; line the slides, placing the biscuits

edgewise, to make them form a compact wall ; put the

mould upon ice ; have ready a Crime au Marasquin, adding

a glass of brandy. Fill the mould as it stands on the ice,

and leave it till the time of serving, when turn it over

upon the dish and take off the mould.

Charlotte Russe. An easy way. — Mix with the yolks
of four eggs a quarter of a pound of sugar pounded fine, and

THE SICK ROOM AND NURSERY.

Cure for Squinting. — Squinting frequently arises from
the unequal strength of the eyes, the weaker eye being
turned away from the object, to avoid the fatigue of exer-
tion. Cases of squinting of long standing have often been
cured by covering the stronger eye. and thereby coui] oi-
ling the weaker one to exertion.

Scratches. — Trifling as scratches often seem, they ought
never to be neglected, but should be covered and protected,
and kept clean and dry until they have completely heale I
If there is the least appearance of inflammation, no time
should be lost in applying a large bread and water poultice,
or hot flannels repeatedly applied, or even leeches in pood
numbers may be put on at some distance from each other.

Cnitn-CabU (iojssip

THE HOUSEHOLD.

It is a long time ago since we rejoiced in the possession
of a new spelling-book, with a bright blue board cover (so
liable to get the corners chipped off), and learned from its
fascinating pages that ever-to-be-remembered lesson for the
household —

" Whatever brawls disturb the street,
There should be peace at home."

"What else of profit we gleaned from its double-columned
pages, our readers, or perhaps our printers, are the best
judges; but the poetic bit of family government, though
faded with years, comes out now and then feebly in re-
membrance, as sympathetic inks brighten by firelight. It
is at present recalled by a subject suggestive for this month's
chat, " the duties of an elder daughter at home," or, as we
would have it read, of " daughters at home." The mother
of a large family has had demands on her time, health,
aud spirits in their infancy, which they cannot understand
until they come to be situated in like manner, but certain
it is, and as the daughters grew up around her, she natur-
ally looks to them to aid her in the cares and responsibili-
ties of the home.

Of course, to all well-ordered governments there must
be one head, the centre of all action; but inferior officers
can ofttimes take the whole burden of petty detail. The
silver, the mending, the wash, must be seen to, and here
it might be a daughter's pleasant duty to see her mother's
instructions faithfully obeyed. How much better this,
than adding to the general discomfort and disorderly care-
less habits, and inconsideration or rudeness to the servants.
Then as regards her brothers — the daughter of the house-
hold has much to think of: to be considerate for their
comfort, to respect their feelings, to care for their amuse-
ment, to enter into their plans and pursuits. How many
a brother is driven to seek idle, expensive, and too often
vicious company from the lack of such sympathy at home!
And yet one so often hears — " brothers are so troublesome"
~-or, " we can't practice just to play for a brother" — or,
" the boys have their company, and I have mine." The
1< ;:te may not always be congenial, but good feeling and
genftla manners will accomplish far more than a sarcastic
repulse.

Thus, in course of time, the stepping-stones safely passed,
the girl becomes the young wife— housekeeper — mother —
fitted for the duties of her station, and therefore contented
with it, finding nothing harsh or irksome in domestic rou-
tine, and satisfied with the pleasures and enjoyments of
home. Far more likely to do so than she who leads a
careless, idle life as a girl — to become a fretful, discontented
wife, or neglectful mother.

Our Daily Paths! with thorns or flow'rs
We can at will bestrew them ;

What bliss would gild the passing hours,
If we but rightly knew them !

The way of life is rough at best,
But briers yield the roses,

So that which leads to joy and rest
The hardest path discloses.

The weeds that oft we cast away,

Their simple beauty scorning,
Would form a wreath of purest ray

And prove the best adorning.
So in our daily paths, 'twere well

To call each gift a treasure,
However slight, where love can dwell

With life-renewing pleasure I

LACES AND EMBROIDERIES.

We promised, in speaking of new caps, a paragraph in
our fashion chat on laces ; but, as that has its own mate-
rial, in discussing the merits of shapes and styles, we lay
our laces upon the centre-table instead.

We have now in preparation some very new and tasteful
designs for chemisettes, to be worn in mourning, every one
understanding that embroideries are laid aside with a
black dress. For the strictest styles, plain linen, cambric,
and Swiss muslin are worn ; but when silks or fringed
dresses are put on, fluted ruffles, edged with plain narrow
lace, on collars and open sleeves, are not out of taste, or
edges of needle- work in scallops and points.

Laces, or very thin muslin embroidery, will be worn this
summer; cambric, whether plain or embroidered, being
seen only in morning-dress. We speak to those who " dress
for dinner." There is a new style of lace, the Ma'.tese,
which is very heavy and apparently durable, somewhat re-
sembling Honiton, at about half its cost. It is very pretty
for caps, as seen in our design for the month. Heavy
laces are still in vogue; "Valenciennes and the still more
delicate and lady-like Mechlin have given place to them.
There is an Irish point occasionally to be met with, the
most durable of all, being of the purest linen thread. Col-
lars, or chemisettes, and undersleeves are worn to match.
Nothing is more untidy— save soiled muslins— than to see
cambric sleeves and a rich lace collar, or muslin sleeves
and English flouncing for a chemisette. Better to have
both of plain cambric or linen.

WASHING MADE EASY.

The truthfulness of the " Washing-Day" song, with its
disagreeable effects on the spirits and temper, has never
been questioned or doubted. For ourselves, our spirits fall
with the first rising of steam from the kitchen, and only
reach a natural temperature when the clothes are neatly
folded in the ironing-basket. If any of our club sympa-
thize with us, they will rejoice that a better day is at hand,
and consider the invention described below as full of the
deepest interest to our sex as housekeepers. The one thus
commented on is in use in the St. Nicholas Hotel, New
York :—

" A strong wooden cylinder, four feet diameter, and tour
and a half feet long, is mounted on a frame, so as to be
driven by a band on one end of the shaft. This shaft is
hollow, with pipes so connected with it that hot or cold
water, or steam, can be introduced at the option of the per-
son in charge. The cylinder being half full of water, a
door at one end is opened, and 300 to 500 pieces of clothing

379

3S0

godey's magazine and lady's book.

arc thrown in, with a suitable quantity of soap, and an
a kaline fluid which assists in dissolving the dirt and
bleaching the fabric, so that clothes, after being washed in
this manner, increase in whiteness without having the
texture injured.

" When the cylinder is changed, it is put in motion by a
small steam-engine, and made to revolve slowly, first one
way a few revolutions, and then the other, by which the
clothes are thrown from side to side, in and out. and through
the water. During this operation the steam is let in through
a double-mouthed pipe— somewhat of this shape, X — which
has one mouth in and one mouth out of water; the steam
entering the water through the immersed end, and escaping
through the other, by which means it is made to pass
through the clothes, completely cleansing them in fifteen
or twenty minutes. The steam is now cut off, and the hot
water drawn through the waste pipe, and then cold water
introduced, which rinses the articles in a few more turns
of the cylinder. They are now suffered to drain until the
operator is ready to take them out, when they are put into
the drying-machine, which runs like a millstone, and its
operation may be understood by supposing that millstone
to be a shallow tub, with wire network sides, against which
the clothes being placed, it is put in rapid motion ; the air,
passing in a strong current into the top and bottom of the
tub, and out of the sides, cauries all the moisture with it
into the outside case, from whence it runs away. The
length of time requisite to dry the clothes depends upon
the rapidity of the revolving tub. If it should run 3,000
revolutions a minute, five to seven minutes would be quite
sufficient. When there is not sufficient steam to run the
dryer with that speed, it requires double that. In washing
and drying, there is nothing to injure the fabric. Ladies'
caps and laces are put up in netting bags, and are not rub-
bed by hand or machine to chafe or tear them in the least,
but are cleansed most perfectly.

" It can readily be imagined what a long line of wash-
tubs would be required to wash 5,000 pieces a day, and
what a big clothes-yard to dry them in ; while here the
work is done by four persons, who only occupy part of a
basement-room, the other part being occupied by the man-
gle, and ironing and folding-tables. Adjoining are the air-
ing-frames, which are hung with clothes, and then shoved
into a room steam-pipe heated, when they are completely
dried in a few minutes.

" Small Family Machines. — Almost the first thought,
after witnessing the operation of this machine, was, can
washing be done upon the same principle in small fami-
lies? To our inquiries upon this point, we have received
the following satisfactory information : —

" For common family use, hand-machines are made to
cost from $40 to $50, with which a woman can wash fifty
pieces at a time, and complete 500 in a day without labor-
ing severely. For the purpose of washing, without driving
the machinery by steam, a very small boiler will be suffi-
cient. It is not necessary to have a head of water, as that
can be found in the cylinder, which can be turned by horse
or any other convenient power. The plan of cleansing
clothes by steam is not a new one; but it is contended by
the inventor that his process is an improvement upon all
heretofore applied to that purpose."

APPLE TONS'.

Appletons' is the very conspicuous gilt-lettered name of
a large brown-stone building just opened on Broadway,
New York, for the business purposes of this well-known
firm. It was built originally for a public library, but was

bought last spring by the present owners, and the lower
story has since been fitted up for them. Henceforth,
" Appletons' " will be one of the lions of Broadway.

It may not be a very flattering comparison, but one at
least easily understood — what " Stewart's" is to the woman
of fashion, or "Taylor's" to the gourmand, "Appletons' " is
now to the student or the book fancier. The design and
decorations are in perfect keeping with the business, the
very windows, deep set as they are, suggesting the alcoves,
with which it is lined, as in a public library. The ceiling
walls are ornamented in fresco, of quiet, yet cheerful tints,
fourteen Corinthian columns are the central support, and
these have the effect of Sienna marble. The book-casea
and shelving are of plain oak. The proportions and whole
interior effect are admirable; and here are to be found
everything that is bindable or readable, from superb Lon-
don editions of the classics to the last new school-book, in
its plain cloth cover.

A good hour's lounge would scarcely give a just idea of
the united elegance and utility of the new establishment ;
for the curious visitor should not neglect to glance at the
wholesale ware-room, occupying the warm, well-lighted
basement, which has its own " exits and entrances." its
own salesmen, attendants, and purchasers, and gives per-
haps a more just estimate of the immense business of the
firm. There is certainly nothing approaching to it in this
country or in England.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

We must enforce upon our correspondents the necessity
of being explicit in forwarding their addresses ; for we agree
with them in thinking it rather awkward for a young lady
to be addressed as M. S. Jones. Esq., or a married lady to
find herself suddenly divorced, and written to as Miss. But
how are we to help it? How is the editor, especially in the
haste and confusion of a correspondence the uninitiated
cannot imagine or comprehend, to discover from internal
evidence whether the said M. S. Jones is a noun masculine
or feminine, or, being feminine, to decide upon her state
and condition regarding the holy bonds of matrimony?
Let the letter read thus, and all doubt and misdirection are
at an end : —

" Dear Sir : Inclosed is $10 for the following subscription
to the Lady's Book. Miss M. S. Jones,

Dalton, Ohio"—
or Mrs., as the prefix may bp. That agreeable young lady
will not, in this case, have her feelings hurt by being ad-
dressed as Esq., and so supposed to belong to the Woman's
Right party, at least; nor we be obliged to waste, to us,
very valuable time, in reading letters of explanation or
writing notes of apology. Not to mention the two postage
stamps saved — a consideration; since, by Poor Richard's
rule of compound interest —

" A penny saved is two pence got."

"Mrs. Barnard." — Let your children wear aprons, by all
means. They are not out of fashion ; but, on the contrary,
new patterns are constantly being designed. See our
fashion article for the present month.

"A New Mamma" will find several editions of " Mother
Goose" in the market. One is contained in "Harry's Lad-
der to Learning," published by Evans & Brittan. one of the
best juveniles we know, as there are many excellent things
inclosed in its covers. It can also be had separate, postapt)
and all. for less than a quarter of a dollar. A more elabo-
rate edition, as full of clever designs as the Christmas-pie
of little Jack Horner was supposed to be of plums, is pub-
lished by John llund Smith, Loudon, under the title of the

rv\

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FASHIONS

881

' Nursery Hhymes of England." Also imported by Evans &
Bnttan. •

'• Miss A. B. L." can safely have her white and muslin
dresses for the ensuing season made with infants' waists.
If her figure is small and light, they cannot fail to be be-
coming ; and, for quite young ladies, the style never is out
of date.

" Mrs. P. L.," of Darien, Geo., can have her books by
package or mail. We add to our list for reading aloud,
".An Attic Philosopher in Paris: being the Journal of a
Happy Man," published by the Appletons. Its tone is
most genial and pure, entirely free from the French senti-
mentality that borders on frivolity, and, at the same time,
full of pathetic truths. For the children, we would par-
ticularly sommend " Our Little Comfort" and " Love's Les-
sons," both of which are admirable.

" Mrs. H." — An infant's skirt should not be over a yard
in length. Of course, the petticoats should be a hem
shorter, the flannel shortest of all.

" Miss Lizzie N."— See fashion article.

" Ellen" had better send an order for patterns, now that
they are so cheap— much cheaper than words.

Of the work that " Mrs. R." has asked our opinion as a
book for the family, we must be allowed to say that we
do not consider its morality to be pure, nor the sympathies
it arouses womanly. Dwelling on such scenes cannot do
the general good that some critics seem to expect from it.
We agree with them that " ignorance is not virtue ;" at the
same time, there is much to be dreaded in familiarizing
the innooent mind with the details of sin and wickedness.
" To the pure, all things are pure," again urges the spe-
cious moralist; but, alas for our nature that it should be
so ! the seeds of impurity are to be found in every earth-
born mind, only too ready to be developed. Poison the
mind, the imagination, and you open the flood-gates of in-
numerable temptations. Only too true is the lesson of a
sterner moralist —

"Vice is a monster of such frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;
But seen too oft, familiar with its face,
We first endure, then pity — then embrace."

We may seem to speak warmly on the subject, and thus
overstep our limits; but books that wrong, under a pre-
tence of virtue, are worst of all to be dreaded. Our sex are
more exposed to their influence than to any open tempta-
tion. Books are to us companions. They lie under our
pillows, and on the empty seat beside us ; they hide in our
work-baskets, or under the sofa cushion, to come forth at a
moment's notice; while, with men, they have but the
passing notice of an idle hour.

fas l)io us.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the.
Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute
commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge
of a small percentage for the time and research required.
Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn bonnets, dresses,
jewelry, bridal cards, cake-boxes, envelopes, etc. etc., will
be chosen with a view to economy, as well as taste ; and
boxes or packages fin-warded by express to any part of the
eountry. For the last, distinct directions must be given.

Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expendi-
ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., who will

be responsible for the amount, and tfie early execution of com-
missions.

No order will be attended to unless the money is first re-
ceived.

Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompani<Mi
by a note of the height, complexion, and general style of
the person, on which much depends in choice. Dress goods
from Levy's or Stewart's; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, froir
Brodie's, 51 Canal Street, New York; bonnets from Miss
Wharton's ; jewelry from Bailey's or Warden's, Philadel-
phia, or Tiffany's, New York, if requested.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION PLATE FOR
APRIL.

Fig. 1st. — Dinner-dress of rose-colored cashmere, the
flounces trimmed with velvet points of a rich dark brown ;
the opening in the front of the basque is made by laying
the corsage back from the shoulder to the line of the waist,
sloping the width gradually. Short wide sleeves trimmed
to correspond. Bonnet of rose-colored taffeta ribbon, with
a border and bands of pale green, tied with strings of the
same. The inside has a very full ruche of blonde, with a
single damask rose placed high up on the right side.

Fig. 2d. — Plain walking-dress of mode-colored silk, the
skirt entirely plain. The corsage is close and high, with a
short basque, trimming of black guipure lace and velvet
ribbon; the sleeves are opened on the back and forearm,
trimmed to correspond. Knots of velvet ribbon close the
corsage. White drawn bonnet, the brim very shallow, full
trimmed, the lace having blue crape convolvulus bells,.in-
termixed at irregular distances.

Cliild's dress of plain white cashmere, flounced; blue
cloak of full Talma pattern. White drawn bonnet, with
double wreath of daisies inside the brim.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR APRIL.

The month of April with us is principally devoted to
shopping; the changes of dress do not begin to be general
before May. although the preparations are, of course, made
at this time. The principal consideration of the month
would seem to be mantillas, scarfs, etc., bonnets, and the
making up of dresses.

For a large variety of styles, in the mantilla department,
we are indebted to Brodie, of New York, who ranks at the
head of this manufacture. In our next number, we shall
give a more detailed account of his large establishment,
entirely devoted to cloaks, mantillas, and scarfs. And
here we are bewildered with the variety, fci attempting to
select for our readers.

Although velvet is not in season, strictly speaking, we
must notice a scarf mantilla of royal purple, the rich and
costly fabric being decorated by embroidery, the design a
heavy wreath of grape leaves, purple clusters, and twining
tendrils. They are shaded with exquisite art. the leavers
and tendrils in different stitches, the clusters in rich rai.-ed
work, the effect of which it is impossible to describe.

A bridal scarf of rich embroidery on a white ground, as
pure as the bridal dress itself, is one of the next most cost-
ly importations. No other house uses so much embroidery
as Brodie, and we are assured by him that the French
needle-work, exquisite as it is, can be excelled in this
country. His establishment alone affords employment to
hundreds in this branch of female industry, through the
busy seasons of the year.

The woven embroidery now so much the style, where
bouquets, wreaths, etc., are brocaded on a plain ground, is

189

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

brought into service the present season. The Oriental
scarf we notice, as combining richness of material and
effect, with plainness of form and decoration. It has a
deep border of palm leaves in bright shades, gold predomi-
nating, on a plain ground of royal purple; the heavy
fringe is of the same hue. The form is the simple close-
fitting mantilla scarf.

Another style, destined to become a favorite from its
richness of effect, is composed of several flounces of black
guipure lace on a plain silk, deep blue, green, violet,
brown, etc. The lower one, much deeper than those on
the body of the mantle, falls over the dress, and that next
to the row which forms the upper finish follows the curve
of the shoulder. There is a spaoe between each the width
of the lace, and the several rows are headed by a box-
plaited ruche of narrow black satin ribbon. Another style
has bands of velvet ribbon an inch and a half in width,
placed lengthwise on the scarf, the ends falling over the
flounce of lace below. They are at a little distance apart,
and each is encircled or edged by a narrow row of lace
placed on flat, giving an effect at once elegant and novel,
which it would be impossible to describe by words. These
are a few of the leading spriug styles; and others less costly.
and in lighter fabrics, will be described in our extended
notice of Mr. Brodie's establishment.

For those who do not order their mantillas and scarfs
from the city direct, or who depend upon home manufac-
ture, we would advise them to send to Demorest, 67 Canal
Street, a few doors from Brodie's, for a set of patterns, and
make them up according to the very accurate idea given
by his styles. Here, again, we have several new varieties,
the establishment also importing direct from Paris. One
of very graceful shape has plaits at the back, as in tbe
cloaks of the past season, with a tablier, or scarf front pass-
ing around and forming a deep collar on the shoulder. All
the mantillas of the season, be it remarked, are very low
and open, to display the collar, chemisette, etc. Another,
of plainer scarf form, has a collar pointed in front, and a
shoulder-piece coming below it has the effect of a double
collar, ending in a bow of ribbon upon the shoulder. Still
another, especially suited for a matron, has a slight fulness
in the back, which is cut in the same piece as the front,
coming into a very low pointed yoke on the shoulder; the
collar corresponds in form and style. All Madame Demo-
rest's patterns are made in tissue paper, fitting to the
figure with the same grace as the real garment, and tho
trimmings are imitated with wonderful exactness.

Far several new sleeves, we are also indebted to the same
establishment, although the season is too early to admit of
a judgment as to what will be the prevailing styles.

The bonnets are all very small, with open shallow brims
and long low crowns. Tbe stiff round crown h.is entirely
gone out, and the ingenuity of the milliner is almost ex-
hausted in draping this very necessary part of the bonnet
in the most graceful way. Dress, or drawn bonnets are
made of silk and crape, with a profusion of ribbon and
lace; the bonnet itself seems of little consequei.ee, so that
the crown has a good shape, and the inside of the brim is
gracefully decorated. Our fashionable ladies have a re-
markable air of one-sidednesx in this respect. For instance,
a large bow of pink ribbon, set high up on the right, and
a drooping spray of flowers on the left, connected by blonde
or narrow laces of any kind. In wreaths running around
the face, one side is made heavier than the other, and con-
tinued so to the forehead, or crosses it perhaps, instead of the
old-fashioned well-balanced bouquets on each side, con-
nected by narrow wreaths at the top. White is the pre-
vailing color so far, with crape flowers in purple, with

bright green leaves, as lilacs, heartsease, convolvulns,
clusters of glycena, etc. etc. Delicate shades of pink,
green, violet, and blue are also seen ; lace, either blonde or
less costly styles, is used in all.

Of ribbons for straw bonnets we have endless varieties
of colors and patterns, brocaded, plaided, and plain. For
ourselves, we are no fanciers of a ribbon that at a little
distance looks like a strip of gay-colored chintz ; a rich,
thick satin, or Mantua, of one shade, is always more lady-
like, and sufficient variety can be found in the different
stripes, pearlings, etc. Gold brocaded ribbons— by brocaded,
we mean a raised figure upon a plain ground — are more
suitable for headdresses, or evening-dress, than the street.
They will be entirely out of place on a straw bonnet ; as
much so as a rich gimp or velvet trimming on a chintz
dress.

Silks, mousselines, and light spring cashmeres, indeed,
any fabric of like thickness, will be made, as in the past
winter, with basques, closed all around, over the hips, and
without the rolling-collar at the bust, which was so long
the style. The sleeves will be worn decidedly larger at the
top, even when they are not intended for puffs or plaits.
These open on the inside of the arm, and require to have
the seam set very far forward, so as to have the opening
fall away from the wrist. It is now the style to face a silk
sleeve far up with white Florence, and box-plait a white
satin ribbon about an inch in width around the inside
edge, no matter as to what the dress itself is trimmed
with; it gives a very stylish finish. Ribbons, galloons, and
frills of the same are the favorite trimmings, which, in all
cases save black, should match the shade of the dress ex-
actly. Black silks are much worn this spring, with ribbon
trimmings of deep purple, blue, green, and even crimson ;
the flounces are bound in this style, and the basque and
sleeve trimmings correspond. Bows of ribbon, medium
width, either flat or with flowing ends, close the basque
and sleeve openings on most of the new silks, etc. Gui-
pure lace is the richest and most costly of all, and conies
of every shade and width, ranging from 75 cents to $5 per
yard. The galloons are rich, light, and fanciful ; satin and
velvet, watered, pearled, etc.

Our May number, besides a more elaborate notice of Mr.
Brodie's establishment, will contain many items of great
interest in this department, as the openings are announced
for an early day. Fashiox.

(Hl)e utotlet.

To Extract Essences from Flowers.— Procure a quantity
of the petals of any flowers which have an ngree-able fra-
grance, card thin layers of cotton, which dip into the finest
Florence or Lucca oil, sprinkle a small quantity of fine
salt on the flowers, and lay a layer of cotton and one of
flowers alternately. xiutU an earthen vessel or wide-
mouthed glass bottle is full. Tic the top close with a blad-
der, then lay the vsssvl in a south aspect to the heat of the
sun, and in fifteeu days, when uncovered, a fragrant oil
may be squeezed away from the whole mass, quite equal to
the highly-valued otto of roses.

To Improve the Yoice.— Beeswax, two drachms ; oopnttta
balsam, three drachms; powder of liquorice-root, four
drachms. Melt the copaiba balsam with the wax in a new
earthen pipkin : when melted, remove them from the tiro,
and while in a melted state mix in tbe powder. Make
pills of three grains each. Two of these pills to be taken
occasionally.

^nprtng fur Cljtinjj.

A pattern of either of the above will be sent on receipt of 62^ cents. Post-office stamps received in paymeut.
These patterns are exact counterparts of the original, with trimmings, etc. (Description on page 457.)
VOL. XLVIII. — 33

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392

THE ALBUERA.

[From the establishment of G. Buodie, No. 51 Canal Street, New York.]
(For description, sea page 458.)

GODEY'S

PHILADELPHIA, MAY, 1854.

EVERYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XIX.

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER.

PAINTING ON VELVET.

Numerous inquiries have been addressed to
us for some instructions in the elegant art of
painting on velvet, and we have at length pre-
pared an article on the subject, which, we think,
will satisfy our readers. Papers on ornamental
work are exceedingly useful, when, by the aid
of practical experience, they convey simple and
precise directions which can easily be learned.

Formula 1.

Among the various accomplishments of the
present day, no fancy work is perhaps more ele-
gant, produces a better effect, and is, at the same
time, more easily and quickly performed, than
painting on velvet. Possessing all the beauty of
color of a piece of wool-work, it is in every way
superior, as the tints used in this style of paint-
ing do not fade ; and an article, which it would
take a month, at least, to manufacture with the
needle, may be completed, in four or six hours,
on white velvet, with the softest and most finish-
ed effect imaginable. Another recommendation
greatly in favor of this sort of work is, that it
does not require the knowledge of drawing on
the part of the pupil, being done with formulas,
somewhat in the manner of the old Poonah

paintings, except that in this case the colors are
moist. If these formulas be kept steady, a fail-
ure is next to impossible.

The first thing necessary to be done, after ob-
taining the colors and the velvet (which should
be cotton, or more properly velveteen, as most
common cotton velvets are not sufficiently thick,
and silk velvet, besides the expense, is not found
to answer), is to prepare the formula for the
group intended to be painted. Get a piece of
tracing or silver paper the size of the cushion,

Formula 2.

mat, or screen you wish to paint, then lay it
carefully upon the group you wish to copy, and
trace through. Should the paper slip, the for-
mula will be incorrect; it will therefore be well
to use weights to keep all flat. Having traced
your flowers, remove the thin paper, and laying
it on a piece of cartridge paper the same size, go
over the pencil marks by pricking them out
with a fine needle, inserted in a cedar stick.
Now that you have your whole pattern pricked
out clearly upon a stiff paper, take eight or nine
more pieces of cartridge paper, of the same size
as the first, and laying them one by one, in turn,
under the pricked pattern, shake a little pow-
dered indigo over, and then rub with a roll of list
or any soft material. The indigo, falling through

393

39-i

godey's magazine and lady's book

the punctures, will leave the pattern in blue spots
on the sheets of paper beneath ; then proceed in
like manner with the remaining formulas until
you have the selfsame pattern, neatly traced, in
blue dots on them all. Next, with a sharp pen-
knife, you must cut out the leaves, petals, and
caliccs of the group, taking care to cut only a few
on each formula, and those not too near together,
lest there should not be sufficient room to rub
between the spaces, and that, for instance, the
green tint intended for the leaf should intrude
on the azure or crimson of the nearest con-
volvulus; for it must be kept in mind that in
this sort of work erasure is impossible.

The foregoing diagrams will show how the
formulas should be cut, so as to leavre proper
spaces, as above mentioned. The shading de-
notes the parts cut out.

Some leaves may be cut out in two halves, as
the large ones in the pattern ; others all in one,
as the small leaf: but it is chiefly a matter of
taste. The large leaves should, however, gene-
rally be divided. In each formula there should
be two guides — one on the top of the left-hand
side, the other at the bottom of the right-hand
corner — to enable the formulas always to be
placed on the same spot in the velvet. For in-
stance, as in Formula 2, A and B are the two
guides, and are parts cut out, in Formula 2, of
loaves, the whole of which were cut out in
No. 1 ; and therefore, after No. 1 is painted, and
No. 2 applied, the ends of the painted leaves
will show through, if No. 2 be put on straight ;
if, when once right, the formula is kept down
with weights at the corners, it cannot fail to
match at all points. Care should, however, be
taken never to put paint on the guides, as it
would necessarily leave an abrupt line in the
centre of the leaf. While cutting out the for-
mulas, it is a good plan to mark with a cross or
dot those leaves which you have already cut out
on the formulas preceding, so that there will be
no confusion. When your formulas are all cut,
wash them over with a preparation made in this
manner: Put into a wide-mouthed bottle some
resin and shellac — about two ounces of each are
sufficient ; on this pour enough spirits of wine
or naphtha to cover it, and let it stand to dissolve,
shaking it every now and then. If it is not quite
dissolved as you wish it, add rather more spirits
of wine ; then wash the formulas all over on both
sides with the preparation, and let them dry.
Now taking Formula No. 1, lay it on the white
velvet, and place weights on each corner to keep
it steady; now pour into a little saucer a small
quantity of the color called Saxon green, shaking
the bottle first, as there is apt to be a sediment;

then take the smallest quantity possible on your
brush (for, if too much be taken, it runs, and
flattens the pile of the velvet; the brush should
have thick, short bristles, not camel-hair, and
there ought to be a separate brush for each tint:
they arc sold with the colors). Now begin on
the darkest part of the leaf, and work lightly
round and round in a circular motion, taking
care to hold the brush upright, and to work
more, as it were, on the formula than on the vel-
vet ; should you find the velvet getting crushed
down and rough, from having the brush too
damp, continue to work lightly till it is drier,
then brush the pile the right way of it, and it
will be as smooth as before. Do all the green
in each formula in the same manner, unless there
be any blue-greens, when they should be ground-
ed instead, with the tint called grass-green.

Next, if any of the leaves are to be tinted red.
brown, or yellow, as Autumn leaves, add the
color over the Saxon green, before you shade
with full green, which will be the next thing to
be done; blue-green leaves to be shaded also
with full green. Now, while the green is yet
damp, with a small camel-hair pencil vein the
leaves with ultramarine. The tendrils and stalks
are also to be done with the small brush. You
can now begin the flowers : take, for instance,
the convolvulus in the pattern. It should be
grounded with azure, and shaded with ultrama-
rine (which color, wherever used, should always
be mixed with water, and rubbed on a palette
with a knife) ; the stripes in it are rose-color, and
should be tinted from the rose saucer. White
roses and camellias, lilies, &c, are only lightly-
shaded with white shading ; and if surrounded by
dark flowers and leaves so as to stand out well,
will have a very good effect.

Flowers can easily be taken from nature in
the following manner: A A, D D, is a frame

of deal, made light, and about two feet long, and
eight or ten inches in width. The part D D is
made to slide in a groove in A A, so that the
frame may be lengthened or shortened at plea-
sure. A vertical frame, C, is fixed to the part
D, and two grooved upright pieces, B B, fixed to
the other part. These uprights should be about

INTERESTING DISCOVERY AT JERUSALEM.

395

is also a piece of wood at the end A of the frame,
marked D, with a small hole for the eye, and
there is a hole in the top C opposite to it. S is a
piece of glass, sliding in the grooves in B B. In
the hole H is placed the flower or flowers to he
copied. If a group is wished, more holes should
be made, and the flowers carefully arranged.
The eye being directed to this through the hole
in E, it can be sketched on the glass by means
of a pencil of lithographic chalk. It is after-
wards copied through by slipping the glass out,
laying it on a table, and placing over it a piece
of tracing-paper. When traced on the paper,
proceed as before to make the formulas.

Of course, so delicate a thing as white velvet
will be found at length to soil. When this is
the case, it can be dyed without in any way
injuring the painting. Dye in this manner :
Get an old slate-frame, or make a wire frame j
add to it a handle, thus ; then tie over it a net-

work of pack-thread ; next, cut a piece of card-
board the exact size of your group, so as com-
pletely to cover it, the edges of the cardboard
being cut into all the ins and outs of the outer
line of the group ; then placing it carefully
over the painting, so as to fit exactly, lay a
weight on it to keep it in place. Then dip a
large brush into the dye, hold the frame over
the velvet (which should be stretched out flat —
to nail the corners to a drawing-board is best),
and by brushing across the network, a rain of
dye will fall on the velvet beneath. Do not let
the frame touch the velvet; it should be held
some little way up. Then just brush the velvet
itself with the brush of dye, to make all smooth,
and leave the velvet nailed to the board till it
is dry. Groups, whether freshly done, or dyed,
are greatly improved, when perfectly dry, by
being brushed all over with a clean and rather
soft hat-brush, as it renders any little rough-
ness, caused by putting on the paint too wet,
completely smooth and even as before. Music-
stools, the front of pianos, ottomans, banner-
screens, pole-screens, and borders for table-
cloths, look very handsome when done in this
manner.

INTERESTING DISCOVERY AT
JERUSALEM.

The following, from a letter dated Jerusalem,
May 16, 1853, has been sent by Mr. James Cook
Richmond, for publication. " I was spending a
couple of days in Artas, the hortus clusus of the
monks, and probably the 'garden inclosed' of the
Canticles, when I was told there was a kind of
tunnel under the Pool of Solomon. I went and
found one of the most interesting things that I
have seen in my travels, and of which no one
in Jerusalem appears to have heard. I men-
tioned it to the British Consul, and to the Rev.
Mr. Nicolayson, who has been here more than
twenty years, and they have never heard of it.
At the centre of the eastern side of the lowest
of the three pools, there is an entrance nearly
closed up ; then follows a vaulted passage some
50 feet long, leading to a chamber about 15 feet
square and 8 feet high, also vaulted ; and from
this there is a passage, also arched, under the
pool, and intended to convey the water of a
spring, or of the pool itself, into the aqueduct
which leads to Jerusalem, and is now commonly
attributed to Pontius Pilate. This arched pass-
age is six feet high, and three or four feet wide.
Each of the two other pools has a similar arched
way, which has not been blocked up, and one of
which I saw by descending first into the rectan-
gular well. The great point of interest in this
discovery is this : It has now been thought for
some years that the opinion of the invention of
the arch by the Romans has been too hastily
adopted. The usual period assigned to the arch
is about B. C. 600. We thought we discovered a
contradiction of this idea in Egypt, but the pre-
sent case is far more satisfactory. The whole of
the long passage of 50 feet, the chamber 15 feet
square, the two doors, and the passage under the
pools in each case, are true ' Roman' arches, with
a perfect keystone. Now, as it has never been
seriously doubted that Solomon built the pools
ascribed to him, and to which he probably refers
in Ecclesiastes ii. 6, the arch must of course
have been well known about or before the time
of the building of the first temple, B. C. 1012.
The 'sealed fountain,' which is near, has the
same arch in several places ; but this might have
been Roman. But here the arched ways pass
probably the whole distance under the pools,
and are therefore at least coeval with them, or
were rather built before them, in order to con-
vey the water down the valley What I saw
convinced me that the perfect keystone Roman
arch was in familiar use in the time of Solomon,
or 1,000 years before the Christian era."

A BLOOMER AMONG US.

Y PAULINB FORSYTH.

" There was a general -whisper, toss, and wriggle,
But etiquette forbade them all to giggle."— Byron.

<: The outward forms the inner man reveal." — Holmes.

Throughout all the Union, there is no region
more full of an abounding life and activity than
western New York. Its people, inheriting from
their New England ancestors their unresting
energy in all practical affairs, and their habits
of keen and close investigation in everything
connected with their social or moral develop-
ment, seem, in a great measure, to have laid
aside the conservatism, the wary circumspection
that the descendant of the Puritans has still re-
tained. Enjoying the gifts of nature bestowed
with a more bounteous hand and a freer mode
of life, they have thrown ofFmany of the shackles
or restraints with which the worldly prudence
of the New Englander hampers him in action,
however loose he may suffer the reins to lie on
his mind or fancy ; but, whatever result his rea-
son or benevolence works out, a genuine New
Yorker would exemplify in his conduct, with a
high disdain for all who suffered the baser mo-
tives of prudence or fear of censure to withhold
them from the same course.

The people of that section of the country are
so accustomed to see the singular theories, that
are only talked about in other places, carried
out into action by their zealous promulgators or
defenders, that the eccentricities that, in most
country villages, would throw all the people
into a high state of astonishment, and supply
them with a topic of conversation for months,
there only causes a gentle ripple over the sur-
face of society ; or, to give a truer illustration,
the waves there are always rolling so fast and
high, that one wave more or less makes but lit-
tle impression.

But when, from this unquiet ocean, a Bloomer
was left stranded on the still shores of our quiet
little town of Westbridgc, our dismay and agita-
tion can be but faintly described. Socially speak-
ing, propriety is our divinity; Mrs. Grundy, our
avenging deity. We frown on short sleeves ;
but when those short skirts were seen waving
in our streets, when they even floated up the
broad aisle on the Sabbath, it would be hard to
396

say whether indignation or horror were the pre-
dominant feeling.

But, to begin at the beginning, as is in all
cases most proper and satisfactory, Jane Atwood
announced at our Sewing Society, and Mrs. At-
wood mentioned, in the course of a round of
calls, that they were expecting Miss Janet Mc-
Leod, a niece of the late Mr. Atwood, to pass
the winter with them. We all knew Mr. Mc-
Leod by reputation, for Mrs. Atwood was very
proud of her relationship to him, and references
to her brother-in-law were frequently and com-
placently made. We had seen him, too, when
now and then he had passed a day with the At-
woods — he never found time to stay in West-
bridge more than a day — and were astonished to
find that the rich Mr. McLeod, who had been
for some time a sort of a myth among us, a
Westbridge Mrs. Harris, was a plain, homespun-
looking man, with a comely sun-browned face,
white hair, and the kindest and most trusting
brown eyes in the world. His manners were
hearty and genial, but their simplicity prevented
him from making a great impression on us ; we
like more courtliness and a little more formality.
His benevolence and uprightness, together with
his immense wealth, procured for him among us
that degree of consideration which such things
always do procure among the numerous class
who take the world as they find it, and we dis-
missed him with the remark that, though plain
and unpolishod in his manners, he possessed
sterling goodness and sound sense.

This last quality might not have been allowed
him, if Mrs. Atwood had not been careful in
concealing, as far as possible, the peculiar reve-
lations he made in each visit of his reigning en-
thusiasm.

" That Mr. McLeod is a very strange man,"
said Mrs. Atwood's nurse to a former employer
of hers. " Do you know, ma'am, he spent sill
yesterday pulverizing Miss Jane! Miss Jane
went sound asleep, and I thought in my heart
she would never wake up no more."

It was found out afterwards that Jane Atwood
had been undergoing some experiment in mes-
merism, which, although Mr. McLeod declared
them triumphantly successful, Mrs. Atwood was

A BLOOMER AMONG US.

397

rather inclined to conceal than converse about.
This was on Mr. McLeod's first visit. On his
second, he found Mrs. Atwood suffering from
an attack of rheumatism. He pulled out of a
capacious pocket-book two galvanic rings, which
he insisted on her wearing ; and, for fear that
they might not effect so speedy a cure as he
wished, he hastened to the city and returned
with a galvanic battery, by means of which he
gave his sister-in-law such severe shocks that
she assured us often " that her nervous system
was entirely shattered by them." But, as I have
known many ladies live and get a fair proportion
of enjoyment out of this life with their nervous
systems in the same dilapidated state, T have
come to consider it a very harmless complaint.

At another time, Mr. McLeod had wonderful
stories to tell of spiritual manifestations, and on
his last visit he had been overflowing with in-
dignation against society on the score of wo-
man's rights and wrongs.

Yet, notwithstanding these peculiarities, Mrs.
Atwood loved and esteemed Mr. McLeod with
a sincerity that redeemed her otherwise worldly
and timid character. Her husband had been
left dependent on his half brother, and owed to
him his education and his establishment in the
world ; and, when a fortune was left by some
relation of their mother to be equally divided
between them, Mr. McLeod refused to take any
portion of it, saying that he had more than
enough. These, with many other instances of
his generosity and affection which Mrs. At-
wood had received since her widowhood, made
her forget his eccentricities, and listen with for-
bearance to his impetuous outbursts of zeal or
indignation.

There was another person in Westbridge who
shared Mrs. Atwood's affectionate gratitude to
Mr. McLeod, and from similar causes; and this
was Professor Mainwaring. He was the profes-
sor of ancient languages in the college at West-
bridge, and the society of the place, as well as
the members of the college, thought it a high
honor to be able to number such a man as one
of themselves. He combined, in a manner that
is seldom seen, the high-bred gentleman with
the accomplished scholar and the strict and se-
vere theologian, for he was a clergyman as well
as a professor ; and when to this it is added that
he was sail unmarried, it will hardly be won-
dered at if he were an object of general atten-
tion, carefully restrained though within its pro-
per limits.

He also had been indebted in early life to Mr.
McLeod ; for, although brought up in the ha-
bits, and with the expectation of being a rich
vol. xlviii. — 34

man, he found himself in the second year of his
college life left, by the sudden death of his
father, Judge Mainwaring, entirely destitute.
With no friends who were able or willing to
assist him, George Mainwaring was about to
give up reluctantly all hopes of completing the
studies in which he had so far been eminently
successful, and had already begun to look about
for some means of obtaining a present support.
when Mr. McLeod heard of his position, and.
with the prompt and delicate generosity peculiar
to him, came forward with offers of assistance.
He claimed a right, as an old friend of George
Mainwaring's father, to interest himself in the
young student's welfare ; and, with some hesi-
tation, such as every independent mind natural-
ly feels, Mr. Mainwaring accepted the offered
aid.

The pecuniary obligation had long since been
repaid, but the feeling of gratitude to the one
who had enabled him to pursue the career befct
fitted to the bent of his mind remained in full
force ; and, from the influence of this feeling,
he had been induced to make an offer to Mr.
McLeod, which was the immediate occasion of
Miss McLeod's visit to Westbridge.

Mr. McLeod had been for some years devoting
himself spasmodically to the study of Revela-
tions. He fancied that he had discovered the
clue to the meaning of many of the most myste-
rious parts of this book; but, unfortunately,
there were many little discrepancies between his
ideas and those apparently conveyed by the
words of this part of Holy Writ. These he at-
tributed to a faulty translation, and had himself
begun one that was to be free from such blem-
ishes ; but, finding that his knowledge of the
language was insufficient, or that his patience
was soon exhausted, he determined that his
daughter Janet should qualify herself to perform
this office for him.

She would have undertaken to learn Chinese,
if her father had expressed a wish to that effect,
and therefore made no opposition to studying
Greek, nor to passing the winter in Westbridge
with her aunt, that she might avail herself of
the proposal Mr. Mainwaring had made to her
father, that he should be her instructor. Miss
McLeod had' never been in Westbridge, and Mr.
Mainwaring had never happened to meet her.
He knew that she was a young lady of eighteen,
and that, since her mother's death, some three
years before, she had devoted herself entirely to
making her father's home as comfortable and
happy as possible. Her filial affection had pre-
possessed him very much in her favor, and he
looked forward to aiding her in her studies with

398

godey's magazine and lady's book.

an unusual degree of pleasure. Jane Atwood,
too, was delighted at the prospect of renewing
ah acquaintance that had languished since her
childhood.

Mr. McLeod was prevented, by some of his
numerous engagements, from accompanying his
daughter to Westbridge, as he had intended ; and,
placing her under the care of an acquaintance
who was on his way to the city of New York, he
telegraphed to Professor Mainwaring a request
that he would meet Miss McLeod at the West-
bridge depot.

The cars arrived about twilight, and, punc-
tually at the appointed time, Mr. Mainwaring
and Miss Atwood stood on the platform waiting
for the stopping of the train. The young lady
looked in vain among the group that sprang
hurriedly out of the cars to find one that she
could recognize as her cousin. Mr. Mainwar-
ing scrutinized the crowd with a like purpose,
but as fruitlessly. Their attention was arrested
at the same moment by the same object — the
singular attire of a person leaning on the arm of
an old gentleman, who was looking around him
evidently greatly hurried and perplexed. Mr.
Mainwaring gave but one glance, and then
looked away, apparently considering the indi-
vidual hardly a proper subject of curiosity; but
Jane Atwood, less scrupulous, stood gazing so
absorbed in what she saw that she entirely for-
got her cousin.

The person who thus attracted her notice was
a small and youthful woman, dressed in a sort
of sack or paletot of black cloth, belted around
her waist and falling a little below the knee,
and loose trowsers of the same material ga-
thered into a band around the ankle, leaving
exposed a small foot encased in thick-soled, but
neatly-fitting gaiter boots. A linen collar tied
around the throat with a broad black ribbon, and
a straw bonnet and veil, completed the attire.

" That must be a Bloomer, Mr. Mainwaring,"
said Jane Atwood ; " do just look at her. I am
very glad she happened to come in this train. I
have always wanted to see one."

" Indeed !" said Mr. Mainwaring, in a tone
that expressed more surprise than approval.
" Do you see your cousin anywhere, Miss At-
wood?" asked he, after a moment's pause.

She replied in the negative.

" Allow me to leave you a moment, and I
will make some inquiries." And, after attend-
ing Miss Atwood to the ladies' saloon, the pro-
fessor hurried off to inquire after his charge.

Hardly had he gone before the old 'gentleman
and the Bloomer entered.

"Excuse me, ma'am," said the gentleman,

addressing Miss Atwood ; " but I am afraid to
wait here any longer, for fear the cars will leave
me, and I promised Mr. McLeod I would see
his daughter safely to her friends. Do you know
whether Professor Mainwaring is here to meet
her?"

" Yes, he is," said Miss Atwood, with a sud-
den misgiving. " Is — is — is this — person — lady
— Miss McLeod?" Miss Atwood could hardly
finish the question.

The Bloomer threw back her veil, and said,
somewhat timidly —

" Is this Miss Atwood — Cousin Jane ?"

Miss Atwood bowed, and the old gentleman,
saying, " I am glad you have found your friends,"
hurried off.

There were a few moments of embarrassed
silence, when Professor Mainwaring reappeared.

" Miss McLeod cannot be in this train," said
he. " Shall we wait here for the next ? It will
be down in an hour."

" This is Miss McLeod, Professor Mainwar-
ing," said Miss Atwood, hardly conscious of the
ungracious manner in which she effected the
introduction.

Mr. Mainwaring bowed with his usual cere-
monious politeness ; but he said not a word, and
his lips closed with a firmer compression than
usual. He was too indignant and astonished to
speak. He wondered if his old benefactor had
quite lost his senses that he should permit his
young daughter to go about dressed in that out-
rageous costume. And he did not see with what
propriety he, the guide and controller of more
than a hundred young men, who required all
the power of his example and authority to keep
them in proper order, could be asked to teach,
or in any way have his name connected with
that of a Bloomer. He was more than half in-
clined to walk away ; but, restraining himself,
he observed that the carriage was waiting, and
had instinctively half turned to Miss McLeod to
offer her his arm, but, catching another glimpse
of the costume, in itself a sort of a declaration
of independence, and remembering having seen
a number of students lingering around the de-
pot, he bowed hastily and led the way to the
carriage.

Miss McLeod's manner had all the time been
very composed and quiet. She could not help
observing that her greeting was not a very warm
one ; but this was her. first absence from home,
and her thoughts were so full of those she had
left behind that she was not fully conscious of
all that was passing around her. She seated
herself in the carriage, and, after answering the
few formal questions addressed to her by her

A BLOOMER AMONG US.

399

companions, she sank with them into a silence
that remained unbroken until they reached Mrs.
Atwood's door.

Declining Miss Atwood's invitation to walk
in, Professor Mainwaring bade them good-even-
ing-, murmuring something hastily about seeing
Miss McLeod again soon, and walked off, glad
to be released even for a moment from his dis-
tasteful duty of attendance.

Miss Atwood ushered her companion into the
drawing-room, and then went to seek her mo-
ther. She found her in the kitchen giving di-
rections to a new cook about the preparations
for tea. She beckoned her into the dining-
room.

" She 's come, mother," said Jane, with wide-
open eyes.

" Yes, dear, I know it. Go and stay with
her ; I will come in in a minute."

" She 's a Bloomer !" continued Jane, unheed-
ing the maternal bidding.

6i You don't say so, Jane ! What ! little Janet
a Bloomer! Oh, Jane!" And Mrs. Atwood
sank down on the nearest seat. This was worse
than the galvanic battery. Her nervous system
gave way entirely, and she burst into a flood of
tears. " I cannot go in to see her," said Mrs.
Atwood. "I don't think I can have her here in
my house with my children."

" Oh yes, mother, we must," said Jane ; "re-
member how kind uncle McLeod has always
been to us. Don't be so distressed about it.
Perhaps we can induce her to change her style
of dress."

While Jane was endeavoring to soothe her
mother, Janet McLeod had been trying to over-
come the shyness of two little children whom
she had found in the drawing-room. She was
telling them about a pony and a dog she had at
home, when the boy raised his head and asked,
with the straightforwardness of a child —

" Who are you ?"

" I know," said the little girl, shaking her
head with a very wise look.

" Do you ? Who am I ?" asked Janet, amused
by her earnest manner.

" I don't like to tell oo ; but I '11 tell Tarley,
if he '11 bend down his head."

Charley bent his head, and the child said, in
a loud whisper —

"That's the little ooman that went to market
to sell her eggs ; don't oo see?"

" Are you ?" asked Charley.

" No ; I am your cousin Janet."

" Oh, I always thought Janet was a girl's
name. I am glad you are a boy. I like boys a
great deal the best."

Here Charley was interrupted by his mother's
entrance. Mrs. Atwood had composed herself,
and had come to the conclusion that she might
as well make the best of it. She greeted Janet
in a manner rather constrained and embarrassed,
and yet not cold enough to be wounding ; and
this she thought was doing wonders.

The next day was Sunday, and Mrs. Atwood
saw, with dismay, Janet preparing to go to church
in the same attire.

" Have you no long dresses that you could
wear to-day, my dear?" she asked. " We are so
unaccustomed here to see anything of that kind,
that I am afraid it will attract more attention
than you would like."

" No," replied Janet, with a composure that
was not a little irritating to Mrs. Atwood, "I
did not bring any with me. I promised father
that I would wear this dress at least a year."

Jane Atwood had a convenient headache,
which prevented her from accompanying the
rest of the family to church, and Mrs. Atwood
had to bear the whole brunt of the popular
amazement and curiosity, as, followed by a
Bloomer, she made her entrance among the as-
sembled congregation. The walk up the aisle
was accomplished with a flurried haste, very
unlike the usual grave decorum on which Mrs.
Atwood piqued herself, and, slipping into her
pew, she sat for some minutes without venturing
to raise her eyes.

Miss McLeod did not share her aunt's pertur-
bation. She appeared, in fact, hardly conscious
of being an object of general remark, but ad-
dressed herself to the duties of the sanctuary
with a countenance as calm and tranquil as a
summer's day. A very sweet and rural face she
had, as unlike her startling style of dress as
anything could well be. Having always lived
in the country, surrounded by an unsophisticated
kind of people who had known her from her
infancy, and loved her for her father's sake as
well as her own, and who, reverencing Mr.
McLeod for his noble and kindly traits of cha-
racter, looked upon his many crotchets as the
outbursts of a generous, if an undisciplined na-
ture, Janet had never learned to fear the criticism
or the ridicule of the unsympathetic world.

Like most persons brought up in the sheltered
seclusion of the country, far away from the
bustle and turmoil of the city, where every fa-
culty is kept in activity by the constant demand
upon its attention, her mind was slow in its
operations, and her perceptions were not very
quick. At ease in herself, because convinced
by her father's advice and persuasions that she
was in the path of duty, she hardly observed the

400

godey's magazine and lady's book.

istonishmcnt a»d remark of which she was the
ibjeot What Bulwer Lylton calls "the broad
glare of the American eye" fell upon her as in-
effectually as sunshine on a rock.

With a disposition naturally dependent, and
inclined to believe rather than to doubt and
examine for herself, she had grown up with such
a deep reverence for her father, and with such
an entire belief in him, that the idea of question-
ing the propriety or soundness of his opinions
never entered her mind. It was hard labor for
me so practical and unimaginative as Janet to
follow up the vagaries of a man like Mr. Mc-
Leod, and it was one of the strongest proofs of
her great affection for him, that she had laid
aside her own correct judgment and good sense
to do so.

That same evening Mrs. Atwood had a long
conversation with Miss McLeod about her dress.
It was a disagreeable task to one of Mrs. At-
wood's timid disposition to find fault with any
person ; but she thought it a duty she owed to
her motherless niece, at least, to expostulate with
her about so great a singularity.

" Will you tell me, my dear," she said, " how
you came to adopt that costume?"

" It was my father's wish," Janet replied.
"He was convinced that it was a much more
sensible and useful mode of dress than the usual
fashion of long trailing skirts, and he was very
anxious that it should be generally adopted; but
he said it never would be unless it were worn
habitually by ladies occupying a certain station
in society. He thought that, as we had so many
advantages, we ought to be willing to make some
sacrifices for the general good. I did not much
like the idea at first, but I found that father was
right when he said that I should soon become
accustomed to the singularity of the thing ; and
indeed it is hardly considered singular in Dan-
vers now. Several of the ladies there have
adopted the same style of dress. We find it a
great deal more convenient."

Mrs. Atwood could not assent; she could not
see a single redeeming quality in the odious cos-
tume.

" Would you object, Janet, to laying it aside
while you remain in Westbridge? 1 am sure
that you will effect no good by wearing it, and I
am afraid you will be rendered painfully con-
spicuous by it. Young ladies should never do
anything to make themselves an object of re-
mark."

This aphorism, which was the guiding prin-
ciple of every lady trained in Westbridge, was
a new idea to Janet. She pondered upon it for
a while, and then replied —

" It seems to me, at least so my father always
tells me, that the only thing necessary to be
considered is, whether we are doing right or not ;
and if this dress is to do as much good as father
thinks it will, it must be my duty to wear it. I
promised father I would wear it for a year at
least."

" If your father will consent, will you not be
willing to dress like the rest of us while you re-
main here ? It would be a great favor to me if
you would."

" Certainly, dear aunt, I will. But it seems
strange to me that you should be so annoyed by
what father is so much delighted with."

Mrs. Atwood wrote what she considered quite
a strong appeal to Mr. McLeod, entreating him
to allow his daughter to resume her former at-
tire. But in reply, Mr. McLeod wrote that
Janet was now occupying the position in which
he had always wished a child of his to be placed.
She was in the front rank of reformers ; giving
an example to the people in Westbridge, whom
he had always considered shamefully behind the
age, which he hoped would awaken in them
some desire for progress and improvement. He
was proud of her and of her position. He would
not for the world have her falter now, when, for
the first time, she had had any conflict to endure.
. Janet read the letter, and, with a blush for
her weakness in yielding to her aunt's sugges-
tions, she resolved to allow no pusillanimous
fear of censure to degrade her father's daughter
from the high station in which he had placed
her. Mrs. Atwood was indignant at Mr. Mc-
Leod's answer.

" I never read anything with so little common
sense or common feeling in it. I am sure he
would not be willing to subject himself to all
the annoyances to which he is exposing his poor
young daughter, persuading her that she is in
the path of duty, and that she ought to make a
sacrifice of herself. I have no patience with
him," and Mrs. Atwood, in her vexation, came
very near giving Charley a superfluous whipping.

Meantime, the people in Westbridge were de-
bating as to the expediency of calling on the
new arrival. They were in great perplexity
about it. As Mrs. Atwood's niece, Miss McLeod
ought certainly to be visited ; but as a Bloomer
she ought to be frowned upon and discounte-
nanced. The general opinion was decidedly
against showing her any attention. One lady
did call, but repented it afterwards, and atoned
for her imprudent sociability by declining to re-
cognize Miss McLeod when she met her in the
street. There were very few invitations sent to
Mrs. Atwood's during the winter, and those that

A BLOOMER AMONG US.

401

came were very pointedly addressed to Mrs. and
Miss Atwood. These they at first declined,
with much inward reluctance on Jane's part ;
but Janet perceiving this, and divining that po-
liteness to her was the cause of the refusals,
insisted on being no restraint on her cousin's
pleasure. She was willing to endure mortifica-
tions herself for what she considered her duty,
but it would be a needless addition to her trials,
she said, if those who did not approve of her
course had to suffer for it.

It seems a pity that there should be such a
superfluity of the martyr spirit in womankind,
or that there were not something of more vital
importance to wreak it upon than the rights and
wrongs that are just now causing such an effer-
vescence among them.

Meantime, Mr. Mainwaring had decided that,
come in what shape she might, Mr. McLeod's
daughter ought to receive from him all the at-
tention that gratitude for her father's services
might demand. Every morning he devoted an
hour to giving her a lesson in Greek, and though
for some time he continued to look upon her
with suspicion and distrust as a femme forte,
yet his urbane and polished manners prevented
Janet from perceiving anything that might
wound or offend her. She felt that the gentle
cordiality with which she was at first inclined
to receive him, as one whom her father loved
and esteemed, met with no response, but she
attributed it to his natural reserve. The first
thing that lessened the cold disapproval with
which Mr. Mainwaring regarded Janet was the
discovery that study was to her a painful labor,
and that she was ■ not very fond of reading.
There is a popular fallacy that a high cultiva-
tion of the intellect implies a corresponding de-
ficiency in the affections, and profoundly sensi-
ble as Mr. Mainwaring was, he was, like most
men, a firm believer in this erroneous opinion ;
and therefore he welcomed all Janet's mistakes
as pledges that, though her judgment might be
wrong, her heart was right.

And there was a yielding docility about her
that was exceedingly pleasing to one accustomed,
as Mr. Mainwaring was, to have his opinion
regarded as law by most of those with whom he
was thrown. It was not a mere inert softness
either, but the pliability of a substance so finely
tempered and wrought that it could be moulded
by a master hand into any form without losing
its native and inherent firmness and goodness.
He began at last to understand her, and to per-
ceive that she had one of those delicate and
conscientious natures that, when once convinced
of a duty, seize upon it with a grasp of iron, and

34*

would suffer to the death for it. With his ad-
miration for Janet, his interest in her increased,
and he became truly distressed to see her throw-
ing away, as it seemed, her usefulness and her
happiness in endeavoring to uphold a fantastic
fashion.

The life of seclusion and study to which the
resoluto neglect of the people of Westbridgc had
condemned Janet was so unlike anything to
which she had been accustomed, that, strong in
constitution as she was, with all the vigor that
a free country life gives, her health began at last
to fail. The spring breezes sought in vain for
the roses that the autumn winds had left upon
her cheeks.

" It seems to me that you are looking rather
pale, Miss McLeod," said Mr. Mainwaring, one
day.

It was the first time that he had ever spoken
to her on any subject unconnected with the
lessons, and Miss McLeod colored slightly as
she answered —

" I am quite well, I believe."

" I am afraid you do not exercise enough. I
see Miss Atwood walking every pleasant after-
noon. If you would join her sometimes, you
might find a benefit from it."

Again Janet blushed as she answered, with a
frank smile —

" Cousin Jane is very kind; but I believe she
would do anything for me sooner than walk
with me. At any rate, I would not like to place
her in a position that would be so painful to
her. And I do not like to walk by myself here."

Miss McLeod did not acknowledge, what Mr.
Mainwaring had perceived, that a growing shy-
ness had been coming over her since her resi-
dence in Westbridge, leading her to keep out of
sight as much as possible. A very faint-hearted
reformer was poor little Janet, and I am afraid
that her co-workers would have disdained to
acknowledge her.

" You have not made many acquaintances in
Westbridge, I think, Miss McLeod?"

" No, none besides aunt Atwood's family and
yourself."

" I am sorry for that, for there are many very
agreeable and intelligent people here. Few
country villages can boast of as good society.
I do not see you often at church lately, 1
think."

" No, I do not go so regularly as I ought,"
said Janet, sadly.

" How would you like a class in the Sunday
School ? It might be an object of interest, and
visiting your scholars would be a motive to take
you out occasionally. The clergyman mentioned

•402

godey's magazine and lady's book.

lately that they were very much in want of
teachers."

The tears came in Janet's eyes. It seemed to
her that Mr. Mainwaring must be trying to
wound her, or that he was one of the most un-
observant of men, that, with so little tact, he
\ as reminding- her of all the social duties and
kindnesses from which she was debarred.

" I offered my services the other day, but
they were declined," said she.

" On account of your mode of dress, I pre-
sume," said he.

Janet bowed.

"If my obligations to your father had not
been so great that they can never be repaid, I
might feel that I was taking too great a liberty,
if I should venture to express any disapproval
of anything that you might think proper to do.
But I will run the risk of displeasing you, and
ask you whether you think it worth while, even
supposing one mode of dress to possess far more
real superiority over the prevailing fashion than
the one does which you have adopted, to sacri-
iice not only your social enjoyments, but your
usefulness, for the purpose of making an inef-
fectual attempt to change a fashion under which
so many people, have lived in health and com-
fort, that it will be difficult to persuade them
that it is injurious?"

" At home, my style of dress was not thought
so wrong," said Janet. " There are not many
places, I think, where I, should not have met with
more liberality and charity than in Westbridge."

"All over the world, Miss Janet" — and, for
the first time, the professor called Miss McLeod
by her Christian name — " dress is considered as
an exponent of character. When a person is
thrown among strangers, they are judged almost
as much by that as by their countenance. And
when they adopt a style of dress, the mark of a
particular clique, they are considered as indors-
ing all the opinions belonging to it. Now, the
ideas of the Bloomeritcs are many of them so
flighty, and have so little reason or common
sense in them, that I am sure you are not ac-
quainted with them, or you would not so openly
rank yourself with their party."

Poor Janet had heard her father talk for hours
about the absurdity of the usual mode of dress,
and the advantages of the Bloomer costume ;
but now, in her time of need, she could not re-
call a single one of his arguments. Not that
she was entirely overpowered by the professor's
reasons, but, partly from her own observation
of his character, and partly from general report,
she had imbibed so high an opinion of Mr.
Mainwaring's judgment and understanding, that

she felt unequal to opposing him. There was a
soundness in his opinions, with a firmness and
strength in his whole nature, to which she yield-
ed an unconscious deference.

This was by no means the only conversation
Mr. Mainwaring and Janet had on the subject
of her unfortunate dress. Slowly and gradually
the young girl began to realize that she might
have been wasting the whole energies of her
earnest nature in a Quixotic contest with what
was in itself harmless. At any rate, she became
convinced that "lejeu ne vaut pas le clian&elle"
and yet she was unwilling to take any decided
step without consulting her father. She was
afraid that he would be greatly disappointed in
her, when he found her so weak that she shrank
from the notice and comments her attire at-
tracted.

Seeing that Miss McLeod was disinclined to
make the effort, Mr. Mainwaring wrote himself
to Mr. McLeod, who, although he was unable
to appreciate the " delicate distresses" which
Mrs. Atwood had hinted at, as the consequence
of his daughter's singularity, was alarmed and
distressed at the idea of her illness. He came
immediately to Westbridge, and took Janet home
to recruit. But, before he went, Mr. Mainwar-
ing had a long conversation with him, and,
either by his cogent arguments, or because some
new crotchet had displaced the old one, he ob-
tained his permission that Janet should resume
the flowing robes against which he had once de-
clared such unsparing antipathy.

During the next summer, Janet stopped for a
few weeks at Mrs. Atwood's, on her way to
Saratoga, and we took advantage of the oppor-
tunity to call upon her, acting towards her as
though this were her first visit to Westbridge,
and considering it an act of delicate politeness
to ignore the fact that the young lady, whom
we saw so simply and tastefully attired, had any
connection with the Bloomer who had awakened
our horror not long before.

The latest piece of news in Westbridge is the
established fact that Mr. Mainwaring is engaged
to Miss McLeod. He who has withstood all the
charms of the well brought up ladies of our
town has been captivated by a Bloomer, and
that, too, after having declared, openly and re-
peatedly, his disapproval and utter distaste for
all women who had in any way made them-
selves conspicuous. But there seems to be na-
turally a perversity in all matters of this kind.
Love evidently delights in bending the inclina-
tions in that very direction against which the
professions have been the loudest and most de-
cided.

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.— MA Y.

COMA BERENICES.— This is a beautiful
cluster of small stars, situated about five degrees
east of the equinoctial colure, and midway be-
tween Cor-Caroli on the north-east, and Dene-
bola on the south-west. The stars that compose
this group are small, but very bright, and are in
close proximity to each other; therefore the
cluster is readily distinguished from all others.
There is a number of small nebula in this as-
semblage, which give it a faintly luminous ap-
pearance, somewhat resembling the milky- way.
The whole number of stars in this cluster is
forty-three. It comes to the meridian on the
13th of May.

This constellation is of Egyptian origin. Bere-
nice was married to Evergetes, King of Egypt,
and, on his going out to battle against the Assy-
rians, she vowed to dedicate her hair, which
was of extraordinary beauty, to the goddess of
beauty, if her lord returned in safety. Ever-
getes returned victorious, and, agreeably to her
oath, her locks were shorn and deposited in the
temple of Venus, whence they shortly disap-
peared, and the king and queen were assured by
Conon, the astronomer, that they had been taken
from the altar by Jupiter and placed among the
stars ; and, to convince them of the truth of his
assertion, pointed out this cluster, and

"There Berenice's locks first rose so bright,
The heavens bespangling with dishevelled light."

This group being among the unformed stars un-
til that time, and not known as a constellation,
the king became satisfied with the declaration
of Conon, who, pointing to the group, said,
"There, behold the locks of our queen." Bere-
nice was not only reconciled to this petty lar-
ceny of Jupiter, but was proud of the partiality
of the god. Callimachus, who flourished before
the Christian era, thus adverts to it —

"Immortal Conon, blest with skill divine,
Amid the sacred skies beheld me shine ;
E'en me, the beauteous hair, that lately shed
Refulgent beams from Berenice's head ;
The locks she fondly vowed, with lifted arms,
Imploring all the powers to save from harm
Her dearer lord, when from his bride he flew,
To wreak stern vengeance on the Assyrian crew."

CORVUS. — This small constellation is situ-
ated east of the Cup, and may be readily distin-

guished by four bright stars of the third magni-
tude, which form a trapezium; the two upper
ones being three and a half degrees apart, and
the two lower ones six degrees apart. Algorab,
the most eastern star of these four, forms the
east wing of the Crow, and comes to the meri-
dian on the 13th of May. Beta, in the foot of
the Crow, is seven degrees south of Algorab,
and is the brighter of the two lower stars ; and
on the left, six degrees west of Beta, is Epsilon,
which marks the neck, while two degrees below
it is Al Chiba, a star of the fourth magnitude,
which marks the head.

This constellation is of Greek origin, and it
is gravely asserted by their ancient historians
that this bird was originally of the purest white,
but was changed, for tale-bearing, to its present
color.

" The raven once in snowy plumes was drest,
White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast,
Fair as the guardian of the capitol,
Soft as the swan, a fair and lovely fowl ;
His tongue, his prating tongue, had changed him quite
To sooty blackness from the purest white."

Apollo, becoming jealous of Coronis, sent a crow
to watch her movements. The bird discovered
her partiality for Ischys, and immediately ac-
quainted the god with it, which so fired his in-
dignation that.

"The color left his look,
' The wreath his head, the harp his hand forsook;
His silvered bow and feathered shafts he took,
And lodged an arrow in the tender breast
That had so often to his own been prest."

To reward the crow, he placed it among the
constellations. Other Greek mythologists assert
that it takes its name from a princess of Phocis,
who was transformed into a crow by Minerva
to rescue the maid from the pursuit of Neptune.
One of the Latin poets reverts to it thus —

" For, as my arms I lifted to the skies,
I saw black feathers from my fingers rise;
I strove to fling my garments on the ground.
My garments turned to plumes and girt me round ;
My hands to beat my naked bosom try,
Nor naked bosom now nor hands had I;
Lightly I tripped, nor weary, as before,
Sunk in the sand, but skimmed along the shore,
Till, rising on my wings, I was preferred
To be the cliastc Minerva's virgin bird."

403

404

godey's magazine and lady's book.

VIRGO. — This constellation lies directly south
of Coma Berenice, and east of Leo. It occupies
considerable space in the heavens, and contains
one hundred and ten stars. It comes to the
meridian the 23d of this month. Spica Virginis,
which marks the left hand of the Virgin, is a
star of the first magnitude, and is of great bril-
liancy, and, with Denebola in Leo, and Actau-
rus in Bootes, forms a large equilateral triangle,
which, joined with Cor-Caroli, a star of the
same brilliancy, at an equal distance north,
forms the Diamond of Virgo. The stars in this
diamond are of equal brilliancy, rendering it one
of the most clearly defined and most beautiful
figures in this part of the heavens.

This constellation is probably of Egyptian
origin. A zodiac discovered among the ruins
of Estne, in Egypt, commences with Virgo, and,
according to the regular progression of the equi-
noxes, this zodiac must be two thousand years
older than that at Dendera. This relic of the
earliest ages of the human species is conjectured
to have been preserved during the deluge by
Noah, to perpetuate the actual appearance of the
heavens immediately subsequent to the creation.

The Athenians also claim the origin of this
constellation, maintaining that Erigone was
changed into Virgo. Erigone was the daughter
of Icarius, an Athenian, who was slain by some
peasants whom he had intoxicated with wine ;
and it caused such a feeling of despair in Eri-
gone, that she repaired to the wood and hung
herself on the bough of a tree.

" Thus once in Marathon's impervious wood,
Erigone beside her father stood,
When, hastening to discharge her pious vow,
She loosed the knot and culled the strongest bough."

ASTERION ET CHARA.— This is a modern
constellation, and embraces two in one. It lies

north of Coma Berenice, and west of Bootes, and
comes to the meridian the 20th of May. Cor-
Caroli is the brightest star in this group, and
marks Chara, the southern hound. Asterion is
north of this, and is marked by a small star
about three degrees above Cor-Caroli. These
two hounds are represented as chasing the Great
Bear around the Pole, being held in a leash by
Bootes, who is constantly urging them on in
their endless track. The remaining stars in this
group are too small and scattered to excite inte-
rest.

URSA MAJOR.— This constellation is situ-
ated between Ursa Minor on the north, and Leo
Minor on the south, and is one of the most con-
spicuous in the northern hemisphere. It has
been an object of observation in all ages of the
world. The shepherds of Chaldea, Magi of
Persia, priests of Belus, Phoenician navigators,
Arabs of Asia, and American aborigines seem
to have been equally struck with its peculiar
outlines, and each gave to the group a name
which signified, in their respective languages,
the same thing — Great Bear. It is somewhat
remarkable that nations which had no know-
ledge or communication with each other should
have given th'e same name to this constellation.
The name is perfectly arbitrary, there being no
resemblance in it whatever to a bear or any
other animal.

This cluster is remarkable for seven of its
brightest stars forming a dipper, four stars form-
ing the bowl, and three, curving slightly, shap-
ing the handle. These seven stars are of un-
common brilliancy, and need no description to
point out their locality. The whole number of
stars in this group is eighty-seven, and it comes
to the meridian the 10th of May.

MANUFACTURE OF PINS.

"We often hear the expression used, when
talking of anything comparatively useless, that
" it's not worth a pin ;" and from this we might
be led to suppose, did we not know it to be
otherwise, that a pin was a very worthless thing,
instead of being what it is — one of the most use-
ful that is manufactured in this or in any other
country. As the use of pins is principally con-
fined to the female portion of our community,
perhaps the following short account of their
manufacture, for which we are indebted to
Knight's " Cyclopaedia of Industry," a very use-

ful book, may not be uninteresting to our read-
ers : —

" Pins are made of brass wire. The first
process which it undergoes, by which any dirt
or crust that may be attached to the surface is
got rid of, is by soaking it in a diluted solution
of sulphuric acid and water, and then beating
it on stones. It is then straightened ; after
which, it is cut into pieces, each about long
enough for six pins. These latter pieces are
then pointed at each end in the following man-
ner: The person so employed sits in front of a

ADVICE TO A BRIDE,

405

small machine, which has two steel wheels or
mills turning rapidly, of which the rims are cut
somewhat after the manner of a file : one coarse
for the rough formation of the points, and the
other fine for finishing them. Several of these
pieces are taken in the hand, and, by a dexterous
movement of the thumb and forefinger, are kept
continually presenting a different face to the mill
against which they are pressed. The points are
then finished off by being applied in the same
manner to the fine mill. After both ends of the
pieces have been pointed, one pin's length is cut
off from each end, when they are re-pointed, and
so on until each length is converted into six
pointed pieces. The stems of the pins are then
complete. The next step is to form the head,
which is effected by a piece of wire called the
mould, the same size as that used for the stems,
being attached to a small axis or lathe. At the
end of the wire nearest the axis is a hole, in
which is placed the end of a smaller wire, which
is to form the heading. While the mould-wire
is turned round by one hand, the head-wire is
guided by the other, until it is wound in a spiral
coil along the entire length of the former. It is
then cut off close to the hole where it was
commenced, and the coil taken off the mould.
When a quantity of these coils are prepared, a
workman takes a dozen or more of them at a
time in his left hand, while, with a pair of shears
in his right, he cuts them up into pieces of two
coils each. The heads, when cut off, are anneal-
ed by being made hot and then thrown into water.
When annealed, they are ready to be fixed on
the stems. In order to do this, the operator is
provided with a small stake, upon which is fixed
a steel die, containing a hollow the exact shape
of half the head. Above this die, and attached
to a lever, is the corresponding r'-'e for the other
half of the head, which, when ail rest, remains
suspended about two inches above the lower one.
The workman takes one of these stems between
his fingers, and, dipping the pointed end of a
bowl containing a number of heads, catches
one upon it and slides it to the other end; he
then places it in the lower die, and, moving a
treadle, brings down the upper one four or five
times upon the head, which fastens it upon the
stem, and also gives it the required figure.
There is a small channel leading from the out-
side to the centre of the dies, to allow room for
the stem. The pins are now finished as regards
shape, and it only remains to tin or whiten them.
A quantity of them are boiled in a pickle, either
a solution of sulphuric acid or tartar, to remove
any dirt or grease, and also to produce a slight
roughness upon their surfaces which facilitates

the adhesion of the tin. After being boiled for
half an hour, they are washed, and then placed
in a copper vessel with a quantity of grain tin
and a solution of tartar; in about two hours and
a half, they are taken out, and, after being se-
parated from the undissolved tin by sifting, are
again washed ; they are then dried by being well
shaken in a bag with a quantity of bran, which
is afterwards separated by shaking them up and
down in open wooden trays, when the bran flies
off and leaves the pins perfectly dry and clean.
The pins are then papered for sale."

Pins are also made solely by machinery. There
is a manufactory for this sort (the Patent Solid
Headed Pins, near Stroud) where nearly 3,250,000
are made daity.

A pin, then, is not such an insignificant article,
after all. We see it has to go through a great
many processes and hands before it is finished.
If we take one, examine it closely, and mark how
nicely it is made, how neatly the head is fixed on
to the shank, how beautifully it is pointed, and
how bright it shines, we shall see a very good
specimen of what the ingenuity and labor of man
can do upon a piece of metal. It is really sur-
prising what a large number are made, and how
many persons are employed in their manufac-
ture. we read, some time ago*, an amusing arti-
cle from " Bentley's Miscellany," wherein the
writer asks the question : " What becomes of the
pins?" and puts forth the rather curious asser-
tion that, if they continue to be lost and made
away with as they are now, some day or other
the whole globe will be found to be " one vast
shapeless mass of pins."

In conclusion, we would recommend our read-
ers always to bear in mind the excellent maxim
which Franklin attached to a pin, namely, "A
pin a day, a groat a year."

ADVICE TO A BRIDE.

I beg to remind my daughter that the husband
has a thousand elements of disturbance in his
daily avocations to which his wife is an utter
stranger ; and it will be her privilege, and her
title to the respect of all whose respect is worth
having, to make his own fireside the most at-
tractive place in the "universe for the calm re-
pose of a weary body or excited mind. The
minor comforts, which are the most valuable,
because the most constantly in requisition, will
depend more upon her look, her manner, and
the evidence of her forethought, than upon all
the other occurrences of life. — Parental Pre-
ccpts.

"TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION."

Mr. Godey : Miss Snipe left my house in
great haste on the second day of April, forget-
ting, in her precipitation, several articles of her
wardrobe and her portfolio. While waiting an
opportunity to forward them to Wimpleton, a
natural impulse of curiosity induced me to
examine the contents of the portfolio, when, lo
and behold, a letter, directed to yourself, fell on
the floor. Being loosely folded and unsealed, I
ventured to open it, supposing it merely a busi-
ness communication. Imagine my surprise on
discovering the nature of its contents, for I had
been unable to penetrate the reasons of her hur-
ried departure ; but do not, I pray you, accuse
me of having read it through.

Finding, as far as I proceeded, nothing very
heinous laid to myself, nor any insinuations
against my table, I judge proper to forward it
without delay, according to the address. How-
ever, I can with difficulty forgive her for call-
ing my boy a " ci>b," and think, moreover, that
her dislike towards my Irish inmate is unrea-
sonable. As to Mr. Sparks — I do not blame her
so much — he has not yet paid me those gloves.
And as to the writer herself, I am really asto-
nished— we all thought her such a quiet and un-
observant little body — on becoming acquainted
with this spirited volley from her pen. Will
there not be both laughing and wry faces in my
household, if you publish it? And, though
April is gone (I am sorry the letter was not
sooner found), do give the world the benefit of
her experience, to oblige and amuse
Yours, faithfully,

Helen Mashum.

April 1, 1854.

My dear Mr. Editor: Such a tumult as
we have all day been in, by reason of that abomi-
nable practice of " fooling," has been enough to
destroy the patience of a saint. I am nearly out
of my wits. Here have I come, at my niece's
invitation, to spend a fortnight with her, in a
boarding-house. " She was lonely," she said ;
" Mr. Sparks was so much at the office ; and it
would be such a favor if I could stay with her
a few days."

So I have come from my quiet country home,
fifteen miles off, to this noisy town that calls it-
self a city, to visit Ann Sophia; and, between
400

you and me, I was an April fool from the begin-
ning. There are several other young married
women boarding in the same house, who, like
my flighty niece, have apparently nothing under
the sun to do but go shopping and pop in and
out of each other's rooms. Some of them are
in her parlor every evening when she is not out
at parties or lectures, and, as she spins street
yarn every morning, I cannot for the life of me
see what opportunity she takes to be lonesome.
But I do see that she gives herself no time to
keep her husband's shirts made up and in order ;
and I find that I have no lack of employment,
for she has kept me sewing ever since I came.

" Sophy, dear," says I, the morning after my
arrival, "give me some sewing; I cannot be
idle, and have nothing but this knitting to do
for myself."

Whereupon she brought out a whole piece of
fine bleached cloth, and proposed that we should
amuse ourselves by making it into shirts for her
husband.

" Holton needs them so much," said she,
" and you are so kind as to offer your services,
aunty ; it would cost so much to hire them done,
and his salary is so small now, you know, and
boarding so expensive."

And to work we began ; but the truth is that
it is very little which Ann Sophia has done thus
far. Well, what is a single woman good for
unless to make herself generally useful 1 A
precious sight of twaddle have I read first and
last in the papers and magazines about the de-
lights and privileges of old-maidery. Delights
of a fiddlestick ! Pulled hither and thither,
perhaps — as I have been — at the beck of married
brothers and sisters, and a score of idle nephews
and nieces ; if you have a home of your own,
not allowed to stay at it in peace for more than
one week together. Sister Julia's children have
all got the measles, and Aunt Abigail must go
and take care of them ; or brother Peter's wife
is dead, and Abigail must pack up and go to
keep house for him till she becomes attached to
the motherless tribe, and feels quite at home
among them, when he gets a new wife, and Abi-
gail departs just as she begins to be happy. To
crown all, when she puts her own house in or-
der, and has a nice lot of sweetmeats and pickles
made up, along comes a troop of relations, male

TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION.

407

and female, young and old, to visit dear Aunt
Abigail and eat up all her stores, to say nothing
of completely kicking out the stair carpet. But
I am wandering from my subject — a thing which
I am apt to do.

The house is quiet now, and, having finished
»ne of Holton Sparks's shirts this evening, I
embrace the respite to retire to my own room.
After all, I do not feel like scolding about Ann
Sophia. The pleasant-tempered girl looks so
much like her mother, brother Peters first wife ;
I brought her up, too, at least till she was ten
years old, when her father married again. Her
chief fault is her youth, and she will get over
that, dear child.

However, to return, I cannot sleep till I have
expressed my indignation at the follies that have
been perpetrated in honor — rather should I say,
in dishonor — of All Fools' Hay, hoping that you,
Mr. Editor, will lift your voice in favor of put-
ting a stop to such absurdities. In the first
place, I had scarcely risen, when I was myself
made the victim of imposition ; for, while I was
dressing, there was a rap at the door, and I heard
Sparks's voice —

" Aunt Abigail, are you up 1 Here is a letter
postmarked Wimpleton. It came by the night
train, probably."

"As sure as fate," thought I, "there has
something dreadful happened at home." And,
being much agitated, I tore open the envelop in
great haste, without observing that the super-
scription was not in brother Sam's hand, and
wondering why Sparks did not wait to learn the
nature of its tidings. As truly as I am a living
woman, there was nothing inside but a great
foolscap sheet, and on it these words, in staring
capitals —

"APRIL FOOL."

I could have cried, so vexed was I at first.
Then I felt thankful that no bad news had
actually reached me ; for, during the brief mo-
ment occupied in opening the letter, you can
scarcely imagine the many terrible things that
passed through my head. Mother had had a fit,
fallen down and broken her leg, though brother
Sam had promised me faithfully not to leave her
alone while I was gone; or that stupid Dutch
boy, who takes care of the cow and the fires,
had left live coals in the ash-box, and the house
was burned to the ground. Or Sam himself had
got one of those severe attacks of inflammatory
rheumatism, and nobody there but mother to
take care of him, and take his fretting into the
bargain, and she almost eighty years old. When
I recovered myself a little, I took that wretched

sheet of paper, and was on the point of penning
a dignified expression of my sentiments below
the odious Words, and handing it in silent scorn
to my nephew-in-law at the breakfast-table.
But better feelings prevailed; I smoothed it
nicely in my portfolio, and am now scratching
this hasty epistle upon its surface, intending in
the morning to write it more legibly on some of
my own fair sheets of Bath.

A few among the follies of this tiresome day
have, I must acknowledge, given me a certain
sort of satisfaction. Holton Sparks has been
come up with himself; not by any means of
mine, I earnestly assure you, for, besides hearti-
ly despising it, I cannot in any shape perpetrate
"April fooling." Sam often says that this is
because I am so matter-of-fact; but, matter-of-
fact or not, I trust that there is not enough
matter-of-folly in my composition to attempt
such performances. I always did abominate
practical jokes, and Sam knows that; yet the
jokes which that boy still puts upon me, though
I am three years older than himself, would be
deemed improbable.

Well, when the breakfast-bell rang this morn-
ing, I went down stairs with an air as erect and

dignified as a woman of fif no matter — with

such a demeanor as one who has outlived the
fooleries of early youth should make habitual.
Holton Sparks is very fond of eggs, and invaria-
bly takes the biggest on the dish. I observed
that our landlady directed the servant to hand
them first to Mr. Sparks, who was too intent on
securing his egg to notice her action. Indeed,
he never hesitates to help himself first, quite
regardless of the ladies who sit near, and even
of Ann Sophia. Holton is a tremendous eater,
seeming to think of nothing at table but dispos-
ing of his food as rapidly and in as large quanti-
ties as possible. The manner of this gentleman
is to place a large piece of nicely buttered toast
on his plate, pour the egg over it, pepper the
whole thoroughly, and swallow it as if the pre-
paration were some unpleasant dose that it is
his duty to dispatch. Mrs. Mashum, who is
altogether too much given to laughing, and too
volatile for her station, sat behind the coffee
urn shaking violently with suppressed mirth.
He broke the shell of his egg as usual, when,
behold, his plate was flooded with a dingy-
looking liquid, which proved to be warm dish-
water. On comprehending the joke, he sent it
away with an offended air, and made his break-
fast on beefsteak, without deigning to join in
the universal laugh. It seems that last evening
he laid a wager with Mrs. Mashum that she
could not succeed in playing him a trick, he

403

godey's magazine and lady's book,

should be so constantly upon his guard during
All Fools' Day. The affair of the c^ has put
him out of humor to such an extent that we
have been saved the infliction of anymore jokes
at his hands. He has worn his dignity all day,
not even Ann Sophia succeeding in laughing or
coaxing him into laying it aside. I rather think
that he grudges the dollar which he will have to
lay out for the gloves, as Mrs. Mashum has won
the bet, and Ann Sophia assures him that a pair
of her own will not do by any means. He pro-
posed that expedient to settle the matter. Hol-
ton is stingy. But his wife declared that such a
good joke deserved a pair of Alexander's best.
It is not because I approve of betting that I
mention this, for I hold the practice in great ab-
horrence. It was only of a piece with the other
follies of the day, and shows up Holton Sparks
a little.

A small fire of fooling was kept up through-
out the morning. If the door-bell has been rung
once, it has forty times, by Mrs. Mashum's cub
of a boy, who would jerk the handle or toss up
his ball at the wire, and then run out of sight.
In going from my own room to my niece's, I
saw a sixpence on the floor, and, stooping down
to pick it up, found it fast. Congratulating my-
self on not having been observed, I was passing
on, when that disagreeable urchin shouted, from
behind a door —

" April fool, old lady !"

He deserves to be sent to the House of Refuge.

Ann Sophia herself has put me out of all
manner of patience by saying, as I sat sewing at
the front window in her parlor, " Pray, Aunt
Abigail, whose carriage do you suppose that is ?"
when no vehicle was in view but the milkman's.
Or, suddenly, she would exclaim, " What ladies
are those crossing the street?" when none were
anywhere to be seen.

But the meanest of all was a very rude thing,
which she repeated several times upon different
persons, apparently delighted with its efficacy.
This was to rush up suddenly, and screaming
out, " Sec there !" throw her arm directly across
one's nose with so much force as to oblige that
organ to follow the direction of her outstretched
finger, whether or no. Such a sort of fooling
by compulsion struck me as particularly repre-
hensible.

" I 'd try it on you, aunty," said the volatile
child, " if I were not afraid of scoring my arm."

Such an insinuation against my nose ! Had
it been any one besides Sophy, I could not have
forgiven the speech. She is such a highty-
tighty.

But one trick which she played was really

good, especially as its object was a man to whom
I have taken a huge dislike. He is an Irish
gentleman connected with some legal firm in
town, most desperately polite, with a very long
round nose and fiery red hair. He is continually
poking dishes at me across the table, and is fair-
ly oppressive with his attentions. Moreover,
he calls me "Mrs." perpetually. "Mrs.," in-
deed ! Intimating that I am old enough to be a
" Mrs.," if not one in fact. As he rises very
late, he never appears at breakfast with our-
selves ; but at dinner we have the misery of his
presence. To-day, when we were almost through
with the first course, he entered with an air
much flushed and uncomfortable.

"Are you ill, Mr. O'Killigan'?" asked Mrs.
Mashum.

" No, thank you, madam," said he, with one
of his customary efforts at politeness. " But I
have been trying for a long while to shave, till
forced in despair to give up the attempt. The
deuce has got into my soap."

" You have forgotten that it is the first of
April. The day may have had some influence
upon your dressing-case," remarked one of the
ladies present.

" I declare, I have not thought of that," said
he, and, springing from the table, he ran to his
room, returning with something which he begged
the ladies to examine. It proved to be a thick,
fair slice of a raw potato, in size and color so
much like his own soap, which had been re-
moved, that he had detected no difference, ex-
cept that it refused to form a lather. This was
the work of my mischievous niece, who looked
at it very gravely, and remarked, with much
demureness —

" I always knew that you Irish were fond of
potatoes, but was not aware that you carried it
to such an excess as to shave with that vege-
table."

It would have better pleased me had O'Killi-
gan been angry; but the Irishman took the joke,
and all the speeches made at his expense, with
entire good-humor, laughingly assuring the la-
dies that he would be revenged before night.
And, as he knew not whom to suspect, he
adopted a course which involved most of us in
its consequences. When we retire for the night,
those who are not better provided equip them-
selves with a candle, of which a supply stands
ready in the lower hall. Such a fuss as I had
with my light this evening ! It went out as
soon as I reached my own door ; and, after re-
lighting it several times by means of matches,
the tallow was exhausted, and I discovered that
the blackened remnant of wick was stuck into a

INTELLECTUAL ENDOWMENTS OF CHILDREN.

409

carrot. That miserable Irishman had enlisted
Biddy Flyn, the chambermaid, in his service,
and this afternoon they spent two whole hours
in the basement at their nefarious work, trim-
ming off carrots and giving them a very thin
coating of grease. Mrs. Mashum herself did
not escape, for, just as she began taking her
usual rounds to see that all was safe for the
night, her treacherous light went out, leaving
her in total darkness — in the lower regions, too,
for she was on the point of inspecting a keg of
mackerel in the cellar.

At this identical moment, having used up all
my matches in vain endeavors to light a candle,
which, like its manufacturer's locks, I had found
to be carroty, I was on my way to the kitchen
in pursuit of a more reliable means of illumina-
tion, when I heard Mrs. Mashum scream out —

" Bring a light, Biddy, for goodness sake ! I
shall step into this rat-trap that you 've set, if I
stir an inch in the dark."

And all the while the shameful Biddy stood
holding her sides, and laughing in a most un-
reasonable way. Several persons were running
along the upper hall calling for lights, the ladies
in a sort of demi-toilet, and one of the young
men, a dry-goods clerk, who dresses his hair
with a curling-tongs, having on a black silk
night-cap. But the real culprit did not suffer,
after all, for Ann Sophia has her own solar
lamp.

While these distressing events were transpir-
ing, that mean Irishman, with his big nose and
red head, sat in the parlor, as cool as possible,
reading the " London News" by the light of a
brilliant camphene lamp. I wonder his hair did
not ignite and cause an explosion. It would
have served him quite right.

Strange to say, Mrs. Mashum is not at all
offended either at O'Killigan or his accomplice,
but has enjoyed their mischief in a way to me
utterly unaccountable. I suppose Sam would
say that she knows how to take a joke ; for my
part, they are things which I do not wish to
know how to take myself; I wash my hands of
all participation in such knowledge.

I have obtained a lamp that shall last till I
have finished this narrative of to-day's outrage-
ous proceedings. On passing the parlor-door, I
heard that disagreeable O'Killigan say to his
landlady, in reply to some of her pretended
threats of punishment —

" At any rate, my good Mrs. Mashum, you
cannot arrest me for incendiary attempts ; I
have made such laudable exertions to put out
the flames in the house."

Impudent fellow ! I had a mind to say some-
vol. xlviii. — 35

thing about the blaze on his own head ; but I
forbore, passing on in offended silence.

Now, my dear Mr. Godey, set a good exam-
ple, and lead the way in a reform of these
abuses, as you have in so many other praise-
worthy undertakings. Frown upon these April
fooleries, especially as levelled at the peace and
quiet of respectable single women. If my letter
is too late to take effect this present season,
please give it due notice before a twelvemonth
hence. You will thus oblige and gratify your
friend and constant reader,

Abigail Snipe.

Postscript. I shall go home to-morrow, and
finish Holton Sparks's last new shirt in the plea-
sant seclusion afforded by my own hearthstone.
I cannot endure the thought of sitting at the
table in this house any longer, opposite that
dreadful O'Killigan, hearing him crack his dry
jokes while he rubs his chin with his thumb and
forefinger. To be obliged to listen when he
comments on the mishaps of this evening would
surely set me into a nervous fit. It strikes mo
that I have read in one of Sam's old books —
" Sal" somebody's writings — of an elderly lady
who " died of a Frenchman." If I were to stay
here much longer, I should assuredly die of thi.s
middle-aged Irishman.

Depend upon it, I shall not breathe a word to
Sam of my trials at Sophy's boarding-house, in
consequence of the inmates all making fools of
themselves and me on the First of April.

INTELLECTUAL ENDOWMENTS OF
CHILDREN.

An extremely intelligent boy, of about twelve
years of age, was once brought to the late Dr.
Deville, an English phrenologist, for examina-
tion, by a parent who was very proud of the in-
tellectual endowments of his child. Dr. Deville
gave his opinion of the boy's character, at the
same time cautioning the father of the dangerous
course he was pursuing. But the father's reply
was, "All that other boys considered labor and
hard study were merely child's play to him ;
and that his studies could not be hurtful to him
— he enjoyed them so much." Again Dr. De-
ville endeavored to save the child, but the father
would not attend to the warning. Two years
from that time he again called on Dr. Deville,
and, in reply to his inquiries about the child,
burst into tears, and stated that the boy was an
idiot.

GODEY'S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING,

LESSON V.

The outline of the stem and the curve of the
scroll of Fig. 54 must first be drawn, the dis-
tances and proportions of the various parts being

carefully observed. In sketching the scroll in
Fig. 55, the eye alone will be the guide, the
directions and distances of the various parts be-
ing marked off before filling in the details.
The method of drawing the rosette forming

Fig. 55.

Fie:. 56.

part of the scroll shown in Fig. 57 is displayed
in Fig. 56, the circle being drawn first.

In sketching Fi» 58, the direction of the
410

curve must first be ascertained, its due propor-
tions noted, thereafter filling in the details.
The stem, leaves, flower, and buds of the

GODEY7S COUKSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

411

wall-flower in Fig. 59 will afford an interesting
example for practice at this stage of progress ;
the stem, its length and direction, should first

Fig. 58.

be drawn, the position of the leaves, &c. marked
thereon, and the details thereafter filled in.
The sketch in Fig. 60, which represents the

Fig. 60.

Fig. 59.

Fig. 61.

stem, leaves, and flower of the yellow crowfoot,
will be drawn in the same way as above.

The flower of the honeysuckle in Fig. 61
affords a good example for free pencil-sketching.

The stem should be drawn first, then an outline
made which will touch all the exterior parts of
the sketch, as in Figs. 44 and 52 ; the distances
of the leaves should next be drawn on this, and

412

godey's magazine and lady's book.

the details put in. The pupil should endeavor
to copy this example correctly; it may appear
very difficult, but, by a careful attention to the

Fig. 62

Fie. 63.

rules wc have given, and a little determination
to " try again," if perchance she should once or
twice fail, the difficulty will soon vanish.

Fig. 64.

The sketch in Fig. 62, representing a human
foot, may be put in by first drawing the general

outline, thereafter finishing the details. Figs. 63,
64, and 65 will be drawn in the same manner.

DEESS-AS A FINE ABT

Y MRS. MERRIFIELD.

CONCLUSION.

We look forward hopefully to a day when
art-education will be extended to all ranks ;
when a knowledge of the beautiful will be added
to that of the useful ; when good taste, based
-upon real knowledge and common sense, will
dictate our fashions in dress as in other things.
We have schools of art to reform our taste in
pottery, hardware, and textile fabrics, not to
speak of the higher walks of art, painting, sculp-
ture, and architecture. The handle of a jug,
the stem of a wine-glass, the design for dress
lilies or lace veils, will form the subjects of lec-
tures to the students of the various schools of
design ; disquisitions are written on the im-
portant question whether the ornamental de-
signs should represent the real form of objects,
or only give a conventional representation of
them, while the study of the human figure, the
masterpiece of creation, is totally neglected, Tex-
ccpt by painters and sculptors. We hope that
the study of form will be more extended, that it
will be universal, that it will, in fact, enter into
the general scheme of education, and that we
shall hereafter see as much pains bestowed in
improving by appropriate costume the figure

which nature has given us, as wTe do now in dis-
torting it by tight stays, narrow and high-heeled
shoes, and all the other deformities and eccen-
tricities of that many-faced monster, fashion.
The economy of the frame, and the means of
preserving it in health and beauty, should form
an integral part of education. There can be no
true beauty without health, and how can we
hope to secure health if we are ignorant of the
means of promoting it, or if we violate its pre-
cepts by adopting absurd and pernicious fash-
ions 1

Surely it is not too much to hope that dress-
makers will hereafter attend the schools of de-
sign, to study the human form, and thence learn
to appreciate its beauties, and to clothe it with
appropriate dress, calculated to display its beau-
ties to the greatest advantage, and to conceal its
defects — the latter with the reservation we have
already noticed. We hope, also, that the shoe-
maker will learn to model the shoe upon the
true form of the foot.

Manufacturers are now convinced of the im-
portance and utility of schools of design, and
whether the article hereafter to be produced be
a cup and saucer, a fender, a pattern for a dn -s
or for furniture, for a service of plate or dia-

DRESS — AS A FINE ART.

413

mond tiara, it is thought proper that the pupil,
us a preliminary course that cannot be dispensed
with, should commence with the study of the
human figure. Yet, is not dress an art-manu-
facture as well as a cup and saucer, or a tea-
board ? Are there less skill and talent, less taste
required to clothe the form which we are told
is made after God's own image, than to furnish
(in apartment? Why should not dressmakers
and tailors attend the schools of design as well
as those artisans wrho are intended to be em-
ployed in what are now called art-manufactures ?
Why should not shoe-makers be taught the
shape and movements of the foot? If this were
the case, wre are satisfied that an immediate and
permanent improvement would be the conse-
quence in our style of dress.

We believe that many portrait painters stipu-
late that they shall be allowed to dictate the
dress, at least as regards the arrangement of the
colors, of their sitters ; the reason of this is that
the painter's selection of dress and color is based
upon the study of the figure and complexion of
the individual, or the knowledge of the effects
of contrast and harmony of lines, tissues, and
colors, while the models which are presented for
his imitation too frequently offer to his view a
style of dress, both as regards form and color,
which sets the rules of harmony at defiance.
Now, only suppose that the dress-maker had
the painter's knowledge of form and harmony
of lines and colors, what a revolution would
take place in dress? We should no longer see
the tall and the short, the slender and the stout,
the brown and the fair, the old and the young,
dressed alike, but the dress would be adapted to
the individual; and we believe that, were the
plan of study we recommend generally adopted,
this purpose might always be effected without
the sacrifice of what is now the grand desidera-
tum in dress — novelty.

The reasons why the art of dressmaking has
not hitherto received the attention which it de-
serves, are to be sought for in the constitution
of society. The branches of manufacture which
require a knowledge of design, such as calico-
printing, silk and ribbon-weaving, porcelain and
pottery, and hardware manufactures, are con-
ducted on a large scale by men of wealth and
talent, who, if they would compete successfully
with rival manufactures, find it necessary to
study and apply to their own business all the
improvements in science with which their inter-
course with society gives them an opportunity
of becoming acquainted. It is quite otherwise
with dressmaking. A woman is at the head of
every establishment of this kind a woman gene-

35*

rally of limited education and attainments, from
whom cannot be expected either liberality of
sentiment or enlarged views, but who possibly
possesses some tact and discrimination of cha-
racter, which enable her to exercise a kind of
dictatorial power in matters of dress over her
customers ; these customers are scarcely better
informed on the subject than herself.

The early life of the dressmaker is spent in a
daily routine of labor with the needle, and, when
she becomes a mistress in her turn, she exacts
from her assistants the same amount of daily
labor that was formerly expected from herself.
Work, work, work with the needle from almost
childhood, in the same close room from morning
to night, and not unfrcquently from night to
morning also, is the everlasting routine of the
monotonous life of the dressmakers. They are
working for bread, and have no leisure to attend
to the improvement of the mind, and the want
of this mental cultivation is apparent in the
articles they produce by their labor. When one
of the young women who attend these establish-
ments to learn the trade thinks she has had
sufficient experience, she leaves the large esta-
blishment and sets up in business on her own
account. In this new situation, she works
equally hard, and has therefore no time for im-
proving her mind and taste. Of the want of
this, however, she is not sensible, because she
can purchase for a trifle all the newest patterns,
and the thought never enters her poor little head
that the same fashion may not suit all her cus-
tomers. This defective education of the dress-
makers, or rather their want of knowledge of
the human form, is one of the great causes of
the prevalence of the old fashion of tight-lacing.
It is so much easier to make a closely-fitting
body suit over a tight stay than it is on the
pliant and yielding natural form, in which, if
one part be drawn a little too tight, or the con-
trary, the body of the dress is thrown out of
shape. Supposing, on the other hand, the fit to
be exact, it is so difficult to keep such a tight-
fitting body in its place on the figure without se-
curing its form by whalebones, that it is in vain
to expect the stays to become obsolete until the
tight-fitting bodice is also given up.

This will never take place until not only the
ladies who are to be clothed, but the dressmakers
shall make the human form their study, and di-
rect their efforts to set off their natural advan-
tages by attending to the points which are their
characteristic beauties. A long and delicate
throat, falling shoulders, not too wide from point
to point, a flat back, round chest, wide hips ;
these are the points which should be developed

414

odey's magazine and lady's book.

by the dress. Whence it follows that every
article of dress which shortens the throat, adds
height or width to the shoulders, roundness to
the back, or flatness to the chest, must be radi-
cally wrong in principle, and unpleasant and
repulsive in effect, In the same manner, what-
ever kind of dress adds to the height of a figure
already too tall and thin, or detracts from the
apparent height of the short and stout, must be
avoided. These things should form the study
of the dressmaker.

As society is now constituted, however, the
dressmaker has not, as we have already observed,
leisure to devote to studies of the necessity and
importance of which she is still ignorant. The
reform must be begun by the ladies themselves.
They must acquire a knowledge of form, and of
the principles of beauty and harmony, and so
exercise a controlling influence over the dress-
makers. By this means a better taste will be
created, and the dressmakers will at length dis-
cover their deficiency in certain guiding princi-
ples, and will be driven at last to resort to simi-
lar studies. But in this case a startling difficulty
presents itself — the poor dressmaker is at pre-
sent over- worked : how can she find leisure to

attend the schools of design, or even pursue, if
she had the ability, the necessary studies at
home? A girl is apprenticed to the trade at the
age of thirteen or fourteen, she works at it all
her life, rising early, and late taking rest, and
what is the remuneration of her daily toil of
twelve hours? Eighteenpence, or at most two
shillings a day, with her hoard ! As she reckons
the value of the latter at a shilling, it follows
that the earnings of a dressmaker, in the best
period of her life, who goes out to work, could
not exceed 15s., or at the most 18s. a week, if
she did not, at the hazard of her health — which,
indeed, is frequently sacrificed — work at home
before she begins, and after she has finished her
day's work abroad. The carpenter or house-
painter does not work harder, or bring to bear
on his employment greater knowledge than the
poor dressmaker, yet he has 4s. 6d. a day with-
out his board, while she has only what is equiva-
lent to 2s. 6d. or 3s. ! What reason can be as-
signed why a woman's work, if equally well
done, should not be as well paid as that of a
man ? A satisfactory reason has yet to be given ;
the fact, however, is indisputable that women are
not in general so well paid for their labor as men.

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND HER

DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

DEAR,

EDITED BY HORACE MATHEf.

THE FIFTH LETTER LEFT.

(Written on copy-book paper, apparently left by hand.)

SHOWING WHAT KITTY THOUGHT OF GO-
VERNESSES IN GENERAL, AND OF ONE IN
PARTICULAR.

Nelly, dearest, I have formed a great deter-
mination. Nothing shall ever induce me to be-
come that poor, absurd, ill-used creature, called
a governess. I would starve sooner, or make
shirts (which is pretty nearly the same thing),
or emigrate and marry the first savage I met, or
be a " touter" at a bonnet shop, or even go into
service at a cheap lodging-house ; anything,
Nelly, sooner than be turned into that hopeless,
spiritless, friendless being a governess seems
destined by nature, or society, to be.

A governess in a private family is bad enough,
but then she is not totally deprived of the com-
forts of home. She has a room, or at least a bed,
entirely to herself, and her meals arc generally

the same as those of the family. Besides, a
certain degree of respect is always paid to her.
The servants are obliged to treat her with
civility, at all events in the presence of their mis-
tresses ; and the mistresses are compelled to show
her a little attention, if it is only done to set a
good example to their servants. Then, again,
their "young charges" cannot invariably be
amusing themselves at her expense. They can-
not always be teasing her. When they are
taken out for an airing in the carriage, or when
they are brought down after dinner with their
shiny faces and glossy ringlets, or whenever
there is company, or their parents and strangers
are present, the governess enjoys a brief respite
from that system of petty tyrannies she is the
untiring victim of elsewhere. She has her few
pleasures, though perhaps they may come at long
straggling intervals; she has her distractions,
her excitements in moving about in the world,
and going to places of public amusements, and

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S.

.15

occasionally she knows what it is to enjoy the
sweet success of rivalry — for have we not seen,
Nelly, many a poor neglected governess who was
doing the work of a musician at the piano, with-
out his wages, receive in the course of the even-
ing more attention than the fine young ladies
themselves who were the worshipped idols of the
establishment 1

Rut the governess in a girls' school has a very
different life of it, Nelly. She hasn't a mo-
ment to herself. She is the first to rise and the
last to go to bed. She hasn't even the privacy
of a bedroom to herself, for she is obliged to
sleep in the same room as the girls, to look after
them. The only privacy she knows is when
she creeps into bed and draws the curtains round
her. Our play-hours are no play-hours to her ;
rather on the contrary, for then her torments
really begin, and only end when the bell rings
again for class. She is the target at which every
little chit fires her fun, and thinks she has a
perfect right to do so. She is the only game at
which the girls never tire of playing, and to see
how they enjoy it you would imagine there was
no amusement like it. It is true, Nelly, I have
not seen much misery yet, and hope I never
shall ; but I can hardly imagine anything in this
world more miserable than a school governess on a
half-holiday.

Why, look at poor Rlight. I have only to look
upon her to feel for the sufferings of the whole
class. Her nature seems to be sun-dried. She
never smiles, and there is such an air of resig-
nation about her, such a tone of despair that
runs through all her words and smallest move-
ments, that it is perfectly clear Hope never whis-
pers into her ear any of those soft motherly words
which soothe the agony of one's heart and lull
it quietly off to sleep.

She may justly be called our "mistress of all
work." She does a little of everything ; she helps
the smallest girls to dress ; takes the junior
pupils ; hears the reading ; sees to the wardrobes ;
gives out the linen; teaches needlework; and
superintends the Saturday night's cleaning; in
short, she is expected, as they say of servants, "to
make herself generally useful," which means,
in our instance, that she is worked to death by
everybody, and spared by nobody ; besides being
teased, deceived, bullied, and ridiculed by every
one who has a fancy that way ; and for leading a
life like this, she only gets 16Z. a year, and her
board and lodging during the holidays !

Snapp (another of our teachers) smiles at
Blight's old-fashioned learning. She says it is
quite out of date, and only fit for a charity school.
Mademoiselle (the French teacher) quizzes her

dress, and makes fun of her melancholy, and talks
of her contemptuously, as, " ?a," which I am told
is the same as if you were speaking of a cook,
or a poor relation, and called her " it." Fraulein
(the German mistress) mimics her, and laughs
over her patient endurance and old-maidifch
manners.

It must be confessed that poor Blight's appear-
ance affords plenty of temptation for this cruel
ridicule. She is certainly very ugly, and no one
ever loses an opportunity of telling her so. The
worst is, the example set by the schoolmistress is
followed with the greatest zest by the school-
girls, who indulge in all kinds of practical jokes
at her expense. She is unfortunately very short-
sighted, and consequently they are always hiding
her spectacles, or else rubbing the glasses over
with butter or ink. No one considers there is
any harm in this, for the girls have grown to
look upon Blight as " fair game ;" and if any one
can put her into a passion, it is considered " rare
fun," and thought just as harmless as throwing
bread-pills at one another when the mistress's
back is turned. When there is no other amuse-
ment going on, the cry is always raised, " Let 's go
and tease Blight," and you see the whole school
rushing forward as eagerly as if a gypsy suddenly
appeared at the play-ground gate to tell us our
fortunes. Bat if any one is in trouble, Blight is
the first to screen her. If any girl is ill, Blight
will sit up with her all night, and will pet and
nurse the little sufferer until she almost fancies
herself at home ; and when the little invalid has
grown well again, and has recovered the use of
her tongue and fingers, Blight never says a word
about the ungrateful return, but bears it all like
a martyr, which, in truth, she really is. Ugly
as she is, I really think there are times when I
could throw my arms round her neck, and kiss
her for her goodness.

I cannot tell you all the nicknames which
they have for her face and person, nor would it
altogether be agreeable for you, Nelly, I think
to hear them. Suffice it to say, the poor thing-,
is very old — thirty-nine, if she is a day ; and she
has the funniest little head of hair, every hair
appearing to be pulled as tight, and to be almost
as wide apart, as the strings of a harp. The top
of her head is mounted with a round knot of hair
no bigger than the worsted ball you see on a
Scotch cap. It's a wonder to me she doesn't wear
a wig or a cap of some sort, though perhaps it
would be too dangerous, as every one would
undoubtedly be trying to pull it off. The girls de-
clare no one can recollect her having a new gown.
Every quarter a very thin, snuff-brown silk, on a
very stiff lining, is brought out as Sunday best ;

416

godey's magazine and lady's book,

but it is only the old one turned and altered a bit,
for that little wicked thing, Jessie Joy, put a drop
oi ink on one of the breadths on purpose to find
it out; and there it is still, journeying about
backwards and forwards, first in front and then
behind ; now on the top, just under her chin, and
next down at the bottom, sweeping the floor, pre-
cisely as the faded silk is twisted or turned to hide
the creases and the ravages of old age. The girls
calculate the period they have been at school by
this venerable gown; and it's no unusual thing
to hear them, when disputing about any parti-
cular date, settling it at once by referring to the
age of Miss Blight's brown silk, saying, " I re-
collect very well it was in the ninth quarter of
Blight's Sunday gown;" and a reference to a
date of this kind is considered as indisputable
as to a Family Bible, or an old almanac.

But these are small matters, Nelly, which I
am half ashamed to tell you, for under this poor
garment there is a heart of so much goodness as
to make us wonder at the strange hiding-places
in which virtue sometimes delights in lurking,
as if from modesty it had taken every precaution
not to be found out. What do you think, Nelly ?
I am told by Meggy that poor Blight supports an
old bedridden mother ! She has no positive proof
of this, but she is morally sure of it. This, then,
accounts for the reason why the poor governess
is always working so hard — never resting from
crocheting purses, and knitting antimacassars
sufficient to cover all the sofas in the world. If
you ask her for whom she makes this extraor-
dinary quantity (you can't think, Nell, how
quickly and beautifully she works), she simply
replies, her pale face becoming paler, " for a
dear friend;" and that is all we can get out of
her to reward our vulgar curiosity. This must
be the truth, for at all hours, both early and late,
has she got a needle in her hand. There is a
story that she wakes up sometimes in the middle
of the night, and works whilst the girls around
her are sleeping. But no one knows the cause
of her excessive industry, and I really think she
would be miserable if it were known, and her
fingers would not ply their work of love half so
nimbly if she suspected that the girls, as they
watched her with such fixed curiosity, were ac-
quainted with the sacred object for which she.
was toiling. It is a puzzle when or where she
sella all the things 6he finishes, and no one ex-
actly likes to find out, though one or two attempts
have been made, but always ending, I am happy
to say, in the most complete failure. It makes
me sad to watch her anxiety when there is a
postman's knock at the door. She starts up in
her scat, and pauses for a while in her work (the

only pause it ever knows), until she gives out
the letters; and then you would pity her with
all your heart to see how disappointed she is —
what a vacancy of hope falls like a dark shadow
upon her face — when she learns that there is not
one for her ! Though, when there is a letter, it
is scarcely any better. She sighs heavily, looks
sometimes at a little locket she carries in her
breast, and hurries on with her work quicker
than ever, as if the purse she was finishing was
to contain her own money instead of somebody
else's, and she had so much that she wanted the
use of it immediately.

If you have any fancy-work you want doing
(any braces or cigar-cases you wish to give away
as presents), will you send it to me, Nelly, and
I will ask Blight, if I can do so without offend-
ing her, to do it for me 1

I'm obliged to finish my letter, Nelly, for the
fact is I have been writing the latter part of it
in our bedroom with a piece of wax candle I
took out of a candlestick there was in the hall,
and there is only just sufficient left to enable iae
to scramble into bed, and to assure you how
dearly you are loved by

Yours affectionately,

Kitty Clover.

P. S. — I intend that my bootlace shall come
undone somewhere about the grocer's, when we
are out a walking to-morrow, so that I may lag
behind, and drop this in the post unobserved.
Oh ! dear — the candle 's gone out. What sh — '

TO MISS LAURA.

So let it be : what shall I lose or gain
By looking less within those eyes?

The promise made shall therefore firm remain,

Tbough it may cause me care and pain;
My passion will n»t die, but rise
Beyond the earth, and pierce the skies.

Thine image is impressed upon my heart,
And though you bate, and even spurn,

I still will love, though I do bleed and smart

I '11 be as true, nor seek to part;

The love which binds me still shall burn,
Though friends to foe should choose to turn.

So it may be : yet hate me not, I pray ;
Tis a pure love that fills my breast;

Yet I have Bought to tear that lovo away,

To crush it in its dawning day,
And, failing, am I curst or blest
In living void of hope or rest ?

Curst you will say, and you may pity me,
And look less cold, or even smile;

A sweet, kind smile will not inipoT'rish thee,

Or make thy heart less lijztit and free;
Me from my gritf 'twill part awhile,
1'rom sadness and despair beguile.

CHAKITY ENVIETH NOT

BY ALICE B. NEAL.

" You don't say so !"

" True as the Gospel, Miss Snelling. That
velvet cloak of hers — she calls it a Talma — cost
every cent of twenty-five dollars. Then there 's
her bonnet — that came from New York, too ;
Miss Dunn's work ain't good enough for her of
late years. Well, that bonnet couldn't be
bought for less 'n eight dollars. Why, the rib-
bon must be four and six a yard, not to speak of
the feathers. Then there 's that new plaid silk,
vou know, and that French merino ; neither of
'em less 'n twelve shillings, and that 's the way
she dresses. Time was when she was glad
enough to get me to sew for her. I 've had her
beg, and beg, and beseech me to give her a day,
or even half a day, in my spring hurry ; and
now she's got a seamstress, as she calls that
stuck-up girl, that sets in the settin'-room all
day. She makes the children's clothes, and
her 'n are cut and fixed in New York, when they
ain't made there."

"She's dreadful extravagant for a church
member," said Mrs. Snelling, with a sigh, as
she turned herself slowly round before the little
looking-glass. She was having a lining fitted
by the village dressmaker, Miss Prime, and a
merino dress she had worn two years was partly
ripped up on the chair by the window. It was
the only dressmaking she had on hand for the
season. It was a hard winter, and, what with
the sickness of the children, and Mr. Snelling
losing so much time by the frost, their means
were unusually limited. No wonder that she
thought of the ease and plenty of the rich manu-
facturers household with a feeling of envy. She
did not know it, though. She was a plain, good-
hearted person naturally, struggling on to do her
duty through the discouragement of ill health,
ailing children, and very narrow means ; but
she could not help thinking Mrs. Hubbard was
getting worldly and extravagant as, year by year,
her household arrangements and personal ex-
penses increased.

Only the day before, at meeting, she could not
fix her attention upon the sermon for looking at
the velvet Talma worn for the first time by her
aid friend and still kind neighbor, Mrs. Hub-
bard. They were members of the same church,
Of which Mr. Hubbard was the most liberal sup-

porter. He gave according to his means, and,
at the same time, desired his wife and family to
dress and live as became his altered position and
prospects.

"Time was when she had to work hard
enough," continued Miss Prime, pinching in a
side seam in the endeavor to produce the hour-
glass shape, orthodox when she " learned her
trade." " I remember when they first set up
housekeeping, and she had to do her own work
as well as other people, and her own sewing,
too. Now I don't believe she takes a needle in
her hand from morning till night, while you
and I, Miss Snelling, don't git wa/iyplay spells."

The leaven of uncharitableness worked on in
Mrs. Snelling's heart.

" I 'm afraid there isn't much spiritual growth,
Miss Prime. The cares of this wrorld choke the
seed." Poor woman ! she thought it was only
an interest in her neighbor's best good that
prompted such a constant review of her conduct.
" People that have their hearts set on dress and
high living can't have much time for better
things."

" That 's what I think. How do you like
them bask waists, Miss Snelling ? I hear they 're
all the fashion in New York. Miss Dunn said
she 'd try an' git me a pattern when she went
down in the spring. I wouldn't ask Miss Hub-
bard to lend me hers to look at for nothing in
the world. How am I goin' to get out new
backs, Miss Snelling?"

" There 's the cape, you see."

" Why, so there is ! I never calculated the
cape. I was studyin' an' contrivin' all the while
you was to breakfast. Says I, i Miss Snelling '11
have to have them backs pieced, and then
everybody in town '11 know it 's been made
over.' "

As if everybody in Mrs. Snelling's community
would not have known and noticed, under any
circumstances, that her brown merino of two
winters ago had been turned and made up again
for her best dress. She had set her heart, early
in the fall, on a new style of plaids, for sale at
Brown & Chapins ; but the doctor's bill was so
much larger than she expected, she was obliged
to give it up. The sacrifice had cost her many
hours of calculation, alternate resolves, and re-

417

418

godey's magazine and lady's book,

considerations. Every purchase that she made,
indeed, was of necessity turned over and over in
her mind for weeks.

Miss Prime went on with her fitting by the
window, and Mrs. Snelling with her task of
washing up the breakfast-dishes, "jogging the
•■radle" with one foot, every now and then, as
her youngest child stirred in his morning nap.

" That was a lucky thought, that cape." Miss
Prime resumed her thimble and her conversation
together. " It don't seem to be worn as much
as the rest, neither."

"No, it isn't; I only kept it for very cold
days. I thought of it in church, Sunday, right
in the middle of the sermon. Queer, wasn't it?
I was so dreadfully afraid you couldn't get it
out. So, as soon as I came home, I took it out
and looked at it ; sure enough, it was the very
thing."

" I see Miss James has got a new cloak this
winter. She hain't worn hers more than three
winters, to my knowledge. Well, these rich
people are jist as worldly, for all I see, as if they
wasn't professors." Miss Prime was one of the
most constant attendants of the church prayer-
meetings, and saw " no beam in her own eyes."

" Time was, as you say, Miss Prime, when
we were all plain people together, with good
feelings towards each other. I think of it very
often — the days when Susan Hubbard and I
used to send our little presents to each other
New Year's, and be neighborly all along. That
was before the Jameses moved here, or lawyer
Martin's people. She 's so intimate with them
now she hasn't got any time for old friends.
Many and many 's the time I 've sent her things
right off my table ; and, when her Jane had the
scarlet fever, I sat up with her night after night.
But I don't mind that. What I look at is
Christian professors being so taken up with
dress, and going about, but dress particularly.
It don't look right, and it isn't, according to
Scripture."

It was a wearisome^ fatiguing day to Mrs.
Snelling, who did the whole work of her
household. Her oldest son was learning his
father's trade, and the dinner for the two had to
be on the table precisely at twelve, for they had
but an hour's nooning. So, scarcely were the
breakfast things cleared away, when there were
the meat and vegetables to prepare for " a boiled
dinner;" and twice she was obliged to stand and
be pinned up in the thick jean lining Miss Prime
was fitting with unexampled tightness. The
afternoon was no better; she had Tuesday's
ironing to finish, her little boy was sick and
fretful ; though four years old, and very heavy,

he required to be nursed and tended as if he had
been a baby. She wanted to sew with Miss
Prime ; but, no sooner would she get her needle
threaded, and her thimble on, than some new
demand would be made upon her time, and so
the short afternoon passed before she could
stitch up a seam, and tea must be ready by dark.
Besides all this, Miss Prime was disposed to
continue her conversation with very little pause
or stint, discussing the affairs of the neighbor-
hood and the church with a train of moral, re-
ligious, and personal reflections. Every " one
knows how fatiguing it is to be expected to
listen to such a discourse, and respond in the
right place, even when the mind is unoccupied ;
and then the dress did not look nearly so well
as Mrs. Snelling had figured it in her mind, the
new pieces being several shades darker than the
main body of the material. More discouraging
than all, it needed " finishing off" when seven
o'clock sounded the signal for the conference
meeting Miss Prime would not miss on any
account.

" I wouldn't mind staying over my time jist
to give you a helpin' hand, if it wasn't church
meetin' night ; but, you know, it 's very im-
portant all should be there that can. To be
sure, Miss Hubbard is so took up with other
things now, she never goes ; and, though Miss
James joined by letter when she came, she 's
never been to a business meeting. For my part,
I think we 've got just as good a right to vote in
church meetin' as the men, and speak, too, if
we want to, though Deacon Smith has set his
face against it of late years. So, you see, I '11
have to go ; and there 's only the facing to face
down, and them side seams to stitch up, and the
hooks and eyes to go on. The sleeves are all
ready to baste in — oh, and there 's the bones ;
but bones are nothing to put in — especially as
John Lockwood is to be dealt with to-night for
going to the theatre last time he was in New
York. For my part, I never did put much faith
in his religion — and the more some of us stay
away, the more the rest of us ought to go. Don't
forget to take in that shoulder seam a little.
For my part, I think his sister ought to be la-
bored with for singing such songs as she does on
the piano. Clear love songs, and plays opera
pieces, Miss Allen says. Now which is the
worst, I'd like to know, going to the theatre or
playing opera pieces 1 Miss Hubbard's Jane
does that, when she 's home in vacations, though.
That piece under the arm don't look so very bad,
Miss Snelling — there ain't more 'n two hours'
work, any way."

Two hours' work, to a person who could

CHAEITY ENVIETH NOT.

419

scarcely get time to do her mending from week
to week, was no trifle. Mrs. Snelling wavered
for a little while between the accumulating pile
of dilapidated under-clothes in the willow basket
and the unfinished dress ; but the dress must be
done before New Year's day, now close at hand,
and she lighted another lamp, and drew her lit-
tle workstand up to the fire, as the clock again
struck eight. Her mind had opened itself to
discontented thoughts in the morning, and " the
enemy had come in like a flood," until all the
brightness of her life had been swept out of
sight. She saw only the successive woes of ill
health, loss, and wearing anxiety which had
rolled over them in the past, and a blank, dreary
prospect for the future. Her very occupation
reminded her of it. If she could have afforded
Miss Prime's assistance two days instead of one,
she might have got ahead in her sewing a little ;
now here was another drawback, and she had so
little time. And " there was Susan Hubbard ;
but, then, she did not give up everything to dress
and display, thank goodness ! as Susan Hubbard
did, bringing scandal in the church, and setting
herself up over everybody."

A knock at the front door was a fresh annoy-
ance ; for the work had to be put down again,
the .sick boy quieted, before Mrs. Snelling went
shivering through the cold, narrow hall to an-
swer it.

The neighborly visitor was no other than Mrs.
Hubbard; "and no fire except in the kitchen,"
was Mrs. Snelling's first thought, as she recog-
nized her with a mixed feeling of gratification,
" hard thoughts," and curiosity. Certainly it
was a curious coincidence that the person who
had formed the subject of her thoughts and con-
versation, so much of the day, should suddenly
appear.

" Don't mind me," Mrs. Hubbard said, plea-
santly, stepping on before her old neighbor.
" This way, I suppose ?" And she led the way
to the kitchen herself, thus avoiding the neces-
sity of an apology on the part of Mrs. Snelling.
" How bright and cheerful a cook stove looks,
after all ! and your kitchen always was as neat
as wax. We never used to keep but one fire,
you know." This last was an unfortunate allu-
sion. Mrs. Snelling's softening face grew cold-
ly rigid at what she considered an attempt to
patronize her.

" Poor folks had to," she said, taking up her
work and stitching away vigorously.

" I haven't forgotten old times, Jane," Mrs.
Hubbard went on, not caring to notice the un-
gracious tone in which this remark was made,
"when we were all beginning the world to-

gether. You seem to, though, for then you used
to run in and see me, and I was thinking to-
night you haven't been up to our house since
October."

Mrs. Snelling began to say something about
" not going where she was not wanted;" but it
died away lower and lower, when she remem-
bered Mrs. Hubbard had been in twice since
then.

" I know you have a great deal to keep you
at home ; I know how it used to be when my
children were little. You didn't let me pay
three visits to your one then, Jane." Mrs. Hub-
bard drew her thimble from her pocket and took
up the top piece of mending from the big willow
basket, in the most natural manner. " This is
to go so, isn't it ?" said she. " I can work and
talk, too, you know. Mr. Hubbard has gone to
church meeting ; but I don't think it 's exactly
our place to attend to church discipline, we wo-
men are so apt to make a bad matter worse by
talking it over among each other, and to people
that it doesn't concern. So I thought I 'd just
run in sociably, and bring my thimble, as we
used to do for each other."

Mrs. Snelling would have said, half an hour
ago, that she was completely fortified against
Mrs. Hubbard's advances, in what shape soever;
but she began to find a mist gathering in her
eyes, as that old kindness and affection came
stealing back again in recollection.

But Mrs. Hubbard was a wise woman, and
she knew that a friend aggrieved was hard to
win, whether the offence had been intentional
or not.

"It 's pretty hard work to live right, isn't it?"
she said, verging round again to the old subject,
after a little talk about the roads and the wea-
ther. " Every lot in life has its trials. I used
to look at rich people, and think they hadn't a
care in the world : but, now Mr. Hubbard has
done so well, we have to live differently and
dress differently, and there 's no end to looking
after things. I used to work hard all day, and,
when the children were asleep in the evening,
sit down comfortably to sew or read ; but now
there 's something or somebody to see to to the
last minute. To be sure, as far as dress is con-
cerned, I don't think half so much of it as I
used to, when I had to plan and contrive about
every cent. Why, I often used to find myself
planning about my sewing in sermon-time, if
you will believe it, and how I should get the
girls two dresses out of one of mine. To be
sure, I have no such temptations now."

Mrs. Snelling looked up suddenly, as the re-
collection of her Sunday plan about the cape

420

godey's magazine and lady's book.

caine into her mind. Could it be that to Him,
vnto whom all hearts are ope?i, she had been the
l sincere worshipper of the two?

" I should like to try a little prosperity, by
wav of a change," she said, more pleasantly
than she had last spoken, but still with bittcr-
noss beneath. "I'm tired of slaving."

" Oh, Jane !" Mrs. Hubbard said, quickly,
<c don't choose — don't choose your trials. I used
to say that very thing, and that it was all well
enough for rich people to preach." Mrs. Snell-
ing saw the painful expression that crossed her
friend's face, and the current report of young
Robert Hubbard's dissipation came into her
mind. " Everybody has their own troubles ;
some don't stand out as plain as others, and
don't get so much pity. Rich people get very
little, and they have hard work enough to bring
up their children right, and to live in peace and
charity with all. I 've got so now I only ask
for patience to bear the trial of the time, instead
of praying to have it changed, and thinking that
I could bear any other better."

The two women sewed in silence for a little
while ; each heart knew its own bitterness.

" Jane," Mrs. Hubbard said, stopping sudden-
ly and looking into the bright grate in front of
the stove, " shall I tell you what this puts me
in mind of, seeing this nice bright cooking-
stove 1 Of that New Year's night, the winter
Robert was sick, and our children were all lit-
tle, when you came round and brought them
over to spend the afternoon, and boiled candy
for them and let them pop corn. They brought
us home a plateful of braided sticks. Poor little
things ! if it hadn't been for you, they wouldn't
have had so much as a pin for a New Year's
present, their father was so sick, and I was so
worn out. Why, only think, they had been
feazing me to buy them some candy, and I
actually did not feel that I could afford that
quart of molasses ! I 've thought of it often and
often since. Somehpw, this winter there's
scarcely a day when it doesn't come into my
mind, and I always feel like crying."

Mrs. Snelling was crying, as Mrs. Hubbard's
voice faltered more and more ; she did not at-
tempt to conceal it, she remembered that New
Year's day so well, and how she had pitied Su-
san's poor little boys, and brought them home
and made them as happy as children could be
made, in the very kindness of her warm heart.
The long struggle with poverty and care had
not seared it, after all.

" Don't cry, Jane. But you won't mind, and
you won't misunderstand me now, if I 've
brought you a New Year's present of a dress ?

I was afraid you wouldn't take it as it was
meant, if I just sent it. Here it is." And Mrs.
Hubbard unrolled the very raw silk plaid Mrs.
Snelling had so long coveted. " I wanted it to
be useful, and I went down to get a cashmere
like mine ; but you happened to be there when
I went in, and I saw how long you looked at
this."

Mrs. Snelling remembered the day, and that
she had come home thinking Mrs. Hubbard had
felt too grand to talk to her before the clerks.

" I was afraid you would find me out, and so
I kept at the other end of the store. Now, you
won't misunderstand me, will you, Jane ?"

" Oh, Susan, I had such hard thoughts, you
don't know." And Mrs. Snelling put her aproii
up to her eyes, instead of looking at the new silk.

" Never mind that now, it's only natural. I
could see just how you felt, for the more I tried
to be neighborly, the colder you got. It's grieved
me a good deal. But about the dress. Ann
was not very busy, and so I had her make the
skirt, as we could wear each other's dresses in
old times, and every little helps when a person
has a good deal to do. If you will let me know
when Miss Prime comes to make it up, she shall
come over and sew with her."

" Charity is not easily provoked, suffereth
long, and is kind," was the minister's text the
next Sunday; but Mrs. Snelling thought of a
better illustration than any he could offer, and
noted the rest of the verse with humiliation —
charity envieth not.

TREASURES,

Joy makes us grieve for the brevity of life ;
sorrow causes us to be weary of its length ; cares
and industry can alone render it supportable.

Serenity of mind is nothing worth, unless
it has been earned : a man should bo at once
susceptible of passions, and able to subdue them.

Memory is like a picture-gallery of our past
days. The fairest and most pleasing of the pic-
tures are those which immortalize the days of
useful industry.

If you wish to make yourself agreeable to any
one, talk as much as you please about his or her
affairs, and as little as possible about your own.

Put away presumptuousness and pride : if
they assail thy heart, think of the beginning
and end of life. Narrow, indeed, arc the cradle
and the coffin : in both we slumber alike help-
less, to-day a germinating dust, to-morrow a
crumbling germ.

THE ECONOMICS OF CLOTHING AND DEESS.

REMAKING AND MENDING.

Shakspeare tells us that "an old cloak
makes a new jerkin ;" and with such authority
and sanction for turning old materials to new
purposes, we will make no apology for giving
our readers a chapter of advice and instruction
on some of the most feasible plans of turning old
garments to good account.

Many are obliged by necessity, or as a matter
of good economy, to do this ; and those who are
richer, and can afford frequently to purchase
everything new for themselves, will greatly add
to their kindness to their poorer neighbors, if,
when they give a cast-off garment, it is accom-
panied by a little judicious instruction as to how
to make the best of it.

We will suppose a poor woman receiving the
gift of a lady's dress fully trimmed all over, and
so near a fit, that she might think it had been
made on purpose for her, if it was not a little
too tight. Would it be the wisest thing she
could do to take and wear the dress just as she
received it? If she did so, the probability is
that she would do those about her, as well as
herself and her dress, a great injury. She would,
most likely, be very cross in her family, for that
is often one of the ill effects of dressing too tight.
She might, too, begin to think that she looked
so like a lady with this full-trimmed dress, that
sundry unbecoming airs would be likely to creep
over her. And as to the dress, nature would
endeavor to free itself from restraint, and hooks
and eyes would be bursting this way and that,
and the flounces, that were very suitable to a
lady's mode of life, would soon be torn and
soiled in the household occupations of a poor
woman. And in two or three weeks, this dress,
that might have been made to do her good ser-
vice for months, will have such a slovenly and
torn appearance, that it had better be put out of
sight.

We should recommend, as a preferable course,
that, on receiving such a gift, all conspicuous and
needless trimmings be taken off, and the body
and sleeves be made a comfortable fit, by putting
in pieces where they are needed ; for which pur-
pose some of the trimmings will be useful. Or,
if it should be a very full skirt, it might be bet-
ter to take a breadth from that, which will serve
vol. xlviii.— 36

: to make a fresh body. If it is too long, or if it
is rubbed, and a little worn at the gathers, the
skirt should be taken from the body, and sewed
on again at the right length, at the same time
placing the middle of a different breadth to the
middle of the body, so as to put the worst worn
part of the gathers to the place where they will
have the least wear. This will oblige running
up the opening at the back of the skirt, and
making a new one. All this trouble will, how-
ever, be well repaid by having a comfortable
and suitable dress; and ladies are much mora
likely to repeat a kindness when they see that
their gifts are well used and valued.

When a mother has worn a dress as long as
she can, it will be strange if there is not enough
which is pretty good left in the skirt, which will
make a frock, or perhaps even two, for a little
girl. It is well to bear this in mind in buying a
dress, and to choose one of a pattern that would
not be very conspicuous or unsightly if it should
afterwards be used for children.

Another good use to which to put an old
dress is, by altering the body and sleeves, to
adapt it for a petticoat. It is well, however,
not to be in a hurry to do this. Two mothers
had each a good black satin dress ; in the course
of time they became, as unfortunately all dresses
will, too shabby, or too old-fashioned for their
wearers' use. One mother picked hers to pieces,
washed and ironed it, and made from it two
handsome-looking mantles for her daughters.
The other adapted hers for a petticoat, and spent
five dollars in the purchase of new mantles for
her two daughters. The mantles made of the
old material were far the better looking, and the
more serviceable. Now one dollar would have
bought a petticoat ; and thus the saving of four
dollars might have been made for the pocket of
the husband.

Bonnets may be lined or made from the cut-
tings of old silk dresses. A lady benevolently
disposed can find the means of assisting a needle-
woman in want of work, by employing her to
use up odd pieces in this manner. She will
thereby give the workwoman the means of earn-
ing a few shillings, and at the same time she
will, at a comparatively little cost, enable her-
self to rejoice the hearts of various old womca
by the gift of a comfortable silk bonnet.

421

422

godey's magazine and lady's book.

The remaining parts of some dresses will prove
suitable for making aprons and pinafores.

But what can be done with dresses that are so
washed and worn as to be of no service even for
a child's frock or pinafore 1 Why, they may be
cut up for dusters, if they will do for nothing
else, and they will serve nicely for the little
girls to learn hemming upon. Indeed, it only
wants an active, notionable mind to discover
good uses for almost anything that may be at
hand, and render it- applicable to some of the
requirements of the possessor.

About the worst thing to do with old dresses
is to carry them to an old clothes-shop, or to
dispose of them at the door for something out
of a basket.

Woollen garments, such as coats and trowsers,
offer rather more of a puzzle as to how to dis-
pose of them. They are, however, articles to be
by no means despised, as a peep into the work-
ing-rooms of some old clothes establishment
might soon convince our readers. Many a
second-hand waistcoat, cap, and even child's
complete suit, have been contrived from the
refuse contents of an old clo'-man's bag. These
old clothes-merchants, however, never cut up
garments that can by any contrivance of piecing
and cleaning be made suitable for wear, or to
fetch a price in their original form. This a good
home manager should also observe.

Cheap bought slop-clothes are scarcely worth
the time and trouble of remaking into anything.
But a bit of broadcloth that has been originally
good may be brought into use over and over
again, when its original purpose has been almost
forgotten.

In a family of restricted means, where the
father is obliged, by his line of life or connec-
tions, to keep up what is called a respectable
or genteel appearance, if the mother is a good
contriver very little need be purchased for the
clothing of her boys until they reach their
toons. The clothes that the father is, for the
sake of appearance, obliged to lay aside, will
afford good material for clothing them. But
how often pride, more than a want of knowledge,
comes in here, and prevents the mother from
doing what she might and could do. She is
afraid that if she herself makes clothes for her
boys, she may be laughed at as " a hen tailor."
And if she should employ a needlewoman, who
could do such things well and inexpensively for
her, she is afraid the woman will speak of it,
and think her mean for using old clothes ; and
she will in preference buy cheap, ready-made
clothes, which will not last so long, and perhaps
not look any better than what sho might have

obtained for a tithe of the cost by using the
materials laid by at home.

To keep up a genteel appearance with only a
small income, is a very trying situation to be
placed in; nevertheless, it is the lot of very
many ; and a wise woman will feel sure that she
is not acting meanly, while she acts in accord-
ance with the limits of her husband's purse.
Nothing can be more mean than to increase his
anxieties by indulging in any needless expenses
I in dress.

When it is designed to make any cloth gar-
ment into a smaller one, it is generally best to
look upon it merely as a piece of material, and
\ not to attempt to bring any of the old seams
into use. If it has been previously worn in the
same family, and not much soiled, a good dry
brushing may be all that is required for cleanli-
ness. But if it has been long worn and made
dirty, it had better be picked to pieces and
thoroughly washed. Good broadcloth will bear
washing just as well as a bit of calico ; and so
will very many other articles that are frequently
considered unwashable.

Supposing the garment unpicked and brushed,
or washed, it should be well examined as to the
thicker and thinner parts, and the smaller pat-
tern laid on and cut accordingly, always observ-
ing to keep the nap of the cloth all one way,
from the top to the bottom of the garment.
Much of the secret of the neat appearance of
clothes made by tailors is in their flatly placing
and pressing down all their seams by means of
heated irons. The seams should be opened out
— that is, each side of the scam should be folded
back, and damped and smoothed by a hot iron
before the lining is put in. As to a pattern, the
best way to obtain one is from a tailor; and
great assistance in the making up may be ob-
tained by observing how the article picked to
pieces was made. All visible button-holes
should be made with silk, and not thread ; and a
strip for strengthening laid where buttons and
button-holes are to be. There is no reason why
clothes of this description, made by women,
should either be bad fitting, or the work clumsy
looking. This is not always the case ; and any
woman who has learned the use of her needle,
and uses her powers of observation, might aa
well rival the tailor as not.

Odd cuttings of cloth are serviceable for
mending or remaking the tops of boots. Foot-
stools also may be covered with remaining piecee,
and if braided with a lively-colored braid, have
a neat and ornamental appearance. We have
also seen made from the tails of a coat, a work-
bag, which had a pattern with colored wools

MAY-DAY.

423

worked on each side, and really had a handsome
appearance. Girls in a family might jnst as
well use such materials to exercise their fancy
and ingenuity upon, and so often save a good
many wasted shillings.

Hearth-rugs are sometimes made by cutting
cloth into strips half an inch wide and two
inches long, and knitting them together with
string. This is done by inserting the piece of
cloth exactly at the middle, in the loop of the
knitting and drawing it in very tight ; it is ra-
ther hard finger- work, and some make the rug
by sewing the strips of cloth on to a piece of old
carpet or any other strong material that may be
at hand. This sort of rug will in winter form a
very comfortable addition to a poor man's fire-
place. Or the bits may be knitted into smaller
pieces for door-mats.

But when all the best bits have been employed
as use or fancy may dictate, there will still re-
main some rough or thin cuttings which cannot
be worked up any how; what is to be done

with these? Perhaps we could not easily have
answered this question, had we not recently
heard a girl say, " Oh, mother is very glad in-
deed of such pieces; when she gets any, she
washes them thoroughly, and sets us children
to cut them up very small indeed, and fills a case
with them to make a pillow ; all our pillows and
bolsters, and even the beds at home, are made
like that, and we find them very comfortable;
mother could never afford to buy proper beds
for all us children."

Linen and cotton, and even flannel under-
clothing, may generally be darned and pieced
until the whole fabric is too much worn to be
worth making into garments of any other form.
It may sometimes be worth while, where the
material has been originally good, to slightly
make from them shirts and petticoats for infants;
as the growth of the infant forbids their being
worn any great length of time, and the material
having been previously used is softer than new.

MAY-DAY

The observance of May-day was a custom
which, until the close of the reign of James the
First, alike attracted the attention of the royal
and the noble, as of the vulgar class. Henry
the Eighth, Elizabeth, and James patronized
and partook of its ceremonies ; and, during this
extended era, there was scarcely a village in the
kingdom but had a May-pole, with its appro-
priate games and dances.

The origin of these festivities has been attri-
buted to three different sources — Classic, Celtic,
and Gothic. The first appears to us to establish
the best claim to the parentage of our May-day
rites, as a relic of the Roman Floralia, which
were celebrated on the last four days of April,
and on the first of May, in honor of the goddess
Flora, and were accompanied with dancing,
music, the wearing of garlands, strewing of
flowers, &c. The Bettein, «r rural sacrifice of
the Highlanders, on this day, as described by
Mr. Pennant and Dr. Jamieson, seems to have
arisen from a different motive, and to have been
instituted for the purpose of propitiating the
various noxious animals which might injure, or
destroy their flocks and birds. The Gothic
anniversary on May -day makes a nearer ap-
proach to the general purpose of the Floralia,
and was intended as a thanksgiving to the sun ;
if not for the return of flowers, fruit, and grain,
yet for the introduction of a better season for

fishing and hunting. The modes of conducting
the ceremonies and rejoicings on May-day may
be best drawn from the writers of the Eliza-
bethan period, in which this festival appears to
have maintained a very high degree of celebrity,
though not accompanied with that splendor of
exhibition wiiich took place at an earlier period,
in the reign of Henry the Eighth. It may be
traced, indeed, from the era of Chaucer, who, in
the conclusion of his " Court of Love," has
described the feast of May, when

Forth goth all the court, both most and leas,

To fetch the floures fresh, and brauuch and blome;

And namely hauthorn brought both page and grome :

And then, rejoysen in their great delite,

Eke ech at other throw the floures bright,

The primerose, the violets, and the gold,

With fresh garlants party blew and white.

And it should be observed that this, the simplest
mode of celebrating May-day, was as much in
vogue in the days of Shakspeare as the more
complex one, accompanied by the morris-dance
and games of Robin Hood. The following de-
scription, by Bourne and Borlase, manifestly
alludes to the costume of this age, and to the
simpler mode of commemorating the first of
May : " On the calends, or the first day of
May," says the former, "the juvenile part of
both sexes were wont to rise a little after mid-
night, and walk to some neighboring wood,

4'24

godey's magazine and lady's book.

accompanied with music and the blowing of horns,
where they break down branches from the trees,
and adorn them with nosegays and crowns of
flowers. When this is done, they return with
their booty homewards, about the rising of the
sun, and make their doors and windows to tri-
umph in the flowery spoil. The after part of
the day is chiefly spent in dancing round a tall
pole, which is called a May-pole ; which, being
placed in a convenient part of the village, stands
there, as it were, consecrated to the goddess of
flowers, without the least violence offered to it,
in the wmole circle of the year."

"An ancient custom," says the latter, "still
retained by the Cornish, is that of decking their
doors and porches on the first of May with green
sycamore and hawthorn boughs, and of planting
trees, or rather stumps of trees, before their
houses. And, on May-eve, they from towns
make excursions into the country, and, having
cut down a tall elm, brought it into town, fitted
a straight and taper pole to the end of it, and
painted the same, erect it in the most public
places ; and on holidays and festivals adorn it
with flower-garlands, or ensigns and streamers."
So generally prevalent was this habit of early
rising on May-day, that Shakspeare makes one
of his inferior characters in King Henry the
Eighth exclaim —

Pray, sir, be patient ; 'tis as much impossible
(Unless we svve«p them from the door with cannons)
To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep
On May-day morning ; which will never be.

But, about the commencement of the sixteenth

century, or sooner, a very material addition Wtfa
made to the celebration of the rites of May-day
by the introduction of the characters of Robin
Hood and some of his associates. This was done
with a view towards the encouragement of
archery, and the custom was continued even
beyond the close of the reign of James the First.
It is true that the May-games, in their rudest
form — the mere dance of lads and lasses round a
May-pole, or the simple morris with the Lady of
the May — were occasionally seen during the
days of Elizabeth ; but the general exhibition
was the more complicated ceremony which we
are about to describe. The personages who now
become the chief performers in the morris-dance
were four of the most popular outlaws of Sher-
wood Forest. Warner, the contemporary of
Shakspeare, speaking of the periods of some of
our festivals, and remarking that "ere Penticost
began our May," adds —

Tho' (then) Robin Hood, litell John, frier Tuck,

And Marian, deftly play,
And lord and ladie gang till kirke,

With lads and lasses gay ;
Fra masse and een sang sa gud cheere,

And glee on ery greene.

These four characters, therefore — Robin Hood,
Little John, Friar Tuck, and Maid Marian —
although no constituent parts of the original
English morris, became at length so blended
with it, especially on the festival of May-day,
that, until the practice of archery was nearly laid
aside, they continued to be the most essential
part of the pageantry.

BLESSINGTON'S CHOICE

"Be kind to thy mother, for lo, on her brow,

May traces of sorrow be seen." — Popular Melody.

" Well, Blessington, so you 've come back to
locate with us, have you ? Got enough of tra-
velling and all its vexations, I presume?"

" Enough ? As you please about that, George ;
but I find no vexations so weighty as to over-
come the pleasures to be enjoyed in travel, by
any manner of means. Still, I have returned to
settle down in my native land, and my good
genius seems to have throwm Dallydale in my
way ; so here I remain, and have commenced
practice, as you see — or, rather, intend to com-
mence, when any business presents itself."

" Excuse impertinence, Harry," said the first
speaker, with a roguish look, "but — you'll get
a wife, I suppose ? You know, that's an abso-

lute necessity in these days ; to say nothing
about performing an act of kindness to the scores
who are waiting but to be asked."

" Well, I am not so certain as to the truth of
that last remark ; nevertheless, I have some in-
tentions of that nature. By the way, George,
can't you introduce me to some of the Dallydale
ladies, that I may find a maiden to my liking ?
You know, I 'm a perfect stranger in these
parts."'

"Good!" said George, springing from his
chair, and thrusting his thumbs in the arm-holes
of his waistcoat. " 'Pon honor, I should be de-
lighted to introduce you to some of my lady ac-
quaintance. Ahem! e Miss Jones, my friend.
Mr. Blessington, of — of — where shall it be,
Harry? Paris, or London, or New York, or

BLESSINGTON'S CHOICE.

425

where ? By my troth, Harry, you 're the only
mortal that I 'd give a fig to exchange situations
with ; hut you, with your fortune, your magnifi-
cent figure, your"

" There ! there, George ; I declare, I was in
hopes you had discarded those old ways of yours.
It's exceedingly disagreeable, if you knew it, to
be descanted upon in this manner to one's face.
But come, when for those introductions?"

" This very night, Harry, if you please. I '11
go with you, and call on some of my host of
familiar acquaintances. By the way, there 's one
young lady, Miss Somers, a cousin of mine, who
saw you at church last Sabbath, and who wishes
to make your acquaintance. And — would you
believe it? — she even told me so slyly. Yet
there 's no great wonder ; for a man of your
magnificent build"

But Blessington closed his lips by placing his
finger upon them, and together they left the
office and disappeared up the street. These two
young men were old schoolmates, and were quite
familiar in their manner with each other.
Blessington had been travelling in different
lands for a couple of years previous, and, on his
return to the United States, had fallen in with
his friend, George Hart, some years his junior,
and withal a pretty wild, though whole-hearted
fellow. Both were wealthy, both of very pre-
possessing appearance and manners ; but Bless-
ington, if cither, the more so.

On the evening of the same day in which we
introduce them to you, kind reader, they sallied
out as they had agreed. We cannot detail their
pleasant evening's ramble ; suffice it to say that
Blessington was convinced that Dallydale was
possessed of as charming ladies, and as kind
and hospitable souls, as many other places of
greater note. The Miss Somers of whom Hart
had spoken, Blessington found to be a lady pos-
sessed of dazzling beauty, and a power of con-
versation he had seldom seen excelled. Accom-
plished, elegant, and lovely, it may appear
strange to you, reader, when we tell you that
our hero was not at all prepossessed by her ap-
pearance. He saw, or thought he saw, a species
of contemptuous pride, a sort of glorying in her
own attractions, and a scorning of all " lesser
lights," that, to a man of his generous disposi-
tion, was anything but pleasing.

At another place, however, he saw a lady who
was introduced to him as Miss Ella Cole, who
appeared possessed of all those good qualities of
the heart for which he sought. And, indeed,
what beauty there was in her expressive fea-
tures owed its existence to the genuine artless-
ness, affection, and sincerity shadowed forth in

30*

each particular lineament. Hart was not slow
to observe that Blessington appeared inclined
more strongly to "tarry yet a little" at this place
than at any other during the entire evening.

That night Blessington had a dream, in which
a certain pair of mild blue eyes, light sunny
ringlets, and petite figure bore no insignificant
part. There was another, too, whose ruby lips
seemed to curl contemptuously towards the
meek one, and whose piercing black eyes seemed
to flash upon her the fires of hatred.

Some days after, Blessington met Miss Somers
at the mansion of Colonel Auberly, and she ap-
peared delighted to see him. Blessington, in the
nobleness of his heart, was equally pleased at
meeting her ; and thus was the finishing stroke
put to the work that rent from Miss Somers her
proud heart and placed it in Blessington's pos-
session, he all unconscious of the precious trea-
sure he had obtained, and with his own safe in
the place that God ordained for it.

Oh, ye that speak of the folly of prating of
woman's wiles, know ye that when she deter-
mines, with her whole soul, to win a man's
heart, it is twenty to one that, in spite of all hu-
man obstacles, she will accomplish her purpose?
This was the spirit now awakened in Miss So-
mers's proud bosom. She saw, with her apt in-
telligence, the state of Blessington's feelings
with regard to her, and she resolved that, come
what would, she would obtain from our hero
that which alone could content her ambitious
soul — his unbounded affections. Did she suc-
ceed ? You shall see.

From that hour forth, a change was noticed
in the entire deportment of Flora Somers, and
many were the conjectures as to what might be
the cause thereof; but all were equally distant
from the truth. Her haughty bearing in society
had yielded to one of apparent humility, kind-
ness, and a desire to gratify those around her.
Blessington noticed it, and, far from supposing
the real truth, he concluded that such was her
natural disposition, and that his first impres-
sions were the result of some unaccountable
state of his mind at the time of his introduction
to her.

However this might be, it was observed that
his visits at Dr. Somers's were of frequent oc-
currence, and soon every gossip of Dallydale
had another match in her eye. Few doubted
that Flora Somers would eventually be Mrs.
Blessington. And if our hero had been interro-
gated upon the subject, hie replies — if he gave
any — would not have been greatly at variance
with this belief.

Might a peep have been taken behind the par-

426

godey's magazine and lady's book.

lor curtains of Dr. Somers's mansion, on the
occasion of some of these calls, one might have
seen how

" Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spake again."

Thus matters stood. You who have passed
the ordeal of love, and are now roaming in the
fair fields of Hymen, can imagine what were
Blessington's intentions and Flora Somers's ex-
pectations ; while you who, like myself, have
only read of such things, must content your-
selves with the testimony of the initiated. Thus
matters stood.

One evening, Blessington had sallied out for
the evening rather earlier than was his wont,
and was on his way to Dr. Somers's, intending
to at once make known his intentions to " the
most adorable of her sex," and be consigned to
" everlasting misery or the supremacy of bliss,"
as she should decide.

Ha reached the door, and had laid his hand
on the bell-knob, when he heard a voice sharply
enunciating words which struck a chill to his
heart's core, but whose pronouncer's voice
sounded terribly like that of Miss Somers. He
paused and listened.

" Well, mind your own business !" was the
sound that greeted his ear from within, in a
voice which there was now no mistaking.

" Flora !" reproachfully murmured the gentle
voice of Mrs. Somers. And then followed the
doctor with —

" My daughter, are you never to desist from
your unfeeling disregard of a mother's love ?
Are you never to repay, even by respect and
kindness, that anxiety and devotion with which
she watched over your earlier years ? It wounds
me deeply that a daughter of mine should per-
sist in thus treating one who loves her as no
other being on earth ever can. Go to your
room, Flora, and remain until you will ask your
mother's forgiveness."

The hall-door was then closed with a bang,
and Blessington heard the light foot of his heart's
beloved ascending the stairway. He tarried no
longer, but turned away and retraced his steps
to his office. Locking the door behind him, he
threw himself into a chair, and, from the bitter
emotions of his soul, exclaimed —

" My God, what have I heard ! Can it be
that my own dear Flora is possessed of a heart
like this ? Though it tear the cords of my soul
in shreds, I never will take to my bosom one
who can thus treat her mother. Spirit of my
sainted mother, idol of all my early dreams,
never will I forsake the vow I plighted o'er thy
corpse !"

Bowing his head upon his hands, Blessington
became lost in the memories of the past. Hal-
lowed associations arose to his view, and passed
in solemn retrospect over his mind. He thought
of his boyhood's days, of the old stone mansion
that stood in the leafy grove, of the happy hours
he had spent in those ancient halls, and he mur-
mured a prayer to heaven, thanking his Maker
for thus revealing to him the yawning abyss of
misery into which he had been about to plunge.

After this came a calmness and capacity for
deliberation that ere long recalled to his mind
the recollection of Ella Cole — she that months
since had appeared so attractive to him. As it
was yet early, he sallied out, and a few minutes'
walk found him at the door of the humble brick
dwelling at the foot of the main street in the
village, where Mr. Cole had long lived and pur-
sued his honest calling. As he was about to
ring, his hand was again arrested by the sound
of a female voice ; not in a loud tone, but softly,
lowly, like the murmuring of distant music. It
was Ella Cole reading from the " Lady's Book"
a tale to her mother, who was listening with
earnest attention.

• " Ella, my dear girl," called a manly voice
from an adjoining room, " will you please to
bring me the last number of the ' Living Age V
It lies on the parlor table."

" Yes, father," said Ella, springing up. " Ex-
cuse me a moment, mother."

" Be quick, dear," was the mother's reply.

Light footsteps were heard tripping over the
floor, and soon again was heard the voice of the
sweet girl reading to her mother. Blessington
could not resist comparing this scene with that
of an hour previous. Being reluctant to intrude
upon so happy a scene, he again retired and
sought his office, but with far different feelings
from those of a short time before.

He called next evening, and was more than
ever convinced of the good qualities of Ella
Cole's heart. She remained Ella Cole not long
thereafter. She now rejoices in the name of
Blessington, and proves a source of. unceasing
happiness to her worthy husband. Many won-
dered at this marriage — none more so than the
two ladies most intimately concerned.

You have perused the simple truth, reader,
related to the writer by him we have called
George Hart. Blessington is not the only one
in the human family who regards a mother in
the light nearest approaching that of an angel
of any other mortal, nor the only one that
knows that in the degree which a girl is a good
daughter, in the same degree will she be a good
wife.

NEW REVELATIONS OF AN OLD COUNTRY.

THE GRAND LAMA,

We are growing wiser in our generation. Two
propositions we have fully demonstrated, viz.,
that some things can be done as well as others,
and that some people know as much as others.
The latter proposition is confirmed by the deve-
lopments of each succeeding day. For a con-
siderable period, we were contentedly wrapt up
in the belief which the old Grecians took unto
themselves. We were assured that all the en-
lightenment which had been vouchsafed to this
sublunary sphere dwelt with us, and that all be-
yond our narrow circle was shrouded in the
gloom of ignorance and barbarism. We were
the chosen people. Travellers have worked re-
markable changes in that flattering faith.

Much has been written concerning Tartary,
Thibet, and China. But, upon reflection, we
shall ascertain that our real knowledge of those
countries, which form so large a portion of the
globe, is exceedingly limited. We confidently
receive and spread abroad the grossest errors in
regard to the nature of these regions, the cha-
racter of the inhabitants, and the peculiarities

of their institutions. These errors may now re-
ceive due correction, for which we have to thank
two adventurous French missionaries, of the
Catholic Church, MM. Gabet and Kuc. About
the year 1844, the Pope established an Apostoli-
cal Vicariat of Mongolia ; and, it being deemed
expedient to ascertain the nature and extent of
the diocese thus created, MM. Gabet and Hue,
two Lazarists who were then attached to the
petty mission of Si- Wang, were deputed to ob-
tain the necessary intelligence. Through in-
credible difficulties they made their way to Lha-
Ssa, the capital of Thibet and chief seat of La-
man ism. Soon afterwards, Ke-Shen, the famous
Chinese minister, had them arrested for politi-
cal reasons, and deported to China, whence they
were allowed to proceed to France. These mis-
sionaries enjoyed the best opportunities for ob-
serving the character of the inhabitants and the
nature of the institutions in the countries they
visited, and tlieir statements may be relied upon
as truth.

Tartary and Thibet are dependencies of th«

427

428

godey's magazine and lady's book,

Chinese empire. The former is a vast region,
divided into Mongolia, Mantchouria, and Ele.
Mongolia comprises the territory lying between
35° and 50° north latitude, and 82° and 123°
east longitude. Its length from east to west is
about 1,700 miles, and its breadth about 1,000
miles. The surface of the country may be de-
scribed as an elevated plateau, inclosed to the
north-west by the Altai chain, and on the south
by the Thibctian ranges. In the centre is the
great sandy desert of Gobi, or Shamo, which is
for the most part destitute of water and vegeta-
tion. Rivers are numerous north of the desert,
and south of it are to be found several beautiful
lakes. The climate is excessively cold, owing
to the great elevation, dry atmosphere, and want
of shelter from the winds, and the soil is almost
entirely barren. As might be expected from the
nature of the country, the Mongols are nomadic,
wandering within certain limits with their herds
and flocks. They pass the greater part of their
waking hours on horseback, or on their camels,
where they sometimes sleep. They are hardy
and active, and have always been famed for their
warlike disposition. Under the great Timour,
they subdued the largest portion of Asia. But
their powrer is now confined to their own barren
territory. Their religion is called Lamanism,
and the Lamas are at once their rulers, priests,
and teachers. The tribes of that portion of
Mongolia called Koukou-Noor have princely
chiefs, who are tributary to the Emperor of
China.

Mantchouria comprises the most eastern por-
tion of the elevated plateau of Central Asia, and
lies between 42° and 58° north latitude, and
120° and 140° east longitude. It has the Ya-
blonnoi mountains on the north, the Chinese
seas on the east and south, and the Sialkoi
mountains on the west. The greater part of the
country is covered with forests, in which bears,
tigers, wolves, deer, and numerous fur-bearing
animals abound. This region is well watered.
Besides several lakes of considerable size, it has
the great River Amour, or Saghalien, which is
about 2,200 miles in length. Mantchouria is
inhabited by a number of roving tribes ; but the
principal are those called Mantchoos. They
differ but slightly from the other inhabitants of
Tartary, and may be spoken of in connection
with them.

Ele is an extensive region cast of the Celestial
Mountains, stretching from 36° to 49° north
latitude, and from 71° to 96° east longitude.
Soorgaria occupies about one-third of the pro-
vince. This territory is the penal colony of the
Chinese empire. Large bodies of convicts are

sent here to work, and guarded by Chinese
troops. The country is wild, and but a small
portion of it is under cultivation.

Thibet is the most southern of the three great
table-lands of Central Asia. It is surrounded
by lofty mountains, most of which are extremely
difficult of ascent. It has Gobi and Khoten on
the north, Kokonor on the north-east, Szcchuen
and Yunan, provinces of China proper, on the
east, and provinces of India upon the south and
west. The average length of this great plateau
is about fourteen hundred miles, and the average
breadth about three hundred miles. The high-
est plains are at least ten thousand feet above
the sea. Thibet is divided by mountain ranges
into three distinct parts. The western one con-
sists of the valley of the Indus. The central
one comprises an extensive desert land. The
eastern consists of a number of ridges and
peaks. The number of peaks above the line of
perpetual snow is greater than in any other part
of the wrorld. The Indus, Yang-tse-kiang, and
the Brahmaputra, three of the largest rivers in
the world, have their primary sources in Thi-
bet. The lakes are large, and some of the iso-
lated ones are perfectly salt. The climate is
pure and excessively dry. The soil ia better
adapted for grazing than for cultivation; but
the plain in which Lha-Ssa, the capital, is situ-
ated, is remarkably fertile. The Thibetians be-
long to the Mongolian race, and their general
character resembles that of the Tartars of Cen-
tral and Northern Asia.

We have said that the grossest errors are en-
tertained in regard to the customs and institu-
tions of the Tartars and Thibetians. These we
are now enabled to correct by the revelations of
MM. Gabet and Hue, and we begin with their
religion, for by that their customs and institu-
tions are shaped, in a great degree.

It is generally believed that Lamanism, or re-
formed Buddhism, which is the religion of about
one hundred and seventy millions of people in-
habiting Tartary, Thibet, and China proper, is a
species of degrading idolatry, on a level with the
dark heathenism of the Hindoo — brutal, sensual,
and deserving of the contempt of enlightened
Christian minds. An account of the origin and
nature of this religion will show how far we
have been from the truth.

According to the Lamanesque chronicles, a
shepherd named Lombo-Moke, of the country
called Amdo, in Tartary, married a woman
named Ching- tsa-Tsio, who shared with him the
cares of a pastoral life. In the year of the Fire
Hen (1357) Ching-tsa-Tsio had a child, wJiose
birth was attended with many miraculous fca-

NEW REVELATIONS OF AN OLD COUNTRY.

429

tures, according to the traditions of the people
among whom his mission was to be performed.
The child was a marvellous being. At his birth
he had a white beard, and his countenance ex-
pressed an extraordinary majesty. As soon as
he saw the light, he was capable of expressing
himself with clearness and precision in the lan-
guage of Amdo. At the age of three, Tsong-
Kaba resolved to embrace a religious life. Ching-
tsa-Tsio herself shaved his head, and threw his
fine hair outside of the tent. From this hair
sprung a tree, the wood of which dispensed an
exquisite perfume around, and each leaf of
which bore upon its surface a character in the
sacred language of Thibet. Tsong-Kaba with-
drew into most absolute retirement, and passed
his days in fasting and prayer upon the summits
of the highest mountains. He respected the life
of even the humblest insect, and rigorously in-
terdicted himself the consumption of any flesh
whatever. While he was 'thus engaged in puri-
fying his heart, a Lama, from one of the most
remote regions of the west, visited Amdo, and
amazed the people by his learning and the sanc-
tity of his life. His appearance was remarked
as singular. He had a great nose, and his
eye gleamed with something like seraphic fire.
Tsong-Kaba sought him for an instructor, and
he, struck with the wonderful qualities of the
young man, took him for a disciple. After hav-
ing initiated his pupil in all the doctrines recog-
nized by the most renowned saints of the west,
the stranger fell asleep one day on the summit
of a mountain, and never opened his eyes on
earth again.

Deprived of his tutor, Tsong-Kaba determined
to proceed westward, and drink the precepts of
sacred science where that tutor had quaffed
them. He reached the sacred town of Central
Thibet; and there a Lla, or spirit, all radiant
with light, checked his progress, and thus ad-
dressed him : " Oh, Tsong-Kaba, all these vast
regions belong to the great empire which has
been granted to thee. It is here thou art or-
dained to promulgate the rites of religion and its
prayers. It is here will be accomplished the
last evolution of thy immortal life." Tsong-
Kaba then entered Lha-Ssa, the Land of Spirits,
and began his career as a teacher and reformer.

The ancient worship of Buddha was strongly
rooted in the minds of the people. But Tsong-
Kaba made partisans rapidly. They were called
Yellow Cap Lamas, to distinguish them from
the Red Cap Lamas who supported the old sys-
tem. In a short time, the reformers became
predominant, and the homage of the multitude
was turned from the living Buddha, or Chakdja,

the head of the old hierarchy, to Tsong-Kaba.
At an interview between the two chiefs, a dis-
cussion was held, which resulted in the complete
triumph of the reformer. Thenceforward the
reforms proposed met with no obstacle ; they
were adopted throughout Thitfet and Tartary.
In 1419, the soul of Tsong-Kaba, who had be-
come Buddha, quitted the earth, returned to the
Celestial Realm, and was admitted to the heaven
of rapture. His body is reported to preserve all
its freshness to the present day ; and, by a
perennial miracle, it lies a little above the earth,
without being supported by anything visible.
Besides reforming the liturgy, Tsong-Kaba issued
a new edition of the " Body of Doctrine," and
left, among his other works, an important one
entitled the " Lam-Rim-Tsien-Bo, or the Pro-
gressive Path to Perfection."

MM. Gabet and Hue were impressed with the
striking similarity between the Lamanesque
worship and Catholicism. The cross, the mitre,
the dalmatica, the cape, which the Grand La-
mas wear on their journeys, or when they are
performing some ceremony out of the temple ;
the service with double choirs, the psalmody,
the exorcisms, the censer, suspended from five
chains ; the benedictions given by the Lamas by
extending the right hand over the head of the
faithful ; the chaplet, ecclesiastical celibacy,
spiritual retirement, the worship of the saints,
the fasts, the processions, the litanies, the holy
water, all these are analogous in the two modes
of worship. Monasteries were founded by
Tsong-Kaba, and they now contain a very large
number of Lamas. The principal one is situated
about three leagues from Lha-Ssa. It contains
eight thousand Lamas, who devote the greater
portion of their lives to study. The monastery
of Hounboum is situated at the Lamanesque
Mecca — the foot of the mountain where Tsong-
Kaba was born. Near it is shown the tree of
the Ten Thousand Images, which is said to
have sprung from the hair of Tsong-Kaba. MM.
Gabet and Hue both saw this wonderful tree,
and they testify that Thibetian characters are
distinctly traceable upon its leaves. It is co-
vered by a dome of silver, erected by the Empe-
ror Khang-Hi.

The French missionaries naturally conjectured
that the Lama from the remote west, who taught
Tsong-Kaba, was a Christian priest. Upon a
further intercourse with the Thibetians, they
learned that the only two essential points in
which the Lamas of Thibet differed from the
Catholic priests of Rome, were concerning the
origin of the world and the transmigration of
souls. Two alternatives presented themselves

430

godey's magazine and lady's book.

to the minds of the missionaries : To believe
that the Thibctians had enjoyed the blessing of
a divine revelation, or that they had been visited
ages before by Christian missionaries. They
coneluded the latter was the most rational and
probable. The celebrated Swcdenborg declared
that an Ancient Word, a revelation prior to the
Mosaic, and including the lost Book of Jasher,
was still preserved in Tartary ; and the mem-
bers of his church now assert that the discove-
ries of MM. Gabct and Hue go very far towards
establishing the truth of this declaration.

The Lamanesque Church has a regular organi-
zation like that of the Church of Rome. Each
Tartar kingdom has a Grand Lama, who is se-
lected from the members of the royal family.
There is also a Grand Lama for all Thibet.
This personage resides in the Lamasery, like a
living idol, receiving every day the adorations
of the devout, upon whom, in return, he bestows
his blessing. Everything which relates to
prayers and liturgical ceremonies is placed under
his immediate superintendence. The Mongol
Grand Lama is charged with the administration,
good order, and executive of the Lamasery ; he
governs while his colleague is content to reign.
Each Lamasery of the first class has a Living
Buddha for its head. He is believed to be im-
mortal. When his death is reported, there is
no mourning in the Lamasery ; for it is believed
that he will soon reappear as a child. The au-
gur, or Tchurtchur, indicates the place where
the child will declare himself, and this always
occurs. A certain precocious child announces
that he is the Living Buddha, and the people
immediately display the most enthusiastic joy.
The child is rigidly examined as to the residence,
habits, and property of the deceased Buddha.
If his answers are satisfactory, and they gene-
rally are, he is conducted in triumph to his
Lamasery, the people prostrating themselves
along his path.

The Grand Lamas who govern have a number
of subalterns, who direct the details of admini-
stration. After this staff, the inhabitants of the
Lamasery are divided into Lama-masters and
Lama-disciples, or Chabis. Each Lama has
under his direction one or more Chabis, who
live in his small house and execute all the de-
tails of the household. These Chabis are also
considered as pupils, and when they fail to com-
mit their studies to memory they are severely
punished.

All instruction, both in Thibet and Tartary,
is ecclesiastical. It is said that the majority of
the people constantly act with a view to a fu-
ture life. They are, in fact, much more consist-

ently religious, according to their notions, than
the so-called Christian nations of Europe. As
to the character of those notions, we may learn
from the Thibctian work entitled " The Forty-
Two Points of Instruction delivered by Bud-
dha," that they arc purely moral. According to
this book, " there are in living creatures ten
species of acts which are called good, and also
ten species of acts which are called evil. There
are three which appertain to the body, murder,
theft, and impurity ; four, which appertain to
speech, are words sowing discord, insulting
maledictions, impudent lies, and hypocritical
expressions ; three appertaining to the will, are
envy, anger, and malignant thoughts." The
wicked man who persecutes a good man is com-
pared to a madman who spits against heaven,
the spittle falling back in his face. The man
who seeks riches is compared to a child who
cuts itself while trying to eat honey with a knife.
Voluptuousness is denounced as a sin, and the
dominion of the mind over the passions of the
heart is rigidly enforced. The belief in a spi-
ritual God, who rewards good actions and
punishes evil ones, is common to all Tartars
and Thibetians. They believe that he is the
beginning and end of all things, and that he has
assumed the human shape and appeared among
men to stimulate them to do good. They divide
living beings into six classes, angels, demons,
men, quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles, correspond-
ing to the six syllables of the prayer they con-
stantly repeat : " Om mani pad me houm."
(Oh, the gem in the lotus, Amen.) The mean-
ing of this singular prayer is said to be an aspi-
ration after divine perfection. The reward of
the just and perfect is believed to be an absorp-
tion into the blissful soul of the Deity.

The monasteries of these people differ in some
respects from the Catholic establishments of
Europe. It cannot be said that the Lamas live
in community. You may find among them all
the graduated shades of poverty and wealth that
you see in mundane cities. Every third month,
the authorities make a distribution of meal to
all the Lamas of the Lamaseries without dis-
tinction. The voluntary offerings of the pil-
grims to Hounboum come in aid of this dona-
tion. Some of these offerings are in money ;
but generally they consist of a tea-drinking en-
tertainment, to which all the Lamas are invited.
These entertainments are very expensive.

A large number of the Lamas gain a liveli-
hood by the ordinary occupations of life ; but a
certain class devote themselves entirely to study
and contemplation. Among the industrial La-
mas, a number occupy themselves in printing

NEW REVELATIONS OF AN OLD COUNTRY.

431

ana transcribing the Lamanesque books. The
^Thibetian writing proceeds horizontally from
left to right. Stereotype printing on wood is
alone practised, no use being made of movable
type. The Thibetian books resemble a large
pack of cards, the leaves being movable and
printed on both sides. The manuscript editions
of the Lamanesque books are enriched with
illustrative designs, and the characters are ele-
gantly traced. The Lamas use sized paper and
a bamboo pen. Their inkstand is filled with
cotton saturated with ink.

In each Lamasery there is a Faculiy of Pray-
ers, and the Grand Lama and the students of
this department are often appealed to by the
government to preserve their locality from ca-
lamity. On these occasions, the Lamas ascend
to the summits of high mountains, and spend
two whole days in praying, exorcising, and in
erecting the Pyramid of Peace — a small pyramid
of earth whitened with lime, a flag, inscribed
with Thibetian characters, floating above.

Each Lamasery has also a Faculty of Medicine.
The physicians assign to the human frame four

THE PYRAMID OP FEAOB.

hundred and forty-four maladies. In the medi-
cal books the symptoms are described and the
remedies stated. Bleeding and cupping are
sometimes resorted to. The books contain much
quackery, but also a large number of valuable
recipes, the benefits of which are confirmed by
long experience and observation.

Four great festivals are observed by the Tar-
tars and Thibetians during the year. The most
famous of all is the Feast of Flowers, which
takes place on the fifteenth day of the first moon.
It is celebrated with the greatest magnificence
at Hounboum, where, at the appointed time, a
vast number of pilgrims congregate. Three
months are occupied in preparation, a Council
of Fine Arts being appointed to superintend.
The most remarkable achievements are the but-
ter-works— all the Asiatic nations being repre-
sented with their peculiar physiognomies and

costumes in fresh butter. MM. Gabet and Hue
state that this butter- work and the arrangement
of the flowers excelled anything they ever be-
held as the result of art. At night the exhibition
was splendidly illuminated. In front of tho
principal temple there was a theatre with its
performers and decorations, all of butter. Tho
dramatis persona were a foot high, and repre-
sented a community of Lamas on their way to
solemnize prayer. The Lamas were movable
puppets. The day after the Feast of Flowers
not a trace remains of these splendid works.
All are demolished, and the butter thrown to
the cows.

The Thibetians have made extensive progre?s
in those arts which are generally considered the
flowers of civilization. Their architecture, though
somewhat fantastical, often appears grand. Some
of their temples are very imposing. Most of

432

godey's magazine and lady's book.

THEATRE AT THE FEAST OF FL0WE1

the houses at the capital at Lha-Ssa are several
stories high, terminating in a terrace, slightly
eloped to carry off the water. They are white-
washed all over, except the bordering round the
doors and windows, which is painted red or
yellow. The people of Lha-Ssa are in the habit
of painting their houses once a year, so that they
always seem, as if just built. In one of the
suburbs, the houses are built of the horns of
oxen and sheep, and they present a most fantas-
tical appearance. Lha-Ssa is laid out with broad
streets, and surrounded with a beautiful wall of
gardens. Besides the taste and architectural
skill displayed in the erection of the temples
and dwelling-houses of the capital, we find a
number of grand mausoleums in various parts
of Thibet, which evince a high degree of de-
velopment in art. The Thibetians are not in
the habit of burying their dead. In general, the
bodies are left upon the summits of the mount-
ains, or thrown to the dogs, being esteemed but
as worthless clods ; but mausoleums have been
erected in honor of famous Grand Lamas.

The manufactures of the Thibetians are
various and valuable. Although the severest
labor is performed by the women, the men em-
ploy themselves quite profitably, especially in
spinning and weaving wool. The stuffs they
manufacture, which are called poulon, are of a
very close and solid fabric, and surprisingly
various in quality, from the coarsest cloths to

the finest possible merino. By a rule of reformed
Buddhism, every Lama must be attired in red
poulon. The consumption of the article in
Thibet is very large, and considerable quantities
are exported. The pastile-sticks, so celebrated
in China, are manufactured at Lha-Ssa, of va-
rious aromatic trees, mixed with musk and gold
dust. When these sticks are lighted they con-
sume slowly, and diffuse around an exquisita
perfume. The Thibetians have no porcelain,
but they manufacture all kinds of pottery in
great perfection. The only tea-service used
throughout Thibet is a wooden cup, wheh is
either carried in the bosom or suspended from
the girdle. Some of the most costly cups have
the property of neutralizing poisons.

The agricultural productions of the Thibetians
are very poor. They cultivate a little wheat
and still less rice. The chief production is
tsing-kon, or black barley, of which is made
the tsamba, that basis of the aliment of the
entire Thibetian population. All the labor of
cultivating the ground is performed by the wo-
men. The implements used are of the most
primitive description, and the work is wretchedly
done.

Thibet is exceedingly rich in metals. Gold
and silver are collected there so readily, that the
common shepherds have become acquainted
with the art of purifying these precious metals.
Specie is of a low value, and, consequently, goods

REMEMBERED HAPPINESS.

433

maintain a high price. The monetary system
of the Thibetians consists entirely of silver
coins, which are somewhat larger than French
francs. On one side they bear an inscription,
and upon the other, they have a crown of light,
small flowers. To facilitate commerce, these
coins are cut into pieces, the number of flowers
remaining on each piece determining its value
— a very simple, yet adequate arrangement.
In the larger commercial transactions, ingots of
silver are employed. The Pebouns, or Indians
settled at Lha-Ssa, are the only workers in
metals at the capital. In their quarters, you
may find ironsmiths, braziers, plumbers, tin-
men, founders, goldsmiths, jewellers, machin-
ists, and even chemists. There all sorts of vases
are manufactured for the use of the Lamaseries,
and some of them are exquisitely ornamented.
While these Indians are the chief manufacturers
of Thibet, the Katchi, or Musselmen, are the
leading merchants. Their religion and their
trade are respected by the government.

The greater portion of the wealth of Thibet
is the property of the Lamaseries. The people
experience all the misery consequent upon the
existence of an overpaid church establishment.
Yet they are so devoted to their religion that
they are never weary of making rich offerings
to the Lamas. There are swarms of beggars
throughout the country ; but it is only just to
observe that the Thibetians are kind and com-
passionate, and that those who are blessed with
a goodly store give freely.

The condition of woman is always a fair test
of progress in civilization. Polygamy prevails,
with the sanction of the Lamanesque religion,
in Thibet and Tartary. But the first wife is
always the mistress of the household, and the
most respected in the family. MM. Gabet and
Hue thought polygamy a real blessing to the
people of those countries. Celibacy being im-
posed on the Lamas, and the class of those who
shave the head and live in Lamaseries being so
numerous, it is easy to conceive what disorders
would arise from the multiplication of young
women without support, and abandoned to
themselves, if girls could not be placed in fami-
lies in the quality of second wives. Divorce is
frequent, and it takes place without any inter-
vention of civil or ecclesiastical authorities. In
Tartary, the women lead an independent life,
coming and going at pleasure.

The Thibetian women submit, in their toilet,
to a custom or law scarcely credible. Before
going out of doors they always rub their faces
over with a sort of black, glutinous varnish, the
object being to render themselves as ugly and
vol. xlviii. — 37

hideous as possible. This practice is said to be
about two hundred years old, and tradition says
that it originated with an austere Lama king,
who desired to check licentiousness of manners.
At present, the women who bedaub their faces
the most hideously are esteemed the most pious.
The women lead an active and laborious life.
Besides fulfilling the various duties of the
household, they concentrate in their own hands
all the petty trade of the country, whether as
hawkers, as stall-keepers in the streets or in the
shops. Little or no restraint is imposed upon
them. Their general character for morality is
good — in fact, if compared with that of other
Asiatic women, quite exemplary. They are
strictly attentive to their devotions, and will
even, go beyond the men in deeds of penance
and mortification of the body.

We hope we have given a sufficient idea of
the recent revelations concerning Thibetian and
Tartarian life to awaken an interest in further
developments. The discoveries of the French
missionaries have but opened the way for others
of the highest importance to mankind. From
what we have related, it will be inferred that
the work of Christianizing Asia will not be so
difficult as has hitherto been supposed 3 that re-
formed Buddhism is a good preparation of one
hundred and seventy millions of people for the
reception of those truths which Christians be-
lieve to be necessary to the salvation of man ;
and that we have not false idols to throw down,
but to a belief essentially pure, spiritual, and
godly, to add that definite knowledge of a new
dispensation, the universal prevalence of which
must banish strife from the face of the earth,
and render it a realm of uninterrupted bliss.

REMEMBERED HAPPINESS.

Mankind are always happier for having been
happy ; so that if you make them happy now,
you make them happy twenty years hence, by
the memory of it. A childhood passed with a
due mixture of rational indulgence, under fond
and wise parents, diffuses over the whole of
life a feeling of calm pleasure, and in extreme
old age is the very last remembrance which
time can erase from the mind of man. How
enjoyment, however inconsiderable, is confined
to the present moment ! A man is the happier
for life from having made once an agreeable
tour, or lived for any length of time with plea-
sant people, or enjoyed any considerable interval
of innocent pleasure.

THE TEIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN*

ARTHUR.

(Continued from page 334.)

CHAPTER VIII.

A boy of more robust constitution and fuller
of blood than Henry Gaston, with that activity
which a fine flow of animal spirits and a high
degree of health give, would have cared little for
the exposure to which he was subjected at
Sharp's, even if clad no more comfortably. But
Henry had little of that healthy warmth natural
to the young. He was constitutionally delicate,
and this caused him to feel more keenly the
chilling intensity of the cold to which he was
frequently exposed without sufficient clothing.
His whole dress, intended to protect him from
the cold of a remarkably severe and trying win-
ter, was a thin shirt, the remains of one worn
for nearly a year ; the jacket and trowsers, thin
and threadbare, that Mrs. Sharp had made for
him out of some worn-out garment which her
husband had thrown aside, and which were now
rent in many places ; a pair of dilapidated yarn
stockings, with feet like a honey-comb. His
shoes, the pair given him by his mother, had
been half-soled once, but were again so far gone
that his stockings protruded in several places,
and yet neither his master nor mistress seemed
to take any notice of their condition, and he
was afraid to ask for a new pair. When it
rained or snowed, or, worse, when it rained
with or after the snow, as it had done several
times within a week, his shoes were but a poor
protection for his feet. The snow and water
went through them as through a sieve.

Before the first of February, the poor boy was
almost crippled with the chilblains. Through
the day, he hobbled about as best he could, often
in great pain ; and at night the tender skin of
his feet, irritated by the warmth of the bed,
would keep him awake for hours with a most
intolerable burning and itching.

"Why don't you walk straight? What do
you go shuffling along in that kind of style for?"
said Sharp to him one day, toward the last of
January.

* Entered according to Act of Congress, by T. B. Peter-
son', in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern
District of Pennsylvania.
434

"My feet are so sore," replied Henry, with a
look of suffering, blended with patient endur-
ance.

"What's the matter with them, ha?" asked
his master, glancing down at the miserable
apologies for shoes and stockings that but par-
tially protected the child's feet from the snow
whenever he stepped beyond the threshold.'

" They 're frosted, sir," said Henry.

"Frosted, ha? Pull off your shoes and stock-
ings, and let me see."

Henry drew off an old shoe, tied on with
various appliances of twine and leather-strings ;
and then removed a stocking that, through many
gaping holes, revealed the red and shining skin
beneath. That little foot was a sight to pain the
heart of any one but a cruel tyrant. The heel,
in many places, was of a dark purple, and seemed
as if mortification were already begun. And in
some places it was cracked open, and exhibited
running sores.

"Take off your other shoe and stocking,"
said Sharp, in an authoritative tone.

Henry obeyed, trembling all the while. This
foot exhibited nearly the same marks of the
progress of the painful disease.

"What have you done for it?" asked Sharp,
looking Henry in the face with a scowl.

" Nothing but put a little candle-grease on it
at night before I went to bed," replied the child.

" Come out here with me. I '11 doctor you,"
said his master, turning away and disappearing
through the back door. Henry followed as
quickly as he could walk on bis bare feet, that
seemed ready to give way under him at every
step. When he got as far as the kitchen, he
found Sharp waiting for him in the door.

" Here, jump out into that snow-bank !" said
he, pointing to a pile of snow that had been
shovelled up only that morning, after a fall
through the night, and lay loose and high.

The poor boy looked down at his crippled,
and, indeed, bleeding feet, and, as may well be
supposed, hesitated to comply with the peremp-
tory order.

"Do you hear, sir?" exclaimed his master
seizing him by the collar, and pushing him ou*
into the yard. Then catching him by one arm,

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

435

he set him in the centre of the snow-bank, his
naked feet and legs going down into it some
twelve or eighteen inches.

" Now stand there until I tell you to come
out!"

The child did not scream, for he had already
learned to bear pain, without uttering even the
natural language of suffering; although the
agony he endured for the next minute was terri-
ble. At the end of that time, a motion of the
head of his master gave him to understand that
the ordeal was over.

" Now take that bucket uf cold water, and let
him put his feet into it," said he to a little girl
they had just taken to raise, and who stood near
the kitchen window, her heart almost ready to
burst at the cruelty inflicted upon the only one
in the house with whom she had a single feeling
in common.

The girl quickly obeyed, and sat down on the
floor beside the bucket of water. She handled
tenderly the blood red feet of the little boy, ever
and anon looking up into his face, and noting,
with tender solicitude, the deep lines of suffering
upon his forehead.

" There, that will do," said Sharp, who stood
looking on, " and now run up stairs and get a
better pair of stockings for Henry."

" What do you want with a better pair of
stockings?" said Mrs. Sharp, a few moments
after, bustling down into the kitchen.

" Why, I want them for Henry," replied her
husband.

" Want them for Henry !" she exclaimed, in
.surprise. " Where 's the ones he had on?"

" There are some old rags in the shop that he
nad on; but they won't do now, with such feet
as he's got."

" What 's the matter with his feet, I 'd like to
know," inquired Mrs. Sharp.

" Why, they 're frosted."

" Let him put them in snow, then. That '11
cure 'em. It's nothing but a little snow-burn,
I suppose."

" It 's something a little worse than that," re-
plied Sharp, " and he must have a comfortable
pair of stockings. And here, Anna, do you run
around to Stogies, and tell him to send me three
or four pairs of coarse shoes, about Henry's
size."

Anna, the little girl, disappeared with alacrity,
and Mr. Sharp, turning to his wife, said —

" Henry must have a good, warm pair of
stockings, or we shall have him sick on our
hands."

" Well, I '11 find him a pair," replied Mrs.
Sharp, going off up stairs. In the mean time,

Henry still sat with his feet in the cold water.
But the pain occasioned by the snow was nearly
all gone. Mrs. Sharp came down with the
stockings, and Anna came in with the shoes at
the same moment. On lifting the child's feet
from the water, the redness and inflammation
had a good deal subsided. Mrs. Sharp rubbed
them with a little sweet oil, and then gave him
the stockings to put on. He next tried the shoes,
and one pair of them fitted him very well. But
his feet were too sore and tender for such hard
shoes, and when they were on, and tied up
around the ankles, he found that after getting
up they hurt him most dreadfully in his attempt
to walk. But he hobbled, as best he could, into
the shop.

" Throw them dirty things into the street !"
were the only words addressed to him by Sharp,
who pointed at his wet apologies for shoes and
stockings, still lying upon the floor.

Henry did as directed, but every step he took
was as if he were treading upon coals of fire.
His feet, now enveloped in a closely fitting pair
of woollen stockings, and galled by the hard and
unyielding leather of the new shoes, itched and
burned with maddening fervor.

" Here, carry this hat heme," said his master,
as he came in from the street, not seeming to
notice the expression of suffering that was on
his face, nor the evident pain with which he
walked.

Henry took the hat, and started out. He was
but a few paces from the shop, before he found
that the shoes rubbed both heels, and pressed
upon them at the same time so hard as to pro-
duce a sensation at each step as if the skin
were torn off. Sometimes he would stop, and
wait a moment or two, until the intolerable pain
subsided, and then he would walk on again with
all the fortitude and power of endurance he
could command. In this extreme suffering, the
uppermost thought in his mind, when on the
street, kept his eyes wandering about, and scan-'
ning every female form that came in sight, in
the ever-living hop.e of seeing his mother. But
the sigh of disappointment told, too frequently, ■
that he looked in vain. He had not proceeded
far, when the pains in his feet became so acute
that he paused, and leaned against a tree-box,
unable, for a time, to move forward a single

step. While resting thus, Doctor R , who

had been called to visit a patient in Lexington,
came past in his carriage and noticed him. There
was something about the child, although so
changed that he did not recognize him, that
aroused the doctor'* sympathies, and he ordered
his man to drive up to the pavement and st< p.

436

godey's magazine and lady's book,

•• Well, my little man, what's the matter?"
.ud he, Leaning out 6f his carriage window.

Henry looked up into his face, but did not re-
He knew Doctor R instantly. How

strong a hope sprang up in his heart — the hope
if hearing from or being taken back to his mo-
: The kind-hearted physician needed no
words to tell him that the little boy was suffering
acutely. The flushed face, the starting eye, and
the corrugation of the brow, were language
which he understood as plainly as spoken words.

" What ails you, my little boy?" he said, in a
voice of tender concern.

The feelings of Henry softened under the
warmth of true sympathy expressed in the

■ountcnance and tone of Doctor R , and still

looking him steadily in the face, essayed, but in
vain, to answer the question.

"Are you sick, my boy?" asked the doctor,
with real and increasing concern for the poor
child.

" My feet hurt me so that I can hardly walk,"
replied Henry, whose tongue at last obeyed his
efforts to speak.

"And what ails your feet?" asked Doctor
R .

" They 've been frosted, sir."

"Frosted, indeed! poor child! Well, what
have you done for them ?"

" Nothing — only I greased them sometimes at
night ; and to-day my master made me stand in
the snow."

" The cruel wretch !" muttered Doctor R

between his teeth. " But can't you walk up as
far as the drug store at the corner, and let me
see your feet?" continued the doctor.

"Yes, sir," replied the child, though he felt
that to take another step was almost impossi-
ble.

" You '11 come right up, will you?" urged the
doctor.

" Yes, sir," returned Henry, in a low voice.

" Then I '11 wait for you. But come along as
quickly as you can;" and so saying, the doctor
drove off. But he could not help glancing back,
after he had gone on about the distance of half
a square, for his heart misgave him for not
having taken the little fellow into his carriage.
He soon caught a glimpse of him on the side-
walk, slowly and laboriously endeavoring to
work his way along, but evidently with extreme
suffering. He at once gave directions to the
driver to turn back; and taking Henry into the
carriage, hurried on to the office. The child,
when lifted in, sank back upon the seat, pale

and exhausted. Doctor R asked him no

question ; and when the carriage stopped, directed

the driver to carry him in. He then, with his
own hands, carefully removed his shoes and
stockings.

" My poor, poor child !" said he, in pity and
astonishment, on beholding the condition of
Henry's feet. The harsh remedy prescribed by
Sharp, if the subsequent treatment had been
tender and judicious, might have been salutary ;
but, after it, to confine the boy's feet in hard,
tight new shoes, and to send him out upon the
street, was to induce a high state of inflamma-
tion, and, in the advanced state of the chilblains,
to endanger mortification. Several of the large
ulcerous cracks, which were bleeding freely, the
doctor dressed, and then, cutting a number of
short strips of adhesive plaster, he applied them
to the skin over the heel and foot, in various
directions, so as almost completely to cover every
portion of the surface.

" How does that feel?" he asked, looking into
Henry's face with an air of relief and satisfac-
tion, after he had finished the first foot.

" It feels a good deal better," replied the child,
his voice and the expression of his countenance
both indicating that he no longer suffered so
excruciatingly as he had but a short time pre-
viously.

The other foot was soon dressed in the same

way. Doctor R then went back into the

house and got a loose pair of stockings and a
light pair of shoes, belonging to one of the
apothecary's children, from their mother. These
fitted Henry comfortably, and when he stood
down upon his feet he did not experience any
pain.

" That feels a good deal better, don't it?" said
the doctor, smiling.

" Yes, indeed it does," and Henry looked his
gratitude ; and yet, blended with that look, was
an expression that seemed to the doctor an ap-
peal for protection.

" You 're afraid to go back now, ain't you,
since you 've stayed so long?" he asked, in a
tone meant to encourage the child's confidence.

" Indeed I am. Mr. Sharp will be almost
sure to beat me."

" What a very devil incarnate the man must
be!" muttered Doctor R to himself, taking-
three or four strides across the floor. " I shall
have to take the little fellow home, and brow-
beat his master, 1 suppose," he continued. Then
addressing Henry, he said, aloud —

" Well, I '11 take you home to him in my
carriage, and settle all that for you, my little
man ; so don't be frightened."

Acting upon this resolution, Doctor R

soon drove up before the hatter's shop, and,

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

437

lifting out Henry himself, led him into the pre-
sence of his astonished master.

"What's the matter now1?" asked the latter,
roughly, and with a forbidding aspect of counte-
nance.

" The matter is simply this, sir," responded

Doctor R , firmly. " I found this little boy

of yours on the street absolutely unable to get
along a step farther; and on taking him into the
drug store above, and examining his feet, I found
them in a most shocking condition ! Why, sir,
in twelve hours mortification would have com-
menced, when nothing could have saved his
life but the amputation of both limbs." The
sober earnestness of Doctor R— — caused Sharp
to feel some alarm, and he said —

" I had no idea, doctor, that he was as bad as
that."

"Well, he is, I can assure you, and it is a
fortunate thing that I happened to come across
him. Why, I haven't seen so bad a case of
chilblains these ten years."

" What ought I to do for him, doctor?" asked
Sharp, in real concern.

" I have done all that is necessary at present,"
replied the doctor. "But he must be suffered
to have rest ; and, as you value his limbs, don't
let him be exposed to the wet. or cold until his
feet are healed, and the tenderness and soreness
are both gone."

" I shall attend to your direction, most cer-
tainly," said Sharp, his manner greatly changed
from what it was when the doctor came in.
" But, really, doctor," he continued, " I had no
idea that there was any danger in getting the
feet a little frosted."

" The chilblains are not only extremely pain-
ful," replied Doctor R , "but there is great

danger, where the feet are exposed to wet and
cold, as Henry's must have been to get in the
condition they are, of mortification supervening.
That little boy will require great care, or he will
stand a chance of being crippled for life. Good-
morning !"

Poor Henry ! How eagerly had he hung upon
the doctor's words ! how almost agonizing had
been his desire for even the slightest intimation
that he was remembered by the physician, to
whose mistaken kind offices he was indebted for
the place he held in the family of Sharp ! But
all was in vain. A dozen times he was on the
eve of asking for his mother ; but, as often, weak
timidity held him back. In the presence of his
master, fear kept him dumb. It seemed to him

as if life would go out when he saw Doctor R

turn away from the shop and enter his carriage.
A deep darkness fell upon his spirit.

37*

As Doctor R rode off in his carriage, he

could not help congratulating himself on iho
good deed he had performed. Still he did not
feel altogether satisfied about the boy. He had
been so much concerned for his distressed situa-
tion, that he had failed to make any inquiries of
him in regard to his friends ; and for this he
blamed himself, because it was clear that, if the
child had friends, they ought to know his condi-
tion. He blamed himself for this thoughtless-
ness, and a consciousness of having performed
but half of his duty to the poor boy caused a
shade of concern to steal over him, which he
could not shake ofT.

And Henry, as he stood frightened in the
shop, felt, as the carriage- wheels rattled away,
the hope that had awakened, faint and trembling
in his heart, sinking into the gloom of despair.
One who could have told him of his mother ;
one who, if he had only taken the courage to
have mentioned his name, could have taken
tidings of his condition to her, or perhaps would
have carried him home, had been beside him for
half an hour, and he had not spoken out. And
now he was gone. He felt so sick and weak
that he could hardly stand.

From his sad, waking dreams he was roughly
startled by the loud, sharp voice of his mistress,
who, attracted by the strong expressions of Doc-
tor R , now entered the shop, exclaiming —

" What 's all this ? What 's that little wretch
been doing now, ha1?"

" I wish I 'd never seen him !" muttered Sharp,
but in a tone that left no doubt on the mind of
his wife that something more than usually an-
noying had occurred.

" What 's the matter ? What 's he been doing ?
Not stealing, I hope ; though I shouldn't won-
der."

" He 's sick, and you 've got to take care of
him," was the dogged answer of Sharp.

" Sick ! He looks sick, don't he ?" The tones
of the virago were full of contempt.

Any eye but hers would have seen sickness,
sorrow, suffering, and want in the pale, fright-
ened face of the poor boy, as he stood trembling
beside the counter, and actually clinging to it
for support.

" Who was that in here, just now?" she added.

" Doctor R , of Boston," replied the hatter,

who knew the doctor by sight very well.

"What did he want?"

" He picked Henry up in the street and took
him over to the drug store at the corner. Then
he brought him home in his carriage. He says
that he must be taken care of, or he will become
a cripple ; that it 's the worst case of chilblains

438

MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

he ever saw ; and that his feet arc in danger of
mortification."

" I don't believe a word of it. Here ! you go
off up stairs," speaking sharply, and with a
threatening look, to the child. "I'd like to
know what business he has to come here, med-
dling in affairs that don't concern him."

Henry, thus spoken to, let go of the counter,
by which he was sustaining himself, and at-
tempted to move towards the door. As he did
so, his face grew deadly pale. He staggered
across the shop, fell against the wall, and then
sank down upon the floor. Mrs. Sharp sprang
towards him, not with any humane intention,
we are sorry to say ; but, ere she had grasped the
boy's arm, and given him the purposed jerk, the
sight of his ashen, lifeless face prevented the
outrage. Exhausted nature could bear nothing
more, and protected herself in a temporary sus-
pension of her power. Henry had fainted, and
it was well that it was so. The fact was a
stronger argument in his favor than any external
exhibition of suffering that could have been
given.

The hatter and his wife were both alarmed at
an event so unexpected by either of them.
Henry was quickly removed to a chamber, and
every effort made to restore him. It was not
a very long time before the machinery of life
was again in motion ; its action, however, was
feeble, as even his oppressors could see. Self-
interest, and fear of consequences, if not hu-
manity, prompted more consideration for the
boy, and secured for him a few days' respite.
After that, the oppressed and his oppressors
assumed their old relations.

CHAPTER IX.

" I don't think I 've seen anything of Lizzy
Glenn for a week," remarked Berlaps to his
man Michael one day during the latter part of
December. " Has she anything out ?"
" Yes. She has four of our finest shirts."
" How long since she took them away?"
" It. 's over a week — nearly ten days."
" Indeed ! Then she ought to be looked after.
It certainly hasn't taken her all this time to
make four shirts.'5

'•'Well, I don't know. She gets along, some-
how, poorly enough," replied Michael. " She 's
often been a whole week making four of them."
While this conversation was going on, the
subject of it entered. She came in with a slow,
feeble step, and leaned against the counter as

she laid down the bundle of work she had
brought with her. Her half-withdrawn veil
showed her face to be very pale, and her eyes
much sunken. A deep, jarring cough convulsed
her frame for a moment or two, causing her to
place her hand almost involuntarily upon her
breast, as if she suffered pain there.

" It 's a good while since you took these shirts
out, Lizzy," said Berlaps, in a tone meant to
reprove her for the slowness with which she
worked.

" Yes, it is," she replied, in a low, sad tone.
" I can't get along very fast. I have a constant
pain in my side. And there are other reasons."

The last sentence was spoken only half aloud,
but sufficiently distinct for Berlaps to hear it.

" I don't expect my workwomen," he said, a
little sharply, "to have any reasons for not
finishing my work in good season, and bringing
it in promptly. Ten days to four shirts is un-
pardonable. You can't earn your salt at that."

The young woman made no reply to this, but
stood with her eyes drooping to the floor, and
her hands leaning hard upon the counter to
support herself.

Berlaps then commenced examining the shirts.
The result of this examination seemed to soften
him a little. No wonder j they were made fully
equal to those for which regular shirt-makers
receive from seventy-five cents to a dollar a
piece.

" Don't you think you can make five such ?.s
these in a week — or even six?" he asked, in a
somewhat changed tone.

" I 'in afraid not," was the reply. " There 's
a good day's work on each one of them, and I
cannot possibly sit longer than a few hours at a
time. And, besides, there are two or three
hours of every day that I must attend to other
duties."

" Well, if you can't, I suppose you can't,"
said the tailor, in a disappointed, half-offended
tone, and turned away from the counter and
walked back to his desk, from which he called
out to his salesman, after he had stood there for
about a minute —

"Pay her for them, Michael, and if you have
any more ready give her another lot."

Since the sharp rebuke given by Mr. Perkins,
Michael had treated Lizzy with less vulgar i. -
surance. Sometimes he would endeavor to sport
a light word with her, but she never replied, nor
seemed to notice his freedom in the leas t. This
uniform, dignified reserve, so different from the
demeanor of most of the girls who worked for
them, coupled with the manner of Perkins's in-
terference for her, inspired i"i his mind a f<

THE TEIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

439

of respect for the stranger, which became her
protection from his impertinences. On this oc-
casion, he merely asked her how many she
would have, and on receiving her answer,
handed her the number of shirts she desired.

As she turned to go out, Mrs. Gaston, who
had just entered, stood near, with her eyes fixed
upon her. She started as she looked into her
face. Indeed, both looked surprised, excited,
then confused, and let their eyes fall to the floor.
They seemed for a moment to have identified
each other, and then to have become instantly
conscious that they were nothing but strangers —
that such an identification was impossible. An
audible sigh escaped Lizzy Glenn, as she passed
slowly out and left the store. As she reached
the pavement, she turned and looked back at
Mrs. Gaston. Their eyes again met for an in-
stant.

"Who is that young woman?" asked Mrs.
Gaston.

" Her name is Lizzy Glenn," replied Michael.

" Do you know anything about her ?"

" Nothing — only that she's a proud, stiff kind
of a creature ; though what she has to be proud
of, is more than I can tell."

" How long has she been working for you?"

"A couple of months or so, if I recollect
rightly."

"Where does she live?" was Mrs. Gaston's
next question.

Michael gave her the direction, and then
their intercourse had entire reference to business.

After the subject of this brief conversation
between Mrs. Gaston and Michael left the store
of Mr. Berlaps, she walked slowly in the direc-
tion of her temporary home, which was, as has
before been mentioned, in an obscure street at
the north end. It consisted of a small room, in
an old brick house, which had been made by
running a rough partition through the centre of
the front room in the second story, and then
intersecting this partition on one side by another
partition, so as to make three small rooms out
of one large one. These partitions did not reach
more than two-thirds of the distance to the
ceiling, thus leaving a free circulation of air in
the upper and unobstructed portion of the room.
As the house stood upon a corner, and contained
windows both in front and on the end, each
room had a window. The whole were heated
by one large stove. For the little room that
Lizzy Glenn occupied, including fire, she paid
seventy-five cents a week. But, as the house
was old, the windows open, and the room that
had been cut up into smaller ones a large one ;
and, moreover, as the person who let ihem and

supplied fuel for the stove took good care to see
that an undue quantity of this fuel was not
burned, she rarely found the temperature of her
apartment high enough to be comfortable. Those
who occupied the other two rooms, in each of
which, like her own, was a bed, a couple of
chairs, and a table, with a small looking-glass,
were seamstresses, who were compelled, as she
was, to earn a scanty subsistence by working
for the slop-shops. But they could work many
more hours than she could, and consequently
earned more money than she was able to do.
Her food — the small portion she consumed — she
provided herself, and prepared it at the stove,
which was common property.

On returning from the tailor's, as has been
seen, she laid her bundle of work upon the bed,
and seated herself with a thoughtful air, resting
her head upon her hand. The more she thought,
the more she seemed disturbed; and finally
arose, and commenced walking the floor slowly.
Suddenly pausing, at length, she sighed heavily,
and went to the bed upon which lay her work,
took it up, unrolled the bundle, and seating
herself by the table, entered once .more upon
her daily toil. But her mind was too much
disturbed, from some cause, to permit her to
pursue her work steadily. In a little while she
laid aside the garment upon which she had be-
gun to sew, and, leaning forward, rested her
head upon the table, sighing heavily as she did
so, and pressing one hand hard against her side,
as if to relieve pain. A tap at the door aroused
her from this state of abstraction. As sho
turned, the door was quietly opened, and the
woman she had seen at the tailor's, a short time
before, entered. She started to her feet at this
unexpected apparition, and gazed, with a look
of surprise, inquiry, and hope, upon her visitor.

" Can it be Mrs. Gaston ? But no ! no !" and
the young creature shook her head mournfully.

" Eugenia !" exclaimed Mrs. Gaston, springing;
forward, and instantly the two were locked in
each other's arms, and clinging together with
convulsive eagerness.

" But no,- no ! It cannot be my own Eugenia,"
said Mrs. Gaston, slowly disengaging herself,
and holding the young woman from her, while
she read over every feature of her pale, thin
face. " Surely I am in a strange dream !"

" Yes, I am your own Eugenia Ballantine !
my more than mother ! Or, the wreck of her,
which a wave of life's ever restless ocean has
heaved upon the shore."

" Eugenia Ballantine ! How can it be ! Lost
years ago at sea, how can she be in this room,
and in this condition ! It is impossible ! And

440

godey's magazine and lady's book.

yet you are, you must be, my own dear Euge-
nia."

"lam! I am !" sobbed the maiden, leaning
her head upon the bosom of Mrs. Gaston, and
weeping until the tears fell in large drops upon
the floor."

" But the sea gives not up its dead," said Mrs.
Gaston in a doubting, bewildered tone.

" True — but the sea never claimed me as a
victim."

"And your father?"

The maiden's face flushed a moment, while a
shade of anguish passed over it.

"At another time, I will tell you all. My
mind is now too much agitated and confused.
But why do I find you here ? And more than
all, why as a poor seamstress, toiling for little
more than a crust of bread and a cup of water ?
Where is your husband? Where are your chil-
dren?"

" Three years ago," replied Mrs. Gaston, " we
removed to this city. My husband entered into
business, and was unsuccessful. He lost every-
thing, and about a year ago, died, leaving me
destitute. I have struggled on, since then, the
best I could, but to little purpose. The pittance
I have been able to earn at the miserable prices
we are paid by the tailors has scarcely sufficed
to keep my children from starving. But one of
them" — and the mother's voice trembled — " my
sweet Ella ! was not permitted to remain with
me, when I could no longer provide things com-
fortable for my little ones. A few short weeks
ago, she was taken away to a better world. It
was a hard trial, but I would not have her back
again. And Henry, the dear boy, you remember
— I have been forced to let him go from my side
out into the world. I have neither seen nor
heard from him since I parted with him. Emma
alone remains."

Mrs. Gaston's feelings so overcame her at this
relation, that she wept and sobbed for some time.

"But, my dear Eugenia! — my child that I
loved so tenderly, and have so long mourned as
lost," she said, at length, drawing her arm affec-
tionately around Miss Ballantine, " in better and
happier times, we made one household for more
than five pleasant years. Let us not be separated
now, when there are clouds over our heads, and
sorrow on our paths. Together we shall be able
to bear up better and longer than when separated.
I have a room, into which I moved a week since,
that is pleasanter than this. One room, one bed,
one fire, and one light, will do for two as well as
one. We shall be better able to contend with
our lot together. Will you come with me,
Eugenia ?"

" Will I not, Mrs. Gaston '? Oh ! to be once
more with you ! To have one who can love me
as you will love me ! One to whom I can unbur-
den my heart — Oh, I shall be too happy !"

And the poor creature hung upon the neck of
her maternal friend, and wept aloud.

" Then come at once," said Mrs. Gaston.
" You have nothing to keep you here?"

" No, nothing," replied Eugenia.

" I will get some one to take your trunk."
And Mrs. Gaston turned away and left the room.
In a little while, she came back with a man, who
removed the trunk to her humble dwelling-place.
Thence we will follow them.

"And now, my dear Eugenia," said Mrs.
Gaston, after they had become settled down,
and their minds had assumed a more even flow,
" clear up to me this strange mystery. Why are
you here, and in this destitute condition? How
did you escape death ? Tell me all, or I shall
still think myself only in the bewildering mazes
of a dream."

(To be continued.)

SILENT THOUGHT.

BY WILLIE EDGAR TABOR.

Sometimes there steals across the heart

A quietness of flow,
Where gentle memories form a part,
And bid in mythic tableaux start

The scenes of long ago —
Too holy and too heavenly
For open utterance or fear.
Across the mirror of the soul,
A gorgeous, a transcendent whole.
They pass — a train of silent thought,
With spirit, bliss, and pleasure fraugbt.

Then shut we out the world from view,

And all its mundane care;
Our hearts baptized with fresh'ning dew,
Which we from seraph regions drew ;

Our minds with ambient air.
We love to linger very long
(As on some ancient harper's song,
Floating through corridors of time,
In all the majesty of rhyme),
And silent thought alone express
The acme of our happiness.

These whispers language cannot tell :

E'en imagery bows low
Before the task; its gentle spell
(Like zephyrs in some elfin dell)

Will o'er the spirit flow.
And moments pass unheeded by
As visions to the spirit's eye
Open their prospects, and lay plain
Their tracery of joy or pain.
With bliss or wo forever fraught,
Within the halls of silent thought.

THE MOTHER'S LESSON,

A STORY FROM A GERMAN BALLAD.

Y ELM A SOUT!

'Twas night, the star-gemmed and glittering,
when a bereaved mother lay tossing on her bed
in all the feverish restlessness of unsanctified
sorrow. Sleep had fled far from her weary eye-
lids; and her grief-burdened heart refused to
send up from its troubled fountains the refresh-
ing stream of prayer.

The deep stillness that rested on the hushed
earth was broken by those saddest of all sounds,
the bitter wailings of a mother weeping for her
children, and "refusing to be comforted because
they are not."

" Oh, woe, woe is me !" was the piteous cry
of that breaking heart, and the piercing sound
went up to the still heavens ; but they looked
calmly down in their starry beauty and seemed
to hear it not.

And thus slowly passed the long, weary hours
of the night, and naught was heard save the
solemn chiming of the clock, telling, with iron
tongue, that man was drawing hourly nearer to
the quiet grave.

And as the mourner lay listening to Time's
slow, measured strokes, Memory was busy with
the images of the loved and lost. Again they
were before her in all their youthful beauty ; she
heard their gleeful voices and felt their fond
caresses. The night wind swept coolingly into
the casement, and, as it touched her throbbing
brow, it seemed like the soft kisses of her loving
children.

Poor mourner ! Could earth furnish no magic
mirror in which thou couldst always thus see
the dead living? Oh, no! for as melts the
fleecy cloud in to the blue depths of heaven, so
passed away the blessed vision ; and seeing but
the coffin and the shroud, again arose on the
silent air those tones of despairing anguish :
" Woe is me ! my sons are dead !"

Then softly and sweetly sounded forth the
matin chimes, blending their holy music with
the anguished cries of the bereaved mother. In
the midst of her sorrow, she heard the bells'
sweet harmony, and, leaving her sleepless couch,
walked forth into the refreshing air. Morning
was breaking cold and gray over the earth, and
the stars were growing pale at "he approaching
step of the monarch of the day.

Slowly walks the mourner through the yet
sleeping woods, whose flowers are folded in
silence, and whose birds give forth no carols.
She reaches the antique church and enters the
sacred doors. A mysterious light — light that is
almost shade — is brooding over the holy aisles,
clothing in shadowy garments the pale images
of departed saints ; wrapping in mantle of dim-
ness the carved sepulchres ; throwing strange
gleams ov*er the tall white columns ; and em-
bracing, with pale arms, cross and picture, and
antique shrine. In the midst of this mysterious
light kneel a silent company; each head is
bowed on the clasped hands, and no sound is
heard save a deep, far distant murmuring, like
the voice of the mighty wind when it passes
through the leaves of the dark, old pines, dwell-
ing in some dim, solemn woods.

Suddenly every head is lifted, and the mourner
sees in that vast company friends who had been
sleeping long ages in the silent tomb. All were
there again; the friend of her cloudless child-
hood, who went down to death's cold chambers
in all her stainless beauty, sinking into the
grave as pure as the snow-flake that falls to the
earth. And there was the sister of her home
and heart, the tried friend of sorrow's shaded
hours, who, in dying, left a mighty void that
time could never fill. And there were the
"mighty dead," they whose footsteps, when
living, tracked the world with light — light that
now shed a halo over their graves. And there
were the meek, patient ones of earth, pale mar-
tyrs to sorrow, who struggled hopefully through
the dim vapors that surround the world, and
met as a reward the ineffable brightness of
heaven. They were all here, all who had passed
from earth amidst a fond tribute of tears and
regrets.

All were here save two, those two the most
dearly loved among the precious company of the
dead ; and wildly scanning the pale group, the
mother called aloud as she missed her children :
" Oh, my sons ! my sons ! would that I could
see them but once again !"

Then arose a loud voice, and it said : " Look
to the east;" and the weeping mother looked.

Oh ! dreadful sight ! there, by the sacred altar,

godey's magazine and lady's book,

rested a block and a fearful wheel. Stretched
on these dreadful instruments of doom, in the
coarse garb of the prison, wrestling fiercely with
death in its most awful form, were two poor
youths; and in their wan countenances, where
crime and grief had traced their fearful march,
the motber recognized her lost sons.

Dismayed, heart-sick, despairing, she motion-
less stands ; and the deep silence is again broken
by a voice speaking these words : —

" Mourner, whose every tone is a murmur at
Heaven's will, whose every expression is a doubt
of God's love, let this teach thee a mighty truth.
See the dark path of crime they might have
trod; see the agony, the shame, the maternal
anguish that might have swept like a desolating
tempest over thy heart ; then thank thy God, in
a burst of fervent praise, that he took them in

unsullied youth from a world of sin to a place
of safe refuge."

The voice ceased, and darkness fell like a pall
on the marble floor; but through the arched
windows came streaming the pale moonlight,
and beneath its holy rays, the mother knelt and
prayed.

There fell on her heart a blessed calm, as a
voice whispered to the troubled waves of sorrow,
"peace, be still."

And the angel of death stole softly in, and
sealed her pale lips forever, whilst repentance
and resignation were breathing from them in the
music of prayer.

Oh, weeping mother ! who art hanging gar-
lands of sorrow ever fresh over thy children's
tombs, take to thy bereaved heart, and ponder
well, this " Mother's Lesson !"

TEACHING AT HOME

LANGUAGE,

As we are desirous of pointing out in what
respects parents may assist in the education of
their children previous to their being sent to
school, we must remind them that it is at home
that a child learns to speak ; and that there is,
perhaps, nothing which helps more towards his
after instruction than the power of speaking
well. There are sometimes very strange notions
on this subject amongst fathers and mothers.
They think, as long as they themselves can un-
derstand a child when it begins to talk, that it is
sufficient. They are rather pleased than other-
wise that the baby should have its own names
for the things it wants, and the parent learns to
use these words for the accommodation of the
child. Instead of being helped forward in its
progress to plain speaking, it is allowed for
several years to express itself in a strange sort of
gibberish, which is only laughed at and admired
by the rest of the family. The mother will tell
with a sort of satisfaction that little Susan can
never use the letter S, or the letter W ; and no
effort is made by her to conquer the difficulty.
She does not foresee, as most probably will be the
case, that this will be a sort of stumbling-block
in little Susan's way when she goes to school,
and that she will pass for a sort of dunce, per-
haps, for a year or two, in consequence of her
inability to read as well as other children of her
age. When she stands up in her class and begins
to read her portion of the lesson, she is told by
the rest of the children that they cannot under-
stand a word that she reads ; and the patience

of her teacher is sorely tried, in vain attempts to
get a few words distinctly uttered. And when
Susan leaves school at last to enter upon her
occupation in life — say that of teacher — it is ten
to one that her imperfect utterance does not
stand in her way in getting a place ; for mothers,
who are well educated, like that their children
should be with thoso who speak well, and in the
first interview with Susan, the imperfection in
her speech is discovered. The same, perhaps,
with Willy, her brother, who finds himself
rejected several times by persons to whom he
offers himself to fill some situation for which he
is perfectly well qualified, only that the gentle-
men think he must be but a rough sort of lad
from the countrified way in which he answers
the questions put to him. Clearness and correct-
ness of speech have also another advantage in
securing correctness and clearness of thoughts.
A child who is made to put the right word to
everything and to pronounce it properly — to use
the right expression in describing what he sees,
or in telling what he has done — knows and un-
derstands better than one who makes up words
or expressions for himself; and a mother or
father can, if they be not very bad speakers
themselves, early accustom their children to
choose the right names for things instead of the
wrong in their talk. We all know that in many
counties of England, the people living there
have words peculiar to themselves for many
things, different from the way in which they are
called in London, or in the great towns ; at the

DIRECTIONS FOR TAKING} LEAF IMPRESSIONS.

443

same time that they know quite well what are
the right names and words used by the well
educated. From early habit they like to use
these words, which perhaps remind them of
their own childhood or their home in early life ;
but it would be as well to remember that to their
children it would be an advantage to use the
more correct words and expressions, and there-
fore worth their while to make an effort to
employ them. It is also of great importance
that the pronunciation, or way of sounding
words, should be correct. In these counties, for
instance, it is the habit of the people not to
sound the letter H at the beginning of a word ;
and though this may seem a very trifling mat-
ter, it may on many occasions in life go greatly
against a young person, should he or she talk of
a orse or a ouse, instead of a horse or a house.
The persons so speaking may have learned to read
very correctly, and write well, and be possessed
of a good stock of useful knowledge, and yet
with a very large class of persons they would,
from such a slip of the tongue, be set down as
ignorant and ill educated — perhaps even be sus-
pected of a rudeness and vulgarity in thought
and feeling which they were far from being guilty
of. To secure their children against such a
disadvantage, it would be worth while for any
parent who knows bow to spell, to take care
that this important letter h is sounded in all
words which it begins, there being only two or
three words in the English in which it is the
custom not to pronounce it, such as hour, heir,
honor, &c, which are soon learned to be excep-
tions to the general rule. This habit, it is true, is
peculiar to England ; but it shows how carefully
proper habits should be nurtured in childhood.

There is a still more important point for
parents to observe in the language used by their
children, and this is the avoidance of all profane,
vulgar, or indecent words. And in this respect
the parent is most particularly the teacher of his
child. A father who uses an oath in the pre-
sence of his innocent child, teaches that child to
make use of that expression some day in his turn.
A mother who takes the great name of God in
vain, not only sets her child the example of so
doing, but takes away from its young mind
some portion of the reverence which it has
hitherto felt towards the Great Being whom it is
taught to call its "Father in Heaven." Too
much is it the custom, in the most trivial events
of everyday life, to utter that Name which should
never be pronounced but with reverence and
love. It is called upon in moments of anger and
impatience, when the remembrance of His care
and love should lead us to leave the little as well

> as the great events of life trustfully in his hands,
\ knowing as we do that all is ordered and ruled
\ for our good.

DIRECTIONS FOR TAKING LEAF
IMPRESSIONS.

Hold oiled paper in the smoke of a lamp, or
of pitch, until it becomes coated with the smoke ;
to this paper apply the leaf of which you wish an
impression, having previously warmed it between
your hands, that it may be pliable. Place the
lower surface of the leaf upon the blackened sur-
face of the oil-paper, that the numerous veins,
which are so prominent on this side, may receive
from the paper a portion of the smoke. Lay a
paper over the leaf, and then press it gently upon
the smoked paper with the fingers, or with a
small roller (covered with woollen cloth, or some
like soft material), so that every part of the leaf
may come in contact with the sooted oil-paper.
A coating of the smoke will adhere to the leaf.
Then remove the leaf carefully, and place the
blackened surface on a sheet of white paper, not
ruled, or in a book prepared for the purpose, co-
vering the leaf with a clean slip of paper, and
pressing upon it with the fingers, or roller, as
before. Thus may be obtained the impression of
a leaf, showing the perfect outlines, together with
an accurate exhibition of the veins which extend
in every direction through it, more correctly
than the finest drawing. And this process is so
simple, and the materials so easily obtained, that
any person, with a little practice to enable him
to apply the right quantity of smoke to the oil-
paper, and give the leaf a proper pressure, can
prepare beautiful leaf impressions, such as a
naturalist would be proud to possess.

There is another, and we think a better method
of taking leaf impressions than the preceding one.
The only difference in the process consists in the
use of printing-ink instead of smoked oil-paper.

Leaf Printing. — After warming the leaf
between the hands, apply printing-ink, by means
of a small leather ball containing cotton, or some
soft substance, or with the end of the finger.
The leather ball (and the finger when used for
that purpose), after the ink is applied to it,
should be pressed several times upon a piece of
leather, or some smooth surface, before each
application to the leaf, that the ink may be
smoothly and evenly applied.

After the under surface of the leaf has been
sufficiently inked, apply it to the paper, where
you wish the impression ; and, after covering it
with a slip of paper, use the hand or roller to
press upon it, as described in the former process.

FARM HOUSE.

[From "Rural Architecture," published by C. 31. Suxlon, New York.]

This is a plain and unpretending building in
appearance; yet, in its ample finish, and deeply
drawn and sheltering eaves, broad veranda, and
spacious out-buildings, may give accommodation
to a large family indulging a liberal style of
living.

By an error in the engraving, the main roof
of the house is made to appear like a double, or
gambrel-roof. breaking at the intersection of the
gable, or hanging roof over the ends. This is
not so intended. The roofs on each side are a
straight line of rafters. The Swiss, or hanging
style of gable-roof, is designed to give a more
sheltered effect to the elevation than to run the
end wails to a peak in the point of the roof.

By a defect in the drawing, the roof of the
veranda is not sufficiently thrown over the co-
lumns. This roof should project at least one
foot beyond them, so as to perfectly shelter the
mouldings beneath from the weather, and con-
form to the style of the main roof of the house.

The material of which it is built may be of
either stone, brick, or wood, as the taste or con-
venience of the proprietor may suggest. The
main building is 44 by 36 feet, on the ground.
The cellar wall may show 18 to 24 inches above

the ground, and be pierced by windows in each
441

end, as shown in the plan. The height, of the
main walls may be two full stories below the
roof plates, or the chambers may run a foot or
two into the garret, at the choice of the builder,
cither of which arrangements may be permitted.

The front door opens from a veranda 28 feet
long by 10 feet in depth, drooping eight inches
from the door-sill. This veranda has a hipped
roof, which juts over the columns in due pro-
portion with the roof of the house over its walls.
These columns are plain, with brackets, or
braces from near their tops, sustaining the plate
and finish of the roof above, which may be co-
vered either with tin or zinc, painted, or closely
shingled.

The walls of the house may be 18 to 20 feet
high below the plates ; the roof a pitch of 30 to
45 degrees, which will afford an upper garret,
or store, or small sleeping rooms, if required ;
and the eaves should project two to throe feet,
as climate may demand, over the walls. A plain
finish — that is, ceiled underneath — is shown in
the design, but brackets on the ends of the raft-
ers, beaded and finished, may be shown, if
preferred. The gables are Swiss-roofed, or trun-
cated, thus giving them a most sheltered and
comfortable appearance, particularly in a north-

FARM HOUSE.

445

20IX
PIC

SWILL ROOM

~ Q

H 18X6 ■=

18 » ,s ET8

CHAMBER PLAN.

GROUND PLA1

erly climate. The small gable in front relieves
the roof of its monotony, and affords light to the
central garret. The chimneys are carried out
with partition flues, and may be topped with
square caps, as necessity or taste may demand.

Retreating three feet from the kitchen side of
the house runs, at right angles, a wing 30 by 18
feet, one and a half stories high, with a veranda
eight feet wide in front. Next in rear of this,
continues a wood-house, 30 by 18 feet, one story
high, with ten-feet posts, and open in front, the
ground level of which is 18 inches below the
floor of the wing to which it is attached. The
roof of these two is of like character with that
of the main building.

Adjoining this wood-house, and at right angles
with it, i|3 a building 68 by 18 feet, projecting
two feet outside the line of wood-house and
kitchen. This building is one and a half stories
high, with twelve feet posts, and roof in the same
style and of equal pitch as the others.

Interior Arrangement. — The front door from
the veranda of the house opens into a hall, 18 by
vol. xlviii. — 38

8 feet, and 1 1 feet high, amply lighted by sash
windows on the sides, and over the door. Froci
the rear of this hall runs a flight of easy staits,
into the upper or chamber hall. On one side of
the lower hall, a door leads into a parlor, 18 feet
square, and 11 feet high, lighted by three win-
dows, and warmed by an open stove or fireplace.,
the pipe passing into a chimney flue in the rear.
A door passes from this parlor into a rear pass-
age, or entry, thus giving it access to the kitch-
en and rear apartments. At the back end of the
front hall, a door leads into the rear passage and
kitchen ; and on the side opposite the parlor, a
door opens into the sitting or family room, 18 by
16 feet in area, having an open fireplace, and
three windows. On the hall side of this room,
a door passes into the kitchen, 22 by 16 feet, and
which may, in case the requirements of the fam-
ily demand it, be made the chief family or living-
room, and the last one described converted into
a library. In this kitchen, which is lighted by
two windows, is a liberal open fireplace, with
an ample oven by its side, and a sink in the outer

446

godey's magazine and lady's book.

corner. A flight of stairs, also, leads to the rear
chambers above ; and a corresponding flight un-
der them, to the cellar below. A door at each
end of these stairs leads into the back entry of
the house, and thus to the other interior rooms,
or through the rear outer door to the back porch.
This back entry is lighted by a single sash win-
dow over the outside door leading to the porch.
Another door, opposite that leading down cellar,
opens into the passage through the wing. From
the rear hall, which is 16 by 5 feet, the innermost
passage leads into a family bedroom, or nursery,
16 by 14 feet, lighted by a window in each out-
side wall, and warmed by an open fireplace, or
stove, at pleasure. Attached to this bedroom is
a clothes-closet, 8 by 4 feet, with shelves and
drawers. Next the outer door, in rear end of the
hall, is a small closet opening from it, 6 by 4 feet
in dimensions, convertible to any use which the
mistress of the house may direct.

Opening into the wing from the kitchen, first,
is a large closet and pantry, supplied with a
table, drawers, and shelves, in which are stored
the dishes, table furniture, and edibles necessary
to be kept at a moment's access. This room
is 14 by 8 feet, and well lighted by a window of
convenient size. If necessary, this room may
have a partition, shutting off a part from the
everyday uses which the family requires. In
this room, so near to the kitchen, to the sink, to
hot water, and the other little domestic accesso-
ries which good housewives know so well how

to arrange and appreciate, all the nice little table-
comforts can be got up, and perfected, and stored
away, under lock and key, in drawer, tub, or jar,
at their discretion, and still their eyes not be
away from their subordinates in the other depart-
ments. Next to this, and connected by a door,
is the dairy, or milk-room, also 14 by 8 feet;
which, if necessary, may be sunk three or four
feet into the ground, for additional coolness in
the summer season, and the floor reached by
steps. In this are ample shelves for the milk-
pans, convenience of churning, &c. &c. But, if
the dairy be a prominent object of the farm, a
separate establishment will be required, and the
excavation may not be necessary for ordinary
household uses. Out of this milk-room, a door
leads into a wash-room, 18 by 14 feet. A pass-
age from the kitchen also leads into this. The
wash-room is lighted by two windows in rear,
and one in front. A sink is between the two rear
windows, with conductor leading outside, and a
closet beneath it, for the iron ware. In the chim-
ney, at the end, are boilers, and a fireplace, an
oven, or anything else required, and a door lead-
ing to a platform in the wood-house, and so into
the yard. On the other side of the chimney, a
door leads into a bathing-room, 7 by 6 feet, into
which hot water is drawn from one of the boil-
ers adjoining, and cold water may be introduced,
by a hand-pump, through a pipe leading into the
well or cistern.

A FEW WOKDS ABOUT DELICATE WOMEN.

How essential is it to the well-being of a
family that the wife and mother should be
cheerful, active, and healthy. Yet, looking at
those classes of the community a little above
what may be termed the laboring class, how
frequently we find that the women are ailing,
nervous, and irritable; or, as they would call
themselves, " delicate !" How is this 1

" Why," answers one, " some are the children
of unhealthy parents, and the inheritors of their
diseases." Where this is the case, the fullest
sympathy and consideration are due; but the
number of such would be only a few in com-
parison with the class we speak of. We must
look further for the cause.

" Oh," suggests another, " is not the fact of
being a wife and mother, and having the care
and management of a family and household,
with perhaps very limited pecuniary resources,

quite enough to make women weak and ailing?"
We think not. Such circumstances are trying ;
but with some women they have been the
means of drawing out unwonted cheerfulness
and energy of character. Allowing, however,
that some women are so tried and harassed by the
circumstances of married life that their health
and energy give way ; still their number would
be comparatively few, and we must find some
other cause for the fact that there are so many
females who call themselves " delicate."

Is it that they have an impression that there
is something amiable in being delicate ?

Do they think it is lady-like to be delicate 1

Is not this delicacy cultivated by some as a
means of drawing more largely on sympathy,
especially the husband's sympathy l

Are not idleness and inactivity often excused or
hidden under this convenient cloak of delicacy \

A FEW WORDS ABOUT DELICATE WOMEN.

We think that each of these questions may be
correctly answered in the affirmative, and that
the commencement of these errors, with all their
attendant evils, may be traced to the education
of the girl.

Years ago, Fanny was a healthy, active, and
unaffected child, when her parents sent her to a
boarding-school. For the first few days, feeling
herself among strangers, and away from home,
she was pensive and quiet ; but this soon wore
away, and she became cheerful and happy again.
She had taken a skipping-rope with her to
school, and one evening, when she was in the
full enjoyment of the use of it, the evening bell
rang for the scholars to retire for the night.
When Fanny went to say " good-night" to the
governess, she was surprised to hear her say to
the matron: "You will be so good as to give
Miss Fanny a dose of calomel, she is in too ro-
bust health; see, her cheeks are like a milk-
maid's." So Fanny had to take calomel, and
the next day she was languid and listless, or, as
the governess seemed to consider, "lady- like."
Another time, when playing with a companion
somewhat actively in the playground, they were
stopped by a teacher, saying: "Young ladies,
are you not ashamed of yourselves 1 that is not
the way to conduct yourselves in this establish-
ment. Why, what would be thought of you?
Pray let me see you walk like young ladies."

Fanny wished then that she was not to be
called a "young lady" if she might not play
and romp about a little, for she was sure it made
her happy to do so. But it is astonishing what
changes may in time be effected by teaching and
example. During the remainder of her stay at
school, Fanny had occasional doses of calo-
mel when too robust health began to show
itself; and she had learned to believe that, to be
at all respected by her fellow-creatures, she must
be considered a young lady, and that all young
ladies were of delicate constitutions, and that it
was very unlady-like to be healthy and active.

Poor Fanny ! she had not only imbibed these
notions, but she had also lost a great deal of
her vigor of constitution, and had become inert
and inactive. When she left school, she re-
turned to the home of her childhood, where
family arrangements were such that her assist-
ance would frequently have been acceptable to
her parents. But when anything was requested
of her, it was attended to in a manner so un-
willing and languid, that they soon ceased to ask
anything of her, grieving and wondering what
was become of their cheerful and active Fanny.

Not being aware of Fanny's ideas about lady-
ism, and not perceiving that the mind wanted

curing more than the body, her parents consulted
the family doctor, who said that he could not
perceive there was much the matter with her ;
he, however, recommended fresh air and exer-
cise, and suggested that perhaps a few weeks by
the seaside might do her good. Now, this latter
advice Fanny liked very much ; it added to her
importance as a lady that she should be taken
to the seaside because she was in delicate health.
However, as Fanny meant to be delicate, she
was as much so on her return as before, until at
last it became an allowed fact in the family that
Fanny was " so delicate" that she was left to do
pretty much as she pleased.

Time passed on, and Fanny became a wife,
and, with a vague idea that she was to secure to
herself the affections of her husband, just in
proportion that she made demands upon his
sympathy, her elegant ailings became more
numerous than ever, and she has fully estab-
lished her claim to be classed among " delicate
women."

Perhaps the custom of giving calomel to de-
stroy health, as if it were a weed too rank to be
allowed to grow, is not very much practised ;
but other injurious customs are taught and prac-
tised which as certainly injure health.

The custom of confining the body in tight
stays, or tight clothes of any kind, is exceedingly
hurtful to the health of both body and mind. A
girl has learned a very bad lesson, when she has
been taught that to gain the admiration of her
fellow-creatures, she must, even to the endan-
gering of health and life, distort her figure from
that which nature has made, to something which
fashion presumes to dictate as more admirable.

The custom of preventing the active use of
the limbs, and free exercise of the body generally,
and restricting every movement to the artificial
notions of boarding-school propriety, is attended
with mental and physical evils of all sorts.
While a child is forbidden to take the bodily
exercise which nature would impel her to do,
the humors grow thick and stagnate for want of
motion to warm and dilate them ; the general
circulation is impeded ; the muscles stiffen, be-
cause deprived of their necessary moisture ; ob-
structions take place, which produce weakness
in every animal function ; and nature, no longer
able to discharge the morbid matter which con-
stantly accumulates from all her imperfect ope-
rations, gradually sickens, and the child is either
carried to a premature grave, or continues an
existence of physical and mental languor and
listlessness ; and another is added to the class
of " delicate women."

We cannot be far from right in saying that

4 18

godey's magazine and lady's book.

almost all the mental and physical ailings of
'* delicate women" may be traced to a defective
education. And those who are now engaged in
training girls, whether at home or in schools,
cannot too seriously consider the weight of re-
sponsibility resting upon them. Upon their
management depend much of future health, and,
consequently, the usefulness and happiness of
those committed to their charge.

As requisites to the promotion of bodily vigor,
we will mention : —

A strict attention to personal cleanliness,
which children should be taught to cultivate,
because it is healthy and right that they should
be clean, and not because " it would look so if
they were dirty !"

The use of apartments that are well ventilated.

Frequent and sufficient active bodily exercise
in the open air.

Entire freedom from any pressure upon the
person by the use of tight clothes.

A sufficiency of nourishing and digestible food.

And, in winter, the use of such firing as is
needed to keep up a healthful warmth.

All these will tend to promote health, but we
shall have no security against " delicate women"
unless there be also added the cultivation of
mental health.

For this, it is necessary that girls should be
taught to cultivate mental purity and mental ac-
tivity, by sufficient and well-regulated exercise
of the mind.

Habits of benevolence, contentment, and
cheerful gratitude should be inculcated, both
by precept and example, to the exclusion of
selfishness.

And, above all, should be strongly impressed
upon the mind the necessity of the strictest
integrity, which will lead to the abhorrence of
every species of affectation, which is, indeed,
only a modified sort of deceit.

Girls should also be early taught that they are
responsible beings ; responsible to God for the
right use of all the mercies bestowed upon them ;
and that health is one of the chief of earthly
blessings, and that it is their duty to value and
preserve it.

But much is learnt from example as well as
from precept; therefore, let no affectation of
languid airs in a teacher give a child the idea
that there can be anything admirable in the
absence of strength. We do not wish that girls
should cultivate anything masculine ; for an un-
feminine woman cannot be an object of admi-
ration to the right judging of either sex. But a

female has no occasion to affect to be feminine ;
she is so naturally, and if she will but let nature
have its perfect work, she will, most likely, be
not only feminine, but also graceful and admira-
ble.

The school studies of girls should be so ar-
ranged that they may afford mental food and
satisfaction; otherwise, as soon as the lesson
hours are over, they will, most likely, turn with
avidity to any nonsense they can learn from
foolish conversation, or to reading some of the
trashy books of the day, to the injury of all
mental and moral health, and the almost certain
production of " delicate women."

To those who are already women, and are
unfortunately classed among the " delicate," we
would say : For the sake of your husbands, and
all connected with you, strive resolutely to lose
your claim to such an unenviable distinction.
If you are conscious of the least feeling of satis-
faction in hearing yourself spoken of as delicate,
be assured it is a degree of mental disease that
allows the feeling. If you ever suppose that
you gain your husband's sympathy by weakness,
remember you might gain more of his esteem
and satisfied affection by strength. Fifty years
ago, it was well said that, " To a man of feeling,
extreme delicacy in the partner of his life and
fortune is an object of great and constant con-
cern ; but a semblance of such delicacy, where it
does not really exist, is an insult on his discern-
ment, and must ' ultimately inspire him with
aversion and disgust." It is not for us to say
how many put on the semblance of delicacy as
a covering for idleness, or from any of the weak
motives that prompt such an affectation — con-
science will whisper where this is the case — and
happy will it be for the household of any one
who can be roused from such a pitiable state.

Could woman only know how many husbands
are bankrupt because their wives are " delicate ;"
how many children are physically, mentally,
and morally neglected and ruined, because their
mothers are " delicate ;" how many servants
become dishonest and inefficient, because their
mistresses are " delicate" — the list would be so
appalling that possibly we might hear of an
Anti-dclicate-ladies Association, for the better
promotion of family happiness and family econ-
omy.

Meanwhile, let each listen to her own con-
science and the dictates of her better judgment,
and remember that health is a gift of God, and
we cannot slight a gift without also slighting
the Giver.

DISAPPOINTED LOVE.

449

oetrg.

THE GLEANER.

BY RICHARD COE.

{See Plate.)

Not the raven's glossy -wing

Is so beautiful a thing

As thy locks of jet-black hair,

Maiden, all so bright and fair !

And a soul of beauty lies

In the midnight of thine eyes ;

And a sweet, expressive grace

Sitteth meekly on thy face,

Like unto a statue seen

Of some gentle, loving queen !

Whatsoe'er thy name or station,
Thine, sweet maid, 's a blest vocation ;
'Neath the dome that God hath spread
All above and round thy head ;
Taking in the healthful breeze
From the mountain-tops and trees ;
Thou dost toil from day to day,
Knowing that " to work 's to pray!"
Conscious of reward well won
At the setting of the sun.

From thy thought-revealing brow
Strength of intellect hast thou ;
In the harvest-fields of Thought
Mighty minds of old have wrought ;
Thou hast followed in their way,
Gleaning richly day by day :
Gems of purest ray serene
In the intervals between
Constant toil and needful rest,
Thou hast garnered in thy breast.

In the brighter fields above,
'Neath the beaming eye of Love,
While the heavenly reapers stand,
Each with sickle in his hand,
Thou shalt take thy final rest
On the Master's kindly breast;
Ever, evermore to be
Blest throughout eternity ;
Never, nevermore to roam
From thy gladsome Harvest Home !

THE PET.

BY ROSA MONTROSE.

I have a little nephew,

He is scarcely three years old,
With eyes of heaven's deepest blue,

And ringlets palely gold ;
His mouth, a velvet rosebud red,

All hung with honey-dew ;
But sweeter far our darling's lips

Than rose that ever grew !

I ne'er have found so dear a child,

Or one so strangely fair,
Or saw on infant brow like his

The mind that 's slumb'ring there !

And oftentimes he utters things,

Confounding wise and old ;
And from his baby lips we hear

What wisdom hath not told !

He 's like a breath of summer air —

A dew-drop pure and bright,
That falls from Evening's closing eye,

To kiss the morning light :
A ray of sunshine, soft and warm —

A straying golden beam —
A silver singing rivulet —

Or joyous dancing stream !

He is the treasure of our heart —

The sunlight and the joy ;
He '11 lisp to you the names he bears,

Sweet, lovely, darling boy !
And when he comes with pleading words,

My work is laid away,
Or classic volume closed at once,

To join him in his play.

His voice is like a tiny lute,

And when he sweetly sings,
You 'd think he was an angel, and

Be looking for his wings !
And oft I clasp him to my heart

With strange foreboding fear
That he 's a straying seraph child

God only lends us here !

Such thoughts as these intruding come,

For in this world of ours
The loveliest things the soonest droop;

The fairest human flowers
Are ever first to pass away,

The first to fade and die-
Thus teaching us our treasures should

Be sought beyond the sky !

But we will love our " angel boy,"

And never cease to pray
That seraph forms may guide him here,

But call him not away !
And hope that till life's closing breath,

As on his infant brow,
So Intellect and Innocence

May blend as pure as now !

DISAPPOINTED LOVE,

BY W. S. GAFFNET.

Oh ! scorn him not— the noble soul

Whose happy dreams have sped :
Whose cherished hopes of blissful love

Have ever, ever fled !
For, oh ! 'tis hard at best to bear

Misfortunes from above ;
But deathlike to the manly heart

Is cruel, shipwrecked love !

Oh! scorn him not— but gently strive

To soothe his troubled breast ;
For man's vocation here on earth

Is wearisome at best :
Then metre out true sympathy —

Pour oil upon the smart —
And, smiling angels, oh! beware

To crush a manly heart!

38*

450

godey's magazine and lady's book.

STANZAS.

BY H. B. WILDMAN.

I stood beside a pleasant stream,
Whore spicy boughs were wreathing;

Its gentle ripples came and went
Like sleeping infants breathing.

The lily press'd its dewy cheek

Upon the kissing billow,
And sluinberd like a summer bride

Upon her nuptial pillow.

Yet, by this stream a dark rock tower'd

Like fane in forest waving ;
Deep furrows shown within its side,

Wrought by the ripples laving!

I gazed upon the sunny stream,

And thought of sunny faces,
And wonder'd how such gentle waves

Could leave such angry traces.

Again I stood within the hall

Where Wealth her glow was shedding ;
The spacious dome seem'd lighted up

For some grand princely wedding.

The moon look'd down on golden spires,

As if to give a greeting ;
One would have thought, amid the show,

'Twas Pleasure's natal meeting.

Yet there, within that hall, that night

I saw the discontented ;
I saw pale faces mark'd with care,

Like spirits unrepented.

I gazed upon the princely hall
Where wealth had blown her bubble,

And wonder'd how, amid such show,
There could be aught of trouble.

And thus, I said, amid Life's glare —

Amid this world of hurry —
'Tis true that " tongues we find in trees,

And sermons in the quarry I"

Our life is like yon little stream,
Where ripples are retreating ;

And Pleasure, though array'd in smiles,
Hath spots where Care is eating.

Our life is like a summer stream

That lulls us into slumber ;
We dream we 're happy for a while,

While waves in countless number,

Though gentle in their ceaseless flow,

Are every day and morrow,
Still chafing in the shores of Life

Some secret marks of sorrow !

BRIGHT FLOWERS FOR HER I LOVE.

BT WILLIAM RODERICK LAWRENCE.

Bright flowers for her I love

Yes, flowers rich and rare,
The rose-bud and the violet

To grace her golden hair ;
Yet nature's gems — though beautiful

And pure and bright they be —

Are not so fair as she I love,
Or beautiful to me.

Rare gems for her I love!

All sparkling in their light,
A diadem to grace that brow

So beautifully bright;
Yet earthly crowns must fade —

Immortal crowns above
Alone are worthy to be sought

By her I fondly love.

Music for her I love !

Melodiously low,
Breathed soft from harps whose golden strings

With songs of rapture glow;
Such music as the angels make

In worlds of light above —
Such music would I have to cheer

The heart of her I love.

And peace for her I love !

The poace religion brings,
Renouncing fleeting, transient joys

For bright and heavenly things ;
Let happiness be hers,

And heaven her rest above;
May this, my prayer, accepted rise

For her I truly love.

STANZAS.

BT HELEN HAMILTON.

Though thou art dying, yet I may not weep
Such grief I leave to those who part for years;

We only part for days ; it may be— hours ;
We have no need of tears.

Ere thy last kiss is cold upon my lips,
Thy dying clasp is loosened from my hand ;

I will be with thee— thou but goest before
Into the better land.

When thou hast reached Heav'n's golden portal, pause
And cast one look adown Death's shadowy road ;

I will be near, nor tremble as I walk
The road thou first hast trod.

Would that together we might pass away!

Would that one sound might ring our passing knell!
Yet soon we '11 meet where partings are unknown ;

For the last time — farewell. .

SONNET. — NATURE.

BT VH. ALEXANDER.

Nature ! Well hath the Poet said : " Who can
Paint like to thee ?" Inimitably fine
Seem all the hues and colorings of thine,
Though microscopic eye may closely scan :
Close search but lifts the mystic veil that hides
Thy scenes of beauty. In the tiny cup
Of thy fair flowers, what wonders open up 1
Lo! a whole insect nation there resides,
Clad in rich vests of fine embroidery,
Or coats of living purple, green, and gold.
Such fairy scenes, so constantly unrolled,
Declare design most manifest to be ;

And the least path Omnipotence hath trod
Exhibits footprints of our glorious God.

THEY SAY THAT SHE IS BEAUTIFUL.

451

TO ONE WHO RESTS.

BY WINNIE WOODFEEN,

I thought my heart had cast away

Each memory of its early day;

I thought nor grief, nor chauge, nor fear,

Could teach these eyes to shed a tear ;

And yet, a very child I be,

Alas, I still remember thee !

And to my lips arose a prayer

That I might die while pausing there !

My song is o'er; 'twill only tell,
To some who know and love me well,
At times, within my inmost soul,
Are thoughts I cannot quite control,
Because they breathe and speak of thee,
Who can be nothing now to me !

I often gaze with heart unmoved
On lips that smile like thine, beloved;
I often catch a deep low tone,
That bears the music of thine own;
Yet pass, without a tear or smile,
My pulses calm and cool, the while.

Thou, dearest, hast been linked to me
By things which never more can be ;
By memories of that lovely place,
That village, quiet in its grace,
Like lilies, in the summer air,
That stir not; knowing they are fair.

And those who trod its mossy walks,
And shared with me those woodland talks,
'Till our hearts, hungry for the pain
Of loving, to be loved again,
Learned the deep meaning of a word
Which had been better never heard.

Thou, and thy love, were of that time
When life was but a passion — rhyme ;
When I knew not that care might come
Even to that sweet mountain home ;
When stars and streams and flowers were part
Of this, then calmly beating heart.

So, when the martyr's cross was mine,
I chose another love than thine ;
Our hearts, but not our souls, were mates,
Our love the same, but not our fates ;
And he who, in these later years,
Seeks me, seeks also scorching tears.

'Tis long since I have breathed thy name !

It once could turn my heart to flame ;

But now, so changed and cold am I,

I only speak it with a sigh,

That dreams, whose proper home is Heaven,

To hearts o'ertasked with Earth, are given !

Oh, long forsaken! no fond dream,
Floating (like flowers on a stream),
Down the wild current of my mind,
Counts o'er the joys I 've left behind ,
A little thing has drawn these tears,
For thee, and for our early years !

A moment since I cast a look
Within the pages of a book
Which thou to me hast often read,
Thy shoulder pillowing my head ;
A faint, sweet perfume thence arose;
There lay thy gift—%, faded rose !

It was as if an altar burned

With sacrifices, and I turned —

Beloved, do not think me weak!

Tears, wild with grief, fled down my check,

THEY SAY THAT SHE IS BEAUTIFUL.

BY MARY GRACE HALPING.

They say that she is beautiful ;

They praise that speaking eye,
That fair and softly rounded cheek,

Its bright and changeful dye.
That pure and polished brow that towers

Like ivory temple high.

But is that radiant being fair

The light and joy of home t
Doth from its loving inmates there

Her heart forget to roam ?
Oh, is she not as false and fair

As ocean's snowy foam ?

They say, unlike the tones of earth

Rings out that music free;
But only from the halls of mirth

Are heard those tones of glee ;
They say that she is beautiful —

She is not so to me.

I 've seen that sweet and smiling lip

Give back a stern reply ;
I 've seen the cloud of passion dim

That proudly glorious eye,
And on that pure transparent brow

The shade of anger lie.

I know that outward beauty sits

Upon that queenly brow ;
Before its proud and gorgeous shrine

Doth man admiring bow,
While she, with false, capricious smile,

Repays each idle vow.

I know with seeming truth doth flash

That darkly radiant eye,
Yet beauty oft will sell for cash

What love can never buy,
Aside a loving heart will dash

That time and change defy.

Upon the thickly crowded street,

I many a form have past,
Whom grace gave not proportion meet

From beauty's model cast,
To whom the soul a glory lends

A radiance that will last,
When beauty's tender floweret bends

Before time's wintry blast.

Yet there I see no loving heart,

No spirit pure and free,
Though like a whited sepulchre

An outward gloss may be ;
They say that she is beautiful,

She is not so to me.

452

ODE TO THE AIR IN MAY.

BY NICHOLAS NETTLEBY.

Awake, 0 Muse! my trembling pen inspire!

Infuse my words with unpolluted song ;
Touch every line with thine own saered fire,

And bear me by thy impulses along!

To thee, sweet Air, that dost around me play,
Touching ethereally each silv'ry string

That vibrates in the golden Harp of May,
To thee I dedicate this offering.

Soft, gentle Air ! unnumbered missions thine,
Missions of mercy, kindness, and of love ;

Guardian to man thou art, almost divine,
Doing below as angel hosts above.

Thine is it, Air, at morn's first op'ning light,
To hang rich curtains in the eastern sky,

Which, casting back their own refulgence bright,
Proclaim to earth that glorious day is nigh.

Thine is the task, as heaven's all-wondrous orb
Fills the eternal arch that o'er us spans,

Within thyself its fiercest rays t' absorb,
And make its milder, softer radiance man's.

O'er the broad earth thou wingest ; every day
Lighting bright smiles in mansions high and low ;

Blessings uncounted strewing in thy way,
Bright'ning the eye, kindling the cheek with glow.

When burning fever mantles o'er the brow,
And dire disease foretells the angel Death,

Welcome is thy refreshing entrance. Now
Gold hath not there the sweetness of thy breath.

With flowers thou lov'st to sport in fondest glee,
Sipping from velvet cups their rich perfume ;

Thou lov'st to dally with the old oak-tree,
And with its broad green crest sweetly commune.

That sombre cloud that far on high is seen,
Shading the earth from Sol's intensest rays,

Is upward borne by thee, a wondrous screen,
Which both thy goodness and thy power displays.

Within our path thy liquid waves are found,

Constant attendant upon every hour,
Bearing unto us many a moving sound,

And messages from each surrounding flower.

And if (when weary of a long repose),
Thou dost invite an earth-refreshing storm,

When three-tongued lightnings in the heavens disclose
Terrific thunderclouds of grandest form,

Mantling the sky in blackest robes of night,
And rushing onward in confusion dire,

While deep explosions cause the timid fright,
And heaven and eai'th are filled with lurid fire ;

Then is it that thy majesty we love ;

Then we behold the wonders of thy power ;
Thou hold'st the elements that rage above,

And guidest them in that sublimest hour !

But over thee, sweet Air, another hand,
Higher and stronger, holier than thine own,

Presides. 'Tis He, who by a seraph band,
Is circled round. He upon Heaven's Throne !

ANNOYANCE.

BY BEATA.

I was thinking of the " Godey ;" that it was out I knew,
The mouth was just beginning, and the papers said so too ;
" A charming number," " brilliant," " a treat for ladies all,"
And I wished to see its contents, and read " Fashion" on
the fall.

A rainy afternoon it was — not a dashing, roaring rain,
With a trumpet-sounding wind, or a stirring hurricane;
It did not rattle 'gainst the glass a lively, merry chime,
But a dull and dreary drizzle, a stupid, yawning time.

I almost had a mind to venture on the street,

But I do detest the pavements, even when they 're clean

and neat;
So I thought upon the "Godey," with its fresh and uncut

page,
And longed for something pretty, my moments to engage.

It struck me that some pleasant chat would restore a

cheerful tone,
And rising with a sigh (for I, musing, sat alone),
I gathered up my sewing and quickly took my way,
Where it always wears an aspect bright, despite a rainy

day.

But scarcely had I entered, ere there fell, distinct and

clear,
The sound of cutting pages upon my wondering ear;
There sat my quiet brother, this dismal afternoon,
With my number in his hand, as I perceived full soon.

I asked, "Is that 'Littell' you have?" but I knew only

too well
The answer which I should receive, that it was not

" Littell ;"
And had he read my wishes, and offered me the "Book,"
I would not have accepted; but I love the first, fresh

look.

So I waited very patiently, and my reward was near ;
I saw that he was pleased, though it cost me rather dear;
And when the day was closing, and the rain at last was

done,
I enjoyed the precious " Godey," and the glorious setting

TIS O'ER.

'Tis o'er ! the tender tie is broke

Which bound my heart so close to thee ;
Though painful, though severe the stroke,

I now can smile that I am free.
The grief, the sorrow, and the woe
That I was called to undergo,
The bitter pangs, the heartfelt pain,
All, all have ceased their tyrant reign.

'Twas but a moment's pain, 'tis gone;

I'm happy, though unhappy now;
And Melancholy, meek and wan,

Sits peaceful on my thoughtful brow.
The world, with all its loss and gain,
Me neither pleasure gives nor pain ;
With thee, false, heartless one. with thee
I lost all joy — all misery.

OUR PRACTICAL DEESS INSTRUCTOR

DESCRIPTION OF THE ENGRAVING.

Headdress of the Lady on the Right. — Hair in
bandeaux a la Niobe ; torsade of pearls. Moire
dress, low bodj^Jith progressive revers opening
over a modestie of embroidered muslin edged
with lace; short open sleeves a la Watteau;
undersleeves of embroidered muslin ; half-long
gloves ; bracelets of pearls, or more often worn
different, according to choice.

The other Figure {Lady seated). — Cap of tulle
trimmed with lace and ribbon. Low body, with
revers open to waist ; loose bell-shaped sleeves,
edged with a bouillonne ; two skirts trimmed
with the same ; modestie of embroidered muslin,
edged with point de Venise ; black velvet brace-
lets, half-long gloves, and Venetian fan.

DESCRIPTION OF DIAGRAMS.
(See next page.)

Fig. 1. — Front of body as shown in the en-
graving.

Fig. 2.— Back of body, by placing t*
ters a a.

Fig. 3. — The cape sommet wo-
dress. Place the letters b b. '
the cape forming an epa1
der.

Fig. 4.— The sleo
underneath, a"
shape, faster
given the

•io-i

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

DIAGRAMS OF THE DRESS SHOWN ON PAGE 453.

COTTAGE FUENITURE,

a sofa. The castors arc sunk in the legs.

WOKK-TABLE FOE JUVENILES.

455

WORK-TABLE FOR JUVENILES ;

OR,

LITTLE MARY'S HALF-HOLIDAY.

" Well, my dear, I am glad to see you ready
for work again."

"Here are six yards of pink satin ribbon,
about an inch wide, some pink sarsnet, some
card-board, black net, and plaited straw. What
kind of straw is it, mamma?"

" It is called straw-beading, and is employed
in the same way that split straw was once used 5
but as it is flexible, and to be had in any length,
it is much more easily worked. Besides the
things you have mentioned, there is some pink
sewing silk, and a little stiff muslin. Now you
have all your materials complete, and I have
only to show you how to use them. Begin by
cutting out the shape for the back of the watch-
pocket. Here is a drawing of it. It is 7 inches

OF A WATCH-POCKET.

long, and 4£ in the widest part. Mark the depth
of three inches from the bottom, and form this
into a half round, then cut it into a point from
the widest part to the top. The lower part,
which is for the pocket, is thus three inches
deep, and the top four inches. You will require
two pieces of card-beard of this shape and size,
which must be covered on both sides with pink
silk. Tack them together round the edges."

" These pieces are for the backs. Are the
fronts of the pockets made of card-board, too?"

" No ; you will use the stiff muslin for them.

They must be in the half circle form, 3 inches
deep, but 5£ inches wide at the top. They must
also be covered with silk on both sides. Now
cut out two pieces of black net, rather larger
than the backs, and two more (also allowing for
turnings in) for the fronts. Do you remark
anything peculiar in the net?"

" It is like the imitation netting you brought
from Paris, mamma; is it not? The holes are
perfect diamonds, and much larger than in any
English net."

" Yes, it is part of that I brought with me.
Being so open, it is easy to slip the straw through
it. Take the end of the straw, pass it under two
threads, and over three, in one line. Cut it off
close to the edge of the net. Run in as many
lines as you can in the same direction, but with
intervals of four holes, five threads between
them. Cross them with others in the same way,
both straws passing under the same hole when
they cross. All the four pieces of net must be
worked in the same way, and then tacked on, to
cover the silk on one side. Now sew the fronts
to the backs. The ribbon trimming must now
be prepared. It is to be quilled in the centre,
in the way called box quilling ; that is, one plait
must be to the right, and the next to the left.
Do enough for the top of each pocket separately,
and put it on, then a length to go completely
round. Finish each pocket with a knot of rib-
bon at the point, and a small loop to pin it to the
bed."

"Do you know, mamma, I was inclined to
think you had not matched the sarsnet and rib-
bon well ? the sarsnet looked so much the darker.
Now they correspond perfectly. How is that?"

" You forget that the sarsnet is covered with
net, which softens the depth of the tint consider-
ably. Had the covering been muslin, it mr
have been still deeper, to correspond with
uncovered ribbon. It is for want of the c
sideration of these small points that there I
frequently a want of harmony in the tints
amateur needlewomen."

"And now, mamma, what next? for
good deal of spare time still."

" You said you would like x
pair of slippers, so I have c<"
you, which will use ur
wool. We will call '
color you may usf
with black am'
canvas the 01
and ink ; *
made, be
numbe1
and f

456

godey's magazine and lady's book.

blue, or any other two colors which do not blend
well, close together. You may try the effect

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DICE PATTERN FOR SLIPPERS.

•with shades in the following order: violet,
orange, green, crimson, blue. That part which
is quite white in the drawing is done in white
wool, and there are two spotted squares which

are to be black. Then the upper side of each die
is in the darker shade of whatever color may be
used, and the under light. Fill it up with black.
If you work on Penelope canvas, you will find it
much easier."

EMBROIDERY.— DRESS UNDERSLEEVE.

(See Brown Cut in front of Book.)

Materials. — Half a yard of fine Swiss muslin; embroidery
cotton, No. 100.

Tkace the pattern upon the muslin with a
quill pen and blue mixed with gum-water;
make the leaves, stems, and flowers in raised
satin stitch ; the circles in button-hole stitch,
either making them close or open, as may be
preferred ; if close, a raised spot must be worked
in the centre of each. Work the edge in button-
hole stitch.

PATTERNS FOR EMBROIDERY,

SPRING FASHIONS,

457

EVANGELINE AND ANTOINETTE.

(See engravings on page 385.)

Evangeline. — Silk embroidered, and trim-
med with two rows of guipure lace — one row of
lace round the yoke, and one about ten inches
from the bottom, each row headed with a nar-
row quilling of ribbon, which also goes down
the front and round the neck. On the yoke and
between the rows of lace there is handsome em-
broidery.

Antoinette. An entirely new pattern. — The
mantilla is entirely formed of rows of lace or
pinked silk on a silk or thin foundation.

LACE MANTILLA AND TABLET MAN-
TILLA.

(See engravings on page 388.)

Lace Mantilla. — This mantilla has three
capes — the first is in depth twenty-three inches,
the second eighteen inches, and the third four-
teen inches, with lace edging to match. The
collar is six inches in depth, with a bow of rib-
bon behind.

Tablet Mantilla. — Material. Watered or
plain silk. It is made with a yoke, and falls
low on the shoulders. For trimming, it is cut
in turrets, trimmed with narrow braid and net-
ted fringe sewed underneath.

MARQUISE AND NAVAILLES.

(See engravings on page 389.)

Marquise. — Silk Pelisse. The body is
close ; it is trimmed with three rows of goffered
ribbons disposed in arcades, and terminated at
each point by loops of ribbons one over the other.
A row of ribbons runs round the bottom of the
body, which has also a lace trimming that falls
over the opening of the sleeve. The skirt falls
in flutes; it has three rows of ribbons and a lace
flounce.

Navailles. — Shawl -Mantelet, of taffetas
trimmed with lace, fringe, and silk ribbons having
velvet stripes. It opens like a shawl in front,
and comes high behind. A lace of two inches
in width turns down on the neck as far as the
bow on the breast ; a point falls behind like a
little shawl, and is bordered with a ribbon sewed
on flat, and a lace of about five inches, besides a
fringe ; in front this lace forms a bertha. The
lower part of the garment, sewed on under the
point, is rounded, and hangs in flutes behind. It
is bordered with the same ribbon, accompanied
by the same, and fringe. The ends in front are
pointed.

vol. xlviii. — 39

SPRING FASHIONS.

(See engraving on page 390.)
Fig. 1. Dress. — Skirt of steel-colored gray silk,
without any trimming. Sachet of black velvet :
the front opening to a point, and the basque
rounded and edged with a deep fall of black lace
set on rather full. The sleeves, which are demi-
long and loose at the ends, are likewise edged
with lace chemisette and undersleeves of worked
muslin. A round cap of Honiton lace, the front
edged with pointed Vandykes. The cap is orna-
mented at each side with bows of ribbon having
long flowing ends, edged with fringe. The rib-
bon has a white ground, and is figured with a
pattern similar to that called the Victoria plaid.
The bows are intermingled with bouquets of white
roses. Hair bracelets, with snaps of gold and
turquoise.

Fig. 2. Little Girl's Dress. — Frock of dark blue
glac6 ; the skirts ornamented with four narrow
ruches of ribbon, placed two and two together.
The corsage is in the jacket style, half high in
the neck, and fitting closely to the form. The
basque is edged with a double ruche of ribbon,
which is carried up the front and round the top
of the corsage. The sleeves just descend below
the turn of the elbow, and are trimmed at the end
with ribbon ruche. The undersleeves are of
jaconet muslin, drawn in a full puff, confined
at the wrists by bands of needlework insertion.
The chemisette is high to the throat, and is
formed of two rows of drawn muslin, divided by
a row of needlework insertion, and finished at
top by a row of the same. Short trousers of
white cambric muslin edged with a bordering of
needlework. The front hair banded on each side
of the forehead; the back hair plaited, and the
plaits turned up and fastened by rows of black
velvet ribbon, two bands of which are passed
across the forepart of the head.

Fig. 3. Promenade, or Carriage Dress. — Robe
of brown gros de naples. The skirt is trimmed
with ten rows of black velvet, of graduated
width. The corsage is low, square in front, and
partly open ; the opening being confined by bands
of black velvet. The corsage has a basque at the
waist, cut out in castellated ends which are
edged with velvet. The sleeves are slit open to
the height of the shoulder, and the opening is con-
fined by bands of velvet, like those in front of the
corsage. The chemisette is of worked muslin,
and trimmed with Valenciennes lace. Under-
sleeves to correspond. Bonnet of white silk, or-
namented with vine leaves and blonde. Undcr-
trimminjr, a wreath of flowers.

458

godey's magazine and lady's book.

DIRECTIONS FOR A LETTER-BAND.

(See engraving on page 391.)

Materials. — One yard ami a half of sarsnet ribbon, two
Inches in width, and of any color preferred; one bunch of
steel beads, No. 5 ; some sewing silk of the same color as
the ribbon, and some perforated cardboard one row narrower
thau the ribbon.

Mark the letters and border with the beads on
the cardboard, which should be about four inches
long: also a piece about two inches square,
worked with beads in any ornamental pattern ;
fasten the longest piece of cardboard to the rib-
bon in the centre, stitching it at both edges, then
sew the smaller piece about two inches nearer
the end of the ribbon ; sew a piece of the same
ribbon under this small piece of cardboard at
each end — this forms a loop for the ribbon to
pass through. This completes the band.

THE ALBUERA.

(See engraving on page 392.)
This mantilla is one of great beauty. It is
made of blue glace" silk, but can be in any choice
color. Lavender and lustrous pearl and mode
colors look especially well, as also the greens,
in this garment. Its chief peculiarity consists
in its square front and its fitting so as to just
cut the edge of the shoulder. It is fastened at
the top by a bow ; the back falls with an easy
fulness j it is embroidered.

\ DIRECTIONS FOR KNITTING A WORK-
BASKET.

Take four needles, cast three stitches on

; each, knit plain round once ; put thread over

| needle ; knit once so all round. Then plain

once round. Continue this process till there

| are five stitches between the times of widening.

i Plain round once ; widen, knit four narrow so

5 all round ; plain round ; widen, knit one, widen,

| knit three narrow so all round, plain round,

\ widen, knit three, widen, knit two, narrow so

! all round, plain round, widen, knit five, widen,

knit one, narrow so all round, plain round, widen,

knit seven, widen, knit one, narrow so all round,

plain round three times. Turn the basket inside

out, knit three times round plain, put thread

over needle and seam two in one all round, then

twice plain. Continue this till you have six

rows of eyelets, then two plain, three seamed,

four plain. Then make one row of eyelets,

knit three rows plain, hem down. Then your

basket is done.

How to Form it. — Prepare a solution of
glue, dip your basket into it when it is very wet,
wring it out, have your form ready to put it on,
where it must lie for a day or two. Then you
can paint it any color you like. The block on
which it is put to dry can be round or not, as
you prefer. If you wish a large one, cast on
more stitches when you begin. Four on a needle
makes a large size.

EMBEOIDEEY WITH COED.

SPRING EONETS.

459

SPRING BONNETS.

No. 1. No. 2.

#A>

In accordance with the popular fashion of the
day, we " open," in the present article, a group
of the most tasteful bonnets of the season. We

give them not only that our lady readers may
see what is worn, but as models for their own
fair fingers. Is it known to them that bonnet-
making is now quite a fashion among those skil-
ful in fancy-work, the most sensible branch we
have seen adopted for many years ? Why should
not the taste and ingenuity exercised in lamp-

460

godey's magazine and lady's book.

mats of old, and crochet tidies of the present
day, be as well displayed in the light and grace-
ful task of millinery? The neatness and pa-
tience required in covering the card-board of an
ingenious needle-book can be more fully exer-
cised in disposing the folds of silk and lace on
the well-shaped frame easily procured for a
trifle.

The peculiar trait of the hats of the present
season is the great quantity of mixed materials,
as crape, silk, lace, flowers, and ribbon, on one
very small structure. Great taste is to be exer-
cised in mingling these judiciously — ornament-
ing, not overloading ; in the first place, select-
ing a good model as to shape and style.

No. 1 we have chosen for its simplicity. It is
composed of three rows of pink crape or silk,
drawn in a puffing, with a blonde edging rather
wide on each. The crown is entirely of lace,
and there is a fall of the same on the cape. A
knot of pink satin bows, to the right, is all the
decoration of the exterior. A full can of blonde,

with one or two pink bows, carelessly disposed,
inside the brim.

No. 2 shows the extreme of the shallow brim,
and two-thirds of the wearer's head at the same
time. It is, notwithstanding, a neat and modest-
looking dress bonnet of pomona green silk, the
crown piece, which is in full flutings, extending
almost to the edge of the brim. This is crossed
by a band of the same with bound edges (old
style). The front is a very full double ruche of
blonde, between the two green silk cordings.
A full cap of the same fills the space between
the face and the brim, with a spray of flowers
set very high to the right.

No. 3. — A more elaborate hat of straw-colored
silk and white guipure lace. It has a small
plume on the left, and has a full spray of bridal
roses inside the brim.

No. 4 shows the disposition of lace and bow
at the back of a crown, a great point in the mil-
linery of the present season ; a stiff crown will
ruin a graceful brim.

PLAIN WORK

We often find our correspondents writing,
" Are there any new patterns for underclothes V9
" Can you send me a good night-cap pattern ?"
etc. etc. This has suggested to us the plan of
publishing designs for plain as well as orna-
mental needlework, and we commence the pre-
sent month by two selected from the large esta-
blishment of Madame Demorest, late of Canal
Street, now of 375 Broadway, New York. Be-
sides the infinite variety of outer garments, chil-
dren's clothing, etc., to which we have before
alluded, Madame Demorest has patterns of every-
thing for a lady's under wardrobe, in sets or
singly, so arranged as to look exactly like the
garment itself; and, as they can be sent by mail,
there is thus- an end to the necessity of begging
and borrowing in every direction through a
country neighborhood.

An article of practical instructions in the art
of plain-sewing, for it is, indeed, an art, will be
given from time to time. It is a great pity that
this knowledge has, in most cases, to be acquired
by the married woman. We think it should be
considered an essential part of the education of
the daughter. All the pages of instruction that
may be written or read upon the subject, can
never give that aptitude and ease in the per-
formance of this very necessary household duty,
which would be acquired by seeing how others

do it, and being taught while young to take a
part in the operation. A young mother who is
not a dressmaker or seamstress by profession,
but who can quietly cut out and make any arti-
cle of dress that may be wanted, is looked upon
by her companions as a sort of marvellous pro-
digy. "Oh, how can you do it?" "Well, I
never had any genius that way !" are their ex-
clamations. And why have they no genius that
way ? In most cases, it is simply because they
have been taught at some " seminary for young
ladies" to despise such employments as mean
and vulgar. Those who have genius enough to
knit fancy patterns, or work bunches of flowers
upon canvas, are quite capable of learning how
to employ their needle for useful household pur-
poses. But express a wish to those who by pro-
fession undertake the education of girls, that
your children should learn to employ the needle
usefully, and you will most likely be told, " Oh,
we really have not time to attend to that ; there
is so much else that must be learned, we cannot
undertake plain needlework." And what docs
all that is learned tend to ? Frequently, to little
more than a smattering of this and that, by
which the learner hopes to gain admiration, and
eventually a husband. Even the few years that
are sometimes spent at home, between school-
days and marriage, are wasted in visiting and

PLAIN WOBK

461

Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.

frivolity and gaining a husband. How to fulfil
those duties which suoh an acquisition brings
npon her, seems to be a problem which may be
answered by the assertion, " Sufficient to the
day is the evil thereof." In many respects,
those children who are taught in public schools
are really better educated for domestic life than
the children of the classes a rank or two higher,
who are brought up in boarding-schools or day
schools for young ladies. However, pages and
volumes might usefully be written on the inap-
propriate mode of bringing up the daughters of
families, who have nothing or little beside their
own exertions to look to for their maintenance ;
but this is not our present object. Many there
are who would willingly exchange the frivolities
learned at school for a knowledge how to make

39*

out and plan the clothes of their families ; and,
for the benefit of such, we will endeavor, as far
as paper and print can do it, to teach them.

The present models are —

Fig. 1. — A night-dress with plaited front and
full sleeves, an extremely neat and excellent
pattern, designed and furnished by Madame De-
morest. The back may be either full in a yoke,
or of a sacque form.

Fig. 2 is also one of Madame Demorest's de-
signs, a chemise, plaited front, and highly orna-
mented yoke, as is the present style. The em
broidery is with linen floss, and will wear as
long as the garment, a great matter in trimming.
The shape combines neatness and ease, and wil1
be found extremely comfortable.

£©!T©BS8 TABLE.

TV E have before us several letters from writers of influ-
pnce and high consideration in different sections of our
country, making inquiries respecting the progress of Fe-
male Medical Education. We cannot refuse these earnest
appeals for information, and, as we trust our myriad
readers will feel an interest more or less in the subject,
we shall give the response to all who gather around our
Table.

The third annual commencement of the Female Medical
College of Pennsylvania, located in Philadelphia, was held
©n the 25th of February last, when the Degree of Doctor of
Medicine was conferred by the President, Charles D. Cleve-
land, on four ladies — Elizabeth II. Bates, New York ; Lu-
einda R. Brown, Texas; Minna Elliger, Germany; and
Elizabeth G. Shattuck, Pennsylvania — the latter belonging
to the Medical Missionary protegees preparing to go out to
China or India, as opportunity may offer. The number of
students in this college during the past session was about
thirty, and the applications for admittance to the privi-
leges of the institution for the next session, commencing
October 2, are already numerous and earnest.

There is only one obstacle, viz., tlxe want of funds. Those
joung women and widows wishing to enter on this study
are, usually, poor. The expenses for board and books are
s.U they can meet. If the college were endowed, so that
she tuition fees for all might be reduced to the lowest sum*
named for beneficiaries, while these last were admitted free
oi college charges, the school would be crowded. Are there
none among the rich of this city and State who will lend a
helping hand to thi3 noble work of qualifying women to
become physicians for their own sex? Fifty thousand dol-
lars invested, so that the interest could be annually ap-
plied for the benefit of the institution, would be sufficient.
There would thus be open a way by which those women
who have talents for the profession might enter on the
Ftudy. What a blessing this would be to them and to so-
ciety I The sufferings which delicacy imposes on the sex,
while compelled to submit their complaints to the know-
ledge of the male physician only, are shocking, and often
fatal — because concealment leads to death. Such a state
of ignorance in regard to all that pertains to the preserva-
tion of health and cure of diseases should no longer bo
permitted to prevail among those who have the direct and
swle care of infancy, and are the nurses and watchers by
the sick. The good results of educating women for the
profession are thus truly set forth in the interesting :i Vale-
dictory Address," by Dr. El wood Harvey, one of the Fa-
culty of the Female Medical College :—

* For the encouragement of ladies whose means will not
allow of the usual expenditure, a limited number of stu-
dents will be admitted on the payment of twenty dollars
per session, exclusive of the matriculation and graduation
fees. Such arrangements will bo strictly confidential, and
no distinction in point of courtesy and attention will be
made between the beneficiary and other students.

For further information, or for copies of the Annual An-
nouncement, application may be made to the Dean, David
J. Johnson, 229 Arch Street, Philadelphia.
4t>2

What Female Physicians can do.—'*' No intelligent person
doubts that, if we w ere obedient to the laws of health, so far
as they are now understood, sickness and suffering would
be greatly diminished. The average of human life would
be prolonged, and its usefulness and happiness increased.
In the earliest ages of which we have any recorded history,
rules for the preservation of health, and regulations for
the prevention of diseases, constitute a conspicuous part
of the legal code.

******

" In this country, where the people govern themselves,
it i3 the people that must be enlightened, that they may
govern themselves wisely. Though there is not a more
law-abiding nation on the earth, we are ble=?ed in having
but few laws to be obeyed. There is a larger individual
liberty here than elsewhere, and consequently a greater in-
dividual responsibility. It is to the people, then, that you
are to convey a knowledge of the laws that govern their
being. You have ample scope for usefulness in this ca-
pacity. In your own sex, you will find wives and mothers,
ignorant of their own constitutions, bringing wretchedness
and misery upon themselves, discomfort and suffering upon
their families, and, worse than all, entailing enfeebled con-
stitutions and diseases upon their offspring. To enlighten
these, to teach them the duty they owe to themselves, to
their families, to society, to posterity, and to Him who
created them, and instituted the laws they violate, is your
peculiar province. Do this, and the world will owe you a
debt it can never repay— but you will have your reward."

Female Physicians Wanted.— " Some of the obstacles
that oppose the entrance of the young practitioner to a re-
munerative practice will offer less than their usual amount
of resistance to you. It commonly happens that the young
physician has to wait long years of probation, during which
much work has to be done for small pay before he begins
to reap the full reward of his labors. Not only is it neces-
sary for him to acquire a reputation for skill and attention
to business, but a respectable age must be attained before
he can hope to be employed in some of the most profitable
departments of practice. With you the case is very differ-
ent ; there is an existing demand for your services which
none others can so well supply. Each city in this country
is ready to give employment to a large number of female
physicians, each lesser town and country village is waiting
for one or more ; numerous applications from various parts
of the country have been made for female physicians. At
a moderate computation, we may estimate the number
now in actual demand in this country at not less than five
thousand. You are wanted for a kind of practice that most
male physicians would gladly relinquish to you, whenever
they are convinced that you have been regularly educate),
and are competent to perform the duties of the position
you have assumed."

While on this subject, we will give here an original arti-
cle, written for our " Book" by a professor in another in-
stitution* which shows that this liberal feeling towards

* The Penn Medical University.

editors' table.

463

female practitioners is fast gaining public favor in this
city:—

Ladies' Medical Education.— That it would be very useful
and conducive to the health and happiness of families, if
the mothers of families, and women in general, were fami-
liar with the principal doctrines of anatomy, physiology,
and pathology, so as to understand, to some degree, the
organization, functions, and diseases of the human system,
there cannot, bo any doubt. But whether it be in accord-
ance with the natural position of woman in society to take
upon herself the office, labors, and responsibilities of a phy-
sician is another question, which need not here be de-
cided. So much, however, may be said with propriety,
without at all deciding the question alluded to, that such
ladies as are desirous of obtaining a full medical education,
and devoting themselves to the study of the medical sciences
in good earnest, ought not to be refused such an education,
but have as much chance given to them as the other sex
enjoy. For, however we may disagree respecting the pro-
priety of woman practising medicine as a profession, cer-
tainly her knowledge of medicine cannot be detrimental to
the good of society. If a more general diffusion of medical
knowledge among the ladies had no other effect than to
enforce a higher standard of education among the physi-
cians on one side, and to annihilate the greatest bane of
ignorance, quackery, on the other side, this alone would be
a sufficient reason for spreading " more light" among the
ladies, though it be " medical."

We cannot, therefore, see any harm in the establishment
of female medical schools, but would suggest the propriety
of organizing them in such a manner that their teachings
should not be confined to the comparatively few ladies who
enter them for a full medical education ; but also be made
accessible to the generality of ladies, especially young la-
dies, who do not want a '; professional" education in medi-
cine, but who would study some branches, such as anato-
my, physiology, pathology, and perhaps chemistry, natural
philosophy, and botany, with much delight and profit,
without asking for a diploma, but to carry the delightful
satisfaction with them that they possess that which may
save themselves and others around them untold disease
and suffering, and protect them against all sorts of knavery
and quackery, not to speak of the accomplishments and
intellectual joys such studies are apt to give to ladies.

A vert sensible Doctor.— Dr. J. Wilson, of Alabama,
proposes, in the Southern Medical Journal, that female
classes be formed in our medical colleges for instruction in
anatomy — excluding the surgical and pathological — hu-
man physiology, medical chemistry, materia medica, and
all female diseases. We hope those who have the direction
of medical education will act on this hint. Why should
woman be excluded from the study of medicine? She is
the Heaven-appointed guardian of the sick and of helpless
infancy ; she should know how to preserve health and how
to restore it.

Thb Practical.— We have lately met with a rather
astounding and extremely practical proposition, well suited
to the genius of our nation. We, the mightiest people on
the face of the globe, will not allow our scenery to remain
scenery without some Barnum-like investment upon it.
We do not intend that our natural curiosities shall con-
tinue natural. Jonathan must make his playthings use-
ful, else he may a? well fling them behind him. The Falls
of Niagara have been too long exempt from the commen
lot ; it is time they should be trained to propriety and pro-

ductiveness. No doubt it is extremely fine to see them
wandering at their own wild will, plunging madly down
the precipice; but will any one pretend to say that in all
this there is anything practical? The fact is, Niagara is
of no use to us. and we can no longer tolerate her as a
drone; she must be forced to work. Let her be made the
motive power of numberless mills and manufactories.
Thus would be secured a noble union of Nature and Art!
How much more manly and suggestive than the common
rhymes addressed to her grandeur and magnificence would
be some such invocation as the following : —

Oh, thou that grind est buckwheat on thy way,
Free and unfettered on thy watery wing,

Creation's wonder ! How much corn a day
Doth thy sublimity to flour bring ?

We wonder what our nation would do with Mont Blanc
if they had it? Flace an ice-cream freezing establishment
on its summit, perhaps ; or tunnel it, d la Thames, and
settle a Yankee colony within. We shall next expect to
hear that Mammoth Cave has been partitioned off into
comfortable apartments, to let to small families. Rooms
containing stalactites extra charge, as in such cases clothes-
pins would be unnecessary.

Imperial Rome folds her mantle grandly around her. and
sits in magnificent sadness at the base of her broken sta-
tues and fallen temples — Niobe weeping for her children.
Young America strides along in broadcloth and beaver,
and only sees that the statue might have been a mantle-
piece, or the temple a machine-shop. He forgets whence
the money-changers and sellers of doves were driven, be-
cause they made the Father's house a house of merchan-
dise. He does not see that stars burn brighter than pa-
tent oil, or that earth was intended for another purpose
than a plantation. He is more eager to manufacture the
napkin than to improve the talent within it. His life is
practical ; his body is practical ; his soul is practical. He
would make death and eternity practical, if he only knew
how to do it.

Oh, Niagara ! are the clanking of machinery and the noise
of the water-wheel to be thy dirge? Shall a saw-mill be
located on Goat Island, or a stove-foundry near Table
Rock? Shall thy rainbow span the summit of a comb
manufactory, or thy spray fall silvery on a button esta-
blishment? Shall we bewail thy beauty and grandeur
forever, as we cry, "Niagara has fallen — has fallen into a
mill-dam I"

THE SPRING-TIME COMETH.

The Spring-time cometh with her buds and flowers ;

But ah, those buds and flowers I ne'er may see !
The Spring-time cometh with her rosy hours,
But not for me.

The birds will sing, among the vales and highlands,

Sweet as they sang in the glad days of yore,
And lilies fair will circle yonder islands
For me no more.

For me no more the sparkle of the river,

Where droop the willows, fairest of the fair;
For me no more the joys a bounteous Giver
Sends everywhere.

But scatter o'er my grave the buds and flowers —

The buds and flowers that I may never see;
And, as ye soe depart those rosy hours,

Think, think of me. fl. L. S.

464

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

Hekk is a prose sketch on the same ever-fertile suhject,
the writer modestly styling her collection, " Shells from the
Shore of Thought :" —

Spring.— Would that thoughts on Spring would spring
up in my mind radiant as the gentle flowers which the
clarion voice of Spring awakens from their wintry slumber!
Would that I could array these thoughts in eloquence as
glorious as the vesture w hich she gives the lovely flowers !

She casts around them a mantle of vivid green, lifts
their modest heads beneath a pearly veil of mist, and
crowns them with a diadem of dew-drops, which the morn-
ing sunlight transmutes to amethysts and rubies, emeralds
and diamonds.

But, sad to say, my thoughts are less like the flowers,
and more like the seed of that tribe (thistle, &c.) which
float through the air on a silken sail in quest of a place of
repose. Some find them bright homes in lands far away,
like the thoughts of the gifted, which become household
words; but others, the silk of whose sail is not fine, float
adrift on the waves, to be lost, like my thoughts, in the
ocean of years.

Spring is the symbol of the resurrection; flowers, of the
human race. In the autumn of life, man falls asleep like
the flowers ; but the icy reign of the winter of death is
broken by the glorious springtide of immortality, where
the circling seasons are no more, where there is neither
death nor tears.

Memory. — Pleasure paints the Present, Memory paints
the Past, Hope paints the Future, and spans its shadowy
portals with an arch of light, radiant as the sunbow o'er
the cataract. Memory tortures the wicked and consoles
the righteous. When the sunlight of Hope wanes away
from the landscape of life, then the moonlight of Memory
its shadowy lustre sheds o'er the scene. Memory — a ste-
reotyped edition of the Past. Memory — a-s the moonlight
is to sunlight, so is Memory unto Hope.

Music— Sacred music— that which on earth wakes an
echo in heaven. Music, the soother of the sorrowing.
Music, the praises of One who loves us ; notes which dwell
in the heart, like the lingering perfume of withering vio-
lets, when the voice which created the beautiful music is
silent forever on earth.

Love.— Life is a tangled web, but through its woof there
runs the golden thread of Love.

death ; for these are, in truth, what they have received
from you with the life of the body ; and these will, indeed,
be miserable presents, if you do not also give them the life
of the soul ; that is to say, arms wherewith to fight, and a
light whereby to direct themselves.

You are mothers according to the laws of our material
nature, with all the love of a hen which watches over its
little ones, and covers them with its wings. I come to ask
you to be mothers according to the laws of our divine na-
ture, with all the love of a soul called upon to form souls.

Assure yourselves well whether or not you owe to your
children only the milk of your breasts, and the instruction
of the intelligence ; and if you interrogate the Gospel and
nature, take heed to their answer — " Man does not live by
bread alone, but by the word of truth."

Truth is that which renders man free; it is the voice
which calls us to the love of God and of our neighbor, and
to virtue.

Error, on the contrary, is that which renders us slaves
to the passions of others and to our own ; it is that which
causes us to sacrifice our conscience to fortune, to honors,
to glory, to vice.

Thus, virtue springs from truth; crime from error;
whence we may infer that a good treatise on education can
only be in the end the search after truth.

The destiny of your children depends then on the solici-
tude with which you engage in this search. You may
open out to them the road to happiness, and precede them
in it. A delightful task, which calls for all the powers of
your soul, and which will place you in the presence of God,
of nature, of your children, and of yourselves.

And mark well all that nature has done towards accom-
plishing this difficult work. In the first place, she has
brought you near to the truth which is in her, by detach-
ing your sex from almost all the ambitions which debase
our own ; and secondly, ^he has given your love to the
tenderness of little children, at the same time that she has
filled their hearts with innocence, and their minds with
curiosity. Can you doubt the object of your mission, when
you perceive the sweet harmonies which unite them to
you? Nature attaches them to your bosoms, awakens
them by your caresses; she wills that they should owe
everything to you, so that, after having received from you
life and thought, these earthly angels await your inspirar
tions, in order to believe and to love. — L. Aim.6 Martin.

Philadelphia High School for Girls.— When is this in-
stitution to be opened ? The High School for Boys has been
sustained in the most liberal manner many years, and
now a new and costly edifice for the school is nearly pre-
pared. Will not the men of Philadelphia add beauty as
well as strength to the recent act of " Consolidation." by
founding a High School for Girls?

A Great Duty which is Imposed upon Mothers.— Listen,
good mothers : this is not a question of one of those idle
studies, the only aim of which is to stock the memory ; it
concerns an important question, the most important which
can be agitated on the earth ; so important, that the man-
ner in which you resolve it will decide, without appeal of
your moral life and death, of the moral life and death of
your children. It is not only a matter that regards your-
selves, but also the flesh of your flesh, the blood of your
blood ; those poor little creatures, whom you have brought
into this world, with passions, vices, love, hatred, pain, and

To Correspondents.— The following articles are accepted :
" And I heard a voice saying, Come up hither," " Secret
Love," i£ The Lost Pleiad," " To a Friend on his Marriage,"

and " To ." A number of long articles on hand have

not been examined; will be reported next month.

The following are declined, many of them because we
have not room. Our drawers are " full" of accepted arti-
cles, which may have to wait till the writers suffer greater
disappointment than a rejection at first would have in-
flicted. So we return a number of the contributions sent
us last month, as their authors request, though we do not
usually comply with such conditions. Those who send
articles to us should keep a copy of the MS. ; we cannot
answer for its safe return. We decline "Coming Events."'
" Her eyes are with her heart," &c, " To Ada, with a Bou-
quet," "Our Thoughts," "The Dying Girl's Request,"
"The Wail of a Broken Heart," "The Child's Wish."
"Lines on the Birth of a Child," "The Deserted Lady,"
"Regina," "Cold Water," '-Never say Die," "A Great
Prize," " My Friends," and " Conversation."

LITERARY NOTICES.

465

Cit'it.arij Notices.

r Books by Mail.— New that the postage on printed matter
is so low, we offer our services to procure for our subscrib-
ers or others auy of the books that we notice. Informa-
tion touching books will be cheerfully given by inclosing a
stamp to pay return postage.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Lindsay &
Blakiston, Philadelphia : —

THE U. S. GRINNELL EXPEDITION IN SEARCH OF
SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. A Personal Narrative. By Eli-
sha Kent Kane, M.D., U. S. N. As Americans, we cer-
tainly have reason to feel, and may therefore be permitted
to express an honest pride and gratification in the rapid
contributions which our countrymen are continually pre-
senting to the various departments of literature and sci-
ence. Among the more recent and most valuable of these
and similar contributions is the beautiful volume the title
of which stands at the head of this article. In 1850. Mr.
Grinnell, an eminent merchant of New York, actuated by
a most humane and liberal spirit, fitted out two of his own
vessels and proffered them gratuitously to the government
to be employed in an expedition to the Arctic region, in
search of Sir John Franklin, who had not been heard from
after the 26th of July, 1850. The officers of this expedition
were appointed by the navy department. It was com-
manded by Lieut. Edwin J. De Haven, and its first sur-
geon was Dr. E. K. Kane, who, at the request of the com-
mander, became the historian of their perilous and roman-
tic voyage. We say romantic, because the scenes to which
we are introduced by the graphic pen of the doctor seem
more like the creations of the imagination than the reali-
ties of sober observation, or the experience of personal ad-
venture. In addition to the historical, scientific, and de-
scriptive merits of the work, it is profusely and beautifully
illustrated by fine mezzotints and wood-engravings.

From D. Appleton & Co., No. 200 Broadway, New York,
through C. G. Henderson & Co., corner of Fifth and Arch
Streets, Philadelphia : —

BOYS AT HOME. By C. Adams, author of "Edward
Clifton," etc. Illustrated by John Gilbert. This is an
English story, written especially for the moral instruction
and encouragement of young persons in adverse circum-
fstances. It inculcates the highest principles of duty and
honor, and, at the same time, shows the necessity of perse-
verance in the accomplishment of virtuous designs.

THE CHEMISTRY OF COMMON LIFE. By James F.
W. Johnson. It should be read by the million, for it in-
forms us all about the air we breathe, the water we drink,
the soil we cultivate, and the plant we rear. The dedica-
tion is to Sir David Brewster, one of the most eminent sci-
entific men in England. We shall make some extracts
from the work for our June number.

THE SUNSHINE OF GREYSTONE. A Story for Girls.
By E. J. May, author of " Louis's Schoolboy Days." This is
a handsome volume, with many beautiful illustrations.
Its greatest beauties, however, will be found in the good
sense, the high moral tone, and in the pure religious feel-
ing which pervade its printed pages.

From J. S. Redfield, 110 and 112 Nassau Street, New
York, through W. B. Ziep.er, Philadelphia: —

THEOLOGICAL ESSAYS. By Frederick Dinison Mau-
rice, M. A., Chaplain of Lincoln's Inn. From the second
London edition. With a new preface and other additions.

The author of this work is a learned clergyman of the Esta-
blished Church of England. The volume contains seven-
teen essays on subjects intimately connected with the dog-
mas of that church, and explanatory of the general teach-
ings of Christianity. These essays were originally a series
of discourses delivered before the author's own congrega-
tion, and embraced numerous topics which he desired to
bring under the notice of Unitarians. They therefore par-
take of a controversial spirit, but in a mild and charitable
form .

THE WORKINGMAN'S WAY IN THE WORLD. Being
the Autobiography of a Journeyman Printer. This volume
furnishes us with what purports to be the true, and cer-
tainly is the very interesting history of the struggles of an
English journeyman printer.

CLASSIC AND HISTORIC PORTRAITS. By James
Bruce. This volume is devoted to a description of the per-
sonal appearance of a long list of celebrated persons, male
and female, ancient and modern, commencing with Sap-
pho, and ending with Madame de Stael. The peculiarities
of character, which accompany the "descriptive list," ren-
der this volume interesting and instructive in a high de-

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston : —

LETTERS TO A YOUNG MAN, AND OTHER PAPERS.
By Thomas De Quincey, author of " Confessions of an Eng-
lish Opium-Eater," etc. etc. Exclusive of the " Letters."
fivj in number, this volume contains seven essays: 1.
Theory of Greek Tragedy ; 2. Conversation ; 3. Language ;
4. French and English Language; 5. California and the
Gold Mania; 6. Ceylon; 7. Presence of Mind; in all which
the great reputation of the author as an instructive and
philosophical writer is fully sustained.

SECOND INAUGURAL ADDRESS OF HIS EXCEL-
LENCY, JOHN BIGLER, Governor of the State of Califor-
nia. Such is the title of a pamphlet sent us from the press
of George Kerr, State Printer, Benicia, and the address Lb
worthy of being thus distributed over the whole country.
It is a clear and able exposition of the progress and re-
sources of that wonderful portion of our Union. Aladdin,
with his genii, could hardly have effected greater changes
than gold and the genius of American freedom have effect-
ed in California. We are much obliged to the friend who
sent us this excellent address. The name of Bigler should
be highly honored in Pennsylvania.

WESTERN DEMOCRATIC REVIEW. George P. Buell,
Editor and Publisher : Indianapolis, Jan., 1854. This is a
new periodical, whose table of contents embraces a variety
of subjects, social, political poetical, biographical, and mis-
cellaneous. We welcome every such manifestation of the
growth, the prosperity, and the mental vigor of the Great
West. The editor is evidently a man of ability and enter-
prise, and his articles, varied as they are, are all written
with spirit, and show a truly liberal and patriotic mind.

THE SOUTHERN QUARTERLY REVIEW. C. Morti-
mer, Publisher: Charleston, S. C. We have often won-
dered that, excepting in political matters, the South has
so long been willing to do without a literature of its own.
We are glad to see that, at last, a publication devoted to
subjects of general interest, as well as to politics, seems to
meet with the success it deserves. The articles in it are
written evidently with care and thought, and, although
generally of too abstruse a nature to interest ladies, there
are one or two lighter articles, pleasant chronicles of the
olden time, which can hardly fail to please. Rich as South

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Carolina is in such themes, both from its old Huguenot
ancestry, and from the characteristic earnestness with
which it threw itself into the Revolutionary struggle, it
needs only some one with the patient and devoted spirit
of the antiquary to rescue from oblivion many scenes and
incidents of romantic interest. The political articles, ex-
clusively Southern as they are in thought and sentiment,
yet, by their earnestness and acumen, justify the boast
that the South is the birth-place of politicians.

From Parry & McMillan (successors to A. Hart late
Carey & Hart), corner of Fourth and Chestnut Streets,
Philadelphia :—

THE PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE. A Novel. By
Caroline Lee Hentz, author of " Linda," " Rena," " Eoline,"
etc. etc. We have not had time to become acquainted with
the true character of this novel. We have read sufficient,
however, to enable us to say that it is an effort to reconcile
the difficulties that are sometimes supposed to exist be-
tween " true" lovers on account of their geographical posi-
tions. The name of the popular author will be the best
recommendation we could give of her work. The volumes
sent us are of the cheap edition, with paper covers, price
fifty cents each. We are told that an edition is published
with six engravings, two volumes, cloth gilt, $1 50. We
might have been enabled to speak more confidently of the
merits of the work, had we been favored with the plates.

From Henry Carey Baird (successor to E L. Carey),
No. 7 Hart's Buildings, Sixth Street above Chestnut, Phila-
delphia : —

CORINNE ; OR, ITALY. By Madame de Stael. Trans-
lated by Isabel Hill; with metrical versions of the odes by
L. E. Landon. This is a new and very beautifully printed
edition of a work which, from its earliest publication, has
continued to be read, admired, and criticised by persons cf
literary taste and judgment in all the languages of civil-
ized Europe. It cannot fail therefore to prove highly inte-
resting to that portion of our readers who may not haev
had an opportunity of perusing it in the original French
®f the celebrated author.

VATHEK : an Arabian Tale. By William Beckford, Esq.
With a memoir of the author, and notes critical and ex-
planatory. " Vathek" is an Eastern tale, written before
the author had attained his twentieth year, and was com-
posed at a single sitting of three days and two nights. For
more than seventy years it has held the highest rank
among similar works of imagination. It was a great
favorite with Byron, who preferred it even to " Rasselas."
In its descriptions' of oriental .costumes and of the manners
of the people, its correctness has been established by writers
of judgment, and, for "exquisite humor and supernatural
interest and grandeur," is declared to stand without a rival
in romance.

NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, &c.

From John P Jewett & Co., Boston, and Jewett, Proctor,
& Worthington, Cleveland, Ohio, through Cowperthwait,
Desilver, & Butler, Philadelphia: "The Lamplighter."
This is a tale of unusual interest, written in a clear, na-
tural style.

From Ticknor, Reed. & Fields, Boston: "The Barclays
of Boston." By Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis. A domestic
story of great merit.

From D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway, New York,
rhrough C. G. Henderson & Co., Philadelphia: "Marie
Louise; or, the Opposite Neighbors." By Kmilio Carlcn,
author of "John; or, Is a Cousin in hand worth two in the

Bush?" etc. Translated from the Swedish. The author of
this tale is deservedly popular, as well on account of the
beauty of her style, as because she is always endeavoring
to inculcate the purest morals.

From Blanchard & Lea, Philadelphia: Nos. 1 and 2
"Orr's Circle of the Sciences." A series of treatises on
every branch of human knowledge. No. 1. On the Nature,
Connection, and Uses of the great departments of Human
Knowledge. By the Editor. No. 2. The Physiology of
Animal and Vegetable Life. By the Editor and Professor
Owen. With numerous illustrations. Price 15 cents.
These are the first numbers of a work now publishing in
London, designed to present in a popular style and con-
densed space the leading facts and principles of the various
departments of human knowledge. The editors of this
valuable series are persons of the highest reputation.

From T. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia:
"Kate Clarendon; or, Necromancy in the Wilderness."
By Emerson Bennett. This is a very interesting and ro-
mantic tale of the West, connected with the first settle-
ments on the Ohio River. — " Miriam Alroy." A Romance of
the Twelfth Century. By B. D'Israeli, M. P. Three Eng-
lish volumes complete in one. Price 37 cents.

From Bunce & Brothers, New York, through T. B. Peter-
son, Philadelphia: "Carlington Castle: a Tale of the
Jesuits." By C. G. II., author of " The Curate of Linwood,"
etc. This is the story of an Irish heiress, who suffered a
fierce persecution and imprisonment in the British do-
minions, on account of her religious opinions.

From Partridge & Britain, New York : " An Epic of the
Starry Heaven." By Thomas L. Harris. There are un-
doubtedly a great many very high poetical flights in thi3
volume, but really we are unable to judge of their claims
to peculiar inspiration or spirituality. We must leave
those claims, which we find enforced in the introduction,
t^ the decision of the "spiritualists," with whose peculiar
tests we have not yet become familiar.

"Tbe Three Bells Quickstep."— Another of D. B. Wil-
liamson's beautiful productions. We cannot do better
than publish the following letter from Captain Crighton : —

"New York, Feb. 18, 1854.
" D. B. Williamson, Esq., South Fifth Street, Philadelphia.

" Dear Sir : Your kind note of the 15th, and four copied
of the nautical song, were received this day.

" Among all the many expressions of gratitude which I
have received from the American nation, for my simple
duty towards suffering humanity, there are none I prize
more highly than the song of my gallant ship, ' The Three
Bells ;' she, too, behaved nobly, and you are the first to ac-
knowledge her merits. 'Permit me to write the songs of
my country, and I care not who makes her laws,' said one
who understood human nature, and I would hope through
your instrumentality the name of my good ship will be-
come a household word.

" Yours, very respectfully,

"Robert Crighton."

We are in receipt of another piece of music, "Happy
Hearts make Shining Faces ;" a very happy title, and very
pretty music and words.

" The Little Forester," published at Cincinnati, is an
excellent publication for children, and, we are happy to
hear, is doing well. The terms are only 25 cents a year, or
twenty-five copies for $5. We designed to say something
in this number about the "Little Pilgrim,'' but we !ia\
not received the last numbor; yet we see it noticed else-
where.

dofoq's Slnii-Cjjair.

Om Mat Number. — Another fine display of patterns ;
beautiful steel plate ; colored fashions ; crochet patterns ;
novelties of different kinds. We do not wish to boast; but
we think that there is no magazine in the country which
gives the variety we do. The ladies may depend upon one
thing, that what we give is " the fashion ;" and from the
patterns that we can furnish them, nicely trimmed, they
can make up their dresses, and be in time with the fashions
here, for ours are always published in advance. We lead,
and what we give is sure to be followed.

Our Colored Fashion Plate.— Again we lead, with the
fashions, not only in the novelty of style, but in the beauty
of the engraving and coloring.

"John, why has the mill stopped ?" " There is no water,
sir." John's reason was certainly a very good one. Well,
we don't intend to stop ; but we should like our subscribers
to know that money to us is like water to the mill. La-
dies, please look at the extract from a letter in another
part of our " Arm-Chair," and see how a wife jogged her
husband's memory to know if he had paid for the " Book."

We have published four editions of our January number,
three of February, and, up to this time, two of March.
Another edition of the last number is about going to press.
From present prospects, we shall have to print another
edition of January and February soon.

Members of Congress.— Gentlemen, we cannot thank you
separately, but we do collectively, for all the documents
you have been so kind as to favor us with.

We are complimented on all sides for keeping up the
same number of pages and embellishments we commenced
the year with. We intend to do it.

If we had but one subscriber, and even if his name was
Smith, and we were to receive a letter requesting his
"Book" sent to the place where he "now resides," we
should be able to make the alteration; but, among 60,000
names, how can we find out where a subscriber's " Book"
has been sent, unless we are informed ? We are led to these
remarks by our continually receiving letters requesting
the " Lady's Book" sent to " this place." Once for all, we
must always be informed where the "Book" has been
sent to.

One Word of Advice. — When a person purporting to be
a travelling agent offers the " Lady's Book" at less than $3
a year, you may set him down as an impostor. The Bait
County " Advocate" says that a person named James Rogers
has been in that neighborhood offering the " Book" at $2,
and has succeeded in getting a great many subscribers.
That is it; to save a dollar, those persons who subscribed
lost two. If you want a magazine, the best way to get it
its to send your money direct to the publisher.

Sewing-Machines.— We will purchase and forward these
machines on receipt of the money. See advertisement on
♦over of April number.

Our Fatterns. — Ladies do not seem to "b°. aware that
these patterns are facsimiles of the originals in color, trim-
ming, &c. At a distance, they would be taken for the gar-
ment itself. They could be worn in a tableau without to-
ing detected.

We do not doubt it, but wishing the ladies to be fully
convinced about the superiority of our fashion plates, we
will trouble them to read the following notices : The " St.
Clair Observer" says : " The colored fashion plates, and Go-
dey is the only man in the Union that gives them, are
magnificent and reliable." The " Fort Plain Phcenix" says :
" His fashion plate is the most exquisite one we ever paw.'*
The " Crescent Eagle" says : " The fashion plate is the best
that we have ever seen." The " Ohio Register" says : " Its
fashion plates are ahead of any we have ever seen." That
settles the question ; if not, we have some five hundred
more notices to the same effect.

"The beautiful engraving of 'Christ Healing the Sick' is
unparalleled in the history of magazine plates. Among
the crowd of readers who carelessly glance at such an en-
graving, but few there are who appreciate the vast amount
of thought and labor expended by none but first-rate
artists upon it, and the consequent outlay on the part of a
generous publisher in freely offering such gems of art to
the public. The fruit of months, nay, sometimes years, of
unmitigated toil, taxing the eyes and brain, are thus laid
before and received by the masses, without a thought on
the part of the latter as to what it cost to furnish the
feast."

The foregoing is from the Louisville "Great Yalley
Trader." a paper of immense circulation in Louisville, Ky.
How true are the remarks 1 To engrave the plate men-
tioned would take one man, and he must be an excellent
artist, at least four months, working eight hours a day,
which are about as many hours as an engraver can work.
By the time the plate reached us it cost nearly $500. It
took four months steady work to print our edition, at a cos*
of $375 ; the paper cost $200. To sum up, it was eight
months from the time that the engraver took the plate in
hand before we could place It before our subscribers, and
the whole cost of this one embellishment was $1,075. This
is only one item of the expense of a number of the " Lady's
Book." Our business, it will be perceived, requires us to
look ahead. Eight months is a long time to wait for one
engraving.

Correction. — In our April number, we stated that the
price of mantilla patterns was $1. It should have been
62^ cents. We can supply patterns of all the dress arti-
cles we publish, jewelry, and almost every article for a
lady's toilet, dress, etc. Our orders last month were very
large.

Montesquieu says : " I never listen to calumnies, because,
if they are untrue, I run the risk of being deceived, and, if
they be true, of hating persons not worth thinking about."

Back numbers of the " Lady's Book" can be supplied
from January, as the work is stereotyped.

457

468

godey's magazine and lady's book.

A. IlAnT, Esq.— Our friend Hart has retired from the
book business. Happy man ! lie has not toiled so long as
we have ; but he has been more fortunate in laying up the
u siller." But will he be as happy in his retirement as we
are, quietly sealed at our desk planning out new surprises
for our hundred thousand subscribers? We think he will,
as he has all the elements of happiness surrounding him —
an honest man, beloved by his friends, and respected by
all who know him; a cheerful disposition, a contented
mind, a good heart — we were going to write Hart; it
would have been as appropriate. That old south-east
corner, Fourth and Chestnut, how well we know it! We
remember Carey & Lea, and Carey, Lea, & Carey; E. L.
Carey & A. Hart; and last, A. Hart — no, not last; it is now
Parry «fc McMillan. Mr. Tarry we have known — we will
not mention the number of years, as we believe our friend
Jesse wishes still to pass for a young man, albeit he is
married. Matters will go on well, there, under his manage-
ment. And he has an able partner in Mr. McMillan, who
is not new to the business, having been a publisher in the
British Provinces. Success to the new firm of Parry &
McMillan !

The following remarks were made by Mr. Hart at the
Trade Sale, where, by the way, his stereotype plates sold
for |55,960, a pretty good day's work. Previous to the sale,
Mr. Hart turned to the auctioneer, Moses Thomas, Esq.,
another of our good old friends, and said —

;' You, sir, were the first person to introduce me into the
book business, having given me a letter of credit to pur-
chase, at the Boston trade sale, held in 1827, when I was
but sixteen years of age, an amount of five thousand dol-
lars, on my own judgment, a confidence which I have re-
membered to this day ; and, two years afterwards, you
ware instrumental in arranging the partnership for me
with the late Edward L. Carey; and now, after twenty-five
years of successful business, you are about to conduct me
out of the trade, by disposing of my stereotype plates ; and
I must here acknowledge my gratitude to you for those
acts of kindness and confidence extended towards a mere
boy."

We call attention to the advertisement of Boardman &
Cray's Pianos on our cover. We know the instruments, and
can recommend them. There is no firm in our country en-
gaged in the manufacture of pianos upon whom more re-
liance can be placed than upon the gentlemen who are the
subject of these remarks. A piano is an article that very
few persons purchase more than once in a lifetime ; it is
therefore the more necessary that you select a manufac-
turer who is well known, and who can be vouched for —
one whose pianos have stood the test of experience. We
have been instrumental in selling a number of these in-
struments, and we have yet to hear the first complaint ;
on the contrary, we have been thanked for our recom-
mendation of the house of Boardman & Gray. We give an
extract of a letter from one of our subscribers, hoping that
Messrs. B. & G. may take the hint contained in it : —

" Campbell Co., Va., Feb. 22, 1854.

"No articlo you ever published possessed the hundredth
part of the money value to your readers as your article on
piano-fortos. Hundreds of thousands of dollars are every
year invested in pianos, and a large proportion of them
are not worth the cost of transportation. You have given
us precisely that kind of information wo needed, and in
which we were greatly deficient. I shall shortly order one
of Boardman & Gray's. These gentlemen ought to send to
Mrs. Godey one of their best pianos, and, if it were accom-
panied by two hundred gold eagles, it would bo only a fit-
ting acknowledgment of benefits conferred. W. L. G."

SOME EXTRACTS FROM OUR CORRESPONDENCE.

" The books for our Ohio club arrived this morning by
way of Cleveland ! and, although it was Monday, and my
' girl' busy with the week's washing, and the house in con-
fusion, I took time to read 'Mustard to Mix,' and found
others had felt much as I happened to feel this morning.
But the story restored my good humor; and so, you see,
the ' Book' has done some good already — at least, my hus-
band thinks so.

"Many thanks for the pleasant story accompanying

your letter! I intend sending it to an old bachelor up

town, who made remarks similar to those of the young

collegian, when I solicited him to subscribe for his sister.

'• With earnest wishes for your happiness and prosperity,

" M. C. P."
] " The ' Lady's Book' is fast superseding all other periodi-
i cals of tho kind in this section. The general impression is
| that it is the best magazine of the kind published.

" J. R. S., Ala."

TO OUR FRIEND GODEY.

BY MRS. ADELINE J. WILLIAMS.

Come, ladies all, and help me thank
Our best of friends, so kind and frank ;
For in oblivion's stream we 'd sank

But for our good friend Godey

( ne makes us his especial care ;

There 's nothing with him we 72 compare,
And none with us shall e'er impair

The fame of our friend Godey.

If puzzled in our crochet task,
Our patterns poor as actor's mask,
We need but turn the leaves, and ask

Some aid from our friend Godey.

His tales are moral, chaste, and true,
His fashion plates all rich and new ;
Receipts for goodies, not a few,

Come from our kind friend Godey.

When, on the dreary winter's day,
To ennui we fall a prey,
Who then can chase the gloom away
So well as our friend Godey ?

Proud of so good a friend to boast,
Excelsior! shall be our toast,
And thanks we '11 shower by the host
Upon our kind friend Godey !
Portsmouth, Va., Feb. 11th, 1854.

"The little story you sent me reminds me of an incident
which occurred here some weeks since. A young orator
was declaiming loudly against the literature of the day,
and more especially ' Godey's Lady's Book.' At the con-
clusion of hi3 discourse, he accepted the invitation of n
merchant, living near by, to tea. The lady of the house, a
young bride, took occasion to place the offensive magazine,
which she has taken for the last six months, in a conspicu-
ous position on the parlor table.

" ' Well,' said he, as he entered the room and seated him-
self, 'I am really quite disconcerted to see this here.' ' Yes,
it is the magazine to which you alluded in your discourse
to-day, I presume.' 'Certainly it is.' 'Well,' said she, 'I
think, sir, that you must have been a close studeut of that
bad book yourself, to be so well acquainted with its con-
tents.' He was a little disconcerted again, and made no
reply. ' Now, sir, pardon me, but I should regret very
much to use my influence in obtaining the names of s»

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

469

many of the most intelligent ladies of our village for a
book so pernicious in its tendency. However, I feel confi-
dent myself that nothing will appear upon its pages which
I may not safely place in the hands of my young and only
daughter.'

" I have succeeded, notwithstanding the gentleman's ad-
vice, which was perhaps only a good advertisement for the
' Book,' in getting a club of eighteen names, and may still
send you some more. Here are three.

"The ladies wish the back numbers. Of course, I extol
your magazine. I tell them that, for beautiful engravings,
elegant patterns, fine paper and type, excellent reading
matter, minute descriptions of the prevailing modes, and,
in short, every little matter which we ladies like so well to
know, and hear, and see, it cannot be surpassed by any
other book in the country. I have done. If any lady has
given you a longer list of names, or a more ' substantial
Valentine,' I should like to know it, that I may outdo her.

"M. H."

" You are a popular man in this neighborhood, and what-
ever we can do for you will be done with pleasure.

"B. &Co., Ala."
L. A. Godet, Esq. — Dear Sir: For the last six months I
have been travelling through the Western States, and I
am glad to see with what joy the ' Lady's Book' is wel-
comed. I frequently had an opportunity of scanning its
contents, and was never better pleased than when once I
asked a lady to lend me her number ; she looked up, and,
with a mischievous smile, asked if I was a subscriber.
Receiving an affirmative answer, she handed me the
'Book,' saying: 'You are welcome to read it; but I never
lend it to any one who will not subscribe.'

" I only arrived at home last week; and, on Saturday
evening, as my wife and self were indulging in a romp

with our B -, the ' Book' was brought in. This put an

end to the romp, for my wife at once commenced examin-
ing the patterns, &c. ' See, is not this beautiful ? Won't
this look pretty on Frank's sack? I wonder how Mr. Go-
dey manages to collect so great a variety of fashions?'
And questions of similar import followed each other in
rapid succession for some time. But at length a change
came o'er her mind : with an arch and quizzing look, she
asked if I had paid this year's subscription. You know what
my answer was, and I know what it will be hereafter. So
here is your three dollars, and much good may it do you, for
I am sure to get the worth of my money.

"Mrs. B. says you must send a receipt, for she wants
your autograph. Direct the 'Book' to her as heretofore,
and oblige yours truly, P. R. B."

Barnum. — The great Barnum is elected president of the
Crystal Palace Association in New York. There is now
some hope of its success. There was none under the for-
mer administration, for a more decided old fogy concern
we never heard of— kid-gloved gentry, who had about as
good an idea of managing an establishment like the Crys-
tal Palace as they had of earning the money which their
fathers left them.

Carryl's Curtain Establishment, North- West Corner of
Fifth and Chestnut Street.— It was generally remarked
by the wholesale merchants who made their purchases at
this establishment for the spring trade, that they found no
such variety in any place either in New York or this city.
Prices they state are also very reasonable. Mr. Carry! fur-
nishes suits of curtains for from $25 to $200. We will at-
tend to the purchase of curtains from Mr. Carryl. We re-
quire the size of the rooms and windows, and general
character and color of the furniture.
VOL. XLVIII. — 40

White's Bonnets. — Our orders for these beautiful spring
bonnets are amazingly on the increase. On a late visit to
his establishment, we were astonished at the amount of
his business. At least two hundred boxes were ready for
the different express lines.

Mrs. Hale's Cook-Book we will furnish at $1 25, and
pay the postage. Mrs. Hale's " Household Book" on the
same terms.

"How nicely I have mended it!
that it has been broken."

Nobody will ever notice

There is a great deal of good sense to be found in the
" London Punch," given in a humorous guise. The follow-
ing article upon the way that many females wear their
bonnets is to be commended- We may add that ladies in
this city do not wear their bonnets as Punch describes them .

A Word about Bonnets.— When Mr. Punch, in his fashion
reports, stated that ladies' bonnets would this season be
worn on the small of the back, be only slightly exaggerated
the reality which has come to pass. We believe that tfejB
article of the female dress has shrunk to a proportion which
renders diminution impossible. Lightly poised upon the
remotest peak of the hirsute promontory which decorate*
the head of beauty, it is calculated to arouse feelings of
wonder as to what is its practical value, and why it is worn.
Certainly, as a protection against the blasts of winter, it is
utterly worthless. If the wearers suppose that it adds one
iota to their personal charms, truth compels us to say that
they are the victims of a complete self-deception. It is
destructive to that air of modesty which every one wishes
to observe in a sister or a mother, and has a jaunty air of
effrontery. We have a trembling hope that things in this
respect will shortly grow better, for we do think that human
ingenuity cannot concoct anything uglier, nor smaller, if
resort be not had to total annihilation. These gauze mon-
strosities may linger a little longer, tenaciously clinging to
the outermost frontiers of weak heads, but the good sense
of the community, we doubt not, would rather go back to
the scuttle-shaped formations that surrounded our grand-
mothers, than suffer their relatives and friends to go to and
fro in the microscopic fixtures which the fashionable world
charitably calls bonnets.

470

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Thk following is a description of the residence of Madame
Rachel, the celebrated French tragic actress :—

The tragedian's dwelling formerly belonged to Walewski,
the present French Minister at London, but she has altered
and remodelled it to such an extent that nothing remains
of the original fabric except the foundation and the outer
walls. The exterior presents nothing remarkable; four
windows on a floor in front, first floor over an entresol, and
servants' rooms over that. Entrance by a porte-cochere,
like almost all French town-houses, but the gate is oak,
Mid the carriage-way floored with wood to deaden the sound
of wheels. Square court-yard with fountain, and ivy round
the sides. Gothic staircase elaborately carved in stone, and
mysteriously lighted from above by a dome of colored glass.
On the entresol an antechamber in oak ; dining-room to the
left in Etruscan style, containing a splendid collection of
antique vases. Between the dining-room and kitchen is a
butler's pantry, where a richly carved oaken closet holds a
magnificent service of plate, made partly in Paris and
partly in London, and valued at $20,000, or more. All this
story is laid down with Turkey carpeting, a rare thing in
France, where the dining-rooms and antechambers of even
the finest houses have seldom anything to show but the
polished floor. On the right is a parlor opening on the
court by three windows, and commanding a fine lookout
over the neighboring gardens. The ceiling of this room is
white, the walls hung with chintz of a Chinese pattern,
large crimson flowers on a sea-green ground. Curtains,
sofas, &c, to match ; the rest of the furniture buhl-work,
except some fancy arm-chairs of different stuffs, silk, velvet,
and brocatel. Here is an endless collection of nicknacks,
Dresden and Sevres China, Louis XIV. enamels, ivories,
bronzes; among other curiosities a strange collection of
Asiatic weapons. There are also several valuable paintings
by Boucher, Isabey, Tony-Johannot, and other native artists
of different periods. Chinese and Japanese vases (for which
clumsy objects all the French have a weakness) complete
the picture. This parlor opens into the library in a wing
of the main building. The furniture of this room is carved
oak, the walls and ceiling draped in myrtle-green cache-
mire. The tragedian's desk, richly carved and covered
with green velvet, stands on the left of the door, with a
Yenetian mirror just behind it. The whole length of the
wall opposite the three windows, as well as the spaces
between the windows, is occupied by bookcases. Rachel's
library comprises about four thousand volumes, all in very
quiet bindings.

The second story, or the first floor over the entresol, is in
white wood and gilding (a usual French drawing-room
style), carpeted with purple flowers on a white ground. A
large crimson sofa in the antechamber is flanked by two
busts of Clesinger's on pedestals, Tragedy and Comedy. On
the right is the grand drawing-room, running the whole
width of the house. The panels of its walls are adorned
with groups of children and cupids, by the celebrated
painter, Charles Muller. The white marble mantel-piece
is carved with arabesque and allegorical masques. The
sofas and chairs are purple brocatel with carved gilt frames,
the rest of the furniture rosewood with bronze medallions.
The clocks, candelabras, and bracelets are or-molu of the
most costly workmanship. It is hardly necessary to say
that there is great abundance of looking-glasses ; they all
bear their owner's cypher on their gilt frames. Among
other objects of art in this room is a bust of Napoleon as
First Consul, by Canova. On the right of the antechamber
is the show bedroom (Rachel, like many other Frenchwo-
men, has a quieter one for use in the third story). The bed
has purple velvet curtains, a Turkish carpet of silk and
gold embroidery for a quilt, and a lion-skin for a footmig.

The furniture is rosewood, with medallions of Sevres china.
A likeness of Adrienne Lecouvreur, in tapestry, and a
marble bust of Taglioui, are the most conspicuous of the
works of art in which this room abounds. A secret door
near the bed leads into a little boudoir on the Chinese
style, all lacquer, vermilion, and porcelain.^ The dressing-
room is hung with chintz, garlands of flowers on a blue
striped ground. The walls of the bath room arc sea-green
stucco.

There is no trifling with nature; it is always true,
grave, and severe; it is always in the right, and the faults
and errors fall to our share. It defies incompetency, but
reveals its secrets to the competent, the truthful, and the

pure.

The following we extract from the "Journal of Health":
Palpitation of me Heart Cured by Soda-water. — A
lady, about forty years of age, had suffered for twelve
years from periodical attacks of palpitation of the heart, so
violent as to shake the bed on which the patient lay.
During one attack, feeling thirsty, she expressed a desire
for some soda-water. No sooner had she swallowed the first
draught than her palpitation left her, and recurred no
more until the period of the next attack. As soon as it
commenced, she sent for her medical attendant, and told
him what had occurred a month previously, and requested
to be allowed to try the same remedy a second time. He
consented, but, wishing to ascertain which of the ingredients
of the soda-water had relieved the complaint, he gave her
a dose of citric acid by itself. This had no effect. He then
gave her a dose of carbonate of soda, which also failed. He
then mixed the powders, and gave her some ordinary soda-
water, placing his hand at the same time on her heart.
The moment she swallowed the first mouthful, the palpita-
tion ceased, and recurred no more for that time. From
that period, whenever the palpitation came on, she could
always stop it by this simple remedy. It appears, from the
experiments made by medical men, that the carbonic acid
was the active element in relieving the complaint, because,
until the gas was liberated by the mixture of citric acid and
the carbonate of soda, no benefit accrued.

A French surgeon has written a discourse to prove that
the more a patient cries and groans during a surgical
operation, the more likely he is to survive it.

The Last Paris Item about Fashions.— Dresses are more
costly than ever; gold, silver, and ornaments of velvet are
still adopted for full dress. For instance, a pink crape
dress, with five flounces, each flounce having an elegant
and delicate wreath formed of black velvet. These flounces,
made to diminish in width as well as in the size of the
wreath as they ascend towards the waist, are also vandyked,
the festoons being edged with a black velvet stripe. The
body has a bertha forming a point in front and behind,
trimmed with a narrow wreath, and surrounded with deep
frills in the same style as the flounces on the skirt. For
sleeves, a small puff, with a row of small velvet flowers,
terminated with two deep frills, the same as the bertha.
Another style, which is quite different, but equally pretty,
is a dress made of white taffetas, with three flounces, each
one trimmed with five rows of green curly plush, woven in
the material, and separated by a velvet stripe. This plush
and velvet diminish in width and change in shade as they
ascend, so that the plush and velvet are of quite a delicate
green towards the waist. The body has a bertha forming
a rever, and coming down as low as the waist, in a point,
both behind and in front.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

471

Steamboats on the Delaware. — The numerous steam-
boats on our beautiful river were put in motion early in
the spring. They are now running, not, indeed, in fearful
and dangerous opposition, but each in its u appropriate
sphere," and competing only in the excellency of their ac-
commodations, and in the safe conveyance of travellers and
pleasure-parties to and from the various points which line
the shores of the Delaware from the Capes to the city of Tren-
ton. Among the number thus employed are the large and
handsome boats of the Camden and Amboy Company, the
John Stevens, Captain Kester, aud the Trenton, Captain
Ilinkle. These boats, as well as their gentlemanly com-
manders, are old and established favorites of the travelling
aud pleasure-seeking public. It may be said with great
truth that there is not on any route in the entire range of
the United States more safe, quiet, and punctual convey-
ances, or better accommodations, than are afforded by these
boats, or officers more attentive to their duties, or more
anxious to infuse feelings of confidence and comfort among
their passengers, than are their commanders. We must
not forget, however, to do justice to the unwearied exer-
tions of W. II. Gatzmer, Esq., the principal agent of the
company in this city. To his zeal and watchfulness, in the
discharge of his arduous duties, the public are indebted for
mauy of the facilities afforded for quick and speedy travel,
as well on board the company's steamboats as on their rail-
roads.

Neither should we forget our old friend. Captain M'Ma-
kin, of the steamer Edwin Forrest, who continues his ex-
ertions to accommodate the public with the most com-
mendable spirit of " competition," and who, we hope, is
reaping a just reward for his labors.

The " Florist and Horticultural Journal." — We have
received the last number of this beautiful and interesting
work, containing a splendid colored engraving.

Earle's Gallery, 216 Chestnut Street.— A free admis-
sion gallery, and where quite as many good paintings can
be found as at any pay exhibition. The walls are lined
with beautiful pictures; but among them we must par-
ticularize a school scene : The master is about castigating
a boy, when a new scholar with his father enters. The
look of astonishment of both of them is admirably painted ;
but the picture is full of incidents, and ought to be seen by
all. There are two other pictures, " Sheep in the Fold and
in the Field" — admirable productions. A new painting has
just been added by an American artist, George C. Bingham ;
it is called " An Appeal to Buncombe." The principal
figure is, of course, the speaker, who appears to be stating
his " platform" to the gaping auditory grouped in varied
postures about him. The chairman is a man of prodigious
size, and is probably a portrait. The newspaper reporter is
taking down the speech, as delivered, on the top of his hat.
We believe it is to be engraved as a companion to a former
picture by the same artist.

"New York Picayune." — There is great merit in the hu-
morous engravings in this paper; they are well designed
and well engraved. The reading matter is also excellent.
The Lectures by Cesar Augustus Hannibal contain many
satirical hits, though made in the negro dialect. They de-
serve to be republished separately.

'•'The Bizarre," of this city, which, by the way, is an ex-
cellent publication, says: "A better selection could not be
made than • Letters left at the Pastry Cook's.' It is one
of the most amusing and lifelike descriptions of a girl's
boarding-school ever written."

Summer Beverages.— Now is the time for our subscribers
to provide themselves with these excellent and temperance
receipts. See advertisement on cover.

La Pierre House, Broad Street.— We are happy to find
that our prophecy about this splendid establishment has
been verified. It is now the most fashionable and best
conducted house in the city.

We beg leave to differ with our friend of the " Western
Pioneer." We have not placed the <; cap-stone" yet, and
he will see that it is not impossible to excel it. '; There is
no impossibility to him who wills." We will not differ
with him on this point: " It is the best specimen of artistic
and mechanical skill we have ever seen." We may thank
Messrs. Collins & McLeester, who made the type, and
Messrs. T. K. & P. G. Collins, who printed the " Book," for
that. Thank you for your very kind notice.

What Letters should be. — Many people, and well-in-
formed people too, sit down to write a letter as if they were
about to construct a legal document or government dis-
patch. Precision, formality, and carefully worded and
rounded periods are considered all-essential, even though
the epistle be intended for a familiar friend. Others appear
to be writing for publication, or for posterity instead of
making epistolary communication a simple converse be-
tween friends. Away with such labored productions! A
letter on business should be brief ; to a friend, familiar and
easy. We like Hannah More's ideas upon the subject. She
used to say: "If I want wisdom, sentiment, or information,
I can find them better in books. What I want in a letter is
the picture of my friend's mind, and the common sense of
his life. I want to know what he is. saying and doing; I
want him to turn out the inside of his heart to me, without
disguise, without appearing better than he is, without
writing for a character. I have the same feeling in writing
to him. My letter is therefore worth nothing to an indiffer-
ent person, but it is of value to the friend who cares for
me."

rural felicity.
When at eve thou sitt'st reclining

By thy quiet cottage door,
And the sun's last rays are shining

On the smooth and polished floor,
Then thy thoughts are blissward tending,

And warm emotions like a flood,
When an urchin softly whispers,

'; Daddy, Bill won't saw that wood!"

We do not hear much of the mothers of great men.
What their fathers were— what their reputation, qualities,
and history— is related to us with great particularity ; but
their mothers are usually passed over in comparative si-
lence. Yet it is abundantly proved, from experience, that
the mother's influence upon the development of the child's
nature and character is vastly greater than that of a father
can be. " The mother only," says Bichter, " educates hu-
manly. Man may direct the intellect, but woman cultivates
the heart."

A Parent would rush, in the greatest alarm, after a child
that was indiscriminately eating wild fruit and berries, for
fear it should lay hold of a poison. How much greater
care ought to be exerted in preventing an indiscriminate
use of books, lest the morals should imbibe a poison that
will stamp the future character with irretrievable dishonor.

472

godey's magazine and lady's book.

HOUSE PLANTS.

From Mrs. Hak's NetB Household Eeceipt-Boolc.

Plants r»quire much light and fresh air ; a light garret
is an excellent place for them ; even those which will not
bear the outer air must have the air of the room frequently
freshened by ventilation, to preserve them in health. They
should not stand in a draught of air. In frosty weather,
the windows should be kept close, and at night the shut-
ters. In sharp frost, instead of stirring out the fire, leave
a little on retiring to rest, with a guard before it for security.

As a general rule, never water plants while the sua
shines. The time should be in the evening, or early in the
morning, unless it be confined to watering the roots, iu
which case, transplanted plants, and others in a growing
state, may be watered at any time ; and, if they are shaded
from the sun, they may also be watered over the tops.

The water, if taken from a well or cold spring, should be
exposed one day to the sun, otherwise it will chill the
plants. A small quantity only should be applied at a time,
that it may have the effect of refreshing rain.

Rain water is the best for plants; next river water;
hard spring water is the worst.

To Air Plants, and Ventilate Rooms wherein tiiey are
contained. — Plants should have air every day in the year
to make them grow well : but this matter, in sitting-rooms,
will not, of course, be regulated for their sakes. especially
in the colder seasons. Wherever placed, however, some
attention should be paid to airing and ventilating the
rooms regularly, by opening the windows, and occasionally
the doors, in order to excite a free circulation of air. This
should be done to a certain extent every day, according to
the state of the weather, except in the time of severe frost,
when it would not be advisable to admit external air. But
at such times, if bad weather be of long continuance, the
rooms may be ventilated by means of the doors, and by
exciting a current of air in the passages or other parts of
the house.

In very severe frost, or in a continuation of damp
weather, moderate fires should be made for the sake of the
plants, if placed in rooms not occupied. The window
shutters should also be closed at night.

Hints to Lovers of Flowers.— A most beautiful and
easily-attained show of evergreens may be had by a very
rumple plan, which has been found to answer remarkably
well on a small scale. If geranium branches taken from
luxuriant and healthy trees, just before the winter sets in,
be cut as for slips, and immersed in soap-water, they will,
after drooping for a few days, shed their leaves, put forth
fresh ones, and continue in the finest vigor all the winter.
By placing a number of bottles thus filled in a flower-
basket, with moss to conceal the bottles, a show of ever-
greens is easily insured for the whole season. They require
no fresh water.

INSTRUCTIONS IN KNITTING.

There is not one art practised by ladies which is more
deservedly popular than knitting. It is so easy, requires
so little eyesight, and is susceptible of so much ornament,
that it merits the attention of every lady.

The first process in knitting is known by the term casting
on. There are two ways of doing this ; with one needle
and with two. Take the thread between the second and
third fingers of the left hand, leaving an end of about a
yard for every hundrrd stitches; pass it round the thumb
of that hand, giving it a twist, so as to form a loop. Take
a knitting-needle in the right hand, insert the point in the

loop and pass the thread from the ball round the needle;
then bend the point of the needle through the loop, which
tighten, and one stitch will be complete. Continuing to
make loops over the thumb, with the end of thread, and
knit them with that from the ball until the proper number
is cast on.

To cast on with two needles (generally called the Spanish
method), begin by making a loop on the end of the thready
into which slip the point of one needle, holding it in the
left hand. Take the other needle in the right hand, and
slip its point into the same loop : bring the thread round
the point of this needle, and bend the needle towards you,
so that the thread forms a loop on it. Slip that also on the
left needle, without withdrawing it from the right. Put
the thread round the right again, and repeat the process.

Plain Knitting. — After all the stitches are cast on, hold
the needle containing them in the left hand. Pass the
thread round the little finger of the right hand, under the
second and third, and above the point of the first Then
take the other needle in the right hand, slip the point in
the first stitch, and put the thread round it; bring forward
the point of the right hand needle, so that the thread
forms a loop ou it. Slip the end of the left hand needle
out of the stitch, and a new stitch is knitted.

German Manner. — The thread, instead of being held by
the fingers of the right hand, is passed over and under
those of the left. The process is exactly the same.

Purling. — Begiu by bringing the thread in front of the
right hand needle, which slip into a stitch pointing towards
you; that is, in the reverse of the usual mode. Put the
thread round the point of the needle, still bringing it to-
wards you, bend the needle backwards to form a loop, and
withdraw the stitch from the point of the left hand needle.
When knitted and purled stitches occur in the same
row, the thread must be brought forward before a purled
stitch, and taken back before a knitted one.

To make a stitch. — Bring the thread in front, as if for a
purled stitch, so that when you knit one the thread will
pass over the needle, and will make a hole in the following
row. The thread is put twice entirely round the needle,
and then brought forward, so that the next knitted stitch
will take it over a third time. In doing the next row, knit
one, purl one, knit one of these stitches ; however many
are made, they must be alternately knitted and purled in
the next row. When the stitch following the made stitches
is to be purled, the thread must be entirely passed round
the needle, once for every stitch to be made, and brought
forward also.

Slip stitch. — Pass a stitch from the left needle to the
right, without knitting it. There are two ways of decreas-
ing; first, by knitting two, three, or more stitches as one,
marked in knitting, as k 2 t, k 3 t, &c. Secondly, in the
following way : slip one stitch, knit one, pass the slip
stitch over ; this decreases one stitch. To decrease two ;
slip one, knit two together, pass the slip stitch over.

A reverse stitch is taken off the left hand needle, in the
reverse way to knitting and purling. In both these, tht»
right hand needle is inserted in the middle of the stitch,
and the point brought out towards you or otherwise. But
to make a reverse stitch, you insert the point of the needle
in the stitch at the back of the work, and bring it forward
through the opening in which it generally is inserted. The
thread is to be placed round it, as for a purled stitch.

To reverse two, three, or more stitches together, insert
the needle iu them all at once, /ran the last to the first.

To take up stitches. — Insert the needle in the loop, pass
the thread round, and knit it in the usual manner. Do
not draw out any loop more than can be avoided, while
kuitting it.

godey's arm-chair.

473

To knit two pieces together. — To do this, there must be an
equal number of stitches on both. Hold the needles to-
gether in the right hand, and knit as usual, inserting the
left-hand needle in a loop of each at the same time, and
treating the two as one.

To form a round. — The French manner of performing this
process is by casting the whole number of stitches on one
needle, and then distributing them on three, or perhaps
four. But the English mode is to divide the number of
stitches, and cast so many on each needle, not withdrawing
the last stitch of each needle from the point of the next
needle. When all are cast on, the round is made by knit-
ting the two first stitches on to the last needle. Four
needles are employed for stockings, five for doyleys and
other round articles.

To cast off. — Knit two stitches, insert the point of the
left hand needle in the first stitch, and draw it on the
other. Knit another stitch, and treat these two in the
same way.

The Empress op France. — A correspondent of the
" Morning Post,'' describing the appearance of the Empress
of France at a ball, says: "The grace and beauty of the
Empress were observed to the fullest advantage. Her
faultless delicacy of feature, and the elegance of her figure,
were well displayed by a very chaste costume of white lace,
ornamented with ribbons of violet color, falling half way
down the skirt. The headdress was exquisitely beautiful.
Her Majesty's hair is of a beautiful light brown tint, and
it was disposed last evening in tasteful rolls over the fore-
head, leaving disclosed the ears, from which diamonds
were pendant. Her Majesty wore a diamond necklace of
marvellous brilliancy, every stone of which reflected its
myriad hues, and a pair of somewhat small bracelets en
suite."

Another writer says : —

" From some statistics of the Legion of Honor just pub-
lished, it appears that this body numbers about 52,000, or
little more than a two-hundredth part of the male popula-
tion of France. It was usually supposed to be larger ; the
English used to say that every third Frenchman in a re-
spectable position was a 'Knight' of the Legion. Iu
Louis Philippe's time it was conferred on some odd sub-
jects, old Galignani among others, whose chief merits were,
keeping a circulating library, printing English books (be-
fore the late international legislation on that subject), and
publishing a newspaper of selections which put in all it
can find in disparagement of the Americans.

"By the time a man has lived two or three years in
Paris, he generally fancies himself pretty well posted up in
French cookery; but I came across something the other
day which knocked me, and will probably astonish you too,
as it is founded on what we are accustomed to regard as a
peculiarly national comestible. Every American is ac-
quainted with pumpkin pie, and a good many of us like it.
But what do you say to pumpkin soup f Till you have tried
it, you don't know of what the vegetable is capable. Purie
de Poturons : it is made just like Puree de Pois, or any other
puree (and consequently is improved by the addition of
croutons), pleasant to the eye (a rich golden yellow), and
delicious to the taste."

The Manner op Doin<j Good.— When your endeavors are
directed towards doing good to an individual, in other words,
doing him service, if there be any option as to the mode or
way, consider and observe what mode is most to his taste.
If you serve him as you think and say. in a way which is

40*

yours, and not his. the value of any service may, by an in-
definite amount, be thus reduced. If the action of serving
a man not in the way he wishes to be served be carried to
a certain length, it becomes tyranny, not beneficence ; an
exercise of power for the satisfaction of the self-regarding
affections, not an act of beneficence for the gratification of
the sympathetic or social affections

Yankee Doodle, with Variations.— Who is there among
our readers who has not heard several of his favorite tunes
played with variations? And who is there that could,
when the musician got pretty deep in said variations, ever
recognize the original tune ? It should be with alterations,
instead of variations. A recent writer, in the following,
justly ridicules this "variation" business: —

A few evenings since, I had the satisfaction of being pre-
sent at Signor Sivori's farewell concert. I was exceedingly
diverted by the performances of that clever violinist, which
also reminded me of an idea that had occasionally occurred
to me before on hearing Ole Bull, Listz, and other profes-
sors of musical gymnastics.

I perceived that the talent of these gentlemen lay prin-
cipally in executing variations on certain favorite airs;
that is, in disjointing their different portions, and filling up
the intervals with divers fantastical and eccentric move-
ments of their own — runs, shakes, and so forth ; thus in-
terspersing the original music, which was expressive of
some sentiment, fe ling, or state of mind, with passages
which, having no meaning at all, formed an agreeable con-
trast to the melodies wherewith they were blended.

Now, the idea that occurred to me was that the principle
(so greatly to the gratification of the public) acted upon by
the musicians might be advantageously applied to the sis-
ter art of poetry. I think that Shakspeare with variations
would very probably be received with great applause. The
variations, of course, should correspond in expressiveness
and intellectuality to those above alluded to. For instance,
let the line to be varied be —

" To be, or not to be ; that is the question."

The theme might first be recited entire, and then treated
as follows : —

To be or not, fiddle ; to be, diddle ; that, tooral ; is, roo-
ral ; the question, lay.

Fiddle, fiddle, iddle, iddle, tooral, looral, lay.

Tooral, to be: looral, or not; lay, to be; that is, fiddle;
the question, iddle de dee.

To, yoddle; be, doodle; or, fol; not, dol; to, de; be, rol;
that, ri ; is, tol ; the, lol ; question, de rido.

Yoddle, doddle, fol de rol, to be ; hey down derry diddle
dum, or not; whack rum ti oodity, to be; ho down, that;
chip chow cherry chow, is ; tra la la la, the question.

Dong, dong, harum, scarum, divo, question

Bight fol de riddy, oody. bow, wow, wow !

Drowning men will catch at a straw ; and, considering
the present declining state of the drama, I seriously re-
commend the suggestion to the notice of the managers.
Its adoption will doubtless astonish the weak minds of
many, to whom Shakspeare's sense, at present too strong
for them, will be rendered more palatable by dilution.

A Woman was walking, and a man looked at her and
followed her. The woman said, " Why do you follow me?"
He answered, " Because I have fallen in love with you."
The woman said, " Why are you in love with me? My sis-
ter is much handsomer than I! She is coming after me;
go and make love to her." The man turned back and saw
a woman with :in ugly face. Being greatly displeased, he
weut again to the other woman, and said, " Why did you

474

godey's magazine and lady's book.

tell a story?" The woman answered, "Neither did you
speak truth; for if you are in love with me, why did you
go after another woman V The man was confounded. We
should rather think he was.

Godey's Gallert of Splendid Engravings.— We have re-
ceived the first number of this collection of over twenty-five
of the finest of those beautiful engravings that have ap-
peared in the Lady's Book in former days. Those who are
wishing to procure books of engravings for the centre-table
cannot better consult their own interest than by sending
fifty cents to Godey for his beautiful " Gallery."

Book of the Toilet. — This neat little publication contains
a laxge number of recipes for the preservation of health,
and beauty, and for the preparation of the various kinds
of cosmetics in general use. Personal beauty is a gift to be
prized, and the preservation of a youthful appearance is by
no means to be condemned. The " Book of the Toilet" will
enable ladies to prepare their own cologne, toilet soap, et
cetera, at a much less cost, and less adulterated, than when
purchased, ready for use, at the druggists. Price of the
Book, fifty cents. Address Louis A. Godey, Philadelphia.—
Western Literary Cabinet.

The " Sandy Hill Herald" says : " How any lady can
manage to get along without Godey, is more than we can
imagine. Why. if we were a woman, we would not do with-
out it any more than we would do without a husband, and
we would be sure to have both."

Friend "Herald," there is one woman we wot of that
can't get along "without Godey;" and she thinks that a
certain ceremony that was performed some twenty years
since gives her a pretty good right to him.

We give the following as we find it — without vouching
for its correctness, although the paper was read before the
Royal Asiatic Society in England : —

How to make Artificial Pearls. — It was stated, in a
paper read a short time since before the members of the
Royal Asiatic Society in England, " that the artificial pro-
duction of pearls from the mussel-fish is carried on to a great
extent at Hoochow, in China. The fish are collected in
April and May, and are opened by children, who place a
small bit of bamboo in the orifice to keep the shells apart.
A piece of brass or bone, a small pebble, or a pellet of mud,
is then introduced, a dose of three to five spoonfuls of fish-
scales, pounded and mixed with water, is poured on, and
the stick removed. The fish are then placed a few inches
apart in ponds, the water of which is from three to five feet
deep, and which are well manured with night soil four or five
times every year. In these ponds, the fish are allowed to
remain from ten months to three years. Upon taking them
out, the shell is cut through with a fine saw, the pearl is
separated from the shell and the pellet, or other substance
within it extracted. It is then filled with white wax, and a
piece of the shell carefully attached, to conceal the aperture.
Several millions of pearls are thus produced annually,
worth from about a penny to eight pence a pair."

Any information asked for by any of our subscribers we
will cheerfully give, if it is in our power.

We will attend to purchasing any goods that may be de-
sired, and will forward them at the lowest market price.

<£ nx%mats.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN APRIL NUMBER.
13. A well. 14. Able, table, cable, fable. 15. A secret.

ENIGMAS.
16.
Pray, what is that we enter, but ne'er see ?
And yet familiarized with it are we;
Though ne'er created, yet existing 'tis,
And with ourselves concurrent always is.
Its property throughout our lives we share,
And draw on its resources everywhere.
Itself indefinite, yet marks the sum
Of our career — past, present, and to come.
Its current value, too (to this attend),
Must on our working of that sum depend.
In fact, its origin, its age, its death,
May be explained away in one word's breath ;
Though of enigmas it must ever be
To human minds the greatest mystery ?

17.
My name 's a paradox to you,
Expressing what I 'd fain not do,

For constancy 's my aim ;
I 'm really such a loving elf,
To you I would attach myself

With ardor aye the same.

18.
Sometimes, a minister of state,

Scarlet and gold I wear ;
Faith o'er the world I circulate

In many a form that 's fair.

No mediator ever aids

The mortal in distress,
Howe'er the tyrants of the earth

His spirit may oppress,
As I successfully can do.

Whene'er he 's destitute,
Then finds he me a comforter,

Where worldly friends are mute.

For I can raise his mind above

The vanities of life ;
Can banish all its jealousies,

Extinguish all its strife;
Can mitigate the miseries

Attendant on the poor;
And wretches, all disconsolate,

With radiant hope allure.

19.
My character consider well,
The deadliest quarrel I can quell.

When folks by me are led;
For satisfaction I can give
To all who 'd not dishonored live,

And e'en avenge the dead.

I 'm dull and heavy, yet at need
You may accelerate my speed,

Upon a hostile course ;
Destruction *s ever my good aim,
Yet I 've an honorable fame

For equalizing force.

RECE PTS.

475

£l)e Borrower' 0 Department.

" The wicked borroweth and payeth not again."

« Md., 1854.
"Bear Sir: I present myself before you this morning
another evidence of the great inconveniences sometimes
attending the borrowing system. My books have suffered
in various ways; some have had rhubarb (!) spilt on them,
others ink, besides being otherwise maltreated and maimed.
And now I find the May number for 1853 has disappeared,
and no trace of it can be discovered. Can't you aid me in
this emergency, and oblige me by supplying the missing
copy ? Inclosed are postage stamps to the amount.

" Respectfully yours, M. A. T.

" Mr. Louis A. Godey."

From the " Ohio Clinton Republican :" —

" ' Lady's Book.' — The February number of 'Godey's La-
dy's Book' has just been received. We fear there are not
enough copies of this excellent and popular periodical
taken in this place, else there would not be so many appli-
cations to borrow ours by our fair friends."

From the "Schuylkill Banner:" " Although this maga-
zine is entitled ' Lady's Book,' it is a book sought after by
not only females, but males of all grades that can read ;
and we are sorry to say that so many of our readers would
rather borrow than subscribe to it."

"N. C, Feb. 22, 1854.
" Mr. Godey : T shall be compelled, in self-defence, to get
you a lot of subscribers at this place. The copy you are
kind enough to send the ' News' is literally worn out in
the service of the ladies, bless them ! They will have it,
and I cannot refuse to loan. I expect to be able to send
you some more shortly. Yours truly, T. W. A."

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

" Mrs. H. L." — Buff-colored note-paper and cards are now
fashionable. Can send you both.

" Miss J. E. P." — Black velvet headdress sent on the 12th.

"M. S."— Sent your sewing-machine by Adams's Express
on the 13th.

" Miss C. H-." — Sent your bonnet by Adams's on the 14th.

"Mrs. 0. IL F." — Sent your bonnet, by express on 16th.

"Miss E. 0. P." — Sent bonnet by the person who brought
the order on the 16th.

"J. B. G."— Paper hangings were sent via Camden and
Amboy Railroad on the 11th.

"Emily L. M." — Don't know any more than what the
acknowledgment referred to conveys. Shall be happy to
hear from you at all times.

" Miss B." — Sent port-monnaie by mail on 15th.

"Anna E. W." — Please see March, April, and this num-
ber for full directions for crochet and knitting. Other por-
tions of your letter will be answered. Much obliged to you
for your commendations. We will send pamphlets postage
free about the sewing-machine to all who may wish them.

" Mrs. A. M. L." — Sent bonnet by Kinsley's Express on
the 14th.

" II. E. G." — Sent apron pattern on 22d.

" S. E. W."— Sent apron pattern on 24th.

" Old Subscriber," at Godfrey, 111. — Cannot publish the
patterns, as they are too large; but will furnish them at
$1 25, and will get them to match as near as possible.
They do not come in sets. Patterns can be stamped on
the material, which is much better, as they can be stamped
ready for working.

" L. B."— Sent patterns by mail on 28th.

" Mrs. M. A. W."— Sent your order by mail on 4th.

" Miss II. A. J."— Sent duplicate on the 4th.

" Mrs. M. A. W." — Sent garment on the 4th.

" Mrs. A. V. Du B."— Sent patterns on the 9th.

" Mrs. M. A. L."— Sent " colors" by Adams k Co. on 10th.

" Mrs. S. H. D." — Books and patterns sent by mail on the
11th.

" Mrs. D. C. II."— Sent box by Adams's Express on 11th.

" Mrs. M. S. L." — Sent box by mail on the 11th.

" M. C. L."— Sent book by mail on 16th.

" Miss C. V. S."— Sent silk on 17th.

" Miss E. C. II."— Sent pattern on 17th.

In answer to several correspondents, we give the follow-
ing directions for

Starching Lixen.— To those who desire to impart to
shirt bosoms, collars, and other fabrics that fine and beau
tiful gloss observable on new linens, the following recipe
for making gum arabic starch will be most acceptable, and
should have a place in the domestic scrap-book of every
woman who prides herself upon her capacity as a house-
wife and the neatness of her own, her husband's, and fami-
ly's dress; and, if she does not take pride in these things,
her husband is an unfortunate man : —

" Take two ounces of fine white gum arabic powder, put
it into a pitcher, and pour on it a pint or more of boiling
water, according to the degree of strength you desire, and
then, having covered it, let it set all night. In the morn-
ing, pour it carefully from the dregs into a clean bottle,
cork it, and keep it for use. A tablespoonful of gum-water
stirred into a pint of starch that has been made in the
usual manner will give the lawns (either white, black, or
printed) a look of newness, when nothing else can restore
them after washing. It is also good, much diluted, for
thin white muslin and bobbinet." — Augusta Chronicle.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies them.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-
office stamp.

H 1 1 1 \ p 1 0, u t.

To Remove Grease from Paper —Scrape finely some pipe
clay or French chalk, and on this lay the sheet or leaf to
be cleansed, covering the spot in like manner with clay or
chalk. Cover the whole with a sheet of paper, and apply,
for a few seconds, a heated iron. On using India rubber
to remove the dust, the paper will be found to be free of
the grease.

Straw may be bleached by putting it in a cask into
which a few brimstone matches are placed lighted. The
same effect may be produced by dipping the straw into
chloride of lime dissolved in water.

Varnish for Colored Drawings. — Canada balsam, one
ounce; oil of turpentine, two ounces; dissolve. Size the
drawings first with a jelly of isinglass, and when dry a] ply
the varnish, which will make them appear like oil paint-
ings.

Mock Cream for Coffeh.— Mix half a tablespoonful of
flour with a pint of nSr milk; let it simmer for five
minutes, then beat up the yolk of an egg, stir it into the
milk while boiling, and run it through a lawn sieve.

To use Jeweller's Rouge in Cleaning Ornaments.— Mix
it with a little salad oil. and with a small tooth-brush rub
the ornament till perfectly clean ; then wash in hot soap
and water with a clean brush, and wipe dry with wash-
leather.

476

godey's magazine and lady's book.

A very pretty and economical finish for sheets, pillow-
cases, ftc, may be made from the cuttings of bleached
muslin : Cut one and a half inch squares, and fold them
bias, from corner to corner, then fold again, so as to form
a point, seam on to the straight side on raw edge and face
on a strip to cover the seam.

To give a fixe Color to Mahogany. — Let the tables be
washed perfectly clean with vinegar, having first taken out
any ink-stains there may be with spirit of salt, but it must
be used with the greatest care, only touching the part
affected, and instantly washing it off. Use the following
liquid: Into a pint of cold drawn linseed oil, put four
pennyworth of alkanet root, and two pennyworth of rose
pink in an earthen vessel, let it remain all night, then,
stirring well, rub some of it all over the table with a liueu
rag ; when it has lain some time, rub it bright with linen
cloths.

Fine Blacking for Shoes.— Take four ounces of ivory
black, three ounces of the coarsest sugar, a tablespoonful
of sweet oil, and a pint of small beer ; mix them gradually
cold.

To take Ink out of Mahogany. — Mix, in a teaspoonful
of cold waterT a few drops of oil of vitriol ; touch the spot
with a feather dipped in the liquid.

To Clean Pictures. — Dust them lightly with cotton wool,
or with a feather brush.

To Clean Mirrors. — Wipe them lightly with a clean bit
of sponge or fine linen that has been wet ii? spirits of wine,
or in soft water; then dust the glass with fine whiting
powder; rub this off with a soft cloth, then rub with
another clean cloth, and finish it with a silk handkerchief.
Dust the frames with cotton wool.

Mildew Stains are very difficult to remove from linen.
The most effectual way is to rub soap on the spots, then
chalk, and bleach the garment in the hot sun.

Ink and Iron Mould may be taken out by wetting the
spots in milk, then covering them with common salt. It
should be done before the garments have been washed.
Another way to take out ink is to dip it in melted tallow.
For fine, delicate articles, this is the best way.

Fruit and Wine Stains.— Mix two teaspoonfuls of water
and one of spirit of salt, and let the stained part lie in this
for two minutes; then rinse in cold water. Or wet the
stain with hartshorn, j

DOMESTIC RECEIPTS.

CUSTARDS, CREAMS, JELLIES, AND BLANC

MANGE.

[Fifth article.]

Devonshire Junket. — Put warm milk into a bowl ; turn

it with rennet; then put some scalded cream, sugar, and

nutmeg on the top without breaking the curd.

Kerry Buttermilk:— Put six quarts of buttermilk into
a cheese-cloth, hang it in a cool place, and let the whey
drip from it for two or three days ; when it is rather thick,
put it into a basin, sweeten it with pounded loaf-sugar, and
add a glass of brandy, or of sweet wine, and as much rasp-
berry jam, or syrup, as will color and give it an agreeable
flavor. Whisk it well together, and serve it in a glass
dish.

Wnip Syllabub. — Whip cream, as directed above; mix a
glass of brandy and half a pint of white wine with a pint of
the cream, which sweeten with sifted loaf-sugar, and grate
in lemon-peel and nutmeg ; serve in glasses, and set some
of the whip on each.

Snowballs.— Beat the whites of six eggs to a froth,
sweeten them to your taste, and flavor them with ros<v
water. Drop them into a pot of boiling water, in table-
spoonfuls, for a minute or two, to harden them. Make a
cream of milk, eggs, and sugar to float them in.

A Floating Island. — Take a pint of thick cream, sweeten
with fine sugar, grate in the peel of one lemon, and add a
gill of sweet white wine ; whisk it well till you have raised
a good froth ; then pour a pint of thick cream into a china
dish, take one French roll, slice it thin, and lay it over the
cream as lightly as possible; then a layer of clear calves'
feet jelly, or currant jelly; then whip up your cream and
lay on the froth as high as you can, and what remains
pour into the bottom of the dish. Garnish the rim with
sweetmeats.

Floating Island — another way. — Beat together the whites
of three eggs and as many tablespoonful s of raspberry jam
or red currant jelly ; when the whole will stand in rocky
forms, pile it upon apple jelly, or cream, beaten up with
wine, sugar, and a little grated lemon-peel.

To Whip Cream. — Sweeten a bowl of cream with loaf-
sugar, and flavor it with orange-flower water, any juicy
fruit, or lemon or orange, by rubbing sugar on the peel ;
set another bowl near the above, with a sieve over it; then
whip the cream with a whisk, and, as it rises in a froth,
take it off with a skimmer, and put it into the sieve to
drain; whip also the cream which drains off, and, when
done, ornament with lemon-raspings. This cream may be
used before it is set upon custard, trifle, or syllabub.

A Trifle. — Whip cream, as directed above, adding a
little brandy and sweet wine; then lay in a glass disb
sponge cakes, ratafia cakeu, and macaroons, and pour upon
them as much brandy and sweet wine as they will soak
up; next, a rich custard about two inches deep, with a
little grated nutmeg and lemon-peel ; then a layer of red
currant jelly or raspberry jam, and upon the whole a very
high whip. A trifle is best made the day before it is wanted.

Cake Trifle. — Cut out a rice or diet-bread cake about
two inches from the edge ; fill it with a rich custard, with
a few blanched and split almonds, and pieces of raspberry
jam, and put on the whole a high whip.

Gooseberry or Apple Trifle. — Scald a sufficient quantity
of fruit, and pulp it through a sieve; add sugar agreeable
to your taste, make a thick layer of this at the bottom of
your dish; mix a pint of milk, a pint of cream, and the
yolks of two eggs, scald it over the fire, observing to stir it;
add a small quantity of sugar, and let it get cold. Then
lay it over the apples or gooseberries with a spoon, and
put on the whole a whip made the day before.

THE SICK ROOM AND NURSERY.

Cold or Inflammation in the Eyes. — A correspondent
has met with the greatest relief from the following appli-
cation : Soak in cold spring water, for half an hour, a piece
of bread toasted brown, and then place it on soft linen rag,
one thickness, next the eye, and apply at bedtime every
night, until the inflammation is removed.

Fumigating Sick Rooms. — The chlorine fumigation is
generally considered the best for fumigating the apart-
ments of the sick. To prepare it, mix together equal parts
of powdered oxide of manganese and common salt; put
one ounce of this powder into a basin, and pour on it a
large teaspoonful of water; then drop into the vessel about
thirty or forty drops of oil of vitriol, which may be repeated
at intervals for about three or four times. This will be
sufficient for the perfect exhaustion of the powder.

CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP.

477

To make Arrow-root. — To a dessertspoonful of powder,
add as much cold water as will make it into a paste, then
pour on half a pint of boiling water, stir it briskly and boil
a few seconds, when it will become a clear smooth jelly.
It may be sweetened with sugar, and flavored with lemon-
peel, <fcc, to the palate, or a little sherry or other white
wiue may be added; fresh milk, either alone or diluted
with water, may be substituted for the water.

Antidote for Laudanum. — Give immediately twenty
grains of white vitriol dissolved in water, and assist vomit-
ing by irritating the fauces with a feather; after the
stomach is emptied, give large draughts of vinegar and
water, and other vegetable acids, with coffee, brandy, &c,
constantly rousing the attention of the sufferer, until the
effects of the poison subside. Recourse may be had to this
until such time as the attendance of a medical man can be
procured.

Opodeldoc. — This lotion being a valuable application for
sprains, lumbago, weakness of joints, &c, and it being
difficult to procure either pure or freshly made, we give a
receipt for its preparation : Dissolve an ounce of camphor
in a pint of rectified spirits of wine, then dissolve four
ounces of hard white Spanish soap, scraped thin, in four
ounces of oil of rosemary, and mix them together.

Substances in the Eye.— To remove fine particles of
gravel, lime, &c, the eye should be syringed with lukewarm
water till free from them. Be particular not to worry the
eye under the impression that the substance is still there,
which the enlargement of some of the minute vessels
makes the patient believe is actually the case.

5T 1) c Cpiltt.

Gowland's Lotion. — Take one and a quarter grains of
bichloride of mercury, and one ounce of emulsion of bitter
almonds ; mix well. Be careful of the bichloride of mer-
cury, because it is a poison. This is one of the best cos-
metics we possess for imparting a delicate appearance and
softness to the skin, and i3 a useful lotion in ringworm,
hard and dry skin, and sun-blisterings.

To Clean Kid Gloves. — Draw the gloves on the hands,
and then freely wash them in turpentine until perfectly
clean. Then blow into them and pin them on a line to dry.
The air will dissipate any smell the turpentine may leave.
Should this, however, not prove to be the case, a drop or
two of oil of lemon in a little water, rubbed lightly over the
gloves, will effectually destroy it.

To Remove Freckles.— -Take of Venice soap an ounce,
dissolve it in half an ounce of lemon-juice, to which add of
oil of bitter almonds and deliquated oil of tartar, each a
quarter of an ounce. Let the mixture be placed in the sun
till it acquires the consistence of ointment. When in this
state, add three drops of the oil of rhodium, and keep it for
use. Apply it in the following manner : Wash the face at
night with elder-flower water, then anoint it with the
above unction. In the morning, cleanse the skin from its
oily adhesion by washing it copiously in rose-water.

To prevent Hair from falling out.— Make a strong de-
coction of white-oak bark in water, and use it freely. Make
but little at a time, and have it fresh at least once a fort-
night.

Cfutn-Cabb dasstp.

MAY FIRST

is signalized, in the annals of New York housekeepers, as a
time of change.

Boarders go to housekeeping; old housekeepers, tired of
the wear and tear of servants and marketing, give up their
comfortable homes for the confinement of a parlor and bed-
room in some fashionable hotel or lodging house. Or it
may be that only a removal is contemplated, and Mr. Leeds
is called in to superintend the sale of furniture that has
got behind the times, like the street or square in which it
has been used, and carpets much too small for the en-
larged views of the wife of the successful merchant.
Months before, the young married people have been going
from house to house, peering into closets and dumb wait-
ers, measuring floors with an accurate eye, or halls by
sober, long-reaching strides, and taking the altitude of
windows for shade or curtain. They stop at Berrian's, on
their way to business, and pause before Haugbwout's huge
windows of china and glass. Peterson & Humphrey's car-
pets are more attractive than the prints at Goupil's or the
landscapes at Stevens's. They notice the price of flour in
the morning paper, and consult about the wet linen goods
" from the Humboldt" — a cargo that would seem as inex-
haustible as the furniture of the Mayflower. By and by,
the mornings are passed at auctions, and " bargains" be-
gin to crowd their rooms, as heterogeneous in manufacture
as in use. All at once, they find their purchase brought

to a stand-still by lack of funds, and the house is not half
furnished. Ah, they had forgotten to make a calculation
beforehand, and purchase actual articles of necessity before
matters of luxury !

Now they go on as they should have commenced, cau-
tiously and economically ; still, the kitchen and chamber
departments show reprovingly for some time to come how
they have been robbed for the sake of the parlor curtains
and mantle ornaments.

They should have had some good old friend, like our-
selves, to say, " Now, my dears, I like your plan of house-
keeping; you will find it the most comfortable and eco-
nomical in the end, if you will only go the right way to
work. You have made a fortunate selection in your house.
It is neither too large for your means nor your family.
How many rooms in it ? How have you disposed of them ?
Now take a spare scrap of paper, and write them down in
order.

" Begin with your kitchen, end with your parlor. Reverse
the usual plan, if your aim is comfort and not show. Only
Mrs. M. or N. will notice whether you have shades or cur
tains. If your family lack comfortable bedding, or your
kitchen needful conveniences, you certainly incommode
those you care most to please. Take the kitchen, for ex-
ample. How large is it? Will you have it covered with
carpeting or oil-cloth ? How many yards, and at what
price? Have you a range ? If not, count the cost of stove
and boilers. How many ohairs and tables? At whut

478

godey's magazine and lady's book.

price? The dresser, and delf necessary for cooking and
servants' use." Fortunately, the lists of the furnishing

warehouses save an endless amount of thought and trou-
ble, especially In the matter of cooking utensils. Those
unlearned In BUeh research will find one of them in our
answers to correspondents the present number.

As for the kitchen, so for the dining-room, the china-
closet, the linen-press, store-room, chambers, and finally
the parlor. Make your calculation as accurately as possi-
ble, to come within the limit you have set yourself, remem-
bering in all cases to take from articles of mere adorn-
ment or show, rather than essential comforts, and that in-
finite petty mortifications and care can be saved to a house-
keeper by making plenty, not superfluity, her rule.

A LESSON WORTH REMEMBERING.

TnERE are very few of our readers — we take it for grant-
ed— who have not met with the little book, " A Trap to
Catch a Sunbeam." A longer story, by the same author,
has made its appearance in England, prettily illustrated by
Gilbert. The title is " Influence," neither more nor less ;
and the object in view is to show the weight good or bad
influence will have on the character, even from the
nursery.

As most appropriate to our "Centre-Table Chat," which
unites gayeties and gravities, we give as a sample of the
new book. Speaking of the education of Cyril, its hero's
sister —

'•Yes, Julia was improving in every knowledge but
one of the most important, the knowledge which a mo-
ther's example could best have taught her, to know and
perform her mission here, the proper exercise of woman's
paramount influence over man."

There would be fewer wretched marriages, fewer dissi-
pated, degraded men, if this lesson were included in a wo-
man's education ; if they were taught to feel the angel
duty which devolves on them — to keep the wandering steps
of those who are tempted so much more than they in the
paths of virtue and peace ; to make them feel that in the
busy world are noise and confusion ; that at home there are
order and repose ; that there " eyes look brighter when
they come, that the smile of welcome is ever ready to re-
ceive them, the work, the books are ever ready to be laid aside
to minister to their pleasure — they would find amusement
then at home, nor strive to seek it elsewhere.

And not alone to the higher classes of society should this
be taught. It should be a lesson instilled into the minds
of all, high and low, rich and poor. Duty has seldom so
strong a hold on men as women; they cannot, they will
not, for duty's sake, remain in a dull, tedious, or ill-
managed, querulous home, but leave it to seek elsewhere
the comfort and amusement which fail them there; and,
when riot and revelry have done their work, the wives and
sisters who have done so little to make them otherwise are
pitied for their bad husbands and brothers.

FOR THE LOVERS OF JEWELRY.

The great Koh-i-noor diamond displayed in the English
Exhibition, and shown by a model in the New York Crys-
tal Palace, has a rival in one now deposited in the Bank
of England by the consignees, Messrs. Dory & Benjamin,
of London. It comes from Rio Janeiro, and weighs 254^
carats, of the purest water. When cut and polished, it is
expected to surpass the Indian diamond in size and bril-
liancy. It has been shown to the queen, and is the sub-
ject of general remark in the English prints.

Ball <fe Black, of New York, have still in their window
the celebrated necklace of pearls displayed at the Crystal

Palace. It consists of a single string of pure pearls, thread-
ed like the gold beads of our grandmothers, and about the
same size. The cross attached is of diamonds, in a rich
and tasteful setting. The pearls are of such unusual size
and purity that at first it seems almost impossible that
they can be real.

Necklaces are worn much more than they have been, for
full dress especially. The most fashionable and costly
style is of diamonds, and quite flat, either set in a pattern
or a single row of brilliants. Ladies who cannot afford
this costly appendage to their toilets adopt a very fine
Venetian gold chain, to which is suspended a medallion
of px-ecious stones set with diamonds.

OUR FASHION DEPARTMENT.

We do not often allude to what we have done or intend
to do in this department, keeping the even tenor of our
way, and letting our chitchat speak for itself. But of late
we have noticed that other publications assume to have
been the first to give detailed directions, in addition to the
meagre description of the fashion plates at first offered to
the public. Hailing as we do from the Quaker City, we
shall " mildly remonstrate," and only assert that this is
not the case.

The present fashion editor was the first to originate the
monthly letter or record of the fleeting changes of the sea-
son, and since that time has been engaged in collecting,
with more or less research and difficulty, from foreign
journals des modes, the importer, the mantuamaker, and
the milliner, such items as will be of practical or suggestive
use, and setting these before our readers in a simple, re-
liable style, differing from the French raptures of the
" Moniteur" or the meagre descriptions of American prints,
where the fashions are a last consideration with the pub-
lisher— tacked on, because some one else had set the ex-
ample. To us it seems as consistent with the scientific
and professedly critical character they assume, as a lady's
French bonnet would appear as the crowning-point of cos-
tume on " a potent, grave, and reverend seignior." But we
have no quarrel with them for assuming our especial badge
as a " Lady's Book," nor are we at all particular in de-
manding credit of them for our borrowed plumes ; we
would only suggest that modesty might be a becoming ad-
dition to them, and truthfulness an equal grace.

Now, any of our lady readers who have been invited by
friends in the country to " let them know what is worn
this season," will at once understand the time and trouble
it takes to answer such a request satisfactorily. To re-
lieve them from this task is what we have undertaken, at
the same time giving variety to our chat by the description
of any new manufacture, article of jewelry, fashionable
shops, furniture, etc. etc. We did not plan or even dream
of exciting emulation or envious remark, nor do we feel
the slightest malice or ill-will towards those who thus con-
fess their inferiority. Only, as the school children say,
" will they please to let us alone," as we do them.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

"A Young Amateur Gardener" will find the following
effectual in keeping the birds from his freely planted seeds.
Mix together one pound of gas tar, quarter of a pound
brown spirits of tar, and quarter pound of melted
Dip twine in this mixture, and weave it backwards and
forwards over the beds, on sticks firmly planted at the
side, a few inches high.

We have heard of " cherries without stones." Here is a
French horticultural receipt for producing them, which w e

'j)ifps»i

FASHIONS.

479

have never seen tested, however : "In the spring, hefore
the circulation of the sap. a young seedling cherry-tree is
split from the upper extremity down to the fork of its
roots ; then, by means of a piece of wood in the form of a
spatula, the pith is carefully removed from the tree, in
such a manner as to avoid any excoriations or other in-
jury; a knife is used only for commencing the split.
Afterwards the two sections are brought together, and tied
with woollen, care being taken to close hermetically with
clay the whole length of the cleft. The sap soon reunites
the separated portions of the tree, and, two years after-
wards, cherries are produced of the usual appearance, but,
instead of stones, there will only be small soft pellicles."

" Mrs. Louise M. C." will find farina boiled in milk the
best food for an infant, next to its natural substance. It
is well to change with arrowroot, in case of sickness ; but,
as constant food, it will fatten, but not strengthen the
child.

" Miss J." — We do not think the acceptance of a bouquet
objectionable from any gentleman admitted to the family
as a visitor. Flowers, books, and music are the most suit-
able gifts. Any article of dress or jewelry given or accepted
by persons with no other tie than ordinary visiting ac-
quaintance, is not in good taste, to say the least.

"Mrs. S. D.," of Mobile. — Dress caps are of the lightest
possible description, a mixture of blonde, flowers, and rib-
bon. Much blonde is used in trimming everything. The
gold and silver embroidered ribbon is only suitable for
evening, or for dress bonnets.

" Milton, Pa." — The " Dress Book" has been sent ; the
directions are all practical.

" A Young Wife" has our best wishes in her new under-
taking. If she is at all systematic, she will not find fur-
nishing so difiicult as she anticipates. We subjoin the de-
sired list : —

Kitchen Furnishing List for $30.
1 Kitchen Shovel, Tongs, and 1 Corkscrew and Tunnel.
Poker.

1 Iron Tea-Kettle.
1 Tinned Iron Pot.
1 Tinned Iron Saucepan.

1 Soap-stone Griddle.

2 Tin Bake-Pans.

1 Tin Dripping Pan.

1 Tin Saucepan.

1 Small Tin Kettle.

1 Pepper and Flour Dredge.

3 Tin Pie Plates.

1 Tin Wash-Basin.

1 Dish Pan.

3 Table and Tea-Spoons, Iron.

1 Chop-Knife and Bowl.

1 Tea and Coffee Canister.

2 Japanned Lamps.
1 Match Safe.

1 Chamber Pail.

2 Smoothing Irons.

2 Large Cedar Wash-Tubs.
1 Wash-Board.

3 Doz. Clothes-Pins.
1 Pint Measure.

1 Set Table Mats.
1 Britannia Coffee Pot.
1 " Tea Pot.

6 Knives and Forks, Stag Han-
dles.
1 Pair Carvers to match.
1 Spice Box.
1 Rolling Pin.

1 Large Waiter.

2 Painted Pails.
1 Coal Hod.

1 Gridiron.

1 Fry Pan.

1 Cullender.

1 Coffee Boiler.

1 Tea Pot.

1 Grater.

1 Tin Dipper.

1 Egg-Whip.

1 Basting-Spoon.

1 Skimmer.

1 Ladle.

1 Meat Fork.

1 Meat Knife.

1 Knife Board.

2 Scrub Brushes.
1 Dust Pan.

1 Dust Brush.

2 Brooms.

1 Coffee Mill.
1 Clothes Horse.
1 Flour Sieve.
1 Oil Filler.
1 Knife-Box.
1 Door Mat.
1 Kitchen Table.
1 Potato Masher.
1 Flour Pail.
1 Pastry Board.
1 Clothes Line.

Ja si) ions.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expendi-
ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., wlw will
be responsible for the amount, and the early execution of com-
missions.

No order will be attended to unless the money is first re-
ceived.

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 Levy's or Stewart's; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from
Brodie's, 51 Canal Street, New York; bonnets from Miss
Wharton's; jewelry from Bailey's or Warden's, Philadel-
phia, or Tiffany's, New York, if requested.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION PLATE.

The unusually beautiful fashion plate of this month
gives a very correct idea of prevailing spring styles.

Fig. 1st. — A dress suitable for the morning at a fashion-
able country house or watering-place, or for dinner. As a
home dress, it is very tasteful and simple. The robe may
be of pink taffeta, cashmere, or mousseline, open from the
throat to the hem of the skirt, though the waist is fitted
close to the bust, as in an ordinary tight dress. This open-
ing is finished on each side by a double ruche of the same
material, the edges pinked, and is laced across by narrow
taffeta ribbon. Chemisette in plaits, with a lace frill.
Plain cambric skirt. Shawl of cambric embroidery ; close
bonnet of pink taffeta and black lace, with an edge formed
of very narrow ribbons interlaced with black, to resemble
a plaid.

Fig. 2d. — Walking or dinner-dress of pale green silk,
made plain and close ; sleeves open and loose. Light man-
tle of flounces or volants, of white guipure lace, headed by
a narrow ribbon of violet color. The bonnet is covered
with lace to correspond, and has leaves and ribbons of pale
violet crape ; tied with broad white taffeta ribbon. Parasol
of violet lined with white silk.

It will be noticed that our stylos are suited to the May
of our Southern readers, and the June wardrobes of our
Northern belles, being exceedingly light and simple, as
summer dress should always be. Readers round about us
are apt to forget that we have to be thoughtful of our far
away subscribers as well as themselves.

CHITCHAT UPON PREVAILING FASHIONS

BRODIE'S MANTILLA EMPORIUM — SHADES OF FASHION, ETC. ETC.

The present promenade of Broadway extends scarcely to
the Astor, in a downward direction ; the crush of omnibuses,
drays, business men forgetful of especial courtesy in their
haste, porters, and laborers, conspire to make a chaos of
confusion and discomfort below the Park which few ladies
care to adventure. The tide of shoppers sets downward
from the New York Hotel, and upwards from the Astor or

480

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Irving, meeting in a grand confluence at Canal Street,
Whore you may pat the curbstone with your gaiter from
three minutes to a quarter of an hour, watching an oppor-
tunity to stem the current aud cross to the other side in
safety.

Standing on. this upper corner, you are in full view of
the large freestone front of 51 Canal, the mantilla esta-
blishment of Brodie, to which we have promised to intro-
duce our readers.

At this present writing, when everybody wants a man-
tilla, tbe graceful article of costume being considered as
needful as a spring bonnet, the lower front of Brodie's has
a most inviting prospect. It is entirely occupied by two
enormous windows and a door of plate glass ; the windows
being, in reality, small Crystal Palaces for the accommoda-
tion of two slowly revolving dames in court costume of
brocade or soie cTantique, bearing upon their regal shoul-
ders the chef-d'eeuvres of the establishment, whether of vel-
vet, guipure, or taffeta, as the season represented may be.
At their feet are thrown, in apparent careless, but really
artistic confusion, other designs not less elegant and at-
tractive. These figures are of wax, modelled and colored
from life, and, having supported the onerous public duties
of the World's Fair, are now in the honorable retirement of
comparatively private, though by no means secluded life.
The room which you enter from the street is fitted up with
superb mirrors, ovals and pier, the central one being of re-
markable width as well as length. This is not, however,
the principal show-room, though the office and much other
business is carried on there in appropriate departments,
handsomely fitted up. The stairs, covered with velvet car-
peting, as, indeed, the whole establishment, lead you to the
second floor, pannelled with plate glass mirrors set be-
tween the long windows, and in every place in which they
can well be inserted. The walls are covered, as below, with
delicate French paper, of white and gold, and, with the
rich carpet, a drawing-room rather than a business esta-
blishment is suggested. Here there are piles of the most
elegant and costly styles of mantillas and scarfs, that have
given place to the heavy clothes and velvets of the just de-
parted season ; and here is a fluttering of silk dresses, a
waving of spring garlands, as the busy crowd of purchasers
flutter back and forth, exclaiming, " rapturizing," choos-
ing, and trying on the profusion of styles before them. In
the centre, is a light iron railing, still white, in keeping
with the style of the rooms, over which you can watch the
proceedings of the store below, or, looking upwards to a
similar balcony, you see another story, apparently fitted
and furnished as the show-room in which you now are.

This is the wholesale department, of course by far the
most important of all. Ordinarily, you would have no call
to ascend the stairs ; but, being this morning a privileged
visitor, you find there Mr. Brodie himself, in the midst of
his importations, designs, and manufactures, his clerks,
his saleswomen, whose patient shoulders and black silk
dresses give an additional air to the latest styles, and his
wholesale customers, for whom he is daily shipping pack-
ages, parcels, and boxes, north, south, east, and west; but
especially south and west, where doubtless our own sub-
scribers will be among the purchasers and the wearers.

If your curiosity will carry you up still another flight,
Mr. Brodie's politeness will conduct you to a passing glance
of the work-room, occupying the floor above. It would not
be polite to watch too long the rows upon rows of girls and
women busy with the silks, laces, ribbons, and other deli-
cate materials of their craft; but you see that they are all
busy and comfortable, with light aud good fresh air in
abundance. Yet higher! You noticed below how rich and
how abund&nt was the embroidery, with what precision it

was executed ; here there is a row of frames, where em-
broidery, tlu- UghteBt and richest, is executed by those to
whom the work is not a pastime, but a regular and profit-
able occupation. Here is the pure white poult de soie of the
" Snow-Drop," for instance, cut and ready tor making up ; the
design traced upon it, tacked as smoothly upon the frame as
the canvas of a picture, is stretched before the artist. The
rapid and regular movement of the needle is covering it with
the rich work that the young Southern bride will glory over,
when the all-important box — the trousseau — reaches her
from New York. There is, besides these frames, a large em-
broidery department, situated up town, under Mr. Brodie's
constant supervision. But here the new styles are first tried,
that he may thus be able to regulate the prices of work, the
quantity of material, etc., to be given out. In preparing
for the winter season, this whole floor is filled with quilt-
ing-frames for the mantle and cloak linings ; still another
branch of female industry.

Some idea of the great amount of employment an esta-
blishment like this gives to the industrious classes of the
city, may be formed from this bird's-eye view of the inte-
rior of Brodie's. Three hundred workmen are engaged
from season to season in preparing the piles of costly drape-
ries we have seen, as the raw material comes in only to be
manufactured. Thus, the velvets, cloths, silks, etc., with
the lighter fabrics, and trimmings of ribbon, lace, gimp,
are imported by Mr. Brodie himself, and his designs are
furnished by leading Parisian houses, known in the pages
of " La Follet," " La Modiste," " Petit Courrier des Dames,"
and other journals of fashion.

Last, but not least, this fine building, with its costly de-
corations, this immense stock of goods, these busy pur-
chasers and workwomen, are the rapid products of a perse-
vering industry and enterprise that, were the story told,
could scarcely be believed. The private history of most
successful business men is a commentary upon the pro-
verb, " Diligence is the mother of good-luck." Mr. Brodie's
is a remarkable illustration. His is the only establish-
ment in the country entirely devoted to the one branch of
manufacture; his whole time, thoughts, correspondencj,
and Parisian visits centering on its improvement and suc-
cess.

We have given time and space to the principal theme of
our " Chat," partly that our readers may see how various
are the styles of every article of wearing apparel, and how
safely they may trust themselves to a new and graceful
form, even though Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Brown do not hap-
pen to have brought it from New York or New Orleans.
At Brodie's, for instance, each style is made up in every
prevailing shade of silk. What folly in Mrs. Jones to say,
" Green is the rage !" In a large city, nothing is the rage ;
if it approaches such a culmination, it is given up in a very
few weeks.

As of mantles, so of bonnets. The milliner has her Pa-
risienne models, and her working materials, and employees.
No two bonnets in her show-room must be precisely alike.
So of the mantuamaker, who varies her shapes and her
trimmings to suit her material, the figure, height, or com-
plexion of her customer. Straw bonnets are perhaps the
most uniform of all in shape; but here, again, there is
every variety of ribbon and trimming. No two bows are
made alike. City people will not submit to uniforms.

There is a general style in the fashions of each season,
but inflections and shades as various as its grass and leaf-
age. Our next " Chat," as in the April number, will be of
these, as June admits of changes that our Northern May
denies. July will claim, as usual, its watering-place and
travelling fashions, with nursery items, welcome at any
season to the busy mother of a household. Fashion.

FASHIONABLE BONNETS AND CAPS.

FROM THE CELEBRATED ESTABLISHMENT OF THOMAS WHITE AND CO.,

No. 41 South Second Street, Philadelphia.

No. 1. — Infant's Turban.

No. 2. — Boy's Jockey Caps.
A.

No. 3. — Summer Bonnet.

No. 4. — Italian Leghorn.

TTiT,

VOL. XLVIII. — 41

(Description on page 548.)

481

THE PYRAMID TALMA.

[From the establishment of G. Brodie, No. 51 Canal Street, New York.

of costume.]

Drawn by L. T. Voigt, from actual articles

The Talma we select for illustration is peculiarly becoming, especially for the richest toilet. Its material is white
poult de soie. It is constructed of nine pieces cut in gores or pyramidal form, joined together, the seams being hid-
den by a fancy braid trimming. Nine tabs, widening at the bottom, and placed at distances equal to tbeir width,
descending about one-third of the depth of the garment, constitute the form of this novel garment. It is exqui-
sitely adorned in needlework, and beautified by an elegant netted fringe. By an oversight in tho drawing, fringe,
which should also border the tabs that form the upper portion of the dress, was omitted.
482

THE SCARF VOlANT,

[From the establishment of G. Brodib, No. 51 Canal Street, New York.

of costume.]

Drawn by L. T. Voigt, from actual articles

This is a novel and peculiarly dressy-looking garment, the distinctive features being a closed square front (which
is confined by a bow of a rare fancy ribbon), and in the character of the flounce : this is gathered or fulled in divi-
sions, giving it the appearance somewhat of a series of festoons. The separate compartments are strongly pronounced
by transverse bands of black velvet and narrow black lace; a similar trimming of which outlines the whole scarf,
and, with the piquant air of the garment, renders it an exceedingly beautiful production. The color may be mado
to taste. Those of lavender glace silks, the drabs, and of black taffeta, especially are very beautiful.

483

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GODEY'S

JIq ofodL

PHILADELPHIA, JUNE, 1854.

EVEEYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XX.

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER.

T C. T. HINCKLEY.

PRESERVATION OF FOOD.

The various organic substances furnished by
the animal and vegetable kingdoms, which con-
stitute the food of man, are, from the nature of
their chemical structure, liable to change and
decay ; they are also irregular in their supply ;
hence arises the necessity of storing up the
abundance of one season to meet the deficiencies
of another. The art of preserving food as much
as possible in its original state is therefore of
great importance; it has been improved by
gradual steps, depending, in great measure, as
in so many other cases, on chemical discovery
and the diffusion of chemical knowledge among
persons engaged in the useful arts ; so that, at
the present time, the deprivations suffered by
our forefathers may be prevented; the common-
est articles of food may be enjoyed at all seasons ;
and even the delicious fruits of our gardens may
be made to contribute to our health and refresh-
ment at a season when the trees which produced
them are covered with snow. The mariner, too,
is not now necessarily confined to salt meats ;
he may, on the longest voyage, and in the se-
verest clime, as easily enjoy fresh meat and
vegetables as when he is in port.

The necessity for adopting means for the pre-
servation of articles of food arises from the
complicated structure of organic compounds, and
their tendency to resolve themselves into simpler
or inorganic compounds. Although the com-
prehensive history of the animal and vegetable
kingdoms is written with a very brief alphabet ;
although the elements which enter into the
composition of organic bodies are only carbon,
hydrogen, and oxygen — often, but not always,

nitrogen — and occasionally minute portions of
sulphur and phosphorus ; yet their extraordinary
powers of combination are such that there ap-
pears to be no limit to the number of definite
substances which they are capable of producing,
each substance having a character peculiar to
itself, and often a crystalline form. It is very
different with the fifty-eight other members of
the list of elements ; the compounds which they
assist in forming are inorganic, and they are
formed by the union of pairs of elements, or
pairs of binary compounds.

It is a consequence of this complicated struc-
ture that organic compounds are unstable in
their character, and liable to decomposition, or,
in other words, to resolve themselves into sim-
pler compounds. An inorganic substance, on
the contrary, however complex its formula may
appear, is actually built up of binary compounds,
the simplest that can be formed. But in the
organic substance the carbon and hydrogen have
a strong tendency to form carbonic, acid; the
hydrogen and oxygen to form water ; the hydro-
gen and nitrogen to form ammonia; or, the hy-
drogen and the sulphur to form sulphuretted
hydrogen, &c. In popular language, these
changes are expressed by such terms as decay
and putrefaction. Liebig, however, has given
precision to them by limiting the term decay to
the decomposition of moist organic matter freely
exposed to the air, the oxygen of which gradually
burns and destroys it without sensible elevation
of temperature.* The term putrefaction is
limited to changes which occur in and beneath

* Hence the term employed by Liebig and his followers,
eremacausis, or slow-burning.

487

488

godey's magazine and lady's book.

the surface of water, the effect being a mere
transposition of elements or metamorphosis of
the organic body.* The conversion of sugar
into alcohol and carbonic acid is a simple illus-
tration of the term. The contact of oxygen is,
however, first necessary to the change, which,
when once begun, is continued without the aid
of any other external substance, except perhaps
water, or its elements. Every instance of pu-
trefaction begins with decay j and if the decay,
or its cause, viz., the absorption of oxygen, be
prevented, no putrefaction occurs. In short, if
the access of oxygen be prevented, there is no
decay ; if the access of water be prevented, there
is no putrefaction. The exclusion of air and
moisture forms the basis of some of the best
methods of preserving food.

There are certain substances named Antisep-
tics (from aiTt, against, and c-bno/xai, to putrefy),
from their property (exerted, however, very
unequally) of preventing the putrefaction of
organic substances. Thus, alcohol, and common
salt in certain proportions, check all putrefaction
and all the processes of fermentation by depriving
the putrefying body of water. Nitre, vinegar,
spices, and sugar are also antiseptics. The
antiseptic effect of a very low temperature is
caused by the solidification of the water and
other juices, which, in their usual fluid state,
allow the molecules to move freely on one
another.

We will first notice the various methods of
preserving animal food. These are : 1, by drying ;
2, by cold; 3, by salting and by sugar; 4, by
smoking; 5, by vinegar; 6, by parboiling and
excluding air ; 7, by potting ; 8, by alcohol.

1. A familiar example of the first method is
afforded in common glue, which in its hard and
dry state may be kept for any length of time.
So also may white of egg, if prepared by pouring
the white of a number of eggs into a large flat
dish, and exposing this for twelve or fourteen
hours to heat in front of the fire. As the water
evaporates, the albumen forms into a yellow,
transparent, hard, shining, brittle mass, which
scales off at the least touch — a test that it is pro-
perly done. These two substances, gelatine and

* " The colorless, fresh-cut surfaces of a potato, of a tur-
nip, or of an apple, when exposed to the air, soon become
brown. In all such substances, the presence of a certain
quantity of water, by which the molecules are enabled to
move freely on one another, is a condition necessary to
the production, by temporary contact with air, of a change
in form and composition, a resolving of the original body
into new products, which continues uninterrupted till no
part of the original compound is left. This process has
been distinguished by the name of 'putrefaction."— Liebig.

albumen, are two of the constituents of flesh ;
fibrin or fleshy fibre, which is the third, dries
equally well, and is not liable to putrefaction in
that state. Gelatine, after being dried, may be
softened by the action of hot water. Albumen
coagulated by heat cannot be softened again by
water; but if dried at about 140° without being
coagulated, it may be dissolved in cold water,
retaining all its valuable properties. Hence, in
preserving meat by drying, too high a tempera-
ture must be carefully avoided, or the albumen
will become coagulated, and the meat be made
insoluble.

The dried flesh of the bison, of the buffalo,
and of the deer, forms pemmican, the preparation
of which is thus described in Captain Back's
Journal : —

" While meat remains in a thick piece, it is
impossible to get the middle dried before putre-
faction commences ; but if the meat be cut into
slices, its desiccation may be easily effected.
The fleshy parts of the hind quarters are cut into
very thin slices, dried in the sun, or before the
fire, and pounded. Two parts of the pounded
meat are then mixed with one of melted fat, and
packed into a bag formed of the hide of the ani-
mal. A bag weighing ninety pounds is called a
taureau by the Canadian voyageurs ; and, in fact,
only one bag of pemmican is generally made from
each bison cow. Two pounds of this kind of
food are sufficient for the daily support of a
laboring man ; though, when the voyageurs first
commence upon pemmican, they each consume
three pounds or more. In the spring, they
generally boil the young shoots of Epilobium
angustifolium with it, and some Scotchmen in
the service of the Hudson's Bay Company add
flour or oatmeal, thus rendering it more pala-
table. The best pemmican is made of finely-
pounded meat mixed with marrow, and further
improved by the addition of dried berries or cur-
rants. If kept from the air, it may be preserved
sound for several years, and being very portable,
it might be used with great advantage in pro-
visioning troops that have to make forced
marches. It may be eaten raw, or mixed with
a little water and boiled; and although not
much relished by those who taste it for the first
time, the voyageur, with the single addition of
the luxury of tea, requires nothing else for
breakfast, dinner, and supper."

In the West Indies, and in South America,
jerked beef is prepared by cutting the meat into
slices, dipping them into sea-water or Brine, and
then drying them in the sun. The flesh of wild
cattle is thus preserved at Buenos Ayres.
Sometimes this dried meat is pounded in a mor-

PRESERVATION OF FOOD.

489

tar, into a uniform paste, which is pressed into
jars, and if intended to supply the wants of the
traveller, it is beaten up with maize meal and
packed closely in leather bags. It is eaten in
this state without further cooking. Drying meat
m the air is said, however, to injure its flavor,
and to dissipate a great portion of the nutritious
juices.

Some kinds of fish are preserved by slitting
them down the middle, and drying them in the
air to evaporate the moisture. Small cod, had-
dock, and stock fish, prepared in this way, will,
if kept dry, remain good for a great length of
time.

Portable soup is prepared by processes similar
to those used in the manufacture of glue. The
gelatine of meat is dissolved by boiling water,
and the water being evaporated, the gelatine is
left in a solid state. Any fresh lean meat, with
the fat cut away, will answer the purpose.
Bones are also used for the purpose, the gelatine
being extracted by means of a digester. In the
French manufacture of gelatine brut fin, one
hundred pounds of bones yield about twenty-five
of gelatine, which is dried, cut up into dice, and
used for making soup.

2. The effect of cold in the preservation of
animal substances received a remarkable illus-
tration in the discovery made by Pallas, in the
year 1779, on the shores of the Frozen Ocean,
near the mouth of the river Lena, of an animal
of immense size, imbedded in ice, which, as it
melted gradually, exposed it to the air and fur-
nished food for the hungry wolves and other
animals of those regions. It was the opinion
of Cuvier that this animal differed from every
known species of elephant, and was antediluvian,
preserved from the remote period of the deluge
in the mass of ice which enveloped it. Some
of the hair of this animal may be seen in the
museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, in
Lincoln's Inn Fields, England.

In Russia, Canada, Hudson's Bay, and other '
countries where the frost is sufficiently steady,
meat preserved in this way is a common article
of commerce. Travellers speak with admiration
of the frozen markets of Russia, supplied as they
are from distant places with provisions solidified
by the cold. Thus, in the market at Petersburg,
Mr. Kohl noticed partridges from Saratoff, swans
from Finland, heathcocks and grouse from Li-
vonia and Esthuria, while the wide Steppes
furnished the trapp-geese which flutter over
their endless plains, where the Cossack hunts
them on horseback, and kills them with his
formidable whip. All these birds, as soon as
the life-blood has flown, are apparently con-

verted into stone by the frost, and, packed in
huge chests, are sent for sale to the capital. So
rapid are the effects of frost in that country, that
the snow-white hares, which are brought in
sledge-loads to the market, are usually frozen in
the attitude of flight, with their ears pointed and
their legs stretched out, just as they were at the
moment of death. Another curious sight in
these markets is a frozen reindeer, its knees
doubled under its body, its hairy snout stretched
forth upon the ground, and its antlers rising
majestically in the air; or a mighty elk, disap-
pearing piece by piece, as the action of the saw
and the axe separates it for distribution among
the several customers.

When provisions have been frozen, great care
is required in thawing them ; for, if this be done
suddenly, putrefaction soon sets in, and although
cooked immediately, they are hard and deficient
in flavor. They must be thawed by immersion
in cold water.

The London markets are supplied with salmon
packed in ice from many of the northern rivers
that flow to the eastern coasts of Britain. Every
salmon fishery is now provided with an ice-
house, and a stock of ice collected during the
winter. The salmon is packed in large oblong
wooden boxes, with pounded ice between, and
the fish is received in London as fresh as when
it was taken out of the water. It is not, how-
ever, frozen. Most fishmongers are furnished
with ice-houses or cellars for the preservation of
their fish in tubs of ice ; and we do not see why
English butchers should not be provided with lar-
ders cooled by the same means. In many parts of
the United States every housekeeper has a small
ice-safe, in which, through the warm season, all
kinds of perishable provisions are kept. Public
ice-houses are also maintained by the butchers,
so that, under the burning climate of South
Carolina, there is less loss in the way of butcher's
meat, fish, game, &c, than in the comparatively
temperate summer of London. The meat is sent
to the ice-house, near the market, every evening,
and is cooled down to near the freezing-point
during the night ; when exposed on the stalls
next day, it retains its low temperature for a long
time. Such a plan, adopted in London, would
prevent the immense waste of meat during every
summer, which is said to amount to at least
two thousand tons in London alone. It is true
that, when meat has been once frozen, its flavor
is injured, but the reduction of meat to 32° or
thereabouts, and the solidification of its juices,
are very different things ; and it would be easy
to regulate the temperature within a range of
several demrees.

490

godey's magazine and lady's book.

3. Various kinds of salt arc used in the pre-
servation of food. Saltpetre and sal prunella
(which is saltpetre deprived of its water of
crystallization by heat) are also used for the
purpose. The action of these alkaline salts upon
animal substances is, as already noticed, to ab-
stract the water in the juices of the meat, and,
being dissolved therein, the salts enter the pores
of the animal substance; the albumen of the
meat, which is more liable to putrefaction than
the gelatine and fibrine, is thus rendered less so.
There are two methods of salting, dry salting
and pickling. In dry salting, the meat is packed
in dry salt, or in some cases the surface is rubbed
all over with salt. In pickling, the meat is kept
immersed in a solution (sometimes saturated)
of common salt dissolved in water. This method
does not render the meat so salt as dry rubbing,
and is probably less injurious to its nutritious
qualities, but it will not keep the meat so well.
Bacon is cured by salting and drying, for which
latter purpose it is often hung up in the wide
chimneys of farm-house kitchens ; cod is also
salted and dried for the large demand of the
Peninsula; in England, it is used in a green
state ; that is, instead of being split quite open,
it is only opened down to the navel, then salted,
and laid in brine or strong pickle, and put into
casks without drying. Haddock, cod, or ling,
are cured by splitting the fish and removing the
backbone ; they are then salted for two or three
days, with equal parts of salt and sugar, or with
salt alone ; they are next stretched on sticks,
and laid on the beach to dry in the sun, or they
are arranged on stages, or hung up in an inclosed
space warmed by a stove. Herrings are salted,
or pickled, and smoked.

Sugar, like salt, takes away the water from
animal substances, and thus prevents putrefac-
tion. By immersing meat in molasses, it has
been preserved fresh for months. Fish is some-
times preserved by cutting it open, rubbing in
sugar, and leaving it for a few days ; it is then
dried in the air, taking care to turn it frequently.
For a salmon of six pounds weight, a table-
spoonful of brown sugar is sufficient; but, if
hardness be required, a teaspoonful of saltpetre
is to be added.

4. The efficacy of smoking, or smoke-drying,
arises not only from the heat of the smoke, but
from certain chemical products disengaged during
the combustion of the wood fuel used for the
purpose. Pyroligneous acid vapor and creasote
are both produced, and the latter substance pos-
sesses the remarkable property of coagulating
albumen. Hence, those chimneys only are fit
for the purpose where the fire below is wood or

peat, not coal. The kind of wood burnt is also
of importance, the smoke from beech and oak
being preferable to that from fir or larch. Smoke
from the twigs of juniper, rosemary, peppermint,
&c, impart to the meat a portion of their aro-
matic flavor. Westphalia hams owe some of
their excellence to being smoked by juniper.
Slow smoking is preferable to rapid, as it pene-
trates completely into the interior of the meat.
In some parts of the country, the drying and
smoking of hams are a separate trade. In such
cases, a smoking-house or hut is erected, about
twelve feet square, and the walls seven feet
high, with a hole in the roof; joists are laid
across inside, to hang the flitches on, and the
floor is covered five or six inches deep with saw-
dust, which, being kindled, produces much smoke
and little flame.

5. Vinegar and some other acids preserve both
animal and vegetable substances by coagulating
their albumen, which, as already stated, is pe-
culiarly liable to putrefactive fermentation.

6. In the year 1810, M. Appert received a
reward of 12,000 francs from the French Go-
vernment for his method of parboiling provisions,
and inclosing them in earthenware vessels in
such a manner as to exclude the air. Many
vegetables, fruits, &c, can be kept fresh for a
great length of time, by shutting them up closely
in a vessel, having previously filled up the in-
terstices with sand or other loose substance that
will exclude nearly all the air. Fresh walnuts
may be preserved in this way in a jar, packed
with sand and closely covered over; grapes
packed in sawdust are imported into this coun-
try. Meat cannot be preserved in this way, but
by exposing it to the heat of boiling water, the
albumen, in which putrefaction first commences,
coagulates ; and as coagulated albumen is some-
what slow in decomposing, we thus have a
reason for the common observation that cooked
meat will keep longer than raw. It will not,
however, keep many days, unless the air be
perfectly excluded, not only from the external,
but from the internal parts. The air in the
interior may be expelled by boiling, and the ex-
terior air may be kept away by inclosing the
substance in an air-tight vessel. If these con-
ditions be carefully observed, food may be pre-
served for any length of time. Appert's method
consists in applying heat to the substances to
be preserved, so as to coagulate their fermentable
juices, and then to place them in such a situa-
tion as to deprive them of contact with air. The
vessel in which the meat is prepared is plunged
for some time into boiling water before it is
finally sealed, in order to drive out the last por-

PRESERVATION OF FOOD

491

tions of the air ; for, if a small portion of oxygen
gas were present, this would be sufficient to
commence the process of fermentation, and when
once begun it would be continued.

M. Appert's process may be described as fol-
lows : —

The meat to be preserved is first parboiled, or
somewhat more, and freed from the bones. It
is then put, together with vegetables, if required,
into tin cases or canisters, which are filled quite
up with a rich gravy ; a tin cover, with a small
aperture in it, is then carefully fixed on to each
canister by solder, and while the vessel is per-
fectly full, it is placed in boiling water, or in a
saline bath, heated above the boiling point of
water, and kept therein until the air has been
expelled as completely as possible by the steam
generated within the canister. The small hole
in the cover is completely closed up with a little
solder while the contents are yet hot, the issue
of the steam being stopped for a moment by
means of a damp sponge. The canister, with its
ingredients, is now allowed to cool, in conse-
quence of which these contract, and the sides of
the vessel are forced slightly inwards by the
pressure of the atmosphere, and become a little
concave. As a precautionary measure, however,
the tins are placed in the testing-room, which is
heated to above 100° Fahr. Should putrefaction
take place in consequence of a minute portion
of oxygen left in the case, and not combined
with the animal or vegetable matter, the gene-
rated gases will burst the canisters; those,
however, which withstand this test will pre-
serve the provisions for many years ; for as each
vessel is hermetically sealed, and all access of
air prevented, it may be sent into any climate
without fear of putrefaction, and the most deli-
cate food of one country be thus eaten in its
original perfection in a distant region, many
months, or even years after its preparation. In
this manner may all kinds of alimentary sub-
stances be preserved; beef, mutton, veal, and
poultry; fish and game; soups, broths, and
vegetables ; creams and custards. Of a quantity
taken by Captain Nash to India, not one canister
was spoiled ; and one which he brought back
contained, after two years, beef in the highest
state of perfection and preservation, and after
having been carried upwards of 35,000 miles, in
the warmest climates. This method has been
adopted by the commissioners for victualling the
English Navy, who, having examined some
meat so preserved for four years, during voyages
in the Mediterranean, found it as sound, sweet,
and fresh, as if it had been boiled only the day
before. Captain Basil Hall bears similar testi-

mony. It was stated, however, by the officers
in the Antarctic voyage, that they gradually got
very tired of preserved meats, but not of pre-
served vegetables, and that there was an insi-
pidity in them which they did not find in fresh
food. There is, however, no doubt that, if the
articles be selected with care, and the process be
properly conducted, M. Appert's method of pre-
serving food is a valuable invention. If the
contractor be careless or dishonest, the most
fearful consequences might ensue to the crews
of ships victualled with preserved meats. It
appears, from a recent examination of several
thousand canisters of the preserved meat of the
Navy at Portsmouth, England, that their con-
tents were masses of putrefaction, consisting of
meat, &c., which, even in a fresh state, ought
never to be used as food. It is stated that this
preserved meat was supplied from Galatz, in
Moldavia.

In 1842, M. Appert's method was made the
subject of a further patent, granted to Mr. Bevan,
whose process consisted in expelling air from
the cases containing the food, by placing such
cases in connection with a vacuum chamber, or
other exhausting apparatus, and also with a
vessel containing gelatine or other suitable fluid
material, in such a manner that, by opening the
communications, the air escapes into the ex-
hausting apparatus and the gelatine takes its
place. By this method the high temperature
previously used in preserving food was not re-
quired ; it could, on the contrary, be cooked at
very low temperatures, and in a space almost.
void of air. The apparatus used is shown in
section, in the following figure : a is a vessel

open at the top, and filled to the line i with fluid
gelatine, having a pipe /, and a stopcock e firmly
attached to it. b is a sphere of metal in which
a vacuum is produced by blowing steam through
it by the pipe I out through k; I and k are thca
closed, and a jet of water at w, applied to the
outside of the sphere, condenses the steam and
leaves a vacuum within it. The substance to

492

godey's magazine and lady's book.

be preserved is inclosed within a cylindrical tin
vessel c, the top of which is then soldered on,
and two small metal pipes d and c passed into it
air-tight, as far as a b; the other ends being se-
cured to the pipes j j at h h. The case is next
immersed in a water-bath n, at a temperature
of about 120°, and by turning the cock /, the
greater portion of the air in the case c rushes
into b ; the article of food, animal or vegetable,
in the case, being thus relieved of atmospheric
pressure, the heat of 120° is sufficient to cook
it, and to expel the air from it. A fowl is cooked
in this way in about fifteen minutes. The cock
e is then opened, and the gelatine, kept fluid by
the warm bath p, enters by the pipes j and c,
into the case c, and drives the small portion of
air left therein into the vacuum chamber b. The
case c is then hermetically sealed by nipping the
tubes d and c at the points g g. The case is then
submitted for a few minutes to the action of
boiling water (thirty minutes for a fowl), and
when cool, the process is complete.

A concentrated form of food, called meat bis-
cuit, excited a considerable degree of attention
in the Great Exhibition. It is formed by boiling
down the fresh beef of Texas, and mixing into
the strong beef-tea thus formed a certain propor-
tion of the finest flour. The biscuit formed
from these materials is so nutritive, that less
than four ounces a day (mixed with warm water
or not, according to circumstances) is sufficient
food for a man in active service. It is very
light and portable, and keeps perfectly well
without change ; hence it is admirably adapted
to the provisioning of troops, ships, and over-
land expeditions. The manufacture is also of
great importance to those countries in which
cattle are superabundant, and are killed merely
for the sake of their skins for the tanner, or
their bones for the farmer, the flesh being actu-
ally thrown away. In some places, animals
which we are accustomed to regard as valuable
are so numerous that they are drowned by hun-
dreds, merely to get rid of them, neither their
skin, bones, nor flesh serving as a pretext for
the wholesale slaughter.

Milk has been preserved in the following
manner : Fresh milk is reduced by boiling to
one-half, and beaten up with yolk of eggs, in
the proportion of eight eggs to every ten and a
half quarts of milk. The whole is then placed
on the fire for half an hour, and skimmed fre-
quently ; it is next strained and heated in a wa-
ter-bath for two hours. It is stated that this
milk will keep good for two years, and, if
churned, would afford good butter. Cream may
be preserved by boiling five measures down to

;: four ; then, after cooling and skimming, it is
put into a bottle, corked down, luted, and kept
\ in the boiling heat of a water-bath for half an
' hour. This, it is said, will keep two years.

A much better method of preserving milk is
\ that first pointed out by M. DirchofF, the Rus-
I sian chemist ; namely, to solidify it by driving
| off the aqueous portion by a gentle heat. Speci-
; mens of consolidated milk were shown in the
\ Great Exhibition ; and it was stated that, after
j being dissolved in boiling water, and reproduced
I in the form of milk, the solution will keep pure
for four or five days. As milk contains 873
\ parts of water in every 1000, it follows that 1000
j parts of milk will yield by evaporation only 127
parts.

7. Potting is only another contrivance for ex-
cluding animal substances from contact with air.
\ Lean meat should be selected, cooked, and then
\ reduced to a pulp by being beaten in a mortar,
\ salt and spices being incorporated. The pulp is
', then rammed into jars, and preserved from the
air by a thick coating of melted butter or lard
' poured over it.

\ In the preservation of fruits and vegetables,
| some are dried, as in the case of nuts, raisins,
< sweet herbs, &c. ; others are preserved by sugar,
) such as many of the fruits, whose delicate juices
| would be dissipated in the process of drying.
Some are preserved in vinegar, as in the case of
\ pickles j a few by salting, aa Fronch beans ; and
\ others are preserved in spirits.
\ Appert's method applies to vegetables and
j fruits of all kinds ; they need not, however, be
; parboiled. The dry and fresh-gathered fruits
\ are put into strong, wide-mouthed glass bottles,
\ carefully corked, and luted with a cement of
^ lime and soft cheese, and bound down with wire.
\ The bottles are then inclosed separately in can-
vas bags, and put into a kettle of water, which
I is gradually heated until it boils ; the bottles are
\ kept in this condition until the fruits are boiled
[ in their own juice. The whole is then left to
| cool; after which the bottles are examined scpa-
l rately, and put away for store.

Many kinds of vegetables may be preserved
| by being spread out on the floor of a kiln, and
| dried by a gentle heat : the thicker kinds of
roots, such as carrots, turnips, potatoes, &c, are
\ to be sliced, and thoroughly well dried ; after
| which they must be packed up in paper or very
dry boxes, and put into casks.*

$ * The flour and biscuit which are taken out to sea in the

\ British navy are packed in casks of wrought-iron. These

I were formerly painted, to prevent rust, and also to make

\ them water-tight ; but the paint was found to give a bad

' taste to the flour, &c, and they are now coated outside

PRESERVATION OF FOOD.

49b

A method of preserving vegetables by drying
and pressure, recently invented by M. Masson,
was brought into prominent notice at the Great
Exhibition. Cabbage, sliced turnips, apples, or
whatever vegetable be selected, are dried in an
oven at a certain temperature, so as to drive off
from seven to eight per cent, of water : the dry-
ing must not be conducted too slowly nor too
rapidly, but at a medium rate. After the dry-
ing, the vegetables are packed into a very small
compass by the intense pressure of an hydraulic
press ; then squared and trimmed with a knife,
packed up in tinfoil, and lastly, stored in boxes.
A short time ago, we examined some red cab-
bage preserved in this way, which had been ex-
posed in the Great Exhibition all the time it was
open, and had been slowly absorbing moisture,
and yet it appeared to be perfectly good. By
this method, from 15,000 to 18,000 rations, of a
quarter pound each, can be stowed into a cubic
yard. We also saw some dried plantains from
Mexico (a vegetable of very considerable nutri-
tious value), which had been lying in a ware-
house at Woolwich ever since the year 1835,
and had undergone no change. It was stated
that the method of preparing them is cheap and
easy, and that the dried plant can be sent in any
quantities to Europe, at six cents per pound,
with a considerable profit to the importer.

Some kinds of vegetables, such as French
beans, artichokes, olives, samphire, and barber-
ries, are preserved by salt, a strong brine being
made by the addition of four pounds of salt to
a gallon of water ; the vegetables are put into
this, and quite covered with it. In Holland and
Germany, kidney beans are sliced by a machine
something like a turnip -cutter, and put into a
cask in layers with salt between; a weight is
then put on, and pressure is kept up until a
slight fermentation takes place ; the salt liquor
is then poured off; the cask is covered up, and
put into the cellar as store. Before being cooked,
the beans are steeped in fresh water.

Sauer Kraut is prepared somewhat in the
same manner. The following recipe for making
it is given by Parmentier : —

The heads of white winter-cabbages, after re-
moving the outer leaves, are to be cut into fine
shreds, and spread out upon a cloth in the shade.
A cask which has had vinegar in it is to be se-
lected, or, if that cannot be had, the inside
should be rubbed over with vinegar or sauer-
kraut liquor. A layer of salt is to be put in the
bottom of the cask, caraway-seeds are to be

with a waterproof composition of caoutchouc, black resin,
ami Veuice turpentine.
VOL. XLVIII. — 42

< mixed with shreds of cabbage, and they are to

< be packed in the cask to the depth of four or six
i inches ; and layers of this kind, with salt be-
\ tween each layer, are added till the cask is full,

stamping them down with a wooden stamper as
they are put in, to half their original bulk;
some mix a little pepper and salad oil with the
salt. Some salt is to be put on the top, and
some of the outside leaves of the cabbages.
About two pounds of salt suffice for twenty
middle-sized cabbages. The head of the barrel
is to be placed upon the cabbage-leaves, and
must be loaded with heavy stones. A common
method is for a man, with clean wooden shoes
on, to tread the cabbage down in the cask. Fer-
mentation will take place, and some juice will
be given out, which is green, muddy, and fetid;
this rises to the surface, and is to be replaced
with fresh brine. When the fermentation is
over, the casks are closed up. Cabbages are
preferred, but any other vegetables may be
treated in the same manner.

When vegetables are preserved in vinegar,
they form pickles. When sugar is the preserv-
ing medium, they are variously named according
to the mode of preparation. Fruits, flowers,
herbs, roots, and juices, boiled with sugar or
syrup, and employed in pharmacy, as well as
for sweetmeats, are called confections (Latin,
conficere, to make up). Liquid confects consist
of fruits, either whole or in pieces, preserved by
immersion in fluid transparent syrup : apricots,
green citrons, and some foreign fruits, are treated
in this way. Dry confects are prepared by boil-
ing in syrup those parts of vegetables adapted to
this method, such as citron and orange-peel, &c. ;
they are then taken out and dried in an oven.
Marmalades, jams, and pastes are soft com-
pounds made of the pulp of fruits, or other vege-
table substances, beaten up with sugar or honey ; .
oranges, apricots, pears, &c, are treated in this
way. Jellies are the juices of fruits — currants,
gooseberries, apples, &c. — boiled with sugar to
such a consistence as, on cooling, to form a
trembling jelly. Conserves are dry confects,
made by beating up flowers, fruits, &c. with
sugar not dissolved. Candies are fruits candied
over with sugar, after having been boiled in the
syrup.

The best syrup for preserving fruits is made
by dissolving two parts of double-refined sugar
in one part of water, boiling a little, skimming,
and filtering through a cloth. This gives a good
smooth syrup, which does not readily ferment
nor crystallize.

The specimens of preserved food in the Great
Exhibition were exceedingly numerous ; they

49-1

godey's magazine and lady's book,

included animal and vegetable productions,
fruits, 8cc. One interesting specimen was a
canister containing boiled mutton, prepared by
the exhibitor, Mr. Gamble, for the Arctic Expe-
dition in 1824. A large number of these canis-
ters were landed from the ship Fury, on the
beach where the ship was wrecked in Prince

Regent's Inlet, and were found by Captain Sir
John Ross in August, 1833, in a state of perfect
preservation, although annually exposed to a
temperature of 92° below, and 80° above zero.
Had it not been for the large store of provisions
left by Parry near the spot where the Fury was
wrecked, Ross's expedition must have perished.

THE PEDESTEIAK TOUK

BY PAULINE FORSYTH.

Between the projecting a scheme in the
mind and its actual accomplishing, the difference
is as great as that between the appearance of
some Eastern city seen from a distance in the
moonlight, with its picturesque domes and mina-
rets silvered by the rays that throw over the
darkest spots an unreal glamour of purity and
brightness, and the same place viewed in the
broad daylight, while standing in the midst of
its narrow and dirty streets. It is as if we had
devised some airy palace, beautiful and complete
in its smallest details, and found ourselves, when
going about to build it, with no materials ready
but a little clay and a few stones and sticks, and
those of the most crooked and unpliable mate-
rials. Few persons realize, before they are
twenty-five, the resolutely prosaic actualities of
the world as it is. Almost every one in his
early youth is fully persuaded that he is about,
to perform an important part in some deeply in-
teresting drama, and it is a hard lesson that dis-
enchants him, and shows that he has been act-
ing the part of Don Quixote with the world for
Sancho Panzo.

Frederic Lanier was a young man of nineteen.
His early life had been passed in the country ;
but when he was fifteen he had been sent to
New York to complete his education, and to re-
side in the mean time with his uncle, Mr. Law-
rence. The very day after his arrival in the
city had been marked by an important event.
He had seen Adelaide Marshall, and had fallen
in love with her. This love had accompanied
him during the one year he had spent at the
High School, and his three succeeding ones at
the college. The lady was six years older than
himself, but that was an additional attraction.
Her stately and graceful movements, her ma-
jestic presence, and the calm and regular beauty
of her face, never lost their charm to him. He
was too much in love to observe that in the
light of her blue eyes there was no warmth, but
a cold and critical scrutiny, and that her mouth

\ closed with a severe and slightly satirical ex-
i pression. She was to him a perfect Helen.
\ About soon to be elevated to the rank of a
I Senior, he had begun to think himself in a posi-
s tion to show his passion more openly than he

> had hitherto ventured to do. He little suspect-

> ed that the lofty Adelaide had divined his feel-
\ ings from the first, and had received his timid
| attentions with sensations of gratified pride and
I amusement that, unmingled with any softer

feeling, promised little for the success of his
suit. The lady, accustomed to admiration, con-
sidered all homage as her due ; and, looking on
Frederick Lanier as a mere boy, she talked to
him familiarly when she so inclined, and made
use of him in a gracious and royal manner with-
out the slightest tender consideration for his
feelings, or fear of the consequences. She had
known many men and boys to fall in love with
her, and, when they had found out that she did
not and would not reciprocate their affection,
the worst that had ever happened was that they
had married somebody else ; and this she calmly
contemplated as the probable termination of
Frederick Lanier's passion, while he was in-
ternally vowing a lifelong devotion to the lady
of his heart.

He had discovered that she was to pass two
or three weeks at the White Mountains during
the month of July. He decided to arrange his
summer wanderings so as to be there at the same
time. Meantime, a vague desire to be alone, to
feed on his own thoughts free from the importu-
nate interruptions of even the members of his
own family, induced him to follow the example
of several of his college companions, and under-
take a pedestrian tour.

This proposal was not received with any ap-
probation by his uncle's family.

" Now, Fred," said his cousin Emily, " this
is too bad. We were going to have such a plea-
sant time at Lake George this summer, and had
relied upon you to go with us. Father will

THE PEDESTRIAN TOUR.

495

have to be away a great deal, and I am sure I
don't know what we shall do without you to go
about with us. I have asked Bessie Graham to
accompany us, too, and I particularly wanted
you to become better acquainted with her."

" Bessie Graham ! Why, she is a little girl."

" She is nearly seventeen," replied Emily.

" Well, she is a very small specimen of wo-
mankind, and I have no particular admiration
for little women; besides, she is somewhat of a
chatter-box, is she not?"

" She talks a little, but not too much," was
the reply.

"And laughs a great deal. I like dignified
manners better."

"For instance, Miss Adelaide Marshall's,"
said Emily, with a little irritation in her tone.
" You are going to the White Mountains, you
say?"

" Yes."

" And I heard Miss Marshall say, the other
day, that she intended to pass two or three weeks
there ; so that accounts for your plan. It is a
most absurd fancy of yours to fall in love with
that iceberg. I have as much expectation of
seeing you return with Mount Washington in
your pocket, as with Miss Marshall on your
arm."

Frederick Lanier grew red even to the tips of ■
his ears with embarrassed indignation at thus
having the most cherished secret of his heart
rudely laid bare to the light of common day.
He became only the more determined to escape,
whore he could dwell in peace on the one idea
that engrossed all his thoughts.

"When do you think of leaving?" asked
Emily.

" To-morrow," he replied.

" And Bessie comes the day after. And when
will you return?"

" Perhaps by the last week in August."

" And Bessie will be gone by that time. It is
too bad !"

" I do not understand what Bessie Graham
has to do with my movements. I might change
my plans to suit you, Emily, but not a little
chattering thing like your friend."

Emily said nothing ; she had had schemes of
her own, and Frederick had completely destroyed
them, but she deigned no explanation.

" I think of going along the Hudson River
until I reach the northern extremity of the State,
when I shall cross over to the Green Mountains
in Vermont, and go through that State into New
Hampshire. I hope to find myself at the foot
of the White Mountains by the middle of July."

" The very time Miss Marshall expects to ar-

rive there. She is going on horseback with her
brother. Her mother and sister are to accom-
pany them in the carriage."

" Ah !" said Frederick, endeavoring, in a
most transparently artful manner, to appear
ignorant and indifferent.

" If you are going so soon," said his aunt,
" we had better see if your wardrobe is in a fit
state for so long an absence."

" I shall need very little," replied Frederick ;
" the less the better, as I intend to carry it my-
self."

" I have a little light valise I can lend you,"
said a cousin of his, John Williams, who hap-
pened to be passing the evening there.

The offer was accepted, and the rest of the
time was passed in discussing the many delight-
ful and romantic adventures that pedestrian
tourists have met with both in Europe and
America.

With a heart full of hope and joyous expecta-
tion, Frederick took his valise and a stout stick,
with which all prudent pedestrians provide
themselves, and saw with delight the dusty
pavements merging into the dustier road, and
the houses becoming more and more widely
separated.

He had intended to choose the byways rather
than the main road, and to make it convenient
to stop at farm-houses instead of the country
taverns along his route, thinking by this means
to be able to see more of the people, and to gain
a little insight into habits and customs with
which he felt as though he ought to be somewhat
more familiar. He had anticipated a great deal
of pleasure from the variety of character and
mode of life which would thus be brought under
his notice; but his first attempt proved so un-
satisfactory, that he gave up all farther idea of
intruding on the privacy of those who were un-
prepared for receiving strangers.

He had stopped at a farm-house, and asked if
he could be lodged for the night just at eight
o'clock. He found the occupants preparing to
retire, and, though they made him welcome, and
entertained him hospitably, yet he could not
help perceiving that he gave them additional
trouble; and, when he found that they would
not receive payment for it, he decided that it
was a false position in which he had placed him-
self, and that nothing but necessity should in-
duce him to adopt the same course again. He
lacked the cheerful assurance with which some
men can make themselves at home anywhere,
without a suspicion that others are not equally
pleased with their society.

The next morning, feeling rather footsore and

496

godey's magazine and lady's book.

univfreshed, after his unusual exertions of the
day before, Frederick took advantage of a stage
that was going In the same direction with him-
self, and rode to the village in which he had de-
cided to pass the night. Here he amused him-
self by wandering about the beautiful and ro-
mantic country around, and returning when he
was weary to the country inn. This he found
so much easier and pleasanter a mode of travel-
ling than the fatiguing one of walking, that he
went almost to the foot of the Green Mountains
before he thought of resuming it. Then, ashamed
of his faint-heartedness, he left the stage, and,
shouldering his valise again, he walked for some
hours quite vigorously.

He entered the little village of Hillsdale just
as the moon was rising, and, after a supper such
as nonet but a pedestrian could eat, he strolled
out to enjoy the loveliness of the summer even-
ing and his own meditations, by the banks of a
clear and rapid stream, the beauty of which had
attracted his notice as he was entering the vil-
lage. He walked for some distance up its banks,
and then, throwing himself down on a grassy
mound, he lay in a sort of musing trance, watch-
ing the moonlight shimmering on the flashing
waters, and listening to the tinkling music of
their flow, while his imagination was busily en-
gaged in inventing deeds of heroism and chival-
ric daring, by which he fancied himself proving
to the lady of his love that he was worthy of
one so noble and high-souled.

Midnight stole unawares upon him while thus
engaged, and, with reluctant steps, he sought
the Eagle Hotel, where he had decided to pass
the night. A decision not difficult to arrive at,
as there was no other public house in the place.
The next morning he discovered, to his great
annoyance, that he had lost his purse in his
evening ramble. He sought for it in vain ; and
when the landlord, conjecturing from his move-
ments that he was about to depart, asked him if
he would like his bill, he could not help a guilty
conscious feeling stealing over him as he tried
to answer, in an oiF-hand way, that he intended
to pass a few days in Hillsdale.

If Frederick Lanier had not been so unaccus-
tomed to the ways of the world, he would have
stated his situation frankly to the landlord, and
then have made himself easy until he could re-
ceive remittances from home. But, as it was,
he kept his affairs to himself; and, while wait-
ing for an answer to the letter he had written
home, he went in and out, took his meals, read
the paper, and did his best to pass the time away
without addressing a remark to any one.

It struck him that he had never been among

people quite so rural and primitive, and he was
right. But, as the arrival of a stranger was a
rare event among them, so he was of propor-
tionate importance. And they were also gifted
with the usual sociability of the New Englandcrs ;
and a young man that did not seem inclined to
tell who he was, and where he came from, and
where he was going to, and seemed to have no-
thing to do but to go regularly to the post-office,
and then with his fishing-rod to the river, from
which he always returned empty-handed, was
an object of wonder and suspicion.

Frederick Lanier, unconscious of the specula-
tions of which he was the object, began to be
greatly worried and perplexed by not receiving
the letter for which he was anxiously waiting.
He grew daily more restless and uneasy.

" He 's got a bad conscience, depend upon it,"
said the landlord, oracularly, as he sat in the
midst of his satellites and customers listening to
the hasty strides with which Frederick Lanier
was pacing up and down the room over their
heads.

At length a paragraph in a newspaper brought
their suspicions to an open expression.

" That 's him, depend upon it," said the land-
lord. "James Wilson. J. W. ; them 's the
very letters on his portmantle. Five hundred
dollars reward. That will be doin' a pretty
good business for one day."

"Are you going to take him up, Squire?"
asked one of the men in the bar-room.

" Certingly. Think I am going to let such a
chance slip through my fingers ? It 's him — it 's
as like him as two peas. Read that, friend,"
continued the landlord, addressing himself to
Frederick as he was going hastily through the
room, and planting himself so that the young
man could not pass him.

Frederick took the paper, and read an adver-
tisement offering a reward of five hundred dol-
lars for the apprehension of a clerk in a bank of
a neighboring town, who had absconded with
two or three thousand dollars. As Frederick
glanced over the description of the runaway, it
struck him that James Wilson must have been
rather an ill-looking fellow. A broad-shoul-
dered, down-looking, dark-haired, swarthy-com-
plexioncd man would be rather an unpleasant
person to meet in a lonely place, he thought.
He returned the paper to the landlord, saying,
carelessly —

" Do you think thero is any probability that
the thief will be taken?"

"Well, I guess so, if we look sharp."

Something in the landlord's tone struck Frede-
rick disagreeably. He glanced around, and the

THE PEDESTRIAN TOUR.

497

distrustful, watchful expression on the counte-
nances of those about him revealed at once the
nature of the suspicions against him.

" You surely do not suspect me of being this
James Wilson ?" asked he, in surprise.

" I guess you '11 have hard work to prove that
you are anything else. What is your name ?"

" Frederick Lanier."

" And what business do you follow?"

" I am a student in New York city. My
uncle, with whom I reside there, is Mr. Oliver
Lawrence. You may have heard of him?"

But no. Well known as Mr. Lawrence was
in Wall Street, his reputation did not extend to
Hillsdale. Frederick saw that the mention of
his uncle's name produced no effect. He glanced
again over the description of the defaulter.

" I surely am neither swarthy nor down-
looking," said he, catching at a straw.

" Wall, I don't think you be 'ither," said a
young man, who seemed to look with some com-
passion on Frederick in his painful position.

"Asa Cutting, who asked your opinion?"
said the landlord, magisterially. " Young man,"
continued he to Frederick, " I hain't once seen
the color of your eyes sence you 've ben in my
house."

He must have seen them at that moment, for
they were bent on him full of flashing indigna-
tion. But he went on.

" If you are a college-larnt young man, you
can read Greek most likely?"

" Yes."

" Wall, I 've got a Greek book here that I
would like to have you read out of."

And, after some searching, a small book
bound in paper was handed to Frederick. He
took it readily, hoping to prove by his scholarship
the truth of his assertions. To his disappoint-
ment, it was a little Chinese or Japanese pamphlet
that had found its way to this remote place.

" This is not Greek ; it is Chinese," said he.

" Hum !" said the landlord, in a tone of con-
tempt; "that jest shows how much you know
about it. If that ain't Greek, I would like to
know what is. Do you ever see paper like that
nowadays ? That 's Greek paper ; it was in-
vented ages before Chiny was ever heard of."

" Wall," said Asa Cutting, " I always have
thought that them scratches in that book that
pass for letters were jest like the scratches on
the tea-chists in my store."

" Asa Cutting, what you think is nothin' to
nobody, and what you say had better be the
same. Young man, sence Greek is unbeknown
to you, may be you '11 have better luck with
Latin."

42*

" I can read Latin," said Frederick, modestly.

" Do you see them letters on my sign ? You
can read them out of the window here."

" You mean the motto, ' E pluribus unumf I
suppose ?" said Frederick.

" Yes," said the landlord. " What do they
stand for now?"

" ' One of many,' " said Frederick.

" I thought how it would be," exclaimed the
landlord, triumphantly. " ' One of many !'
What, in the name of common sense, does that
mean ? No, young man ; don't you see they
are put under the eagle, and they mean, ; The
eagle's flight is out of sight?' "

" I think you are mistaken, Square," said the
pertinacious Asa ; " I am sure the stranger is
right."

" Capen Cutting, you are like a sheep's head,
all jaw," said the landlord, with some irritation.
" You think you 've got more sense than any
one about here ; but I guess you '11 find your-
self mistaken. Leftenant Davis, of the United
States Army, told me what them words stood
for, not more than a year ago, and it 's likely
he 'd know. Young man, I 'm afraid you are
in a bad way."

Frederick began to think so himself.

" I assure you," he said, " that I am not
James Wilson."

"Young man, you be," said the landlord,
sternly. "What have you got J. W. on your
portmantle for, I'd like to know?"

" That is a valise that was lent to me by my
cousin, John Williams," said Frederick. " If
you will wait till I can write to New York and
receive an answer, I can satisfy you that you
are mistaken in the person."

" I think, Square, you might allow the young
man that chance," said Asa Cutting.

" Wall, I 'd be willin' to do it," said the land-
lord, " if I only knew where to keep him ; but
the jail hasn't been mended sence that nigger
took the roof off with his head and got out, two
months ago ; and there ain't a room in my house
but the cellar that ain't about as onsafe as out
doors."

Meantime, as people were dropping into the
bar-room, the landlord, for greater privacy and
safety, took his captive, with a small train of
advisers and lookers-on, into the parlor, and
there continued the discussion as to the proper
course to be pursued. Frederick offered to
give his word not to attempt an escape ; but
that proposal the landlord put aside with great
contempt, and, disdaining any farther parley,
Frederick listened in angry silence to the differ-
ent plans suggested by the landlord to insure

4(^8

godey's magazine and lady's book.

the safe keeping of the prisoner, and the conse-
quent obtaining of the reward.

There was a slight bustle in front of the
tavern, but the debate was so interesting that it
passed almost unnoticed. Soon after, the par-
lor door was thrown open, and Adelaide Mar-
shall entered, followed by her brother. Frede-
rick thought he had never seen her look so
magnificently beautiful. Her long riding-habit
showed her figure to great advantage ; her cheeks
were flushed, and her eyes sparkling with the
light and color of vigorous health and anima-
tion, and the mountain breeze had arranged her
blonde hair with a most picturesque negligence
around her fair open forehead.

" Why, Mr. Lanier," said she, with gracious
cordiality, " this is an unexpected pleasure."

"Fred, I am delighted to meet you," ex-
claimed Henry Marshall.

An expression of disappointment passed over
the landlord's face.

" Do you know this young man?" asked he.

" Certainly," replied Mr. Marshall, with some
surprise ; " he is an old friend of mine."

" Wall, Square," said Asa Cutting, " I told
you you 'd better take care what you was about.
I kinder thought all along the young man didn't
look like a thief."

" That 's complimentary," said Miss Marshall.
" You seem to have been in some trouble. I am
glad we came in time to relieve you from such
suspicions."

Frederick could not echo her expressions of
pleasure. A week or two in jail, or even a tem-
porary confinement in the landlord's cellar,
would have been a light trouble compared with
the mortification of being seen by Miss Marshall
in such a position. He explained, with an at-
tempt at indifference, the circumstances which
had conspired against him, and Adelaide found
them highly amusing. She laughed heartily
over the advertisement, dwelling with malicious
pleasure over each unflattering epithet. She
listened to Asa Cutting's circumstantial account
of the whole affair with an interest that led him
insensibly to make it as long as possible ; and,
when he came to the landlord's suggestion of
confining the suspected man in the cellar, she
seemed so very much amused that Frederick
could hardly endure it with becoming patience.
Even after they were alone, she recurred again
and again to the same theme, and always con-
trived to hit upon the very points that jarred
most on Frederick's sensitive nature. When
her mother and sister arrived, Miss Marshall re-
peated the story to them, dwelling and expatiat-

ing upon it until Frederick could no longer con-
ceal his annoyance.

He declined coldly the invitation urged upon
him by the whole family to join them in their
tour — an invitation he would gladly have ac-
cepted a few days before ; and it was with real
pleasure that he saw the cavalcade set out the
next morning to continue their journey, Miss
Marshall looking back, after she had said
" Good-by," to " hope that Mr. James Wilson
would enjoy the solitary fishing excursions he
seemed to like so well."

The long-looked-for letter came that day ;
some accident had delayed it on the road. With
the remittance it contained he paid his bill, and
left the village of Hillsdale with no very plea-
sant feelings. He was somewhat puzzled what
course to take. His liking for travelling on foot
had not stood the test of experience, and just
then he would have directed his course to any
other part of the Union more willingly than to
the White Mountains. He wisely decided to
return to New York, and, by taking the speedi-
est conveyances, he managed to reach his uncle's
house just two weeks after he had left it.

He was warmly welcomed by his aunt and
cousins, and Bessie Graham's bright face looked
brighter as she greeted him.

"You have come just in time, Fred," said
Emily ; " we are going to Lake George to-
morrow. But how did you happen to get back
so soon 1 I am afraid your ' predestinarian
tower,' as that old lady out West called it, has
not been so delightful as you expected."

Frederick acknowledged that it had not; and,
after tea, he told the whole story to an audience
more sympathizing than the former one had
been.

" I thought you had a very crestfallen look
as you came in," said Emily.

" I hope," said Mrs. Lawrence, " that you
made the people understand who you were be-
fore you left."

Bessie said nothing ; but Frederick was struck
by the spirit in which she had listened to his
misadventures, so different from the one that
Miss Marshall had displayed. The one he had
always thought a grave and serious character,
and the other a light and childish one. But
Miss Marshall seemed to find an endless source
of amusement in the mortification of other peo-
ple's vanity, while Bessie was so occupied with
the painful position in which he had been placed
that she could hardly smile, easily as her smiles
generally came, at Frederick's imitation of the
pompous arid ignorant landlord.

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S.

499

" Bessie is a sweet little girl," said he to
Emily, at the close of the evening.

" I knew you would like her," was Emily's
pleased reply.

The pleasant weeks the party spent at Lake

George served to confirm Frederick's opinion,
and the liking that commenced that first even-
ing after his return went on increasing, until in
a few years it ended, as most stories and novels
do, in a wedding.

LETTEES LEFT AT THE PASTEY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND HER "DEAR,

DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY HORACE MAYHETV.

THE SIXTH LETTER LEFT.

{Dated April tlie 9th.)
SHOWING WHAT HAPPENED ON A VERY IM-
PORTANT DAY, AND WHAT KITTY THOUGHT
OF SOME OF HER MASTERS.

To -day, dearest Nelly, is the 14th of February.
Not a girl, I believe, in the whole school, slept
a wink last night ; ever since sunrise, there has
been such a humming and buzzing, exactly as
you hear at church when the service is just over.
I believe all the girls are mad. No one seems to
care for fines or forfeits. What is twopence or
sixpence, or a hundred lines of the " History of
England," so long as a dear sweet valentine is
smuggled into the college? and it requires all the
art which a woman has of smuggling, to pass a
letter through the examination of this place. I
declare it's worse than the eiislom-house, when
you land from Boulogne. Every one who comes
in has his pockets searched, and the Lady Prin-
cipal stands on the staircase all day, watching
for the postman. She little knows, however,
that he has been bribed (with half a dozen sil-
ver thimbles) to slip all the letters under the
door without that tell-tale "tat-tat;" or that
Susan has earned in one day more ribbons and
handkerchiefs than a year's wages would buy
her, simply by having a little human feeling.
Snapp and the Lady Principal were never flut-
tered with such hopes, I '11 be bound, when they
were young, although it is so long ago they may
well be excused for forgetting it.

But it does not matter, Nelly, their locking us
up in a state of siege. Rosy May has got a beau-
ty sent round her bottle of strengthening mixture
by the doctor's handsome young man ; and Lucy
Wilde found such a duck tucked in her stock-
ings from the wash. And those impudent fel-
lows next door have pelted us over the garden
wall with half a dozen all tied on to a piece of

string precisely as if it were the tail of a kite
that had got entangled in the trees.

And then, Nelly (mind, this is a secret), there
came a new Sunday dress for me (a beautiful
shot silk, with all kinds of colors, just like mo-
ther-o' -pearl) ; and what do you think? There,
inside it, hid up the sleeve, was such a love of
a valentine for your dear, happy, happy Kitty !
Oh gracious ! when I opened it, I saw two sweet
little doves, as white as bride-cake, caged in a net
of beautiful silver paper, hovering over a large
heart, smothered, dear, in the sweetest roses ! It
was so pretty, you can't tell ; and I was so happy
I could have gone to bed and have cried the rest
of the afternoon. How kind of him to think of
me on such a day ! Bless him ! How foolishly I
love him to be sure, and I should be very wicked
if I didn't ; for it was only yesterday I flung the
paring of an apple three times round my head,
and when it had fallen on the ground, there it
was in the form of the dear letter "S!" You
understand, dearest ; but not a word.

Snapp had one. It was inside an orange that
was thrown at her from over the wall. Those
impudent boys again ! She tore it up most in-
dignantly, and flung the bits away with a burst
of eloquence about " the vulgar ribaldry of such
ignorant, witless insults." We picked up the
bits afterwards, and, putting them together,
found they formed the ugliest picture that ever
was seen, of an old witch riding on a birch-
broom, with a big bottle in her hand. It was too
bad, but we have pasted the pieces on a sheet of
paper, and intend to keep it by us to spite her
with some day, if she is unkind to us.

The fact is, the whole house is crazy. If it
was breaking-up day, there couldn't be more fun
and less discipline. Even that long piece of dry-
ness, Miss Twigg, has been caught laughing seve-
ral times, and the servants have been giggling
up and down stairs, and all over the house, and

500

godey's magazine and lady's book.

running every minute to the door, until at last
Mrs. Rod well has put the chain up, and says
she "11 answer the door herself. She 's in such a
passion that I shouldn't like to be one of those
poor girls who huvVt paid for their last half
year, and to be taken up before her!

Even that curious old Mr. Penn has become
touched with the infection. He has been set-
ting us the drollest copies, about " Faint Heart
ne'er won Fair Lady," and " Though Lost to
Sight, to Memory Dear," and such like ; exceed-
ing even his usual eccentricities.

He is the funniest little specimen you ever
saw, Nelly, and ought to sit to have his portrait
taken in China. He would make a capital Dres-
den ornament, for he is a very great curiosity ;
but in his present shape he is much more curious
than ornamental. He is our writing-master;
but his accomplishments go far beyond pot-hooks
and hangers ; for he teaches us, also, arithmetic,
mathematics (much wre understand about them !),
and Latin (we all like " Amo, I love" — I think
of Sidney as I conjugate it), and elocution; be-
sides drawing to the juniors. Poor Penn ! His
is a sad life, Nell. He was brought up with
expectations of having a large fortune. Those
expectations are all gone now ; for you cannot
read the slightest hope in his care-worn face.
His whole appearance implies a struggle to live.
Every article of his dress speaks of a long fight
with poverty. His coat looks so thin that you
imagine, if it were brushed, it would be swept
clean away like so much dust. It is buttoned
close up to his throat, and what you see of his
linen is clean, though rough and jagged at the
edges, like the leaves of a book that 's been badly
cut. His boots are patched to that extent that,
when it has been raining very hard, he doesn't
like drying them at the fire, for fear of our
laughing at the numerous patches about them.
His hat — but never mind about his dress, Nelly;
for I feel a sort of shame in counting the darns
and stitches about this poor fellow's appearance.
Suffice it to say, he always looks the gentleman
in the midst of his shabbiness, and that he wins
the respect of us giddy little girls, even in spite
of his bad clothes. The latter, I can tell you,
is no small recommendation in a girl's school.

He is clever, and I would sooner learn of him
than of that ponderous Professor Drudge, whose
explanations are so high-flown that we never
can see what they mean, even by standing on tip-
toe. At first, all manner of tricks were played
upon old Penn. He never could find his spec-
tacles— his knife was always mislaid— his quills
were always stolen— but he never grumbled or

made the slightest complaint. Last winter he
used repeatedly to leave the room. We could
not fancy why or where he went, until one day
he dropped his pocket-handkerchief. It was no-
thing but holes and rags — almost as bad as the
handkerchief I have seen the clown in a pan-
tomime wipe his eyes with when he has pretended
to be crying. He had been ashamed to withdraw
it in our presence ; and well he might, for on my
word, without meaning any harm, we should all
have burst out laughing, if he had. We could
not have helped it, Nelly. You never saw such
a thing, dear ! " It wras not a pocket-handker-
chief," said that great stupid Meggy Sharpe, " so
much as a Penn-wiper !"

Well ! as we were all laughing at its poverty
and comical appearance — you must have laughed
yourself, Nelly — who should come in but Blight?
In a few strong words she made us ashamed of
our unfeeling mirth, and brought the color still
more to our tingling cheeks by running up stairs
and bringing down one of her own pocket-hand-
kerchiefs, which she bade us slip unperceived
into poor old Penn's coat pocket. We watched
him from the window. The old gentleman pull-
ed out his handkerchief as soon as he left the
house, but, perceiving the substitution, his head
dropped, poor fellow, and we saw him with the
handkerchief held up to his eyes until he turned
the corner.

Ever since then, no more tricks have been
played with our writing-master. His poverty,
unlike with most men, has been his friend —
and a very good friend, too. Contributions have
been dropped in the same poor-box for his relief,
until the old gentleman has grown comparatively
quite a dandy ; one of Noble's black satin aprons
has found him in stocks for months, and Blight
is always knitting comfortable muffetees, slip-
pers, and chest-protectors for him in the winter.
We picture to ourselves the old man emptying
his pockets when he gets home, and his surprise
at finding the little gifts (and cake sometimes)
they contain. We are happy in the pleasure we
know we give him. He never says a word, but
merely looks his thanks. We feel his gratitude
in the increased kindness we receive from him.
He calls us his "angels," and we know directly
what he means ; if he said more, 0 Lord ! how
we should all cry, and he, perhaps, more than
any of us.

He is here, Nelly, mostly all day long; but
doesn't dine with us. The Lady Principal sends
him out a plateful, heaped up with almost insult-
ing profusion, as if she were sending it out to a
. beggar. Perhaps she isn't wrong, however, for

A SONG.

501

it is all eaten. He carries down the tray him-
self, that none may see how clean his plate has
been polished.

I need not tell you, Nell, dear, that we all are
fond of poor Penn. He is so kind, so gentle-
manly, so patient, acting to us more like a parent
than a teacher. Besides, he sets us the strangest
copies, the oddest problems — things never heard
of in a school before — but reconciling us to our
tasks by making us laugh, and interesting the
dullest pupil. You won't credit it ; but that con-
ceited thing Twigg fancies him in love with her.
She dresses out her ringlets as long as spaniel's
ears, and puts on cherry neck-ribbons when he
comes. All day long is she pestering him to
mend her pen, and to explain away difficulties
about x in algebra; just as if a man could be
bothered into love ! Penn takes it all very good-
temperedly ; but I imagine it would bring his wig
prematurely to the grave, if he was told that he
was going to marry Twigg.

None of us can tell what pittance the Prin-
cesses' College gives for the life-service of such
a man. Not a tenth,* I dare say, of what they
give to Herr Hullabulliitzer. Such fuss, dear, as
is made for the Herr's reception ! The room is
heated to a certain degree of nicety, the light is
subdued, sherry and biscuits are ready for his
refreshment, tea and cake (our cake) brought in
afterwards, and the young ladies kept waiting in
succession every quarter of an hour, so as not to
lose a moment of his valuable time. And you
should only see him lounging in the arm-chair ;
his little fourpenny-piece of a watch placed be-
fore him, as if the object of his visit was to fol-
low its hands, and not our fingers. Why, he
looks, dear, the handsomest personification of
contentment, hair-oil, and conceit, that a fo-
reigner ever bamboozled people with in this
country. His shirt is light pink, and perforated
like an open-work jam tart. His wristbands are
turned back nearly as much as the sheet on the
pillow of a bed. His head would make a beau-
tiful block for a French hair-dresser's window ;
and he has sufficient chains and miniature pis-
tols, donkeys, cannons, and dogs dangling round
his neck to start in business a Jew peddler. He
dozes one-half the time ; but then it is a reverie
— the meditation of genius. The other half he
plays with his glossy curls or his whitey-brown
moustache, so he may well be excused if he
doesn't know exactly to a minute what air his
pupil is playing. It's true, he scarcely gives
himself the trouble to correct us when we are
wrong ; but then he teaches the young princesses !
and so we should not expect him to be over pa-
tient with little chits of school-girls. He is an

artist : poor Penn is only a man of intellect. He
goes to the palace three times a week ; poor
Penn has only been to college ; so the two are
not to be compared.

Once, however, when your dearest Kitty was
making more noise over the " Battle of Prague"
than has ever been made over the battle of Wa-
terloo, the ringleted Herr caught up her hand,
and said, in a voice that melted with the sweet-
ness of barley sugar, " I can-not perr-mit such
soft litt-tle fin-gerrs to murr-derr har-mo-nie ;"
and — and, dearest, I think Kitty's hand felt the
smallest possible baby's-touch of a squeeze.

I had on your pretty turquoise ring at the time,
and since then every girl has wished me to lend
it her for her music lesson. Just as if it was the
ring that ! ! !

Fraulein Pinchinhertz is quite sentimental
over the handsome Herr. She sits in the room
during the lessons, looking and listening with
all her soul in her eyes, and talking German in
the softest manner. But the Herr admires his
boots infinitely more than he does her.

But, bother take it, there's the bell for tea.
Good-bye, my darling Nelly, and do not forget
the toffe you promised to send to —

Your fondest Kitty Clover.

P. S. I will show you the valentine when I
come home. Tell me, have you had any? Pray,
how many?

P. S. It is very strange — some one sang under
our windows last night, " Wilt thou love me
then as now?" I wonder if it was him?

P. S. I have had this more than three weeks
in my pocket, waiting for an opportunity to post
it.

A SONG.

BY CHARLES STEWART.

As fancy breathes her gentlest gale

O'er memory's shallop, bright with flowers,
And up the stream of Time you sail

To -visit childhood's fairy bowers —
As early scenes bring to your mind

The day gone by of youthful greeting—
The joys and pleasures left behind,

As bright, as transient, and as fleeting

As sunshine on a summer's day —
One moment bright, but ere the hour

Hath passed, the landscape wears a frown,
And then 'tis darkened by a shower :

Oh, cherish, as in other days,
One passing thought, one precious tear,

When o'er the past thy vision strays,
For him who writes this tribute here !
And may thy dreams, so glad in youth,

As Time with tireless pinions fly,
Unfold in happiness and truth,

And sit amid a cloudless sky !

GODEY'S COUESE OF LESSONS IN DBA WING.

LESSON VI.

FIGURE AND OBJECT DRAWING.

In executing the copies here given, and, in-
deed, in all other drawings which are to be
shaded, the outlines must first be put in before
any attempt to shade is made. The pupil should

Fig. 1.

endeavor to produce the proper degree of shade
at one operation, without having occasion to go
over or darken it afterwards. This retouching
spoils the effect of clearness and spirit which
shading at one operation is calculated to give,
and which all drawings should have. The
drawings in Figs. 1 and 2 will be very easily put

Fig. 2.

in. The outline of Fig. 3 should be drawn in
the manner heretofore explained, the shading
put in by bold strokes from top to bottom, be-
cause if done at two operations a shadow would

Fig. 3.

result, by which the effect would be spoiled ; a
few cross- strokes may be next put in, which
will give a little roundness to the sketch. In
Fig. 4, the nearest part of the oval is to be drawn

Fig. 4.

considerably stronger, so as to bring it forward.

Figs. 5 and 6 are examples in which the ellipse

Fig. 5.

is distinguishable. In copying Fig. 7, a nice

broken outline should first be obtained : the
502

shading being simple needs no explanation.
The outline of Fig. 8 is to be drawn as formerly ;
the indented parts of the leaf to be put in slight-
ly, and afterwards the stronger shadow, which
throws forward the curled edge of the leaf. In
copying the annexed sketch of a grindstone, to
get the outline correctly the framework should
be drawn first, carefully observing the relative
proportions of the parts, in order to give an idea
of perspective.* Having done this, an ellipse

* Hereafter the subject of Perspective will be fully
treated of; before Perspective can be mastered, it is abso-
lutely necessary that the pupil should be able to sketch by
the assistance of the eye.

godey's course of lessons in drawing.

503

Fig. 6.

Fig. 7.

Fig. 8.

may be drawn to represent the stone, part of
this to be rubbed out afterwards ; in shading the
drawing, the nearer parts should be made darker

than those distant ; this causes the latter to re-
cede, having the appearance of distance. In
Fig. 10, we give the representation of an old

gate ; it is so simple that it needs no ex-
planation. Fig. 11, which is the repre-
sentation of a familiar object, is treated
under a very simple effect of light and
shade, the shaded parts bringing forward
the light ones; this effect is called relief.
It is of the utmost importance that the
pupil should have a clear knowledge of
the mode of producing this effect. We
would recommend her to try the experi-
ment of placing simple objects so as to
relieve each other, and to sketch them in
this manner; this will enable her very
speedily to understand the method of at-
taining the effect. In Fig. 12, the same

Fig. 11.

504

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Fig. 12.

Fig. 13.

Fig. 14.

effect is displayed, only reversed ; a
mixture of light and shade throwing
back the other end, which is in half
tint. In Fig. 13, which is the repre-
sentation of a fuchsia-leaf, the outline
must be put in in the manner hereto-
fore explained ; the shading is similar
to that in Fig. 8. After copying this,
we would recommend the pupil to get
a similar leaf, and place it in various
positions, so that the light and shade
will be variously disposed. This will
afford excellent practice, and will ac-
custom the pupil to draw or sketch
from nature. In Fig. 14, which is the
representation of a rural stile, the
pupil will find the principle of relief
shown in Figs. 1 1 and 12 again displayed ; the
shading behind the stumps throwing the light

parts forward, and the shaded sides of these
causing the back part to recede.

CELESTIAL PHEN OMEN'A.- JUNE.

T D. W. BELISLE.

BOOTES.— This constellation is situated west
of Asterion Et Chara, and contains fifty-four
stars. It comes to the meridian the 9th of June.
Bootes may be readily distinguished by the posi-
tion and splendor of its principal star Arcturus,
which shines with a reddish lustre, much resem-
bling the planet Mars. This star is supposed to
be nearer the earth than any other star in the
northern hemisphere. Arcturus is referred to
in Young's " Paraphrase," where the Almighty
answers Job out of the whirlwind —

" Canst thou the skies' benevolence restrain,
And cause the Pleiades to shine in vain ?
Or, when Orion sparkles from his sphere,
Thaw the cold season, and unbind the year?
Bid Mazzaroth his destined station know,
And teach the bright Arcturus where to glow ?"

Arcturus is a star of the first magnitude, situ-
ated in the left knee, and is twenty-six degrees
south-east of Cor-Coroli. Three small bright
stars curve down to the left foot, while throe of
the same size, about nine degrees cast, curve in

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.

505

the same manner, and form the right leg. Three
stars curve upwards, forming the left arm, which
he holds aloft, while three still more minute
ones mark the neud of the leash which he holds
in his left hand, while his right one is marked
by four stars j three very minute ones mark the
club with which he urges on the hounds.

The ancient Greeks called this group Lycaon,
which signifies a wolf, asserting that it is Calisto
who was changed into a wolf by Juno.

" But now her son had fifteen summers told,
Fierce at the chase, and in the forest bold,
When, as he beat the woods in quest of prey,
He chanced to rouse his mother where she lay.
She knew her son, and kept him in her sight,
And fondly gazed ; the boy was in a fright,
And aimed a pointed arrow at her breast,
Aud would have slain his mother in the beast;
But Jove forbade, and snatched her through the air
In whirlwinds up to heaven, and fixed her there."

The Egyptians claimed the origin of it like-
wise, as also did the Hebrews. Its origin is pro-
bably too ancient to be traced.

CENTAURUS. — This fabulous monster is
represented as having the head and shoulders of
a man, terminating in the body of a horse. It
occupies a considerable space in the southern
hemisphere, yet it is so low down that but little
of it can be traced in our latitude. It is situ-
ated south of Spica Virginis, and contains
thirty-five stars, two of which are of the first
magnitude. Agena and Bengula are stars of
rare brilliancy, and mark the fore-feet of the
monster. These stars are never visible in our
latitude, but shine with greater lustre than any
that gild our own hemisphere.

It is supposed this constellation took its rise
from the simplicity of the shepherds of the ear-
lier ages, who, on seeing men on horses, sup-
posed them part of the animals they rode ; so
the Spanish cavalry seemed to the Mexicans as
late as the year 1500.

The Centaurs were, in reality, a tribe of
Lapithse, who resided near Mount Pelion, and
first invented the art of breaking horses. Virgil
says —

" The Lapithae to chariots add the state *
Of bi's and bridles; taught the steed to bound,
To turn the ring, and trace the mazy ground,
To stop, to fly, the rules of war to know,
To obey the rider, and to dare the foe."

LUPUS. — This constellation is situated south
of Libra and east of the Centaur, and is so low
down that it cannot be traced in our latitude.
It contains twenty-four stars of a small magni-
tude.

This constellation, according to mythology, is
vol. xlviii. — 13

Lycaon, King of Arcadia, who lived 3,600 years
ago, and was changed into a wolf by Jupiter for
sacrificing human victims at the altar of Pan.

LIBRA. — When the sun enters the sign Li-
bra, the days and nights are of equal duration,
and seem to observe an equilibrium like a ba-
lance. Libra contains fifty-one stars, and comes
to the meridian the 22d of June. It may be
known by its four principal stars forming a
quadrilateral figure, lying north-east and south-
west, and having its upper and lower indices
nearly in a straight line running north and
south. The two stars which form the south-
west side of the square are situated about six
degrees apart, and distinguish the southern
scale. The two which form the north-east side
are seven degrees apart, and mark the northern
scale.

The Libra of the Zodiac is ftmnd upon all the
hieroglyphics of Egypt, which is proof of its
great antiquity. In the Zodiacs of Estne and
Dendera, Virgo is represented as holding the
balance in her hand as an emblem of equal
justice to all.

The Greeks assert that the balance was placed
among the stars to perpetuate the memory of
Mochus, the inventor of weights and measures.
It is known, however, to have existed prior to
the Greek nation, and therefore the assumption
must be erroneous.

SERPENS.— This constellation is situated
chiefly between Libra and Corona Borealis.
Those stars that lie scattered along for about
twenty-five degrees, in a serpentine direction
between Libra and the Crown, mark the body
and head of the serpent ; five of these, standing
in a cluster, form the head. They are about
ten degrees south of the crown.

" Vast as the starry serpent that, on high,
Tracks the clear ether and divides the sky.
And. southward winding from the northern Wain,
Shoots to remoter spheres its glittering train."

Many nations have worshipped the Serpent,
among which are the Hivites and aborigines of
South America. Job says : " By his spirit He
hath garnished the heaven; his hand hath
formed the crooked Serpent."

CORONA BOREALIS.— Among the starry
hosts that deck the summer sky, there is no
group more beautiful than the northern Crown.
It is situated north of the Serpent, and may be
readily distinguished by its six principal star*
curving round into a wreath or crown. Alphacca,
its brightest star, is eleven degrees east of Mirae-
in Bootes, and comes to the meridian the 30t^

506

godey's magazine and lady's book.

of J une. This group contains twenty-one stars,
of which those that compose the wreath are
alone conspicuous. This beautiful cluster of
stars is said to have been placed in the heavens
t 1 1 commemorate the crown presented to Ariadne,
Princess of Crete, by Bacchus.

We cannot discard the history connected with
the traditionary gods of the ancients as entirely
fabulous, for undoubtedly, in the fables of hea-
then mythology, are transmitted to us records

of early times so far enveloped in the impene-
trable darkness that separates us from the ear-
liest records of the human species, that they
alone are all that remain to us of the habits
and pursuits of the patriarchs of the world. It
remains with us to sift these relics of the past
from the mystic web that a barbarous age threw
around them, and thus be enabled to transmit to
future ages glimpses of the habits and pursuits
of patriarchs of our race in all the purity of un-
adorned truth.

LEGEND OF LONG-POND; OK, LAKE OF THE GOLDEN

CEOSS.

Y FANNY FALES.

The summer moon hung in the sky,

And sleeping in its sheen ;
Long-Pond, watched by the angel stars,

Lay in its cradle green.

The little zephyrs gliding by,

Rocked it upon their way ;
And saw the dimples come and go,

As of a child at play.

The beautiful white lilies bowed,

With folded hands, at rest ;
As if they stole away to pray

Beneath the water's crest.

From the dim woods beyond, the doe
Came down her thirst to slake ;

Her wild brown eyes, and graceful form,
Reflected from the lake.

What ! does she list the huntsman's horn,

That thus she bounds away ?
Turns she, with head erect and proud,

The noisy hounds to bay ?

Nay, nay ! 'tis but a swift canoe
Shoots from the coppice near ;

Its light oars leave a silvery track
Upon the waters clear.

A pale, fair youth, one arm flung round

A maiden's form, is there ;
The Saxon in his deep blue eyes,

And light-brown waving hair.

The full-orbed moon floods in its wanes,

The Indian maiden's face ;
The rich blood tints her olive cheek,

Her form is full of grace.

Her black eyes, softer than the night,

Are turned to meet his own ;
Her heart drinks in each loving word,

And deep impassioned tone.

' Listen, Lueka— little fawn,"
(His voice is sad and low ;)

" Chide not with that imploring gaze ;
To-morrow I must go !"

Her head drops slowly on her breast,
Veiled with her long black hair ;

Love in that simple act confest,
Love, and almost — despair.

" Anoonk,* Lueka's heart will bleed,
The arrow 'neath its wing ;
'Twill sit and mourn, 'twill droop and die,
It never more will sing.

" To-morrow is a little word,
But, oh, how big with woe!
Did poor Lueka hear or dream,
' To-morrow I must go r

" Lueka, list, my bird, my fawn,
I will return again
Before the harvest moon looks down
Upon the golden grain.

" I swear, Lueka, by the stars,
And by this cross of gold,
'Ere red the berries of the thorn
My Indian bride I '11 fold.

"In token, chain and cross of gold
I hang upon thy breast;
And let it whisper, ' He will com
When summer 's in the west.' "

'Twere vain Lueka's fears to paint,

'Twere vain her woe to tell ;
When came the morrow's long embrace,

And quivering, low farewell.
******

Popmonet's daughter was the maid,

A princess' rank she bore ;
And many a rival chieftain laid

His offering at her door.

But all iu vain— for she had seen
The stranger as he lay

* Anoonl; a star.

lege:;d of long-po^d,

507

With fever in his throbbing veins —
And nursed him day by day.

Health came, and love — but woe if he

Who sought her for his own,
The Marshpee chief, her secret know,

By word, or look, or tone.
******
The night is dark, the storm is fierce,

But darker, fiercer still
The whirlwind passions in the soul

Of scorned Auketauquil.

For sad, apart, Lueka sits,

Her- heart' s-eyes gaze afar;
The young chiefs words, his very smiles

Upon her spirits jar.

The golden cross, but half concealed,

To him her secret told ;
The while she murmurs, " he will come

Before this moon is old.

" The corn is golden in the sheaf,
With silken tassels drest;
I 've seen the shining summer rise,
And now 'tis in the west."

But summer set, and winter came,
And spring, with blossoms gay ;

Then hope died in Lueka's heart,
For he was still away.

She drooped and faded day by day,
And when the autumn hours

Came round again with yellow leaves,
She 'd perished with the flowers.

Popmonet bowed his aged head
In sorrow — with a moan ;
" The leaves from the lone tree are swept,
I stand alone — alone !"

Auketauquil approaches near,
With brow and footstep grave ;

The hated cross gleams on her breast,
He hurls it in the wave.

"Curses," he cried, "upon the lips
That lured away my bird !
Curse him ! would of his hated race
Lueka 'd never heard !

" Great Spirit, curse him ! for he stole
The ring-dove from my breast ;
Poor wounded thing — how cold it lies ;
I would have been its nest !"

A lovely island in the lake

Popmonet's child received;
Her people bore her gently there,

And e'en the sternest grieved.

Anear her placed they food and drink,

And trinkets that she wore,
To cheer her on the lonely voyage

Unto the spirit shore.

They laid her where the sweet-fern grew,

With lilies in her hand ;
Then loosed a bird above her grave,*

And sang thus by the strand . —

Speed on to the beautiful land afar,
Where the soul of our sister :s a new made star ;
With kisses, embraces, thy wings are laden,
Soar high to the home of the absent maiden,

Away ! away !

Tell her, winged blossom, that over her grave,
The kindred who mourn her, thy freedom gave ;
We ope thy cage, captive ; we bid thee farewell ;
Soar away to the clime where the blessed dwell,
Away! away!

Tell her we '11 look when the north is aglow,f
With the souls of our people, moving slow ;
For the beams of her spirit 'mid those we see,
For we know in glorj she brightest will be,

Away! away!

She will come no more when the morn is fair,
To look in the wave while she braids her hair ;
But her face like a star on Auketauquil' s soul,
Dawns bright from the gloom where its deep waters roll,
Away! away!

Soar on — soar away to the spirit-land,
Thy wings with the breath of affection fanned ;
The soul of our sister 's a new made star,
Bear our blessing, 0 bird, to her home afar;

Away! away!
******

Years fled — the council fires went out ;

The red men, one by one,
Died, or were driven from their haunts,

Toward the setting sun.

No more a mocassin is seen

On SuccannessetJ lands;
Where once arose the wigwam's smoke,

The white man's dwelling stands.

Save one old brave with locks of snow,

No tree stands where it grew ;
No longer on the wave is launched

The graceful bark canoe.
*******
A poor lone woman, gathering

Fuel Long-Pond around,
Drew forth a dead branch from the wave,

And lo ! a cross was found !

'Twas asked the aged brave, if he

Its history could tell ;
'Twas the same cross Lueka wore,

Ah, yes ! he knew it well.

I gathered from his lips ere long

The tale here given thee ;
'Tis common love, and woe, and death,

From man's inconstancy.

And evermore that woodland pond,

Where oaks their shadows toss,
We '11 call for poor Lueka's sake,

Lake of the Golden Cross.

* The Indians of some tribes loose a bird over the grave
of a friend, laden with caresses, which they believe will be
borne to the departed one.

f The moving rays of the northern lights are supposed
by them to be the souls of their people in glory.

% Succannesset, Indian name of Falmouth.

MRS. CLARK'S EXPERIENCE AS A SERVANT

BY BELL.

" Why is it, Mrs. Clark, that you always
take the part of servants ? You speak as if you
thought them possessed of sensibilities as refined
as ours."

" Why should they not have such feelings V
inquired Mrs. Clark.

" Their education is so different."

" Does education always give sensibility ? Do
you not think it possible for those that must
work for a living to be possessed of it ?"

" I should suppose they might do something
that would not expose them to the contempt
that is shown to such as are 'girls in the kitchen.'
Why, even the higher servants despise them."

" Would it not be better if all were conside-
rate enough not to contemn any one ? Then
there would be no danger of wounding sensibili-
ties that are none the less acute because they
are found in the breast of a servant." Mrs.
Clark said this softly, and with a slight quiver,
perceptible only when you looked at her.

* was sitting by the window for the sake of
the light. £ Sarah Marshall, who was spending a
week with Isabel Clark, was chatting as usual
when Mrs. Clark came in with a neighbor, who
was telling of the impudence of a servant who,
when she was accused of falsehood, replied,
" There is none of my father's family that can
lie."

" Did she lie?" innocently inquired Sarah.

" No, it was found she told the truth ; but,
then, it was her independent manner that was so
offensive."

" Do you not think servants ought to have
independence enough to defend themselves from
an unjust accusation?" asked Mrs. Clark.

" Her saying so proved nothing ; we found
out the* truth ourselves. If she had waited, she
would not have lost her place. I am sorry for
her, I am sure. If you do not want her, I do
not know what will become of her. Her family
are quite destitute."

" Do you not need her help?"

"Oh, yes; but, then"

" You are satisfied of her innocence, you say;
why not have her come back to you ?"

" That would be too humiliating. I never
give my servants a chance to triumph over me
in that way."
508

The visitor departed, and the conversation
was continued, as at the commencement of the
story.

Mrs. Clark was a lady. It was not necessary
to inquire who her ancestors were, to be sure
of that ; yet it was not her dress, or manner, or
voice, or sentiments, either of them, alone, but
harmony and appropriateness in everything she
said or did, that left with you that impression.
In her presence you never thought whether she
was handsome or well-dressed, but, on leaving
her, you would be more than ever in love with
moral beauty.

In the evening, we girls — I call myself one
of them, though so much older — were sitting
round the fireplace in the pleasant room ; it was
just fit for dreaming or story-telling, at twilight,
when Sarah referred to the conversation of the
morning, wondering if Mrs. Hart had conquered
her pride, or poor Anna had found a place.

" I have always pitied servants," said she ;
" it seems that they ought to know their place ;
yet, if they are unjustly accused, it is hard if
they must lose a home when they defend them-
selves."

" For my part," said Isabel, " I like to see
ladies know their places, as well as servants.
What right has any one to charge another with
falsehood, and expect them to be silent under
the false charge, merely because they have
agreed to give them the labor of their hands for
a paltry sum counted out to them on Saturday
night? Anna was educated to thoughts and
habite of strict integrity, and I do not wonder at
her proud retort."

Isabel had been indignant all day, but had
controlled her lips till now ; her eyes flashed as
she spoke, and, when she was done, she went
to the piano and played several spirited airs
with even more spirit than was necessary ; then,
turning to us, said —

"Did mother ever tell you her history ?"

" No," said Sarah.

"Nor you, Miss Bell?"

" Never."

" She wrote it out for me a year ago. I will
read it to you, if you wish."

Now, I had often wished to know her earlier
life, but did not think it rijrht for Isabel to read

MRS. CLARK'S EXPERIENCE AS A SERVANT.

509

to us what was probably written for her alone ;
so I ran up stairs, where Mrs. Clark was en-
gaged with the younger children, and told her
what Isabel proposed doing, inquiring if it met
her approbation.

" I wrote it," said she, pleasantly, " as a les-
son for my daughter ; but I am willing others
should be benefited with her."

Feeling that I had wronged Isabel by suppos-
ing she would do anything improper, I returned
to the parlor just as she was ready to read the
following : —

The first dream of my life was to be a school-
teacher. The first morning of my going to
school, the sweet lady who was teaching in our
district took me on her lap, and asked me if I
did not wish to become a school-teacher. I felt
that to be like her would be pleasant ; and so,
from that time, it was the acme of my ambition
to become what Polly Frazier was — pleasant
name it is, even now — and I was careful about
this, and I learned that, because it was necessary
for a teacher to know such things. My parents
and instructors encouraged the idea, and it was
with me a settled purpose. I hardly know how
young I was when I learned that, to teach suc-
cessfully, I must govern well. I desired not to
rule merely, but to instruct; and, when my
teacher would let me hear the little ones read,
how tearfully happy I was if I succeeded in giv-
ing them a new sound, or right pronunciation !

Thus time passed with me until I was twelve,
when my father came from an eastern State to
Pennsylvania. Soon after, by one of those great
wrongs, where no one is to blame, my father
lost the little property he brought with him to
this part of the country, and a family of eight
was dependent on what he could earn at his
trade. Money was scarce and provisions dear,
and you may- judge of my feelings when my fa-
ther came home every day more and more tired,
and our resources became day by day more and
more reduced ; for, though my mother was a
good manager, yet there are limits beyond which
it is impossible to manage at all.

If I could only do something ! I thought it
over at night, but said nothing. I knew I was
not prepared to teach even children, or, at least,
no one would think I was, and that was all the
same, for all the good it would do me, and I
must give up the thought of it, at least for the
present.

I could not tell you all the day-dreams I had
about the one thing, how I could help my fa-
ther. At last I found a way to help myself, and
thus help him, by reducing the number of mouths

*43

at home, and also adding something to a ward-
robe that was becoming quite scanty.

I became acquainted with a girl some years
older than myself, who was " working out."
She earned seventy-five cents a week. I had
done nearly all of the kinds of work at home
that were expected of her; why, then, could I
not obtain as much 1 I saw no reason why I
should not. True, girls of my own age had but
fifty cents, but then they never washed or ironed,
except coarse clothing, while I could do all, ex-
cept the finest.

" Where there is a will, there is a way ;" so I
soon was from home trying my best. I need not
tell you how much I was disappointed in some
things ; but, as yet, I saw no reason why my
main object could not be accomplished. I was
the more encouraged to hope this, as it was evi-
dent, the people were satisfied with my endea-
vors, and said I " was as much help as those
who were four or five years older."

I had been there six weeks before anything
was said about my pay. The family sewing was
done for the winter, and they did not keep help
only at times, so I was not needed ; and, as a mat-
ter of ceremony, I was asked " what I expected a
week." I had all along thought they would not
hesitate to give me as much as older girls re-
ceived, inasmuch as they had often said I was
as much help. I even thought they would hav%
the delicacy to give me that amount without the
ceremony of asking how much I expected. The
manner of asking me, however, made me think
that perhaps I had over-estimated my services,
and I rather hesitatingly said five shillings
would do.

How they stared at me ! I then found that,
for all I had done' more than was expected of
my age, I had my pay in praise ; something I
did not value, only as it helped me to forward
my main design. Still, fifty cents a week and
my board was better than doing nothing at
home, so I submitted to what was inevitable.
Thus passed the years until I was sixteen. In
the interval, I had managed to attend school three
months. I helped about house mornings and
evenings, and stayed at home Mondays to wash.
At some places I was permitted to read or study,
if I could get the usual work out of the way ;
besides, I kept a book or paper by me, and thus
picked up and pondered over many thoughts;
that would have escaped me, if I had had the
opportunity of reading as much as I wished ;
for, during this time, I used to get as hungry for
mental food as ever woodcutter did for physi-
cal aliment. The kind of reading I had made
me earnestly desire to attend school. Philo-

510

godey's magazine and lady's book,

sophical, chemical, or botanical allusions were
often made, and I could only half understand
what I read, even with the help of the dic-
tionary.

A change of employment offered, which I ea-
gerly accepted, as it brought back my old dreams
of the pleasure I should enjoy as a school-
teacher. An assistant was required in the vil-
lage school. I was too eager to get the place to
inquire about the remuneration, and I enjoyed
myself too well to think about it much ; but I
took for granted that I should have a dollar a
week, and consequently should be able to at-
tend the academy the next winter. I was dis-
appointed when, at the close of the term, I
found I was to be allowed only seventy-five
cents, or what I was able to get as a " hired
girl," though I boarded at father's. I had some
time to study, or the disappointment would have
been even greater. By working for my board, I
found I could attend the district school.

The reputation I acquired as a teacher of the
lady I assisted, was the means of my being em-
ployed in an adjoining district ; but, as much as
I desired the situation, and as much as I loved
teaching, and wished to do my duty, I always
considered that school a failure. Not that any
one complained of me, for the pupils improved ;
but everything became too mechanical, and,
while they learned their lessons well, their
minds seemed to rest, not expand, and I did not
know how to remedy the evil. Still, I loved my
school, and set myself to learn why I had failed.

As I studied myself, I was more than ever
conscious of my deficiencies in mental cultiva-
tion, and of a hungering after mental food.
Every chance I had for study I improved. I
was too conscious of a want of preparation for
teaching to offer myself as a teacher, so I must
do what I could.

Just then an incident occurred that roused
more pride than I had supposed I possessed.
One Sabbath, in the interval between the morn-
ing and afternoon service, a lady came to me,
and, in a manner intended to be very kind, said —

" Are you going to attend the examination of
teachers on Saturday?"

" I have not decided. I am not engaged as a
teacher."

" Well, never mind, go. If you cannot pass
examination so well as Samantha and the rest,
go ; it will do you good."

Samantha was her daughter, and had always
been at school, and consequently ought to have
known more than she did ; but opportunity does
not always make scholars any more than want
of opportunity prevents others from becoming

such. Now, I had been at school with Saman-
tha, and knew that, if she could bear examina-
tion as fitted for a teacher, I could ; and I re-
solved to attend, and, if opportunity was given,
I also would be examined with the rest. And I
did, and have that certificate now.

No opportunity offered for teaching, however ;
in fact, I hardly desired one, until I had more
chance for improvement myself. I made my ar-
rangements, as I thought, for attending school
the next winter ; but winter came, and the next
summer passed, and still I was as far from what
I so earnestly desired as ever. I could not pay
my board, and I could not always get a place
where I could work mornings and evenings for
it ; my clothes would be worn ; so, with one
thing and another, it seemed impossible that I
should ever be anything but a drudge. Not that
my pride rebelled against doing the kind of work
I did, but so constant and ceaseless and unsym-
pathizing a round of duties left no time for
thinking except of what was just about me.

The elasticity of spirits that had sustained me
heretofore was failing me ; for, worn with labor,
I felt my mind, as it were, contracting upon it-
self, and felt, if I could not break from the bond-
age, I should be miserable enough. For that I
could see no way. Now I had a dollar a week,
and I must earn it. My employers seemed to
consider it treason against them if I so much as
looked into a book. From early in the morning
until ten, eleven, and often until the "small
hours," I must labor ; and, if I so much as
made myself a garment, I was charged for it, as
if it had been hired for me. I submitted to
many impositions rather than contend about
them, though I questioned with myself if it was
to last always. It did not last always. I will
relate one incident that occurred, and pass on to
pleasanter days.

A glass dish that was cracked about half way
across, I accidentally finished breaking. I went
immediately to the sitting-room, and explained

how it was done. Mrs. did not appear

displeased at what I had done ; told me not to
mind ; it was an old dish ; she had expected for
some time it would come apart ; there was
enough more ; told me what one to use in place
of it. There was also considerable conversation
on the impropriety of fretting if anything was
accidentally broken' ; and she ended by saying,
" I make it a point never to reproach my girls if
an accident occurs."

I left the room, feeling grateful that such was
her practice, and thinking how pleasant it would
be if all could think so, not only about accidents,
but other things, and be careful not to " bre.ik

MKS. CLARK'S EXPERIENCE AS A SERVANT.

511

the bruised reed." I thought, too, that though
many persons did not seem to sympathize with
those who labor for them, it was more in seem-
ing than real. This incident showed me that
our feelings were regarded.

A few days after this, Mrs. came into

the kitchen to make some preparation for com-
pany, and when she wanted a dish inquired
about that one. I thought it strange if she had
forgotten it, and reminded her of its being
broken.

" Yes, and I think very carelessly broken,
too."

A very expressive remark, I thought, after
her boasted forbearance, and it stung none the

less that the dart was unexpected.

*****

My long-desired wish was gratified, and I was
spending the winter at the academy, and among
friends who took an interest in my welfare, and
assisted me whenever they could. The prospect
was fair before me of my being able to prepare
for what I had wished from childhood. Still,
envy and contempt had a shaft or two, but they
generally flew too high or too low, for I knew a
man would " be a man for a' that."

A little boy said to me one day, tauntingly :
" Mother says you can't be a schoolma'am any-
how; anybody as has alius been a servant don't
know 'nough. I sha'n't go to school to you."

'.' Ah, you think you would not like to come
then?" said. I, pleasantly.

" If mother would let me."

Then, looking up to me in a confiding way, he
asked: "Is it bad to be a servant?"

Heaven bless the child ! thought I, as I kissed
his face, sweet now with gentle thoughts ; why
must such hearts be poisoned with bitter and
contemptuous thoughts?

It was nearly spring when a party was made
by one of the principal families of the village.
Some of the pupils of the academy were to leave
before the term expired, and it was intended as
a compliment to them. Some of the villagers
had begun to think the habits of our village too
primitive, and that " hired girls," farmers' sons,
and apprentices, should no longer be invited to
the village gatherings. To this party I was
among the uninvited. I was too proud, too in-
dependent, too much intent on my studies to
resent it, and intended not to notice it. One
does not like to be the subject of deliberate neg-
lect; but all I meant to do about it was to
prepare myself for the future, and I resolved
my future should be such that they and their
descendants would be proud to associate with
me.

A young gentleman, a favorite in the village,
boarding at the same place, asked permission to
attend me to the party. His favorite girl was
a particular friend of mine, and he had been
escort to both on a previous occasion, but now
she was out of the village. Without telling him
I could not go, and for what reason, I endeavored
to put him off to go alone, or find another lady,
saying, " I must learn my lessons ; I did not
like to be out late."

He knew that, but had resolved I should go
this time, as I had successfully excused myself
before. He protested I was studying too much ;
a social evening would do me good; said he
would come home as soon as I said, after nine
o'clock. Thus he endeavored to overrule all
my objections and excuses.

There was no real reason why I should not
go with him, only the one why I should not go
at all. I did not intend to tell him I had such
an one, but he gave me no peace until I told
him I could not go, and why.

"No invitation!" repeated he, in astonish-
ment; "how is that?"

" Excuse me ; I must keep my suspicions to
myself."

He sat thoughtfully a few moments, then,
starting up as if a new thought occurred to him,
said —

" I understood they were not intending to
invite 'hired girls;' but why should they slight
you ? You are as much a pupil at the academy
as an> one there."

" Yes, but I work for my board, and next
summer I shall probably be ' hired girl' again."

"Well," said he, pleasantly, "we can have a
party here."

I protested against his staying on my account.

" Yes, yes, they made me promise to come,
but I insisted on qualifying it with ' providen-
tial,' and I consider this I have learned quite in
that light. Nay, speak not, I command you. I
shall not go. I only wish Mary was at home.
However, we can have a pleasant evening here,
and no thanks to the * codfish aristocracy.' "

The next day, inquiry was made after Mr.

, and why he did not attend the party ; but

he gave them no more satisfaction than they
were entitled to. Afterward I was invited
whenever there was a party; I did not care
about going always, though I was glad to have
my right to an invitation unquestioned, as, ac-
cording to my definition of respectable, a man
or woman either was so who could conscien-
tiously respect himself.

The next summer, and for years, until my
'marriage, I had the satisfaction of knowing that

512

godey's magazine and lady's book.

my schools were not failures. Though I had
anticipated so long, the enjoyment was equal to
the anticipation.
Here Mrs. Clark's history of her days of trial

ceased.

*****

" Why did she not write more of her school-
teaching life?" I asked. " I should like to hear
her account of it j I am sure it would be inte-
resting."

" It is," said Isabel ; " she has related many
incidents to me that are very amusing, and some

pathetic. I will ask her to tell you about them
some time. This she wrote for me to correct
some very foolish notions I had acquired at Mrs.
W.'s school. Who would think, after seeing
mother, that work must necessarily degrade any
one ? You know Burritt says : 'If a man
thinks at his work, his thoughts are strong,' and
mother exemplifies itj her thoughts are also
gentle."

Again Isabel resorted to the piano, but this
time it was accompanied by a gentle evening
hymn.

TIME'S CHANGES; OK, FASHIONS IN THE OLDEN TIMES.

July, 1730.

Extracts from the Diary of my Greatgrand-
mother.

Five o'clock. — Got up an hour before my usual
time to distil surfeit-water. Said my prayers.
Finished one of my father's new shirts. Mem.
To send to town for some currants, raisins, and
ratafia water.

Six. — Some poor women came for medicine to
my mother ; gave out of the store-room several
doses, and a pint of sack. Mem. To carry two
shillings to Tom, the carpenter's wife, who is ill.

Seven. — Breakfasted. A card has come from
Mr. Jenkins, to let us know he will do himself
the pleasure of dining with us. The match de-
bated during breakfast. My father says, if he
finds him a man of good morals, he'll not differ
as to the settlements. I am ordered never to be
alone with Mr. J. until all the writings are
drawn.

Eight. — Read the Psalms and chapters for the
day. Taught little Jemmy his catechism. Mem.
Betsey has marked J. in her sampler to-day:
that stands for Jenkins.

Nine. — Darn some old point-lace tuckers. Do
some clear-starching and ironing for next week.

Ten. — Go see the carpenter's wife. Her fam-
ily in very great want. Give them a shilling
from my own pocket-money.

Eleven. — Sit down to my cross-stitch. A
shepherdess the subject, for an urn-rug.

Twelve. — My mother orders me to make a
custard-pudding, to show Mr. Jenkins what I
can do. Orders me to wear my best gown at
dinner, and only two patches. Mem. I mean
to appear in my new hoop and laced stomacher.
Mr. J. is a man of figure, so will look to my ap-
pearance.

One. — Too much ratafia water in the pudding.
Mr. J. praised some hare of my potting. I begin
to like him vastly well, but must not let him
perceive it. Mem. Our currant wine just out.
Mislaid the key of the corner-cupboard. Think-
ing of Mr. J.

=r Two. — Miss T. and her lover stepped in to tea.
Promise her receipt for pickling mushrooms.
Mem. Mrs. Hart's receipt for burns very good.
Must have it in the house. Garlick syrup ex-
cellent for coughs.

Eight. — Supper. My brother tells me Mr.
Jenkins is very wild. Mem. Never to see his
face again !

Saturday, March, 1778.

Notes from my Grandmother's Pocket Diary.
Two o'clock. — Arrived this moment in town.

We have been three days coming from S

in our own coach. Just put off my riding-dress,
and huddled on my green gown, to get to the
milliner's, mercer's, &c. Overjoyed to be in
town ; so have no appetite for my dinner.

Four. — Going out with Miss Tendrill. She
tells me coque de perle necklace and ear-rings are
much in vogue. Mem. To teaze my mother
until she gets them for me. Arrive at Truefit's.
N. B. Truefit the first viodeste in the world.
Ordered a cane hat, lined with cerulean blue Per-
sian, trimmed with blonde lace and ribbons, for
walking in the Park, and making morning calls.
Mem. Must bespeak two pairs of white leather
shoes, with red heels, and bindings to correspond.
Advised to have a Saint Teresa of sarsnet and
blonde lace, as 'tis the latest mode. Ordered it
at once. Mem. Blonde lace ruffles, with a
large slope, vastly genteel. Uneasy till I get
them.

TIME'S CIIANGES.

513

Eight. — Go home, fearing I may miss Mr.
Cleveland. He advises, as my shoulders are
rather round, that my stays be made high behind.
He says 'tis quite the thing to have them so. I
have desired they should be cut low before, as it
shows the chest off to advantage.

Sunday. Eleven o'clock. — Had no rest last
night, anticipating the pleasure of the week to
come. Too late for church. I shall dress time
enough for a ride in the Park.

One. — Miss Wyndham has called for me. Go
to Mrs. Emerson, to engage her to matronize us

to an assembly to-morrow night. Mr.

walked up to speak to us. An acquaintance of
Miss Wyndham. A fine well-made man ; im-
proves on better acquaintance. He took great
notice of me, and told Miss W. I was a prodi-
gious fine girl. Miss W. jealous, and anxious to
return home ; he offered to escort us. Miss W.
complained of headache, and would not speak.
I improved the opportunity, by chatting away

merrily to Mr. all the way home. Mem.

To get a green Persian calash, same as Miss

Wyndham's. Mr. praised it, so I won't

be outdone.

Seven. — Mr. invited to dinner by my

mother. I engrossed all his attention. He is
very rich.

Eleven. — Desired Mary to waken me at two in
the morning, to have my hair dressed. It will
be done in about four hours.

Monday. Two in the morning. — Crumpe just
arrived. Read Damon and Ella, whilst my head
is being operated on. A sweet book !

Seven. — My hair finished. Mem. Crumpe the
first hair-dresser in Europe. Only 463 black
pins in it. No other could have accomplished it
with less than 470.

Eleven. — Out shopping with Mrs. Emerson.
Take the round of the fashionable milliners.
Bespeak a grenadier cap of blonde lace, with a
Mary Stuart peak. Saw a lovely clouded lute-
string at Ball and Campbell's. Resolved to have
it. 'Tis very much genteeler than Miss Wynd-
ham's.

Twelve. — Had a glance at Mr. . They

say half the reigning belles are dying for love
of him. Charming creature ! Mem. To dance
the first minuet with him to-night, if possible.

One. — Much fatigued from tumbling over
silks, &c. Tried on my new negligee. Mem.
Must not go to the assembly until ten. Country
hours will not do here.

Tuesday. One. — Paid so many visits yesterday
before the assembly, that I was tired and out of

sorts. Mr. danced with Miss Wyndham

half the night. Well, to be sure, what taste

some people have ! She looked downright fright-
ful. Her fortune is a large one ; that covers all
defects, I suppose. I am mortified, have a bad
headache, and wish our stay in town was at an

end. I have just heard that Mr. proposed

for Miss Wyndham last night. I shall cut her
acquaintance most certainly.

December, 1820.
Leaves from my Mother's Journal.

Tuesday, Dec. 2. — The boxes containing my
trousseau have just arrived. My cousin Annie
and I busy unpacking them. Annie to be my
bridesmaid. How brilliant her color is to-day :
she looks very lovely, and will grace our wed-
ding. Of course, dear Edward is charmed with
her, for my sake. My wedding-dress is of white
lace, gored on the hips, and quite tight down to
the knee, where small flowers, headed with
thick wadded rolls of white satin, commence.
The body is just one finger deep in front, and a
little deeper behind. The dress is made low,
for the ball on the evening of the wedding; and
with it has come a white flowered satin spencer,
covered with small white tassels on the front,
and with a stiff standing collar, which looks very
stylish. My hat is composed of blonde and satin,
and has six full ostrich feathers in it, three at
each side, the two end ones being very long, so
as to fall gracefully on the shoulders. Madame
Lion has sent, amongst other things, a blue cloth
pelisse, trimmed with sable ; the price of it is
thirty-five guineas. Edward made Annie try on
some of my things to see how he liked them.
Strange that it was not me he wished to see them
upon ! Dear Edward, how thoughtful he is — he
made me retire to my room very early, saying I
looked fatigued. Annie did not follow me until
twelve o'clock, and seemed flushed and slightly
agitated on entering the room. She says I look
so pale I should wear a little rouge. 'Tis a
fashion I never yet adopted.

Wednesday, Dec. 3. — Papa and dear Edward
all day in the study, closeted with Mr. Grabb,
our attorney, arranging about settlements. To-
morrow I shall be the happy bride of him whom
I adore. Guests arriving all day. I saw Annie
coming out of the shrubbery with dear Edward,
before the dinner-bell rang. What could they
have gone there for? The hour late, too, for
walking, and the evening cold and damp.

Twelve o'clock. — Just retired to my room for
the night. Take one more peep at my wedding-
dress, laid on the sofa, and now retire to dream
of the happy morn fast approaching.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Here the manuscript ceases ; for, when morn
rnme— that morn so longed for — Edward was
missing ; and, stranger far, Annie was nowhere
to be found, and was sought for in vain. The
faithless pair had eloped together, and the fol-
lowing day were united at Gretna Green. Long

did my poor mother pine and mourn her sad fate.
But at length brighter days arose for her ; and in
my dear and honored father she found what she
had long searched for — a congenial, loving, and
honest heart. M. E. H.

A STKANGE INCIDENT.

I heard the other day an anecdote which jus-
tifies the remark that " truth is often stranger
than fiction." An old woman, a short time ago,
on her death-bed, called her nephew, who was
also her heir, and revealed to him that, eight
years before, she had gone to Paris to receive
some money which was due to her — a sum of
fourteen thousand francs received in bank-notes ;
she wrapped them up in an old newspaper, and
placed them, with different other things, on the
mantle-piece of the room of the inn where she
was staying, while she sat down to write to her
husband, to tell him she had received the mo-
ney. The letter written, she determined that,
instead of trusting it to any one, she would put
it herself in the post ; and accordingly left the
hotel for the purpose. On going out, she left
her key with her porter, with directions to light
a fire in her room at eight o'clock. Towards
half-past seven, whilst at the house of one of her
acquaintances, it suddenly occurred to her that
she had left her bank-notes on the mantle-piece
at the hotel. She immediately returned in search
of them, went up to her room, where the fire
was lighted according to her directions; but the
packet of bank-notes had disappeared. She
rang. A young girl answered the bell ; of whom
she demanded who had lighted the fire. It was
the girl herself. The owner of the bank-notes
asked if she had seen them. She answered in
the negative. At last the master of the hotel
was called, and the affair related to him. It then
was proved that the only person who entered
the room was the girl who lighted the fire. The
master of the house had confidence in the girl's
honesty; but, as appearances were certainly
against her, the whole affair was placed in the
hands of the police, and the girl arrested. She
was condemned, on her trial, to three years' im-
prisonment ; but the money was not found after
the expiration of the three years. The girl came
to the house of the owner of the unlucky bank-
notes, reproached her as the cause of her ruin
and dishonor. The old lady was touched: it
occurred to her, suppose, after all, the woman

was innocent ! Her guilt had never been satis-
factorily proved ; nor had the strictest searches
been able to discover what she had done with
the money she was accused* of taking. At the
time of her arrest she had been on the point of
marrying an honest workman ; and now she
would have the greatest difficulty in placing her-
self in service again. Instigated by the desire
to repair, as far as in her lay, the injury she
might have caused this young woman, the old
lady determined to take her into her service,
and try her ; and never had she cause to regret
having done so. She now revealed all to the
nephew, and expressed her full belief in the
innocence of her servant, and desired them
always to retain her in the family, and not to
reveal her secret. The next day the old lady
died, leaving about two hundred thousand francs
to her nephew.

The nephew came a short time ago to Paris,
to pass a few months of the winter season ; he
went to an hotel in the Rue du Helder, where he
established himself very comfortably. One even-
ing, after returning home, he heard, in the
room adjoining that in which he was, the sound
of voices and laughter ; evidently his neighbors
were in high glee. Overhearing some words,
his curiosity was piqued, and he approached the
partition, in order to hear more distinctly; (and
yet there are some men who pretend to say that
it is only women who are curious !) In this
laudable attempt, our hero discovered that there
had formerly been a door of communication be-
tween the room he occupied, and that in which
his gay neighbors were enjoying themselves.
The hole where the lock had been was filled up
with sealing-wax, so that there was no chance
of seeing through that : but his curiosity was ex-
cited, and in looking about he saw that there
had been a space at the top of the door, which
was stuffed up with old paper. He pulled it out,
and his curiosity was gratified with a view of
his next-door neighbors. His efforts being thus
crowned with success, he went to bed, and fell
asleep.

THE NEEDLE IN THE HAYMOW.

515

The next morning, wishing to remove the
proofs of his curiosity, he took the packet of
old newspapers, with the intention of replacing
them, when, in so doing, out fell the fourteen
billet de mille francs, evidently those of his aunt.
The master of the house was called. He re-
membered perfectly the circumstance. The serv-
ant was sent for 5 she recognized the room.

The young man offered to make public repara-
tion, and establish her innocence ; but the poor
woman preferred letting all the affair rest in
oblivion. The story was forgotten, she said :
why revive it? The young man handed her
over the billets, which had been the cause of so
much sorrow to her. After all, they were hardly
earned.

THE NEEDLE 1 1ST THE HAYMOW,

A STORY FOR HOUSEKEEPERS.

"You must have help, that is certain," said
Mr. Harding, as he laid a letter which he had
been reading upon the breakfast-table, and began
to sip his coffee. " With all this company upon
your hands, and warm weather coming on, it
would be madness for you to try to get along
alone."

"That is true," sighed Mrs. Harding; "but
the question is, where to get it. The whole
vicinity has been searched over and over, and
there is not a girl to be had."

" One must be had," replied her husband, in
a determined tone. " Eight or ten visitors, more
or less, for the summer, will kill you outright."
And he cast a troubled glance at the pale face
and slender form of his wife.

" Well, how shall we get help, then?" asked
Mrs. Harding, half laughing in the midst of her
vexation. " The days are gone by when girls
apply for places."

" Yes, there is no way but to go after them.
If my troublesome rheumatism would just leave
me for a few days, you should have two girls.
But as it is, wife, I see no way but for you to go
yourself with Walter for driver."

Mrs. Harding laughed to think how she would
look driving about the country for " help," and
would almost have preferred to try her hand
alone ; but her husband's troubled countenance
and the necessities of the case decided her, and
she said —

" I have almost no faith in the undertaking,
but am willing to try, and if I fail I shall be no
worse off than now. But where shall I go ?"

Mr. Harding thought a moment, and then
said —

" I have heard that there are girls enough on
Seccombe Plains."

"How far is that?"

" Only twelve or fifteen miles. It is only four
or five miles from Cousin Harriman's."

"Oh, that will be nice!" exclaimed Mrs.
Harding, well pleased with the suggestion. " I
will spend the night with Cousin Clarissa, and
start from there in the morning."

After dinner, the same day, Walter brought
the carriage round to the door, and Mrs. Harding
started off, infinitely amused with her errand,
though with no very sanguine hopes of success.

The next morning, Mrs. Harriman gave her
guests an early breakfast, and by seven o'clock
they were ready to commence their search. It
was a lovely morning in early June. The sun
had not been up long enough to kiss the glisten-
ing dew from the grass, and the thousand song-
sters of grove and forest had not quite finished
their matin song. Everything looked bright
with hope ; and hope beat higher, a great deal
higher in Mrs. Harding's breast than it had done
the day before. The whole world looked so
beautiful that it seemed almost wicked to doubt,
and they rode on over the retired hills towards
Seccombe Plains, feeling almost as sure of the
"bird" as though they had her "in hand."

After riding two or three miles, they ap-
proached a small unpainted cottage which stood
upon a very high bank upon the right. A single
glance showed them that two or three men were
at the back door, evidently just starting for the
fields.

" Stop when you get against the house, Wal-
ter ; I mean to inquire here," said Mrs. Harding,
as they drew near. But the next moment two
of the men disappeared round the corner of the
shed, while the third, a very oily-looking man,
with an enormous width of collar, came leisurely
along in front of the house.

" Do you know where I could find a girl to
do housework, sir?" asked Mrs. Harding, lean-
ing forward in her carriage, and addressing the
man.

" Wal, yes," said he of the broad collar; " I 've

516

godey's magazine and lady's book.

got a darter 'd be glad to go ; but she ain't to \
home. She went to work to the Falls last week,
but she ain't a gwine to stay but three or four
weeks. If she was to home, she 'd be glad to go."

"Do you know of any others who go out?" j
said Mrs. Harding, who thought there was but
little prospect of getting his daughter Sally.

" Not as I knows on," said Mr. of the broad
collar. " You couldn't wait three or four weeks,
I s'pose." j

" No," was the reply ; and she laid her hand
upon Walter's arm, as a signal to drive on.

" We came pretty near getting a girl that >
time," said Walter, laughing.

" Quite as near as was best for us. It is well
that Sally is gone, I dare say," replied his mo- J
ther, with a smile. >

Patient toiling brought them at last up a long,
rugged hill, upon the other side of which spread j
out Seccombe Plains. <

"Here is a house; shall we inquire here?" !
said Walter, pointing to a rude little house or
hovel which stood upon the hill-top, upon a
level spot which was covered with large granite I
boulders and unsightly brush.

" Yes," said his mother, as she espied a man
coming round the corner of the house. " It can
do no harm to inquire."

" Can you tell me of any girls in the vicinity •
who go out to work?" sang out Mrs. Harding
to the slovenly-looking man, who had no idea
of drawing nearer. j

"What? I didn't hear."

The question was repeated, and the sound of
a stranger's voice brought three or four barefooted, \
uncombed juveniles to the door, and the mother's
head to the window.

" Can you tell this woman where she can find
a gal to do housework?" said the man, address-
ing his better half.

" Why, yes ; there 's gals enough, but I can't
seem to think on 'em," said the woman, with a
perplexed look. " P'raps she could get one of
Smithson's gals. He has got two that go out to
work."

"Would they make good help?" asked Mrs.
Harding.

" Fust rate. One on 'em worked for me a
spell last winter, and she did well."

Mrs. Harding thought that was no great re-
commendation ; but she simply thanked her, and
asked if she could tell of any others.

"Wal, I don't think of any; but there 's
enough on 'em a leetle farther on, at Mapleton."

"How far is that?"

"Six miles beyond the Plains."

Mrs. Harding thanked her informer, and they

drove on down the long steep hill, at the foot
of which lay the insignificant village of Seccombe
Plains.

" We have heard of one girl, mother," said
Walter, looking very bright. " Perhaps she
will be just the one for us."

" Perhaps so," said Mrs. Harding, doubtfully.

" We shall feel pretty grand if we can carry
back a good girl."

Mrs. Harding laughed, and said something
about "counting chickens before they were
hatched;" but just then they found themselves
at the foot of the long hill, and directly opposite
a low farm-house, the mistress of which was
out, broom in hand, sweeping the little footpath
which led to the road.

Mrs. Harding inquired if she knew of any
girls for housework.

"Where do you want 'em to go?" asked the
woman, whose curiosity was at once awakened.

" Only about fifteen miles," was the evasive
reply.

" Well, I don't know of any," replied the
woman, looking a little disappointed. " I don't
think there 's such a thing to be had anywhere
round here."

" I was told that Mr. Smithson has daughters
who go out to work."

" Well, you couldn't git 'em, I know. They
go a little right round here, but they wouldn't
go off so far. Their folks wouldn't hear a word
to 't," said the woman, with a flourish of her
broom.

" Will you have the kindness to tell me where
they live? I think I will try them."

" Oh, yes, I '11 do that ! You must go back
to the saddlers shop, and then turn square
round to your left, and it is the first house on
the right."

"How far is it?"

"I should say about a mile and a half, or
such a matter. It 's the third house on the
right."

Mrs. Harding expressed her thanks, and old
Dobbin was whirled round the corner instanter,
and they were in full pursuit of the Smithsons.

" Here 's the house, mother; this is the third,"
said Walter, as they came in sight of a comfort-
able-looking farm-house, which stood upon quite
a bluff upon the right. Everything about the
premises looked very neat. The bright green
grass grew clear up to the front door of the cot-
tage, which, with the closed curtains in the
"foreroom," gave a particularly staid, go-to-
meeting-like aspect to the front. A narrow
footpath wound round to the back door, which
was evidently the only approved mode of en-

THE NEEDLE IN THE HAYMOW.

517

trance. Mrs. Harding alighted and took the
well-worn path to the back door, and knocked.
" Come in," called out a shrill voice within.
Obeying the summons, she saw before her a
very tidy-looking matron, with a very white
bleached cotton cap upon her head, holding in
her hand a lace or muslin article of the same
sort, which she was spatting and pulling, evi-
dently with the intention of " doing it up." The
aspect of the kitchen was very inviting. The
morning work was all out of the way, and the
polished stove and very white unpainted floor
were really charming.

" I have called to see if one of your daughters
would go out to work," said Mrs. Harding, with
hope fast rising in her breast, for she felt that
she had at last come to the right place.

" Well, I don't know ; they go out sometimes.
Where do you want them to go?" asked the wo-
man, with a glance of curiosity at the stranger.

Mrs. Harding mentioned the name of the town
and the distance, adding that she should have a
large family through the season, and wished
some one to cook and do general work.

" I don't know what they 'd say to it. They
can do as they've a mind to. But they ain't
good for much, nohow," said the mother, who
continued to spat and pull her muslin vigor-
ously.

"How old are they?"

"The oldest is seventeen this month, and
t'other is two years younger."

At this moment the door opened, and in
walked a coarse overgrown girl, munching a
piece of pie, and staring boldly at the stranger.

" Do you want to go out to work, Emmeline?
Here 's a woman that wants you," said the mo-
ther, the moment she made her appearance.

" Yes," said the girl, in coarse tones, without
relaxing her stare.

Mrs. Harding's heart sank within her. She
saw, at a glance, that the great, coarse, unman-
nered girl would be more care than help. She
hardly knew how to make an honorable retreat
in the case ; but after a slight cross-examination
of the capabilities of the girl, she expressed her
belief that she was too young for her hard work,
and bowed herself out, leaving both mother and
daughter looking quite disconcerted.

"Is she going?" whispered Walter, as his
mother approached the carriage.

A shake of the head answered him.

" Oh, dear, where shall we go now?"

" Straight before us, Walter ; you must not
give up for trifles," said his mother, laughing
good-humoredly, notwithstanding the uneasiness
that was creeping upon her own heart.
vol. xlviii. — 44

"Where?" said Walter, still desponding.

" I don't know; we '11 see. Don't you know
that we are out seeking our fortunes, Wally?"

They drove on, and soon met an elderly-look-
ing man in a rickety old wagon, drawn by it
limping gray horse.

" Can you tell me, sir," said Mrs. Harding,
laying her hand upon Walter's arm as a sign to
stop, "can you tell me where I can find a girl
to do housework?"

"That is a pretty difficult thing to find,
ma'am," replied the old man, in a respectful
tone. " Let me see," and he looked down for a
moment, thoughtfully. "Yes, there's Susan
Lovejoy you might get, and she would maize*
good help. She is a first rate girl."

"How old is she?" inquired Mrs. Harding,
as the vision of the coarse girl munching her
pie flitted before her.

" Oh, she 's old enough," replied the man,
with a smile, " she 's old enough. I should
think she might be thirty or thereabouts. They
call her one of the best."

Away they went over the hills, some three or
four miles, and at length old Dobbin was reined
up before Mr. Lovejoy's door. It was a sub-
stantial-looking farm-house set in the midst of
a green field, surrounded by a stone wall, its
only opening being a formidable farm -yard gate,
fastened to a post by a piece of rope. The
premises were guarded by a noisy dog, who
rushed out the moment he heard the sound of
wheels, and ran barking towards the carriage.
Mrs. Harding, however, pushed open the gate,
and quickly made her way to the house. A
pale, fresh-looking matron Was bustling about
the kitchen ; and standing at a spinning-wheel,
near the door, was a girl in>a tidy -looking dark
calico, whom she knew, at a glance, was the
object of her search.

She at once made known her errand.

"Oh, no," was the response of the girl; "I
couldn't possibly go. I don't see who ever
thought I would."

" I was recommended to come here;" replied
Mrs. Harding, who liked the looks of the girl,
and was determined to plead her cause with all
her might. " I was told that you went out, and
very likely would go now."

"Who told you so?"

" An old gentleman whom I met three or four
miles back."

" With a gray limping horse?"

" Yes, I should think so."

" It must have been old Mr. Cartwright, mo-
ther; I don't see what made him think so."

" Could I not induce you to go?" asked Mrs.

518

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

Harding, bringing her back to the main point,
and entering very fully into the circumstances
of the family. " I will give you good wages.
Two dollars a week, if you say so."

"Well, I couldn't go nohow. They can't
spare me."

" Could not you go for a few weeks?" asked
Mrs. Harding, anxiously. " Six or eight weeks
would do me a great deal of good. You shall be
well paid, if you will go. You may set your
own price."

"No, I couldn't possibly go," said the girl,
with a tantalizing smile. " I ain't obliged to
work out, and I can't go."

Mrs. Harding looked and felt disappointed,
but she made her way out, not knowing where
to go. She felt that she was on a hopeless er-
rand, and was half disposed to turn her face
homeward. But, on second thought, she con-
cluded to try a little longer, and they rode on,
making fruitless inquiries here and there. At
length she recollected that some one had told
her that there were plenty of girls in Mapleton.
In an instant, old Dobbin was headed that way,
despite Walter's sinking spirits, and they rode
along drinking in the perfume of a thousand
flowers, and charmed into something like hope
by the harmonies which float upon the breezes
of early summer.

" I will inquire here," said Mrs. Harding, as
they neared an old-fashioned house some two or
three miles beyond the Plains ; and, suiting the
action to the word, she sprang lightly from the
carriage and ran up to the door and knocked.
After knocking till her fingers were sore, for
neither bell nor knocker graced the panel, she
heard steps of some one who came stubbing
leisurely along to the door. The face which
presented itself was coarse and greasy, and the
untidy dress of the owner strongly suggestive of
yellow snufF.

" Do you know of any girls for housework V
said Mrs. Harding, hardly expecting any avail-
able information.

" Don't b'l'eve there 's such a thing to be
found in ten mile. Folks can't git gals when
they 're sick, and dun no where well folks can
find 'em. S'pect they '11 have to do their own
work ; at any rate, they orto."

" But well people sometimes have more work
than they can do, and then they need help,"
returned Mrs. Harding, in a tone of remon-
strance.

" Wal, gals round here won't go where they 're
looked down on. They'd rather do sunthin'
else than work for folks that 's too grand to eat
with them," said the woman, with a look which

indicated that she thought the stranger one of
the aristocracy.

"Then you cannot tell me of any one?" in-
terrupted Mrs. Harding, intending to cut short
the uncivil harangue.

"No; not unless Betty Symonds would go;
but, then, she wouldn't, I know," replied the
woman, who seemed a little softened, now that
she had given vent to her spleen against the
" grand folks."

"And where does she live?" asked Mrs.
Harding, who, like a " drowning man, caught at
every straw."

" Up 't the next housen ; but she won't go ;
I know as well as I want to, eanamost."

Mrs. Harding was soon ushered into Betty
Symonds's best parlor. It was a long narrow
room, with two small windows, and partially
carpeted with bits of rag carpeting and large
braided mats of domestic manufacture. A white
homespun towel covered the stand between the
windows, upon which stood a cracked tea-pot,
over which straggled long branches of petunia,
which were under the necessity of lying down,
because there was nothing to hold them up.

Betty was soon heard approaching, and she
came in dressed in quite a striking manner.
Her gay, large-figured calico was decorated with
three deep flounces. Large gold ear-rings were
in her ears, and rings, which glowed with great
yellow and red stones, adorned the hands which
were damp with dish-water. To Mrs. Harding's
inquiry she replied, in loud tones —

" I don't kalkilate to work out. I ain't
obleeged teu. And I mean to go to Boston a
visiting soon as haying is over."

Great as were Mrs. Harding's necessities, she
felt little inclined to urge Betty Symonds to live
with her, and on they were soon jogging towards
Mapleton.

" Where are you going now, mother?" asked
Walter, looking quite blue.

" Oh, I don't know, Wally. I am almost dis-
couraged."

" Do let us go home, mother ; we shall not
find a good girl."

" We may ; we will try a little longer," said
Mrs. Harding, trying to be cheerful.

As they rode into Mapleton village, they met
a man of whom Mrs. Harding ventured to in-
quire.

" Oh, there is girls enough," he replied, cheer-
fully. " You 've just come by a house where
there are three."

"How far back is it?" asked Mrs. Harding,
eagerly.

" Oh, a mile or so. You can sec it from here,

THE NEEDLE IN THE HAYMOW

519

just beyond that hemlock grove," said the man,
pointing back.

Dobbin was again turned, and put in rapid
motion towards the house. There she found a
great corpulent woman knitting quietly by the
window ; but the girls were nowhere to be seen.
Mrs. Harding stated her errand briefly, but ear-
nestly.

" My gals are gone," said the woman, coldly.
" One 's gone to Lowell, and t'other went yes-
terday to work at the Meadows."

" Have you not another that would go ?"

"No," was the gruff reply of the woman, who
did not even deign to look up.

" It 's just so everywhere," said Walter, as he
caught the hopeless expression of his mother's
face when she came out. " They are all just
gone or going, or else ' ain't obleeged to work
out.' I wish some of them had to."

" Oh no, that is wrong, Wally. I would not
have a domestic unless it would be for her inte-
rest to serve me as well as for mine. But I do
believe these uncultivated girls sometimes stand
very much in their own light in refusing to go
where they might be learning something valu-
able, and be really improving themselves, as
well as helping those who need."

" Well, I am sick of this," said Walter, half
laughing, and almost half crying. " I am tired
and hungry. Cannot we have some dinner V9

His mother assured him that they would stop
for dinner soon. In the mean time, they con-
tinued their inquiries. One girl who, they were
assured, was at home spinning, and who intend-
ed to engage out for the season, they found had
started the day before for Boston in search of a
place. At another house, a sweet-looking girl,
blue-eyed and fair, with her white arms bare
almost to the shoulders, had her trunk already
packed for Lowell. She " could not go." One
pale mother had three daughters, one of whom
was at the academy, a second in the paper-mill,
and the third she must keep to assist herself.
One stout, healthy girl, whom Mrs. Harding
urged to the very verge of decency, preferred to
stay at home to knit for the merchants at one
dollar per pound. And one woman, with very
yellow skin and snapping black eyes, wouldn't
" have her girls go where folks were so grand.
They were as good as anybody, and better than
some who sot themselves up to be so smart."

It was two hours past noon when our tired,
worn-out travellers drove up to a small tavern
to dine. As they sat at table, a new thought
struck Mrs. Harding. She would inquire of the
table-girl.

" No, ma'am," replied the girl to her question,

with a smile and a shake of the head. " We
can't get girls enough here to do our work.
Most all the girls here go to the factory. There
was a man along last week, who had been up
country to get a lot of girls, and he had engaged
sixteen hundred to go to a new factory in Lowell.
He pays them so much a head, and takes them
down by the lot, just like cattle to the market."

"Shall you go home now, mother?" asked
Walter, when the girl had left the room.

"Certainly I shall; and I can see no other
way but to do my own work at present."

It was a late hour in the evening when Mrs.
Harding and her son drove up to their own door.
Mr. Harding, notwithstanding his rheumatism,
laughed heartily as they rehearsed the incidents
of the day. He still insisted, however, that it
was because they had taken an unfortunate
direction, and that, if they should take >a differ-
ent route, they would surely be more successful.

"No," said Mrs. Harding, laughing; " I can
assure you I have had enough of it. All I get
for my day's labor is the privilege of getting my
own supper. I can get along alone, and must."

" Ah, you will think differently, wife, when
the Wallaces and Pinkertons get here. It will
be no trifling affair to play the parts of lady and
housemaid, hostess and table-girl, with so many
visitors on your hands."

Mrs. Harding, however, kept up good courage.
The expected guests, some eight or ten, includ-
ing the babies, arrived. By making extra pre-
parations before their arrival, she managed to
get along comfortably for a few days ; but the
cake and tarts could not always last where
there were so many mouths, the house would
not keep in order, and the care and labor of
meeting the wants of her large family pressed
every day, she thought, with greater weight
upon her.

" I can tell you, Ellen, I will not consent to
this another day," said Mr. Harding to his wife,
as he met her burning face one day in the kitchen,
just as dinner was ready for the table. " Why,
you look as if you had baked yourself as well as
the mutton," he added, laughing.

" Pray, how will you help it, my dear?" asked
Mrs. Harding.

" I will go myself for help. I do believe I
can find somebody who can tend the roast and
wash the dishes."

" Don't be too positive, Mr. Harding ; re-
member your good wife's experience," inter-
posed Mrs. Pinkerton, with an arch shake of the
finger and a roguish twinkle of the eye.

" Well, one thing is certain," replied Mr.
Harding, laughing, " I shall not come back till I

520

godey's magazine and lady's book.

find one, extraordinaries excepted. So, when
you sec me driving up, you will see some one
else."

Old Dobbin was duly harnessed next morning,
and Mr. Harding, full of hope, started off
•• bright and early," while the whole family,
guests and all, ran down to the gate to wish him
success and a pleasant ride.

One, two, three days passed, but he did not
return, and Mrs. Harding began to cast uneasy
glances down the street, and to watch and listen
every time she heard carriage-wheels.

" He will be as good as his word, Ellen," said
her sister, Mrs. Pinkerton. "When he does
come, you will have help ; that is a comfort."

" Perhaps," cried little Anna Pinkerton, " he
cannot find a girl, and then he will never come
back."

Just then, however, a step was heard in the
hall, and the next moment the parlor door was
darkened by his tall form. There he stood, but
alone.

" Where is your girl?" asked Mrs. Harding,
anxiously.

" I left her to come in the cars. She will be
here in three days."

" Oh, did you get one, then?" asked his wife
and two or three others, in a breath.

" To be sure I did ; but I had hard enough
work to find her. My experience was almost as
romantic as yours, wife."

" Do give us your history," said Mrs. Pinker-
ton, after Mr. Harding was settled, and quietly
sipping his tea.

" Well," said Mr. Harding, with a self-satis-
fied air, for he had actually engaged a girl, " one
experiences wonderful alternations of hope and
fear in this business, I can assure you. I have
made as many as fifty calls, and inquiries with-
out number. I rode over frightful hills and
almost impassable roads, and met with many
discouraging receptions ; but I was determined
to succeed, and I did."

Mr. Harding's history of his "girl hunt" kept
his family chatting, laughing, and wondering
till a late hour. But we spare the reader the
details of his ridei

The day that the new girl was expected was
damp and cloudy. The sun scarcely showed
itself all the morning, and, now and then, a
heavy mist or slow drizzling rain added to the
discomfort and gloom. Late in the morning, a
lumbering old stage-coach came rattling up to
Mr. Harding's door, and from it alighted a girl,
evidently somewhat over twenty years of age,
with a very dark, sallow complexion and large
coal-black eyes, which seemed made on purpose

to look everything through. Notwithstanding
the dull, uncomfortable morning, she was dressed
in a flounced lawn with a white ground. A
gold pencil dangled at her side, and she flaunted
the largest of gold hoops in her ears, and an
enormous piece of red glass in her breast-pin.

"Can that be the new girl?" asked Mrs.
Pinkerton, as the stranger whisked up the gravel-
walk and pulled the bell.

" The very one," answered Mr. Harding, who
caught a glimpse of her figure at the door.

Zilpah Ann Swain, for such was her eupho-
nious appellative, was soon ushered into the
kitchen, where Mrs. Harding was busy with the
dinner, and quietly seating herself at the win-
dow, without offering her aid, she fixed her
staring black eyes upon Mrs. Harding's red,
weary face, and followed her through all the
evolutions of getting up dinner.

"I am very glad you have come to-day," said
Mrs. Harding, attempting to be a little social.
" I have friends with me, and need very much
some one to take care of the kitchen."

" Well, I thought I 'd come a spell, jest to ac-
commodate ; but I told Mr. Harding I wouldn't
be boun' to stay. I ain't obleeged to work out,
if I ain't a mind teu," replied Zilpah Ann, her
black eyes flashing with independence.

It was soon evident that Zilpah Ann came
simply as " help." She had not the slightest
idea of taking charge of the kitchen, or of re-
lieving her mistress by going on independently
in any department of the work. The morning
after her arrival, Mrs. Harding gave her special
directions about sweeping the front stairs and
hall, and the brick walk which led to the gate.
She was to go through a certain process every
morning. But her work was so badly done that
Mrs. Harding determined to speak to her about
it.

" Zilpah Ann," she said, as she passed through
the hall one morning, about one week after her
arrival, " I wish you to be particular to sweep
the corners of the stairs clean. You will find
the small brush better for that purpose."

" I guess I know how to sweep, Miss Hard-
ing," exclaimed the surprised Zilpah Ann, start-
ing up from her work and throwing the full fire
of her eyes upon Mrs. Harding's calm face. "I
don't want nobody to tell me how to sweep out
corners. I knows some things, if I hain't got
so much l'arnin' as some folks."

" Oh, yes, I presume you do know how. I
only wished to remind you of the corners ; I
am very particular about having them swept
clean, and the walk, too. You will remember
that, Zilpah Ann."

NIAGARA.

521

"I didn't come here to be a nigger nor a
sarvent, Miss Harding, I '11 let you know," ex-
claimed Zilpah Ann, dropping her broom in a
passion and bolting to her room. Half an hour
afterwards, she appeared at the parlor door with
her bonnet on, and her bandbox in her hand,
and demanded to be carried to the depot. The
Hardings let her go without a word of remon-
strance. They had had " help" enough for one
week, and Mrs. Harding went about her work
alone again, with a feeling of positive relief.

" What do you think of girl-hunting now,
brother Harding'?" asked Mrs. Pinkerton, as
they sat round the tea-table, making themselves
merry with the trials and helps of the week.

" Oh, I call it an unprofitable business," ex-
claimed Mr. Harding, with a hearty laugh. " I
rode three days in a broiling sun after Zilpah
Ann, paid her fare fifty miles, bore with her
help for a week, and received nothing for my
pains. It is just like chasing your own shadow,
or ' hunting a needle in a haymow? "

NIAGARA.

A recent tour to Niagara, in affording wel-
come recreation, gave me opportunity to look
upon this stupendous curiosity. I had had
years ago a faint foresight in observing, at a
favorable season, Passaic Falls. The river at
these falls- is forty yards wide, and one entire
sheet of water descends seventy feet. The cas-
cade presented a unique scene of beauty, and
has been regarded as the greatest curiosity in
" the State of the Broad Seal." But the Falls
of Niagara far outreach all comparison. They
are really stupendous, and challenge the world
to outvie them in grandeur. On first witness-
ing them, your sensations are peculiar. Your
nature becomes suffused with a sublimity of
feeling. A fulmination of " the great and glori-
ous" strikes one to silent amazement. With a
" pleasing terror," akin to grandeur, you ap-
proach the precipice, and gaze unweariedly upon
the wonderful cataract.

I proceeded without refreshing my memory
with any account of the wonder. Conversation
touching the falls, with all fulsome descriptions,
I had avoided. I beheld them from many points
of observation, at evening, in the morning, and
during the sunny day. I was sensible that the
great natural curiosity of the New World had
presented itself to my view. The sense of
grandeur augmented with repeated observations.
No description can adequately convey an idea
of their true sublimity.

Niagara has had many admirers. Some, in
their descriptions, have been borne very far by
fancy ; others have given occasional circum-
stances as the general. The precipice which
produces the cataract was said to be not less
than six hundred feet. This was an account of
an early tourist. It does not, in reality, exceed
one hundred and sixty feet. " The noise is
such," says Father Hennepin, " that people dis-

44*

tant from it several miles cannot hear each other
speak." At some seasons, and at particular
times, the roar of the cataract is very loud, and
is heard for many miles ; but it would be ex-
ceeding strange if found so deafening as indi-
cated by the above account. " As the traveller
advances," says Howison, "he is frightfully
stunned by the appalling noise, clouds of spray
sometimes envelop him, and suddenly check his
faltering stepp. ; rattlesnakes start from the
cavities of the rocks ; and the scream of eagles
soaring among the whirlwinds of the cataract,
at intervals, announce that the raging waters
have hurled some bewildered animal over the
precipice." These intervals, at present, are
very long..

When the red man gazed exclusively upon the
cataract, it is supposed it was of greater height
than now. Not only, indeed, of greater height,
but that it was differently located. The intelli-
gent geologist maintains that the falls were once
at Lewiston, and that they must eventually re-
cede to Lake Erie. Thus, any poetical apostro-
phe to Niagara which sings, " As creation's
dawn beholdst," &c., loses its verity. As years
wind on, the falls must gradually become less
grand as their height decreases ; and, " Lake Erie
being drained, they will sink to the wild beauty
and hoarse roar of the rapids." Accurate ob-
servation proves that the falls wear backward a
trifle over a foot each year, having receded forty-
two feet in the last forty years. Many thou-
sands of years have gone by since the falls were
on the borders of the Ontario, and over another
hundred thousand years must pass ere they re-
tire to the sister lake.

At the efflux from Lake Erie, Niagara River
is three-quarters of a mile wide, and from forty
to sixty feet deep. Its current flows at the rate
of seven miles an hour. As it proceeds, the

522

godey's magazine and lady's book.

river -widens and imbosoms Grand and Navy
Islands, which terminate in points a mile and a
half above the falls.

Below these islands are rapids which extend
a mile to the precipice, in which space the river
descends fifty-seven feet. Down these rapids
the stream rushes, foaming and dashing, giving
to the beholder a wild scene of novel interest.
Goat Island divides the river into two courses.
A small island but a few yards from Goat Island
divides the channel on the American side. Be-
tween the two is a beautiful cascade ; and, from
the small island to the American side, the sheet
is broad, with a greater descent, though less
quantity of water, than at the other fall on the
Canada side. Much the greater body of water
passes through the course between Goat Island
and the Canada shore. This fall, from its
shape, has been named the Horse-shoe Fall.

The waters, as they wend their way over the
edge and downward, assume a white appearance,
save a streak eastward in the Horse-shoe Fall,
which streak is of a green color, like the water
of the river where it is deep and undisturbed.
In one spot, near " the Cave of the Winds," on
the American side, I saw a narrow cascade with
so thin a sheet that it assumed a pearl color, and
descended in congregated globules, or beads,
sparkling in their beauty, and altogether vari-
able from the heavier masses rolling over the
more central parts. Farther centreward, the
bounding waters assume a snowy appearance;
and, in gazing upon them, they seem large vol-
umes, or rather avalanches of foam, rolling
down into the trembling depths of the lower
river. A gentleman skilled in science, who has
measured the water above, below, and on the
brink of the falls, reports that three millions of
tons of water fall over the precipice every se-
cond. The moving water below the falls cre-
ates one vast mass of " liquid foam," which,
like pressed down, floats upon the surface of the
river. Here, amid the roar of the rumbling and
rushing waters, the spray rolls up in clouds,
like ascending smoke. Rainbows dawn amid
the dull-appearing mist, and we have, as a
whole, Niagara presented to us as she is, and as
no language can describe her. The grand view
remains fixed upon the mind, and a halo of happy
fancies takes hold of the conceptions.

The scenery around the falls is not without
its interest. Nature retains her roughest aspect,
and looks pleasingly rugged and wild. There
is, indeed, much that is romantic around Nia-

gara. Along the river, below the falls, there
are trees of many kinds and an abundance of
uncultured shrubbery. The impending cliffs
seem to vibrate with the rolling murmurs and
echoes of the cataract. Table Rock, a portion
of which fell some years since, and the re-
mainder recently, was on a level with the edge
of the cataract on the Canada side. It pro-
jected beyond the cliffs that supported it, re-
sembling the leaf of a table, which circumstance
caused its name. Under this projecting rock I
passed, after descending a flight of stairs, and
approached the sheet of rolling water. The
spray here danced on the eddying currents of
the air, and ascended in clouds. The waters
plash and foam, the cataract sounds with a win-
nowing roar, echo resounds amid the rocky hills,
and the beholder is thrilled with emotions of
awe.

A little way below the falls, where the river
loses its excessive agitation, and resumes an un-
excited course, a small " row-boat" plies to and
fro. In going over this ferry, your boat is
swayed with a turning motion by the force of
the current. While visited lightly by the fleet-
ing spray, the traveller looks towards the won-
derful fall. The cliffs on each side of the river
are lofty. The tides glide down in a rapid cur-
rent towards the distant whirlpool. Passing the
eye upward, and gazing upon the falls, they are
now presented in all their stupendous grandeur.
The waters roll over in huge bodies, never ceas-
ing— rolling, rolling, rolling. You see it, and
linger to see.it. Echoes reverberate, and the
constant murmur and rumble, like a hundred
mill-races in a freshet, send a feeling which you
cannot forget. No one has inclination to speak
while viewing the falls. The luxury is to look
in silence at the picture here presented in lively
colors by Nature. 'Tis a pleasure to stand and
contemplate. You must ; your soul ponders
upon the novelty and grandeur before the eye.
The memory has garnered a clear impression.
It will hold it forever.

Surrounding rugged and fossil exhibitions lead
the mind to the convulsions and changes through
which Nature has gone since the Creation.
Fancy retains Niagara long after it ceases to be
visible. The falls appear in both their pleasing
terror and dancing beauty. Nature, ceasing to
be unanimated, has exhibited at once her heavy
artillery and rainbow beauties. The soul recog-
nizes and does involuntary homage to the Grand
Master of the universe.

THE WILD FLOWERS OF THE MONTH.

BY HARLAND COt'LTAS, PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN PENN MEDICAL UNIVERSITY, PHILADELPHIA.

The early spring flowers, whose lovely forms
were nurtured amidst the falling snows of Feb-
ruary and the rude cold winds of March, have
disappeared from the wild parterre of nature.
Flora's first offering, how welcome to the bo-
tanist ! The vernal sun now pours forth on the
cold damp earth floods of warm, life-giving
radiance. Vegetation is in full activity, and by
the forces of nature the earth and atmosphere
are being woven into green leaves and beautiful
flowers. Behold the rich feast which is provid-
ed for the support of every living thing. There
is not an insect wantoning in the sunbeam, or a
bird singing sweetly amongst the branches, qr a
poor worm crawling at your feet, for which am-
ple provision has not been fully made.

To those who are interested in botanical pur-
suits, the country now possesses an especial at-
traction. June is pre-eminently the month of
flowers. To describe them all would fill a vol-
ume. We will, however, mention the follow-
ing, which are both abundant and beautiful, and
may be very easily procured : —

Aquilegia Canadensis (Wild Columbine).
— This beautiful plant may now be found grow-
ing out of the crevices of the rocks on the west
bank of the Schuylkill, between Manayunk and
Columbia Bridge. It has biternate leaves, or
leaves which are twice three parted and deeply
toothed at their margin. Fig. 1 shows the foli-

Fig. 1.

same color, and so intermingled as to be not
easily distinguished from each other. The co-
rolla is composed of five horn-shaped petals, one
of which is shown detached at a. The petals
are curved at the upper end and form a sort of
coronet, terminating below in spurs or horns
which conlain honey. The five oval and co-
lored sepals of the calyx alternate with them.
The stamens and styles are exerted, or hang be-
low the mouth of the corolla. The corolla and
calyx are of a beautiful scarlet or rather coral
color, and the whole plant, together with its
drooping, pendulous flowers, is really an orna-
ment to the barren rocks from which it springs.
How wonderful that so much beauty should
thus flourish in so unpromising a situation !
b Represents the appearance of the fruit after
the flowers have faded and fallen, which con-
sists of five carpels or follicles, many seeded and
acuneinated by the persistent style, c, A sepa-
rate follicle.

Houstonia cozrulea (or Quaker Lady). —
The fresh green grass on every hill-side is now
adorned with the tufts of this beautiful wild
plant. It grows, however, most luxuriantly in
moist, shady situations. This plant is easily
recognized by its profusion of handsome bright
blue blossoms, fading to white, with a yellow

Fig. 2.

age and flower of the Columbine. The sepals
of the calyx and petals of the corolla are of the

eye. Fig. 2 shows the form of its leaves and
flowers. Each little plant, when examined apart

523

524

godey's magazine and lady's book.

from the rest, presents a few forked branches an
inch or two in length. The radical leaves are
spatulate, the corolla monopetalons and salver-
form. It has four stamens and one pistil, a,
One of the anthers opening longitudinally, b,
Cross-section of that anther magnified, c, The
capsule enveloped by the persistent calyx.
d, e, Views of the dehiscence of the capsule.

Mitchella repens (Partridge -berry). —
This pretty little evergreen is now in flower in
moist, shady woods, about the roots of trees.
Its stem and branches trail along the ground,
heating opposite ovate leaves, and pairs of white,
monopetalous, four cleft, and singularly villous
or downy-looking flowers. After flowering, a
bright scarlet berry is produced by the coa-
lescence or engraftment of the drupes or fruit
of each pair of flowers, which is crowned with
the calyx teeth of each of them. This plant
commemorates Dr. John Mitchell, an early cor-
respondent of Linnaeus and an excellent botanist.
The berries remain over winter.

Epiggea repens (Trailing Arbutus). — This
is a favorite spring flower, especially with la-
dies. It is very abundant in the woods on the
banks of the Wissahicon. It may be readily
distinguished by its prostrate stems, which bea)
evergreen, reticulated, rounded, alternate leaves,
and axillary clusters of rose-colored flowers,
which are most delightfully fragrant. The stem
and stalks of the leaves are bristly with rusty
hairs. Name derived from «tt/, upon, and >», the
earth. Ten stamens and one pistil will be found
within the floral envelops.

Claytonia Virginica (Spring Beauty). —
This plant is common in moist woods on the
banks of the Schuylkill. It is named in honor
of John Clayton, one of the earliest botanists of
this country. It sends up in early spring from
a small, deeply buried tuber, a simple stem bear-
ing two linear lanceolate, opposite leaves, and a
simple raceme of pale, rose-colored flowers.
Fig. 3 is a representation of this ornament of
the vernal woods. Sepals of the calyx, two,

Fig. 3.

ovate, free, green, and persistent ; that is, they
remain after the corolla has faded as a protect-
ing envelop to the fruit. Stamens, five, adher-
ing to the claws of the petals. Style, three-
lobed. Capsule, three-valved, three to five-
seeded, a Shows the persistent two-leaved
calyx enveloping the capsule, b, A section of
the dehiscing or opening capsule, with the seeds
in its interior.

Viola pedata (Bird's-Foot Violet). — This
is the largest and handsomest of the wild violets,
and is exceedingly abundant in the sandy soil
of the pine-barrens in the neighborhood of Cam-

den, New Jersey. It is called bird's-foot violet,
from a fancied resemblance between its leaves
and the feet of birds. Its flowers are large, pale-
blue, and exceedingly showy. The beautiful
Phlox subulata, or moss pink, grows in the same
pine-barrens in company with this violet, and
cannot fail to be recognized.

The earth at this season is adorned with the
utmost profusion of flowers. Now is the time
to secure good specimens. We shall introduce
a few more of these beautiful strangers to your
notice in another article.

PHYSICAL TRAINING.

PART I.

To most persons, probably, the words " Physi-
cal Training" suggest ideas of the drill-sergeant,
or of gymnastic or other extraordinary exercises ;
and, truly, such exercises may form a part of phy-
sical training, but only a part, and that a small
one, of this most important department of hu-
man education. We must endeavor to give our
readers wider and better views than are usually
entertained upon the subject.

Physical training in its proper sense involves :
1. The cultivation and preservation of physical
health. 2. The development of the physical
strength, powers, and mechanical capabilities of
the body to such a pitch as the individual re-
quires to perform well the duties of life. 3. The
cultivation, within certain limits, of the graces
and beauties of the body. 4. The cultivation
and development of the mind, through and by
means of the bodily powers and senses.

Thus, whatever the means employed, the chief
end of all physical training must be the perfect
working of a healthy mind, by means of a
healthy body, in the performance of life's duties,
the enjoyment of life's pleasures, and the avoid-
ance, as far as permitted, of life's pains.

In this life, God has linked together our bodies
and our minds, and man cannot with impunity
disregard their union or divide their interests;
act and react they will, and do, upon one an-
other. Their Creator has made the one the
instrument of the other ; and as well might we
look for harmony from an unstrung harp, be the
player ever so skilful, as for perfect working
from a mind, however good and powerful,
through the means of a sickly body. True,
there have been many possessors of sickly bodies,
many sufferers from permanent "bad health,"
who have not only done much active good, but
who have worked well and successfully with
their minds ; yet may we not justly suppose that,
had the same minds dwelt in healthy frames, had
they not been clogged and clouded by the fre-
quent " infirmities of the flesh," their good deeds
would have been still more widely spread, their
intellectual exertions still more powerfully mani-
fested ? Even in the more ordinary business of
life, in the counting-house or in the work-shop,
how often is work too slowly or imperfectly exe-

cuted, because of minds hampered by bodies in
bad working order; because the physical train-
ing of the body has been, and is, day by day
neglected ! Few there are whose individual
experience cannot revert to hours, days, lost to
them, simply from derangements of health which
might have been avoided, and which, though
not amounting to illness, were yet sufficient to
render either duty or amusement a labor or a
" bore." How few are there who do not know
the difference between the irritability, the nerv-
ous fears, the indolence and despondency of ill-
ness, and that cheerful activity of good health
which laughs at trifles, looks forward with hope,
and finds work a pleasure ! How strong the
reasons, then, for training the health and powers
of the body to their highest pitch, seeing that
upon their perfection depends the more or less
complete fulfilment of our duty to God, our
neighbors, and ourselves !

We return to the rule No. 1, of Physical
Training. — The cultivation and preservation of
physical health.

Health is a comprehensive term, including the
perfect and harmonious working of the organs
generally of which the body is composed; but
this perfect, this healthy working of many parts,
chiefly depends upon the integrity and health of
the one all-pervading fluid, the blood — the life.
In all physical training, the condition of the
blood must be. the foundation — the centre point of
our thoughts and endeavors. This, to an un-
learned reader, may appear a somewhat startling
proposition ; nevertheless, by means of it we
shall gain the simplest, most intelligible, and, at
the same time, most comprehensive views of our
subject. The condition of the blood depends,
first, on its nourishment ; secondly, on its puri-
fication. The effect of the blood upon the body
depends, thirdly, upon its circulation or distribu-
tion. The first involves the nature, quantity,
and digestion of the food which nourishes ; the
second, the ventilation, cleanliness, he, which
purify; the third, the various exercises which
aid to distribute.

As the blood is continually being expended in
the nourishment of the body, so it must as con-
stantly be renovated by supplies from without —
by food. Evidently, then, this food must supply

to the blood every material required by the body ;

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godey's magazine and lady's book.

otherwise there can be no proper nourishment.
Thus, if the diet be deficient in the bone-earths,
the bones — as they do in badly-nourished chil-
dren— become soft and yielding; if the diet is
too exclusively composed of such farinaceous ar-
ticles as rice, potatoes, &c, or with too much fat,
it is incapable of yielding the elements of mus-
cular flesh, and the strength declines ; if vegeta-
ble food is wanting, scurvy is the result. Here,
then, we have the first element of Physical
Training: the real supply of nourishment cal-
culated to afford every material required by the
body. This of course takes in a wider range of
subject — no less than that of diet generally —
than our space will permit us to enter into here.
Suffice it to remark that the diet of the infant
and growing child, of the youth and the adult
man, must, under a proper system of training,
be varied according to the constitution of the in-
dividual, and accommodated not only to the cli-
mate, but also to the changes of the seasons.
For instance, we will suppose two young chil-
dren 5 one is fair, light-haired, with delicate skin,
through which the blue veins show conspicu-
ously, but fat and plump withal ; the other is a
ruddy-faced rogue, whose rich red blood seems
ready to start from his cheeks. Give these two
nurslings equal treatment in every way, the
same air, the same everything, and the same
food, consisting chiefly of milk and grain mate-
rials, puddings, and the like, with perhaps a
little meat ; the rosy face will lose none of its
healthy hue ; the fair, fat child will become no
thinner, perhaps fatter, but, at the same time,
pale and puffy, or pasty-looking, and if the diet
be unchanged, finally unhealthy. Reverse mat-
ters ; let each have fresh animal food every day,
and what is the consequence 1 Our little pale
friend brightens up amazingly ; there comes a
tinge of red in the cheek, the pufliness is gone,
and the flesh has become more solid — he is more
active and sprightly ; but our other little fellow
is evidently not benefited ; the healthy rose hue
looks more like a feverish flush, and suspicious
spots, that will soon break out into little pimples
or small boils, are perhaps showing themselves.
This will never do, so we keep the little fair one
to his beef and mutton, and reduce his companion,
who soon shows the benefit of the change, to his
milk-puddings and vegetables, and give him his
treat of meat only twice or thrice a week. This
one example — we might give many more — will
serve to show how many considerations are in-
volved in this first department of physical train-
ing—the management of the food: how that
which gives health and strength to one will be

too little for another, and vice versa. Then, again,
we might show how the variation of climate,
even such as takes place between winter and
summer in our land, requires variation in the
amount and kind of food ; how also this should be
influenced by exercise. These minutiae cannot
be separately discussed in the compass of a short
paper; but the information is such that no in-
telligent man, either for his own sake or that of
others, should be entirely unfurnished with. As
a general rule, let it be kept in mind, especially
in the case of the young and growing, that the
habitual food ought to be calculated to yield the
requisite nourishment for every portion of the
frame ; that it ought, while adapted to the consti-
tution, to be sufficient in quantity and quality.
Rarely, indeed, if food be wholesome, and at the
same time not calculated to tempt the appetite
artificially, can it be necessary, or even right, to
stint its allowance to young people? Lastly, as
far as possible, the application of a well-directed
cookery, by which the digestibility of food is
improved, ought not to be lost sight of, as an
important element in the physical training of
the young, or of the physical preservation of the
adult.

Thus, the first essential for the healthy condi-
tion of the blood, and thence of the body, is its
nourishment. The second, is its purification.
Now, the blood is not only the nourishing, but it
is also the warming medium of the body. Each
moment of our lives, chemical changes and
interchanges are going on between the atoms,
throughout every portion of our frames : those
which have become unfit for the purposes of the
living, healthy body, are replaced by fresh ones,
by fresh nourishment, brought by the blood in
its never-ceasing current of circulation. At the
moment the change takes place, heat is given
out — the natural warmth of the living being.
But the fresh atoms of nourishment having dis-
placed the old ones, the latter necessarily pass
into the blood, and as necessarily render it im-
pure, altering its qualities, and converting it
from a bright red, life and vigor-supporting
agent, into a dark purple fluid, not only unfit to
sustain life, but unfit also either to impart en-
ergy or proper nourishment to the frame, unless
it be perfectly purified by the agencies provided
for this purpose. These agencies are principally
four, viz., the lungs, the skin, the liver, the kid-
neys. The first is directly connected with the
subject of pure air; the second, with pure air,
light, and personal cleanliness ; the two last,
with food ; and all with the last condition of
physical health, the blood circulation or distri-
bution.

THE TEIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN*

(Continued from page 440.)

CHAPTER X.

Without venturing the remotest allusion to
her parting with her lover, Mis3 Ballantine
commenced her narrative by saying —

" When I left New York with my father, for
New Orleans, no voyage could have promised
fairer. Mild, sunny weather, with good breezes
and a noble ship, that scarcely seemed to feel
the deep swell of the ocean, bore us pleasantly
on towards the desired port. But, when only
five days out, an awful calamity befel us. One
night I was awakened from sleep by a terrific
crash ; and in a little while the startling cry of
' the ship 's on fire !' thrilled upon my ear, and
sent an icy shudder to my heart. I arose from
my berth, and put on my clothes hastily. By
this time my father had come, dreadfully agitated,
into the cabin ; and while his own lips quivered,
and his own voice trembled, he endeavored to
quiet my fears, by telling me that there was no
danger; that the ship had been struck with
lightning; but that the fire occasioned thereby
would readily be put out.

" When I ascended to the deck, however, I
saw that we had little to hope for. While the
masts and rigging were all enveloped in flame,
a dense smoke was rising from the hold, indi-
cating that the electric fluid, in its descent
through the ship, had come in contact with
something in the cargo that was highly combus-
tible. Passengers and crew stood looking on
with pale, horror-stricken faces. But the cap-
tain, a man of self-possession, aroused all from
their lethargy by ordering, in a loud, clear voice,
the masts and rigging to be cut away instantly.
This order was obeyed. Over went, crashing
and hissing, three noble masts, with their wealth
of canvas, all enveloped in flames, quenching
the heaven-enkindled fires in the ocean. Then
all was breathless and silent as the grave for
some moments, when a broad flash lit up the
air, and revealed, for an instant, the dismantled
deck upon which we stood, followed by a peal-
ing crash that made the ship tremble. The deep
silence that succeeded was broken by the voice

* Entered according to Act of Congress, by T. B. Peter-
son, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern
District of Pennsylvania.

of the captain. His tones were cheerful and
confident.

" ' All will now be well !' he cried. ' We are
saved from fire, and our good hull will bear us
safely up until we meet a passing ship.'

" ' But there is fire below, captain,' said one.

" ' It cannot burn without air,' he replied, in
the same tone of confidence. * We will keep the
hatches closed and sealed ; and it must go out.'

" This took a load from my bosom. I saw
that what he said was reasonable. But when
daylight came, it showed the smoke oozing out
through every crevice in the deck. The floors,
too, were hot to the feet, and indicated an ad-
vanced state of the fire within. All was again
terror and confusion, but our captain still re-
mained self-possessed. He saw that every hope
of saving the ship was gone ; and at once or-
dered all the boats made ready, and well stored
with provisions. To the first and second mates,
with a portion of the crew, he assigned two of
the boats, and in the third and largest he em-
barked himself with four stout men and the
passengers, twelve in all. The sky was still
overcast with clouds, and the sea rolled heavily
from the effects of the brief but severe storm
that had raged in the night. Pushing off from
the doomed vessel, we lingered near for a couple
of hours to see what her fate would be. At the
end of that time, the dense smoke which had
nearly hidden her from our view, suddenly be-
came one enveloping mass of flame. It was a
beautiful, yet appalling sight, to see that noble
vessel thus burning upon the breast of the sea !
For nearly an hour her form, sheeted in fire,
stood out distinctly against the face of the sky,
and then she went down, and left only a few
charred and mutilated fragments afloat upon the
surface to tell of her doom.

" During the night that followed, it stormed
terribly, and in it our boat was separated from
the other two. We never met again, and for all
1 have ever learned to the contrary, those that
were saved in them from the burning ship
perished from hunger, or were overwhelmed by
some eager wave of the ocean.

" The four men of the ship's crew, with the
captain and the male passengers, labored alter-
nately at the oars, but with little effect. Heavy

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seas, and continued stormy weather, rendered
of little avail all efforts to make much headway
towards any port. Our main hope was that of
meeting with some vessel. But this hope
mocked us day after day. No ship showed her
white sails upon the broad expanse of waters
that stretched, far as the eye could reach, in all
directions. Thus ten days passed, and our pro-
visiona and water were nearly exhausted. Three
of the passengers had become already very ill,
and all of us were more or less sick from ex-
posure to the rain and sea. On the twelfth day,
two of our number died and were cast overboard.
Others became sick, and by the time we had
been floating about thus for the space of twenty
days, only four of the twelve remained. Most
of them died with a raging fever. The captain
was among the number, and there was now no
one to whom we could look with confidence.
My father still lived, though exceedingly ill.
Our companions were now reduced to a young
man and his sister.

" A bag of biscuit still remained, and a small
portion of water. Of this, none but myself could
eat. The rest were too sick. Three days more
passed, and I was alone with my father ! The
brother and his sister died, and with my own
hands I had to consign them to their grave in
the sea. I need not attempt to give any true
idea of my feelings when I found myself thus
alone, with my father just on the brink of death,
afar in the midst of the ocean. He was uncon-
scious ; and I felt that I was on the verge of
delirium. A strong fever made the blood rush
wildly through my veins, causing my temples
to throb as if they would burst. From about
this time consciousness forsook me. I can re-
collect little more until I found myself lying in
a berth, on board of a strange vessel. I was

ble as an infant. A man, with the aspect of

foreigner, sat near me. He spoke to me, but
in a foreign tongue. I understood, and could
speak French, Spanish, and Italian ; but I had
never studied German, and this man was a
Hollander. Of course, I understood but a word
here and there, and not sufficient to gain any
intelligence from what he said, or to make him ■
comprehend me, except when I asked for my
father. Then he understood me, and pointing
across the cabin, gave me to know that my fa-
ther was with me in the ship, though very sick.

" Small portions of nourishing food were now
offered at frequent intervals, and, as my appe-
tite came back keenly, and I took the scanty
supply that was allowed me, I gradually gained
strength. In a week I was able to leave my
berth, and to walk, with the assistance of the

captain of the vessel, for he it was whom I had
first seen on the restoration of consciousness, to
the state room in which my father lay. Oh !
how he had changed ! I hardly recognized
him. His face had grown long and thin, his
eyes were sunken far back in his head, and his
hair, that had been scarcely touched with the
frosts of age when we left New York, was
white ! He did not know me, although he
looked me feebly in the face. The sound of my
voice seemed to rouse him a little, but he only
looked at me with a more earnest gaze, and then
closed his eyes. From this time I was his con-
stant nurse, and was soon blessed with finding
him gradually recovering. But as health came
back to his body, it was too appallingly visible
that his reason had been shattered. He soon
came to know me, to speak to me, and to caress
me, with more than his usual fondness ', but his
mind was — alas ! too evidently — imbecile. As
this state of mental alienation showed itself more
and more distinctly, on his gradually acquiring
physical strength, it seemed as if the painful fact
would kill me. But we are formed to endure
great extremes of bodily and mental anguish.
The bow will bend far before it breaks.

"After I had recovered so as to leave my
berth entirely, and when, I suppose, the captain
thought it would be safe to question me, he
brought a map, and indicated plainly enough
that he wished me to point out the country I
was from. I laid my hand upon the United
States. He looked surprised. I glanced around
at the ship, and then pointed to the map with a
look of inquiry. He placed his finger near the
Island of St. Helena. It was now my turn to
look surprised. By signs I wished him to tell
me how we should get back; and he indicated,
plainly enough, that he would put us" on board
of the first vessel he met that was returning
either to Europe or the United States, or else
would leave us at the Cape of Good Hope. But
day after day passed, and we met no returning
vessel. Before we reached the Cape, a most
terrific storm came on, which continued many
days, in which the ship lost two of her masts,
and was driven far south. It seemed to me as
if my father and I had been doomed to perish in
the ocean, and the sea would not, therefore, re-
linquish its prey. It was ten or twelve days
before the storm had sufficiently abated to leave
the vessel manageable in the hands of the cap-
tain and crew, and then the captain's reckoning
was gone. He could get his latitude correctly,
but not his longitude, except, by a remote ap-
proximation. His first observation, when the
sky gave an opportunity, showed us to be in

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

529

latitude forty-five degrees south. This he ex-
plained to me, and also the impracticability of
now making the Cape, pointing out upon the
map the Swan River Settlement in Australia as
the point he should endeavor first to make. A
heavy ship, with but one mast, made but slow
progress. On the third day another storm over-
took us, and we were driven before the gale at a
furious rate. That night our vessel struck and
went to pieces. Six of us escaped, my father
among the rest, and the captain, in a boat, and
were thrown upon the shore of an uninhabited
island. In the morning there lay floating in a
little protected cove of the island barrels of pro-
visions, as pork, fish, bread, and flour, with
chests, and numerous fragments of the ship, and
portions of the cargo. The captain and sailors
at once set about securing all that could possibly
be rescued from the water, and succeeded in
getting provisions and clothing enough to last
all of us for many months, if, unfortunately, we
should not earlier be relieved from our dreadful
situation. My father had become strong enough
to go about and take care of himself, but his
mind was feebler, and he seemed more like an
old man in his second childhood than one in
the prime of life as he was. He was not trou-
blesome to any one, nor was there any fear of
trusting him by himself. He was only like an
imbecile old man — and such even the captain
thought him.

"A thing which I failed to mention in its
place, I might as well allude to here. On re-
covery from that state of physical exhaustion in
which the humane captain of the Dutch East
Indiaman had found me, my hand rested acci-
dentally upon the pocket of my father's coat,
which hung up in the state room that had been
assigned to him. His pocket-book was there.
It instantly occurred to me to examine it, and
see how much money it contained, for I knew
that, unless we had money, before getting back,
we would be subjected to inconvenience, annoy-
ance, and great privation ; and as my father
seemed to be so weak in mind, all the care of
providing for our comfort, I saw, would devolve
upon me. I instantly removed the poekct-book,
which was large. I found a purse in the same
pocket, and took that also. With these I retired
into my own state-room, and fastening the door
inside, commenced an examination of their con-
tents. The purse contained twenty eagles ; and
in the apartments of the pocket-book were ten
eagles more, making three hundred dollars in
gold. In bank bills there were five of one
thousand dollars each, ten of one hundred dol-
lars, and about two hundred dollars in smaller
vol. xlvhi. — 45

amounts, all of New York city banks. These I
took and carefully sewed up in one of my under
garments, and also did the same with the gold.
I mention this, as it bears with importance upon
our subsequent history.

" A temporary shelter was erected ; a large
pole with a white flag fastened to it, as a signal
to any passing vessel, was set up ; and the cap-
tain, with two of his men, set out to explore the
island. They were gone for two days. On re-
turning, they reported no inhabitants, but plenty
of good game, if any way could be devised to
take it. No vessel appearing, after the lapse of
some twelve or fifteen days, the men set about
building for us a more comfortable place of
shelter. One of these had been a carpenter, and
as an axe and saw, and some few tools, had come
ashore on pieces of the wreck, and in chests, he-
was enabled to put up a very comfortable tene-
ment, with an apartment for me partitioned off
from the main room.

" Here we remained for I can scarcely tell
how long. It was, I believe, for about a year
and a half: during which time two of the men
died, and our party was reduced to four. About
this period, when all of us began to feel sick
from hope deferred, and almost to wish that we
might die, a heavy storm came up, with wind
from the north-west, and blew heavily for three
or four days. On the morning of the fourth
day, when the wind had subsided, a vessel,
driven out of her course, was seen within a few
leagues of the land. Signals were instantly
made, and our eyes gladdened by the sight of a
boat which was put off from the ship. In this
we soon embarked, and, with a sensation of wild
delight, found ourselves once more treading the
deck of a good vessel. She was an. English
merchantman, bound for Canton. We made a
quick passage to that port, where we found a
vessel just ready to sail for Liverpool. In this
I embarked, with my father, who still remained
in the same sad gtate of mental derangement.
No incident, worthy of referring to now, occuneil
on our passage to Liverpool, whence we embarked
direct for New Orleans, at which place we
arrived, after having been absent from our
native land for the long space of nearly three
years ! How different were my feelings, my
hopes, my heart, on the day I returned to that
city eight years from the time I left it as a gay
child, with the world all new and bright and
beautiful before me ! I need not draw the con-
trast. Your own thoughts can do that vividly
enough.

" You can scarcely imagine the eagerness wit]
which I looked forward to an arrival in my na-

530

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tive city. Wc had friends there, and a fortune,
and I fed my heart with the pleasing hope that
skilful physicians would awaken my father's
slumbering reason into renewed and healthy ac
tivity. Arrived there at last, we took lodgings
at a hotel, where I wrote a brief note to my
father's partner, in whose hands all the busi-
ness had been, of course, during our absence,
stating a few facts as to our long absence and
asking him to attend upon us immediately.
After dispatching this note, I waited in almost
breathless expectation, looking every moment to
see Mr. Paralette enter. But hour after hour
passed, and no one came. Then I sent notes to
two or three of my father's friends, whom I re-
collected, but met with no response during the
day. All this strange indifference was incom-
prehensible to me. It was, in part, explained to
my mind on the next morning, when one of the
persons to whom I had written called, and was
shown up into our parlor by request. There
was a coldness and reserve about him, combined
with a too evident suspicion that it was not all
as I had said. That my father was not Mr.
Ballantine, nor I his daughter — but both, in fact,
impostors ! And certain it is that the white-
headed imbecile old man bore but little resem-
blance to the fine, manly, robust form, which
my father presented three years before. The
visitor questioned and cross-questioned me ; and
failed not to hint at what seemed to him discre-
pancies, and even impossibilities in my story. I
felt indignant at this, at the same time that my
heart sank at the suddenly flashing eonviction
that, after all our sufferings and long weary
exile from our home, we should find ourselves
but strangers in the land of our birth — be even
repulsed from our own homestead.

" Our visitor retired after an interview of
about half an hour, giving me to understand
pretty plainly that he thought both my father
and myself impostors. His departure left me
faint and sick at heart But from this state I
aroused myself, after a while, and determined to
go and see Mr. Paralette at once. A servant
oalled a carriage, and I ordered the driver to take
me to the store of Ballantine & Paralette.

" 'There is no such a firm now, madam,' he
said ; ' Mr. Ballantine was lost at sea some years
ago. It is Paralette & Co. now.' '

" ' Drive me there, then,' I said, in a choking
voice.

" In a few minutes the carriage stopped at the
place I had designated, and I entered the store
formerly kept by my father. Though I had been
absent for eight years, yet everything looked
familiar, and nothing more familiar than the face

of Mr. Paralette, my father's partner. I ad-
vanced to meet him with a quick step, but his
look of unrecognition, and the instant remem-
brance that he had not attended to my note, and
moreover that it had been plainly hinted to me
that I was an impostor, made me hesitate, and
my whole manner to become confused.

" ( Eugenia Ballantine is my name,' said I, in
a quivering voice. ' I dropped you a note yester-
day, informing you that my father and I had
returned to the city.'

" He looked at me a moment with a calm,
severe, scrutinizing gaze, and then said —

" ' Yes, I received your note, and have this

moment seen Mr. , who called upon you.

And he corroborates the instant suspicion I
had that your story could not be correct. He
tells me that the man whom you call your father
resembles Moses a great deal more than he does
the late Mr. Ballantine. So, you see, madam,
that your story won't go for anything here.'

" There was something cold and sneering in
the tone, manner, and expression of Mr. Para-
lette that completely broke me down. I saw,
in an instant, that my case was hopeless, at
least for the time. I was a lone, weak woman.,
and during an absence of eight years from my
native city, I had grown up from a slender girl
into a tall woman, and had, from suffering
and privation, been greatly changed, and my
countenance marred even since I had attained
the age of womanhood. Under these circum-
stances, with my father changed so that no one
could recognize him, I felt that to make my
strange story believed would be impossible.
From the presence of Mr. Paralette I retired,
and went back to the hotel, feeling as if my
heart would break. Oh, it was dreadftil to be
thus repulsed, and at home, too ! I tried only
twice more to make my story believed ; failing
in these efforts, I turned all my thoughts toward
the restoration of my father to mental health,
believing that, when this was -done, he, as a man,
could reassume his own place and his true posi-
tion. I had over six thousand dollars of the
money I had taken from my father's pocket-
book, and which I had always kept so completely
concealed about my person, that no one had the
least suspicion of it. Five thousand of this I
deposited on interest, and with the residue took
a small house in the suburbs of the city, which
I furnished plainly, and removed into it with
my father. I then employed two of the most
skilful physicians in the city, and placed him in
their hands, studiously concealing from them
our real names and history. For eighteen
months he was under medical treatment, and for

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

531

at least six months of that time in a private in-
sane hospital. But all to no effect. Severe or
lenient treatment all ended in the same result.
He continued a simple, harmless old man, fond
of me as a child is of his mother, and looking
up to and confiding in me for everything.

" At the end of the period I have indicated, I
found my means had become reduced to about
three thousand dollars. This awoke in my bosom
a new cause of anxiety. If my father should not
recover his reason in two or three years, I
would have nothing upon which to support him,
and be compelled to see him taken to some public
institution for the insane, there to be treated
without that tenderness and regard which a
daughter can exercise toward her parent. This
fear haunted me terribly.

" It was near the end of the period I have
named, that I met with an account of the
Massachusetts Insane Hospital, situated in
Charlestown in this State. I was pleased with
the manner in which patients were represented
to be treated, and found that, by investing in
Boston tne balance of my little property, the
income would be sufficient to pay for my father's
maintenance there. As for myself, I had no fear
but that with my needle, or in some other way,
I could easily earn enough to supply my own
limited wants. A long conference with one of
the physicians who had attended my father
raised my hopes greatly as to the benefits which
might result from his being placed in an institu-
tion so well conducted.

" As soon as this idea had become fully formed
in my mind, I sold off all our little stock of fur-
niture, and with the meagre supply of clothing
to which I had limited myself, ventured once
more to try the perils of the sea. After a quick
passage, we arrived in Boston. My father I at
once had placed in the asylum, after having
invested nearly every dollar I had in bank stock,
the dividends from which were guaranteed to the
institution for his support, so long as he remained
one of its inmates. This was early in the last
fall. I had then but a few dollars left, and no
income. I was in a strange city, dependent en-
tirely upon my own resources. And what were
they '? ' What am I to do 1 Where am I to go
fox employment1?' were questions I found hard
indeed to answer. Twenty dollars were all I
possessed in the world, and this sum, at a hotel,
would not last me, I knew, over two or three
weeks. I therefore sought out a private board-
ing-house, where, under an assumed name, I got
a room and my board for two dollars a week.
The woman who kept the boarding-house, and
to whom I communicated my wish to get sewing,

gave me half a dozen plain shirts to make for her
husband, for which I received fifty cents each.
This was all the work I obtained during the first
two weeks I was in the house, and it yielded
me only three dollars, when my boarding cost
me four. I felt a good deal discouraged after
that. I knew no one to whom I could go for
work — and the woman with whom I boarded
could not recommend me to any place, except
to the clothing-stores: but they, she said, paid
so badly that she would not advise me to go
there, for I could not earn much over half what
it would cost me for my board. Still, she added,
' half a loaf is better than no bread.' I felt that
there was truth in this last remark, and, there-
fore, after getting the direction of a clothing-
store, I went there and got a few pairs of coarse
trowsers. This kind of work was new to me.
In my ignorance, I made some portion of them
wrong, for which I received abuse from the
owner of the shop, and n.o money. He was not
going, he said, to pay for having his work
spoiled.

" Dreadfully disheartened, I returned to my
lodgings, and set myself to ponder over some
other means of support I had been, while at
school, one of the best French and Spanish
scholars in the seminary. I had also given great
attention to music, and could have taught it as
skilfully as our musical professor. But five
years had passed since I touched the keys of a
piano or harp, and I had not, during that time,
spoken a dozen words in any language except
my native tongue. And, even if I had retained
all my former skill and proficiency, my appear-
ance was not such as to guarantee me, as a per-
fect stranger, any favorable reception either
from private families or schools. So anxious
had I been to make the remnant of my father's
property, which a kind Providence had spared
to us, meet our extreme need, that I denied my-
self everything that I could possibly do without.
Having no occasion to go into society, for no
one would recognize me as Eugenia Ballantinc,
I had paid little regard to my external appear-
ance, so far as elegant and fashionable apparel
was concerned. I bought sparingly, and chose
only plain and cheap articles. My clothes were,
therefore, not of a kind, as you may yourself
see, to give me, so far as they were concerned, a
passport to consideration.

" As two dollars a week would, I knew, in a
very short time, exhaust my little stock of mo-
ney, I determined to try and rent a room some-
where, at the lowest possible rate, and buy my
own food. I cat but a little, and felt sure that,
by making this arrangement, I could subsist on

532

godey's magazine and lady's book.

one dollar a week instead of two, and this much
il seemed as if I must be able to earn at some-
thing or other. On the day after I formed this
resolution I met, in my walks about the city for
the purpose, with the room where you found
me, for which I paid seventy-five cents a week.
There I removed, and managed to live on about
one dollar and a quarter a week, which sum, or,
at the worst, seventy-five cents or a dollar a
week, I have since earned at making fine shirts
for Mr. Berlaps at twenty-five cents each. I
eould have done better than that, but every day
I visit my father, and this occupies from two to
three hours."

"And how is your father?" asked Mrs. Gas-
ton, wiping her tearful eyes, as Eugenia paused
on ending her narrative.

" He seems calmer, and much more serious
and apparently thoughtful since he has been in
this institution," Eugenia replied, with some-
thing of cheerfulness in her tone. "He does
not greet my coming, as he did at first, with
childish pleasure, but looks at me gravely, yet
with tenderness, when I enter ; and, when I go
away, he always asks if I will ' come again to-
morrow.' He did not do this at first."

" But have you not written to Mr. Perkins
since your return 2" asked Mrs. Gaston.

Eugenia became instantly pale and agitated.
But, recovering herself with an effort, she sim-
ply replied —

" How could 1 1 To him I had, years before,
been lost in the sea. I could not exist in his
mind, except as one in the world of spirits.
And how did I, when I came back, or how do I
know now, that he has not found another to fill
that place in his heart which I once occupied 1
On this subject I dared make no inquiry. And,
even if this were not the case, I am not as I was.
I had fortune and social standing when he wooed
and won me. Now I am in comparative indi-
gence, and branded as an impostor in my native
city. If none recognized and received us in our
own home, how could I expect him to do so 1
And to have been spurned as a mere pretender
by him would have broken my heart at once."

Eugenia was greatly moved by this allusion
to her former lover and affianced husband. The
subject was one upon which she had never al-
lowed herself to think, except compulsorily, and
but for a few moments at a time. She could not
bear it. After a silence of some moments, Mrs.
Gaston said —

" I have not met with or heard of Mr. Per-
kins for some years. He remained in Troy
about six months after you went away, and,
during that period, I saw him very frequently.

Your loss seemed, for a time, as if it would de-
stroy his reason. I never saw any one suffer
such keen mental distress as he did. The fear-
ful uncertainty that hung around your fate
racked his mind with the intensest anguish. At
the end of the time I have mentioned, he went
to New York, and, I was told, left that city a
year afterwards ; but, whether it is so or not, I
never learned. Indeed, I am entirely ignorant
as to whether he is now alive or dead. For
years I have neither heard of him nor seen him."

Eugenia wept bitterly when Mrs. Gaston
ceased speaking. She did not reply, but sat for
a long time with her hand partly concealing her
face, her whole body trembling nervously, and
the tears falling fast from her eyes. From this
excitement and agitation, consequent upon a re-
ference to the past, she gradually recovered, and
then Mrs. Gaston related, in turn, her trials and
afflictions since their separation so many years
before. These we will not now record for the
reader, but hurry on to the conclusion of our
narrative.

By a union of their efforts, Mrs. Gaston and
Eugenia were enabled, though to do so required
them to toil with unremitting diligence, to se-
cure more comforts — to say nothing of the mu-
tual strength and consolation they received from
each other — than either could have possibly ob-
tained alone. The rent of a room, and the ex-
pense of an extra light, were saved, and this was
important where every cent had to be laid out
with the most thoughtful economy. Eugenia no
longer went out, except to visit her father.
Mrs. Gaston brought home as much work from
the shop as both of them could do, and received
the money for it when it was done, which all
went into a common fund. Thus the time wore
on, Eugenia feeling happier than she had felt
for many weary years. Mrs. Gaston had been
a mother to her while she lived in Troy, and
Eugenia entertained for her a deep affection.
Their changed lot, hard and painful though it
was, drew them closer together, and united them
in a bond of mutual tenderness.

New Year's day at last came, and the mother,
who had looked forward so anxiously for its ar-
rival, that she might see her boy once more, felt
happier in the prospect of meeting him than she
had been for a long time. Since his departure,
she had not heard a single word from him, which
caused her to feel painfully anxious. But this day
was to put an end to her mind's prolonged and
painful suspense in regard to him. From about
nine o'clock in the morning, she began to look
momently for his arrival. But the time slowly
wore on, and yet he did not come. Ten, eleven,

HISTORY OF PEARLS, NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL.

533

twelve, one o'clock came and went, and the boy
was still absent from his mother, whose heart
yearned to see his fair face, and to hear his
voice, so pleasant to her car, with unutterable
longings. But still the hours went by — two,
three, four, and then the dusky twilight began
to fall, bringing with it the heart-aching assur-
ance that her boy would not come home. The
tears, which she had restrained all day, now
flowed freely, and her over- excited feelings gave
way to a gush of bitter grief. The next day
came and went, and the next, and the next — but
there was no word from Henry. And thus the
days followed each other, until the severe month
of January passed away. So anxious and excit-
ed did the poor mother now become, that she
could remain passive no longer. She must see
or hear from her child. Doctor R had ob-
tained him his place, and to him she repaired.
* But haven't you seen your little boy since

he went to Lexington?" the doctor asked, in
some surprise.

" Indeed, I have not ; and Mr. Sharp pro-
mised to bring him home on New Year's day,"
replied the mother.

"Mr. Sharp! Mr. Sharp!" ejaculated the
doctor, thoughtfully. " Is that the name of the
man who has your son V

" Yes, sir. That is his name."

Doctor R arose and took two or three

turns across the floor at this, and, then resuming
his seat, said —

" You shall see your son to-morrow, Mrs.
Gaston. I will myself go to Lexington and
bring him home. I had no idea that the man
had not kept his promise with you. And, as I
got Henry the place, I must see that his master
is as good as his word in regard to him."

With this assurance, Mrs. Gaston returned
home, and with a lighter heart.

(To be concluded next month.)

■<■<>♦♦>

HISTOEY OF PEAKLS, NATURAL AND AKTIFICIAL.

Pearls are a shelly secretion of a spherical
shape formed in a species of oyster, or pearl
mussel, and said to be produced by a malady in
the animal, which requires nearly seven years
for its full development, after which the oyster
dies. Small pearls which have been immersed
in acetous acids, and thus reduced to their mem-
branous constituents, have the appearance of
being formed of concentric coats of membrane
and carbonate of lime, thus resembling in com-
position the mother-of-pearl with which oyster-
shells are lined. The precise origin of pearls is
unknown, but it appears probable that some
minute substance, such as a grain of sand, may
have found its way into the shell and produced
irritation, and that the animal, unable to expel
it, renders it less injurious by covering it with
calcareous matter. It is sometimes affirmed
that, to produce pearls, the oyster must have
received some external injury ; and this is cor-
roborated by the fact that nearly all the shells
in which pearls are found are outwardly con-
torted, and that a smooth regular shell is a pret-
ty sure sign of the absence of the pearl. It was
therefore suggested to the Swedish government,
by the celebrated Linnaeus, to pierce small holes
in the shell of the freshly- caught pearl oyster,
and then restore it to its original bed. The ex-
periment was tried, but without success. A
somewhat similar plan is said to be adopted by

45*

the Chinese, and with favorable results. These
ingenious people thread upon fine silk small
beads of mother-of-pearl, and fasten them with-
in the shells of pearl oysters, when they rise to
the surface of the water at the beginning of
summer. The animals are then restored to their
bed, where they soon cover the beads with cal-
careous matter, and thus convert them into
pearls.

In whatever way produced, pearls of consider-
able size, on account of their beauty and rarity,
have been valued at enormous prices in past
ages, and are still among the choicest objects of
the jeweller's art. Their delicate and silvery
lustre has been as widely celebrated as the bril-
liancy of the diamond. The Hindoos poetically
describe them as drops of dew falling into the
shells when the fish rise to the surface of the
sea in the month of May, and becoming, by
some unexplained action of the sun's rays, trans-
formed into pearls.

Pearl fisheries exist in Ceylon, on the Coro-
mandel coast, and in the Persian Gulf, the last-
named being the most productive. Fisheries of
less importance also exist in Algiers, and in the
Zooloo Islands. Two thousand years ago, the
Romans found pearls in Britain, and within mo-
dern times the rivers of Scotland have afforded
considerable quantities, though not of the best
quality. Several rivers of Saxony, Silesia, Ba~

584

godey's magazine and lady's book.

varia, and Bohemia afford pearls, and they are
dso found in two or three Russian provinces.
There are also pearl fisheries in the western
hemisphere. The coast of Columbia and the
Bay of Panama have furnished considerable
quantities, but they are not considered equal to
the pearls of the East in shape or color. De-
tailed accounts of the pearl fishery of Ceylon
have been given by the Count de Noe" and others,
who have had ample means of watching the
operations of the pearl-divers during a residence
in that island. It appears that the pearl oysters
occur in banks at greater or less depth in the sea
on the western side of the island of Ceylon, the
average depth, however, being about twelve
fathoms, and the distance from the shore about
fifteen miles. The right to fish on these banks
is sold by the government every season, and a
single auction sale is generally made to one in-
dividual, who afterwards disposes of shares in
the fishery to other parties. The biddings at
the auction are regulated by the produce of some
thousands of oysters taken from the beds at
hazard. If the average quality of pearls con-
tained in them be good, the competition is strong
in proportion.

The pearl fishery commences in April, and
lasts till towards the end of May. It attracts a
concourse of visitors not only from the interior
of the island, but from various parts of India,
whose diversities of language, dress, and man-
ners produce a striking effect. The sea-shore,
at other times solitary, is, on the eve of the
fishery, suddenly covered with innumerable huts,
composed of a few poles stuck in the ground,
interwoven with bamboo and covered with the
leaves of the cocoa-nut palm. These temporary
.iwellings often shelter as many as 150,000 per-
sons. The signal for commencing the fishery is
given at daybreak by the firing of cannon, and
at that moment the several boats cast anchor in
the fishing-ground, for at midnight they had left
the shore in an extensive fleet, so as to be on
the spot at the desired moment. Each boat has
its own proper bounds, beyond which it is not
lawful to work, and government vessels are on
the spot to see that no infringement of contract
takes place. The boats each carry a captain, a
pilot, and twenty men, of whom ten are experi-
enced divers. Five divers descend at once, the
other five taking the plunge when the first
ascend. Thus a little time is allowed for re-
gaining strength. In order to descend as rapidly
as possible through the water, the diver places
his feet on a large stone made fast to one end
of a rope, the other end being secured to the
boat. He also takes another rope, to the end

of which is attached a net, or basket, to contain
the oysters. The upper extremity of this se-
cond rope is held by two men in the boat. The
diver is also provided with a strong knife for
detaching the oysters, and as a means of defence
against sharks, which are very numerous in
those seas, but which do not often attack the
divers, being perhaps scared by the noise of the
assemblage, and the continual plunging of so
great a number of persons. The diver no sooner
reaches the ground than he gathers oysters with
all possible speed into his basket, and then let-
ting go the rope to which the stone is attached,
he pulls that which is held by the sailors, and
rapidly ascends to the surface. Some divers
make very dexterous use of their feet, holding
the net with one foot, clasping the stone with
the other, and thus leaving one hand free to
close the nostrils, while the other hand holds
the rope in descending.

The time during which the divers can remain
submerged is variously stated, and no doubt it
differs greatly according to the constitution of
the individual. Some observers declare that, in
their experience, it never exceeded fifty seconds ;
but Captain Percival, in his work on Ceylon,
gives two minutes as the usual time of remain-
ing under water.* Serious effects are produced
by this employment, and the divers may fre-
quently be seen with blood issuing from their
mouth and nostrils. Yet this does not hinder
them from going down in their turn. They will
make from forty to fifty plunges in one day, and
bring up on each occasion about one hundred
oysters. Their day closes before noon ; for, as
soon as the sea-breeze sets in, the signal is given
for the return of the boats to the shore. Their
owners, and a large assemblage of persons of all
classes, are eagerly looking out for the arrival
of the flotilla, and are soon busily employed in
examining and stowing away the cargoes.

Each owner has a shallow pit fenced round
and secured for his own use, in which his store
of oysters is deposited, and left open to the air.
This pit, or couttd, as it is called, is in the midst
of a group of huts belonging to the same owner,
so that it is under guard of his party. Here the
oysters are allowed to putrefy under a burning
sun, and a stench arises from them which would
seem enough to depopulate the shore of its thou-
sands of inhabitants. Yet such is not the case.
The health of the people does not appear to be
materially affected, and the oysters are allowed

* Dr. Faraday found that, by first exhausting the Lungs
by several deep exhalations, so as to expel the carbonic
acid, and then taking a deep inspiration of fresh air. ho
was able to hold his breath for two minutes and a half.

HISTOKY OF PEAKLS, NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL.

535

to remain till dry, when they can be easily
opened and the pearls extracted. To open them
when fresh would require much greater force,
and would be likely to injure the pearls. When
the putrefaction is sufficiently advanced, the
oysters are taken from the coutto, and placed in
troughs made of the trunks of trees. Sea- water
is thrown over them : they are easily opened,
and render their pearls to the washing and
shaking of a number of men who stand all on
one side of the trough, while inspectors at each
end closely watch their proceedings, and other
inspectors examine the shells which are thrown
away, lest they should contain some of the pre-
cious substance. The workmen engaged in
washing pearls dare not lift their hands to their
mouths under penalty of a flogging, yet a man
will sometimes contrive to swallow a pearl of
high price. After all the pearls are washed out,
the largest are carefully picked out from the
sand at the bottom of the troughs and washed
repeatedly in clean water : the next in size are
spread out on white napkins to dry in the sun.
The remainder are left to the care of women,
who pick them up and dry them. Pearls are
assorted by means of three sieves placed one
above another, the meshes in which are smaller
as the pearls descend. Thus the pearls which
will not pass through the uppermost sieve are
of the first class, and so on with the others.
Another assortment is made as to color, regu-
larity of form, &c, and here the tastes of differ-
ent nations have to be consulted. The Europe-
ans prefer pure white pearls, the Indians yellow
pearls, and the natives of Ceylon those which
are tinged with rose-color.

Besides the number of persons who arrive in
Ceylon in the fishing season for the purpose of
speculating in pearls, there are also numerous
Indian artisans who are very expert in piercing
and drilling pearls, and who practise their Irade
on the spot on economical terms. A writer thus
describes their operations : " A machine made
of wood, and of a shape resembling an obtuse
inverted cone, about six inches in length and
four in breadth, is supported upon three feet, each
twelve inches long. In the upper flat surface
of this machine holes or pits are formed to re-
ceive the larger pearls, the smaller ones being
beat in with a little wooden hammer. The
drilling instruments are spindles of various sizes,
according to that of the pearls ; they are turned
round in a wooden head by means of a bow
handle, to which they are attached. The pearls
being placed in the pits which we have already
mentioned, and the point of the spindle adjusted
to them, the workman presses on the wooden

head of the machine with his left hand, while
his right is employed in turning round the bow
handle. During the process of drilling, he oc-
casionally moistens the pearl by dipping the lit-
tle finger of his right hand in a cocoa-nut filled
with water, which is placed by him for that pur-
pose ; this he does with a dexterity and quick-
ness which scarcely impede the operation, and
can only be acquired by much practice. They
have also a variety of other instruments both for
cutting and drilling the pearls. To clean, round,
and polish them to that state in which we see
them, a powder, made of the pearls themselves,
is employed. These different operations in pre-
paring the pearls occupy a great number of the
black men in various parts of the island. In
the black town, or pettah of Columbo, in par-
ticular, many of them may every day be seen at
this work, which is well worth the attention of
any European who is not already acquainted
with it."

Mother-of-Pearl, or Nacre, is the hard,
silvery, internal layer of several kinds of shells,
especially oysters, the large varieties of which
in the Indian seas secrete this coat of sufficient
thickness to render tne shell an object of manu-
facture. The genus of shell-fish, Pentadina,
furnishes the finest pearls as well as^mother-of-
pearl : it is found round the coasts of Ceylon,
near Ormus in the Persian Gulf, at Cape Co-
morin, and in some of the Australian seas. The
dealers in pearl-shells consider the Chinese from
Manilla to be the best : they are fine, large, and
very brilliant, with yellow edges. Fine large
shells of a dead white are supplied by Singapore.
Common varieties come from Bombay and Val-
paraiso, from the latter place with jet black
edges. South Sea pearl-shells are common, with
white edges. The beautiful dark-green pearl-
shells called ear-shells or sea-ears are more con-
cave than the others, and have small holes round
the margin : they are the coverings of the Hali-
otis, which occurs in the Californian, South
African, and East Indian seas.

In the Indian collection of the Great Exhibi-
tion in London, specimens of the finest pearl-
shells were shown, known in commerce as flat-
shells, ear-shells, green snail-shells, biiffalo-shells,
Bombay shells. It is stated that the shores of
the Sooloo Islands afford the finest shells.

The beautiful tints of mother-of-pearl depend
upon its structure ; the surface being covered
with a multitude of minute grooves, wThich
decompose the reflected light. Sir David Brew-
ster, who was the first to explain these chroma-
tic effects, discovered, on examining the surface
of mother-of-pearl with a microscope, " a grooved

536

godey's magazine and lady's book,

structure, like the delicate texture of the skin at
the top of an infant's finger, or like the section
of the annual growths of wood as seen upon a
Iressed plank of fir. These may sometimes be
seen by the naked eye ; but they are often so
minute that 3,000 of them are contained in an
inch." It is remarkable that these iridescent
hues can be communicated to other surfaces as
a seal imparts its impress to wax. The colors
may be best seen by taking an impression of the
mother-of-pearl in black wax ; but " a solution
of gum-arabic or of isinglass (white glue), when
allowed to indurate upon a surface of mother-
of-pearl, takes a most perfect impression from
it, and exhibits all the communicable colors in
the finest manner, when seen either by reflection
or transmission. By placing the isinglass between
two finely-polished surfaces of good specimens
of mother-of-pearl, we obtain a film of artificial
mother-of-pearl, which, when seen by single
lights, such as that of a candle, or by an aper-
ture in the window, will shine with the brightest
hues."

It is in consequence of this lamellar structure
that pearl-shells admit of being split into laminee
for the handles of knives, for counters, and for
inlaying. Splitting, however, is liable to spoil
the shell, and is therefore avoided as much as
possible. The different parts of the shell are
selected as near as possible to suit the required
purposes, and the excess of thickness is got rid
of at the grindstone. In preparing the rough
pearl-shell, the square and angular pieces are
cut out with the ordinary brass-back saw, and
the circular pieces, such as those for buttons,
with the annular or crown-saw, fixed upon a
lathe-mandrel. The pieces are next ground
flat upon a wet grindstone, the edge of which is
turned with a number of grooves, the ridges of
which are less liable to be clogged than the entire
surface, and hence grind more quickly. If the
stone be wetted with soap and water, it is less
liable to be clogged. The pieces are finished on
the flat side of the stone, and are then ready for
inlaying, engraving, polishing, &c. Cylindrical
pieces are cut out of the thick part of the shell,
near the hinge, and are rounded on the grind-
stone preparatory to being turned in the lathe.
Counters, silk-winders, &c, are smoothed with
Trent sand or pumice-stone and water on a buff-
wheel or hand-polisher, and are finished with
rotten-stone moistened with sulphuric acid,
which develops finely the striated structure of
Ihe shell. For inlaid works, the surface is made
flat by filing and scraping; then pumice-stone
is used, and after this putty-powder, both on
buff-sticks with water; and the final polish is

given with rotten-stone and sulphuric acid, un-
less tortoise-shell, or some other substance liable
to be injuriously affected by the acid, be present
in the inlay. In turned works, fine emery-
paper, rotten-stone and acid or oil are used.
The pearl handles for razors are slightly riveted
together in pairs, then scraped, sand-bvffed on the
wheel with Trent sand and water ; thirdly, gloss-
buffed on the wheel with rotten-stone and oil,
or sometimes with dry chalk rubbed on the same
wheel; and fourthly, they are handed up, or
polished with dry rotten-stone and the naked
hand.

Artificial Pearls. — The art of making
artificial pearls has been brought to such perfec-
tion in Paris, that even jewellers and pawnbro-
kers have occasionally had a difficulty in decid-
ing between the artificial and the real. The
origin of this successful imitation is given as
follows : A French bead-maker named Jaquin,
observing that when the small fish called ablette,
or bleak (Cyprinus alburnus), was washed, the
water was filled with fine silver-colored parti-
cles, collected some of these for the purposes of
his trade. He found that the soft shining pow-
der thus obtained had, to a remarkable degree,
the lustre of pearls ; hence, he called it essence
of pearl, or essence d? orient. He first made small
beads of gypsum and covered them with this
substance ; they were greatly admired and eager-
ly sought after ; but it was found that this
pearly coat, when exposed to heat, separated it-
self from the bead, and attached itself to the
skin of the wearer in a manner that was any-
thing but pleasant. The ladies themselves, it
is said, suggested to Jaquin the making of hol-
low glass beads, and covering the inside with
essence of pearl. This he did, and established
a manufacture, of which some idea may be
gained by the following account. Slender tubes
of glass are first prepared, called girasols, a term
applied to opal, and sometimes to the stone
called cat's-eye, and given to these tubes be-
cause the glass is of a peculiar bluish tint. From
these the artist blows minute globules, to the
extent of from two to six thousand per day, not
caring to make them all perfectly regular or free
from blemish, because the natural pearls are not
so. The pearl essence is then mixed with a
solution of isinglass, and is blown while hot into
each bead by means of a fine glass pipe. The
solution is spread equally over the whole inter-
nal surface, by shaking the pearls in a vessel
placed over the table where the workman sits,
and to which he gives motion by his foot. When
the varnish is equally diffused and dry, the beads
are filled with white wax; this gives them the

HISTORY OF PEARLS, NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL.

537

necessary weight and solidity, and renders them
less fragile. They are then bored with a needle,
and threaded on strings for sale. The holes in
the finer sort are lined with thin paper, that the
thread may not adhere to the wax.

To produce one pound of scales no fewer
than 4,000 fishes are required ; hut this quantity
of scales only yields four ounces of pearl essence.
The fish are about four inches long ; they are
sold at a cheap rate in the markets after being
deprived of their scales. The value of a pound
of washed scales in the Chalonnais is from fif-
teen to twenty-five livres. The early manufac-
turers suffered great inconvenience from not
knowing how to preserve the scales from putre-
faction, and consequently being obliged to use
the essence immediately it was obtained, lest it
should acquire the intolerable odor of decayed
fish. Attempts were made to preserve them in

spirit of wine or brandy, but those liquors wholly
destroyed their lustre. At length it was dis-
covered that these fishy particles can be kept for
a long time in solution of ammonia, and this
enables the manufacturers of artificial pearls to
carry on a considerable traffic with distant places
where the fish is plentiful, the supply from the
Seine, though abundant, being insufficient for
the purposes of the trade of Paris. Down to a
late period, the heirs of M. Jaquin continued to
manufacture pearls to a considerable extent, in
the Rue de Petit Lion, at Paris. An elaborate
account of this art is given by De Beost, in a
work entitled, " VJLrt d'imiter les Perles fines ,"
from which most English descriptions of this
manufacture have been obtained.

In a recent number of the "Journal of the
Society of Arts," it was stated that an " oyster,
or rather a mussel, of the species known to

ARTIFICIAL PEARLS IN THE MUSSEL (MTA MARGARITIFERA).

naturalists as the mya margaritifera, in which
the artificial pearls are formed by the Chinese,
had recently been sent to England. These pearls
are only obtained near Ning-po, and until lately
very little was known of the manner in which
they were formed; and the account first pub-
lished by Sir Joseph Banks was generally ques-
tioned. The Hermes steamer, however, on a late
visit to that place, was able to obtain several
live ones, in which, on being opened, several
pearls, as many as eighteen or twenty, were
found in the course of formation. The one sent
only contains simple pearls adhering to the

shell. It appears they are formed by introducing
some pieces of wood or baked earth into the ani-
mal while alive, which, irritating it, causes it to
cover the extraneous substance with a pearly
deposit. Little figures made of metal are fre-
quently introduced, and, when covered with the
deposit, are valued by the Chinese as charms.
These figures generally represent Buddha in the
sitting position, in which that image is most
frequently portrayed. Several specimens have,
it is said, been preserved alive in spirits, and
others slightly opened, so as to show the pearls."

ILLUMINATED, OR VELLUM-PAINTING.

As it is the duty of a faithful journalist not
only to " hit the follies of the day," but to study
the tastes of the times, we have now ventured
to make a few remarks on an art which has of
late been revived, and which is now not only
much practised as an accomplishment, but
widely diffused as a means of general orna-
mentation. A slight sketch of its history will
perhaps form a not unacceptable introduction to
our subject.

It would appear that the metallic portions,
and the general idea of illuminated painting,
have been familiar to Oriental nations for ages ;
numberless traces of it, as applied to decorative
purposes, having been discovered among those
memorials now existing of the early Persian,
Arabian, and Moorish races. The Egyptians,
too, appear to have possessed the art of adding
burnished gold or silver to their paintings ; but
whether they ever thus ornamented manuscripts
is not known to us — in all probability they did
not. Neither do the more ancient inhabitants
of Italy appear to have applied it to manuscripts,
for none of those discovered amid the ruins of
the buried cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii
are illuminated.

Many writers have surmised that manuscripts
were not thus decorated until they began to
araurne something of the folio form ; certainly,
we are not aware of any traces of illuminating
having been found in those rolled manuscripts
which have descended to us. " The Dioscorides"
in the Library of Vienna, and the celebrated
copy of " Virgil" in the Vatican at Rome — both
of which are supposed to date back so far as the
fourth century — are believed to be the oldest
examples of illuminated MSS. extant ; and these
can scarcely claim to be termed illuminated, for
they only differ from ordinary manuscripts in
having colored capitals. It is not until the
seventh century that we find this art practised
in any part of Great Britain ; and then, in its
earliest form, it simply consisted in staining the
vellum purple or rose color, or inscribing the
characters in gold. In the British Museum is a
splendid MS., termed the " Golden Gospels,"
supposed to date from about the eighth century ;
its text is entirely of gold. There are some
beautiful decorations in this valuable and curious
relic of the patience, industry, and artistic
538

powers of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors. There
is another illuminated manuscript copy of the
■ Gospels in the Archiepiscopal Library at Lam-
beth Palace, supposed to be nine hundred years
old, and to have been painted by Moelbrigid
Mac Durnan, Abbot of Deny, for Athelstan,
who presented it to the city of Canterbury.

In those early ages, illuminating was applied
only to religious and devotional MSS. ; and it
was chiefly done by members of the religious
orders, for a very good reason — that they appear
to have been almost the sole depositories of
what learning and fine arts then existed. The
celebrated St. Dunstan is said to have been a
skilful illuminator, and is represented, in one
of the pictures of an old manuscript, as busily
at work decorating a missal.

The earlier specimens of illuminating which
have descended to us are mostly crude and
simple, consisting chiefly of colored capitals, 0, . '
stained ground, and metallic letters. For several
ages the art does not appear to have made much
progress, except that the capital letters increase
in size, in ornament and beauty ; and about the
twelfth century we find them assuming a gigan-
tic height, abounding in florid development,
gorgeous in hues, and often exquisite in execu-
tion. In the early part of the fourteenth century
an alteration is perceptible — the MS. pages
assume an illuminated border, which at first
only passes down one side, but gradually extends
along the top and the bottom of the page ; and,
after a lapse of years, constitutes a complete
frame to the text.

These borders at first consist simply of foliage
or scrolls ; but, as the art improves, and doubt-
less is more fostered and patronized, arabesques
are introduced, in which forms of marvellous
grace and beauty, linked in inextricable twinings,
shine forth in all the gorgeous hues of a brilliant
sunset ; and these are, at a later period, gemmed
with medallions or miniature paintings, illus-
trative of portion of the text. Indeed, several
•of the most celebrated painters of those days did
not disdain to enrich MSS. for some high per-
sonage with specimens of their arttstic skill.
This continued until the middle of the sixteenth
century.

Subsequently, a progressive decline in the
excellence and artistic beauty of illuminated

ILLUMINATED, OR VELLUM-PAINTING.

539

painting becomes very evident It is true that,
in the middle of the seventeenth century, it was
florid, gorgeous, and, to a certain degree, admi-
rable, but it was not the beauty of art ; the rococo
taste was beginning to dawn — that strange exu-
berance of fancy which heaped in one mass the
most incongruous details, and was often more
cumbrous and grotesque than graceful and har-
monious. Nor was it probably only to this
c-ause that the decline in the art may be attri-
buted— the introduction of printing, and its
gradual diffusion, had made manuscripts less
valuable. The Reformation also, doubtless, had
its share in depreciating illuminated painting,
which soon ceased to be practised to any extent
— excepting in Catholic countries — for the deco-
ration of missals.

Then comes a period of some hundred or
hundred and fifty years, during which the art
may almost be said to be extinct ; nor is it until
within the last ten or twenty years that it has
received much attention. Then, when litho-
graphic printing, and various similar improve-
ments, facilitated the reproduction of an indefi-
nite number of copies of any given subject, and
the still further invention of color-printing and
chromo-lithography came into exercise, the
value of a study of illuminated painting was
perceived, and its applicability to all purposes
of literary ornamentation developed. The title-
pages of albums, of music, and of annuals ; the
oovers of magazines and books ; the initial let-
ters of articles in periodicals ; the decorations
osti circulars, cards, labels, and numberless other
similar productions, whether printed, colored,
gilded, or stamped — all will be found more or
less derivable from the old style of illuminated
manuscripts ; indeed, a person who has not
studied it can form little idea how largely its
principles enter into all this kind of decorations.

It has been said that this branch of the art of
painting is so mechanical as to be easily taught
in a few lessons to those who have no previous
knowledge of drawing. This we cannot fully
admit. It is true such persons may acquire a
smattering of the art — a crude, inartistic style
of working it ; but, unless they have a correct
eye, good taste, and some judgment, they cannot
achieve anything that will not betray the ama-
teur.

It is by no means an easy matter to give
practical written instructions for illuminated
painting on vellum ; for it is not merely direc-
tions as to what materials shall be used, and the
mode of employing them, that are required, but
principles for general guidance which have to be
inculcated. The desired effects cannot be pro-

duced by a heterogeneous assemblage of forms
and colors, but only by careful and artistic
combinations of the appropriate and the har-
monious.

In the matter of letters, allegorical letters,
suitable to the subject they are to commence,
may be obtained by arranging animals, fishes,
reptiles, &c- &c, into the requisite forms.

Fig.l.

•

Fig. 1 represents" an* L adapted for a paper on
botany. fc

For those who may wish to paint from these
cuts, we state that the leaves are of sap-green,
shaded with Prussian green, and just touched at
the tips with gold; the small ones are more
delicately tinted than the others.

Fig. 2.

Fig. 2 is a T adapted for a paper on woods or
forest trees. It is painted in Vandyke brown,
and shaded with black, and the leaves and
ground are green.

In an old MS. at the British Museum, the
human form is most oddly contorted into gro-
tesque semblances of capital letters. An initial
for a paper on war may be composed of armor,
weapons, &c.

Fig. 3, an S, is suitable for a heroic poem, or
romantic tale of chivalry. For agriculture, we
form our initial of corn, or the implements of
husbandry, and such like ; for music, of musical
instruments and characteristic ornaments.

The S in the annexed cut is of silver, bur-
nished and wrought (terms which we shall
presently explain) ; the flag is painted in ultra-
marine, and striped and bordered with silver

640

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Fig. X.

the spear-headed staff is shaded with Vandyke
brown, and its decorations put in with silver.

Fig. 4.

Fig. 4 is not an allegorical letter, but simply
decorative, and adaptod for a title-page, rather
than an initial. The darker and central parts
of the letter are of vermilion, shaded with car-
mine ; and the ornamentation of gold burnished
and wrought. The letter in Fi<r. 5 belongs to

Tip;. 5.

with soft touches of carmine. The varieties of
letters which can be formed are endless, and
may be as quaint and as ideal as fancy can
devise, provided they are also appropriate, and
do not depart from the gracefully-curved line of
beauty.

For illuminated painting we u?e water-colors ;
ultramarine, carmine, burnt carmine, burnt
sienna, gamboge, deep chrome, vermilion, red-
lead, emerald-green, sap-green, Vandyke-brown,
lamp-black, and Chinese-white, are those most
necessary. Persons who are not already pro-
vided with colors will do well to purchase those
which are prepared expressly for illuminating,
as they are more brilliant. Pure gold, green
gold, and silver shells; fine sable hair-pencils,
some gum-water, a lead-pencil, H. H. H ; some
tracing and some transferring paper; and an
agate burnisher, which consists of a piece of
polished agate, in the shape of a cut pencil, set
in a handle ; a flat ruler and a tracing pen, are
the materials requisite ; all of which should be
obtained at one of the first-rate artists' color
repositories.

Illuminated paintings may be made either on
vellum or fine Bristol-board ; the vellum is pre-
pared expressly for the purpose, and not that
commonly sold; it must be mounted on, or
affixed to, a drawing-board (which has previously
been covered with cartridge-paper) with artists'
glue, before it can be painted on. Great care is
requisite in sketching or transferring the outlines
to its surface, for it is by no means easy to efface
any marks once made j bread is usually more
efficacious for this purpose than India-rubber;
but, as it must be stale, it can only be used with
caution, being likely to scratch or roughen the
surface.

In all illuminated drawings the background is
more or less ornamented ; and this may bo done
according to the fancy of the artist himself; the
leading characteristics of these fundamental
ornamentations are delicacy, simplicity, and
grace. In the different compartments of Fig. 6,

Fig. 6.

the same class, and is only a modification of
style ; the white ground is merely shaded up

four of the most common patterns are given.
They are either put in with a darker shade of

THE LAST KISS.

541

'he grounding tint, or wrought in gold or silver,
or painted in white or black. The straight lines
must be firm and even, and equidistant; the
curved lines flowing and graceful ; the dots or
spots all equal in size, and at even distances
from the lines and from each other. The upper
and lower compartments of this cut are pure
gold and green gold, on a black and an ultrama-
rine ground; the right-hand side is grounded
with a light tint/ of emerald-green, and worked
over with ornamentation in sap-green ; the left-
hand compartment is silver, on a delicate blue
ground.

This damask pattern (see Fig. 7), which may

Fig. 7.

of the most common specimens ; the third is a
spider-like ornament, also often introduced.
Fig. 11 is another simple and common decora-
tion.

THE LAST KISS,

BY JENNY A. M'EWAN.

The last, the last! it lingers still,
Though weary days have fled,
Though summer's hloom
Is in the tomb,
And autumn's glory dead.

The last, the last! upon my brow
Thy seal of truth is pressed,

And in my heart

Love's echoes start;
Their music ne'er can rest.

be enlarged or diminished, is worked in carmine,
on a ground of red-lead, or a light tint of ver-
milion. It is as well to observe that these
groundwork patterns are almost always very
minute and delicate; and, therefore, should
never be traced with a pencil, or the line will
show ; but must be worked in with a fine sable-
hair brush, and the requisite tint, or with a very
fine pen, charged with diluted color; but the
brush is preferable.

Such ornamentations as those in Figs. 8 and 9

Fit

Fis

may be worked in on the outer or metallic bor-
ders,.which frequently surround the chief border.
Our readers must not suppose that we profess
to give all, or half the forms of decoration used
for groundwork in illuminated drawings. We
only attempt to sketch those most frequently
met with, and which may serve as models of
style. Various threefold ornaments — originating,
doubtless, in the spirit of that class of men who
at first chiefly used this decoration for MSS.,

Fig. 10.

Fie. 11.

and symbolical of the triune nature of the Deity
— are frequently observed. In Fig. 10 are two \
vol. xlviii. — 16

The bright, blue heaven is clouded now,
And moans the wintry blast;

Fond memory sigh3,

But hope replies,
" That kiss was not the last."

'Tis when I yield my wearied frame
To slumber's magic powers,

By thy dear side.

Thine own loved bride,
I rove through Dreamland's bowers.

Oh, dim are all my earthly joys
To those that greet me there,
And in my dream
It ne'er doth seem
That Heaven can be more fair.

Gray morning breaks o'er yonder hill ;
My visions bright are past,

Yet ere they fly,

The spirits sigh,
" Thy dream-kiss was the last !"

When twilight's magic hour draws nigh,
And Thought is roaming free,

When evening's breeze

Sighs through the trees,
Thy spirit comes to me.

Oh, 'tis a holy presence then
That's stealing o'er my breast;

The magic power

Of that sweet hour
Lulls my sad heart to rest.

And on my brow I feel a touch,
A breathing touch of bliss ;
The spirit-sigh
Is hovering nigh,
That touch, the spirit-kiss.

"lis here, 'tis here ! I feel it now —
Yes, o*er my heart 'tis cast,

And voices sweet

Once more rep., it
" The spirit-kiss is last."

542

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

SECRET LOVE.

BY KATE HARRINGTON.

Raise me gently— gently, sister, that my brow may catch
the breeze

Softly gliding through the casement from yon grove of
orange-trees ;

That mine ear may drink the music gushing forth in mel-
low lays.

Made by song-birds sweetly warbling their evening hymns
of praise ;

That mine eye again may wander to the bosom of yon
stream,

Where the ripples dance as lightly as young fairies in a
dream.

Now bend your ear, my sister, for my life is ebbing fast,
And my heart must tell its secret before the dream is past;
It is all the grief I've cherished that thou hast never

known,
For, save this, my thoughts have ever found an echo in

. thine own.
It were better not to tell thee, but my spirit spurns control,
And the words I would not utter seem escaping from my
soul.

Dost thou remember, sister, how in sunny youth we played
On the margin of yon streamlet in the orange branches'

shade ?
Or, when the evening twilight threw its veil o'er stream

and wood,
And we saw the stars grow dizzy and tremble where they

stood,
How we twined the pure white blossoms in the ringlets of

our hail-,
And wondered if the dew-drops would come to nestle tlieref

Hast thou forgotten, sister, life's bright, unclouded spring,
When thy thoughts were just as joyous as wild birds on

the wing,
When young Clarence stood beside thee, and the words he

dared to speak
Made thy spirit leap for gladness and sent blushes to thy

cheek ?
/had worshipped him in secret ; he knew not my distress,
And in secret I resigned him, but loved thee none the less.

In vain I tried to banish from my crushed and bleeding

heart
The image it had cherished long as of itself a part;
My will was weak, for when I came to breathe a sad good-

by,
I could not, could not smother on my lips the bursting

sigh.
None knew the wild, deep anguish, the torturing pangs of

grief,
That closed the fount of feeling and refused a tear's relief.

Thou hast often wondered, sister, why mine eye has lost its

light,
Why I 've spoken of existence as a gloomy, starless night;
Thou hast sat for days together, and, in accents low, hast

told
How thy Clarence soon will hasten from the distant land ?

of gold. \

Whene'er his name was mentioned, I have felt a strange, >

wild thrill ;
But I 've learned long since, my sister, to suffer and be /

still.

Nay, weep not ; for, believe me, ere awakes yon aotting sun
Earth's struggles will be over, and life's conflicts will b«

done;
My disembodied spirit upon wings of love will rise
To roam with shining seraphs through the realms of Para-
dise.
My soul is only waiting till the silken cord is riven.
To burst its earthly fetters and soar away to Heaven.

Draw nearer to me, sister, on my bosom bow thy head,
And take my fervent blessing ere I 'm numbered with the

dead;
And Clarence, he must never know the words I 've breathed

to thee,
As a loving sister only let him learn to think of me.
Tell him I longed to see him, but could not wait his time,
For the angels came to waft me to a never-changing clime.

Thou wilt not forget me, sister, though long the parting

seems,
Yet, oh, believe me, often will I come to thee in dreams;
And, if I gain permission of the true, unchanging Friend,
I will be thy guardian angel till He calls thee to ascend.
Then, as here on earth we 've wandered, through fields of

light we '11 rove,
With our spirits joined together by the silken cord of love.

THE SCHOTTISCH PARTNER.

BY JI0TTE HALL.

Oh, I danced with him the schottisch !

'Twas the first time that we met ;
He was such a dashing creature,

With orbs as black as jet.

And he wore a lovely diamond ;

How it flashed into my eyes !
As he drew me closely to him

I saw its wondrous size.

Oh, at ball, and rout, aud party,

I was his schottisch belle;
He said I danced so charmingly,

And knew the step so well.

And we grew so very loving,

As we stood upon the floor,
That people said the schottisch step

Would lead to Hymen's door.

But, though I schottisched every night,
I reached not Hymen's dwelling;

The god must live a long way off,
But where, there is no telling.

And, only think, one festal night,

The ungrateful, wicked Harry !
I heard my schottisch partner say —

" She '11 do — but not to marry.

"She'll do to twirl in mazy dance,
She'll do for giddy pleasure;
She '11 do to meet out Folly's gauds
With Fashion's line and measure;

"But she'll not do for sacred home,
A meek and gentle woman,
An angel in her purity,
But in her love a human."

SONNET.

543

TWO MOTHERS?

EVENING THOUGHTS.

BY MRS. S. F. JENNINGS.

A little dirty ragged boy, in the streets of New York,
selling penny songs, is asked by a gentleman if he has a
mother. " Neow don't — where 's yourn ? Does she know
you 're out?" he says, with that impudent nonchalance
which is the more pitiful because so common among that
class. But the gentleman buys some of his songs, and that
act is the sesame to his heart. Upon a second putting of
the question, he is ready, though with the same reckless
air, to answer, " No; folks don't have two mothers, do they?
and mine 's dead 's long ago 's I can remember."

Two mothers? Never, little one;

No merit brings such meed ;
God gave thee one — if she be gone

God help thee feel thy need!
For a dangerous way, stormy and wild,
Thou goest, without thy mother, child.

The throbbing heart of this mighty town,

How beats its pulse for thee ?
The tide of life swells up and down

The paths of this restless sea.
Will they dash thy bark on the surf away,
Like a straw or leaf on the ocean spray ?

Poor boy ! for thee how ruthless time

All tender ties hath riven !
Thy father's love — all seared with crime ;

Thy mother — gone to Heaven.
No brother, sister, guards the shrine,
When God hath set his seal divine.

Thy mother dead ? long, long ago ?

No soft eye beams on thee ?
No kindly voice says firmly " No,"

To bid thy tempter flee?
And snares are thick, and pitfalls deep,
And the upward way i3 rough and steep.

And thou heedest not, in thy soul's deep night,

That God hath so bereft thee ;
And thou carest not for the trembling light

Dim in thy memory left thee.
God save thee from the world's sure blight!
God save thee from an endless night !

BY H. MERRAN PARKE.

Twilight deepens upon the lea,

And shadows come dancing in play with me;

Little brown birds have hurried away

To their nests in the tree-tops old and gray,

While here at my window I lean and gaze

Earnestly into the misty haze,

Watching the coming of one sweet star

Which thou 'rt now seeking from me afar.

Absent and dearest, my spirit's life

Dost ever forget, 'mid the din and strife,

That one fond heart o'er the line of hills

Sighs for thy presence, yet bounds and fills

With measureless bliss when this sweet hour

Gathers around with its magic power.

Visions of brightness come and go

Like the falling and melting of winter snow ;

But one. a presence like thine remains,

And winds my heart in its golden chains.

Then, sweet as the music in Assam's bowers,

When winds go singing among the flowers,

Or like the leaves of the lotus-tree

That touch each other in melody,

So sweetly a voice creeps into my soul

To woo my senses from earth's control,

And point to a world of rarer joy

Where pleasures are found that never cloy,

Where bliss supernal forever reigns,

And rapture gushes in seraph strains.

Oh, earth is darkly beautiful now,
With her garland of flowers upon her brow ;
And the stars have come with their golden eyes
To light up the portals of Paradise;
The visions of sweetness have left my heart,
But the voice of music will never depart ;
And when I look to the shining skies,
Where the bright pavilions of glory rise,
I '11 think of the gardens of matchless flowers,
Where angels walk 'mid the wingless hours ;
And, dearest, I '11 think we '11 sometimes go
The peace and rapture of heaven to know.
But, hark ! the sound of ringing bells
Comes on the wind, and softly tells
Midnight — and earth doth sweetly rest,
With her beautiful children on her breast.

A LOVING HEART

BY W. S. GAFFNEY.

Sweeter than the sweetest flower,
Brighter than the brightest gem,
Kicher far than Flora's bower,
Art or nature's diadem —

Fairer, sweeter,
Purer, meeter,
Is a kind and loving heart !

Wealth may prove a toy caressing ;
Beauty's charms a world of light ;
But Affection is a blessing
From a soul serene and bright ;
Kindest, purest,
Best and surest,
Is a faithful, loving heart!

SONNET.— FLOWERS.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

Winter scarce o'er, as messenger of Spring,
Walks forth bright Snowdrop, clad in green and white,
Which simple beauties every eye delight,

Till Violet scents the gale and Bluebirds sing ;

Come now the Windflower and the Tulip tall,
And Naiad Lily of the lowly vale,
The lover's flower, which is true passion pale ;

Up, next, Narcissus springs, more fair than all,
Reflecting in the brook, that purls anigh,
Her image, and, like Echo, hastes to die;

Then the sweet lady Rose, at Zephyr's call,
Like nymph, comes forth to show her glowing breast,

While Flora holds her proudest carnival,

And yields the palm to her, as queen of all the rest.

544

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

MY TULIPS

BY H. 3. D.

Stern old Janus shook his sceptre

Over a shivering land,
Yet spring, one day, with a warning came

And slipped it from his hand.
She brought him torrents from the skies,

And rivers down the street ;
Melted his crown about his eyes,

And thawed his icy feet.

My tulip bulbs in goodly rows,

Scenting the loosened springs,
Shot up in haste to look around ;

But ah, the silly things !
They did not know that when spring comes

In such a vapory way,
She only thinks to try her power,

And never means to stay.

So when the reckless sprouts had seen

Their fill of mist and mud,
Spring went away and left them e'en

To manage as they could.
Then winter rose in fearful rage,

And fumed and flurried round ;
He shut the waters in a cage,

And closed the opening ground.

Like true philosophers, my plants,

Though sorely pinched and frayed,
Braved the old tyrant in his rants,

And stood there undismayed,
Till epring, with airs and sunny smile,

Came tripping o'er the ground,
Leading her orchestra, the while,

In many a tricksy sound.

And buds above, below, burst forth,

In tints of emerald dressed,
To see the wild spring gain the north,

My tulips with the rest.
When she 'd subdued the rigid earth,

And conquered all the cold,
My plants, to grace her victory, donned

Their crimson and their gold.

Out flashed their flames, their feathers

Upon the ambient air,
And nicest choice was dazed between

By bloemen and Bizarre.
But when the gentle sway of spring

Must yield to summer's pride,
My tulips fainted with regret,

And dropped their heads and died.

THE DEAD TREE.

I SAW it with leafy honors crowned

By a crystal streamlet's side,
And its long, fair boughs in their graceful play

Stooped down to the gentle tide.

I lingered once beneath its shade

At the noon of a summer day ;
When youth's high pulse through my temples beat

In its swift and burning way.

And many a thought of my questioning hear*;

Went out oa restless wing,
To the unseen's far and shoreless waves.

Some tidings thence to bring.

Blest, blest and beautiful seemed all things,

Green earth and the holy sky.
And soul with its wondrous, fearful gifts,

And doom of mystery.

Tears passed ; from distant and stranger homes

I came with a colder brow ;
But at nature's altars wreathed and pure,

My spirit still could bow.

The crystal stream on its winding way

My footsteps traced once more,
And a dim sweet thought of other days

Led softly on before,

To where a circling emerald wall
Caught the laughing waves to rest,

For a moment charmed and placidly
In its violet-scented breast.

And there, far down in the stillness glossed,

All riven, bleak, and gray,
Was a giant form that frowned above,

Though kissed by the summer ray.

Then a mist came over the sunbeam's light,

The breeze swept chillingly,
And something mourned within my heart,

But not for the blighted tree.

For a vision came with a lordly bow,

And stood beside me there,
With pride-wreathed lips and a clear dark eye —

Away— 'twas a thing of air.

Yet a being like it on earth once dwelt,

With men thus high and cold ;
But the valley's clods press heavily

And mute o'er the spoils they hold.

A deep pall covered the wasted corse,

A deeper the passing soul ;
A name that stands like yon gray, sad tree,

Was the proud man's earthly goal.

LET ME DIE!

BY S. M. MONTGOMERY.

Oh ! who would live on in this dreary world,

When the light of Hope has fled,
And the friends of old are changed and false,

And faith and trust are dead ;
When the heart is crushed 'neath its weight of griet,

And the smile of joy is gone,
When " love's young dream" is past — all past,

Say, who wovdd linger on ?

Let mo die ! ay. lay me down to rest

In the dreamless sleep of death,
Where flowers send forth, at dewy eve,

Their pure and perfumed breath ;
Where the bright sunshine will gently fall,

And soft winds murmuring by,
Will my requiem chant, in whispers low,

Through the green grass waving high.

TO A FRIEND ON THE DAY OF HIS MARRIAGE,

545

LINES TO A BRONCHITIS BIRDIE.

A FRAGMENT.

Now heed the counsel of a sage,
And closely keep in thy warm cage

This cold and dreary winter through ;
See that ye shun the winds of March,
No April showers thy plumes unstarch,

Nor skies of May thy crest bedew.
And then, perchance, sweet airs of June
Will find our Birdie's throat in tune,

And ye through valleys green may rove,
And o'er the sunlit emerald hills,

Within the cool refreshing grove,
Along the marge of winding rills ;

And gather flowers of varied hue,
'Mid grassy beds and moss-grown banks,

And on them smile, and kiss them, too,
While they will sweetly blush their thanks,

And drink thy health in drops of dew ;
Inhale the blossom-scented breeze

Within thy oscillating zone,
And never cough, nor even sneeze,

So sound thy swan-like throat has grown.
Then will thy happy voice be heard

Amid sweet spring's melodious throng ;
No other heavenly warbling bird

Will sing so joyous, oft, and long.

L'ISOLEMENT.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF ALPH0NSE DE LAMARTINE,
BY WM, A. KEN? ON.

Often, at sunset, on the mountain side,

Beneath an aged oak I take my seat, '
My vision roaming o'er the plain spread wide,

Whose panorama opens at my feet.

Here scolds the river, thus in foam to break,
Then slow meanders down the dim afar,

Toward the spread waters of the sleeping lake,
Where smiles in azure the fair evening star.

To these crowned summits — dim old colonnades —
The gentle twilight still a last ray lends,

E'en while the cloud-car of the queen of shades
White o'er yon far horizon's verge ascends.

Spreading through all the air, with gothic swell,
Soft sounds of worship bid the ear attend ;

The trav'ler stops to hear the distant bell
With day's last noises holy concerts blend.

But these fair tableaux have no charm for me;

My sight indifferent is o'er them led,
Like the fleet shadows that at noon I see :

Suns for the living cannot warm the dead.

From hill to hill in vain I turn my glance,
From south sX> north, from sunrise to his rest,

I search at eviry point this vast expanse ;
Nowhere doth fortune wait on my behest.

What ma'ie these valleys and these homes? I cry ;

Vain objects all ; their charm for me has flown :
Rocks, r.vers, forests, loved retreats, I sigh,

One b'3ing absent, every soul is gone.

46*

What signifies the sun to rise or set?

And what a heaven sombre or serene ?
Returning days no joy for me beget,

And still unmoved I gaze on every scene.

Round could I follow the sun's vast career,
My eyes would see but deserts wild and void ;

Nothing he shines on can my bosom cheer :
I wish for nothing here below enjoyed.

Perchance beyond the borders of this earth,
Where the true sun looks down from other skies,

Could I but cast the slough of this world's birth,
What I so much have dreamed would meet my eyes.

There, filled from fountains whither thought aspires,
There might I find again, with hope and love,

This fair ideal every soul desires —
Find her who has no name save there above.

Borne on Aurora's car, why can I not,
Vague object of my vows, launch forth to thee?

Why on this earth of exile is my lot,
With nothing common between it and me?

Leaves in the prairie fall, with passage brief,
And evening breezes to some dale convey ;

And I — am I not like a withered leaf?
Ye stormy north winds, bear me hence away !

TO A FRIEND ON THE DAY OF HIS
MARRIAGE.

A store of happiness to thee

This day auspicious brings,
And o'er the future fairy Hope

Her robe of promise flings.

Oh, fair is she whom thou hast won

To be thy gentle bride,
A fairer none could ever wish

" To grace a lover's side."

But well for thee thy chosen one
Hath charms that brighter shine,

And these by strong, though tiny cords,
Shall make her doubly thine.

Beneath the potent hand of Time

That graceful form must bow,
And age his furrowed lines shall trace

Upon that lovely brow.

And years of care shall dim those eyes
Sparkling with love's own light,

And 'mid those dark and glossy braids
Shall mingle threads of white.

But outward change shall only prove

That heart more true to thee,
And, though the eyes their lustre lose,

It will unaltered be.

And oh, when sorrow's storm shall come,

For come it surely will,
'Twill only bind that loving heart

To thee more closely still.

And now, though many friends are near,

Wishing thee perfect bliss,
Not one, I know, is more sincere

Than she who sends you this.—Y.

CAPS AND HEADDKESS

Fig. 1
TO

Fig. 2.

546

JUVENILE FASHIONS.

547

As it is impossible to describe the various
shades of trimming that are seen in the new-
styles of caps and headdresses, we resort to cuts
to illustrate them.

Fig. 1 is a breakfast-cap for a young married
lady, of a very simple style ; the foundation is
of a plain net; this is traversed by plaitings of
lace, through which is passed a flat plaid ribbon
of bright hues. Loops and bows in profusion at
each ear. It will be found a very stylish model.

Fig. 2. — A more complicated and less youthful
cap, composed of insertions and edgings, trim-
med with mantua ribbon of a good quality.

Fig. 3. — A graceful style of headdress for a
young person, when simplicity is to be preserved.
It is merely of full bandeaux, slightly waved ;
the flowers, a light drooping spray, are arranged
in the bandeaux, instead of the back of the hair,
or across the brow. The back of the hair, as
seen in Fig. 4, is dressed in three puffs, and se-
cured by a low ornamental comb. We have
still newer designs of headdresses in preparation
to illustrate the topic of the coming month —
dress at watering-places.

JUVENILE FASHIONS

Fig. 1. Fig. 2.

We are very much pleased — nor is it to be
wondered at — with the communications that
frequently reach us with regard to this especial
department.

"Indeed," writes a correspondent, whose
opinion is of value, " the good ideas you have
given me concerning children's dresses and many
other things, during the three months I have
received the 'Lady's Book,' I consider worth
the whole year's subscription."

Once, at least, every season we devote our
chitchat especially to the young people ; and to

show they are not forgotten in the mean time,
select a design from Mrs. Suplee's large estab-
lishment— of children's clothing, etc. — of a boy's
summer suit.

The plaited linen shirt, or chemisette, Fig. 1,
is sometimes worn by itself, buttoning to the
waistband of the trousers, Fig. 2, which are full,
and rather long. The over-jacket may be made
of Cashmere or any suitable material, and is
intended for the street. The peculiar style of
the sleeves and the square opening of the front
display the fine linen bosom and sleeves.

548

godey's magazine and lady s book.

FASHIONABLE BONNETS AND CAPS.

From the celebrated Establishment of Thomas White $ Co., No. 41 South Second St., Philada.
No. 1. No. 2.

No. 3.

No. 4.

No. 1. Boy's Hat. — Material of Coburg straw.

No. 2. Bonnet Tip.

No. 3. Bonnet Crown.

No. 4. Wire Bonnet Frame.

Description of Cuts on page 481.
No. 1. Infant's Turban.

Material. — Embroidered French blonde and
gimp.

Trimming. — Bunches of white ribbons at the
sides, with quilling of blonde around the face.

No. 2. Boy's Jockey Caps.

A. Material. — Straw brilliant, edged and trim-
med around the front with Paris gimp.

B. Material. — Brilliant straw, inserted with
Paris gimp. Front edged with gimp.

No. 3. Summer Bonnet.
Material. — Blonde lace, with quilling of rib-

bon. Crown of silk, with lace fall to hang over
the cape.

Trimviing. — Bouquets of wild flowers.

No. 4. Italian Leghorn. — Untrimmed.

CHINESE SAYINGS.

Some of the ordinary expressions of the
Chinese are sarcastic enough. A blustering
harmless fellow they call " a paper tiger."
When a man values himself overmuch, they
compare him to a " rat falling into a scale, and
weighing itself." Overdoing a thing they call
" a hunchback making a bow." A spendthrift
they compare to a rocket which goes off at once.
Those who expend their charity on remote ob-
jects, but neglect their family, are said " to hang
their lantern on a pole, which is seen afar, but
gives no light below.

WHY DON'T LADIES LEARN TO COOK?

549

BEAID FOR CHILD'S DRESS,

WHY DON'T LADIES LEARN TO COOK?

Among the common things to the teaching of
which public attention is now so strongly direct-
ed, it is to be hoped that the art of cookery — one
of the commonest, and yet, apparently, one of
the most difficult and neglected of all — will not
be forgotten. The instruction of the female
peasantry in this useful art would be as advan-
tageous to themselves when settled on their own
hearths as to the families of the middle classes,
in which, before marriage', they officiate as do-
mestic servants. On all sides we hear complaints
of the difficulty of finding, and of retaining when

found, a cook who can roast a leg of mutton,
and make batter-pudding or pea-soup. In point
of fact, we have heard of ladies who have it in
serious contemplation to dispense with servants
altogether, as the least troublesome alternative.
Without wishing matters carried quite so far, we
are convinced that many of our fair friends would
lose nothing, either in point of respectability or
happiness, while they could add at least one-third
to the effective incomes of their husbands, if they
were to spend a little more time in their kitch-
ens, superintending the preparation of the family

550

godey's magazine and lady's book.

dinner, instead of contenting themselves with
ordering it— if, indeed, they condescend to do
even that. Some forty years back, ladies were
driven to shoemaking as a fashionable way of
killing time. Why not try a little cooking?
Thanks to the modern stoves, with their nicely-
arranged skillets and stewpans, which science
and mechanical skill have substituted for the
blazing kitchen hearth of other days, young
ladies of the nineteenth century, just passing its
prime, may cook without soiling their fingers or
injuring their complexions. Were it not so, we
would not recommend them to cook. We would
rather live on bread and cheese all .the days of
our lives.

It will be said, perhaps, that our notions with
regard to female education and employment are
too antiquated — that in these matters, as in
everything else, a new era has dawned, and the
solid course of instruction now given in colleges
for ladies will be triumphantly appealed to.
Ladies, however, who possess these solid acquire-
ments— who, like Lady Jane Grey, prefer Plato
to a picnic — will be least likely to neglect the
economy of the kitchen. They will thoroughly
understand the dignity of the employment, and
call to mind all the poetry of cooking. To say
nothing of the dinner which Milton describes
Eve as preparing when " on hospitable thoughts
intent," there are the Homeric banquets at which
kings literally " killed their own meat," and at
which queens and princesses turned the spit for
the roasting, or drew the water and chopped wood
for the boiling. Cooking is classical, and no
lady will disdain to take part in it who has read
of these feasts in the original Greek. Let it be
observed that it is the middle and working classes
on whom we wish to urge the importance of the
study. A gentleman's daughter can afford to be
so ignorant of common things as not to be able
to recognize chickens in a poultry-yard, because
they do not run about with a liver under one
wing and a gizzard under the other, though our
modern poultry shows, it must be confessed, will
tend much to dissipate this error. A knowledge,
however, of the art of cooking is of more im-
portance to the wives of the laboring population
than to those of the middle classes, because it
is the art, when properly cultivated, of making a
little go a great way. — Mark-lane Express.

A LACE BASQUE.

Furnished from Madame Demoresfs Emporium
of Fashions, 375 Broadway, New York.

This novel and graceful design is adapted for

black lace or any other thin material that fancy
may dictate, as will be seen by reference to the
engraving. It is gathered in a graceful fulness

to a band of insertion across the back, and also
to a similar band fitting closely to the form at
the waist, and falls in a rich double flounce over
the person. The corsage is made high in the
neck, gathered into a band same as the back.
The style of sleeve (which is so clearly illus-
trated by the artist as not to need any further
description) harmonizes most beautifully with
the general design.

TRUTH.

BY D. HARDY, JR

As stands the old oak when the tempest is raging:,

While others less firm are upturned by the blast,
So Truth, though with Error a warfare is waging,

Is firm and unyielding, triumphant at last.
She stands as unmoved as the bold promontory,

Tow'ring so proud by the waves of the sea;
Her heart-gushing song and her soul-cheering story

Should bless and make glad every land that may be

Truth, mighty and noble, down came from the Maker,

The Sovereign Ruler of earth and of sky;
Then cling to her fondly and never foi-sake her,

Till death shall have closed thy now beaming eye:
Truth is so mighty, Superstition and Error,

All powerless and weak, must fall by lier side;
Then, friends of the Right, do not taller in terror,

But nobly press onward with Truth for your guide.

COTTAGE FURNTTUEE.

551

LADY'S BIDING BOOTS

We are at pains to present our friends with
<3very recherche article that can contribute to
their welfare j for this purpose, we illustrate a
pair of riding boots for ladies, which, in addition
to their ostensible purpose, are admirable for
damp or muddy walking, especially in locations
where vegetation renders protection desirable.
These boots will effectually prevent the moisture
that is brushed off from proving detrimental.
They are made of patent leather, of a rich, lus-
trous black hue, the upper portion of fancy co-
lored morocco, purple, maroon, green, or bronze,
and bordered with silk galloon, finished with

neat tassels. Excepting in their elegant propor-
tions and ornamental appearance, they are es-
sentially similar to the dress boots of the sterner
sex; and we are gratified to observe this move
in the right direction. This fashion is in ac-
cordance with sound sense and comfort.

For the original of these beautiful and com-
mendable articles, we are indebted to Mr. E. A.
Brooks, Boot and Shoe Emporium, 575 Broad-
way, New York, from whose large and varied
collection we propose affording frequent illustra-
tions, that our fair readers may be fully an fan
in this important department of their costume.

COTTAGE FURNITUEE.

Fig. 1.

Fio-. 2.

Fig. 1 represents two tables formed to fasten
together underneath.

Fig. 2
raised.

Pembroke table with the leaves

552

godey's magazine and lady's book.

LADY'S SLIPPER ON CLOTH.— SMYRNA EMBROIDERY

lady's supper on cloth.— reduced design.

Materials. — Any dark-colored cloth, black or dark claret
is the best. Silk or terry velvet of a color contrasting well
with that of the cloth. Purse twist, first size, either gold
color or the color of the velvet, but one shade or two lighter.

Draw your pattern on the cloth first; then on
the wrong side of the velvet; cut out the velvet
carefully, and gum well the wrong side of the
velvet. When cut out, apply on the cloth, press
it down gently, and let it dry ; when perfectly

dry, work the outlines in chain stitch with the
purse twist.

If you can manage the tambour needle, the
chain stitch would be better done in tambour
work, also quicker and more easily.

This design, embroidered with black silk on
scarlet or blue merino, will also make an ex-
tremely pretty baby's shoe.

THE LEAF OF THE SLIPPER IN ITS PROPBR SIZE.

BREAD- CLOTH.

553

BEE AD-CLOTH.

Materials.— Five reels crochet cotton, No. 24, with crochet-
hook, No. 18.

Make a chain of 160 stitches, and work on it
one row in dc.

2d row. — Begin with 1 chain, and work 2 dc
in each of the first two dc of last row. One dc
in each of the others, except the last two, in
both of which work 2, and end with a chain
stitch.

The remainder is to be worked from the de-
sign, in ordinary square crochet ; but, as there
is first an increase of a square at each end, and
afterwards a decrease to the same extent in
every row, the space in the centre only being
without either increase or diminution, we shall
describe the way in which the decrease is so
effected as to leave a regular edge ; the increase
being always done as we have described in the
2d row. There are two close squares at each
end.

For the Decrease. — Slip on the first stitch,
sc on the next, sdc on the next, dc on the fourth,
do three more dc, 2 ch, which form the first
open square in the line. At the other extremity
reverse the process, working on the last four
stitches, i dc, 1 sdc, 1 sc, 1 slip.
vol. xlvii.' — 47

In all the succeeding rows that are decreased,
make the slip stitch on the first dc stitch of the
previous row, at each end, thus shortening every
row by three stitches.

The edge being of two close squares, allows
for all the ends being worked in, which should
invariably be done.

Work one row of open square crochet all
round, with the dc stitches sufficiently close
at the corners to set flat, and in every square
knot a fringe of twelve or sixteen strands, and 2
inches deep.

EMBROIDERY.— DRESS COLLAR.

(See Colored Plate in front of Book.)

Materials.— Enrbroidery cotton, No. 100.

Trace the pattern upon the muslin with a quill
pen and blue mixed with gum-water; make the
leaves, stems, and flowers in raised satin-stitch ;
the circles in buttonhole-stitch, either making
them close or open, as may be preferred; if
close, a raised spot must be worked in the cen-
tre of each. Work the edge in buttonhole-
stitch.

554:

godey's magazine and lady's book.

PATTERNS FOR EMBROIDERY.

G2®

ex.

EDITORS' TABLE

"Man to man so oft unjust,
Is always so to woman."— Byron.

Such is the testimony of a poet, and history, we are sorry
to say, would prove his assertion true. Yet a "better
time'' is coming, has already begun, and, in our country,
seems making progress quite as rapidly as women are pre-
pared to receive and adjust themselves to the new and en-
larged duties which are opening before them. Education
is the grand lever to elevate society. When both sexes are
allowed equal privileges of instruction, the advancement
of the race will be accelerated in more than twofold propor-
tion, because the ignorance of one-half the species serves to
hinder greatly the influences of intelligence in the en-
lightened portion. A small cloud can dim the sun.

Some important questions respecting female education
are yet unsettled ; one of these concerns the prerogative of
their colleges. Are these institutions, when chartered by
legislative authority, to hold equal rank with male col-
leges ? When degrees are conferred on the female student,
shall she have an equal right to the honors these are sup-
posed to confer, as are claimed for her brother graduate ?
Not long since, a lady was complimented by the Faculty
of one of the most eminent Female Colleges in our country
with " the Honorary degree of Mistress of Arts." While
acknowledging the compliment, the lady wrote —

" Allow me to inquire if, in thus conferring degrees on
women, you contemplate the assumption of the style simi-
lar honors confer on men ? Would you be pleased to see
that I added the M. A. to my name? Now, this is an
important question, and will, as I think, have much influ-
ence on the future aspect of female education. If colleges
for women are invested with full power of conferring de-
grees, and do confer them, why should not the same rules
be applied to these as are considered proper in regard to
colleges for your sex ?

" If to append the sign of his degree to his name be for a
man an advantage, showing his acquirements have been
acknowledged and guaranteed by the competent authority,
why is not a similar course beneficial, under like circum-
stances, for a woman ?" &c.

The faculty of the college made reply by the president to
the effect that they did confer the degree in good faith, con-
sidering it " one and the same held by the faculty," and
that the lady had an equal right with themselves to as-
sume the A. M. We were intending to invite attention to
this subject, gathering thus the results of discussion, when
the following article reached us, and we give it here to in-
vite others to write on this question: —

" To the Editor of the 'Lady's Book :' Knowing that you
have very much at heart the advancement of learning and
the spread of useful knowledge, and that you do not think
woman's share an unproductive one. or her powers below
culture, I venture to ask why most of the stimulants to
generous ambition are neglected in her case ? Is it because
men consider her nature too elevated to require the adven-
titious helps they throw out to each other? It cannot be
that they fear on equal ground some odious comparisons
might be obvious.

" Milton says —

' Fame is the spur that the clear spirit does raise
To scorn delights and live laborious days.'

So sensible have mankind ever been-of this, that, in all
ages, incentives have been offered to the ingenious and
distinguished, by titles, honors, and decorations distributed
to excellence. To excellence in men ; for women, however
industrious their researches, however 'laborious' their
' days,' have little to expect but a limited fame, and the in-
ward consciousness of high motives. Why should this be ?
Why might not woman have the satisfaction of feeling that
her deservings may entitle her to the marks of approbation
of the learned in her own sphere, and that her name may
acquire a general respectability from honors worthily
borne ? In other words, why may not honorary degrees be
granted by literary and scientific institutions to all persons
who merit them ? And why may not women publicly bear
such testimonials, by appending to their names the same
titles borne by men under similar circumstances? I know
that there is a large, worthy, and respectable class of men
who, as some shrink in undefinable horror from the sight
of a cat, feel nervous shudderings and morbid vexation
at the word strength of mind as applied to woman. To the
word; for I have, in essentials, found many of these nerv-
ous gentlemen happy to avail themselves of the objection-
able quality when it was taken by them in a disguised
way. These might, at the first blush of the thing, begin
to wince at a lady being styled A.M., F. R. S., cum ceteris.
But, if they will, if they can consider the subject coolly,
they will see that there is nothing unfeminine, nothing the
finest womanly delicacy need fear in the matter. Would
the names of Maria Edgeworth or Hannah More have been
published with less propriety, had they been supported by
initials signifying that certain judges of literature ap-
proved their efforts and sanctioned their pretensions? For
my part, I think it seems altogether more befitting a wo-
man's weakness to be ushered into public by the stamp of
masculine authority. I think even a weaJc-minded woman
could not disparage her charms by seeking in a signature
the protection of her superiors.

" Far be it from me, speaking in modern cant, to draw
woman out of her sphere. I would have every one do her
' duty in that sphere of life in which it has pleased God to
call her.' Let man rule in the court, the camp; let him
make laws and enforce them; let him plough the main :
let him defend his country ; while woman soothes the bed
of sickness and instructs her children. Let her studies and
her efforts be to alleviate pain, to increase mental develop-
ment, and, above all, by precept and example, to watch
over morals and religion. These things she may do; these
things she daily does ; but, though more patient, and more
spiritual than her brother man, she is not an angel. She
needs encouragement, praise, and rewards to cheer her
course. Why, then, deny her the harmless gratifications
that are her due, that she has won and should wear?"

What shall be done for the Insane ?— The Report for
1853 of the Trustees of the Hospital for the Insane, in the
State of Maine, contains a remark equal to a conclusive
reason in favor of hereafter building every new insane
hospital for one sex only — a recommendation lately sub-
mitted to the public by Medical Superintendents.

The Maine Trustees say, "It is very important the public
should have every possible assurance that patients of one
sex should not know, except by report, that ther3 are those

555

656

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

of the other sex in the hospital." This testimony, so offi-
cial and experienced, is full of meaning, and it will be used
by many voices in a wise way to effect a reform.

Pecuniary economy alone has led, in most places, to the
present method of combining insane men and women in
the same building. One building of a determined size, it
has been argued, can be more cheaply supported than two,
having together a capacity to accommodate the same num-
ber of patients as the larger one. But, whenever in any
population a new hospital must be erected for increasing
numbers, it will not be attended with an extra expense in
supporting it, to appropriate it to one sex, and to remove
into it the patients of this sex from the prior institution.

New ones ordered by a Legislature with an intention to
devote each to one sex, can, from their foundations, be so
arranged as to secure the attaining of many special advan-
tages relating to social parlors, amusement saloons, reading-
rooms, work-rooms, private rooms for interviews between
patients and their near relations, bath-rooms, Ac.

The proper locations of the noisy, of the homicidal, and
of the dreadfully impulsive in various ways, so as to pre-
vent them from injuriously disturbing others, is a serious
problem of difficult solution in most hospitals now in opera-
tion. At present, all of the same sex are in the same wing;
and therefore the timid are sometimes much distressed or
excited by the furious we have alluded to. The difficulty
of solving the problem will be almost removed in a hospital
for one sex, by placing the furious at the far end of one
wing, and those who would be hurtfully disturbed by them
in the other wing; thereby separating them through the
intervention of the centre building.

The proposed reform will enlarge the liberty and the
privileges of patients, both within the buildings, and out-
side of them in walks, courts, or gardens. Females will be
exempt from a risk, to which they are now subject in the
best-conducted institutions, of being observed by male
patients and their attendants through windows overlooking
the grounds. Now, excited patients must often be secluded
in rooms, or limited to small courts for air and exercise, to
keep them from being seen by the other sex; whereas
these very patients may more than others need daily walks
with their attendants as the surest means of soothing their
fury.

Whenever the whole of one wing of a hospital is con-
structed and organized for convalescent and timid patients,
they can and will be allowed, with scarcely any inconve-
nience to the internal government, more frequent and
longer visits from sane and sensible conversers, than are
now allowable. They will then have the benefit of what
is much needed, a greater variety of sane companionship
and its healthful influences, than the household, together
with the ordinary restricted visiting, can ever possibly
supply. When these influences are of a wise quality, they
*ro mental medicines of heavenly value to the many who
need them and ought to have them.

Moral Courage.-- -In an address, entitled Human Hap-
piness— see book notices — we find the following very
straightforward definition and advice : —

"What do I mean by moral courage? I mean the
onergy and spirit to say and do what is right and true, in
a respectful and proper manner, though it be unpalatable to
some, or apparently against our own interest. I do not
intend you to suppose that I am advising you needlessly to
tell all you know concerning either yourselves or others,
but that you should avoid, as much as in you lies, doing or
saying anything which you would be ashamed to acknow-
ledge, if necessary to do so ; and then when you have com-
mitted errors and faults towards others, should not hesitate

to own and correct them. Young ladies, this would be moral
courage. Do not, I beseech you, forget what it is, and do
not hesitate to practise it, for it is a beautiful quality; it
will always promote your comfort, respectability, and
happiness, and very often your immediate and best inte-
rests."

Flowers and their Influence.— The people of France
pay much attention to flowers, and thus one of their best
writers on Education, M. Aime Martin, describes the effect
of this taste : —

"In all countries women love flowers, in all countries
they form nosegays of them ; but it is only in the bosom
of plenty that they conceive the idea of embellishing their
dwellings with them. The cultivation of flowers among
the peasantry indicates a revolution in all their feelings.
It is a delicate pleasure, which makes its way through
coarse organs; it is a creature, whose eyes are opened; it
is the sense of the beautiful, a faculty of the soul which is
awakened. Man, then, understands that there is in the
gifts of nature a something more than is necessary for
existence ; color, forms, odors, are perceived for the first
time, and these charming objects have at last spectators.
Those who have travelled in the country can testify, that a
rose-tree under the window, a honeysuckle around the
door of a cottage, are always a good omen to the tired
traveller. The hand which cultivates flowers is not closed
against the supplications of the poor, or the wants of the
stranger."

•Christian Associations of Young Men.— These are be-
coming the rule in our cities. We have before us the
" First Annual Report" of one formed in Boston a year or
two ago. Why might not similar associations be formed
among the young women? Many a girl from the country
has been lost, who might have lived virtuously, happily,
and usefully, had she, when coming to the city, known
friends of her own sex to whom she might have gone for
counsel in her loneliness and sorrows. But these efforts
to save young men will gladden the hearts of mothers and
sisters, whose brothers and sons are gone from the domes-
tic roof out into the dangers and temptations of the world.
We subjoin the opening remarks, or reasons for the asso-
ciation : —

" The wise and good men of Boston have, in times past,
mourned over many a youth of promise who, fresh from
his rural home, has yielded to the temptations of the city
life, whose dangers he knew not of, and perished. Indivi
dual benevolence has done much to avert the evil ; but no
adequate remedy was found till Christian young men we*e
banded together to receive their young brethren from the
country and guard them with Christlike sympathy until
they could securely walk amid the dangers of the city.
Such a band is our association."

Woman's Rights — as we have always maintained — en-
title her to equal advantages of education with her brother
man. Slowly, but surely, this idea is gaining favor in the
public mind, and men, noble-hearted and wise, are carry-
ing forward the work of founding institutions for the
daughters of our land. As yet, few of these schools are
endowed, none made equal in efficiency to the schools for
the other sex; but still we rejoice to record every attempt
to extend the benefits of instruction to those who are tlie
heaven-appointed educators of infancy and childhood.
Women must be fitted to educate men; we shall then have
goodness and wisdom united. In the "Female College to
"be established at Petersburg, Virginia."' we hope these
advantages will be provided for liberally. Every college
should be endowed.

editors' table,

557

Bleak World. — These two stanzas are worth preserving
from a poem which we have not room for ; the author may
Itope : —

There 's not so bleak a place on earth

Where blossom not the wild wood flowers ;
There 's not so desolate a hearth
But hath its smiling, sunny hours.

Though dark and drear life's voyage may seem,
And man without a sun may grope,

Yet in its darkest hours we dream
There 's smiling in the distance hope.

Slander. — We seldom meet with a fearless, out-spoken
rebuke of the sins of the tongue. Those who deal with evil-
speaking seem usually afraid of committing themselves to
the charge of an offence similar to that which they are rebuk-
ing. Not so Rev. Henry Steel Clarke, whose " Discourse," of
which the following is a sample, goes straight to its mark
as an arrow from the bow of a 'strong hand. Our readers
will find pleasure as well as profit in these sentiments ;
they are accustomed to the language of truth in our pages,
and will not feel the arrow pointed at any who are inno-
cent. And the guilty, if such there be around our " Ta-
ble,'' will read to profit by the pictures presented, and
thank the good clergyman who, from the seclusion of his
study, has breathed words that will reach and interest the
inmates of thousands of homes in every section of our
country : —

'; Who slanders his neighbor is a — what is he? The sig-
nification of the term slander, according to the best au-
thority, is to belie ; to speak falsely of. Who, then, slanders
another, belies him — lies concerning him. Do not men for-
get this when they go about to blacken and vilify the cha-
racter of their neighbors ? And can they be justified in re-
sorting to it for revenge? Is not the command, 'Thou
shalt not bear false witness,' as binding as any of the ten ?
The fact that they can have satisfaction in no other way,
offers no apology. To resort to it only increases their guilt.
They thus, to falsehood, add the indulgence of a wicked
spirit of retaliation. This, when God has said, 'Vengeance
is mine.' They are bound, by all that is sacred and good,
to submit in silence, rather than make such attempts to
punish the injurious.

"It is to be remarked here that slanderous reports
generally have an air of truth about them, which make
them more prejudicial and hurtful than if they went in
their own native garb. They seem ashamed of themselves.
If they can steal the livery of truth, they hold up their
heads and are sure of passing. Were every slanderous re-
port branded with its own name, and called, as it should
be, a lie, the evil done would be less. But, going forth
with the semblance of probability, under a more specious
garb than that of the direct and downright falsehood, the
injury done is often greater even than that intended by the
slanderer. Hence, only aggravated guilt. Men cannot be
too cautious how little they say, which is true against
others. Much less can they be too cautious how little they
say which is positively false. Who love to hear them-
selves speak in this way will some time have abundant
cause to regret their loquacity. Who love to speak lies
may expect to gather fruit accordingly.

******

" There is another abuse of speech. It is not slander,
but very like it. It has much of its meanness, and par-
takes of its guilt. They who indulge in it are the retailers
of scandal. Their business argues a very morbid and sick-
ly state of moral feeling. They are the snatchers up of in-

47*

considerable trifles, who deal them out with infinite relish.
They are traders in the small ware of slander, who magnify
the value of their wares until they come to believe them
real. The practice now referred to is that of reporting
whatever one hears, adding, perhaps, a gloss of one's own ;
reporting it not .perhaps upon the house-top — he might as
well — but in the ears of others, until it becomes a common
topic of conversation. What is peculiar to this is, that it is
generally something prejudicial to the reputation or inte-
rests of his neighbor. To pry into that which is no con-
cern of mine is mean. To report what I thus see and hear
is contemptible. If this become general, no one is safe.
All men would turn spies and scandal-mongers. No one
will be safe, because no one's character will bear all kinds
of exposure.

" Every man has his faults. Add to this that every man
more quickly discovers his neighbor's than his own ; theD,
that he is in a measure blind to his own, when discovered
a beam is in his eye ! and that this blindness is a magnifier
to his neighbor's, and you have a sum total of probabilities,
which renders it extremely likely that he who desires sub-
jects for scandal will have realized his most sanguine ex-
pectations. Says the Latin fabulist, as I have some time
read, speaking of the faults of men, 'Jupiter gives to every
man two sacks : one with his own faults, to be carried on
his back ; another, with his neighbor's, to hang upon his
breast' —

' On this account, m an never can behold
His own, but can his neighbor's faults unfold.'

Phasdrus knew men. His fable is not all a fable. If not a
fact, it casts the shadow of one. It is easier to unfold the
faults of others than our own. And, if all should delight
to do it, none would be safe.

" Then, what a disposition does such practice indicate !
How dark a spirit! What moral obliquity and depravity!
No good is intended, none secured. Should good result, it
would be a disappointment to the tale-bearer. No doubt
there is often the appearance of pity for the victim. Many
a story is told with rueful countenance, and protestations
of sorrow for the occurrence, when the teller is secretly ex-
ulting in tfee injury it will do. ' How often does the repu-
tation of a helpless creature bleed by a report, which the
party, who is at pains to propagate it, beholds with much
pity and fellow-feeling, is heartily sorry for it, hopes in God
it is not true ; however, as Archbishop Tillotson wittily re-
marks upon it, is resolved, in the mean time, to give the
report her pass, that, at least, it may have fair play to take
its fortune in the world, to be believed or not, according to
the charity of those into whose hands it may fall.'* What
can be more contemptible or base!

" Then the injury that is done. How many reputations
are thus ruined — ruin for which no one is responsible- — by
men and women, who deal their blows in the dark, who let
fly their Parthian arrows and retreat! How much mis-
chief is caused to families and neighborhoods by cowardly
people, who skulk behind ' I reckon,' or ' they say,' while
they protrude their venomed tongues covered with the poi
son of asps! Nay, how are whole communities often kept
in a state of constant and feverish excitement by those
whose tongues should blister with their utterances ! And
how soon would the fever be allayed, and the excitement
die, and the strife cease, if those ' who whet their tongue
like a sword, and bend their bows to shoot their arrows,
even bitter words,' would learn to use aright the power of
speech ! And would' this accomplish it? The Bible says it
would. ' Where there is no tale-bearer the strife ceaseth.' "

* Sterne's Sermons.

558

godey's magazine and lady's book.

To CoKi;t:sivM>i Nrss.— The following articles are accepted :
■•The Match-Making Mother," " Leaves from the Journal"
tre -Hull use as we have- room), "Going in Search of Im-
pTetsionB," " Imagination and Fancy among tho Arahs,"
aud " The Loss of the Hector."

" The Orphan Boy," a poem, that appeared in the Feb-
ruary number, was from the pen of Robert G. Allison, now
residing at Warrenton, N. C. His name was omitted by
mistake.

We have not room for these articles, yet some are well
worth publication : " The Prophecy," " Dreams," " Phae-
dra." " To A ," " A Venetian Elopement," " Child's

Evening Prayer," " The Poet's Lament," " Sibylline," " All
Earth is Beautiful," " The Coquette," " Godey," " Lines,"
•; Two Scenes in City Life," "Remien" (will be returned, if
the author requests), " Home," " Lost at Sea," " Sonnet,"
" The Dying Girl," " Scene in the Garden," " Fancies,"
•• Maria," " Musings," " Adieu to my Bower," " Old Forest
Tree," "Ida Lofton," "Blossoms," "The dirge I hear,"
•• The Bereaved," and " On the Death of two Children."

The above is a long list. We regret we cannot oblige all
our friends, but the " Book" has its limits. We have here-
tofore alluded to the number of elegies and laments of the
bereaved sent us for publication, and given our reasons for
declining, generally, such poems. We think the newspaper
circulating most largely in the vicinity of the " loved and
lost," is the most suitable organ for these obituaries of the
heart ; the merits of the poetry are of less consequence to
the reader who loves the memory of the dead. Elegiac
poetry, when written to express individual grief, should be
addressed to those who can sympathize with the bereaved,
not to the general public, who read to criticize. A number
of articles on hand are not yet examined.

C 1 1 e r a r p N a t u e s.

From J. S. Redfbeld, 110 and 112 Nassau Street, New
York, through W. B. Ziebee, Philadelphia : —

MELLICHAMPE. A Legend of the Sardee. By W. Gil-
more Simms, Esq., author of the " Partisan," " Yemassee,"
" Katharine Walton," " The Scout," etc. etc. This is an-
other handsomely printed volume, uniform with the new
and complete edition of the author's works, now in the
course of publication. Judgment has already been passed
upon the merits of this romance by many of the best lite-
rary and historical critics of our country. Their decisions
have long since secured to the author, in connection with
the "Partisan," and other and similar productions, the
highest reputation among contemporary writers. It may
be justly said of Mr. Simms that no American author of
the same class has ever been truer to the leading facts of
history, or more faithful in the delineation of the original
characters of the actors he has introduced. None has
been more successful in blending the witchery of romance
with the patriotic, but often stern and cruel realities of
revolutionary warfare. We have had many romances
founded upon the events of the struggle which terminated
in tho independence of the United States, too many of
which, we are sorry to say, have been characterized by in-
flation of style and exaggerated portraitures — by improba-
ble and often impossible incidents, and a total departure

from the historic record. Under such extravagances and
perversions, we have not unfrequently seen persons ele-
vated to a heroic and virtuous distinction in the romance
of history, whom the truth of history had consigned to
execration and infamy. We have the comfortable assur-
ance, however, in perusing the pages of " Mellichampe,"
and similar works by the same author, that we have be-
fore us the true characters of the persons intended to be
represented, and that the incidents have been faithfully
delineated, yet all admirably woven together in the web of
a fascinating romance.

THE DIVINE CHARACTER VINDICATED. A Review
of some of the principal features of Rev. Dr. E. Beecher's
recent work, entitled, " The Conflict of Ages ; or, the Great
Debate on the Moral Relations of God and Man." By the
Rev. Moses Ballou. Persons fond of religious controversy,
and more particularly those who have read Dr. Beecher's
work, will no doubt take an interest in the " Vindication."
This work appears to have been written with great candor,
and equal explicitness, in regard to the religious views of
the author, which differ very materially from those of Dr.
B. What will be the amount of its influence in arresting
the "conflict of ages," can only be conjectured by the
effects produced by the controversies of the past. Theolo-
gians, though with the best intentions towards the esta-
blishment and preservation of peace, have been the great
combatants in the conflict which, for ages, has distracted
the human mind on speculative question's of religion, to
determine which there has been no appeal but to man's
fallible reason, to his prejudices, to his rashness, and to his
spirit of hatred and persecution — power and might, not
charity and good-will, being in most cases the arbiters.
" A better day is coming," no doubt, when the sad conflict
will cease forever. But that better day will have its dawn
in " another and a better world," the beauties of which
will be reserved for those who have kept aloof from the
uncharitable warfares of this; and, in 6aying this much,
we need not be brought into " conflict" with any one.

THE RUSSIAN SHORES OF THE BLACK SEA, IN THE
AUTUMN OF 1852 : with a Voyage down the Volga, and a
Tour through the Country of the Don Cossaclcs. By Laurence
Oliphant, author of "A Journey to Nepaul." From the
third London edition. This is a very pleasant narrative,
containing a great deal that is interesting in regard to the
habits, customs, &c, of a portion of the inhabitants of Rus-
sia, bordering on the Black Sea. The book will elicit at-
tention at this time, because it relates to a portion of the
empire which must become the theatre of great events,
should the war be prosecuted between it and the western
powers of Europe. It is not exactly the work, however,
for the statesman and politician, presenting but few statis-
tics or practical observations from which reliable conclu-
sions may be drawn.

THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM H. C. HOS-
MER. The poems of Mr. Hosmer are presented to us in
two handsome volumes, respectively of 374 and 376 pages.
The greater portion of the first volume is devoted to poems
relating to Indians, the principal among which is " Yon-
nondio; or, the Warriors of the Genesee: a Tale of the
Seventeenth Century." This poem was first published iu
1844. Most of the shorter poems have, from time to time,
appeared in the magazines aud newspapers of the day. and
evince not only the poetic taste and talent of the author,
but the soundness of his moral sentiments, and his na-
tural love of liberty and justice from his youth up.

MERRIMACK ; OR, LIFE AT THE LOOM. A Tale. By
Day Kellogg Lee, author of " Summerficld ; or, Life on a
Farm," and " Master Builder; or. Life at a Trade." Like
all the other works of this author, the volume now before

LITERARY NOTICES.

559

us, as a literary production, is quiet and unpretending;
but it is not the less true to nature, in its delineations of
the hopes, joys, labors, sufferings, and misfortunes of the
class he represents. Their habits, conversations, and re-
flections, their moral and religious feelings, their friend-
ships and their loves, are all drawn in characters true to
the life, and with an easy, fluent power of description that
is not often excelled. In the peculiar line of writing our
author has chosen, there is a wide and interesting field be-
fore him. No kind of knowledge will have a greater tend-
ency to cement the foundations of this republic than a
familiar acquaintance, and its consequent sympathy, with
the true life, characters, impulses, and labors of the various
classes who contribute to its support and defence. To
know one another is the best guaranty of union, and in
" union there is strength."

From Lindsay & Blakiston, Philadelphia :—
THE SEPULCHRES OF OUR DEPARTED. By Rev. F.
R. Anspach, A. M., Hagerstown, Maryland. A pure and
happy Christian spirit pervades the pages of this volume,
which cannot fail to infuse its genial glow into the hearts
of all who will peruse it with the right dispositions. We
believe the work is calculated to do a great deal of good
wherever it may be read, and will unquestionably awaken
a proper attention to the burial-places of the dead, which,
as we know by experience, and by the complaints of news-
paper editors and their correspondents, are shamefully
neglected in various cities and towns of this Christian land.

From C. M. Saxton, Agricultural Book Publisher, New
York, through E. C. & J. Biddle, Philadelphia : —

ELLIOTT'S FRUIT-BOOK: or, the American Fruit-
Grower's Guide in Orchard and Garden. Being a compend
of the history, modes of preparation, culture, &c, of fruit-
trees and shrubs, with descriptions of nearly all the varie-
ties of fruits cultivated in this country; notes of their
adaptation to localities and soils, and also a complete list
of fruits worthy of cultivation. By F. R. Elliott. The
price of this valuable work, a handsome volume of five
hundred pages, is only $1 50. The author is a practical
man, who, for more than ten years, has been patiently,
and, as he says, pleasantly engaged in the nurturing of
trees and noting their products. Such a book as he has pre-
sented the public with will not fail to secure a ready and ex-
tensive sale in every part of the country where the least
attention is paid to the cultivation of orchard fruits, or to
those of the garden; and we feel sure that, in no spot
where an " opening" or a " clearing" has been made, is the
cultivation of fruit in some form or other entirely neglect-
ed. But, as it is important in the start to know the de-
scription of fruit adapted to the peculiarities of soil and
climate by which the cultivator may happen to be sur-
rounded, we unhesitatingly recommend the book to his ex-
amination and study.

From Lippincott, Grambo, & Co. (successors to Grigg &
Elliot), No. 14 North Fourth Street, Philadelphia :—

TRIALS AND CONFESSIONS OF AN AMERICAN
HOUSEKEEPER. Portions of this handsome volume have
been presented to the public in a different form ; but, as a
work of amusement, as well as of wisdom, it will not be the
less acceptable on that account in its present shape, and
with its numerous appropriate illustrations. The trials
will be found full of instruction for the inexperienced, and
the confessions will probably induce others to examine
their consciences who now think themselves blameless.
The last two chapters contain admirable lessons in regard
to the treatment of servants, and the important duties of a
mother to her children.

LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF A COUNTRY MER
CHANT. A Narrative of his Exploits at Home, during hit
Travels, and in the Cities. Designed to amuse and instruct
By J. B. Jones, author of "Wild Western Scenes," "Ad-
ventures of Colonel Vanderbomb," " The Monarchist," etc.
The design of the author has been admirably fulfilled. The
contents of his volume are truly amusing; and, with re-
gard to the peculiarities of mercantile life, and steamboat
travelling in the West, it presents the reader with nume-
rous instructive lessons and graphic sketches.

THE WINTER LODGE ; or, a Vow Fulfilled. An His-
torical Novel. By James Weir. This volume is the sequel
to " Simon Kenton." Its contents are highly interesting,
being animated descriptions of the early condition of the
western settlement, of the characters and habits of the peo-
ple, and of their bloody contests with the Indians.

From Besset & Co., Springfield, Mass., for sale by Lippin
cott, Grambo, & Co., and T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia :— -

CUT FLOWERS: a Collection of Poems. By Mrs. D.
Ellen Goodman Shephard. Edited by J. G. Holland.
Many of the poetic effusions of the lamented author have
graced the pages of the " Lady's Book" and the columns of
" Arthur's Home Gazette." To the former work they were
always most acceptable, not so much on account of their
fastidious conformity to rhythmical rules, &s for their happy
and beautiful metaphors, and for the instructive lessons
they contained ; the former drawn from simple and natural
objects, and the latter founded upon the truths of holy Re-
velation. We venture nothing by the assertion, that there
is not a poem in this collection that will not meet with the
kindest approval, and that there is not a sentiment ex-
pressed that will not find a willing response in the sympa-
thies of the reader.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Lindsay &
Blakiston, Philadelphia : —

A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By Charles
Dickens. Vol. 2. England from the reign of Henry the
Sixth to the Revolution of 1688. We have never seen the
first volume of this history ; and, after a short examination
of the second, we think we may venture to say, with all
deference to the great literary reputation of Mr. Dickens,
that the style of his child's history is not very clear, and
not always appropriate to the dignity, the solemnity, or
the importance of the events related. In the effort to reach
the comprehension of children, in our opinion, it was not
necessary to relate deeds of injustice, murder, and rapine,
however frequent their recurrence, in an off-hand and
careless manner, in indifferent words, or to refer to them
by a sneer or a joke. Such writing may be called sprightly
and easy, but it is by no means calculated to leave a lasting
impression of the baseness and cruelty of the deeds record-
ed upon the mind of the youthful reader, or a just detesta-
tion of the characters of those by whom they were perpe-
trated.

From Miller, Orton, & Mulligan, Auburn & Buffalo,
through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : —

MINNIE HERMAN; or, the Night and its Morning. A
Tale for the Times. By Thurlow W. Brown, author of
" Temperance Tales and Hearthstone Reveries." The evils
of intemperance, like the truths of Scripture and morality,
cannot be too frequently or too warmly insisted upon by
judicious and capable speakers and writers. They should
be " kept before the people" continually, as the politicians
say, in order, if possible, to awaken public opinion to a just
sense of their enormity. The interest and importance of
the subjects incidentally connected with the discussion are

560

godey's magazine and lady's book.

in no duig«r of being exhausted at present, and therefore
not only the attention ami patience of readers and hearers
may be relied on. but very probably the footsteps of many
will continue to be arrested, as they are starting upon the
downward path which leads to poverty, crime, and disho-
nor. We are happy to recognize, in the author of the ex-
cellent volume before US, the able editor of the " Cayuga
Chi-/,'1 a popular newspaper published at Auburn, N. Y.
Mr. Brown is an ardent and consistent advocate of tempe-
rance, and of the principles of the Maine Law, as his work
will abundantly testify. In his zealous detestation of in-
temperance, he draws pictures of distress, misery, and
crime, which sensitive hearts will naturally turn from with
abhorrence, hoping, and even deeming it impossible that
such incidents could ever have occurred in the midst of
civilized society. But, alas! in those pictures, revolting
and painful as they are, those who are familiar with the
facts and the sad condition of its victims will recognize in
this work the ever-present and unquestionable results of
intemperance.

From D. Appleton & Co., No. 200 Broadway, New York,
through C. G. Henderson & Co., corner of Fifth and Arch
Streets, Philadelphia : —

RUSSIA AS IT IS. By Count A. De Gurowski. As every-
thing connected with the history, power, and resources of
Russia will, most probably for some time to come, form
matters of deep interest and inquiry for the public mind,
we may reasonably anticipate a full supply of information,
and much speculation as to her rise, progress, and anticipated
destiny. In forming our own opinions, however, upon any
important question, it is not always safe to rely on the
arguments or representations of enthusiasts, whose imagi-
nations can easily figure out plausible results, because it is
the honest desire of their hearts that just such results
should happen. But, at the same time, we by no means
intend that this remark shall apply to the work under con-
sideration, for it is evidently from the pen of a statesman
and philosopher; and, although the author may he still
more or less of an enthusiast in regard to the destiny of
races and empires, his principles and views are evidently
the results of experience, reflection, and investigation. For
nearly thirty years, as he tells us, his existence has been
agitated by the political tempests overwhelming his native
land, as well as other parts of Europe. He appears at one
time to have been an admirer of the power and destiny of
Russia. But in his youth he took an active part in the
affairs of Poland, the land of his birth, and, in 1830-31, was
driven into exile because he had participated in tiie insur-
rection of that period. His style is animated and attract-
ive, much more so than is common in similar works of
political inquiry.

CAT AND DOG ; or, Memoirs of Puss and the Captain. An
amusing book for children, filled with pretty engravings.
A very interesting story, quite philosophical, too, and as
well calculated for the perusal of the elder branches of the
family as the younger.

From Blanchard & Lea, Philadelphia : —

HISTORY OF OLIVER CROMWELL AND TIIE ENG-
LISH COMMONWEALTH, from the Execution of Charles
the First to the Death of Cromioell. By M. Guizot. Trans-
lated by Andrew R. Scoble. In two volumes. This work
embraces a period of sixty-three years, the events of which
are the most exciting and remarkable in the history of
England. The appendix to each volume contains valuable
historical documents, which, being derived principally
from the French Foreign Office, and now first published,
add greatly to the interest of the work. A new character

is given to many of the actors in that bloody civil war
renderiug the volumes more worthy and impartial than
many of the histories that have preceded them.

ORR'S CIRCLE OF TIIE SCIENCES. Nos. 1 and 2 of a
series of treatises on every branch of human knowledge.
No. 1 treats of the nature, connections, and uses of the
great departments of human knowledge, hy the editor.
No. 2, the physiology of animal and vegetable life. With
numerous illustrations.

From Wm. S. Young, 173 Race Street, Philadelphia : —
ODD-FELLOWSHIP EXAMINED IN THE LIGHT OF
SCRIPTURE AND REASON. By Joseph T. Cooper, Pastor
of the Second Associate Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia
With an introduction hy the Rev. J. B. Dales, D. D. Se-
cond edition. This work has been strongly recommended
by a number of clergymen belonging to the Presbyterian
church.

From Gould & Lincoln, Boston :—

THE PRIEST AND THE HUGUENOT ; or, the Persecu-
tion in the Age of Louis XV. From the French of L. Bun-
gener. In two volumes. The aim of the work is well de-
fined by its title. Monsieur Bungener, a minister of the
" Reformed Church of Geneva," and author of a very popu-
lar work, "The Preacher and the King," has aimed to ex-
hibit, in a series, the principal religious aspects of France,
from the age of Louis Fourteenth to the close of the last
century. This u Priest and the Huguenot" is the second
work in the series, the "Preacher and the King" being the
first, and will be found very interesting to all who wish to
understand thoroughly the causes that have made and
keep France what she is — Roman Catholic and Imperial —
when her people seem made for civil and religious freedom.
The translator, a lady of New York, has accomplished her
difficult task with much success. The "characteristics of
the French style of thought and expression" seem well pre-
served.

THE RELIGIONS OF TIIE WORLD AND THEIR RE-
LATIONS TO CHRISTIANITY. By Frederick Dennison
Maurice, M.A., Professor of Divinity in King's College,
London. From the third revised London edition. This
work is a brief analysis of the influential religions of the
world, and of the relations of Christianity with the rest.
The author searches out the germ, that principle in each
belief which gives it vitality and power, and shows the
adaptation of that especial truth to the needs of the people
who embraced it, or of the time in which it prevailed. He
then shows how far Christianity can accomplish the same
purposes for all in a higher degree. This work is evidently
the result of much study and reflection, and is written in a
most liberal and comprehensive spirit.

THE CHRISTIAN WORLD UNMASKED. By John
Berridge, A.M., Vicar of Everton, &c. With a life of the
author, by the Rev. Thomas Guthrie, D. D. This is a re-
print of a work written long ago by a clergyman of the
Church of England, a worthy compeer of Whitfield and
Wesley. Its object is to test the sincerity of the followers
of Christ, and it is written in a plain and searching man-
ner, that leaves the formalist but little room to escape.
The style is animated and familiar, and, though sometimes
peculiar, is always forcible and effective. The sincerity of
the writer's belief and the strength of his mind are evident
in every page.

NOVEL?, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, Ac.
From T. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street. Philadelphia:

" The Fortune Hunter : a Novel of New York Society." By

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

561

nna Cora Mowatt, author of the " Autobiography of an
Actress; or, Eight Years on the Stage," etc. This is a
cheap and very handsome reprint of a popular -work, in
•which some of the peculiarities of "good society" in New-
York are freely delineated, leaving truthful and salutary
impressions upon the mind of the reader.

From De Witt & Davenport, New York: "The Secre-
tary; or, Circumstantial Evidence." By the author of
" Heads and Hearts." A very thrilling story, intended to
demonstrate the dangers of circumstantial evidence. Price
38 cents.

From D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway, New York,
through C. G. Henderson & Co., Philadelphia : " Memoirs,
Journal, and Correspondence of Thomas Moore." Edited
by the Right Hon. Lord John Russell, M. P. Parts 7 and
8. Price 25 cents.

From T. Elwood Chapman, Philadelphia : " Human Hap-
piness : an Address delivered before the Pupils of Sharon
Female Seminary." By John H. Bazley. We have given
an extract from this in our " Table," which shows our ap-
preciation of its merits.

From- Beverly Tucker, Washington, D. C. : " Obituary
Addresses on the occasion of the Death of the Hon. William
R. King, of Alabama, Vice-President of the United States."
These papers, selected from the Message of the President
of the United States, and the speeches of eminent members
of both Houses of Congress, form a worthy testimonial of
the noble character of the man whose memory they honor.
There is a portrait, said to bo a striking likeness of Mr.
King, beautifully engraved, adding to the interest of the
book.

dobuj'g ilrm-Cjtaw.

Our June Number.— End of the Volume.— No falling off
yet. We continue, as we commenced, the same number, or
rather more engravings, and one hundred pages ; and so
•we shall continue throughout the year.

Bill. — Webster devotes a column of his large dictionary
in explaining what this word means; but the only one
that we find applicable, after reading through the whole,
is the following : " Bill, an account of goods sold or de-
livered, services rendered or work done, with the price or
value annexed to each article." In fact, the bill which
every owing subscriber will find in this number is a clearer
definition than even Webster can give. And now we shall
expect the ladies to stand our friends, as they always have
done, aud give their husbands or parents no rest until the
same be liquidated.

Gipt Lotteries, or whatever they may call them. We
observe that some of these concerns are offering " Godey's
Lady's Book" among their prizes. (The rogues know that
the " Book" is a great inducement.) We now wish it un-
derstood that we have nothing to do with these concerns,
and are adverse to having the " Lady's Book" mentioned in
their schemes; and we earnestly advise all persons to have
nothing to do with them. Don't purchase their tickets.

An Artist at Fault.— The Philadelphia "Sun" says:
" ' Godey' for April is on our table, filled with admirable
reading, useful receipts, and information for the ladies.
The embellishments are profuse, and all good but the ' Ar-
rival of the Lady's Book ;' the women appear too insensible
of the treat the post-rider is bringing them. We must
treat Godey to a daguerreotype of our family when the
' Book' arrives ; such a scrambling and nimble cutting of
loaves as take place on these occasions, would make a spi-
rited illustration for one of the numbers. Root shall do it
up some day, and then there will be a natural picture,
with some point in it."

And depend upon it, friend Wallace, we will publish the
picture.

:r Twenty-four years and six months, friend "Reveille,"
have we published the " Book." Six months more makes
our quarter of a century, then for " the silver wedding."
Thank you for your compliment!

White's Bonnet Establishment.— We give in this num-
ber nine patterns of bonnets and boys' caps from this ex-
tensive establishment, and we can truly say that ladies
and wholesale merchants will find there fifty other differ-
ent styles. Brodie has also again laid us under obligations
to him for the beautiful styles of dress that we publish in
this number.

Long-a-cominq.— Who does not remember this delightful
mosquito retreat in Jersey, so properly named ? — for it is
so long after you leave the last watering-place before you
reach Long-a-coming. But this is not what we intended to
write about. We intended to say, Long a coming out;
that is, Harry Long and his brother have moved from that
dreadful dingy Ann Street store into a marble palace in
Nassau Street. This is a building worthy of this enter-
prising house, and, when they get up that new sign, "Go-
dey's Lady's Book," it will be perfect. We are glad thus to
chronicle the prosperity of IT. Long & Brother, which has
made it necessary for them to enlarge their business ac-
commodations, and to render their book establishment, No.
121 Nassau, one of the most splendid and extensive depote
of books now in the United States.

Anti-Macassar.— The " Evansville Inquirer" says : " We
have learned what an Anti-Macassar is, and are therefore
wiser than all other men in town." That same term puz-
zled us for a time, and probably an explanation would not
be amiss. It is the tidy that is put on the back of a chair
to prevent any grease from the head soiling the chair. It
is an English term, and no doubt the name was suggested
by Rowland, of London, the manufacturer of Macassar hair
oil, as a puff for his establishment.

The Schuylkill Boats. — These boats have commenced
their delightful trips on the Schuylkill. There is no plea-
santer way of spending a couple of hours on a hot day than
to take a trip up this beautiful river as far as Manayunk.
Strangers should not neglect it; our citizens hardly need
urging. The beats are commodious, and the captains gen-
tlemanly and obliging.

Summer Beverages.— Now is the time for our subscribers
to provide themselves with these excellent and temperance
receipts. See advertisement on cover.

562

godey's magazine and lady's book.

"< Alone.'— This is the title of a new book, a Virginia
book, written by a young Virgiuia lady, and treating chiefly
of Virginia, which will bo brought out in the best style by
Mr. Morris, of this city. Lest the fact that it is a Virginia
book, and tho authoress a Virginian, may induce the Vir-
ginia public to lay aside this notice without reading far-
ther, we will state at once that the literary merits of the
fair youug authoress have been approved beyond the wa-
ters, and her productions, coming back with English and
Froiu-h endorsement, will henceforth pass current, as a
matter of course, in American literary circles. Godey's
Lady's Book, speaking of a story which she had contribut-
ed to its pages, says : ' It may be interesting to this lady to
know that the story of " Marrying Through Prudential
Motives" has been copiod from the Lady's Book for
March, 1S53, into two Of the English magazines — recopied
into the New York Albion, that professes to give no-
thing but the cream of the English magazines, and now,
being an English story, will no doubt be published by half
the papers in the United States.' "

We copy the above from- the " Richmond Dispatch," and
our readers will remember that, in a late number, we pub-
lished the amende of the "Germantown Telegraph," who
also copied the story and credited it to an English maga-
zine. We have another story by the gifted authoress, the
first part of which will be published in our July number,
that will convince the most sceptical that she is one of the
most powerful writers of the day.

We have been favored with some of the early sheets of
" Alone," and we have been delighted with their perusal.
Our only regret was that we had not the whole book. We
predict a prominent place among the fair writers of Ame-
rica to the authoress of " Alone." The paper and typo-
graphical execution of the work are a credit to the publisher,
Mr. Morris.

Our Patterns. — Ladies do not seem to be aware that
these patterns are facsimiles of the originals in color, trim-
ming, &c. At a distance, they would be taken for the gar-
ment itself. They could be worn in a tableau without being
detected.

"Pioneer." — A new magazine from San Francisco. An
excellent work, well printed, and favored with the effu-
sions of Mr. Pipes, of Pipesville, a most humorous and ex-
cellent writer. We exchange with pleasure.

Mrs. Shepard's Poems. — The many friends and admirers
of the late Mrs. Shepard, of Springfield, will be glad to
learn that the collection of her poems, that have been for
some time in preparation, has been published by Bessey &
Co., under the attractive title of '•' Cut-Flowers," who now
offer it for sale at their counter, and through their agents.
The editor has presented a brief notice of her life, and an
estimate of her literary character, and, in his selections
from her large mass of printed and manuscript writings,
has presented those poems which bear that general charac-
ter which is necessary in a volume prepared for the public.
The work is well printed, and well got up every way, and
deserves an extended patronage. — Daily Republican, Spring-
field, Mass.

We will answer for it that, if Bessey & Co. have anything
to do with it, it is well done, for theirs is an enterprising
firm.

The third edition of " How to Make a Dress," and the
fifth edition of the " Book of the Toilet," arc now ready.
We are also able to supply all orders for our " Gallery of
Engravings," at 50 cents each.

TnE word " Selah."— The translators of the Bible have
left the Hebrew word Selah, which occurs so often in the
Psalms, as they found it; and, of course, the English
reader often asks his minister, or some learned friend,
what it means. And the minister or learned friend has
most often been obliged to confess ignorance, because it ia
a matter in regard to which the most learned have, by no
means, been of one mind. The Targums, and most of the
Jewish commentators, give to the word the meaning of
eternally forever. Rabbi Kiinchi regards it as a sign to ele-
vate the voice. The authors of the Septuagint translation
appear to have regarded it as a musical or rhythmical note.
Herder regards it as indicating a change of tone ; Matheson
as a musical note, equivalent, perhaps, to the word repeat.
According to Luther and others, it means silence. Gesenius
explains it to mean, " Let the instruments play and the
singer stop." Wocher regards it as equivalent to sursum
corda — up, my soul. Sommer, after examining all the
seventy-four passages in which the word occurs, recognizes
in every case " an actual appeal or summons to Jehovah."
They are calls for aid and prayers to be heard, expressed
either with entire directness, or, if not in the imperative,
"Hear, Jehovah!" or "Awake, Jehovah!" and the like,
still earnest addresses to God that he would remember and
hear, &c. The word itself he regards as indicating a blast
of trumpets by the priests. Selah, itself, he thinks an
abridged expression used for Higgaion Selah — Higgaion in-
dicating the sound of the stringed instruments, and Se-
lah a vigorous blast of trumpets.

We never have " assisted" at one, as the French say ; but,
from the description that follows, we should like very well
to join a " sugar party" — a sweet business : —

" My dear Godet : Did you ever attend an old-fashioned
sugar party in the woods? If you have not, you have
missed a pleasant hour, and the enjoyment of that open-
hearted hospitality for which our Eastern farmers are dis-
tinguished. Imagine yourself in a forest of sturdy maples,
averaging from seventy-five to one hundred and twenty-
five feet in height, and from three to five feet in diameter.
Before you are two or three large kettles, hung on a pole,
and beneath them is a blazing fire. The kettles are half
full of the amber-colored syrup ; and you, with dish and
spoon, together with some fifteen or twenty others, are
testing its quality. You enjoy it heartily, for the parties
are all in high spirits, and the woods echo to the songs that
are sung, and the jokes that are perpetrated on all sides.
Around you the violets and arbutus are blooming, and you
are induced to wander away along the paths that wind
through the woods in every direction in search of the flow-
ers that are springing up in their dim recesses. If you
have never attended one of those good old-fashioned sugar
parties, allow me to invite you to visit us another season ;
and, if you have, you will be equally welcome.

" H. L. S."

Le Continent European.— Mr. P. Beaugereau, aided by
several of his countrymen, has begun the publication in
our city of a French weekly newspaper. He looks for pa-
tronage not only to the French residents in this section of
the country, but to foreigners and Americans who speak or
read French. We wish him a large share of success !

" Mrs. Hale's Cook-Book" we will furnish at $1 25, and
pay the postage. Mrs. Hale's " Household Book" on the
same terms.

Back numbers of tho "Lady's Book" can be supplied
from January, as the work is stereotyped.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

563

We have lost a friend in Philip G. Collins, a member of
the firm of T. K. & P. G. Collins, who print the "Lady's
Book." We have been acquainted with him for many
years, and had many opportunities of studying him closely.
Few men possessed a clearer mind, or could better express
themselves than Mr. Collins. His reading was very ex-
tensive, and his retention wonderful. We copy the follow-
ing notice from the " North American" of this city, written
by one who knew him well : —

" Philip G. Collins.— The demise of Philip G. Collins, of
the well-known firm of T. K. & P. G. Collins, of this city,
has left a vacancy in the ranks of practical printers among
us, which few are competent to fill. His knowledge of his
art was equally intimate and exact. lie was, we believe,
one of the founders of the Typographical Society, in the
welfare of which he manifested, to the day of his death,
a warm interest. His qualities of head and heart won the
esteem of all who knew him ; and his loss will be deeply
regretted, not only by his immediate family, but by a large
circle of admiring acquaintances who partook of his friend-
ship."

In answer to our friend of the "West Philadelphia Re-
porter," we must say that we do not wonder that the mis-
take is made. He will see that when our name is set in
capitals it does make LOUISA GODEY. But that portrait
will show them that we are not of the same gender as
Lingos dulcinea.

Amo amas, I love a lass,

As cedar tall and slender;
Sweet cowslip's grace is her nominative case,
And she 's of the feminine gender.

u Godey's Lady's Book. — We have received this beautiful
periodical from its polite and accomplished editor. It is
filled with reading matter of the highest order, and in
engravings it surpasses anything we have seen. In this
department it is far ahead of any other American Magazine.
Godey is particularly fortunate in catering for the literary
public, and especially does he please the ladies. In fact,
we believe that about three-fourths (and a little over) of his
fair subscribers have fallen in love with •' that likeness.'
(We hope friend G. will not step out of his boots to be told
bo.) No lady's table should be without the ' Book.' " —
Tenn. Christian Uhiversalist.

No ! not a bit! For that would detract from our height,
and we have nothing to spare in that respect. We are
only sorry that we published our likeness at that time. It
was taken at a season when few subscriptions are received.
Were it taken now, it would be quite a different-looking
affair. The great influx of subscribers for the last six
months has made us look at least ten years younger — and
of course brighter.

Yes! that very thing has been bothering us, as our
friend of the " Salisbury Banner" says : " How any man
that has a wife can live at peace at home without subscrib-
ing for the 'Lady's Book,' passes our comprehension."
And it does ours. We wish they could not.

We did not think that our "Book" afforded so good a sub-
ject for an alliteration. The "Genesee Flint Whig" says:

" It is replete with attractions of every kind that a lady's
book ought to possess. Amusement and instruction, fine
arts and fashion, music and model cottages, nouvellettes
and needlework, drawing and domestic recipes, poetry and
patterns— are all interspersed with good taste and judicious
arrangement."

Cashmere Shawls.— The great mart for the wool of which
these shawls are made is at Kilghet, which is said to be a
dependency of Ladak, and situated twenty days' journey
from the northern boundaries of Cashmere. There are two
kinds of it— that which can be readily dyed is white ; the
other sort is an ashy color, which, being with difficulty
changed, or at least improved by art, is generally woven
of its natural hue. About two pounds of either are ob-
tained from a single goat once a year. After the down has
been carefully separated from the hairs, it is repeatedly
washed with rice starch. This process is reckoned import-
ant, and it is to the quality of the water of their valley that
the Cashmerians attribute the peculiar and inimitable
fineness of the fabrics produced there. At Kilghet, the
best raw wool is sold for about one rupee a pound. By the
preparation and washing referred to, it loses one-half, and
the remainder being spun, three rupees' weight of the
thread is considered worth one rupee. Shawls are made
of various forms, size, and borders, which are wrought
separately, with the view of adapting them to the different
markets. Those sent to Turkey used to be of the softest
and most delicate texture. Carpets and counterpanes are
fabricated of the hair or coarser part of the wool.

"Godey's Gallery of Steel Engravings.— We are indebted
to the publisher of ' Godey's Lady's Book' for Nos. 1 and 2
of these Splendid Steel Engravings. Over thirty of the
finest are neatly done up in each number, and are furnished
for the low price of fifty cents per number — a very pretty
ornament for the parlor." — Litchfield Inquirer.

How to make Deaf Persons hear the Piano-Forte. — The
instrument should be opened, and a rod of deal wood pro-
vided about half an inch thick, three-quarters wide, and
long enough to reach from the bridge of the sounding-board
to the mouth of the deaf person. If one end of this rod be
made to rest firmly on the bridge, and the other end be
held between the teeth, the softest sounds will be distinctly
communicated. — Musical Transcript.

A Defence of Story Writers.— The " Marys ville Advo-
cate" says : —

"Godey's Lady's Book has been received; it contains
some excellent tales, that bear a moral on every page. We
are at issue with those who are opposed to this class of
reading. Whenever scenes are portrayed that resemble
such as are of frequent occurrence in the world, even should
the narrative be drawn entirely from the fertile imagina-
tion of its author, we approve of its perusal. The reader
gleans a knowledge of events from it, that might otherwise
remain a sealed book. Who, for instance, would ever
dream (had they never witnessed them) of the sufferings
of widows and orphans in cities, so graphically and pa-
thetically depicted by that prince of writers, T. S. Arthur,
in his ' Trials of a Needlewoman' ?

" ' Letters left at the Pastry-Cook's' are written with great
naivete", and display considerable familiarity with human
nature."

News for the Ladies. — An extraordinary custom prevails

among the Vizres, a tribe occupying an extensive district

in Cabul, among the mountains between Persia and India.

The women choose their husbands, not the husbands their

wives. If a woman be pleased with a man, she sends the

drummer of the camp to pin a handkerchief to his cap,

with the pin she uses to fasten her hair. The drummer

; watches his opportunity and does this in public, naming

; the woman ; and the man is obliged to marry if he can pay

' her pric8 to her father.

564

MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

The " Covington Kentuckian" is responsible for the fol-
lowing:—

•' Somebody says ' there ought to be in every well-regu-
lated family at least one baby, just for the fun of the
thing ;' BO we say of the ' Lady's Book ;' every family ought
to have at least one copy, 'just for the fuu of the thing.: "

To writers in general, and for those of the " Lady's Book"
in particular. We regret that we cannot reply to all the
kind letters sending us articles for insertion, as our time
will not permit.

Marry. — Jeremy Taylor says : " If you are for pleasure,
marry ; if you prize rosy health, many. A good wife is
Heaven's last best gift to man ; his angel and minister of
graces innumerable; his gem of many virtues ; his casket
of jewels; her voice is sweet music; her smiles, his bright-
est day ; her kiss, the guardian of his innocence ; her arms,
the pale of his safety, the balm of his health, the balsam
of his life ; her industry, his surest wealth ; her economy,
his safest steward; her lips, his faithful counsellors; her
bosom, the softest pillow of his cares; and her prayers, the
ablest of Heaven's blessings on his head."

Two charming women were discussing one day what it
is which constitutes beauty in the hand. They differed in
opinion as much as in the shape of the beautiful member
whose merits they were discussing. A gentleman friend
presented himself, and by common consent the questions
were referred to him. It was a delicate matter. He thought
of Paris and the three goddesses. Glancing from one to
the other of the beautiful white hands presented to him,
which, by the way, he had the cunning to hold for some
time in his own, for purposes of examination, he replied,
at last : " I give it up ; the question is too hard for me ;
but ask the poor, and they will tell you that the most
beautiful hand in the world is the hand that gives."

Curious Effect of the Census. — Punch, most ungallantly,
makes the following remarks : " One of the most remark-
able of the Results of the, Census was its effect on the age of
that beautiful production of nature, familiarly known as
the British female. The census had, in fact, the same sort
of operation on the ages of women as a declaration of war
would have on the public funds. Our own cook, who had
been familiarly quoted in the house as upwards of fifty,
fell suddenly to thirty-eight, at which she has nominally
remained ; but no settling day has been appointed, nor is
it likely that there will be any settling at such a clearly
ideal figure."

We published some time since a statement that cranber-
ries were an excellent remedy for erysipelas. The " New
Haven Palladium" says : —

" We are able to record another case of the complete cure
of erysipelas by the simple application of the raw cranber-
ries pounded fine. The patient was a young lady, one side
of whose face had become so much swollen and inflamed
that the eye had become closed and the pain excessive. A
poultice of cranberries was applied, and after several
changes, the pain ceased, the inflammation subsided, and
in the course of a couple of days every vestige of the
disease had disappeared. The case occurred in the family
of one of the editors of the ' Palladium,' and we can there-
fore vouch for its truth."

Miss Leslie's New Receipts for Cooking.— T. B. Peterson
of thi.-: city is about to hring out a new edition of " Miss
Leslie* a New Receipts for Cooking." A very excellent work.

Peach-stones. — Wo acknowledge the receipt of severa'
peach-stones from that celebrated tree, the fruit of which
we chronicled some time since. They were sent us by our
over-attentive friend, Mr. Andrews, editor of that popular
paper, the " Macon Citizen."

The following remarks were endorsed on an Augusta, Ga.,
bank note received a few days since, in payment for a sub-
scription to the " Lady's Book" : —

" I give you very freely, although it is in payment of an
unjust debt. The cheerfulness with which I part with you
results from the tact that it will save me from innumerable
duns. H. I. P."

" I part with this hill as cheerfully as did Mr. H. I. P. I
spend it for supper, lodgings, and breakfast, at the poorest
tavern on earth. I spend it cheerfully, because it enables
me to get away. L. C. K."

" And I for hitching my horse to a fence in Pulaski,
Tenn. W. 0. W."

"And I part with you for the best magazine in the
world, ' Godey's Lady's Book.' A. D. S."

The following was on a note, Bank of South Carolina,
received from the same person : —

" I part with you freely, as you go to pay for the best
magazine in America, ' Godey's Lady's Book.' A. D. S."

Young ladies had better try the following before they say
« Yes !"—

If a man waits patiently while a woman is " putting her
things on," or " shopping," he will mako a good husband.

We shall begin to make a stir by and by, about not
crediting articles taken from the " Lady's Book." We can't
prevent the English Magazines from copying without
crediting, but we shall certainly take the liberty of cutting
from our exchange any paper that we find doing it in this
country. A Boston paper recently published a story with-
out credit, and when informed that it was our article, they
made the amende ; but in the same paper that contained
the apology was one of the very best articles we ever pub-
lished, "The Fountain very far Down," with the name of
the author, Mrs. Virginia F. Townsend, omitted, and no
credit given to the " Book." Look out, gentlemen, if
pay for stories and give you the privilege of copying them,
the least you can do is to give us credit for them.

Bizarre. — A new volume of this interesting work is now
being published. We do not know who is the editor, but
he makes an excellent work. The publisher is G. A.
Correa, No. 232 Chestnut St. The price per annum is $2.

Orders for the new fashions continue to pour in upon
us. Every one is attended to and forwarded within two
days after its receipt. We have lately had three orders for
lady's wearing apparel, amounting to $275, and have sent
any number of White's bonuets and Mrs. Suplee's patterns.

Scientific Agreement.— A California paper tells the story
of a showman who delighted an " appreciating public" with
a view of the Mammoth Cave. It was his custom, as each
scene was exhibited, to explain it. When the great cave
came to view, he stepped forward and said : " Ladies and
gentlemen, this is a great phenomenon, indeed the greatest
in the world. The learned of all nations have visile-d it;
but none could agree as to the cause which had produced
it: they all came to this grand conclusion, that it was one
of the most tremendous holes in the ground they had ever

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR,

565

GERANIUMS.
(From Mis. Hale's New Household Receipt- Boole.)

The. shrubby kinds are commonly increased by cuttings,
which, if planted in June or July, and placed in the shade,
will take root in five weeks. They are the most tender, and
when placed out of doors, should be defended from strong
winds, and be so placed as to enjoy the sun until eleven
o'clock in the morning. As the shrubby kinds grow fast,
so as to fill the pots with their roots, and push them through
the opening at the bottom, they should be moved every two
or three weeks in summer, and the fresh roots cut off.
They should also be newly potted twice in the summer :
once about a month after they are placed abroad, and again
towards the end of August. When this is done, all the roots
outside the earth should be pared off, and as much of tho
old earth removed as can be done without injuring tho
plants. They should then be planted in a larger pot;
some fresh earth should first be laid at the bottom, and on
that the plant should be placed, so that the old earth ad-
hering to it may be about an inch below the rim of the pot;
it should next be filled up, and the pot slightly shaken ; tho
earth must then be gently pressed down at the top, leaving
a little space for water to be given without running over
the rim; finally, the plant should be liberally watered, and
the stem fastened to a stake, to prevent the wind displacing
the roots before they are newly fixed.

As the branches grow, and new leaves are formed at the
top of them, the lower ones may die, and should be plucked
off every week.

Geranium slips should be planted in May, June, or July,
taking only the last year's shoots, from which the leaves
must be stripped. When planted, give them water, and
place them in the shade : when they have taken root, let
them have the sun in the morning. The slips chosen for
cutting should not be such as bear flowers ; and they should
be inserted about half their length in the earth.

Geraniums, except the shrubby kinds, require shelter
from frost only, and should have free air admitted to them,
when the weather is not very severe. In sultry weather,
they should all be watered liberally every morning, except
some few of a succulent nature, which must be watered
sparingly ; the latter may be known by plucking a leaf
from them. Geraniums may be watered three times a week,
when not frosty, in winter.

Dr. R. Montgomery Bird.— We have been favored with a
lithographic portrait of our lamented friend, and it is the
best likeness, we can safely say, that we ever saw of any
person. " It is his image as he lived." The drawing is by
Alfred Newsam; the printing by Duval.

We found the following beautiful article in the " Roches-
ter Daily Democrat" : —

A Grave in the Desert.— The grave of James F. Dewey,
a brother of D. M. D., of this city, was recently visited by a
friend, who found it upon a knoll, on the bank of a stream,
near the village of Rag Town, the first station west of the
Great Desert. The resting-place of our young townsman
was inclosed with a novel description of paling. At this
point— the desert having been crossed, and El Dorado in
full prospect— the emigrants abandon and break up their
wagons, and throw aside all heavy lumber, going through
the remainder of the journey light. The wagon-tires that
are found there cast away were set up around the grave,
interlocked so as to form a fence, and about them were
twined trace chains, to render it more substantial and
slightly ornamental. In the silence of the plain, by the
side of running waters — the first that gladdens the eyes
VOL. xlviii. — 48

and soothes the lips of the emigrant on the other side of
the Great American Desert— he sleeps well. His death
was caused by the bite of a scorpion.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

A Word from the Fashion Editor.— We are desired by
this lady to mention one or two things to her patrons : the
first is, that sufficient time must be given her when orders
are received to have dresses made. A case in point has
just occurred. A gentleman brought an order to have
several dresses made up. He arrived on Wednesday ; they
must positively be done on Saturday following, to be packed
with his goods here. Knowing the impossibility of having
the material and trimming purchased, and the dresses
made in that time, the articles and trimmings only were
purchased, and the patterns to make them by were sent.
Besides, there were books, mantle ornaments, &c, to pro-
cure. They were all ready and packed on the day. The
gentleman did not call until thirteen days had elapsed, and
then we were desired to send them by express. The
dresses could have been made, if our Fashion Editor had
been allowed the thirteen days from the time the order was
received. There is one other matter she wishes us to ex-
press : cheap as articles are in this city, she cannot procure
ten dollars' worth of any articles for five dollars.

Since writing the above, another case has occurred. A
lady sent on for materials for a dress, and the same to be
made up. The order and money were received on Monday.
On Wednesday, early in the morning, an order was re-
ceived to deliver the dress to the bearer. The people of Phila-
delphia are pretty smart; but dressmakers — good ones — are
perfect autocrats. They are like what the lover said of
fathers: "they have flinty hearts; no tears can move them."
From one to two weeks is necessary to have a dress made.

Ladies all, do put the State your town is in when you
wx*ite.

"Mrs. M. E. C."— Sent apron pattern and music on 21st.

" Miss M. S. G." — Sent all your goods in one large box by
Adams's Express on 22d, and sent you receipt by mail.

" Mrs. J. H."— Sent patterns on 22d.

" Mrs. A. P." — Sent patterns on 22d.

" Mrs. B."— Sent patterns on 22d.

" Mrs. E. C." — Sent patterns on 23d.

" S. E. A." — Sent shawl by Adams's Express 24tb.

" Eustatia A." — We have more of your No. 1 inquiry
than we can use in three years. In answer to question 2,
our own cotton has entirely superseded Evans's. Can fur-
nish you at 8 cents a spool. Remittance received and
" Book" sent.

" C. F. B."— -Sent materials for dress by Adams & Co. or
25th.

" Mrs. S. J. F."— Sent patterns by mail on 25th.

" A. L. M." — Pronounced GSdey ; accent on first syllabi*.

" N. W." — Sent bracelets by mail on 27th.

When information is asked, a stamp must be inclosed to
pay return postage.

" A Subscriber," at Fredericksburg, 0. — Answer by Fash-
ion Editor : Only plain colors. Send $1 50, and I will send
you a pattern of a dress. The watch-pocket should be on
the left side ; they are made plain, as they are on the in-
side of the dress, and not seen.

" Miss R. W. T."— Sent patterns on the 27th.

" Miss A. L. 0."— Sent brushes by Kinsley & Co. on the
28th.

" Miss A. P." — " Spectator," one volume $2 50, in six vol-,
umes $9. Have nothing to do with eye-cups.

" Miss A. B. H."— Sent two> parasols by Kinsley's Express
on 28th.

566

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK,

"Mrs. M."— Black velvet.

X. M. T."— Sent jewelry by mail 29th.
" Miss A. II."— Can get at White & Co. any kind of bon-
net you may want.

" J. W. L." — Sent patterns and Condor Pen by mail 2Sth.

•• Mrs. J. C. T."— Sent patterns on the 28th.

'• M. T."— Sent patterns on the 28th.

" S. E. D."— Sent patterns on the 28th.

•■ S. P."— Sent gold pen on the 28th.

" S. H. D."— Sent articles by mail on 30th.

" Mrs. J. B. B." — Sent patterns on the 1st.

"Miss S. F. L."— Sent patterns on the 1st.

•'•' Mrs. L. L. G."— Sent box by Adams's Express on 1st.

" II. C. P." — Sent chart by mail on 4th.

" W. L. A."— The two bonnets delivered to Dr. A., April
4, '54.

" Mrs. S. H. A."— Sent bonnet by Adams & Co., April \,
'54.

" J. C. W."— Sent box by Adams & Co. on 5th.

" Miss C. V. J." — Sent box by Adams & Co. on 5th.

" Miss J. H."— Sent needles on the 7th.

" II. E. G."— Sent pattern on the 7th.

'•' X ew Bedford." — We were obliged to paste your name
on the back of letter; could not make it out. It is not
pleasant, we know ; but every lady should write her name
plain, and put before it Miss or Mrs., as the case may be.

" Mrs. C. B."— Sent patterns by Adams's Express on 8th.

« Mrs. T. S. S."— Sent patterns by mail on 11th.

" Mrs. J. C. C."— Sent patterns by mail on 11th.

"Mrs. S. W. B."— Sent patterns by mail on 12th.

" Mrs. D. E. H."— Sent blonde by mail on 12th.

" Mrs. M. T." — Sent patterns and cotton by mail on 13th.

"A. M. M." — Sent patterns by mail on 13th.

"Mrs. M. L. C."— Sent patterns by Adams & Co. on 13th.

"Mrs. J. B. H.," California. — Sent jewelry and patterns
by mail on 15th.

" An Old Subscriber," Detroit. — Can you inform us in or
about what number the crochet alphabet was published ?
Perhaps we can supply you the numbers. Many thanks
for your good wishes.

"Ella H." — We will publish it in our July number.

" A. H. 0." — Gold spectacles sent by mail 17th.

" Miss C. L. B." — To engrave and publish the diagram
you request will cost us $50, and we can send you a pattern
that will only cost you $1 25.

" Mrs. General P." — Sent patterns by mail on 17th.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies them.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-
office stamp.

®l)c Borrower's ^Department.

" The wicked borroweth and payeth not again."

The " Southern Sentinel" says: "We do not see how the
ladies can do without this admirable work." They don't ;
those who are not subscribers borrow. It is a fair calcula-
tion to suppose that there are at least five persons who
read each number of the " Lady's Book." Now, as we have
only 80,vi00 subscribers, this would make 400,000 readers,
320,000 of whom borrow the " Book."

" Godey Again. — ' Have you received the Lady's Book for
April?' says a lady friend to us. 'Really,' she continued.
' I do think that Godey is the most enterprising and shrewd
publisher in the Union. He is always " ahead of time,"
and I can hardly wait even then ! Will you lend it to me
as soon as it comes ?' Of course, we wanted to accommodate
a friend — and especially awkward was it to say no to a lady ;

but we told her that we wanted to keep them neat and
clean for binding, and gently hinted that for $3 she
could get it without being dependent upon the printer !
After second thought, however, we have concluded to lend
this incomparable number, making the borrower promise
to immediately subscribe."— Palmyra Sentinel.

I The " Lawrence Journal" says : —

| " We want to raise a club of about one hundred in New-

; castle ; so please hand in your names, with the cash, and

; hereafter don't ask us, or our better half, to lend it when

j you can get it for two dollars per annum."

i The " Manheim Sentinel" vows that he will not lend his
; number. " We have been already asked by several to lend
! ours, but our answer is, ' Ladies, we don't lend Godey.' "

\ The " Newark Democrat" is positive. It says : —

5 " Remember, we can't lend our ' Book.' Godey has in-

< terdicted it expressly."

\ " Godey for March. — We came very near forgetting our

<■ old friend and always welcome visitor, 'Godey's Lady's

} Book.' Our apology is that the ladies — bless their precious

s souls! — took possession of it instanter, and we have not

t seen it since. But in subsequent discussions of matters of

\ feminine delicacy and taste, we have been reminded that

\ Godey is the primum mobile of fashion, and the oracle of

< parlor conversations. According to the ladies, he is a

< 'jewel' — with us, he is a ' trump.' " — Geo. Am. Union.

} •

€l)£inistr£) for |)otttl).

\ Decomposition op Water.— Take a grain of potassium,

< wrap it up in a small piece of thin paper, and introduce it
\ into a test tube, or small phial, inverted under water, and
\ full of the same fluid. It immediately rises to the top, and,
\ combining with the oxygen of the water, an equivalent of
\ hydrogen gas is given off, which expels the water from
5 the tube or phial, and occupies its place. A lighted match
( brought to the mouth of the tube will prove tne presence
\ of the hydrogen.

\ The Illuminator and Extinguisher.— Take three glass
1 jars, of equal heights, the first containing common air, the
\ second carbonic acid gas, and the third oxygen gas ; plunge,
i successively, a lighted candle into these jars, first into that

< holding common air, then into the carbonic acid, and,
> lastly, into the oxygen gas. In the jar containing atmo-

< spheric air, the candle will burn with ordinary brightness ;
\ in that filled with carbonic acid gas, the flame will be in-

< stantly extinguished, but the glowing wick will be relighted
J in the oxygen, and burn with increased brilliancy.

! Mineral Chameleon. — If one part of the oxide of manga-
nese, and three parts of the nitrate of potass, be heated to
redness in a crucible till no more oxygen gas be given off
(the heat must be very considerable), a friable green pow-

< der is obtained, generally known by the name of mineral
\ chameleon, from its property of changing color during its

solution in water. If a small quantity of the powder be
put into a glass of water, it soon forms a green solution,
when it passes into a violet hue. and lastly it becomes of a
beautiful red color. If put into warm water, the changes
take place more rapidly, and are much more diver
Mineral chameleon is a manganate of potass, and il n
absorbs oxygen from the atmosphere. The changes of ccIot
that occur are owing to the different degrees of oxidixe-
meiit of the metal.

RECEIPTS.

567

(Enigmas.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN MAY NUMBER.
16. Eternity. 17. Flea. 18. Prayer-book. 19. A bullet.

ENIGMAS.

20.
I come from Nova Zembla's coast,
Greenland's realms of ice and frost,
Where the Arctic's waters white
Glisten in tbe moon's chill light;
Where the sunbeam's ardent ray
Burns but for a single day.
O'er the " living and the dead"
I my restless course have sped,
And many a work of woe, I ween,
Showeth where my flight hath been.
At a noble's dwelling, rich and high,
A beggar waited, with downcast eye ;
His timeworn locks were silvery white,
And he prayed for shelter a single night ;
But the haughty menials within the wall
Heeded not his weary call.
I breathed on him with my icy breath,
And lo ! his limbs were stiff in death !
A pale young mother by want opprest
Clasped her babe to her aching breast ;
I listened as in accents wild,
She prayed that God would save her child.
Then I swept along in the hurricane's play,
While skylit torches illumed my way.
With the shade of my measureless wing I embraced
That mother and child, and they both are at rest.
I hurried me on in the tempest's black car,
With the thunder to herald my coming afar ;
I stayed not, nor stopped till I reached the broad main,
Where I lashed the bright waves till they maddened with

pain.
I call to the clouds ; at my voice they arise,
And ope, at my bidding, the gates of the skies.
No law have I but to work my will ;
And where is the power that can bid me " Be still ?"

Lucia C. Pendleton.
21.
Of brethren seven

The youngest by birth,
But, favored by heaven,
I 'm chiefest on earth.

I 'm regarded with love

By my friends good and wise,
And am honored above

Every crown 'neath the skies

There 's a charm in my name,

All so radiant and pure,
That my canonized fame

With the world must endure.

Such a glory I shed

Upon each mundane scene —
On the dungeon of dread,

Or the court of the queen.

The fair landscape I gild

For contemplative eyes,
As all nature seems filled

With a radiance they prize.

My six brothers, in twin,

May bring riches and pleasure ,
But in me you '11 discern

That unparalleled treasure —

That alleviates care,

That reanimates labor,
And man's peace should repair

With his God and his neighbor.

22.
A warrior and a man I am,

And gallant fame have I ;
Yet my humanity 's a sham,

For I neither live nor die.

Uzttxyts, &t,

DOMESTIC RECEIPTS.
EGGS AND OMELETTES.

To Choose Eggs.— In choosing eggs, hold them to the
light ; if they are clear, they are fresh ; if they are thick,
they are stale ; if they have a black spot attached to the
shell, they are worthless. Eggs should be new, or not
more than twenty-four hours old, when they are stored,
else their flavor cannot be relied on. The safest mode of
choosing them is by holding them to the light of a candle.
Unless an egg is perfectly fresh, it is unfit for any purpose.
Bought eggs ought always to be suspected ; therefore, let
an earthen pan be kept with charcoal or lime-water to put
them in. The longer they are kept in it the better they
will be, as these waters destroy must, and even corruption.
You may try the freshness of eggs by putting them in a
pan of cold water. Those that sink the soonest are the
freshest. Eggs may be preserved a short time by putting
them in a jar of salt or lime-water, with the small ends
downwards. The salt should not afterwards be used. They
may be preserved several months by greasing them all
over with melted mutton suet, and wedging them close
together in a box of bran. The small ends always down-
wards.

To keep Eggs for Winter Use. — Pour a full gallon of
boiling water on two quarts of quicklime and half a pound
of salt; when cold, mix it into an ounce of cream of tartar.
The day following put in the eggs. After the limo has been
stirred well into the boiling water, a large part of it will
settle at the bottom of the vessel, on which the eggs will
remain. Keep them covered with the liquor, and they
will keep for two years.

To Boil Eggs to Eat in the Shells, or for Salads.— The
fresher laid the better ; put them into boiling water ; if you
like the white just set, about two minutes' boiling is long
enough ; a new-laid egg will take a little longer ; if you
wish the yolk to be set, it will take three, and to boil it
hard for a salad, ten minutes. A new-laid egg will require
boiling longer than a stale one, by half a minute.

Poached Eggs. — The beauty of a poached egg is for the
yolk to be seen blushing through the white, which should
only be just sufficiently hardened to form a transparent
veil for the egg. Have some boiling water in a teakettle ;
pass as much of it through a clean cloth as will half fill a
stewpan ; break the egg Jnto a cup, and when the water
boils, remove the stewpan from the stove, and gently slip
the egg into it ; it must stand till the white is set; then
put it over a very moderate fire, and as soon as the water
boils, the egg is ready ; take it up with a slice, and neatly

568

godey's magazine and lady's book,

round off the ragged edges of tho white; send it to table on
bread toasted on one side only, with or without butter.

To Poach Egos in the Frying-pan.— Put very little but-
ter, oil, or top-pot into the frying-pan; break the eggs
gently into a deep cup, of tho size the egg is to be of, sorno-
times smaller, sometimes larger; with a quick slight turn
of the hand, turn the cup over with the egg into the pan,
and leave the cup upon it, aud continue to turn over the
oups till all the eggs are put in ; the fire must be very slow.
When the first egg has taken, raise the cup a little to
ascertain it. They must be done very slowly, otherwise
the under part will be overdone. Dress them over parsley,
spinach, or on toasted bread.

Cupped Eggs. — Put a spoonful of very nice high-seasoned
brown gravy into each cup ; set the cups in a saucepan of
boiling water, and, when the gravy heats, drop a fresh egg
into each cup ; take off the saucepan, and cover it close
till the eggs are nicely and tenderly cooked ; dredge them
with very fine mace, or nutmeg and salt. Serve them in a
hot-water plate, covered with a napkin.

(Eufs Brouilles.— Break four or six eggs ; beat them and
put them into a saucepan with a piece of butter, a little
salt, and a spoonful of sauce or gravy, which makes the
eggs softer ; stir them over the fire until sufficiently thick ;
serve on a plate garnished with toasted bread. To eggs
dressed in this way, ham, mushrooms, &c, minced, may be
added. The difference between this and an omelette is,
that an omelette is compact and turns out smooth, where-
as (eufs brouilles are less done, and are, therefore, broken.
In Ireland, where it is in general use, it is usually served
upon hot buttered toast, and is there called "buttered
eggs." It is also very common in France, where it is
usually served for breakfast.

Or: Butter a dish well, and sprinkle it with salt; then
break the eggs very carefully, so as not to disturb the yolk;
add a little more salt, and some white pepper: melt a small
quantity of butter, and pour it gently over, with one or two
spoonfuls of cream. Put the dish over a slow fire, and
finish the eggs by covering them with a red-hot shovel.

Souffle Francaise. — Put into a stewpan one ounce of
butter; when melted, add two table-spoonfuls of flour;
stir them well over the fire, so that the flour be thoroughly
cooked, but not colored; add by degrees a wineglass of
boiling cream, and four times that quantity of boiling
milk ; work it quite smooth, take it off the fire, add four
yolks of eggs, sugar to palate, a grain of salt, and a table-
spoonful of orange-flower water; whip up strongly the
whites of eight eggs, mix them lightly in the batter, put
the whole into a souffle-dish, and bake for an hour. The
flavor of this souffle may be varied according to fancy,
omitting the orange-flower water, and substituting either
vanilla, curacoa, noyeau, maraschino, chocolate, coffee, &c.

A Common Omelette.— From four to eight very fresh eggs
may be used for this, according to the sized dish required.
Half a dozen will generally be sufficient. Break them sin-
gly and carefully ; clear them, or, when they are sufficiently
whisked, pour them through a sieve, and resume tho beat-
ing until they are very light. Add to them from half to a
whole teaspoonful of salt, and a seasoning of pepper. Dis-
solve in a small frying-pan a couple of ounces of butter ;
pour in the eggs, and as soon as the omelette is well risen
and firm throughout, slide it on to a hot dish, fold it to-
gether like a turnover, and serve it immediately. From
five to seven minutos will fry it.

A Sweet Omelette with Preserve. — Beat up four eggs
with a little salt; add sugar; fry the omelette in fresh
butter, make a half pound of preserve liquid by shaking

it in a little water over the fire; spread half upon tho ome-
lette, double it up, and pour the remainder over the top.

French Omelette.— Beat up four eggs with a table-spoon-
ful of milk, a little salt and pepper; put two ounces of
fresh butter in the pan, and let it remain for five minutes ;
beat the eggs for the same time; pour them into the pan,
and let them remain quiet for a few minutes, taking care
to separate the omelette gently from the bottom of the pan
with a fork ; now shake it to keep it from burning at the
bottom. It will not take more than five minutes in cook-
ing'. Chopped parsley, shallot, or grated ham may be added.

THE SICK ROOM AND NURSERY.

Fainting. — In cases of fainting, apply to the nostrils and
temples some spirits of compound spirits of ammonia, and
give a few drops in a wineglass of water inwardly.

Linseed Tea. — Pour a quart of boiling Avater on one
ounce of linseed, bruised, and half an ounce of sliced
liquorice-root; let it stand in a covered vessel near the fire
four or five hours ; then strain.

Chilblain Lotion. — Mix two ounces of sal-ammouiac with
a pint of water.

To Make Barley- Water. — Well wash two ounces of pearl
barley; boil it a few minutes in half a pint of water, which
is to be thrown away; then add four pints of boiling water;
keep it boiling till two only are left, and strain. A sm:>2i
quantity of lemon-juice may be added.

Worm Powder. — Take of rhubarb and jalap, each fifteen
grains, and mix with them four grains of calomel ; take in
honey.

The Nauseous Taste of Medicine Prevented.— By chew-
ing aromatic substances, such as orange or lemon-peel,
cloves or other spice, before taking medicine, little or no
taste will be perceived. The mouth can also be thus pre-
pared beforehand by a peppermint lozenge, or even a lump
of sujrar.

£l)c (Hoi let.

Almond Paste.— Half a pound of bitter almonds; two
ounces of raisins, staned and well pounded in a mortar till
they become quite a paste. Add a small wineglassful of
French brandy, and rather less than half a glass of fine
sweet oil. Beat it well, and put it in a pot for use.

Lavender Wtater.— One pint of the best rectified spirits
of wine, one ounce of oil of lavender, one teaspoonful of
ambergris, and half an ounce of bergamot.

For Chapped Hands.— Mix a quarter of a pound of un-
salted hog's lard, which has been washed in common and
then rose-water, with the yolks of two new-laid eggs and a
largo spoonful of honey. Add as much fine oatmeal or
almond-paste as will work it iuto a proper consistence, and
rub in well before going to bed.

A Good Dentifrice is equal parts of powdered myrrh,
chalk, and orris-root.

The black spots on the face are occasioned by obstruc-
tions in the skin. Rubbing well with soap and flannel is
better than the application of spirit. Pressing on the spots
firmly with the spill of a watch-key will sometimes cause
the black marks to come out. Friction will prevent their
occurring, as they are occasioned by languid circulation
and a want of frequent scrubbing. In such a state of tha
skin, frequent warm lathing would be beneficial.

CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP.

569

Management of tiie Finger Nails.— According to Eu-
ropean fashion, they should be of an oval figure, transpa-
rent, without specks or ridges of any kind; the semilunar
fold, or white half-circle, should be fully developed, and the
pellicle, or cuticle which forms the configuration around
the root of the nails, thin and well defined, and, when
properly arranged, should represent as nearly as possible
the shape of a half-filbert. The proper management of the
nails is to cut them of an oval shape, corresponding with
the form of the fingers ; they should not be allowed to grow
too long, as it is difficult to keep them clean; nor too
short, as it allows the ends of the fingers to become flattened
and enlarged by being pressed upwards against the nails,
and gives them a clumsy appearance. The epidermis,
which forms the semicircle round the nail, and adheres to
it, requires particular attention, as it is frequently dragged
on with its growth, drawing the skin below the nail so
tense as to cause it to crack and separate into what are
called agnails. This is easily remedied by carefully sepa-
rating the skin from the nail by a blunt, half-round in-
strument. Many persons are in the habit of continually

cutting this pellicle, in consequence of which it becomes
exceeding irregular, and often injurious to the growth of
the nail. They also frequently pick under the nails with
a pin, penknife, or the point of sharp scissors, wiih the
intention of keeping them clean, by doing which they often
loosen them, and occasion considerable injury. The nails
should be cleansed with a brush not too hard ; and the
semicircular skin should not be cut away, but only loosened,
without touching the quick, the fingers being afterwards
dipped in tepid water, and the skin pushed back with a
towel. This method, which should be practised daily, will
keep the nails of a proper shape, prevent agnails, and the
pellicles from thickening or be.coming rugged. When the
nails are naturally rugged or ill-formed, the longitudinal
ridges or fibres should be scraped and rubbed with lemon,
afterwards rinsed in water, and well dried with the towel ;
but if the nails are very thin, no benefit will be derived by
scraping ; on the contrary, it might cause them to split.
If the nails grow more to one side than the other, they
should be cut in such a manner as to make the point come
as nearly as possible in the centre of the end of the finger.

€tn\xt-€ahh dosaip.

COSTLY CHINA.

Having seen much of primitive districts ourselves, where
" china" is known as crockery, and dinner sets are " dishes,"
we can tell how incredible it will seem to some of our more
remote readers, when we tell them there is a single set in
our city now on sale, at the price of two thousand dollars.
The cost of a small farm swallowed up in one set of dinner
dishes, liable to breakage, too — more liable than less pre-
cious ware. We quite agree with a favorite handmaid, to
whom the advertisement was read —

" La, ma'am, I shouldn't like to have the washin' and
handlin' of 'em."

Imagine the ease with which the possessor of this trea-
sure would preside over his table, with his property at the
mercy of careless or hurried waiting-men; his most ele-
gant courtesies cut short by the imminent danger of a
soup-tureen, valued at fifty dollars ; the point of his
choicest boil mot lost by the capsizing of a gravy-boat. Bet-
ter a dinner of herbs, from white stone ware, so far as
equanimity is concerned.

As a work of art — for only a true artist could design
these graceful shapes and trace the exquisite designs — the
set cannot be too highly valued, and the owners of the
palatial residences on Fifth Avenue, who have their bil-
liard-rooms and bowling-saloons, their picture-galleries, and
their stables grained in oak, might thank the good taste of
the importer, who has placed such a gem within their
reach. Rare china, in these luxurious days, is a fashion
and a taste which our fashionable circles are just beginning
to cultivate. Collecting it has long been a favorite pursuit
abroad with those whose wealth would permit so expensive
a hobby. What will be thought of a sale like this, which
we copy from an English print? —

'; The chief attraction of the sale at Bedford Lodge, the
late residence of the Duchess of Bedford, was a collection
of rare old Sevres, Dresden, and other porcelain, and some
magnificent specimens of the now almost obsolete Chelsea
ware, together with a number of very fine old marcmetei-;»

cabinets. Among the more remarkable lots sold may be
instanced a set of three small toilet-cases of rare old Chelsea
ware (measuring only four or five inches square), mazarine
blue ground, richly embellished in gold, with birds and
flowers, which realized, after an active competition, two
hundred guineas; a pair of fine old Chelsea china vase-
shaped candelabras, painted in figures and flowers, on a
turquoise ground, sold for seventy guineas ; a pair of ele-
gant small Sevres vases, with handles, on white fluted
pedestals, forty-nine guineas ; a cabinet of turquoise Sevres,
consisting of plateau, a two-handled cup and saucer, and a
sugai--bowl and cover, delicately painted, with cupids, ca-
maien pink, fifty-five guineas ; a superb Sevres vase, with
handles, lapis blue ground, richly decorated with gold, and
painted with medallion portraits, in grisaille, and garlands
of flowers. This beautiful vase, which stands about thir-
teen inches high, realized one hundred and fifty-six gui-
neas ; two Dresden vases, with handles of elegant form, and
painted with flowers, forty guineas ; a Palissey ware can-
delabra,, for four lights, and supported by nereides and
masks, sold for fourteen guineas ; a sculptured hand, with
a bunch of grapes, in statuary marble, realized seventeen
guineas; a jewel casket, with ormolu enrichments and
Sevres plaques on each side, painted with landscape and
figures of a female at a fountain, forty-two guineas ; a fine
jewel casket, composed of plaques of rare Oriental ena-
melled china painted, with ormolu, fifty-eight guineas ; a
superb Sevres ecuelle, with cupids and bouquets of flowers,
delicately pencilled in camaien pink, seventeen guineas;
two fine old Dresden verrieres, richly gilt borders, and
painted with birds, fifteen guineas ; a large Dresden ink
tray, of the finest period, with scroll borderings, nineteen
guineas."

A CONSIDERATION.

" Servants are such a trial !" is now the general com-
plaint. Mrs. A. has five cooks in one winter; Mrs. B.
changes her chambermaid evory month ; Mrs. C.'s nurse

570

godey's magazine and lady's book.

: and Mrs. D."s waiter is impertinent to
her mistress and cross to the children. To hear a, knot of
discuss their respective domestic grievances, one
would suppose that there was no honesty of purpose and
left among '-those of our own household."
And yel m the old times which we now look upon as dark
ages, in the days of our youth, when we should have heen
learning better lessons than idleness and extravagance,
Servants grew old and gray-haired in the employment of
one family.

It cannot he all the fault of those in service. If those
who complain the most would spend half the time wasted
iu talking over their trials, in gaining the interest, and en-
lightening the ignorance of their servants, half their la-
mentations would be spared. Many an indifferent cook
might be made capable and grateful with a little instruc-
tion, and the impertinence and idling often come from a
spirit fretted by accumulated task-work, that should have
been arranged to a methodical routine.

There is a good lesson worth laying to heart in the me-
morable last words of Justice Talfourd, the wise jurist and
elegant poet. It will be remembered that he died the past
spring, in the discharge of his judicial duties, in the midst
of an appeal from the bench for sympathy with those we
employ : — ■

'■' I am afraid we all keep too much aloof from those be-
neath us, and whom we encourage to look upon us with
suspicion and dislike. Even to our servants, we think
perhaps that we fulfil our duty when we perform our con-
tract with them; when we pay them their wages and treat
them with the civility consistent with our habits and feel-
ings ; when we curb our temper and use no violent expres-
sions towards them. But how painful is the thought that
there are men and women growing up around us, minis-
tering to our comforts and necessities, continually inmates
of our dwellings, with whose affections and natures we are
as much unacquainted as if they were the inhabitants of
some other sphere. This feeling, arising from that kind of
reserve peculiar to the English character, does. I think,
greatly tend to prevent that reciprocation of kind words
and gentle affections, gracious admonitions and kind in-
quiries, which often, more than any book education, tend
to the culture of the affections of the heart, refinement and
elevation cf the character of those to whom they are ad-
dressed."

EVERY LADY HER OWN DRESSMAKER.

A nice time we should have of it, in the spring and fall,
if some ingenious " Singer" would invent a machine that
would cut and fit our own and our children's dresses. With
the aid of Godey's " How to Make a Dress," the agony of
weeks would be over in a few days, and wardrobes and
closets have their full supply of dresses, jackets, and aprons.
In the absence of this useful domestic aid, several parties
have done their best to simplify the process of measuring
and fitting that every one dreads to go through with,
whether they stand \ip to it themselves or exhaust en-
treaties and commands to make the younger members of
the flock " keep still" under the trying ordeal of pins and
scissors.

Among the best of these methods, the simplest and most
expeditious that we have seen are the dress charts of Ma-
dame Demorcst, to whose establishment wo have made fre-
quent aiiusion, for ladies and children. Thi-ee measures
only are taken, the pencil, chart, and paper put in requisi-
tion, and the thing is done. Madame D. evidently " keeps
a poet," from the verses which we find on the back of her
circular. Listen to " the consummation devoutly to be

s wished for" by all who dread fall and spring dressmak-
log:-

| " Dressmakers made artists by this magical chart,
All flee from the old tedious and wearisome art;
A pleasure succeeds to what once was a task,
As they fashion the jacket, the bodice, and basque.
Each lady with skill now may cut her own dresses,
When she once the Excelsior Dress Model possesses;
Of good taste and model she only asks aid,
And a beautiful garment is speedily made.

" While sitting content in her snug sewing-chair,
We see the fond mother the dresses prepare.
She calls up her children and fits them so neatly
By the children's dress chart that has charmed her
completely."

Even the old lady " that lived in a shoe" would find her
way out of the difficulties in which she is historically enve-
loped, by the aid of this magic chart, if it effects half that
is promised for it.

ORNAMENTS.

As many of our lady readers know, there is generally a
rage for some oue stone, or style of setting, in jewelry. We
do not speak of costly sets, as pearl or diamonds, but of
those accessible to ordinary purchasers.

The topaz had its day, and was succeeded by turquoise ;
for a time every one, without regard to complexion, wore
brooch and ear-rings of cerulean blue. Then garnets ;
then enamel of blue or green; and now, with a proper
mixture of pearl, garnet and enamel, turquoise being en-
tirely out of date, coral ornaments seem to be the favorites.

We mentioned, in a late number, the costly sets found
at Ball & Black's, imitating flowers and fruit. When last
coral was in vogue, the carvings were more in the style of
cameo cuttings, as figures, heads, etc., in medallion, and of
the dark red hue generally seen in the necklaces of in-
fants. White and rose color are now the favorite shades.
There are many new designs in settiug ; a branch highly
polished, for instance, encircled in coils of gold; a single
blossom or fruit, as a pear or a fuchsia, set in the same
way. and forming the centre of the pin, or the drop of the
ear-ring. A very pretty brooch — we speak now of simple
ornaments — in this style costs from seven to twelve dollars.

Garnets are sometimes set on a glowing red or crimson
ground, which gives them a singular flashing, vivid color.
One of the favorite designs is in imitation of the section of
a branch or stem of a tree, encrusted with gold and gar-
nets. These arc, of course, large and showy brooches. We
have seen a few encrusted with turquoise in the same
style. Enamelled ornaments are still worn, but are not so
much the rage as for a few years past. For mourning
brooches, see the fashion article of the present month.

Pearls are still in high favor with those whose purses
and whose complexions can afford them.

THE NURSERY-BASKET.

It is as well to mention in our chat the reason of the
unavoidable delay of the promised volume on nursery
matters, announced some three months since. Its
and scope were altered when the illustrations and much
of the text were prepared, which has delayed its appear-
ance. It is. however, now nearly ready, and will be for-
warded as early as possible to tho numerous subscribers
who have sent us their orders. They will seareeh I
the delay, when the volume in its present form readies

FASHIONS.

571

them. If, however, there are any -who are tired of waiting
"for the play to commence/' they can have the price of
tickets refunded at the office — or, to 'speak plainly, we will
willingly return any moneys received in advance, if any de-
sire it, by sending post-office stamps to the amount. How-
ever, our readers need not fear that their claims will he
forgotten as soon as the book is ready. It will be found
simple, practical, and reliable in its various directions for
the preparation of an infant's wardrobe, short clothes,
flannels, etc. etc.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Wood-cutting is not so difficult as our correspondent,
"L.," seems to imagine, and seems to us especially adapted
to be an employment for females. It has been taught suc-
cessfully in the Philadelphia School of Design. She is
right in thinking it the first established. A history of its
commencement and progress has been already given in
the " Lady's Book." The designs for wood-cutting are
drawn on the block, usvially of pear-tree wood, made as
smooth as satin letter-paper. The designer is not always,
or often the engraver.

" A Boarder" will find it very convenient to make chintz
covers to her trunks, if she has no place to pack them.
They are very simple, and effectually disguise travelling
boxes, transforming them to ottomans and lounges. She
has only to purchase furniture chintz at twelve and a half
cents a yard, fit a piece to the top of the trunk, and run a
plain flounce the height of the sides around it. This will
leave one end seam to be closed. A binding of worsted or
cotton braid, some neat dark color, gives a finish to the
chintz, and is run on the top seam around the trunk, and
down the four corners. This gives it still more the appear-
ance of an ottoman or lounge, as their covers are made in
the same way. Many housekeepers have boxes made in
this way, to contain silver or bed linen, where closet room
is needed.

" Mrs. N.," of Rose Hill, Ga. — A lambrequin is the fall or
top piece of a curtain ; see any of Carryl's advertisements
in the " Lady's Book." It is generally of a heavy material,
as damask, satin laine, etc., finished with gimp, or cords
and tassels. In a summer country house, where heavy
curtains are not needed, a lambrequin depending from the
cornice gives a finish to lace or muslin draperies. We
should advise her to order them.

" Mrs. Geo. P."— The appearance of the gum probably
was the result of injury from a hard substance, an ivory or
wooden plaything, possibly. Some children do not get any
teeth before they are a year old, though six months is usu-
ally looked upon as the commencement of dentition. In
selecting a baby's toys, it is necessary to see that they are
not hard enough to hurt the mouth, or rough, so as to
scratch and inflame it, as a child naturally tries to bite
everything it can lay hands on. Common cheap toys are ob-
jectionable, as the paint comes off on the mouth and face.
A plain ring of bone or ivory, tied by a broad string of tape
or ribbon to a child's waist, will amuse it for hours, and is
perfectly safe. Knit dolls are excellent, and the old style
" rag baby" is worth a dozen of wax or composition. If a
child ha3 a plaything that will be likely to scratch its
mouth or put out its eyes, it should be held by the nurse
or mother, and never trusted tc its powerless little hands.

" The Heading Circle op E., Pa.," will find "Markland,"
by the author of " Margaret Maitland," and the " Memoir
of Mrs. Ware," added to their list. We think the plan an
excellent one; and, as the books are to be taken in turn
when read through, do not see how any ill feeling can
grow out of it. We should advise them to take " House-

hold Words," if they can afford but one English maga-
zine.

"Mrs. S."— Flannel will not answer the purpose. A
half handkerchief of oiled silk, bound with ribbon or flan-
nel binding. Nursery aprons of gingham or chintz, with
an oil-siik lining, are much used.

"A. L. S." — For grafting, we have seen the following
highly recommended in a paper read before a State agri-
cultural society : Two-thirds resin to one of common bees-
wax. It will not melt or run.

"A Young Author" has need of "good courage." In
presenting his MSS. to a publisher, send it by express or post,
prepaid, with a plain, sensible letter on the subject of the
book, and leave it to him or his editor to praise it. Never
say " that a partial friend, or friends, advise its publica-
tion." If you wish it done, you need offer no excuse ; if
not, keep it to yourself. Do not expect to make a fortune
on ytmr first venture. If you can have it printed free of
expense, it is all you ought reasonably to expect. Many
are glad to do this. Remember that poems rarely pay for
print and binding at the present time, and no young
writer can be a finished and original essayist. The essay,
above all other forms of composition, needs purity of style-
original thought, acute observation, and wide experience.

"Mrs. K.," of White Plains. — We would recommend
"Kane's Arctic Expedition," and " St. Herndon's Valley of
the Amazon ;" they are the most popular recent books of
travel, and suitable for family reading.

" Alice" will find we have attended to her request. Cam
brie sets are still fashionable.

5asl)ton5.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the
Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute
commissions for any who may desire it, Avith the charge
of a small percentage for the time and research required.
Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn bonnets, dresses,
jewelry, bridal cards, cake-boxes, envelopes, etc. etc., will
be chosen with a view to economy, 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 checlcs for the proposed eapendi-
ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., who will
be responsible for the amount, and the early execution of com-
missions.

No order will be attended to unless the money is first re-
ceived.

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 Levy's or Stewart's; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from
Brodie's, 51 Canal Street, New York; bonnets from Miss
Wharton's; jewelry from Bailey's or Warden's, Philadel-
phia, or Tiffany's, New York, if requested.

DESCRIPTION OF FASHIONS FOR JUNE.

Fig. 1st. — Walking-dress of green taffeta, a skirt and
basque. The skirt is made on a band, very full, long, and
plain. The basque is close, and much sloped at the hip.
It will be noticed that it is very long, approaching the size
of the velvet street basques worn last summer. Sleeves
dcmi-loug, and flowing, finished with three ruffles, pinked.
Large collar of cambric embroidery. Bonnet of drawn
taffeta, the same shade as the dress, a light plume at the

572

godey's magazine and lady's book.

right A simple full cap of blonde inside the brim. Kich
scarf, oriental style.

Fig. 2d.— A graceful and serviceable riding-dress, one of
the best styles we have had for several seasons, being at
once suited to the road and becoming to the figure. The
skirt is on a band, or under waist, the ordinary fulness and
length. The jacket, with its coat sleeves and rolling collar,
lit* the figure easily, and rounds over the hips into a short
basque. A buff chemisette, in the fashion of a close vest,
finished by upright linen collar and small flat necktie.
Beaver bat and plume, the crown rather higher than has
been worn of late. The material may be either habit cloth,
cashmere, or merino. Habit cloth, being heavier, seems
more serviceable for the road, and keeps in place better.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR JUNE.

This is the favorite month in the year for the display of
light and airy styles in our Atlantic cities, the few who
have gone to their country houses in advance of the season
being replaced by the arrival of Southern and Western
belles, refitting at Stewart's, Levy's, Lawson's, Miss Whar-
ton's, and every other fashionable establishment, for the
summer campaign at Saratoga and Newport. Every resi-
dent has her favorite spring walking-dress, in which to pay
her last round of calls, when she leaves her P. P. C, and is
" not at home," until autumn comes again, to her dear live
hundred friends.

These street dresses are mostly silks, varying from the
rich dark poplins and moir antique to the lighter glace
stripes and plaids, or the India foulards, with their close
glossy folds. The heavier silks are usually entirely plain
in the skirt ; even poult tie soie, the heavy plain-colored silk
that comes next to a poplin in richness of effect, has usu-
ally only a deep hem at the bottom of the skirt. The
basques and sleeves have all the novelties of style and de-
coration. For these there are new galloons and ribbons
appearing daily, matching the silks in shade, or used as a
contrast, as taste may dictate. Velvet uncut, plain, and
embossed; moir antique, richly watered; brocaded and em-
broidered ribbons, varying from one to three inches in
width, are used for these heavier stuffs, which are now
nearly out of season.

The lighter silks are in stripes and plaids of infinite va-
riety. Green and violet seem to be the favorite shades.
These are made with flounces, usually three, nearly the
same width, the top one measuring the same from the top
of the skirt. Fringe in alternate stripes, to correspond
with the silk, is used where much trimming is desired on
the edge of these flounces, or they maybe simply bound or
pinked. Pinking is used more than of late, and, in every
establishment where it is done, there are a great variety of
patterns, many of them elaborate. We have seen a very
tasteful walking-dress, of violet and. white plaid— a "qua-
drilled" silk, the manufacturer calls it — made with three
flounces as above, the basque trimmed with fringe (alter-
nate white and violet, instead of being mixed, as was the
style) three inches deep. This was, in turn, headed by
violet satin ribbon an inch wide, box-plaited on, and con-
tinuing around the front of the corsage. The sleeves were
flcving, with three rows of fringe much narrower, but ex-
actly corresponding, also headed by the plaiting, and fast-
ened on the inside by a knot of rich brocaded ribbon with
flowing ends. This, of course, had an exceedingly elegant
effect, and could only bo worn by a tall, full figure. We
describe it to show how elaborate and costly the trimming
of dresses are made the present season, while the mate-

rials, silks, tissues, bareges, etc., remain much the same as
the past year. Box-plaited ribbons, whether plain, pearl-
edged satin, brocaded,, or plaided, are much used. It is
usual to allow twice and a half the desired leugth of the
trimming in purchasing them. Bows of broader and more
expensive ribbon are still used for the sleeves and front of
the corsage.

For thin materials, as barege, tissues, etc., in all the fan-
ciful names by which they are called, most of which are
manufactured by the importers' clerks, there is every va-
riety of trimming in the shape of gauze ribbons. They
have usually a coarse thread in the plain edge, by which
they can be drawn up into quillings, ruches, and even box-
plaitings. So many yards are used in a full trimming,
and it is so expensive, never less, and usually more than a
quarter of a dollar a yard, that the trimming and making
often cost as much, and even more than the original ma-
terial.

No city dressmaker, with any pretence to a good style,
will undertake to make a dress for less than three dollars.
In the really fashionable shops, $4 75 is the charge for
making a basque waist, apart from the skirt — silk, buttons,
all trimmings charged separately in the bill ; so that you
have from seven to nine, and even fifteen dollars, to add to
the cost of your two yards and a half of silk, the quantity
usually purchased for a basque.

We have seen no more tasteful bonnets at any esta-
blishment than at Genin's bazaar, which, as most of our
readers know, has been elegantly fitted up, and so arranged
as to be nearly double the original size, thus leaving plenty
of room for a large millinery and dressmaking establish-
ment, carrying out more fully the first design of Mr.
Genin. The workwomen have two large and cheerful
apartments assigned to them, and the show-room adjoining
is always thronged. The nursery department has been re-
moved to this more spacious suite, and the space below the
dome is now filled by rows of industrious workers, with the
silks and muslins they are manufacturing for the juveniles
expressly.

Leghorn bonuets are still worn, though in July and Au-
gust more dress hats of silk, crape, and lace will be seen.
The Leghorns are in unusually good shapes, and trimmed
very simply, either with straw, marabout plumes, or plain
white ribbons. We speak of the prevailing styles; of
course, many tastes are to be suited, and some people
would flounce a moir antique with the same, if they thought
it would look more expensive, and for this class of com-
munity ribbons and garlands cannot be too profuse even
on a Leghorn, which, if handsome, is generally considered,
like a rich silk, to ''have no need of ornament." There is
a profusion of plain straws of every shape and cost. We
notice that they come close, or nearly so, under the chin,
and the whole bonnet is a gradual slope from the brim to
the crown. They are trimmed in every variety of stylo,
ruches of narrow ribbon box-plaited on, numerous flat
bows of ribbon an inch in width disposed as a wreath, etc.
etc. Ribbons, as a general thing, are much narrower than
the past season, and those long scarf-like strings are not
considered in good taste. We have before spoken of the
profusion of trimming inside the brim. Blonde caps — a
narrow edge of blonde usually sewn upon a broad or wash-
blonde lace— are usually almost invariably used to soften
the effect of the flowers and ribbon bows that encircle the
face. The flowers used are of the most delicate description,
made of crape, in strict imitatiou of nature. Flag flower-.,
convolvulus, lilac sprays, field violets, aud all the more
delicate blossoms, arc exquisitely reproduced.

Fashion.

P^s>£S& -Urf^-

dNfoq'B latest /asjjiBitB,

GODE Y'S

LADY'S BOOK

AND

MAGAZINE.

EDITED BY

MRS. SARAH J. HALE,
AND LOUIS A. GODEY.

VOL. XLIX .-FROM JULY TO DECEMBER,
1854.

PHILADELPHIA:

PUBLISHED BY LOUIS A. GODEY:

113 CHESTNUT STREET.

,;,^ •;«■-

Printed by T. K, k P. G. Collins.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

VOL. XLIX.

A Career of Industry: with some Account of Hats

and Hatting, 149

A Chair, stronger than Berlin work, 457

A Day at a Ship- Yard, 7, 103

Address delivered at the first Annual Commence-
ment of the Pennsylvania Female College, by Job
R. Tyson, LL.D., 458

A Hard Hit, 92

Alabaster Dessert Mat, 549

Alice Ward ; or, He 's Coming, by Pauline Forsyth, 220
Alma Perdida, by R. H. S., 67

A Memory of a Picture, by Mary C. Neely, 262

American Woman's Educational Associations, 175

Amiableness, 26

" And I heard a Voice saying, ' Come up Hither,' "

by Mrs. Elizabeth W. Long, 67

A Never-ending Theme, 286

An Incident in the Life of a Physician, by A Son of

Hahnemann, 348

A Nursery Basket, 567

" Any Time," by Alice B. Neal, 30

A Presentation, 286

A Real Lady, 80

Are the Planets Inhabited] 174

A Ride to the Fortune-Teller's.— A Sketch of South-
ern Life, by Pauline Forsyth, 54
A Royal Bridal-Dress, 188
A Traveller's Experience of Woman, 119
Autour Boutons, 456
Autumn and its Memories. — September, by W. Jas-
per Blackburn, 247
Autumn Dying, by Helen Hamilton, 413
Autumn Song, by H. L. Spencer, 539
Autumnal Vegetation, by Harland Couttas, 334
A Villa in the Florentine Style, 196

Bead and Bugle Work, 267, 360, 453, 547

Be not thine a Voiceless Heart, by Laura Lisle, 433

Beware of Bad Books, 79

Bishop Ken, 558

Bon net- Preserver, 72

Botanical Geography, by Harland Coidtas, 426, 514

Both Sides of the Case,

Boy's Costume, furnished by Madams Demorcst,

Braid Patterns,

Bridal Glove- Box,

Broderie Anglaise,

Broderie Vandyke for Collar, Sleeve, &c,

Caps, Headdresses, etc.,

Celestial Phenomena, by D. W, Belisle,

28, 129, 239, 333,
Centre-Table Gossip, 91, 187, 285, 381,

Charades in Action,
Chemisettes and Sleeves,
Chemistry for Youth,
Chestnut- Basket, for the Dessert-table,
Children's Dresses, by Our "Fashion Editor,"
Children's Shoes, 172,

Child's Socks and Stockings, 76, 169,

City Cousins. — An epistolary remonstrance,
Cloaks, Mantillas, Talmas, &c.

La Comptesse Walewsld, from Brodie,

Opera Cloak, and the Puritan,

The Barcelona, from Brodie,

The Crimea, from Brodie,

The Czarina, from Brodie,

The Empress, from Brodie}

The Grisi and the Muscovite Cloaks,

The Hispania, from Brodie,

The Isir and the Priori,

The Louise Mantelet and the Alice Mantle,

The Medora Talma, from Brodie,

The Modena and the Duchess,

The Princess Wagram, from Brodie,

The Rosamond, from Brodie,

The Varna, front and back view,

The Zulima Talma, from Brodie,
Cock-Crowing at Christmas Eve,
Cold Winter is Coming,

382

270

6, 77

362

488
270

165

407, 512

473, 567

615

263

85,380

1,77

363, 485

265, 361

285

100

487, 569
388
484
193
389

486, 569
289
292

293, 365
4

391, 476
101
198

390, 475

492

552

Collar in Broderie Anglaise, 168
" Come unto me, all you that labor and are heavy

laden, and I will give you rest," by S. P. E., 335

Coral-Bordered Handkerchief, 75

Corners for Pocket Handkerchiefs, 102, 295

Cottage Furniture, 71

Court" Bows, 473

Cover for the Back of a Chair. — Netting, 365

Cranberry Sauce, 381

Crochet Collar, 455

Culture of Silk, 368

Daily Devotion, by Rev. H. Hastings Weld, 513

Dainty Dishes, ' 497

Directions for Window Plants, 280, 372, 469, 561

Doyley, 364

Do you Remember, Mary] by Virginia F. Townsend, 355
Dreams and Realities, by William P. Mulchinock, 66
Duty versus Fame, 19

Economy in Washing,
Edging in Broderie Anglaise,
Editors' Table, 78, 174, 271

Embroidered Cuff,
Embroidered Glove-Box,
Embroidered Scent-Bag,
Embroidered Shoe, for an Infant,
Embroidery for a Child's Sack,
Embroidery for Children's Drawers,
Embroidery for Ladies' Mantilla,
Embroidery, Insertion, and Braid Pattern,
Embroidery Patterns, 6, 173, 197

Embroidery with Cord,
Emplovments for Young Women,
Enigmas, 91, 192, 288

Epigram : Inscribed by an unknown hand

tue of Niobe by Praxiteles, translated

Neicton Van Sant^
Episcopal Seminaries for Young Ladies,
Eurica, by Willie Edgar Pabor,
Evening-Dre3s, with Diagrams,
Evening Thoughts, by Mrs. E. Lock,
Eventide, by D. Hardy, Jr.,
Eve's Pudding,

382

169

, 366, 458, 552

294

481, 545

167

550

551

452

616

, 266, 294, 457

268, 551

367

, 380, 464, 570

on a Sta-

by Edw.

43
460
261
443
163
164
1S9

567

Family Portraits,

Farm-House, 62

Fashionable Bonnets and Caps, from White, 3S5

Fashions, 93, 190, 287, 383, 475, 569

Female Medical College of Pennsylvania, 80, 368, 458
Floral Headdresses, 296, 359

Floral Lamp or Vase-Mat, 264

Front of a Lady's Cabinet, 77

Furs from C. Oakford's Establishment, 392, 456

Godey's Ann-Chair, 86, 180, 277, 371, 465, 558

Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing,

27, 125, 216, 323, 406, 502
Godey's Lady's Book, 23S

Gold Embroideries and Lace, 1S9

Heart versus Purse, or Cupid's Defeat, 164

Headache, by Mary P., 541

He is Coming, by Willie Edgar Pabor, 639

Home, Sister, Home, by R. K. Shaw, 66

Household Economy, 92

How to save Postage, 368

I ever will remember thee, by William Roderick. Law-
rence, 447
I miss thee, Love, by "Will " J. Stewart, 68
Initials, 73, 269, 295, 485
Insertion for Tucks of Child's Dress, 173
I Pray for the Loved at Home, by H. L. A., 226
Items, 189
I was not Forgotten, by Gunnie Southron, 404

Jacket- Petticoat, 642

Kathleen, the Village Belle, by Pauline Forsyth, 120

Labor, by L. A. F., 4n5

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

Laces and Muslins, 70

Lady's Roticule, 457

Lapidary Work, 199

L/ avea from my Journal.— Cadiz, by Cortcz, 638

Let me Live! by S. M. Montgomery, 162

Letl -s left at the Pastry- Cook's, Edited by Horace

24, 127, 227,* 312, 402, 496
i to the Publisher, 638

Life of Columbus, by John B. Duffey,

37, 137, 241, 343, 428, 528
Light, by J. M. Knowlton, 639

Lines to a Pet Bird, by Jessie Glenn, 65

o Miss A. A. C, by Alpha, 447

Literary Notices, 81, 177, 274, 369, 461, 554

Little Art luir's Evening Song, 474

Little Brother, by Mary A. Ladd, 259

Lord Morpeth on Music, 219

Love, 527

Love's Venture, by Pauline Forsyth, 306

Lydia's Wages, by Alice B. Ncal, 233, 317

Magnetic Amusements, 281
Mantillas, See Cloaks.

Marriage, 36

Married and Single Life, 232

Mary, 539
Mat "with Border of Moss, Cherries, and Leaves, 454

Memory's Retrospect, by D. Hardy, Jr., 421

Mental and Corporeal Suffering, 257

Methodist Colleges for Young Ladies, 460

Midnight, by L. Granger Riggs, 413

Midnight Musings, by 0. Everts, M. D.} 445

Minnie, by Theresa, 446

Moire Antique, 218

Moth and Rust, by Alice B. Ncal, 410

Mountains in the Moon, 409

Mrs. Caroline Chisholin, 366

Mrs. Cathcart's Friend, by Pauline Forsyth, 395
Mrs. Daffodil at the Theatre, by Virginia De Forest, 338

Muslins and Embroideries, 358

My Bov in the Country, ' 381

My Husband, by Mrs. C. E. Sweet, 447

My Little Sister Isabel, by W. S. Gaffney, 541

Netting. — Cover for the Back of a Chair, 365

New Music for the Centre-Table, 285

Novelties for December. — Basque, Cap, Bonnet, Un-

dersleeves, and Glove Trimmings, 643
Novelties of the Month in Caps, Bonnets, Cape3, etc. 450

Nursery Songs, 474

Nursery Tactics, 91

Octagonal Country-Seat of O. S, Fowler, on the

Hudson, 336

Ode to EuterpS, by S. P. Bryan, M. D., 260

On Parasitic Plants, by Harland Coullas, 157

On the Death of Mrs. Emily C. Judson, 271

Ornamental Shrubbery and Fruit- Trees, 473

Origin of New Year's "Gifts, 130

Our Friends, 552
Ours, Loved, and " Gone Before," by Annie B. Clare, 248

Pantlebridge's First Love, by Frank H. Hiclding, 414, 504

Paris Gossip, 375, 444

Parlor Amusements, 469, 561

Parlor Draperies, ' 97, 170

Parodies, 272

Part of an Embroidered Collar, 298
Patterns for Embroidery, 6, 173, 197, 266, 294, 457

Pattern for Silk Patchwork, 269

Physical Training. — Part II., 61

Pocket- Book, embroidered in application, 645

Poetry and Love, by C. H. Criswell, 162

Postmistress, 273

Pretty Names for Girls, 375

Protestant Deaconesses, 368

Rearing and Management of Silk- Worms, 393

Receipts, &o., 89, 184, 282, 378, 471, 562

Rising in the World, 207

Rossini and his Wife, 367

San Donato? 563

Scallop Edging, 270

Sea-Bathing, 135

Seal-Engraving, 203

Second Thoughts, by Blanche Bennairde, 163

Self-Education, 187, 474

Shoes for Ladies and Children, 172, 363, 4S5

Social Visiting, 187

Something more about Fans, by Mrs. White, 230

Song of Life, by Belle Bush, 540

Sonnets, by Wm. Alexander, 68, 164, 270, 356, 394, 640
" Spending-Money," 460

Summer, by Charles E. Cady, 356

Summer Sporting, by An Amateur Tyro, 263

Tamboured Purse, 650

Thanksgiving-Day for 1854, 461

The Babie, 181

The Baby's Lullaby, 474

The Benefit of Reading, 79

The Blighted Rose-Bud, by Mary Neal, 357
The Borrower's Department, 183, 282, 377

The Bridal, by A decidedly confirmed Bachelor, 183

The Buried Flower, by W. S. Gaffney, 261

The Charm of Cleanliness, 586

The Colored Light of the Stars, 237

The Diamond and its Uses, 2t*7
The Donation Visit in Fairview, by the author of

"My Brother To-m," 131

The Dying Wife, by Bessie Stuart, 310

The Elm-Tree, 176

The falling Leaves of Autumn, by E. S. W., 356

The Fall of the Leaf, by W. S. Gaffney, 315

The Future is hidden from our Sight, 66

The Game of the Two Hats, 374

The Gossip of Woodvale, by Mrs. M. E. Robinson, 208
The Groans of a " Wealthy Citizen," by Another

"Sufferer," 422

The History of the Planets, 175

The Hundred Dollar Bonnet, by Ellen Eyre, 187

The Inspiration of Genius, by Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, 553

The Lady Doctor, 352

The Last, by Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, 273
The Last Banquet of the Girondists, by J. H. A. Bone, 162

The Last Night of Caulaincourt, by Lucy Brandon, 261

The Letter, by James A. Bartlcy, " 260

The Lily and the Star, by Annie Gray, 64

The Little Flower Girl, by M. A. Rice, 368

The Lost Pleiad, by James Avis Bartlcy, 65

The Manufacture of Buttons, 489

The Match-Making Mother, by A. E. M., 326

The Mother's Faith, by Alice B. Neal, 493

The Mother to her Dead Boy, by M. H. Fortune, 2G2

The Music of Footsteps, by M. A. Rice, 355

The Nursery, 381

The Oak-Tree, by Virginia F. TowTisend, 260

The Ocean Gem, 215

The Old Churchyard, by John H. Bazley, 541
The Old Farm-House and its Inmates, by Ann E.

Porter, 59

The Papyrus, 49
The Peignoir, or Morning-Dress, 69, 476

" The Perfect Treasure,"" by Alice B. Neal, 143

The Playmates, from tlie German of Elise Polko, 525

The Queen's Visit, to the French Embassy, 158
The Result of a three weeks' Warfare between Love

and Artifice, by Mrs. Ellen Harrell Cantrcll, 434

The Servant Question, 340

The Smiling boy, E. S. W., 53
The Steam-Bath. A Sketch of Southern Life, by

Pauline Forsyth, 619
The Thrice- Wedded, by Marion Harland, author of

"Marrying through Prudential Motives," 15, 112

The Toilet, 91, 186, 284, 379, 477, 566

The Trials of a Needlewoman, by T. S. Arthur, 44

The White Clover, by Laura M. Colvin, 34

The Wife, by Mary Neal, 446
The Wild Flowers of the Month, by Harland Coultas, 35

Thoughts, by Mary Neal, 161

Time at Fault, by Beata, 541

Time in Search of Cupid, by Mary Neal, 259

To , by Cortez, 148

To Correspondents, 92, 189, 286, 382, 474, 568

To Forgiveness, by Blanche Bennairde, 316

To make Moss, " 448

To my Brother Frank, by Mary Ncal, 68

To my Mother, by E. E., 4-16

To the Rio Brassos, 357

Treasures, 111

Turkey.— Choice of a Wife, 240

Twilight Shadows, by Marah, 136

Usefulness, 156

Vegetable Physiology, by Harland Coultas, 258

Washing up Breakfast and Tea Things, 427

Water, Soft and Hard, 36S

We are growing Old together, by H. L. Spencer, 65

Wedding-Rings, l'2d

Welcome News, by Blanche Bennairde, 259

We part to meet again, by J. F. Simmons, 640

Wise Liberality, 80

Woman in Works of Charity, 175

Woman's Influence in France, 273

Women in the Printing- Olhce, 663

No. 1.

No. 2.

No. 3.

No. 4.

VOL. XLIX. 1

CHILDREN'S DRESSES.

BY OUR "FASHION EDITOR."

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THE MEDORA.

[From the establishment of G. Brodie, No. 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Voigt, from actual articles

of costume.]

This truly becoming and rechercJii Talma ranks among the most exquisite productions of the season, being charac-
terized, notwithstanding the simplicity and grave style of its formation, by a marked distingiU air. "We prefer the
selection of color made by the artist, which is of black gros d'Afrique; but this, as indeed every style of Talma and
mantilla, is made in all colors that are worn this season. A plain yoke descending in a deep point in front has the
body of the garment box-plaited at the back, in wide plaits upon it; it is fulled over the arm, but is 6et on smooth in
front, the tabs being rounded at the outside corner. It is cut to fit hollowing over the arm. It thus forms a happy
union of the beauties of the styles of Talmas and mantillas. A quilling of satin ribbon, arranged in small box
plaits, forms the ornament, the wholo being completed by a massy fringe upon the lower portion of the Talma. The
fringe has a beautifully netted heading.

THE ZULIMA.

[From the establishment of G. Brodie, No. 51 Canal Street, New York.

of costume.]

Drawn bv L. T. Voigt, from actual articles

The whole character of this garment, whilst equally beautiful, affords a strong contrast, by its gayety and spright-
Hness, to the dignity of the preceding one. The Zulima is adapted equally for the opera, carriage, or promenade,
and promises to be very popular with the gayer portion of our lady friends. This Talma is constructed by a re-
fined artistic union of white silk guipure lace and moire antique of a delicate peach-blossom hue. Tabs or gores of
this are rounded at the lower portion and surrounded by the guipure lace. A double outline of chain stitch, wrought
in embroidered silk, ornaments these watered silk tabs. The white silk of the guipure, cut in continuous scollops,
forms the border, which is magnificently fringed with a superb style of fringe, alternately pink and white, and head-
ed by a novel network which, from its peculiar arrangement, almost defies representation, when it hangs, as in this
garment, in such masses upon it. To add the last possible finish to this exquisite Talma, it is graced by a bow with
floating ends, formed, in accordance with the style of the garment, by a centre piece of moire antique border with the
lace, which ornaments the Talma at the neck.

1* 5

EMBROIDERY WITH CORD.

INSERTION FOR SHIRT FRONTS.

EMBROIDERY FOR SHIRTS.

BRAID PATTERN.

hflf^

GODEY'S

JkSX otocla

PHILADELPHIA, JULY, 1854,

EVEKYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XXL

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER.

BY C. T. HINCKLEY

8 H I P ON THE STOCKS BUILDING, AND SHIP IN DOCK FOR REPAIR!

A DAY AT A SHIP-YARD.

A ship must ever be an object of interest and
admiration, whether regarded as the substitute,
the more than substitute, for stone-walls as a
defence, or as the channel whereby commerce is
carried on with foreign countries. As a work
of art, too, a ship has at all times and in nearly
all countries called forth expressions of wonder.

We may or may not, as we please, give credence
to the opinion expressed in Dryden's lines : —

" By viewing Nature, Nature's handmaid, Art,

Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow ;
Thus fishes first to shipping did impart,
Their tail the rudder and their head the prow;"

but certain it is that, whether fishes were or
were not the first ship-draughtemen, the art of

godet's magazine and lady's book.

constructing barks capable to a greater or less
degree of contending with the winds and waves
has been known from a very remote period.

The steps by which excellence in this art has
been attained, the countries in which the art has
been most fully developed, and the present state
in which it exists in foreign countries, form col-
li 'lively the materials for a history of naval
architecture, a vast subject, into which it is not
proposed here to enter. We propose to convey
an idea of the general nature of the operations
conducted in such establishments, and to trace,
as far as the necessary limitations of popular lan-
guage will admit, the order of processes by which
the moro important parts of a ship are constructed
and put together.

Upon entering a ship-yard, a multitude of
objects all crowd upon the eye at once, present-
ing a scene of uncommon bustle and liveliness.
Immediately on the right is a range of buildings
apparently occupied as warehouses. Beyond
these is the river, glistening in the sunshine,
that is, if the weather be kind enough to admit
the sun to peep through the clouds. Between
the river and the eye, at short intervals, and
along a great extent of shore, are seen ships of
various sizes, and in all the various stages of
construction, from the small steamer to the
large merchantman; from the mere shell of
frame timbers, to the majestic ship just about to
be launched. Between these ships and the spot
where we suppose ourselves to be standing near
the entrance, the ground is occupied, here and
there, with enormous piles of timbers, some cut
to the forms required by the shipwrights, others
partially sawed and hewn, and others in a
rougher state. Glancing the eye round towards
the left, we catch sight of a building in which a
large bell serves as a monitor to all the workmen,
and on the left of which is a shed where some
of the timbers are cut. In the background, and
1 owards the northern boundary of the yard, are
] numerous large buildings, separated from one
another by tracts of ground covered in most parts
by piles of wood.

A living scene is also presented to the eye at
this spot, for on all sides are seen workmen ply-
ing the ingenious hand, and the lusty arm, too,
in the operation, of ship-building ; some stand-
ing on scaffolds at the sides of the ships ; romc
" converting" the timbers, that is, sawing them
to the required shapes ; some conveying or su-
perintending the conveyance of timbers from one
place to another; smiths in this spot, mastmakers
in that; and scores of others which we should
h.nd it no easy matter to enumerate.

Such is the general aspect which the yard

presents to the first view of a visitor. Wc will
now, therefore, in company with the reader,
ramble through its numerous departments, no-
ticing the various purposes to which the different
parts of the yard are appropriated.

After entering at the outer gate, and passing
the counting-house, we will turn to the right,
and visit the range of workshops and store-rooms
extending from thence to the river. The first
room which need be enumerated is the office of
the ship-draughtsman, who is a kind of archi-
tect, employed in drawing the plans and arranging
the forms and dimensions of ships, preparatory
to the operations of the shipwrights. In this
room are a few small models of ships, together
with the necessary apparatus and drawing in-
struments for preparing the plans on paper.
The operations of the ship-draughtsman are, as
we shall explain presently, much more of a
mental than a mechanical character, and, there-
fore, the room in which he is engaged presents
little peculiar to attract our notice.

From the draughtsman's room we pass into a
large and singular-looking room, called the mould-
loft, or moulding-loft. It is about a hundred
feet long and forty or fifty wide, rather shallow,
and lighted by about twenty windows, ten on
each side. The floor of this room is remarkably
flat, smooth, and clean, and is chalked in every
imaginable direction with lines, some straight,
and others curved, intersecting each other at
angles of different degrees. A part of this floor,
free from chalk lines, is separated from the rest
by a ledge, and on this part are fixed carpenter's
benches and stools, with the necessary arrange-
ments for sawing and preparing wood work. It
is evident, at a first glance, that the chalked
floor is a kind of sanctum, a place not to be
defiled by the tread of dirty shoes. Over head
is seen, resting on cross-beams, a large assem-
blage of pieces of thin wood, in most cases long,
narrow, and curved. The operations carried on
in this room are midway between that of pre-
paring the drawing and that of actually building
the ships. The purposes of the chalk marks on
the floor and of the thin pieces of wood will be
explained farther on.

Beneath the mould-loft we enter, among other
rooms, one in which a number of little boys are
busily engaged in "spinning oakum," a process
respecting which we may say a few words.
When the various cables, stays, shrouds, ropes,
&c. belonging to a ship have gone through their
term of service, and arc no longer strong enough
to be used, they are cut up into pieces, and
then pulled asunder, all the hempen threads
being loosened and disentangled one from an-

A DAY AT A SHIP-YARD.

other. In this state the hempen threads are
called oakum, which is of different qualities,

according as the original rope was or was not
tarred. This oakum is, sent to the yard in
bundles or hanks, and boys are then employed
to roll — or, as it is termed in the yard, " spin" —
it into loose portions called " threads." A small
bundle of fibres is rolled by the hand on a sloping
board, till it assumes the form of a loose irregu-
lar kind of rope, averaging probably about an
inch in thickness. These " threads" of oakum
are subsequently driven into the crevices or
seams in the outside of a ship, to prevent the
entrance of sea-water.

Adjoining the oakum-shop is a capstan-shop,
a place where the ponderous capstans for ships
are made. Here we saw an elegant-looking
mahogany capstan, intended for the quarter-deck
of a vessel then in progress. The capstan, being
intended for moving heavy weights, must neces-
sarily be of great strength, while its position on
the quarter-deck leads to the desire of giving it
somewhat of an ornamental character. It there-
fore constitutes a separate kind of work both
from that of the shipwright and that of the ship-
joiner, and is carried on in a distinct shop. Near
this spot is also the copper warehouse, in which
the sheets,- bolts, and other articles of copper
arc stored away, under the care of the foreman
of the copper department. In the course of
building a ship, a great number of copper bolts,
varying from half an inch to an inch and a half
m diameter, are employed ; these are cut to the
proper lengths from bars kept in the copper
warehouse. Patent alloyed metals, composed
of copper and zinc, are sometimes used in parts
of the ship, and these, as well as articles of cop-

per only, are served out to the workmen from
this warehouse.

Over the copper warehouse is a sail-makers
shop, where the canvas and necessary apparatus
for making sails are deposited. In front of all
these warerooms and shops the ground of the
yard is occupied with heaps of wood, intended
for different purposes, some to be employed in
various departments of ship-building, and some
— useless in other respects — intended as billet or
fire-wood to be used at sea.

Proceeding onward towards the river, we fall
in with some workmen making trenails, or tree-
nails, and wedges. A trenail is a wooden sub-
stitute for a bolt or nail, and is regarded as a
thing of much importance in ship- building. The
frame-timbers of a ship, forming its skeleton,
are, as we shall hereafter explain, covered inside
and out with thick planks, and these planks are
fastened to the timbers almost wholly by trenails,
the copper bolts employed being comparatively
few in number. These trenails, so far from being
made of any odd pieces of waste wood, are formed
of the soundest oak, whose grain is straight and
regular. They vary in size from a foot and a
half to three feet in length, and from one to two
inches in diameter, according to the size of the
vessel, or to the part where they are to be em-
ployed. The pieces of oak which may be selected
for this purpose are first sawn to the" proper
length ; the trenail-makers then rip each piece
into a number of smaller pieces, and finally
reduce them to a tolerably cylindrical shape by
means of spokeshaves, occasionally passing a
ring over each piece to regulate the diameter.
These trenails are generally kept for many
months, to season, before they are employed in
the ship. Those pieces of oak whose shape or
direction of grain does not qualify them for tre-
nails are cut into wedges for the use of the
shipwrights in various parts of their operations ;
and those which will not be available even as
wedges are consigned to the billet-heap.

Near the spot which we have just passed are
the buildings connected with the smithcry. First
we meet with the coal-house, filled with the fuel
necessary for the operations of the smiths ; and
next to it the building where the swarthy sons
of Vulcan are at work in an atmosphere by no
means enviable. The articles made in this shop
do not comprise either the ships' anchors or the
chain cables, for the making of these is a distinct
trade, never, we believe, carried on in a private
ship-building yard ; but they consist of the mi
merous other pieces of iron-work used in thi»
construction of a ship. The most important of
these, perhaps, are the iron knees, which connect

godey's magazine and lady's book,

the beams beneath the deck of a ship with the
sides, and which are a kind of bracket, with
branches extending in horizontal and vertical
directions, perforated for the reception of bolts.
These knees are made of iron bars or plates
welded together to the proper thickness and
width, and fashioned to the required shape.
Smaller articles, in great number and variety,
are made in a similar manner, the operations
being conducted almost in precisely the same
way as in a common smith's shop, but on a
larger scale. The fierce fires of small coal built
upon the ground, the bellows for exciting the
heat, the anvils, the huge sledge-hammers — some
weighing nearly thirty pounds — all are seen here,
on a scale which seems to rank midway be-
tween that of a common smithery and of an
anchor-smith's shop. A separate shop, behind
the other, is devoted to the' casting of such arti-
cles as are formed of cast-metal, and to the cut-
ting, turning, &c. of others in which neatness of
appearance is required. It need hardly be ob-
served that these shops are black, smoky, and
hot, a necessary result of the operations carried
on there.

Adjoining the smithery is an ironmonger's
shop, stored with all kinds of ironmongery for
the use of the yard. In the ironmonger's shop
not only bolts, nails, screws, &c. are kept,
but also tools, such as saws, axes, adzes,
hammers, augurs, shovels, &c.

By scrambling over timbers and planks,
at the imminent danger of our shins, we
next reached the last building in this
range, appropriated to the reception and
storing of rigging; and beyond this is a
small wharf or shed, where articles may
be landed from the water.

When a ship is about to be built, it is
necessary to select a spot of ground from
whence the vessel, when finished, may be
readily passed into the water. For this
purpose, a sloping tract of ground is dug
or prepared, larger than the full dimen-
sions of a ship, and at right angles to the
river. This channel is level with the
ground at the upper end, but is several
feet beneath that level at the lower end,
and open to the water. On this inclined
slip of ground a ship is built ; and at a
certain stage in the progress, the ship launched
into the river. The dock is different, both in
shape and purpose, from the building-slip. It is
an excavation entirely below the level of the
ground from end to end, slightly inclined towards
the river, and open to it at the lower end, where
folding gates shut off the communication when

required. Docks of this kind are not employed
for building ships, but for repairing them ; and
the arrangements for docking are as follow:
When a ship is about to be brought into dock, a
row of blocks is laid along the bottom of the
dock ; and the gates are opened at or about the
time of low water. As the tide rises, it flows into
the dock to the same level as the river ; and when
there is a sufficiency of water in the dock, the
ship is floated into it, and guided as nearly as
can be into the centre, While the tide is going
down again, the water flows gradually out of the
dock, and the ship sinks deeper in consequence ;
so that by the time low- water has again arrived,
the dock is nearly emptied of water, and the keel
of the vessel rests on the blocks beneath. In the
mean time, preparations have been making for
securing the ship in her proper position, by shores,
ropes, &c, so that she shall stand vertically on her
keel; and at or about low- water the gates are
shut, not again to be opened until the repairs of
the vessel are finished. In this way a ship is dry-
docked, and workmen can then descend into the
dock, and examine every part of the ship's bottom
down to the keel.

The steaming-house is where planks are
steamed preparatory to being laid outside the tim-
bers of a ship ; the steaming is effected in square

wooden trunks, about thirty feet long, provided
with iron doors at one end, which are lifted up Im-
balance-weights, and on the opening of which,
planks are slid into the trunks, to be afterwards
exposed to the action of steam.

Thus far have we endeavored to convey to the
reader an idea of the mode in which a large ship-

A DAY AT A SHIP-YARD.

building establishment is arranged. But we hope
to be able to do something more than this. We
propose to follow, in a cursory and popular man-
ner, the routine of processes by which a largo
ship is built, so far as to show the relative depend-
ence of one department on another. The art of

L ship-building involves some of the most intricate
considerations which any of our manufacturing

I ~f arts present ; and therefore anything like an ex-
position of its mathematical principles is wholly
foreign to our present object, which is to give a
few plain details which a plain man may under-
stand.

In the first place, then, let us suppose that a
merchant orders a ship, intended for a particular
line and kind of traffic, to be built by a ship-
builder. The mode of measurement, by which
an agreement is made between the parties, is
rather singular, and is by no means easily under-
stood by those who are not familiar with the gen-
eral details of shipping. It is by tonnage, and is

^ supposed to represent the number of tons of cargo
which the proposed vessel will carry. Tonnage
is estimated sometimes by bulk, but more gene-
rally by weight; a ton by bulk being equal to forty

fci cubic feet ; and a ton by weight equalling twenty

^ cwts. There are certain formulae employed by
ship-builders, whereby the tonnage is calculated
from the length, breadth, and depth of the vessel;
but these formulae seldom give the real tonnage,
that is, the real amount of cargo which the vessel
will carry ; because two vessels exactly equal in
length, breadth, and depth — measured as those
dimensions usually are — may have very different
internal capacity, owing to different curvatures
of the hull. A ship will sometimes carry more
cargo than her " tonnage" indicates ; sometimes
less ; and therefore the word tonnage is to be re-
garded only as a rough approximation to the
burden which the vessel will carry.

Still, however, the " tonnage" is always one of
the items of agreement between the builder and
the owner, partly from the circumstance that
when a vessel is registered, the tonnage is made to
indicate its rank or class. In addition to this,
the dimensions of the vessel about to be built are
agreed upon, as well as the thickness and quality
of the more important timbers, the thickness of
the planks laid on the outside of the timbers, and
other details of a more minute kind.

The specification of the vessel being thus drawn
up, the ship -draughtsman commences his labors,
which are of a parallel nature to those of an
architect in common building. He prepares
drawings of the vessel in various points of view,
so as to represent the dimensions not only of the
ressel itself, but also of the principal timbers

composing it, and also the curvatures of those
timbers.

The draughtsman having prepared these work-
ing drawings, generally on a scale of about a
quarter of an inch to the foot, the next thing is
to prepare a working mould of the ship, as large
as the ship itself, in the mould-loft. The mould-
loft floor is in most instances large enough to re-
ceive half the length of the intended vessel, with
the whole height; and on this floor the draughts-
man chalks a large number of lines, derived from
the working drawings, but enlarged to the full
dimensions of the vessel. These lines, generally
speaking, represent the exact dimensions and
curvatures of the timbers required to form the
vessel; and when all the lines necessary for one-
half the length of the vessel are laid down, say
the bow end, another series is then laid down, on
the same floor, for the stern end; the two series
intersecting and mingling among each other in
every part. Practice enables the draughtsman
to distinguish one series from the other, and thus
obviate the necessity of having a mould-loft floor
equal to the length of a large ship. When these
lines, which amount to a large number, and
present nothing but a confused assemblage to
the eye of a stranger, are laid down, thin pieces
of pine or deal, about three-quarters of an inch
in thickness, are cut and adjusted to the curva-
tures of the lines, different pieces being joined
end to end to produce the requisite lengths.
These pieces of deal, which are called moulds,
assist the sawyers in cutting the oak to the
required sizes and curvatures for the different
timbers of a ship ; and there are certain marks
on each piece which further this object. Let us
suppose that one of the curved timbers is to be
twelve feet in length, one foot thick, one foot
wide, and so tortuous in form that its curvatur**
is not circular, and none of its angles are right-
angles: in such case the piece of pine which
forms the mould will give the curvature of the
timber, while certain marks on its surface indi-
cate the places where bevellings and angles are to
be made from directions given on another board.
On these principles the construction of the moulds
proceeds, until a sufficient number of pieces is
prepared to guide the sawyer in cutting all the
timbers of the ship. For a large merchantman
the number of moulding-pieces thus required is
more than a hundred, each of which is marked
and numbered in various ways.

The mould of the ship being thus prepared, the
next operation is to cu up the oak and elm trunks
to the proper dimensions for the various parts of
the ship. This is called u converting,'' and is a
process requiring great art and judgment; for the

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

wood must be selected not only with a view to
avoid waste, but also that the grain of the wood,
in preparing a curved timber, may he cut cross-
wise as little as possible, since such a mode of
cutting would greatly weaken the timber. It is,
therefore, desirable that a crooked trunk be
selected for preparing a curved timber, and that
the crookedness of the one correspond as nearly
as may be with the curvature of the other. The
superintendence of this department is in a person
possessing much experience and knowledge of the
quality of different woods, and of their relative
fitness for the several timbers of a ship. When
this superintendent or " converter" has selected
the proper wood, the operation of sawing pro-
ceeds nearly as in a common saw-pit. The trunk
of the tree is laid across a framework in the
usual manner, and two men, one above and the
other below, cut the wood by means of a long saw.
The thin deal mould is used as a constant guide
in cutting ; the curvature, the breadth, the thick-
ness, and the angles all being regulated either by
the mould itself or by the marks and directions
chalked or painted on it. In a place where so
much timber is used as in a ship -building yard, it
might at first thought be imagined that machine-
worked saws would be used ; but the curvatures
and angles of the timbers are so extremely varied,
not only in different timbers, but also in different
parts of the same timber, that the precision and
regularity of machinery would be here thrown
away, and indeed unavailable.

So far, then, we may suppose the principal
timbers to be cut. This operation is effected in
saw-pits covered by sheds. As the timbers are
wanted, they are conveyed to the building-slip,
or that spot of ground on which the construction
of the ship takes place. When the timbers are
thus removed, they pass from the control of the
" converter" to that of another superintendent
or foreman, who is the ship-builder or ship-
wright properly so called.

The building-slip is prepared for the operations
in the following manner: The ground having
been cleared and made tolerably clean, a row of
blocks is laid down from end to end of the slip,
the length of the blocks being transverse to or
across the slip. The blocks are of oak, placed
one upon another, to the height of three or four
feet, and secured together. These piles of blocks
are ranged along the slip, at distances of about
five or six feet apart, and the upper surfaces of
all the blocks are so adjusted that they shall be
in one straight line, but inclining slightly down-
wards towards the river, the inclination being
about five-eighths of an inch to a foot of length,
jreat care is taken in laying down these blocks,

as they form the support — the workbench, in
fact — on which the whole ship is afterwards
built, the keel being laid down immediately upon
the blocks.

In order to understand the succession in which
the parts of a ship are put together, it is useful
to notice certain points of comparison between a
ship and the human skeleton. The keel is the
back-bone of a ship, and the frame-timbers are
| the ribs ; the ribs forming an arched exterior to
| the whole of the body or hull, and the keel form-
ing the longitudinal column to which the ribs or
timbers are attached. The keel is, therefore, the
principal part of the vessel, and the one above
i all others whose strength and security are indis-
! pensable to the safety of the vessel. From this
circumstance, and from the position of the keel
\ at the lowest part of the vessel, it constitutes the
| first part of a ship laid down on the slip. The
| keel is made of elm, and is of such length, except
i in small vessels, that no single tree will form it ;
\ and, therefore, two or more pieces are joined
| together, or, as it is termed, scarfed, end to end,
' until the required length is produced. This
\ scarfing is a kind of overlapping, the under part
< of one piece and the upper part of the other, or
, the right side of one and the left side of the other,
I being cut away near the ends, and the cut or
I scarfed surfaces bolted together. For a merchant-
' man of a thousand tons burden, the keel is about
', a hundred and forty feet long, fourteen inches
wide, and fifteen deep. For a steamer of the
same burden, the length is several feet greater,
since steamers are generally longer and narrower
than sailing vessels of equal burden.

The sides and ends of the keel are grooved and
cut in various ways, to receive the different tim-
bers and pieces of wood forming the hull of the
vessel. Of these timbers, two, which form the
main supports of the two ends of the vessel, are
the stem and the sternpost, of which the former
curves upwards from the higher end of the keel,
and the latter rises almost perpendicularly from
the lower end (for a ship is built with the stern -
end towards the river, and is consequently
launched stern foremost). Both are formed of
oak, and are attached to the ends of the keel in
a very substantial manner. To the sternpost are
attached various pieces of wood, called transoms,
fashion-pieces, &c, the contour of which, when
fixed in their places, is such as to give the
elegantly-curved form to the hinder part of the
vessel ; while to the stem are attached various
pieces, some of which fit it more securely to the
keel, some servo to connect it with the timbers
and planks afterwards to form the sides of the
vessel, and others form a receptacle or support

A DAY AT A SHIP-YAED

for the end of the bowsprit. The heavy pieces
of timber erected thus on the two ends of the
keel are hauled up to their proper positions by-
pulleys and tackle, and then shored up by poles
from the ground, to prevent them from sinking.
Along the keel, nearly from end to end, are
fixed stout timbers, called floor-timbers, at right-
angles with the length of the keel, and slightly
concave on their upper surface. They are placed
a few inches apart, and constitute, as the name
imports, the floor of the ship. As there is a gene-
ral upward curvature of the ship towards each
end, the floor rises in a similar manner, and would
thus leave a vacancy between the end floor-
timbers and the keel ; but this vacancy is filled
up with solid wood called dead-wood, constituting
a firm foundation. The floor-timbers may be
regarded as the lower part of the ribs of the ship ;
and above them spring up the various pieces
forming the remainder or vertical parts of the
ribs. No wood can be found so large, so curved,
or so strong as to form the whole curved rib ;
and, therefore, each rib is built up of separate
pieces, the general name of which is futtocks ;
thus we have the first, second, third, and perhaps
fourth futtock, each being a distinct piece of tim-

ber, but all collectively forming one rib, or one
"frame of timbers." These pieces are placed,
some end to end, and others side to side, in such
a manner that the joint of two ends of timber
may have a support of solid timber at its side.
Various means are adopted for joining the pieces
end to end, but those which are placed side by
side are bolted together with bolts.

As the various futtocks curve more and more
upwards, till the upper one, or "top timber,"
reaches to the top of the hull of the ship, it must
be evident that all the pieces forming one rib or
"frame of timbers" are very ponderous, espe-
cially if the vessel be large. The arrangements,
therefore, are regulated according to the dimen-
sions of the vessel. If it be large, the pieces,
after being fitted on the ground, are raised up
singly, or perhaps two bolted together ; but if it
be small, three or four pieces may be bolted
together on the ground, and raised as one piece.
But in whatever way this part of the matter be
arranged, the other operations are nearly alike.
All the pieces to form one rib are adjusted and
fitted to each other on the ground, and are lifted
from the ground by strong tackle. The curva-
ture and weight of the pieces is such, that after

TOL. XLIX. — 2

FRAME TIMBERS OF A VESSEL (400 TOKfl).

godey's magazine and lady's book.

being raised and adjusted to their places, they
must be secured from falling either inwards or
outwards; for the former of which purposes,
planks called cross-spalls are nailed to the upper
ends of the timbers, at right-angles to the keel,
and stretching across from one side to the other,
and for the latter, planks called rib-bands are
placed nearly horizontal round the outside of the
ribs at various heights, and are shored up by
poles fixed in the ground beneath.

In this manner the ribs or frames of timbers
are raised one after another, from end to end of
the vessel, the two halves of each frame, that is,
the two parts springing from opposite sides of
the keel, being raised nearly at the same time,
so as to maintain the top timbers at the proper
breadth across the vessel. In this stage of the
proceedings, the interior shell of the vessel pre-
sents the appearance represented in the cut.
We have given an interior sketch, because it
shows more clearly the relative position of the
parts. At the bottom, just above the keel, are
the floor timbers, ranged at right angles to it, and
projecting some distance beyond it on either side.
At the ends of these timbers are the various
pieces or futtocks forming the ribs, jointed and
bolted together at different parts of their heights.
The ribs rise to different and irregular heights,
afterwards to be adjusted; and across, from the
upper part of the timbers on one side to the
upper part of the other, are the spalls, the
temporary wooden braces which keep the oppo-
site sides at their proper distances.

The form of the hull is thus given, in a rude
manner, it is true, but still with a degree of cer-
tainty which determines the character of the
vessel. The numerous pieces subsequently
added, whether of oak, elm, or fir, are sawn at
the pits, under the supervision of the "con-
verter;" and are afterwards, in most cases,
trimmed, or, as it is termed, " dubbed" with an
adze. In common carpenter's work, the only
tool used, after the saw, for paring away and
levelling the surface of wood, is generally the
plane ; but in the work of the shipwright, where
more bulky materials are operated on, where
almost every piece is to be hollowed or rounded
in some part or other, and where great neatness
is not required, the adze becomes a valuable in-
strument. The various kinds of joints whereby
one timber or plank is connected with another,
such as tenon and mortise, &c, are made by the
aid of nearly the same tools as those employed
in carpentry, but of a larger size and stronger
make. As may be reasonably supposed, these
prepared timbers are often very bulky and pon-
derous; and the conveyance of them from the

saw-pit to the building-slip requires the aid of
horses.

The keel, the stern-post, and the stem form
the three great supports of the frame of the ves-
sel ; the first being horizontal, the second rising
from it almost perpendicularly at one end, and
the third rising in a curve at the other. Among
the timbers which are subsequently adjusted to
the vessel are three, called the keelson, the
sternson, and the stemson, which are in some
sense interior representatives of the three just
named. The keelson is fixed on the floor tim-
bers, immediately over the keel, and forms that
part on which the steps or blocks of wood are
placed which support the masts ; it is secured
down to the keel by means of bolts three feet in
length, which pass entirely through both, as
well as the intervening Wood. The stemson and
the sternson rise from the two ends of the keel-
son, and form internal supports to the ends of
the vessel. The timbers are often strengthened
within by pieces called riders ; but in modern
vessels they are frequently secured and braced
one to another by diagonal iron plates, from
half an inch to an inch in thickness, passing
nearly from the top to the bottom of the hull,
inside the vessel. Being bent round the con-
cavity of the ship's side in an oblique direction,
each piece of iron crosses several different frames
of timbers, and is securely bolted to them all.

The small portion of the hull of a vessel which
is seen above the level of the water presents to
view a surface covered with horizontal or nearly
horizontal ranges of planking ; and if we could
see lower down, towards the keel, we should
find a similar approach to a horizontal direction
in the pieces of wood with which the hull is
covered. Withinside, too, a similar arangement
is observable. The vertical frames of timbers
of which we have been speaking do not present
themselves to the eye of a person viewing a
finished vessel, either within or without. The
whole are covered with planking, laid in nearly
horizontal rows or " strakes." The planks may
be regarded as forming the skin with which the
ribs of the ship are covered; and, indeed, the
shipwrights, who almost seem to regard their
ship as a living being, apply the term " skinning"
to the operation of laying on these planks; an
opposite sense, it is true, to that in which we
are in the habit of using this term. Nor is this
skin by any means a trifling affair, for the thick-
ness of the planks which form it varies from
about three to six inches. The planks are
formed of sound and durable oak, and are often
nearly thirty feet in length. They are brought,
while at the saw-pit, as nearly to the required

THE THRICE-WEDDED.

form as may be practicable ; and arc afterwards
worked with the adze, to give them the proper
contour. This must not be supposed to imply
that the planks are hollowed or curved by the
adze to the exact shape of the vessel, but that
the width and thickness of adjoining planks are
adjusted to each other. When a prepared plank
is laid against the outside of a vessel, the con-
vexity of the latter causes the ends of the planks
to stand out several inches from it ; and on the
other hand, when laid on the inside, the concave
surface causes the ends to be in contact with
the timbers, and the middle to be several inches
away from them. The planks require, there-
fore, the aid of powerful instruments to force
them close to the timbers previous to bolting,
and this operation is further assisted by bringing
the plank to a heated and moistened state by
steam.

The parts of the planking vary in thickness,
and receive distinctive names, according to the
places which they occupy; but all are treated
nearly in the same way — sawn, dressed with an

adze, steamed, forced to the curvature of the
ship, and fastened to the timbers with bolts.
The trenails, which are more numerous than the
bolts, are not driven in till a subsequent stage
in the operations. In adjusting the planks to
the ship's sides, care is always taken that the
adjoining ends of two planks in one row or
strake shall not occur at the same part of the
ship's length as a joint in the row next above or
below it — a caution similar to that observed in
laying the courses of bricks in a wall, or the
rows of slates on a roof, and the object of which
is sufficiently obvious in relation to the strength
of the structure. Whoever has an opportunity
of seeing the whole hull of a vessel will observe
that the planking is ranged with great regularity,
each strake or row diminishing in width towards
the ends, to conform with the diminishing size
of the vessel.

But our day is ended, and the ship is not fin-
ished. We will, therefore, in our next issue,
invite the reader to spend with us a second " day
at a ship-yard."

THE T II KICE- WEDDED.

BY MARION HARLAND, AUTHOR OF "MARRYING THROUGH PRUDENTIAL MOTIVES.

CHAPTER I.

" It is actual profanation !" exclaimed Miss
Eleanor Lisle, with a look of vexed disgust.

" What is the sacrilege, Nelly?"

" You remember that antique gem of a stone
cottage, at the foot of the Clearspring Lane ?"

" I saw it yesterday, and found it one of the
few things Parisian taste has left unaltered.
The creeper clings to the rough walls with its
tough fingers ; the white rose-bush is as full of
buds ; the elms meet over the door in the same
arch as when you, Agnes, our poor dead Ray-
mond, and I, frolicked upon the broad step, and
kind Nurse Martin sat in the porch with her
eternal knitting-work. I stopped to drink at
the spring, too, and thought more of the days of
Nelly, Aggy, Ray, and Will, than of the accom-
plished Misses, the travelled Wilton Lisle."

" How tiresome and odd you are, Wilton !
What pleasure you can have in perpetually
running back to those old times which every-
body but yourself has forgotten, I cannot divine.
I am in a literal, not a sentimental mood, to-day.
I have no particularly tender associations con-
nected with your cottage, but it is visible from
the east drawing-room windows, and my c Pa-

risian taste' could desire no more picturesque
object to close the shady lane than its brown
roof and vine-covered walls. Imagine the tap
of a shoemaker's hammer ringing up to the
house on still summer evenings, and the odor
of leather, cabbage, and onions regaling oui
senses, when the wind is from that quarter !
As your memory is so tenacious of past events,
you may recollect that it was the fashion once
to form parties to visit Mrs. Martin, and the
praises that her clean house and pleasing man-
ners elicited. Now I shall never dare lead
company in that direction for fear of the appari-
tion of a fat man, guiltless of coat and vest,
apron on, and last in hand, and a slovenly
woman, standing arms akimbo, and mouth open,
to stare at the 'quality.' "

" I begin to understand. Pride, not affection,
is alarmed. It is not that a stranger dwells in
the hallowed place, but that that stranger is a
shoemaker, and one of his craft is not a very
dignified appendage to the Lisle mansion. Talk
of republican simplicity and equality ! I tell
you, Eleanor, that society lacks stamina and
durability, which smiles upon a brainless ape,
because he is well clothed, and his velvety
paws unsoiled by labor; and sneers at the man

godey's magazine and lady's book.

who makes honorable the sentence: 'In the
sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread.' I have
seldom seen a handsomer or more intelligent
man than this same shoemaker, or a prettier
woman than his bonny bride."

"You have called, then?" said the young
lady, contemptuously.

" I have. I was passing the cottage yesterday
morning before you were awake, when I heard
singing. The door was open ; and, looking
through the little parlor, I saw, in the back
room, a young man, in a leathern apron, plying
the waxed-ends upon a shoe, and humming a
dear, deep bass to a popular roundelay which
his wife was warbling. She sat near him,
binding a shoe-vamp ; her profile turned to me.
It was as regular and delicate as any high-born
damsel's; the roses upon her cheeks, if less
vivid in color than some I have seen, had the
advantage of being natural ; and I would have
given broadcloth, broad acres, and blood, to
be that Apollo of a Crispin, as she paused in
her song to ask, with a happy smile : ' Is that
right, Harry?' showing her work. My shadow
fell upon the floor, and he looked up. I ad-
vanced, begged pardon for the intrusion ; ' but
the house had been, in my boyhood, a favorite
resort.' 'No apologies are necessary, Mr. Lisle;
you are welcome,' he said, rising, and offering
his hand with manly frankness. 'My wife,
Mrs. Thorn.' "

"And you bowed at the impertinent's for-
wardness, as if ' Mrs. Thorn' had been a duchess,
and she blushed and simpered?"

"Idid bow, most respectfully; but she nei-
ther blushed nor smiled. She had risen, and,
after returning my obeisance with quiet grace,
would have left the room, had not I requested
her to stay. With a half apology, Thorn re-
sumed his work ; but I doubt whether your
irresistible Captain, or the pompous Schmidt,
could have talked as sensibly and agreeably as
he did during my visit. He is a native of New
England, and- learned his trade there. Three
months since, he married and came to this State.
He spoke hopefully of his aims and prospects,
having been favorably received and encouraged
in the neighborhood. ' You find time for read-
ing, I see,' said I, glancing at a well-stocked
book-shelf. 'Yes, sir; Minnie here will not
hear of my working after dark ; so I read aloud.' "

"What is Wilton talking about?" drawled
Miss Agnes, a fairer and less animated beauty
than her elder sister. She entered from the
garden, and sank upon the first ottoman,
" wearied to death."

" Why he has been peeping into a turtle-dove's

nest," rejoined Eleanor; "and has an idea of
playing Werter to a shoe-binding Charlotte."

" Ah ! that odious cobbler ! I wonder papa
let him have the house !" said Agnes, with a
faint show of displeasure. " You are not really
in love with his wife, are you, Wilton ? Susan
says the creature is passable."

" The creature is more beautiful, and, to your
shame be it said, more of a lady, in behavior
and heart, than my sisters !" retorted Wilton,
angrily, turning on his heel, without waiting to
mark the effect of his rebuke.

Agnes widened her sleepy blue eyes. Elea-
nor's glowed with rage.

" They move before the year is out, or I am
not virtual mistress here, Mr. Wilton !"

CHAPTER II.

Little cared Minnie Thorn that her nearest
approach to the "great house" was in her
journeys to the spring, hardly more than a
stone's throw from her dwelling. Her world
was her rustic home; it was comfortable, neat
as hands could make it, and more attractive to
her, with its shadowing trees and mantling
creepers, than the gloomy grandeur of the pile
of turrets and chimneys upon the hill. Mr.
Lisle, senior, a proud, weak old man, vain of
his pedigree and possessions, drove by their
door almost daily in his easy gig, bestowing
but a careless stare, as upon objects too far be-
neath his notice to awaken curiosity. Eleanor's
sweeping habit, streaming plumes, and bold
horsemanship, excited wonder, not envy ; and
still less did she grudge her the attendance of
the mustachioed ex-cadet, who was her cavalier
as invariably as another man, similarly bearded,
but Dutch in physiognomy and form, sat beside
Miss Agnes in the softly-rolling carriage.
Serenely complacent in her happiness, they
troubled her less than she did them ; for often a
scorching ray from Eleanor's flashing orbs fell
upon her simply-attired figure, and Harry's
white shirt-sleeves, as they talked together in
the porch on warm evenings ; and over Agnes's
full red lips flitted a smile of disdain.

One afternoon, Eleanor and her lover rode by,
unaccompanied by carriage or groom. The lane
was crossed by a gate a few yards below the
cottage. It had rained in the morning, and the
bars and latch were black and wet. The gentle-
man bent over his horse's neck to the fastening,
but Eleanor restrained him.

" Forbear, rash youth ! You forget that your

THE THRICE-WEDDED.

gloves are immaculate, and that you are going
to visit ladies."

" But the gate must be opened."

" True. Call the cobbler out."

Minnie was at the window, and arose to retire
from view ; but he espied her.

"Ask your husband to open this gate, will
you?" said he, in a tone neither respectful nor
exactly insolent.

" He is not at home, sir," replied she, color-
ing.

"Then come yourself!" said Miss Lisle, im-
periously. "Make haste ! we are in a hurry !"

With crimsoned cheeks and shaking hands,
Mrs. Thorn performed the service demanded.
Eleanor seemed as if she would have ridden
over her, so impetuous was the forward leap of
her steed through the gateway ; and as the
officer struck his rowels into his charger's side
to pursue her, he flung a coin to Minnie. This
was too much ! She stamped it into the red
clay, and burst into tears. " She was not a slave,
to be ordered about and insulted by those purse-
proud highflyers ! Harry was as much of a
nobleman as the best of them, and she was his
wife. He should know of their conduct as soon
as he came back !"

She had dried her tears, and was busy pruning
the rose-tree, when a gentler voice accosted her.
It was Wilton Lisle, also on horseback, who,
raising his hat, inquired for " Mr. Thorn."

She returned the answer she had given before.

" Ah ! well, I will call as I return. I wish to
see him on business. Good-day."

"He is a gentleman," thought Minnie, her
wounded vanity mollified by his courteous de-
meanor. " Very different from the rest of the
family ! I don't know that it will do any good
to complain to Harry. He is quick-tempered,
and I should be sorry to have him quarrel with
his landlord."

Her prudent resolution was established, as
she removed his hat and wiped his heated brow
after his long walk. He was tired and hungry ;
she must refresh, not annoy him. Their supper
of light, sweet bread, cool milk, and berries was
dispatched ; the round stand — too diminutive to
merit the title of table — set back, and the young
couple repaired to their seat upon the step. The
moon, glancing through the elms, floored the
porch with arabesque mosaics; the air came
fragrantly over the mown clover-fields ; and the
insects were chirping their vespers in the short
turf of the yard.

" God's blessings are free to all !" said Harry,
drawing his wife's head to his shoulder. "We
enjoy this evening as much as though we lived

on the hill, instead of in the valley ; don't we,
Minnie?"

"Yes," said she, somewhat reluctantly; "I
had rather be Minnie Thorn, the shoemaker's
wife, than Miss Lisle ; but "

" But what ? My Minnie is not tired of her
lowly home already?"

" No, indeed ! But things are so strangely
ordered in this world ! I am content ; but you
are good and handsome, and, if self-educated,
greatly superior to that haughty imbecile, Mr.
Lisle."

"Minnie, take care !"

" You are, Harry ! And why is he put above
you? why has he the right to dictate to, and
oppress you?"

" Minnie, darling, he is not above me ; but
our spheres are different. In the sight of our
Maker we are equal, although his means are
more ample, his responsibilities heavier than
mine. As to enjoyment, his heart is void to-
night in comparison with my full content.
Riches do not purchase happiness, Min, nor does
honor always secure the self-respect of him to
whom it is awarded. What has brought on this
unusual frame of mind, little one?"

"Oh, nothing!" said she, evasively.

"Listen ! do you not hear a horse's tramp?"

" Yes ; it is young Mr. Lisle."

" He is kind and pleasant, if he is rich ; hey,
Min?"

Wilton galloped up to the gate, and stooped
to open it ; but his horse sheered.

"Let me do it, Mr. Lisle," said Harry; "he
is skittish."

" Thank you ; but stand aside, if you please.
Skittish or not, he must do as I choose. He has
been vicious all day. Now, sir !" and his whip
descended upon his flanks. The animal reared
and plunged, but refused to approach the gate.
By main force, Wilton brought him within reach
of the latch, and again, as he leaned towards it,
was jerked away. Spur, rein, and lash were
exercised upon the refractory brute at once. He
arose high in the air, vaulted, andrcleared the
fence, falling upon his forehead with a concus-
sion that broke his neck, and dashed his hapless
master to the ground at some distance off.

He did not unclose his eyes in consciousness
until seven days after. Ho was in unknown
quarters. The whitewashed ceiling was lower
than that of his spacious chamber at Lisle Hall ;
the walls were bare, except where a single en-
graving— a portrait of Franklin — hung; the
sheets were clean, but their texture was many
degrees coarser than the fine linen which had
draped his couch from boyhood. It was early

godey's magazine and lady's book.

morning; ho knew this by the dewiness and
odor of the breeze that flapped the curtain of
the lattice-framed window. He remembered no-
thing since his going forth to ride. Where had
he passed the night? A softly-uttered observa-
tion of the beauty of the day attracted his eyes
to the speaker, who sat in the door between this
and the next apartment. He saw the very scene
he had described to his scornful sister, after his
first visit to the shoemaker. The waxed ends
and the needle were moving as rapidly as then ;
but their progress was noiseless, and the song
hushed.

"If Mr. Lisle could taste this air, it would
revive him," continued Minnie. " He was very
restless all night."

" And you would sit up alone !" said Harry,
reproachfully. "Put down your sewing; your
eyes are dim."

" Oh, no ! I must be employed. I am so
anxious about the poor young gentleman. So
handsome and good as he was, too ! Miss Lisle
said, yesterday, they had succeeded in obtaining
an efficient nurse, who would come to-day. She
t-annot mean better — whatever she may do —
than I."

" Still, if his family desire it, you must give him
up promptly and cheerfully," answered Harry.

" Not if I can speak to prevent it," thought
their auditor.

Minnie flushed painfully, as she looked to-
wards the front door.

" Here they are !" she whispered ; and Miss
Lisle's queenly head bowed under the low portal ;
then came the family physician, and a fat, fussy-
looking woman. Wilton feigned slumber.

" Really, Mr. Thorn !" began his sister, " this
is obeying the doctor's directions ! He- enjoined
quiet, and you are here, with your lapstone and
hammer in his very ears ! Doctor, danger or no
danger, he must be carried up to the hall to-day.
Better kill him at once than torture him in this
style !"

Minnie spoke quickly and fearlessly to vindi-
cate her htiSrand.

" The bench and lapstone are out of doors,
where their noise cannot reach the house, Miss
Lisle. He only brings such work in here as can
be done quietly."

"Tut!" was the unfeminine response; and,
gathering her robes about her, she picked her
way daintily over the spotless floor to the bed-
side. "How is your patient, Dr. Bailey? Why,
he is awake and sensible ! Wilton !"

He motioned to her to put her ear to his mouth,
and sumr.».oned all his strength for the energetic
whisper —

"I am grieved and ashamed of you! Send
that woman away ! I won't have her about me."

Dr. Bailey nor his father could alter his pur-
pose. Ho was silent during their harangues ;
but at the close his answer was pithy and reso-
lute—

" Send her away ! I will have no nurse but
Mrs. Thorn !"

And most unwillingly the aristocrats had to
confide him to her care.

A strong friendship grew up between the
youthful pair and their sick guest. To them he
was docile and patient ; his sister's visits always
left him uneasy or fretful. The perfumed hand-
kerchiefs suffocated him ; their silks rustled,
and their jewelled fingers did not soothe him as
did Minnie's cool hand upon his brow. No
marvel that he was voted, in family conclave,
"obstinate" and "whimsical," " perfectly in-
fatuated with the society of those low people !"

It was a sorrowful day when his removal
could be no longer postponed. He was able to
walk about the room, and looked much as for-
merly, only paler and thinner. Harry laid aside
his work to chat with him awhile, before the
carriage arrived to bear him away ; and Minnie
hovered around, " a smile on her lip, a tear in
her eye," busied in little arrangements for his
comfort.

" She will have it I am good as new, despite
my cleft skull," said Wilton to his host.

" And you are !" interposed Minnie. " When
the hair grows over the temple they shaved, it
will conceal the scar."

" It was an ugly scratch," remarked he,
examining its zigzag lines in a mirror; "an
inch lower, and my good looks would have been
ruined."

"A hair's breadth deeper," thought Harry,
"and what then?" "Minnie has the most sin-
gular scar upon her wrist I ever saw,'? he said
aloud. " It is a well-defined butterfly."

Minnie bared her plump wrist and showed it,
a wonderfully accurate figure.

"A coal of fire had fallen into her cradle,
while she was an infant, and burned her," she
said ; " Harry says, if I run away this mark will
certainly betray me."

Wilton had but a short time to spare, and he
employed it in an ineffectual endeavor to per-
suade Thorn to accept some substantial token
of his gratitude. He offered him the cottage
rent free for life, or as long as he chose to occupy
it, when he refused direct pecuniary compensa-
tion. Harry was thankful, but stubborn.

"I can support her and myself while health
and strength last. My daily thanksgiving is,

THE THRICE-WEDDED.

« I owe no man anything.' Rob me of my inde-
pendence, and you deprive labor of its zest.
You say I am * born for a higher station than
this.' If so, I will work my way up to it. The
little we have done for you was done heartily
and freely ; we are repaid in seeing you well
again. If you please, we will change the sub-
ject, Mr. Lisle."

" But one promise," pleaded Wilton. " If
you are unfortunate or disabled, you will apply
to me first of all."

" I will !" replied Harry, relaxing his proud
tone, and his eyes moistened as he gave his hand
to the generous youth.

Wilton did not mend as rapidly after his re-
turn home, and his uncertain gait and pallid
cheek alarmed his selfish parent for the succes-
sion of his name and estates. Avaricious only
when the welfare and aggrandizement of his
family were not concerned, his purse-strings
were put into his son's fingers when Dr. Bailey
recommended that he should again travel for
samo months. With his going, the hall and
cottage were separated by an unbridged chasm.
The tossing cataract of life at one did not dis-
turb the sunny ripple of the other. As winter
approached, however, Harry became conscious
of a counter-current, sluggish at first, but gain-
ing power so steadily as to excite serious mis-
givings. He was surprised that the cold weather
brought such a trifling increase to his earnings ;
but another shop had been opened half a mile
off, and he received no more orders from the
hall.

"What will you do?" asked Minnie, as he
heard that his rival had been sent for to the
houses of two of his best customers, to measure
their children's and servants' feet for their win-
ter shoes.

His bright face had looked troubled for an
instant, but he answered, smilingly —

"An enemy hath done this! I will live it
down, Minnie ; never fear !"

How far his probity and unflagging energy
might have enabled him to do this, was not to
be proved. On a dreary autumn day, he walked
five miles to carry home some work, for which
"it was not convenient" for the rich farmer "to
pay him just then ;" and on his weary and sad
way back he was caught in a violent shower of
rain. Drenched and shivering, he reached his
dwelling, and Minnie's tender skill was inade-
quate to ward off an attack of acute pleurisy.

It is trying to the most resigned to lie, useless
and helpless, upon our couch of languishing, set
carefully without the thronged path of busy life ;
yet with its din penetrating our ears, its rush

and whirl jarring our nerves, even if we can be
spared from the battle-field ; but to know that
with every minute of inaction are passing re-
turnless opportunities for acquiring comfort
and honor — to be tended through sleepless vigils
and days of pain by Penury and Disgrace, gaunt,
inexorable handmaids ready to pounce upon all
that is esteemed precious — this was poor Thorn's
fate. The latent energy of Minnie's character
stirred nobly. Her husband's nurse, with no
domestic to relieve her of any part of her house-
work, she solicited plain sewing from the ladies,
then from the servants in the neighborhood ; and
toiled over her needle early and late, only quitting
it to reply to Harry's call.

His illness was tedious. For awhile, his slender
savings and her industry kept them above water ;
but nearer and nearer stalked Want. On Christ-
mas Eve, Minnie carried her clock — a bridal
gift — to the wife of a small farmer near by, who
had admired it, and obtained, in exchange, about
one-fifth of its value in money, and a chicken,
which she served up in broth for her husband's
dinner next day. He could not touch it; hiding
his face in her bosom, he wept like a child.

" Oh, Minnie ! to think that I have brought
you to this !"

She coaxed and expostulated.

" They could live along," she said, " for the
few weeks that might remain of his sickness.
The darkest hour was just before day ;" and
many other worn phrases of consolation, such
as rise to the lips when the comforter's own
heart is sinking.

" You are starving !" said he.

" Oh, no, dear Harry ! I have food enough,
and could eat with an excellent appetite, if you
could enjoy it with me."

" But the doctor's bill, Min ! it must be met."

"It shall; and Dr. Bailey is rich enough to
wait !"

"The rich are not always the merciful,"
murmured Harry.

Rap ! rap ! struck the head of a cane against
the door; and Minnie went toM^ A thick-set
man, his dreadnought and fur cap covered with
snow, walked in unceremoniously, nodded, with
a "Sick! hey?" to Harry; and shook himself
before the fire, with the gesture and splutter of
a huge water-dog.

"Your name is Thorn, I b'lieve?" he said,
approaching the bed.

"Yes, sir;" was the faint reply, followed by
a distressing fit of coughing.

"And I'm the sheriff of the county."

Minnie exclaimed in terror. Harry was calm
in his innocence.

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

"Well, sir?"

" Well ; your rent is due the first of January,
and Mr. Lisle asked me to call and see whether
it was ready."

" I paid him a quarter in advance."

" Of course ; or you wouldn't ha' got the
house ; but there 's three-quarters more, 'cording
to my arithmetic, which ain't the one you Yan-
kees study, maybe. You are keen chaps at a
bargain ; but 'casionally you run against your
match. The money '11 be forthcomin', I s'pose ?"

" I am entirely unprepared for this," said
Harry, the blood rushing to his temples at the fel-
low's impertinence. " My sickness has obliged
me to use the money intended to defray the debt.
I never expected that Mr. Lisle would press me
for it ; if I recover, it is safe."

"If! he don't believe in <ifs,' nor I neither.
My advice to him was, ' Catch him while you
can !' I 've writ down against half the Yankees
I ' ve had on my books, * Dead,' or * G. T. T.'
You 've got notice. I '11 come and see you New
Year's day."

There was a grand ball at the house on the
hill that night; and the snow-flakes' quiet fall,
incessant though it was, did not deter the most
delicate of the bidden guests from venturing out.
They did not feel the cold in their close carriages,
and bundled in mufflers ; but through the drifts
there struggled a pedestrian in the same direc-
tion, whose limbs were stiffened and sore from
her walk. The hall door was stretched wide,
having just admitted a group of revellers; and
as she paused in the porch to brush her cloak
and shoes, a young man crossed the hall, in
stature and general appearance so like Wilton,
that she sprang forward with a glad cry —

"Oh! Mr. Lisle! you have come" — checked
as she saw his face.

" I am Wilton Lisle's cousin. Can I do any-
thing for you? Do you wish to see either of
the ladies?"

His friendly smile encouraged her. Too diffi-
dent to apply directly to the stately landlord,
and with tolodfcle confidence in her ability to
move one of Wwn sex, she complied with his
invitation to walk in, asking to see Miss Lisle
" for a few minutes."

He showed her into a small library, warm and
bright as summer, and upon whose rich, flowered
carpet she almost feared to tread. Over the
mantle hung a small oval picture of a lady, so
like Miss Lisle and her brother, she could not
doubt that it was their mother; and she was
still gazing into its dark eyes, and gathering
assurance from their mildness, when Eleanor's
voice sounded at the opening door.

" Three minutes ; just three !" said she, co-
quettishly.

" Three centuries,'-' responded a voice, Minnie
knew for the mustachioed officer's. " I shall
count the seconds."

" Very well. Let me know when you are
tired of the employment;" and she shut him
out. Regally she looked and moved in her
chameleon velvet robe of brown and gold, the
white shoulders swelling above the narrow edge
of lace. Upon one strayed a curl that seemed
to have escaped from the braids of its kindred
tresses, of precisely the hue of her dress. Dia-
monds sparkled upon her neck and arms ; and
although Minnie was ignorant of their value,
she was overawed by the splendor of this impos-
ing apparition. The smile retreated from Miss
Lisle's lips as she recognized her visitant. "Did
you, send for me?" she inquired, in indignant
surprise.

" Yes, madam," faltered Minnie ; then, as the
image of Harry, sick, and lonely, and miserable,
rose in her mind, she forgot all else. " My
husband is very ill and cannot work. The little
I can do just procures food and fire ; yet a man
came to-day with a message from your father,
threatening us for the rent of our house. Miss
Lisle, you are a woman, and can feel for us in
our destitution. Harry does not ask to be for-
given the debt, but for time. He is honest and
honorable; your father will never regret his
indulgence. Will you not intercede for us?"

Her language and manner were so different
from what might have been looked for in one of
her station, that the vain, ill-furnished heart of
the patrician belle felt a pang of jealousy firing
the dislike she already had for the " cobbler and
his wife."

" I have nothing to do with my father's busi-
ness. I cannot interfere," she said, icily.

" But you are his child ; he will not refuse
you."

"I shall not make the attempt," and she
turned to go. Minnie caught her robe. Its
magnificence was nothing to her now.

"Miss Lisle, my husband will die if he is
driven out in this weather. Leave us our poor
shelter ; you, who have every luxury, spare us
a home !"

" You are very presumptuous ! Are you in-
sane?" and her fingers were loosed from their
hold. " Take him to your relations. We can-
not provide for all the paupers in the State.'"'
jf' I have no relatives except my mother and
sister, who are far away. My dear, dear mo-
ther! she never thought her child would beg in
vain for a place to lay her head! Oh, Miss

THE TIIRICE-WEDDED.

Lisle, you had a mother !" she pointed to the
portrait; "for her sake pity us !"

The beauty reddened with anger and rising
shame.

" I have said all that I can. If my father had
consulted me, you would never have been his
tenants."

"May I see him?"

Minnie stood against the door.

" He is engaged. Let me pass !"

Her frown menaced annihilation ; but Minnie
spoke again.

" Will you tell me where your brother is?"

A push shoved her aside, and she was alone.
Every door of hope double-barred. Before
Wilton could hear from them they would be
homeless. She tottered back to the fire, stunned
and irresolute. Harry — high-minded to the last
— had strictly forbidden the most distant allusion
to the services they had rendered their oppressor's
son. Her inquiry as to his address was wrung
from her by the agony of the moment; and
a clutching at this straw was the only sign her
mind gave of vitality.

There was a tap at the door; then it was
opened, and Eleanor's admirer looked in —

"Where is Miss Lisle?" he inquired, hastily.

Minnie's answer was a request at which he
started.

" Can you give me Mr. Wilton Lisle's address,
sir?"

With a bold stare and prolonged whistle, he
wheeled towards the door. The almost delirious
woman followed. Wilton's cousin was still in
the hall, apparently watching for her.

" Hazlitt, a word in your ear," said the officer,
linking arms. Ere his whisper was concluded,
his friend broke from him.

" Are you the Mrs. Thorn who nursed Wilton
after his accident?"

" Yes, sir."

He wrote hurriedly upon a card.

"That is his direction. You will make no
improper use of it, I know."

She seized it, and stammering her thanks,
wrapped her cloak around her to go out into the
storm.

"Have not you an umbrella?" pursued Mr.
Hazlitt.

" No, sir. I do not need one."

"Take this," and he carried it into ihe porch,
raised it, and put it into her hand. With a grave
face, he watched her disappear amid the falling
snow.

" You 've lost one umbrella," said the mili-
taire, smiling with a bad grace.

" I would lose fifty sooner than let a woman

go out, so unprotected, on such a night. I won-
der how far she has to walk?"

The person addressed knew the distance well;
but he did not care to see an associate of his
racing down the long avenue to overtake and
escort a mechanic's wife.

" How sorrowful she looked !" said Hazlitt
to himself. " My respected uncle is not famed
for his charities ; but he surely will not let her
surfer."

He took his departure upon the succeeding
day, or the memory of his cousin and friend
might have induced him to inquire into the
condition of his humble acquaintances. Prompt
as was Mr. Lisle's agent, Dr. Bailey's was as
quick. Harry had paid for his medicines, but
not for attendance, and the benevolent Galen,
whose love for money was only equalled by his
thirst for popularity, aware of the evil disposi-
tion of the Lisles towards his debtors, forwarded
both of these darling objects by sending in his
bill an hour after the sheriff had levied upon
the furniture of the cottage, stripping it of
everything but the bed, upon which the sick
man lay, and his now useless bench and tools.

" The law must bo obeyed," said her myrmi-
dons ; and she was to the pound of flesh, for
Harry Thorn lay that night in the county jail ;
in a week, in the repose that knows no troubling,
he filled a pauper's grave.

CHAPTER III.

It was one of the hottest days of an unusually
sultry August, and the sun poured fiercely upon
a small wooden building, situated directly upon
a sandy road, in what is called the " pine region"
of North Carolina. The house was but a story
and a half high, and could not contain six
rooms; yet upon the turpentine-exuding boards
of a red sign, hung upon a pole at the door, was
scrawled : —

" Tavern. By Mrs. T^is."

The doors and window-facings were of the
same sanguinary hue; the rest of the edifice
had never known the touch of the brush. In
front of the main entrance grew a melancholy
Lombardy poplar, a horseshoe nailed to its
trunk, not to keep off witches, but as a hook for
bridles. At the farther end of the house was a
no less lugubrious locust, its dusty and shrivelled
leaves crackling in the burning wind like the
blackened tendrils of Jonah's gourd ; and in its
shade — if its feeble resistance to the glaring raya
could be so called — a woman sat at the window

godey's magazine and lady's book,

making a man's jacket. It was of coarse, stiff
homespun, a servant's garment; and her taper
fingers, although roughened by labor, could
hardly drive the spike of a needle through the
fabric She was youthful, not yet five-and-
twenty, and neither her face nor figure was in
keeping with her surroundings. Her expression
was unnaturally gloomy; the eyes seemed to
have wept their last tears, so stern was their
dejection; she looked like one, not prepared for
the worst, but to whom it had already come. Yet
she was very lovely. The cold despair of the eye
did not fade its lustre; and the habitual com-
pression of the lips gave character to a feature
that might else have been of too soft a beauty.

A stir ran through the house ; a troop of tow-
headed children scampered to the outer door,
imitated by a barefooted negro woman ; then the
sharp tones of Mrs. Wills rang out piercingly —

" Ike ! Ike ! come take these 'ere horses !"

" My servants will attend to them, madam,"
said a decided voice : and, for the first time, the
sewing- woman looked out.

A travelling-carriage was in the road, a co-
lored man removing the baggage, and another
disengaging one of the horses from the harness.
The animal was trembling, and scarcely able to
stand, yet he turned his head intelligently as his
master came to his side. He might have been
fifty — he might have been seventy, so erect was
his carriage, and so blanched his locks ; his fea-
tures had a foreign cast, and he spoke with a
slight accent

" Take him to the stable," he ordered. " I
will see to him myself. Madam" — to the offi-
cious landlady — "can I have a room?"

" Certainly, sir ; certainly, sir. Walk this
way, sir."

" It is not necessary that I should see it.
John, look to the baggage." And he disap-
peared in the direction of the miserable stable.

John rejected Ike's clumsy aid in transporting
two large trunks into the best room, the one in
which our^Jknstress was seated. Mrs. Wills
preceded hr^^nquisitive and bustling ; but the
dignified valet stayed not to listen or reply.

" De Trae-y," read Mrs. Wills upon one of
the trunks. " I wonder where he came from,
and where he 's goin'? Good gracious, how
heavy ! Full of money, maybe."

The needlewoman was silent.

" Ain't you done that jacket yet ?" exclaimed
her task-mistress, jerking up a sleeve. " You
ain't worth the salt to your bread. Git up, and
elear away your scraps and litter. Be spry ;
you ' ve got to help cook supper. Folks like that
'ar man don't stop here every day."

But, when tea-time arrived, the stranger de-
clined sitting down at the common board. He
" would have a cup of tea and a slice of toast in
his room." His servants were attending to the
horses ; and Mrs. Wills, while sneering at his
" fine airs," reverenced his equipage and luggage
too sincerely to be unaccommodating.

" Here, Laveny." And the young woman
above mentioned arose from the table. " Do'
you take in this waiter, and wait till he 's done ;
and, mind you, ask him what else he '11 have."

The traveller was pacing his chamber with a
firm, military tread that gave no indication of
fatigue or infirmity. He bowed and seated him-
self at her entrance. Setting the tray before
him, she retired to a window, and gazed listless-
ly from it, unconscious that his falcon eye was
upon her. He did. not withdraw it until his
meal was concluded, when, with another silent
bow, he recommenced his promenade. It was
arrested by her question —

" Do you wish anything more, sir?"

Her voice was sweet, and had no vulgar tone.
That brief sentence evidenced her dissimilarity
to the family into which she had been cast.

Mrs. Wills visited the state chamber in person
before bed-time, ostensibly to take in a tallow-
candle, and see that " Mr. De Trac-y was com-
fortable."

" Your horse is better, I b'lieve, sir?"

" Yes, madam."

" But you won't be able to drive him to-
morrow, I reckon?"

" I think not, madam."

" Come far to-day, sir?"

" Thirty miles."

" Dear me ! You don't live in Caroliny, I
s'pose?"

" No, madam."

" Whar then ? In Virginny, maybe?"

" Yes, madam, in Virginia."

" Them 's likely niggers of your'n. Raised
'em yourself, sir?"

" Yes, madam."

Laconic as were his replies, he sustained the
catechism with more suavity than his formal
aspect had led her to anticipate, and she lingered
to beat up the pillows and fold down the coun-
terpane.

" Were you born in Virginny, sir?"

" No, madam ; in France."

"You don't say so ! Why that's over seas,
ain't it?"

" Yes, madam." Here he smiled, and asked
a question in his turn. " Have you resided
here long, madam ?"

" Goin' on fifteen years. Ever since I was

THE THRICE-WEDDED.

married. Mr. Wills, he died three years ago
last spring; and here was I, a lone widder, with
six children, to scuffle for myself."

" Have you not a sister living with you?"

" No, sir. I reckon you took Laveny for my
sister."

" Ah ! only a niece ?"

" No, sir ; she ain't no kin. Thank gracious,
nothin' like her ever came of my family. She
was a sort o' cousin of my old man's. There
was three of 'em, a mother and two daughters —
New Yorkers. This Laveny married some no
'count fellow in Virginny, and t'other two went
to Wilmin'ton, 'cause the doctors said the oldest
girl's health couldn't stand cold weather. Well,
she died 'bout the same time Laveny's husband
did ; and what should her mother do but sell out
what little she had, and start off to see her
daughter. She got this far, and was took sick ;
so she sent on money to bring Laveny, and you
may be sure I had my hands full for six months,
for she lived that long, and kept her bed all the
time. This girl didn't have enough to keep her
from starvin', and my old man says : ' You may
stay here and help my wife, till you caji do bet-
ter.' But she's enough to tire anybody's life
out, with her long face and ladyish ways."

" Very probable, madam. Will you be so
kind as to send my boy John to me?" interrupt-
ed her hearer, yawning.

He remained through the following day, tak-
ing his meals in his room, and preserving, in
Lavena's presence, the same respectful silence
until evening, when, as she handed him his tea,
he addressed her abruptly —

u I have a proposition to make to you, Mrs.
Thorn, which may appear strange ; but I beg
you to hear me through. You are young, poor,
and dependent upon one whom you must dis-
like. I am rich, and my own master. I feel
daily the need of a companion and a stay under
my increasing infirmities. I am a physiogno-
mist, and you will suit me. I am a fatalist, and
was led hither to find you. Therefore, madam,
I propose to marry you, take you abroad to
afford you such advantages of education as my
wife must have, then, returning to my Virginia
estate, introduce you into the best society in the
country. In recompense, I demand of you only
the duty and attention an indulgent husband
may ask of a wife. While I eat my supper, you
can deliberate upon my offer. If you are the
woman I take you to be, your answer will be
ready when I have finished."

Beyond a start at the beginning of his speech,
she exhibited no sign of confusion or surprise ;
and now, withdrawing to her window, she

looked forth with the same immobility of coun-
tenance, never stirring until he pushed aside his
cup. Then she took up the waiter, saying,
calmly —

" My situation cannot be made worse. I ac-
cept your offer; stipulating, however, that the
ceremony shall be performed here, and by a
minister whom I know."

" It is well. This is the twentieth of August.
On the twentieth of November, I shall be here
again. Make no preparations, but expect me.
Remember, November twentieth. Good-night."

Three months more of petty tyranny, and in-
sulting jeers, and uncomplaining toil. The dry
leaves of the locust had dropped, piecemeal,
from the sapless twigs ; the lean poplar stretched
up naked arms in its woful prayer towards hea-
ven ; the sandy road was heavy with a fort-
night's rains, when the De Tracy carriage again
halted at the " tavern" door.

Four gentlemen alighted 3 and Mrs. Wills re-
cognized, with astonishment unspeakable, the
clergyman of the district and two of the most
influential men in the region — one a justice of
the peace, the other a respectable farmer. But
one trunk was removed this time, and John car-
ried it in to "Mrs. Thorn," who accepted it
without remark. It contained a complete suit
of travelling apparel, and ere Mrs. Wills, hav-
ing recovered from her wordless amaze, had ex-
hausted a tenth of her invectives, the bride pre-
sented herself in the room where the gentlemen
were waiting. With involuntary and profound
respect, they arose and saluted her. She ap-
peared like a lady of rank, who had put off her
disguise, rather than the maid-servant of an inn
assuming one, so well did the habit of gray silk,
the rich cashmere, the velvet bonnet and plume
become her. Disregarding Mrs. Wills's abuse
and interrogations, she advanced and laid her
hand in the proffered one of Colonel De Tracy,
for by this title his companions addressed him,
and the ceremony proceeded. It was short. A
written certificate of the marriage,^rned by the
witnesses, was intrusted to the minflWr, another
given into the bride's keeping. The coachman
had not quitted the box, and John stood holding
the carriage door for his new mistress. Mrs.
Wills disdainfully repelled her attempt to bid
a civil farewell ; but her righteous indignation
did not urge her to the length of refusing the
munificent douceur tendered by the colonel in
the name of " Mrs. De Tracy."

The whip cracked, the blooded leaders darted
off, bearing not Minnie Thorn, " the cobbler's"
widow, but Lavinia De Tracy, the beautiful
consort of the descendant of a line of nobles.
(To be continued.)

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND HER " DEAR,

DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY HORACE MAT0EW.

THE SEVENTH LETTER LEFT.

(Dated April the \Uh.)

SHOWING WHAT KITTY THOUGHT OF HER GO-
VERNESSES, AND WHAT THE GOVERNESSES
THOUGHT OF EACH OTHER.

Isn't it strange, Nelly? — but there doesn't
appear to be a real governess in the world; I
mean a governess who was really educated to be
one. They are all governesses by accident.
And yet we know there are many poor girls who
are brought up young to the business, and in-
tended for nothing else. I wonder what becomes
of them ?

Ail I know is that, out of all the governesses
we have here, there is only one who has received
an education for it. That one is Twigg. All
the others have been driven into it by necessity.

I will run through our governesses, Nell, and
you shall judge for yourself. Why, there's
Blight. Her father kept his hounds, and it seems
they ran through his property in no time. Then
there 's Snapp, she has danced at Almack's (so
she says), and had her lady's maid — not an En-
glish one, but a real femme de chambre, direct
from Paris. Our French governess has been just
as unfortunate. She had chateaux innumerable
in the south of France, and domains covered
with the richest vines, olives, and truffles, only
she lost them all during the Revolution. The
same with Fraulein Pinchinhertz. One-half the
Danube would have been hers if it hadn't been
for the Hungarian war. And even down to poor
Mrs. Dove; she would be a rich woman if her
fool of a^usband hadn't taken a theatre, and
squanderWall her fortune in less than a year.
These reverses are very pitiable, dear ; but I must
say that, for ladies who have been accustomed in
their youth to so much wealth and luxury, they
have settled down to their present drudgery with
the greatest ease and the happiest contentment.
I am sure, if I had ever had a couple of powdered
footmen standing up behind my carriage, that I
could not have brought myself to wash and
small-tooth-comb little girls in the unconcerned
way they do, without a precious deal of grumbling!

Snapp, however, docs grumble a little bit when
she alludes to the incident (and she is always
24

alluding to it) of the queen wishing her to marry
a gouty old lord, who, she says, is still in search
of her. My only astonishment is that he does
not find her, for she goes out walking with the
school every day, and takes no pains whatever
in concealing herself at church.

No circulating library at the sea-side was ever
so full of romance as Snapp. The mystery about
her life, too, helps the romance. We know she
has a hopeless attachment, for all her quotations
are about "love," and she is always reading
Byron, and Moore, and L. E. L. She recites
beautifully. Sometimes, when she comes to a
very tender passage, she cries. We look upon
her as the victim of an unrequited passion, and
pity her, poor thing, with all our hearts.

But you must not imagine, Nelly, she is
pretty. Her complexion is too much the color
of pound-cake ; and her eyes are so prominent,
that, when she is excited, I am afraid they will
drop out of her head. She is very intellectual,
for all that, and seems to know everything. It
is dreadful to be examined by her. She runs a
glance right through you, like a packing-needle,
and can tell in a minute whether there 's any-
thing in you. When I went up before her, I
felt I was going to be turned inside out, like a
paper-bag ; and when I left her, I came away,
Nelly, with such a sense of my own emptiness,
that I should like to have run away, and have
hidden myself for very shame. She is certainly
very clever. We are all obliged to confess it.
She talks beautifully, too, about " Women's
Rights ;" and the girls do say that she has in her
drawers a complete suit of the Bloomer costume,
in which she lectured one night at a neighboring
tavern, quite unknown to the Lady Principal.
However, she does talk with such eloquence
about the injustice of Man to Woman that 1
really believe, if a proposal of marriage came to
each girl, at the moment she was holding forth,
every one of us would indignantly refuse it !

The worst is, she is so very proud : she asso-
ciates with no one : she considers the other
governesses too much beneath her. Altogether.
she is much too dignified for vie. I believe she
would rather break her back than stoop ; and
that she would rather lose a marriage, by being

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S.

late, than hurry herself one half minute. None
of us like Snapp ; but, as a proof how much she
is dreaded and respected, not a soul in the school
dares quiz her, or turn her into ridicule — ex-
cepting behind her back ! Besides, we have a
notion that she is some great person in disguise.
The great attention, too, which she receives from
Mrs. Rodwell rather favors this impression.
She invites her to supper, and sends her tit-bits
from her own dish at dinner.

But our German and French governesses afford
us rare fun. They are always bickering, always
quarrelling. Mdlle. Desiree boasts about Bona-
parte ; Fraulein Pinchinhertz soars into a long
panegyric about Frederick the Great. Made-
moiselle is singing a chansonnette about la belle
France ; and the Fraulein directly begins hum-
ming something about UaterlanO, or " ©cr.
.Scfeone, $vtU 2^I;efu.,t Then they are always
imitating one another. If one comes down with
a gay cap, the other is sure to have on the next
morning a cap twenty ribbons gayer. If the
hair of one is dressed in bandeaux or ringlets,
the hair of the other is certain, before tea-time,
to have fallen into bandeaux or ringlets also. It
is the same with their bonnets, their boots, their
gowns, gloves, ribbons, their everything. I be-
lieve, if Mademoiselle wore Wellington boots,
or walked out in a pair of gentlemen's je-ne-sais
quois, that Fraulein would not be happy till she
had done the same thing. They must spend all
their salaries, and one-half their time, in these
constant imitations of one another.

However, the German governess may work
her fingers off— sh e may worry h er ingenuity until
she hasn't a rag left — it's all of no use; she will
never succeed in dressing so well as Mademoiselle
Desirde ; who, though she wears only the com-
monest stuffs, is still the best dressed girl in the
school/"' Again, Fraulein has no more waist than
a balloon, and yet she is always pulling herself
in, until it 's quite painful to look at her. Now,
Mademoiselle's waist is the tiniest I ever saw.
I am sure it cannot measure 13 inches round.
What absurd narrowness it shows, then, on the
part of Fraulein to enter into such hopeless com-
petition ! If her body was only half as narrow
as her mind, there might be a chance for her —
but till then she had better save her stay-laces,
and not make herself ill by drinking so much
vinegar.

Fraulein is very sentimental and superstitious.
She will not begin heeling a new pair of stock-
ings on a Friday, and generally sheathes her
scissors against her rival on that ominous day.
She overflows with little romantic songs about
water-nymphs and knights in armor, and is as

VOL. XLIX. — 3

full as an old nurse of supernatural legends,
about witches and broomsticks, skeleton lovers,
and wild hunts in the air. She raves, too, abou
one Jean Paul, whom we take to be her German
lover. We love to listen at dusk, before tin
candles are brought in, to her tales of the Hart/.
Mountains and her ghost stories — so exquisitelv
terrible, Nelly, that we are obliged to listen to
them with our eyes shut. In the midst, perhap.- .
the bell rings for supper, and you should heai
us all shriek again with fear ! As soon as sh'
has finished, Mademoiselle begins quizzing, am
spoils the effect by turning everything she h;..-
said into ridicule. Then she rattles off wit!
some lively anecdote, which chases away th<
ghosts better than any holy water, and only ex-
cites contempt of the most sauerkraut sournei-.-
in the mind of Fraulein for French frivolity.

I reserve Twigg for a future letter. I waj
to tell you now about poor Mrs. Dove. We
have many girls studying with us to be govern-
esses— practising for a future life of martyrdom.
Mrs. Dove is one of these pupil-slaves. She is
so pretty, so gentle, Nelly, so interesting, that
all the school loves her and pities her; not that
we ever rudely express our pity, for I often
think that, to a sensitive mind, pity is only
another kind of alms-giving, and that a poor
person will turn from it with the same wounded
delicacy as if you tendered charity. I may be
wrong, Nelly; but, never mind. Our pity to
Mrs. Dove is of that silent kind that only ex-
presses itself in little acts of kindness, which
she receives as silently, but, I am sure, not the
less gratefully.

Poor creature ! she is sadly in need of kind-
ness, for she is a widow! a real widow, Nelly,
all alone in this world (for her husband, after-
he had squandered her fortune, shot himself in
remorse) ; but no, not all alone, for she has her
baby with her — such a darling baby! which she
clings to as a drowning person clings to the
plank that is his last support. It is such a
beautiful little dear ! Can't you conceive the
life of a baby in a boarding-school; Nell '? Any
baby, let it be ever so ugly, would be prized, and
made much of; but, when it is such a lovely
little angel as this, you can have no conception
how it is petted and caressed ; how we almost
fight to get hold of it, and how, having got hold
of it, we arc ready to fight again before we part
with it. I wonder he has not been pulled, like
a doll, into a thousand pieces, in our numerous
struggles to obtain possession of him, and nurse
him, if it is only for two or three minutes. I
wonder all his senses have not been tossed, like
so much bran, out of him as we have amused

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ourselves for hours in tossing him up to the ceil-
ing and catching him again in our arms, raising
quite a cackling chorus of " chick-a-chick-a-bid-
dies'' all the while. I wonder he has not been
poisoned long ago, with the numerous sweeties
and many-colored goodies we have stuffed down
his little throat; and, lastly, I wonder, more
than all, what with his mother kissing him, and
what with all of us kissing him from morning
to night, that the little fellow has not been re-
gularly kissed to death by this time. He is only
eighteen months old now ; but if he ever knows
happiness hereafter, what he at present enjoys
should be sufficient to last him all his life.
What a pity it is he cannot remain as he is.
What a happy existence, to be perpetually a baby
in a girls' school 1 I cannot imagine anything
more delicious out of Paradise, Nell ! Perpetual
innocence, love, play, and enjoyment ! with no
cares, no troubles, no pain, except from being a
little overfed occasionally.

Mrs. Dove is no party to our romps. She has
no heart for it. It would not look natural with
the deep seams of grief upon her face. She
never smiles, excepting when she is alone with
her boy and attempts to play with him; and
then it is a smile that begs for pity as seen
through her Widow's cap — the smile of one who
was smiling through the bars of a prison. She
is never away from her books. Her melancholy
never seems at rest, excepting when she is
studying; and I am sure she must have a con-
stant headache from excess of it. From morning
to midnight, she never pauses; never goes out
to allow a few rays of sunshine to enter into the
dark despondency of her breast; but you will
always find her in some lonely corner, learning,
learning, learning, until it is pitiable to see how
deadly pale she looks, and horrible to reflect how
long so severe a trial of the mind and body can
last. She scarcely allows herself a few moments
far baby even ; denying herself the luxury of its
caresses, tearing herself away from its chubby
little arms, afld resigning him to the affection of
a stranger, to begin again the endless task, the
task which seems to engross all her faculties and
energy — the task whose only end .can be to leave
the child without a mother.

We think she has no friends, and is without
means, and that she is slaving herself in this
way to maintain her child as a governess; but
it's ridiculous, Nelly — she will never make a
governess; with her lady-like manners — her
saint-like sweetness — her angelic forbearance ;
so humble, so patient and enduring, so modest
and doubtful of her own abilities ! She may

break her heart in the effort; she may turn all
her virtues into as many vices ; and even then
what chance has she against the she-dragon
Snapp, with a mouth filled with wise teeth, and
an old maid's tongue tipped with poison?

We know nothing of her story, and even that
sneaking Carney has paused, as before a sanctu-
ary, in the presence of such holy grief, and has
not dared to ask a single question as to the se-
cret of so many tears. But it is clear, Nelly,
the poor widow is here cheap. We know that
plainly enough from the Lady Principal's laying
such stress on the obligation of receiving a baby
into the school, and a regular splutter of twaddle
about her benevolence and generosity, which
was worse than crossing the Channel to listen
to. Besides, Mrs. Dove never goes into supper
with the other governesses, but has a bit of dry
bread, like the girls ; and she has to wait on her-
self, sleeping in a dark little closet, where the
wonder is how she can see to kiss baby, much
less to dress the dear little fellow !

Poor mother ! I hope she may never be
taunted, nor teased, nor bullied, nor snubbed,
as most governesses are ; but that she may
always be treated with the gentleness of her own
nature ; and that each tear she drops into the
cup of life may sweeten the bitter draught for
her! '

Good-night, Nelly. After this little history, I
am sure you cannot wish to hear anything more
at present from

Your living, sleepy-eyed

Kitty Clover.

AMIABLENESS

" Mabel inherited her mother's intellect and
delicacy of feeling, but seconded by a strong
will and great common sense. She possessed
also beauty, equal, if not superior to hers, though
in her face it always seemed secondary to the
feelings which were spoken by it. But there
was one peculiar charm in her character which
secured the love of those around her as power-
fully as an Easterja talisman. It was a reliance
on the good-wTill of others, drawn perhaps from
the reflection of her own heart — a kind of se-
curity in the feeling that there is always good to
those who rightly seek it — a trust in the virtue
of others which often proves a touchstone to
waken its hidden springs, whilst all feel ashamed
of disappointing a hope founded more on the
truest feelings of charity than on weakness or
I pusillanimity."

GODEY'S COUESE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

LESSON VII.

figure and object drawing (Continued).

In Fig. 15, the sketch of a horse's head is
given ; the manner of copying this will be evi-
dent from an inspection of the figure.

Fig. 15.

A group of dock-leaves is *given in Fig. 17:
these form an excellent study, and examples
may be met with in any part of the country.
After she has copied the example we have given,
we would recommend the pupil to seek out a
natural group and sketch it, carefully observing

Kg. 17.

In Fig. 16, the effect of relief must be treated
in the manner explained in Fig. 8.

the relief which one leaf gives to the other ; if
this relief were not noticeable, the leaves would
appear as if they were adhering in a mass to-
gether.

In Fig. 18, a slight sketch of a tunnel, with
overhanging foliage is given j it affords an ex-
ample of how easily an effect may be obtained
without much labor.

Fig. 18.

godey's magazine and lady's book,

Fig. 19.

In Fig. 19, an old boat with a fisherman's j In Fig. 20, we have given another group of
basket is given; this is treated under an effect dock-leaves, and, in Fig. 21, a slight sketch,

of shade, with a slight shadowing behind the < neither of which requires description,
light end of the boat.

Fig. 21.

^V\A#'

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.— JUL Y.

BY D. W. BEL]

SCORPION".— This interesting cluster of stars
- situated south of Serpens, and contains fifty-
four stars within the group, of which one is of
the first magnitude and of great brilliancy, called
Antares. This star comes to the meridian on
the tenth of July, and is one of the stars from
which the moon's distance is calculated in com-
puting longitude at sea. North-west of Antares,
at the distance of eighteen and a half degreos, is
a star of the second magnitude in the head of
the Scorpion, called Grafnas, and is one degree
north of the earth's orbit. This star forms a
slight curve to the south, with two other stars
of the third magnitude. There are great num-

| bers of minute stars clustered around this curve,
which give it a bright luminous appearance.
In a south-easterly direction from Antares.
seventeen degrees, commences a long line of
stars of the third magnitude, curving to the
east, and then to the north, in the form of a
shepherd's crook. There arc ten stars which
compose this curved line, and, as they arc very
brilliant, they are readily recognized. These
compose the tail of the Scorpion.

This group was anciently represented by
various symbols, sometimes by a snake, and
sometimes by a crocodile, but oftcner by a scor-

j pion. This last symbol is found on Mithraio

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA,

monuments, and also in the Zodiacs of Dcndera.
According to Ovid, this is the famous reptile
that sprang out of the earth at the command of
Juno, and stung Orion. In the Hebrew Zodiac,
this sign is allotted to Dan, because it is writ-
ten : " Dan shall be a serpent by the way, an
adder in the path."

HERCULES. — This constellation occupies a
large space in the northern hemisphere, extend-
ing from twelve degrees to fifty degrees north
declination, and comes to the meridian the 21st
of July. It contains one hundred and thirteen
stars, the brightest of which is Ras Algethi, and
is situated in the head, about twenty-five de-
grees south-east of Corona Borealis. It may be
readily known by another bright star five de-
grees east-southeast of it, called Ras Alhague.
These two stars are always seen together, like
the bright pairs in Aries and Gemini. Ten
and a half degrees north of Ras Algethi are two
stars of the third magnitude, which, with it,
form a triangle.

This group is intended to commemorate and
immortalize the famous Theban, so celebrated
in antiquity for his heroic valor and invincible
prowess. He was the son of Jupiter and Alc-
mena, and his birth was attended by miraculous
events ; and, before the completion of his eighth
month, Juno, the queen of heaven, became
jealous of the infantile hero, and sent two snakes
to devour him. These he boldly seized and
killed, much to the wonder of Juno, who, de-
spite her jealousy, could but admire the deed.
From this hour his deeds were numerous and
formidable beyond modern credulence. Virgil
says —

** The lay records the labors and the praise,
And all the immortal acts of Hercules.
First, how the mighty babe, when swathed in bands,
The serpents strangled with his infant hands,
Then, as in years and matchless force he grew,
The (Echalian walls and Trojan overthrew;
Besides a thousand hazards they relate,
Procured by Juno's and Euristheus' hate.
Thy hands, unconquered hero, could subdue
The cloud-born Centaurs and the monster crew;
Nor thy resistless arm the bull withstood,
Kor he the roaring terror of the wood.
The triple porter of the Stygian seat,
With lolling tongue lay fawning at thy feet,
And, seized with fear, forgot the mangled meat.
The infernal waters trembled at thy sight:
Thee, god, no face of danger could affright;
Nor huge Typha?us, nor the unnumbered snake,
Increased with hissing heads, in Lerna's lake."

SERPENT-BEARER, OR AESCULAPIUS.

— This cluster is situated south of Hercules, with
its centre directly over the equator, and contains
seventy-four stars. It comes to the meridian

the 26th of July. Ras Alhague, in the head, is
the largest star, which, with Rho, thirty-five
degrees south of it, in the foot, serves to point
out the extent of the constellation from north to
south. Rho is a star of the third magnitude,
and may be readily known by two smaller stars,
one on each side, and one degree from it. There
are two bright stars of the third magnitude in
the right shoulder, one degree apart, and also
two in the left, of a like position, but less bril-
liant. The rest of this cluster is entwined with
Serpens, and is traced with more difficulty.

This constellation was known twelve hundred
years before the Christian era. iEsculapius was
the son of Apollo and Coronis, and was edu-
cated by Chiron, the Centaur, in the art of medi-
cine, which he improved so much, and became
so skilful, that he was called the inventor and
god of medicine. He was said to have restored
so many to life, that Pluto complained to Jupiter
that his dark domain would become depopulated
if JEsculapius was suffered to practise his art.
He is styled by Milton as the god of Epidaurus,
he being worshipped there as a deity by the in-
habitants. Socrates, the wisest and best man
of antiquity, offered a cock as a sacrifice to
iEsculapius, and advised others to conform to
this idolatry. Alas, for times in which the
wisest thus erred in the path of superstition, for
what must the ignorant have done ! At the
birth of iEsculapius, the inspired daughter of
Chiron uttered this prophecy : —

" Hail, great physician of the world, all hail I
Hail, mighty infant, who, in years to come,
Shall heal the nations and defraud the tomb !
Swift be thy growth, thy triumphs unconfined!
Make kingdoms thicker, and increase mankind!
Thy daring art shall animate the dead,
And draw the thunder on thy guilty head ;
Then shalt thou die : but, from the dark abode,
Rise up victorious, and be twice a god !"

Pluto, however, has no cause to complain of
the followers of iEsculapius, who have filled ere
this his domains with thrice the number the
illustrious founder of medicine defrauded him of.

AURORA BOREALIS.— These sublime and
beautiful phenomena, which are known also as
the northern lights, have been, from the earliest
ages, a source of wonder to the peasant and
philosopher. By the ignorant, they are regarded
in all climes as the harbingers of evil, and with
superstitious dread. In the Arctic regions, these
meteoric corruscations are more brilliant than
in more southern regions, and it has also been
remarked that the more frosty the air the brighter
they appear; hence arises the supposition that
their appearance indicates cold, clear weather.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

They commonly appear at twilight near the
horizon, whence they suddenly shoot up in vast
columns with groat velocity and the vividness
of lightning, while their coloring vies with that
of the rainbow. Again they rise from the hori-
zon slowly in a majestic arch, with a steady
white light, which will disappear as the asto-
nished beholder gazes upon it. At other times,
they cover the whole hemisphere writh their
flickering fantastic coruscations. They break
out in places ivhere none were seen before, and
then as rapidly disappear, leaving a dull blank.
Maupertuis relates that, in Lapland, " The sky
was sometimes tinged with so deep a red that
Orion looked as though it were dipped in blood,
and that the people fancied they saw armies en-
gaged, fiery chariots, and a thousand prodigies."
Gmelin relates that, " In Liberia, on the con-

fines of the icy sea, the spectral forms appear
like rushing armies, and that the hissing, crack-
ling noises of these aerial fireworks so terrify
the dogs and the hunters that they fall prostrate
to the ground, and will not move while the rag-
ing host is passing." Kerguelen describes the
night between Iceland and the Ferro Islands
" as brilliant as day, the heavens being on fire
with flames of red and white light, changing to
columns and arches, and at length confounded
in a brilliant chaos of cones, pyramids, radii
sheaves, arrows, and globes of fire."

Science has demonstrated to a certainty that
the Aurora Borealis arc, to some extent, mag-
netical phenomena; but whether other causes
exist which produce them is left for future dis-
covery, and a wide untrodden field is thus open-
ed for future investigation.

"ANY TIME."

T ALICE B. NEAL.

"Any letters, Karry?"

" That depends on how much you bid. Here 's
one for you, mother."

" Oh, don't be such a teaze ! I know you
have one for me, or you wouldn't look so good-
natured."

"Stop thief!" called out Harry, as his sister
plunged her hands into his overcoat pocket; but
Newton, being a village, was not blessed with
policemen, so no one interfered with the offender,
who held up her spoil triumphantly, and shook
it in her brother's face. She recognized the
direction in the handwriting of her devoted
friend and constant correspondent, Lottie I\I or-
ton. "Mrs. H. Lawson Morton," as the card
inclosed a specimen of the new bridal gloves,
set forth her title to the visiting courtesies of
her Baltimore circle.

" Ten pages, crossed as usual," pursued Harry,
with that slightly contemptuous tone young gen-
llemen usually think proper to assume, speaking
of female friendships. "What! only four? How
disappointed and slighted you must feel !"

" Don't you see how close it 's written, though ?
Please, mamma, can't you set him at something,
oating his dinner, or holding your crochet cot-
ton? Do leave me in peace ten minutes."

But for all this playful war of words, there
was the most cordial love and sympathy existing
between the two, and perhaps Harry was a little
jealous of the lavish, and rather sentimental

friendship his sister bestowed on her old school
friend. They had corresponded at the rate of
a letter a week, sometimes two, arriving from
Baltimore during the rise and progress of the
courtship which had just developed into the de-
voutly-to-be-wished-for consummation of a gay
wedding, with four bridesmaids, a trip to "Wash-
ington, and no end of new dresses. In these
closing events, to her great disappointment,
Anne Ellis did not share, being prevented by
the illness of her mother, after all her plans and
preparations. It was very hard, and required
all the love and self-denial of the young girl's
heart to bear it pleasantly, but she had received
ample details of all connected with it, and now
was eager to learn what winter arrangements
had been made, and whether there was any
prospect of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Morton at
Newton, whither they had been early invited.

"My dear, darling 'Anne': —

(" The same affectionate girl as ever," thought
Anne, with great internal satisfaction, as she saw
the commencement of the epistle.)

"I have a hundred thousand things to tell
you, and scarcely know where to begin. We
had a splendid time in Washington. I was
introduced to the President (at the levee, you
know), three senators, five members, one su-
preme judge, two commodores, a general, two
colonels, five lieutenants, and quantities of other

ANY TIME.

distinguished people. We stayed at the National,
and Mr. Morton (it is not fashionable, I find,
to call your husband by his first name, nobody
did in Washington, and, in fact, husbands and
wives treat each other as politely there as if they
were common acquaintances). Mr. Morton
wanted a private parlor, but I wanted to see all
that was going on, so I wasn't going to be poked
up in that way. Everybody knew I was a bride,
(I don't know how, I am sure. Mrs. Ash ton
.says she generally can tell.) Mrs. Ashton paid
us a great deal of attention. She 's a very fash-
ionable woman, and knows every one. I 've
asked her to come and see me in Baltimore.

" Oh ! I didn't tell you we were going to
housekeeping; well, we are, and you must be
among our first visitors. Come and stay all
winter with me. Mr. Morton is dying to see
you. Of course, you will admire each other
very much. I have told him a great deal about
you. He is a little reserved to strangers, to be
sure — but very warm-hearted. No one would
believe what beautiful, tender, affectionate things
he says to me when we are alone. Darling
Anne ! I only hope you may have a husband
who will love you half as well.

" Yes; we have decided to go to housekeeping.
It will be a great deal of trouble, to be sure, but
you know I like managing, and then I can see
my friends. I think most of that. I have been
so busy all the week choosing furniture, or I
should have written before. I am going to have
oak and green in the dining-room — that is all
the style, you know — rosewood and crimson
brocatelle in one parlor, and gold color in the
other. I choose all that and the curtains, and
our dinner set; but I left the kitchen furniture
and the mattresses and all such bothering things
to Mr. Morton, who has a great talent for details.
It would surprise you to see how well he under-
stands all those things.

" Oh, dear ! I 'm not half through ; but it 's
time to dress ; you must write to me very soon.
I haven't got over the disappointment of not
having you with me yet. Mrs. Ashton thinks
you must be lovely. I showed her your da-
guerreotype, which I still wear in the locket
you gave me, though I do believe Mr. Morton
is half jealous about it. Good-by, good-by, with
my dear love to your mother.

" Ever your affectionate

"Lottie.

"P. S. Mr. Morton says he's shocked to
find I have forgotten to send his regards. He
says all my friends are his friends ; you espe-
cially, dearest Do be sure to come and see us ;
stay all winter, if you can. Come any time"

" I 'm sure, Harry, you can't say anything
now," said Anne, laying the precious commu-
nication beside her plate, as she seated herself
at the dinner-table. " She loves me just as
well as ever, if she is married, and to a rich
man. You couldn't wish or desire anything
more affectionate than that."

" Oh, mamma 's the croaker ! She told you
married women gave up their friends."

" I said Anne must not feel hurt if Lottie did
not write as often as before ; she will have twice
as much to occupy her time. I don't think
marriage necessarily changes one's feelings to-
wards their friends. It is only that a person
does not have so much leisure to devote them-
selves to writing and visiting. I have no doubt
Lottie is as affectionate as ever."

" But how she insists on my visiting her, and
Mr. Morton, too ! It 's very kind in him, isn't
it? I know I shall like him. It must be so
pleasant to have a house of your own to invite
your friends to !"

Anne did not see her mother smile as she
thought how little her daughter had to complain
of in that respect. Mrs. Ellis lived only for her
children, and their home was made as pleasant
for them as a limited, but respectable income
would allow. As far as freedom in their own
movements, or in seeing their friends, was con-
cerned, they could neither of them reasonably
hope for more, even in a household called by
their name.

Anne speculated very widely that afternoon,
and for many days after, on the probable enjoy-
ment and result of her visit to Baltimore. She
planned her dress over and over again, for she
was not a bride, and so obliged to have new
ones, though in what the obligation consists we
never could determine. Should she have a new
cloak, and make the old silk answer? Or get a
summer plaid that would do for evening? And
would white muslin and cherry-colored ribbons
answer for a Baltimore party ? Of course, Lot-
tie would give her a party. When she last
visited Newton, the Ellises had put themselves
out greatly to give her a company, Mrs. Ellis
going without a summer dress that she greatly
needed to afford it. But even Anne did not
know that.

It was very natural to expect Mrs. Morton's
next letter would fix on some time for the ex-
pected visit, which gave Anne so much food for
thought. But no; "they were not quite set-
tled, and there was such a darling blue room
Anne should have when she did come. It must
be before long ; certainly almost any time after
they were once at rights."

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Surely the next time she heard the doubtful
point would be settled; but, though Mrs. Mor-
ton found time to write and describe the glory
of her new possessions, the gayety of her new
relatives, and how much they made of her, al-
ways alluding to the time when she should in-
troduce her "darling Anne to them," February,
March, and April passed away, and no period
more definite than " any time" had been men-
tioned. It was rather mortifying ; for Harry in-
variably made it the subject of teazing remarks,
and she had incautiously mentioned her expect-
ed journey to several of the Newton people, so
that Anne was frequently asked when she ex-
pected to leave. And so, thinking the matter
aver, she had come to the conclusion that Lottie
did not mean to be formal, and perhaps would
feel hurt if she knew her most intimate friend
was waiting for a regular invitation. Mrs. El-
lis, seeing how much her daughter's heart was
get upon the trip, did not like to think other-
wise ; and, just at this juncture, one of Mrs.
Morton's letters arrived, the postscript, as usual,
referring to it : —

"It seems an age since I have seen you.
When are you coming to Baltimore? Mr.
Morton would be delighted to have, you here,
whenever it suits you best. I expect a visit
from Mrs. Ashton this spring, Bhe is such a
delightful person."

So the result of it was that Mr. Morton one
evening brought home a letter containing the
announcement that Miss Ellis was on her way
to pay them a visit, having an excellent oppor-
tunity in the way of an escort.

Mr. Morton, himself a formal, punctilious
man, inquired the date with rather a disturbed
countenance. He liked to be consulted in all
his wife's movements. As she said, " he had a
great talent for details," and planned for his
household every arrangement of the day.

He thought it showed a lack of goodbrceding
on the part of his wife's friend to intrude her-
self upon them without a distinct invitation,
entirely ignorant of the many allusions which
Lottie had quieted her conscience with in writ-
ing to the Ellises. Besides, he discovered from
the date of the letter, which had been detained,
that Miss Ellis would arrive that evening, and
it was too late to meet her at the cars. Mr.
Morton was particular, not to say " fussy ;" he
put Miss Ellis down in his mind as deserving a
double reprimand, and his manner conveyed
the impression very distinctly to his wife, if not
to her visitor, the modest rumble of whose cab
was soon after heard at the rich man's door.

Poor Anne, buoyant and excited at the com-

mencement of her journey, began to have sundry
misgivings as she neared Baltimore, and reflect-
ed on the time that had elapsed since she saw
her friend, that she had never met Mr. Morton,
and possibly her visit was ill-timed. She en-
deavored to fortify herself with the remembrance
of their extreme intimacy, the numerous, though
vague invitations, and deciding what she would
have done under similar circumstances. But it
would not do when her escort had placed her in
the cab, afteT having waited vainly a quarter
of an hour for Mr. -Morton's appearance at the
depot, and she began to look around oh the
streets and squares of a strange city., Her spirits
sank lower and lower at every re volution * of
the whoels, and only .the most cordial reception
could have brought them up again.

Mr. Morton could not have extended this to
his' own sister, if she had sinned against his
notions of propriety in like manner. He was
polite, but chilling, and his wife, scarcely yet
fortified to make the best of it^. awaited Anne in
the parlor, instead of coming to the': hall door, as
she once would have done.

It is true, her protestations of surprise, and
delight were numerous and prolonged, especially
while her husband superintended carrying up
the one trunk himself, and informed the waiter
that he was to lay an additional plate at tea. ^
But the old fdndling, caressing manner was gone,
and Anne could see the constraint, and, she fan-
cied, annoyance beneath, as Mrs. Morton said,
over and over again, "It was so good in her to
come so unexpectedly, and to give them such an
agreeable surprise."

It is not altogether safe at any time to promise
friendship beforehand ; to bespeak it is all well
enough, but to bring two people together, assur-
ing them that they will be delighted with each
other, is almost certain to end in disappoint-
ment. Anne found herself wondering at the
tea-table how Lottie could fancy such a stiff, self-
satisfied, supercilious, dull man; and Mr. Mor-
ton wondered at his wife's raptures over a quiet,
rather plain country girl, without any preten-
sions to style. A mutual antagonism sprang up
in the very onset, and Mrs. Morton did not
grow any less constrained or cordial as she no-
ticed it. Under any other circumstance?, Mr.
Morton would have been on his best behavior,
and Anne striven to overcome her first impres-
sions of his pompous manner. The trio were
relieved when bedtime came, for no visitors
happened in, and Lottie, having exhausted her
inquiries for Mrs. Ellis and Harry, seemed to
have no other topic of conversation.

" I 'in home-sick, I suppose," thought the un-

ANY TIME.

bidden guest, as she sat up, after a good relieving
cry, and looked around her with some natural
curiosity. She had thrown herself on the bed,
face downwards, on first being shown to her
room, which she now found was not the famous
blue room, with its rosewood furniture, whose
occupancy had been so often offered to her, but
a much plainer apartment, probably the second
or third-best chamber. Knowing there were no
other visitors, she had half a mind to consider
it an intentional slight, but solaced herself with
the reflection that the state chambers might re-
quire some time to prepare them for use, and
this had very nice furniture, at least much bet-
ter than anything she had been accustomed to.
Perhaps Mr. Morton was good-hearted, if his
manner was a little formal, and she was wrong-
ing Lottie by being over-sensitive about her re-
ception. Changed she certainly was, with her
fashionable dress and preoccupied air, but that
was nothing, if her heart was the same as ever.
It must be, from the tone of her letters; and,
remembering how often these same letters had
begged her to come " any time," and stay as
long as she pleased, Anne comforted herself,
and fell asleep to dream of her quiet home and
her mother's affectionate good-night kiss.

But the visit dragged on slowly, neverthe-
less. Lottie did not seem to remember that her
friend would like to visit places that were so
familiar to her, and, if they drove out, it was to
the dentist's, the milliner, or the dressmaker.
Anne caught glimpses of the monuments and the
cathedral from the carriage windows, and was
often tempted to go out by herself and explore.
But Mr. Morton would be shocked at this,
she knew, and, as he never offered his escort,
she was obliged to stifle her curiosity. Lottie
seemed to be preparing a great quantity of
dresses, yet she paid very few visits, and was
" not at home" to almost every one who called.
Remembering how all Newton, at least its visit-
ing community, had hastened to call on her
friend as their visitor, Anne began to wonder if
this courtesy was no longer extended in good
society ; for, if she had been introduced to any
one, it was a passing notice, not a marked atten-
tion, and no invitations came for her, though
the family received several which were declined.

At length, Anne could no longer deceive her-
self as regarded her welcome, and mortification
and pain at the change in one she had looked
upon as a sister began to spring up in her heart
It was hard to confess it to herself, still harder
to act upon it. She expected to be away three
or four weeks at least, and, if she returned be-
fore the first fortnight was out, her mother and

brother, at least, would know she had been dis-
appointed. So she wavered a day or two, until,
to her surprise, for she had not heard they were
expected, Mrs. Ashton, and some gay young
ladies in her charge, arrived to take up fneir
quarters in the blue room and the adjoining
chamber, almost equally elegant in its appoint-
ments.

Her position was now embarrassing in the ex-
treme. Mrs. Ashton was kindly condescending
towards her ; the young ladies seemed to forget
her existence entirely as soon as they were alone
together. With Mrs. Morton, they were always
talking of people and gayeties which she knew
nothing about ; and, if they went out, the four
filled the carriage, leaving no place for her.
Visitors and invitations thronged in upon the
new-comers, and, from the various household
movements, Anne began to think a grand party,
in honor of their arrival, was in prospect.

Mr. Morton's stylish relatives, to whom Lot-
tie had been so anxious to introduce her friend,
but whose names even she scarcely knew after
passing two weeks in the house, overwhelmed
Mrs. Ashton with attention. Anne, if noticed
at all, was very far in the background, while
two such conspicuous figures as Miss Clemens
and Miss Douglas occupied a central position.

She had thought it very hard that Lottie no
longer talked to her with the unreserve of the
old days, but had smothered the feeling with
the recollection of her mother's oft-repeated
counsel that she ought riot to expect it. It was
Mrs. Ellis's theory that every wife's affairs were
so intimately associated with her husband's
pursuits and opinions, that she had no longer
the right to canvass them with a third person.
Anne could see the justice of this as far as an
unmarried person can understand it ; but this
open neglect had no such excuse, and she pon-
dered on it bitterly one morning over a new
magazine which she had idly opened. The gay
party had gone out as usual, Lottie's " You
won't mind being left alone, there's a good
creature," being the sole apology offered, and
a young girl, half waiting-maid, half seamstress,
employed by Mrs. Morton, the only other occu-
pant of the morning room.

"It's a real shame, ma'am," the girl said,
looking up from her work, presently.

"What's gone wrong?" Anne inquired,
kindly, for the first time aware that large tears
were plashing on the uncut pages before her.

" The way Mrs. Ashton and those young
ladies ride over people's heads, I mean," Mari-
anne said, energetically. " 1 don't believe they
care a row of pins about Mrs. Morton, or Mr.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Morton either, only just to make the house a
convenience, and not have to pay a hotel bill,
while they are waiting till it 's time to go North.
Though Mrs. Morton wants to hurry off, too."

"Is Lottie — Mrs. Morton — going North?"
Anne asked, quickly, betrayed by her surprise
into encouraging the girl's gossip.

" Didn't you know it, ma'am ? Oh, yes ;
she's going just as soon as you're gone — after
this week, and the party. That's all they're
waiting for. I heard Mrs. Ashton tell Mrs.
Morton last night they 'd miss a great party if
they didn't get away then — to travel with, I
suppose; some young gentlemen that Miss
Douglas has set her cap for. And then I heard
Mr. Morton say, ' Certainly ; if people would
come at inconvenient times, they couldn't ex-
pect to have every one's plans put out.' "

" There, never mind," Anne said, gently,
though the calmness was forced, and only lasted
until she reached her own room. A suffocating
sensation stifled her, and a burning flush rose
to her face, as she instinctively took down
her dresses and began folding them. She saw
through all Lottie's embarrassment of manner,
and fancied she understood Mr. Morton's re-
serve. " They think I am some dependent re-
lation, no doubt," she said to herself— "these
Washington people. Thank Heaven, I 've a
home, which is more than they seem to have,
from their talk of hotels and boarding-houses."
And she worked away with nervous energy, to
relieve the pain and disappointment that were
swelling up in her heart.

Mrs. Morton found, to her surprise, and, it
must be confessed, secret gratification, her friend
prepared for her journey on their return.

" My dear Anne ! why, what does all this
mean?" she exclaimed, with more cordiality
than she had shown since Mrs. Ashton's arrival.
"No bad news from home, I hope; and our
party coming off on Thursday. I declare, it is
too provoking !"

" I guess you will survive it," rose to Anne's
lips ; but she only said, " I thought you might
be very much hurried just now, Lottie, going
North and all."

Mrs. Morton saw that her plans had been dis-
covered, from the disturbed brow and quivering
lip.

" You are a dear, good soul, Anne, and I hope
nothing has vexed you," she returned, in Mrs.
Ashton's own " wheedling" voice and manner.
"And, to tell the truth, it is a little inconve-
nient just now ; but, you see, Mrs. Ashton" —

" Was invited and expected — I was not. But
you had asked me so many times, Lottie, I did

not expect" — and here our poor little heroine's
pride and firmness sank into a real sob. as she
turned to the window, so Mrs. Morton should
not see her face. The sense of her double dis-
appointment, the loss of her friend, and the
pleasure of her visit rushed upon her, and she
was only eighteen. " I know I 'm not rich, or
distinguished, or fashionable, but I did love you
so dearly, Lottie, that it almost breaks my
heart."

" Don't, Annie — don't cry — don't go," said
Mrs. Morton, with a touch of her old feeling.
" I did mean to ask you to pass a month with
us, but one thing after another prevented, and I
thought I needn't mind, as it was only you, I
need not be so formal, for you could come any
time. Mrs. Ashton was such a particular friend,
and we were obliged to show her some atten-
tion, you know. I hope you don't mind my
going out so much."

Anne was too aggrieved for a reply to this
attempt at consolation. Mrs. Ashton was the
acquaintance of months, and the young ladies
Lottie had never seen before their arrival at her
house.

" After all she owes us, when she had scarce-
ly a friend in the world !" she said, indignantly,
when accounting for her sudden return to her
mother. " And just because Mrs. Ashton was
fashionable ; yes, and that wonderful blue room,
I never saw it before she came even. Mr. Mor-
ton was terribly polite when I came away, but I
hardly looked at him. I never shall have the
least faith in any one."

" My dear child, don't run on so," interrupt-
ed Mrs. Ellis. " Lottie is no doubt greatly in-
fluenced by her husband. I was the only one
in fault. I should not have allowed you to go ;
for 1 had seen enough of the world to know that
among fashionable people ' any time' is no time
at all."

THE WHITE CLOVER.

BY LAURA M. COLVIN.

Pearl of the greensward, humblest gift of Spring I

In meekness bowing to the careless tread;
I give to thee a dearer welcoming

Than to those blooms which rarest fragrance shed.
For thou dost waken scenes of sylvan grace —

Fair meads outspread to the enraptured eight,
Soft dells, where rustling branches interlace,

Or hillside, reaching to some bosky height,
Where browsing herds range through the summer's day ;

Their " drowsy tinklings," with the brooklet's flow,
Blend with such strains as shepherds loved to play

Upon the oaten pipe in years ago.
Ay, pastoral life, its joys aud simple grace,
Thou, floweret, like enchanter's wand doth trace.

THE WILD FLOWERS OF THE MONTH.

BT HARLAND COULTA8, PROFESSOR OF BOTANT IN PENN MEDICAL UNIVERSITY, PHILADELPHIA.

The beautiful evergreen called by botanists
the Kalmia latifolia, and by the people the
mountain laurel, is now covered with a profu-
sion of light rose-colored flowers, along the
streams and on the side of shaded rocky hills.
This shrub is certainly one of the greatest
ornaments of the woods during the months of
June and July. The curious disposition of its
stamens, with reference to fertilization, has
been pointed out in a previous article. Ladies
are entreated to examine the flowers. An
abundant supply can now be readily obtained.
A drive along the Wissahicon valley is all that
is necessary, in order to collect any quantity of
the very finest specimens.

Many interesting aquatic plants are now in
flower, amongst which may be enumerated the
Nyrnphaea alba, or white water-lily, and the
Nelumbium luteum, or chinquepin. The Ne-
lumbium is the largest flowered plant in North
America, and may be readily recognized by its
leaves, which are perfectly orbicular and peltate,
and either float on the water or are elevated
above its surface on the leaf stalks. They are
from one to two feet broad, and abou+ as large
as the top of a small card-table. This plant is
closely allied to the celebrated Victoria regia,
" the queen of the water-lilies."

The Nyrnphaea alba, or white water-lily, has
been already introduced and figured. The flow-
ers regularly sink at sunset below the water, and
reappear on its surface at sunrise. This phe-
nomenon is produced by the action of light on
the petals. In the morning, under its influence,
the petals expand, giving additional buoyancy
to the flower, so that it rises to the surface of
the water, on which it reposes through the day,
diffusing a delightful fragrance all around. In
the evening, as the intensity of the light di-
minishes, the petals close; the lily is thus ren-
dered heavier ; and at sunset, it has sunk into
its watery bed for the night.

Both these plants grow in the swampy, marshy
suburbs of the southern part of Philadelphia,
termed the Neck, in the greatest abundance,
near the Stone House Barn. This landmark
must be remembered, as the location is not very
easily arrived at, on account of the numerous
streams cut to effect the drainage of the land.
It is on the surface of these streams that the

leaves and flowers of these interesting aquatics
may be found floating.

Ladies interested in collecting plants have
now an opportunity to obtain, in their greatest
perfection, samples of native ferns. Nothing
can exceed the beauty of these plants when
well prepared. Between thirty and forty spe-
cies may be collected around Philadelphia. The
best localities are the Wissahicon and the
woods along the banks of the Schuylkill. To
make good specimens, a portfolio ought to be
taken to the woods and the ferns placed between
its leaves as soon as gathered. The Adiantum
pedatum, or maiden hair, is decidedly the most
delicate and graceful, and always looks well in
a collection. It is now in fruit, which will be
found under the reflexed margins of the frond.

Through the liberality of Mr. Godey, we are
enabled to present onr readers with the sub-
joined illustration of the Camptosorus rhyzo-

phyllus (walking leaf). This fern is remark-
able for its curious mode of growth. It is an
evergreen with a frond from three to nine inches
long, cordate or heart-shaped at the base, and
gradually tapering into a long slender prolonga-
tion, which bends, by its own natural gravity,
in a graceful and beautiful curve to the ground,
and takes root at its apex. From this root an-
other fern rises, which grows and then roots at
its apex in the same manner. Hence the popu-
lar name, walking leaf, which, in this instance,

godey's magazine and lady's book.

is very appropriate. The botanical name,
Camptosorus, is derived from ntyear-rsr, bent, and
<ra>£;;, fruit dot, in allusion to the irregularly

shaped and scattered linear sori or fruit dots
which are seen on the under surface of the
frond.

M AEEIAGE.

Upon no subject (says an acute modern es-
sayist) is so much good advice given as upon
that of matrimony, yet every one knows how
seldom such good advice is listened to. It is not
in all circumstances that people can listen to
reason, and it is very certain that people in love
seldom do listen to reason. It is also a truth,
scarcely to be questioned, that, with the circum-
stances of falling in love, reason has almost
nothing at all to do. Taste, perhaps, has some-
thing to do with it, and temperament a good
deal ; but discernment is for the most part at
fault upon such occasions, and judgment is not
called upon to act. This is a very serious mat-
ter, and must be admitted to be so when we
come to consider the very important engagements
to which mere personal attachments give rise.
Doctor Johnson, while stating that he has not
discovered that life has anything more to be
desired than a prudent and virtuous marriage,
observes that there is nothing which so much
seduces reason from vigilance as the thought of
passing life with an amiable woman ; and he
warns the gentleman whom he addresses that
love and marriage are very different states ; and
that those who are to suffer often for the sake
of one another soon lose that tenderness of look
and that benevolence of mind which arose from
the participation of unmingled pleasure and
successive amusement.

The plcasantest part of a man's life (says
Addison) is generally that which passes in
courtship, provided his passion be sincere, and
the party beloved be kind, with discretion.
Love, desire, hope, and all the pleasing emotions
of the soul rise in the pursuit.

The hope, then, is more pleasing than the
possession of that which has been hoped for j
but that which is most eurious in our constitu-
tion is, that this sort of hope is ready to spring
up afresh in spite of known realities which fight
against it. When Johnson heard of a man who
was going to marry a second time, he said it was
the triumph of hope over experience. Seldom
has a commonplace matter been resolved into a
happier abstraction.

The continual tendency of hope to triumph
over experience in such cases is not enough
considered by those vehement reformers of the

institutions of society who desire to facilitate the
process of divorce ; and, in short, to enable peo-
ple to separate when they find they do not live
happily together, with as much facility as they
could unite, when they believed that union
would insure their happiness. If any such
facility were admitted, which' it could not be
without setting aside altogether the religious
character of marriage, it would be found that
the hope of forming new ties more agreeable
than the old would ever be rising up, in spite of
experience, and that inconstancy would be pro-
moted without promoting happiness. In this
case, as in thousands of others, the philosophy
of bearing the ills we have, rather than flying to
others that we know not of, is practically the
best for us ; and the greater liberty of divorce
would turn out to be only a greater burthen.

To return to Addison. Seeing that courtship
is so pleasant, he wisely advises that it should
be of long continuance. This is a point upon
which doctors differ. Doctor Addison, however,
expressly says, that those marriages generally
abound ^most with love and constancy that are
preceded by a long courtship. The passion
should strike root, and gather strength before
marriage be grafted on it. A long course of
hopes and expectations fixes the ideas in our
minds, and habituates us to a fondness of the
person beloved. Wordsworth supplies a charm-
ing illustration of a love of this kind : —

u There was a youth whom I had loved so long,

That when I loved him not I cannot say ;
'Mid the green mountains many a thoughtless song

We two had sung like gladsome birds ia May ;

When we began to tire of childish play,
We seemed still more and more to prize each other,

We talked of marriage and our marriage day;
And I in truth did love him as a brother,
For never could I hope to meet with such another."

The most serious point of all in wedded union
Addison just touches upon, and pursues the point
no further; feeling, perhaps, that it was better
to suggest it to reflective minds than to dwell
upon it in a familiar essay. " There is nothing
of so great importance to us," he says, "as the
good qualities of one to whom we join ourselves #
for life ; they do not only make our present state
agreeable, but often determine our happiness to
all eternity."

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

FOR GODEY'S YOUNG READERS.

CHAPTER I.

Introductory.

Some very learned men of Iceland and Den-
mark have said that the western half of the
globe was first discovered by their countrymen,
more than eight hundred years ago.

I do not doubt that there is much truth at the
bottom of the accounts these persons have given
us, though they do read more like fairy tales
than real history.

But if the Northmen — as the old people of
Denmark and Norway were called — having stout
ships of oak, and being bold and hardy sailors,
did, in fact, pass by the way of Iceland and
Greenland to the northern shores of America,
it is still very certain that their discovery was
of little profit to themselves, and not any to the
rest of the world. Before the beginning of the
fifteenth century, all memory of it had been lost.
Even Greenland, which the Northmen had set-
tled, was known to them only by the name of
" lost Greenland."

I may say, therefore, and very likely with
truth, that in the year of our Lord, one thousand
and four hundred, all that vast western world,
in which are included the present lands of North
and South America, was utterly unknown to
any civilized or Christian people.

The cautious mariner, who then steered his
light caravel along the western coast of Europe,
would often gaze with wonder and awe upon
the broad Atlantic, which seemed to surround
the earth with a wild waste of waters. At such
moments he may have longed to explore the
hidden places of that ocean wilderness. But the
known fierceness of its tempests, its mountainous
and ever-restless billows, and the monsters that
were fabled to live in them, filled his heart with
strange fears, and he shuddered at the thought of
entering its deep waters. Never once, probably,
did he dream that, beyond it, pleasant islands
and a mighty continent were concealed, as if in
the darkness of night. If at any time such a
notion came into his head, a single look over the
heaving and tossing waters would soon drive it
away, as something that none but a madman
would venture to find out the truth or falsity of.

But there appeared, at length, one brave and
vol. xlix. — 4

DUFFE Y.

high-souled mariner, whose energy and stead-
fastness of purpose, sustained by the ardor of
deep religious feeling, and guided by the light
of reason and judgment, were to open a way
through peril and mystery to that new world so
long hidden beyond the Atlantic.

In the following pages, it is my design to
relate, in plain and simple language, the more
striking and attractive incidents in the troubled
life of that good as well as great man.

CHAPTER II.

Early life of Columbus.

Chkistoval Colon, or Christopher Co-
lombo, or Columbus, as the name has been
variously written, was born in Genoa, an ancient
city of the present Italian kingdom of Sardinia.
The time of his birth is not known with certainty.
Different authors have fixed it at different pe-
riods between the years 1435 and 1447. Judging
from what Columbus himself has said, I think I
shall not be wrong if I set down the latter date
as the one most likely to be true.

The parents of Columbus were by no means
well off in the world. But, as we say nowa-
days, they were very worthy people. His fa-
ther earned an honest living by the humble
trade of a wool-comber.

In after times, when the poor wool-comber's
son had become a man the world thought much
of, many rich families, whose forefathers had
won for them long and high-sounding titles,
tried to show that Columbus was related to them.
Though the son of the famous discoverer was
foolish enough to undertake to prove the truth
of the claims of these noble families, he had, at
length, to give over the task. He very properly
concluded that he would derive " less lustre from
their nobility than from the honor of having
such a father."

Being poor, the parents of Columbus could
not at first afford to send him to any great school
of learning. When he was yet a little boy,
however, he was taught reading and writing.
Even at an early age, he wrote such a beautiful
hand, that one who has told us the story of his

godey's magazine and lady's book.

life declares that he might have earned his hread
by writing alone. He soon, also, became quite
expert at drawing and painting, and was no bad
hand at figures.

But the study he most lovingly pursued was
that of geography ; and he was always wishing
to be a sailor, that he might visit strange lands,
and find out the shape and size of the earth
upon which he lived.

Seeing the bent of his son's mind, the father
of Columbus managed to send the boy for a short
time to the University of Pavia. At that place
he was taught Latin, which was then the lan-
guage of the schools in all parts of Europe. But
the chief object of his father in sending him to
the university was that he might learn geometry,
astronomy, and navigation, and thus become a
skilful mariner, and, in time, the captain of a
ship.

Yet, being soon taken from this school, never
to return to it, or to any other, the knowledge
that Columbus gained there could not have been
otherwise than slight and imperfect. Neverthe-
less, he did not cease to study ; and there is no
doubt that he applied himself diligently to the
work of self-teaching, whenever he found spare
hours for that purpose. By so doing, he at
length obtained the complete mastery of those
three sciences, without which he could not have
risen to greatness as a navigator and discoverer.

It is said that, after leaving the university,
Columbus worked awhile with his father at
wool-combing. But he did not do so long. For,
as he himself tells us, " he took to the sea at
fourteen years of age, and ever after followed
it." Of his early voyages, I can find little that
is either clear or interesting. No doubt the
account of them, if I could give it, would be
highly amusing, since the mariner, who in those
days sailed upon the waters of the Mediterranean,
was accustomed to meet with many strange ad-
ventures.

Even at this early period of his life, Columbus
seems to have set about preparing himself for
the great work which he afterwards performed.

He had thoroughly studied the then current
systems of geography ; but not without finding
many things in them which he could not well
believe. Among other notions, of the truth of
which he doubted, was the common one, that
no human being could live either in the torrid
zone or in the two frozen zones. The first was
thought to be parched and blackened by the
burning rays of the sun, which poured directly
down upon it. The other two — the north and
south frigid zones — it was said, eternal snow
and ice rendered a bleak and silent wilderness.

That the latter would support human life,
Columbus proved to his entire satisfaction as
early as 1467, when he was about twenty years
of age. In February of that year, as he himself
tells us, he voyaged to the Island of Thule, in
the northern seas, and even beyond it, three
hundred miles, into the polar circle.

The Thule here spoken of is commonly thought
to have been Iceland. Of late, it has been sup-
posed by some authors that the youthful Co-
lumbus was here made acquainted with the story
of the discovery of North America by the old
Northmen. I am willing to admit that a very
dim account of such a discovery was to be found
at that time in Iceland, but there is not a word
to show that it was then known, or that Colum-
bus obtained the slightest hint of it from any
one.

Returning from his voyage to Iceland, Colum-
bus appears to have next sailed under the com-
mand of a famous sea-captain, of the same name
and family as himself. This bold mariner, as
the son of the discoverer relates, was so re-
nowned upon the sea for his deeds against the
infidel Moors, that the mothers of that nation
used to frighten their children into quietness by
the mere mention of his name.

With this roving admiral, Columbus is said to
have sailed "for a long time." The life he led
was one of peril, and made up, I doubt not, of
wanderings from port to port in quest of strange
adventures. But where he wandered to, and
what adventures he met with, I have been unable
to find out.

This part of the career of Columbus, which
must ever remain wrapped up in mystery, was
brought to a sudden close some time in the year
1470.

Having heard that four Venetian galleys were
returning richly laden from Flanders to the
Adriatic, the bold kinsman of Columbus waylaid
and attacked them off the coast of Portugal.
Being brave men, as well as skilful sailors, the
Venetians were not to be easily stripped of their
treasure. It was morning when the fleets came
together; the setting sun found them still in
fierce and stubborn conflict.

At length, after much blood had been shed on
both sides, the ship of which Columbus was
captain took fire, as did also a "great Venetian
galley, with which it was fast grappled by iron
hooks and chains used for that purpose by sea
faring men."

Now was there witnessed an awful scene of
mingled fighting, confusion, and terror. Climb-
ing up the tall masts, and darting from sail to
sail, the flames spread swiftly over the two ships.

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

Almost wild with affright, some of the seamen
vainly labored to stop them ; others, with equal
bad fortune, sought to get the burning vessels
apart; many, shouting the stern war-cries of
Genoa and Venice, still fought hand to hand
over the sides of their ships.

In a few moments, however, the contending
vessels were a blazing mass. Finding there was
no chance of escape, all on board of them that
could, leaped frantically into the sea, " so to die
speedily, rather than bear the slow torture of
burning to death."

At this fearful time, Columbus seems to have
been wholly free from the bewilderment which
had overtaken the rest. He, too, sprang into
the waves, not madly, however, to sink in de-
spair, but, with a stout and hopeful heart, to
push his way to the shore. That shore was full
six miles off; but he was a good swimmer, and
a floating oar came to his hand. " Sometimes
resting on this, sometimes swimming, it pleased
God, who preserved him for greater ends, to
give him strength to get to land."

CHAPTER III.

Columbus at Lisbon — His marriage — His notion of a new
path to India — His reasons for holding it — His proposal
to the King of Portugal — Its rejection.

When Columbus reached the shore after his
long struggle with the waves, he was more dead
than alive. But, having presently become strong
again, he took heart, and set out briskly towards
Lisbon, which he knew to be at no great dis-
tance.

In this city were some countrymen of his, who
gave him a warm and kindly welcome. His
skill and talents, his grave but gentle bearing,
the sweetness of his disposition, and his honesty
and plain dealing, soon gained him many friends
among the Portuguese. He had already turned a
willing ear to their persuasions that he should
make Lisbon his home, when, falling in love,
he needed nothing more to induce him to stay.

Though, like most of us, Columbus had his
little failings, he was really a pious and a good
man. His strict observance of the various rules
of the Roman Catholic religion, in which he
firmly believed, was a fact noted and praised,
even when he was yet a simple mariner. " Nor,"
in the language of the most sweetly-spoken of
those who have written of him — our own Irving
— " did his piety consist in mere forms ; but it
partook of that lofty and solemn enthusiasm
with which his whole character was strongly
tinctured."

Like a strict Catholic, as he was, Columbus
did not think it any great hardship to visit his
church every morning and assist at the early
mass, the daily offering of which, in no Catholic
church, is ever neglected.

I do not wish to say that Columbus was dis-
regardful of the pious duties which he came to
perform. But, certainly, it was in church that
he fell in love. Among the "pensioners" of the
convent of All Saints, the chapel of which he
commonly attended, was a young lady, for
whom, as he thus frequently saw her, our young
adventurer took a great fancy. She was, as a
matter of course, not rich, but " of a good fa-
mily;" her father, an Italian cavalier, having
been a distinguished navigator under Prince
Henry, the most enterprising and generous spirit
of Portugal. Her name was Dona Felipa Morris
de Palestrello.

At this period, as I think, Columbus could not
have been more than twenty- four years of age.
He had " a comely presence." Above the com-
mon height, he was well-formed and stoutly
built. His face was long, and, though " some-
what full, neither fat nor lean." He had a nose
like a hawk's beak, or, as we now say, it was
aquiline. His eyes were light gray, yet spark-
ling and full of life. His complexion was fair,
and, though freckled, of "a lovely red." At this
time his hair was light ; six years afterward, it
had become white as snow. " In his eating,
drinking, and dress, he was always modest,"
and, in conversation, pleasant and affable. Al-
together, he was as agreeable a young man as
one would wish to meet with.

It is not strange therefore that, when the
young lady of whom I have spoken became ac-
quainted and conversed with Columbus, she re-
turned warmly those tender feelings which he
soon expressed for her. To cut a long story
short, the two lovers did not find the course of
true love anything but smooth, and they were
married. From all I can learn, I have reason
to believe that they lived together most happily.

The father of the wife of Columbus being
dead, the newly-married pair went to live at the
house of his widow. Seeing that her son-in-
law took great interest in everything that related
to the sea and to geography, this old lady gave
him the journals, charts, and other manuscripts
left by her husband, who had aided, at least, in
the then late discovery of the Islands of Porto
Santo and Madeira. By examining these, he
found out many things that were new to him,
especially in regard to certain discoveries which
had recently been made by the Portuguese.

As the discoveries here alluded to had a threat

godey's magazine and lady's book.

deal to do in giving the thoughts of Columbus
that direction, by pursuing which he afterwards
became so famous, I shall in this place have a
few words to say about them.

The glory of having led in the path of modern
discovery undoubtedly belongs to Portugal. The
king of that country, who first turned the atten-
tion of his people to enterprises of the kind, was
John the First, sometimes called the Avenger.
He came to the throne in the year 1411. Fa-
vored by him, the Portuguese navigators soon
became very famous. Sailing beyond Cape Non,
around which no ship had been known to pass
for two thousand years, they coasted Africa one
hundred and sixty miles farther, until the rocky
cliffs of Cape Bajador brought their voyage to
an end. Here it was that Hanno, the Cartha-
genian, had been forced to stop five hundred
and seventy years before the birth of our
Saviour.

I do not suppose that nowadays such a voy-
age would be thought worth speaking about ;
but, in 1412, when the mariner's compass was
just beginning to be generally used, it was looked
upon as a great feat. The good fortune of it
gave the Portuguese a burning desire to make
more discoveries. Henry, the son of King John,
a learned and enterprising prince, who wished
only for the " talent to do good," at once set
about encouraging the mariners of the kingdom
to attempt to master the storms, currents, and
rocky cliffs of Cape Bajador. It was his hope
that they would presently be able to sail all the
way around Africa to India, and bring the rich
trade of that country into Portugal. For, al-
though they carried it on in a most costly man-
ner, either by caravans through the deserts of
Arabia and Syria, or, by the way of the Red
Sea, through Egypt into the Mediterranean, the
republics of Genoa and Venice had grown
wealthy and powerful by their control of that
very trade.

In 1418, a vessel was sent out by Prince
Henry to try to pass around Cape Bajador. In
the attempt, this vessel was blown far out to sea.
But, when the crew were every moment looking
for death, the gale drove them upon an island,
which, from their fortunate escape, they named
Porto Santo.

The vessel having returned safely to Portugal
with the tidings of what was then thought to be
a wonderful discovery, the next year three ships
were sent out, one of them under the command
of that Palestrello whose daughter Columbus
afterwards married, to take possession of the
new island.

Having noticed to the southward a dark spot,

like a cloud, yet always fixed, Palestrello and
his companions were led to suppose that there
might be land in that quarter. Sailing at length
in that direction, they reached a large island
covered with woods, which they called Madeira.

Thirteen years afterwards, Cape Bajador was
passed. And, by the time C61umbus married
the daughter of Palestrello, the greater part of
the African coast, from the Straits of Gibraltar
to a considerable distance beyond the equinoc-
tial line, had been explored by the navigators of
Portugal. They had also sailed their ships into
the deep sea, and, far from the main land, dis-
covered the Azores and the Islands of Cape de
Verde.

Having married into the family of one of these
adventurous navigators, and, as I have already
mentioned, coming into possession of his charts
and journals, Columbus soon began to think
much upon the subject of discovery. Seeing
how long the Portuguese had been struggling to
reach India by sailing around Africa, he was
led to reflect upon the possibility of finding that
country, in an easier and shorter way, by push-
ing out boldly to the west.

Though Columbus seems to have had this no-
tion in his head as early as the year 1474, he
did not then make it publicly known. For
many years he said little about it, contenting
himself with quietly finding reasons why it
should be correct. During those years, he sailed
several times to the lands of the torrid zone, on
the coast of Africa. He thus became himself " a
witness" — such is his own language — that that
zone was " not uninhabitable, as some would
have it."

While at home from these voyages, Columbus,
on account of his poverty, had to make charts
and maps for a living. By this means, he soon
became celebrated as a correct and expert map-
maker. He also gained an extensive knowledge
with regard to the old and new notions concern-
ing the shape and size of the earth ; and he was
every day more and more excited to the wish to
render his acquaintance with such things as
complete as possible.

Having at length gained the reputation of a
most skilful navigator, Columbus determined to
carry out the plan of western discovery, which
had long been growing up in his mind.

The causes which led him to foster such a
plan are said, by his son Ferdinand, to have
been " natural reason, the authority of writers,
and the testimony of sailors."

In the first place, he argued — against, the com-
mon opinion at that time — that the earth wa
immense ball or globe, which might be travelled

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

around from east to west, or from west to east.
The greater part of this globe, he further con-
tended, had been explored from Cipango, or Ja-
pan, in the east, to the Azores and the Islands
of Cape de Verde, in the west. The remaining
unexplored space he supposed to be but one-
third part of the distance around the sphere of
the earth. " If that space were sea," he rea-
soned, " it might be sailed over in a few days."
The first land he expected to reach in this way
was Cipango.

I may here state that, if Columbus had thought
the distance between the western parts of Eu-
rope and the eastern shores of India to be, as
it really is, one-half, instead of one-third the
distance around the globe, he might not have
attempted to make his grand discovery. His
mistake, or miscalculation, was a fortunate one.
There have been many such in the history of
the world.

The second ground upon which Columbus
based his plans was, as I have said, " the au-
thority of learned men." There was the Roman
naturalist, Pliny, for instance, who declared that
a ship might sail in forty days from the western
coast of Europe to the East Indies. Aristotle,
a Greek philosopher and naturalist, who lived
long before Pliny, had also affirmed that there
was a way by sea from the Straits of Gibraltar
to India. So had Seneca, a Roman philosopher
of later times ; and so had many other learned
and far-seeing men.

Upon " the testimony of sailors," Columbus
seems to have relied a great deal ; though, in
his day, sailors were used to tell things hard to
be believed. He was a good hand, however, at
drawing some truth even from the most impro-
bable of their stories.

Several of these men declared to him that they
had seen islands less than three hundred miles
to the westward of the Azores. According to
an old tradition, when Spain was conquered in
the year 714, seven bishops were driven thence
by the Moors to an island called Antilla, full a
thousand miles from the main land, where they
built seven cities. This island a Portuguese
navigator was said to have once discovered and
landed upon, finding there churches and Christ-
ian people.

Now, though Columbus held to it that there
were islands westward of the Canaries and
Azores, he was also fixed in believing them to
be much farther off than was commonly sup-
posed. He did not seem, however, to think
these reported discoveries wholly without foun-
dation, but accounted for them by relating what
Pliny says, namely, that " in the northern parts

of the sea there are spots of land on which grow
trees with deep roots, and which are carried
about like floats upon the water."

But the stories in which Columbus found
something really worthy of consideration were
those told him of pieces of curiously carved
wood, and large joints of cane, having been
picked up at sea at a great distance from land,
and after the west wind had been a long while
blowing. He heard, also, that branches of pine
trees, of a kind never seen before, a covered ca-
noe, and two human bodies, unlike any known
people in color, had been driven ashore by
westerly gales upon one of the Azore islands.

These and other accounts, partly true and
partly fabulous, agreed, in many respects, with
the notion Columbus had been so long in form-
ing. Being no dreamer of splendid visions, but,
with all his enthusiasm, a man of action rather
than of speculation, he at length thought it
high time to set about making others see with
their own eyes what he already believed with-
out seeing.

It was necessary, therefore, that he should
sail on a voyage of discovery. But so great an
enterprise was not to be undertaken, even if he
had wished to do it, by one so poor as he was.

It is said that, loving his native land, he first
offered his services to the Senate of Genoa.
Under the banner of that republic, he proposed
to go westward and find India, the richest coun-
try of the earth. But, as he spoke so confident-
ly, these proud senators laughed at him as a
dreaming madman.

Not at all cast down, Columbus then turned to
King John the Second, of Portugal, to whom he
made a like offer of his services. Being an en-
terprising prince, fond of encouraging discove-
ries, the Portuguese monarch willingly listened
to all that our adventurer had to say with regard
to his plan. But the learned gentlemen to whom
he twice submitted the proposal of Columbus
twice declared it to be wild and visionary, and
advised the king to have nothing to do with it.
Accordingly, Columbus was very politely noti-
fied that he might go about his business.

Yet, after all, having learned from the poor
mariner a great deal they never knew before,
these same wise friends of King John went
briskly to work to induce that prince to do what
they had just persuaded him was a wild and
visionary thing. He was in possession of the
plans of Columbus. Why not, then, they whis-
pered, secretly send a vessel to sail in the direc-
tion pointed out by them?

I am sorry to say it, but King John was really
mean enough to do this very thing. Yet the

godey's magazine and lady's book.

captain of the ship which he sent on that er-
rand was as ignorant as the king was base. He
had the plans of Columbus, but not his genius,
his boldness, or his enterprising spirit. Having
wandered wildly about the ocean for some time,
scarcely knowing where he was, and making no
discovery, he returned to Lisbon, pretending to
laugh at the project as being one equally foolish
and perilous.

CHAPTER IV.

Columbus leaves Portugal — His arrival in Spain — His
proposal to the Spanish court — It is finally agreed to.

When he found out how badly King John
had treated him, Columbus became so angry
that he at once resolved upon leaving Portugal.
His wife being dead, he took his little son
James, and, about the end of the year 1484,
went away secretly to Genoa.

To that republic he a second time offered his
services. But, having been growing poorer and
poorer for many years, his native state was now
unable, if not unwilling, to take up a proposal it
had formerly cast away with contempt.

Afterwards, it is said, Columbus carried his
proposal to Venice. Meeting with no favor
from the rulers of that republic, he seems to
have next paid a visit to his father, who had
become very old. Though himself struggling
with poverty, he, like a good son, did a great
deal to make the declining days of his poor
father comfortable. After that, he set out again
to try to accomplish what he deemed to be the
work for which he had been born.

Still having little James as his companion,
Columbus travelled to Spain.

One day, a stranger walked up to the gate of
a convent, not far from Palos, a small seaport
of south-western Spain, and asked for bread and
water to give his young son, whom he held
tenderly by the hand.

The prior of the convent, a Franciscan friar,
John Perez by name, coming by, took a warm
liking to the looks of the stranger. When he
talked with him he was still more pleased, for
he spoke of a great project that seemed to be
one well fitted to wonderfully enlarge the know-
ledge of mankind with regard to the earth and
the sea, about which the good friar John had
studied much.

That stranger, and the little boy with him,
were Columbus and his son James.

I need not linger to relate fully how friar
.John persuaded Columbus to stay with him;

how he made him acquainted with Martin Pin-
zon, an intelligent sea captain of Palos ; how the
two encouraged him to go on with his project,
and gave him money and letters, which finally
bore him into the presence of Ferdinand and
Isabella, the most famous sovereigns of Spain.
Nor is it necessary that I should more than
speak of the year he spent in gaining the favor-
able notice of the king and queen ; of the morti-
fication he suffered from the jeers and laughter
of some; of the pleasure he felt at the kind
words and praises of others.

At length, some time in the year 1487, Co-
lumbus was gladdened by a dim prospect of suc-
cess. King Ferdinand caused the most learned
men of Spain to be called together at the great
University of Salamanca. Before this grave
assemblage, Columbus was to reason upon the
correctness of his notion. If his plans should
then be deemed good, the king promised to give
him all he asked for to carry them out.

But, after all, many of the learned gentlemen
whom the king thus called together knew very
little. Some of them, turning up their noses
and drawing down the corners of their mouths,
declared that they believed Columbus to be a
most conceited fellow. How, said they, should
a poor sailor like him know more than all the
wise men and great sea captains that had ever
lived ? Others, more reasonably, but still igno-
rantly, argued that such a voyage as he wished
to make could not be performed in less than
three years. Then some one, wiser than the
rest, got up and said that, if a ship were to sail
westward on the ball of this world, she would,
of course, go down on the other side. From
that side, he went on to say, she would never
be able to return ; for it would be like climbing
up hill, which no ship could do, with all the
winds to help her.

Now, though I am very willing to laugh at
these arguments against the project of Columbus,
I still do so in a sort of thoughtful way. I won-
der whether I would not myself have said just
such foolish things, had I lived in those days.
Really I think I might ; and so might a great
many of us, who now know more about the
earth and the people in it than even Columbus
ever knew.

I do not doubt, however, that more weighty
reasons were brought to bear against the pro-
posed western voyage. For it is certain that
Columbus found some truly learned persons in
the Council of Salamanca, who spoke well of
him, and firmly believed his notions to be just
and worthy of the highest consideration.

Yet, with all these warm friends of Columbus

EPIGRAM.

could say or do, five years passed away, and the
wise men of King Ferdinand had not agreed
upon anything. At length, more than half of
them decided that the project was a wild one,
which could never he carried out.

During all this time, the King and Queen of
Spain had been waging a troublesome and costly
war with the Moors. They had had little time
to listen themselves to what Columbus was say-
ing. Their purses were now nearly empty, and
the Moors were still to be fought with. I think,
therefore, that they were more unable than un-
willing to engage in the project which had been
brought before them. At any rate, they did not
call Columbus a madman, but told him that they
were too poor at that time to help him.

Sad, and almost hopeless now, Columbus re-
turned to the house of friar John Perez, whom
he had not seen for more than six years. That
good man was greatly moved when he saw his
friend Christopher come back, looking so poor
and cast down. But when he learned from him
what the king and queen, and their wise men
had said, and that he was now about to quit
Spain to visit the kings of France and England,
friar John was sorrowful, indeed.

But he presently took heart. He knew the
queen, and, though but an humble friar, he had
once been her spiritual father and adviser. With
all haste, he sent off to her a letter, begging
her not to cast away lightly so grand a proposal
as that of his friend Columbus.

Having much respect for John Perez, Queen
Isabella at once sent him word to come and see
her. Mounting his mule, the worthy friar, a
little before midnight, set out with all speed for
the royal camp. Arriving there, he soon per-
suaded the queen to recall Columbus. With her
recall, she also sent him money to buy new
clothes, which he greatly needed.

Once more light-hearted with hope, Columbus
bought him a mule, and, riding towards Grana-
da, reached there just before the Moors yielded
up the keys of the citadel of Alhambra, their
last stronghold in Spain.

Having now no enemy to struggle with, Fer-
dinand and Isabella had time to listen with their
own ears to what Columbus had to say. They
found in him a man of the loftiest soul. He did
not wish to beg even monarchs to help him in
carrying out what he felt to be the grandest of
projects.

He said he would not sail on the proposed
voyage unless he, and his heirs and successors,
should be allowed to hold the office of admiral
in whatever islands and continents he might

discover. He declared, also, that he would have
to be the governor of the same, and receive
" one-tenth part of the profits of all the gold,
silver, precious stones, spices, and other commo-
dities which might be found in them."

At these conditions, many of the dons and
counts of Spain laughed heartily. Nor did King
Ferdinand himself fancy them. But Columbus
would give up not one.

Again was the proposal of Columbus rejected
by Spain, and once more did he set out, morti-
fied and sick at heart, to seek the aid of the
kings of France and England.

But, seeing him go away, two of his friends,
Alonzo de Quintanilla and Lewis de St. Angel,
hastened to the queen, and "used such words
that, thanking them for their good advice, she
answered that she was willing to accept of the
proposals, on condition that she were allowed a
little breathing after the war." Her spirit, how-
ever, was now on fire. Even this short delay
was not insisted upon. Her purse was empty,
and her husband, the king, was by no means
favorable to the project of Columbus. Yet, ex-
claimed she, " I undertake the enterprise, and
will pledge my own jewels to provide whatever
may be needed."

Thus did Isabella hand down her name, to be
ever respected and loved, as the name of one
who aided in giving a new home to the poor
and suffering people of the old nations of the
earth.

But St. Angel, having kissed the queen's
hand, told her that she need not sell her jewels.
He said that he himself would lend her all the
money which the occasion required. " There-
upon, Isabella sent an officer with all haste to
bring Columbus back. He was found upon the
bridge of Pinos, six miles from Granada. Un-
derstanding the queen's will and resolution, he
returned to the camp." His terms were agreed
to. " On the 12th of May, 1492, he set out for
Palos, the port where he was to get ready his
ships."

(To be continued.)

EPIGRAM:

INSCRIBED BY AN UNKNOWN HAND ON A STA-
TUE OF NIOBE BY PRAXITELES.

TRANSLATED BY EDW. NEWTON VAN SANT.

The gods' decree, 'tis said, turned Niobe to stone,
Her children gone, she stood a weeping rock alone:
Praxiteles a nobler change hath wrought —
He her from stone to life hath brought.

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN*

BY T. S. ARTHUR.

(Concluded from June number, page 533.)

CHAPTER XI.

One morning, a few days after the young
man named Perkins had related to his friend
the history of his attachment to Miss Ballantine
and his subsequent bereavement, he opened a
letter which came by mail, among several re-
lating to business, post-marked New Orleans.
It was from an old friend, who had settled there.
Among other matters, was this paragraph : —

" I heard something the other day that sur-
prised me a good deal, and, as it relates to a sub-
ject in which no one can feel a deeper interest
than yourself, I have thought it right to mention
it. It is said that, about a year and a half ago,
a young woman and her father suddenly made
their appearance here, and claimed to be Mr. and
Miss Ballantine. Their story, or rather the story
of the daughter (for the father, it is said, was out
of his mind), was that the ship in which they
sailed from New York had been burned at sea,
and that a few of the passengers had been saved
in a boat, which floated about until all died but
herself and father; that they were taken up,
almost exhausted, by a Dutch East Indiaman,
and that this vessel, when near the Cape of Good
Hope, encountered a gale, and was blown far off
south, losing two of her masts ; and that she was
finally wrecked upon an uninhabited island, and
the few saved from her compelled to remain
there for nearly two years before being discovered
and taken off. This story was not believed.
Mr. Paralette, it is said, who has retained posses-
sion of all Mr. Ballantine's property since his
absence, was waited upon by the young woman ;
but he repulsed her as an impostor, and refused
to make the least investigation into her case.
He had his own reasons for this, it is also said.
Several of Mr. Ballantine's old friends received
notes from her; but none believed her story,
especially as the man she called her father bore
little or no resemblance to Mr. Ballantine. But
it is now said, by many, that loss of reason and
great physical suffering had changed him, as these
would change any man. Discouraged, disheart-

* Entered according to Act of Congress, by T. B. Peter-
Bon, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern
District of Pennsylvania.
44

ened, and dismayed at the unexpected repulse
she met, it is supposed by some, who now begin
to half believe the story, that she died in despair.
Others say that the same young woman who
called upon Mr. Paralette has occasionally been
seen here ; and it is also said that two of oui
most eminent physicians were engaged by a
young woman, about whom there was to them
something singular and inexplicable, for nearly
a year and a half to attend her father, who was
out of his mind, but that they failed to give him
any relief. These things are now causing a good
deal of talk here in private circles, and I have
thought it best to make you aware of the fact."

From that time until the cars left for New
York, Perkins was in a state of strong inward
excitement. Hurriedly arranging his business
for an absence of some weeks, he started for the
south late in the afternoon, without communi-
cating to any one the real cause of his sudden
movement. After an anxious journey of nearly
two weeks, he arrived in New Orleans, and
called immediately upon Mr. Paralette, and
stated the rumor he had heard. That gentleman
seemed greatly surprised, and even startled at
the earnestness of the young man, and more
particularly so, when he learned precisely the
relation in which he stood to the daughter of
Mr. Ballantine.

" I remember the fact," was his reply. " But,
then, the young woman was, of course, a mere
pretender."

" But how do you know ?" urged Mr. Perkins.
" Did you take any steps to ascertain the truth
of her story."

" Of course not. Why should I ? An old
friend of her father's called upon them at the
hotel, and saw the man that was attempted to
be put off by au artful girl as Mr. Ballantine.
But he said the man bore no kind of resemblance
to that person. He was old, and white-headed.
He was in his dotage — a simple old fool — passive
in the hands of a designing woman."

"Did you see him?"

" No."

" Strange that you should not !" Perkins re-
plied, looking the man steadily in the face.
" Bearing the relation that you did to Mr. Bal

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN".

lantine, it might be supposed that you would
have been the first to see the man, and the most
active to ascertain the truth or falsity of the
story."

" I do not permit any one to question me in
regard to my conduct," Mr. Paralette said, in an
offended tone, turning from the excited young
man.

Perkins saw that he had gone too far, and
endeavored to modify and apologize; but the
merchant repulsed him, and refused to answer
any more questions, or to hold any further con-
versation with him on the subject.

The next step taken by the young man was
to seek out his friend, and learn from him all
the particular rumors on the subject, and who
would be most likely to put him in the way of
tracing the individuals he was in search of.
But he found, when he had got fairly started on
the business for which he had come to New
Orleans, that he met with but little encourage-
ment. Some shrugged their shoulders, some
smiled in his face, and nearly every one treated
the matter with a degree of indifference. Many
had heard that a person claiming to be Miss
Ballantine had sent notes to a few of Mr. Bal-
lan tine's old friends about two years previous ;
but no one seemed to have the least doubt of her
being an impostor. A week passed in fruitless
efforts to awaken any interest, or to create the
slightest disposition to inquiry among Mr. B.'s
old friends. The story told by the young wo-
man they considered as too improbable to bear
upon its face the least appearance of truth.

" Why," was the unanswerable argument of
many, "has nothing been heard of the matter
since ? If that girl had really been Miss Bal-
lantine, and that simple old man her father, do
you think we should have heard no more on the
subject? The imposition was immediately de-
tected, and the whole matter quashed at once."

Failing to create any interest in the minds of
those he had supposed would have been most
eager to prosecute inquiry, but led on by despe-
rate hope, Perkins had an advertisement inserted
in all the city papers, asking the individuals
who had presented themselves some eighteen
months before as Mr. Ballantine and his daugh-
ter, to call upon him at his rooms in the hotel.
A week passed, but no one responded to the
call. He then tried to ascertain the names of
the physicians who, it was said, had attended an
old man for imbecility of mind, at the request
of a daughter who seemed most deeply devoted
to him. In this he at length proved successful.

" I did attend such a case," was at last replied
to his oft-repeated question.

" Then, my dear sir," said Perkins, in a deeply
excited voice, "tell me where they arc."

" That, my young friend, is really out of my
power," returned the physician. "It is some
time since I visited them."

"What was their name?" asked the young
man.

" Glenn, if I recollect rightly."

" Glenn ! Glenn !" said Perkins, starting, and
then pausing to think. " Was the daughter a
tall, pale, slender girl, with light brown hair?"

" She was. And, though living in the greatest
seclusion, was a woman of refinement and edu-
cation."

" You can direct me, of course, to the house
where they live?"

" I can. But you will not, I presume, find
them there. The daughter, when I last saw her,
said that she had resolved on taking her father
on to Boston, in order to try the effects of the
discipline of the Massachusetts Insane Hospital
upon him, of which she had seen a very favorable
report. I encouraged her to go, and my impres-
sion is that she is already at the North."

" Glenn ! Glenn !" said Perkins, half aloud,
and musingly, as the doctor ceased. " Yes ! it
must be — it is the same ! She was often seen
visiting Charlestown, and going in the direction
of the hospital. Yes ! yes ! It must be she !"

Waiting only long enough in New Orleans to
satisfy himself that the persons alluded to by the
physician had actually removed from the place
where they resided some months before, and
with the declared intention of going north,
Perkins started home by the quickest route from
New Orleans to the North. It was about the
middle of February when he arrived in Boston.
Among the first he met was Milford, to whom
he had written from New Orleans a full account
of the reason of his visiting that place so sud-
denly, and of his failure to discover the persons
of whom he was in search.

" My dear friend, I am glad to see you back !"
said Milford, earnestly, as he grasped the hand
of Perkins. " I wrote you a week ago, but, of
course, that letter has not been received, and
you are doubtless in ignorance of what has come
to my knowledge within the last few days."

" Tell me, quickly, what you mean !" said
Perkins, grasping the arm of his friend.

" Be calm, and I will tell you," replied Mil-
ford. " About a week ago I learned, by almost
an accident, from the transfer clerk in the bank,
that the young woman whom we knew as Lizzy
Glenn had, early in the fall, come to the bank
with certificates of stock," and had them trans-
ferred to the Massachusetts Insane Hospital,

godey's magazine and lady's book.

to be held by that institution so long as one
Hubert Ballantinc remained an inmate of its
walls."

" Well?" eagerly gasped Perkins.

" I know no more. It is for you to act in the
matter j I could not."

Without a moment's delay, Perkins procured
a vehicle, and in a little while was at the door
of the institution.

"Is there a Mr. Ballantinc in the asylum?"
he asked, in breathless eagerness, of one of the
attendants who answered his summons.

"No, sir," was the reply.

"But," said Perkins, in a choking voice, "I
have been told that there was a man here by
that name."

" So there was. But he left here about five
days ago, perfectly restored to reason."

Perkins leaned for a moment or two against
the wall to support himself. His knees bent
under him. Then he asked, in an agitated
voice —

"Is he in Boston?"

"I do not know. He was from the South,
and his daughter has, in all probability, taken
•him home."

" Where did they go when they left here?"

But the attendant could not tell. Nor did any
one in the institution know. The daughter had
never told her place of residence.

.Excited beyond measure, Perkins returned to
Boston, and went to see Beiiaps. From him
he could learn nothing. It was two months or
so since she had been there for work. Michael
was then referred to ; he knew nothing, but he
had a suspicion that Mrs. Gaston got work for
her.

" Mrs. Gaston !" exclaimed Perkins, with a
look of astonishment. " Who is Mrs. Gaston V9

"She is one of our seamstresses," replied
Berlaps.

" Where does she live?"

The direction was given, and the young man
hurried to the place. But the bird had flown.
Five or six days before, she had gone away in a
carriage with a young lady who had been living
with her, so it was said, and no one could tell
what had become of her or her children.

Confused, perplexed, anxious, and excited,
Perkins turned away and walked slowly home,
to give himself time to reflect. His first fear
was that Eugenia and her father, for he had
now no doubt of their being the real actors in
this drama, had really departed for New Orleans.
The name of Mrs. Gaston, as being in associa-
tion with the young woman calling herself Lizzy
Glenn, expelled from his mind every doubt.

That was the name of the friend in Troy with
whom Eugenia had lived while there. It was
some years since he had visited or heard, par-
ticularly, from Troy, and, therefore, this was
the first intimation he had that Mrs. Gaston had
removed from there, or that her situation had
become so desperate as the fact of her working
for Berlaps would indicate.

CHAPTER XII.

CONCLUSION.

After Eugenia Ballantine, for she it reallj
was, had removed to the humble abode of Mrs
Gaston, her mind was comparatively more at ease
than it had yet been. In the tenderly manifested
affection of one who had been a mother to her in
former, happier years, she found something upon
which to lean her bruised and wearied spirits
Thus far, she had been compelled to bear up
alone — now there was an ear open to her, and
her overburdened heart found relief in sympathy.
There was a bosom upon which she could lean
her aching head, and find a brief but blessed
repose. Towards the end of January, her father's
symptoms changed rapidly, indicating one day
more alarming features than ever, and the next
presenting an encouraging aspect. The conse-
quence was, that the mind of Eugenia became
greatly agitated. Every day she repaired to the
Asylum, with a heart trembling between hope
and fear, to return sometimes with feelings of
elation, and sometimes deeply depressed.

On the day after Dr. R had promised to

go to Lexington to look after Mrs. Gaston's little
boy, the mother's anxious desire to see her child,
from whom she had heard not a word for nearly
three months, became so strong that she could
with difficulty compose herself so far as to con-
tinue her regular employments. She counted the
hours as they slowly wore away, thinking that
the moment would never come when her eyes
should rest upon her dear boy. As the doctor
had not said at what hour he would return from
Lexington, there was no period in the day upon
which she could fix her mind as that in which
she might expect to see her child ; but she as-
sumed that it would not be until the after part
of the day, and forward to that time she endea-
vored to carry her expectations.

When Doctor R parted with her, as has

been seen, on the day previous, he was exqui-
sitely pained under the conviction that the child
he had met with in Lexington in so deplorable a
condition was none other than the son of Mrs.

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.

Gaston, who had been put out to Mr. Sharp at
his instance. Hastily visiting a few patients that
required immediate attention, he, very soon after
parting with Mrs. Gaston, started in a sleigh for
the town in which Henry had been apprenticed.
On his arrival there, and before he had proceeded
far along the main street, he observed the child
he had before met, toiling along under a heavy
burden. His clothes were soiled and ragged,
and his hands and face dirty — indeed, he pre-
sented an appearance little or nothing improved
from what it was a short time before. Driving
close up to the side-walk, upon which the boy
was staggering along under his heavy load, he
reined up his horses, and called out, as he did
so —

" Henry !"

The lad stopped instantly, and turned towards
him, recognizing him as he did so.

" Don't you want to see your mother, Henry ?"
asked the doctor.

The bundle under which he was toiling fell to
the ground, and he stood in mute surprise for a
moment or two.

" What is your name?" Doctor R- asked.

" Henry Gaston," replied the child.

"Then jump in here, Henry, and I will take
you to see your mother."

The boy took two or three quick steps towards
the doctor, and then stopped suddenly and looked
back at the load which had just fallen from his
shoulders.

"Never mind that. Let Mr. Sharp look after
it" said Dr. R .

" But he will ," and Henry hesitated.

" Jump in quick, my little fellow ; and say
goodby in your heart to Mr. Sharp ! You shall
never go back there again."

The child sprang eagerly forward at this, and

clambered into Doctor R 's sleigh. A word

to the horses, and away they were bounding

towards Boston. When Doctor R arrived

there, his mind was made up, as it had been,
indeed, before he started, not to take Henry
home to his mother that day. He saw that it
would be too cruel to present the child to her
in the condition he was ; and, besides, he felt
that, after having procured for him the situation,
he could not look the mother in the face with
her abused child in all the deformity of his con-
dition before them. He, therefore, took Henry
to his own home; had him well washed, and
dressed in a suit of comfortable clothing. The
change produced in him was wonderful. The
repulsive-looking object became an interesting
Doy ; though with a pale, thin face, and a subdued,
fearful look. He was verv anxious to see his

mother ; but Doctor R , desirous of making

as great a change in the child's appearance and
manner as possible, kept him at his house all
night, and until the afternoon of the next day.
Then he took him to his eagerly expectant mother,

Mrs. Gaston had waited and waited with all
the patience and fortitude she could summon,
hour after hour, until the afternoon had advanced
far towards evening. So anxious and restless
had she now become, that she could no longer
sit at her work. She had been standing at the
window looking out and watching each approach-
ing vehicle for some time, until she felt sick from
constantly awakening hope subsiding in disap-
pointment, when she turned away, and, seating
herself by the bed, buried her face despondingly
in the pillow. She had been sitting thus only a
minute or two, when a slight noise at the door
caused her to lift her head and turn in that
direction. There stood a boy, with his eyes fixed
upon her. For an instant, she did not know him.
Suffering, and privation, and cruel treatment had
so changed him, even after all the doctor's efforts
to eradicate their sad effects, that the mother did
not at first recognize her own child, until his
plaintive voice, uttering her name, fell upon her
ear. A moment more, and he was in her arms,
and held tightly to her bosom. Her feelings we
will not attempt to describe, when he related,
in his own artless and pathetic manner, all and
more than the reader knows in regard to his
treatment at Mr. Sharp's, too sadly confirmed by
the change in the whole expression of his face.

While her mind was yet excited with mingled
feelings of joy and pain, Eugenia came in from
her regular visit to her father. Her step was
quicker, her countenance more cheerful and full
of hope.

" Oh, Mrs. Gaston !" she said, clasping her
hands together, " my father is so much better to
day, and they begin to give me great hopes of his
full restoration. But who is this1? Not your
little Henry?"

" Yes, this is my poor, dear boy, whom I have
gotten back once more," Mrs. Gaston said, the
tears glistening upon her eyelids.

After a few words to, and in relation to Henry,
the thoughts of Eugenia went off again to her
father, and she spoke many things in regard
to him, all of which bore a highly encouraging
aspect. For the three or four days succeeding
this, Mr. Ballantine showed stronger and stronger
indications of returning reason ; his daughter
was almost beside herself with hope and joy.

Earlier than usual, one day about the second
week in February, she went over to the asylum
to pay her accustomed visit. She was moving

godey's magazine and lady's book.

on, after having entered the building, in the
direction of the apartment occupied by her father,
when an attendant stepped up, and touching her
arm in a respectful manner, said —

" This direction, if you please."

There was something in the manner of the
attendant that seemed to Eugenia a little myste-
rious, but she followed as he led the way. He
soon paused at the door of an apartment, and,
half whispering in her ear, said —

" Your father is in this room."

Eugenia entered alone. Her father was stand-
ing near the fire in an attitude of deep thought.
He lifted his eyes as she entered, and looked her
inquiringly in the face for some moments. She
saw in an instant that he was greatly changed —
that reason had, in fact, again assumed her sway
over the empire of his mind.

" My dear, dear father !" she instantly ex-
claimed, springing towards him.

" Eugenia ! Eugenia !" he ejaculated, in turn,
as he held her from him for a moment or two.
" Can this be my own Eugenia? Surely we are
both dreaming ! But it is ! It is !" and he drew
her to his bosom, and held her there in a long-
strained embrace.

" But what does all this mean, my dear child?
Why are we here? What place is it? Why
am I so unlike myself that I doubt my own
identity? Why are you so changed? Surely!
surely ! I am not Hubert Ballantine !"

" Be composed, dear father !" said Eugenia,
with an instinctive feeling of concern. " We
will go from here at once, and then Ave will talk
over all that seems strange to you now."

As she said this, Eugenia pulled a bell, and
requested the attendant who answered to call
the principal of the institution. He came im-
mediately, and she had a brief interview with
him in regard to the propriety of removing her
father instantly. He acquiesced, and ordered a
carriage to be brought to the door. In this she
entered with him, and directed the driver to take
them to the Tremont House in Boston. There
handsome rooms were ordered, and every effort
was made by her to cause external circumstances
to assume a character similar to what he had
been accustomed to in former years. But her
own appearance — her plain, worn, meagre gar-
ments, and, above all, her changed face, so pale,
so thin, so careworn, so marred by years of
intense suffering — sadly perplexed him. Still
he had a faint glimpse of the truth, and as his
mind's eye turned intently towards the point
from whence light seemed to come, he more than
suspected the real facts in the case — at least the
leading fact, that he had been out of his mind

for a long time. He could remember distinctly
the burning of the vessel at sea, and also the
days and nights of suffering which were spent
in open boats after leaving the vessel. But all
from that time was dim and incoherent, like
the vagaries of a dream.

After satisfying her father's mind as far as
she dared do so at once in regard to the real
position in which he suddenly found himself
placed, she left him, and going to the proper
representative of the asylum, procured a transfer
of the stock held for the support of Mr. Ballan-
tine, and then placed the certificates in the hands
of an agent for sale, procuring from him at the
same time an advance of one hundred dollars
for immediate use. This was all accomplished
in the course of a couple of hours. After this
arrangement, she paid Mrs. Gaston a hurried
visit — explained the happy change in her father's
state of mind, and promising to see her again in
a little while ; had her trunk sent to the hotel,
to which she herself returned, after having pur-
chased various articles of clothing. When she
next saw her father, her external appearance
was greatly changed. This seemed to afford
him real pleasure.

The next two or three days she spent in
gradually unfolding to him the whole history
of the past five years. At every step of her
progress in this she trembled for the result — like
one traversing a narrow, unknown, and danger-
ous passage in the dark. But on the third day,
after nearly everything had been told, she began
to feel confidence that all would be well. The
agitation and strong indignation exhibited when
she related the treatment she had received in
New Orleans, especially from Mr. Paralette,
alarmed her greatly. But this gave way to a
calm and rational consideration of the right
course to be pursued to prove his identity and
claim his property, to do which he was well
aware would not be attended with any real diffi-
culty, especially as with the return of reason
had come back a distinct recollection of every
particular connected with his business and pro-
perty in New Orleans.

In the mean time, Mrs. Gaston was looked
after, and temporary arrangements made for her
comfort. As soon as Mr. Ballantine fully un-
derstood the position of things in New Orleans,
he insisted upon an immediate return to that
city, which Eugenia did not oppose. Prepara-
tions were therefore made for their early depart-
ure, and completed in a very short time.

It was nearly four o'clock on the afternoon
of the day fixed for their departure, and when
they were about leaving for the cars, that a

THE PAPYRUS.

servant came vv the door of their parlor and
said that a gentleman wished to see Mr. Ballan-
tine. The servant was requested to ask him to
walk up. Eugenia was in the parlor, and could
not but feel surprised that any one in Boston
should wish to see her father. She waited,
therefore, to see who the individual was. He
soon made his appearance — entering without
speaking, and advancing towards her with his
eyes fixed intently upon her face.

"William!" she ejaculated, in a quick, low,
astonished voice, and sank instantly upon a chair,
pale as ashes, and trembling in every limb.

" Eugenia ! Can this be, indeed, my own
long-lost Eugenia?" said Perkins, for it was he,
springing eagerly forward and taking the half-
fainting girl in his arms.

It needed no words of explanation from either
— no renewal of early vows — no new pledges of
affection — for

" Love hath wordless language, all its own,
Heard in the heart ."

" My dear children !" said the father, coming
forward, as soon as he could recall his bewildered
senses, and taking both in his arms, " the long
night has at last broken, and the blessed sun
has thrown his first bright beams upon us. Let
us look up to HIM who chasteneth his children
for good, and bless him not only for the present
joy, but for the past sorrow — it was not sent in
anger, but in mercy."

The departure of Mr. Ballantine and Eugenia
was deferred for some days, during which time,
at the urgent solicitation of Mr. Perkins, the
nuptial ceremonies, so long delayed, were cele-
brated. He then accompanied them to New
Orleans, where a summary proceeding restored
to Mr. Ballantine all his property. He did not
resume business, but returned to the North to
reside with his daughter and her husband.

Nothing more remains to be said, except that
Mrs. Gaston was never after compelled to work
for the slop-shop men. Mr. Perkins and his
lovely wife cared well for her.

THE PAPYKUS

Paper as we now have it, that is to say,
paper made of the pulp of fibrous materials,
pressed into thin sheets, dried, and, when in-
tended for writing or printing purposes, sized,
is of comparatively modern introduction into
Europe and Western Asia; although the Chinese
appear to have formed paper out of silk pulp,
mixed with the inner fruit of the bamboo, as
early at least as 95 A. D. : not from time imme-
morial, as some authors have stated, because the
circumstance is well attested, that in the time of
Confucius the Chinese wrote with a style on the
inner bark of trees.

Before the invention of paper, the surfaces
employed for writing upon were numerous.
Surfaces of lead or other metal; tables covered
with wax,. skins of animals (parchment in fact),
all were used ; but no one of these was ever so
extensively employed as the Egyptian papyrus,
whenever the latter material could be obtained.
So soon, however, as the Saracens in the se-
venth century conquered Egypt, the exportation
of papyrus was at an end ; and writing surfaces
became so scarce in Europe that many ancient
documents of great value were erased in order
to render them adapted for being written on
once more. Thus perished many treasures of
antiquity.

VOL. XLIX. — 5

As the Saracens closed the avenue of supply
for the ancient papyrus, so they compensated
Europe for this deprivation by discovering the
manufacture of ordinary paper — at least paper
made in the ordinary modern fashion — though
the material was cotton, not linen. This disco-
very was made some time anterior to the year
706 A. D., for at that period a manufactory of
paper existed at Samarcand.

In the eighth century, the Saracens conquer-
ed Spain, and introduced into the Peninsula,
amongst other arts, that of the manufacture of
paper, which art was a long time finding its way
into other parts of Europe — in Italy not until
the eleventh or twelfth century.

The vast amount of papyrus which must have
been employed in Italy may be inferred from the
number of rolls or scapi of this substance dis-
covered in Herculaneum and Pompeii; also from
the perusal of many existing documents bearing
directly or indirectly on this branch of commerce.
Even so late as the commencement of the sixth
century, Cassiodorus congratulated the world on
the abolition, by King Theodoric, of the high
duty on papyrus from Egypt ; and he spoke in
high-flown terms of the great utility of the
material. The latest papyrus roll known is of
the twelfth century, containing a brief of Pope

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Paschal II., in favor of the Archiepiscopal See
of Ravenna.

The various species of papyrus plants belong
to the natural order " Cyperaceae," or sedges, of
botanists; a main characteristic of which is a
certain triangularity of stem. The method of
constructing a writing surface from these stems
was as follows : The available portion was cut
off (it was seldom more than twelve inches in
length), and split, or, more properly speaking,
unfolded into thin sheets, which were glued
together transversely in such a manner that the
original length of the papyrus stem became the

breadth of the future sheet ; the length of which
might be increased at the pleasure of the opera-
tor. Frequently the manufactured scrolls were
more than thirty feet long. As different methods
prevail in the manufacture of our ordinary paper,
so in like manner there were different processes
of fashioning the papyrus into shape. The rudest
manufacture appears to have been that of Egypt,
and the best papyrus sheets appear to have been
made in Rome during the Augustine era. The
annexed sketch represents a papyrus roll, copied
from a specimen in the Egyptian Room of the
British Museum.

PAPTRUS ROLL, FROM A SPECIMEN IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM.

Considering the numerous pieces entering into
the composition of the roll, of which our illus-
tration represents a portion, the lines of juncture
are remarkably well concealed, only a sort of
grain being visible. The surface, moreover, is
smoothed, and its color very much like that of
India paper. The hieroglyphics are colored as is
usual ; red is the predominant tint, and the colors
are no less well demarcated and separate than
they would have been on glazed paper.

The interest attaching to the papyrus fixed, at
an early period, the attention of botanists, and
has formed the subject of many learned treatises.
Until recently, it was thought that the true
papyrus-plant had been perfectly well identified
as the species of cyperus grown in botanical
gardens under the name of cyperus papyrus ; a
plant common enough in some parts of Sicily,
but which has become exceedingly rare in Egypt,
if not altogether extinct.

Signor Parlatoie, an Italian naturalist, dissents
from the commonly received opinion. In a
memoir which he has recently published, he
advocates the supposition that the real papyrus,
from which the Egyptians made their writing

sheets, at least for the most part, was not the
plant now existing in Sicily, and which is also
common in some parts of Syria ; but the species
which grows in Nubia. He points out certain
minute botanical characteristics by which the
two species may be distinguished; admitting,
however, that the difference is exceedingly slight,
and that the Sicilian or Syrian species may have
frequently been used for paper-making purposes ;
an opinion which is strengthened, indeed, by
the circumstance that most ancient writers who
treat of the papyrus, mention it under different
names. If the deductions of M. Parlatore be
admitted, then it will follow that the botanical
appellation, cyperus papyrus, should no longer
be given to the Syrian or Sicilian species, but to
the cyperus of Nubia.

If the papyrus still existed in Egypt, the doubt
would be presumptively cleared up ; but the plant
has altogether disappeared from that region.
Although the Sicilian papyrus may not be the
true papyrus of ancient Egypt, there can be very
little doubt that it is capable of affording a manu-
factured result almost, if not quite, as good. It
would appear likely, moreover, that the plant

PHYSICAL TKAINING.

was first introduced into Sicily by the conquering
Saracens, thus affording another instance of the
aid contributed by that extraordinary race to the
diffusion of social requisites. At a time when
the rest of Europe was lost in the darkness of
mediaeval barbarism, the Western Saracens were
not only in possession of the treasures of classical
science and literature, but they had naturalized
the science and many of the products of Asia.
The manufacture of Majolica ware was practised
by them almost three centuries before its intro-

duction into Italy. To them Western Europe is
indebted for naturalizing the silk-worm and the
sugar-cane ; large plantations of the latter exist-
ing in Spain at the present day. To them we
are indebted for the introduction of calculation
by the sine of angles, instead of the chord of arcs;
to them we are indebted, most probably, for gun-
powder. The modern paper manufacture was
also introduced by them, as we have already
seen ; and now, according to the deductions of
M. Parlatore, they also introduced papyrus.

SYRIAN PAPYRUS WITHOUT FLOWERS.

SYRIAN PAPYRUS WITH FLOWERS.

Our appended wood-cuts represent the Sicilian
or Syrian papyrus, hitherto termed cyperus papy-
rus, in two states of development — one with
flowers, the other without. In order that inflor-

escence may take place, the plant requires to be
well supplied with water. A pictorial delinea-
tion of the Nubian species we have not been able
to discover.

PHYSICAL TEAINING

PART II.

Into the lungs of every healthy man air is
drawn and expelled — inspired and expired — from
fifteen to twenty-two times on the average
every minute. At each beat of the heart a wave
of dark impure blood is sent through the lungs
to be purified by the air drawn into them ; the
air gives up its life-sustaining gas to the blood ;
the latter hands over to the air its noxious
impurities ; its dark hue is again changed to the
bright red, and it returns to the heart to be once
more sent forth on its mission of heating and
nourishing, again to follow its unceasing round.

If, by the complete exclusion of the air from
the lungs, the blood escapes purification but for
a few minutes, death results. If from any cause
the blood is, habitually, imperfectly purified, all
physical training worthy of the name is of little
avail; for no proper growth, no development
nor vigor of body, no full energy of mind can
take place or co-exist with such a fatal defect
in the very foundation from which they spring.
Imperfect purification of the blood is generally
the consequence of an individual habitually
breathing an unwholesome atmosphere ; but in
some cases it arises from defect in the chest
itself. In the former case, the air may be

godey's magazine and lady's book.

rendered unwholesome by general circumstances
over which an individual has little or no control.
His residence may be fixed in the heart of a large
city, in a flat, low-lying, marshy or badly drained
district, in one shut in by lofty hills, or where
warmth and moisture combined produce a relax-
ing climate. All these contingencies are adverse
to the development and vigor of the frame.
Again, it may be that the air inspired for the
whole or part of the twenty-four hours is
rendered unfit for the perfect purification of the
blood by the local circumstances of deficient
cleanliness, or of small and ill-ventilated school-
rooms, workshops,- counting-houses, &c, or by
small or over-crowded sleeping apartments.
These too frequent causes of impure air are the
most injurious of all ; but, fortunately, they are
generally to be rectified by sanitary precautions,
as ventilation, &c. &c, of which none need be
ignorant at the present day. Adverse as they
are, however, to all healthy development, they
are frequently overlooked by those who are most
anxious about the training of their children, but
who often think more of the physical expansion
of the chest than of the use of that expansion —
the respiration of a pure atmosphere. Too fre-
quently the gymnastics and the drill, the chest
expanders and calisthenics of one part of the day,
are succeeded by the crowded school or sleeping-
room. Use physical means of training, if you
will ; but let them be the aids of abundant, fresh,
pure air, in rooms as large and well ventilated
as circumstances will permit, with open fire-
places, uncurtained beds, and firm mattresses.

The skin, the second great purifying agent, is
not so directly dependent upon the atmosphere
as the lungs; but it is partly so, for some amount
of blood-purification takes place through its tex-
ture by means of the air which constantly sur-
rounds it. Especially, however, does the free
and habitual exposure of the skin to the full
light of day appear to influence both the health
and development of the body: indeed, dark dwell-
ings and situations appear to be quite incom-
patible with the unfolding either of the beauty
or symmetry of the frame ; and so far does this
influence of light prevail, that even infants born
of mothers who habitually occupy ill-lighted
dwellings, are more apt to be deformed than
those placed in more fortunate circumstances.
The great, and most palpable office of the skin,
however, is the discharge from the system of
watery and oily matters, containing salts, acids,
&e. which cannot be retained without injury to
the purity of the blood. The free discharge of
uiese matters is necessarily dependent upon the
freedom of the orifices of: the numberless minute

pores of the skin, and this freedom can only be
secured by the simple and inexpensive provision
of cleanliness, daily washing of the entire surface
with soap and water. Truly, the morning ab-
lutions, whether of young or old, are indispens-
able adjuncts to all physical training, whether
for purposes of development or preservation.
The third and fourth purifiers of the blood —

< the liver, and the kidneys, are more immediately
| connected with the food and the products of its

< digestion, nevertheless, they perform important
I offices in freeing the blood from the impurities
\ which it acquires in the general processes of
| heating and nourishing the frame. The liver is
\ particularly exposed to sources of disorder origin-
l ating in excesses either of food or drink. With
j existing disorders of either liver or kidneys, we
I need scarcely say that all physical training must
j be at a stand-still ; probably, indeed, the body,
) instead of progressing, loses both in strength and

development, and it is vain to look for any real
advancement as long as the purifying agents
j perform their respective offices imperfectly.
Most important is it, therefore, for the cause of
physical development that all indulgences and
excesses in food or drink should be avoided ; for
not only do they contribute to the blood the
impurities of ill-digested nourishment which is
no nourishment at all, but they cause hindrance
to the perfect action of those agents which free
the blood from impurities which are the natural
result of the healthy functions of the body.

There is, however, another requisite for the
healthy action of the organs in question, besides
the regulation of the food. Without a proper
amount of exercise to stimulate the circulation
of the blood through the whole body, the action
of any of its organs can scarcely be sufficent even
for ordinary health, certainly not for a high
state of vigor. This, however, brings us to the
third condition of physical health requisite for
physical training — the circulation or distribution
of the blood.

Even if a well nourished and well purified
blood could be compatible with deficient exercise,
it could do but little to advance the physical
perfection of the frame, without that active state
of circulation which exercise alone can give;
exercise moreover of the whole body, which shall
send the blood coursing through the limbs, and
through every internal organ, quickening their
every action, quickening the pulses of the heart
and the respirations of the lungs, quickening the
digestion of the food and the flow of the bile, forc-
ing from the skin the ready perspiration. Only
thus can blood be well nourished and purified,
and only thus can such blood be driven through

THE SMILING BOY.

the muscular flesh, carrying with it the elements
of fresh and increasing nourishment, to build up
the firm, well developed symmetry of a healthy
body, fitted with energy and power, and the
willing instrument of an active mind.

Our second and third rules of physical training
— " The development of the physical strength,
powers, and mechanical capabilities of the body,
to such a pitch as the individual requires to
perform well the duties of life," and " The cul-
tivation within certain limits of the graces and
beauties of the body," are too generally regarded
to the exclusion of the first, the intelligent
" cultivation of the physical health." In the case
of the young, if the latter is attended to, they can
scarcely fail to train themselves, provided the
natural desire for activity and motion be not
repressed by artificial restraints, nor confined, as
it too often is in girls, by absurd modes of dress
or rules of demeanor. Moreover, as youth
advances towards adult age, the physically sound
body will necessarily acquire the "physical
strength, powers, and mechanical capabilities,"
requisite for the performance of the duties of life.
Not that we would say that the artificial modes
of exercising and training are either useless or
undesirable ; but we would put aside the idea
that they are necessary for the attainment of
even a high pitch of physical development. That
they are requisite, however, in the majority of
instances, for the development of the graces and
beauties of the body, there can be no doubt. All
can appreciate the discipline of the drill-sergeant
in converting the awkward gait of the clown
into the active movement and smart carriage of
the formed soldier. The drill, the gymnastic,
calisthenic, and such like exercises, all have
their uses as a part of the system of physical
training, but they are a part only, and that not
the most important. They are simply details,
which may or may not be followed, according to
circumstances, and which can effect but little
good, if not based upon the principles we have
endeavored to explain to our readers.

We cannot conclude this portion of our subject
without offering two necessary cautions on the
subject of physical exercises, or rather exertions.
The first is, that they ought never, when it can
be avoided, to be undertaken very soon after a
full meal, otherwise they interfere with the per-
fection of the digestive processes ; the second is,
that they ought never to be carried to exhaustion.
If they are, their benefit is lost, the recruiting
and reparative powers of the system partake of
the general exhaustion, and instead of strength
and development, weakness and waste are the
results.

\ We come to our fourth and l^st subject of

> physical training, the one to which all the rest
is or ought to be subservient — " The cultivation

I and development of the mind, through and by
j means of the bodily powers and senses." Too
| often has physical training been the means only
< of cultivation of brute force for brutal purposes,
instead of being applied to its legitimate end, to
<( perfect the body for the purposes of the mind,
| to render it at once its ready servant, and its
; active assistant in the acquisition of knowledge.
] As already observed, closely linked during this

> life have the two been by their Creator ; their
I interests cannot be severed ; act and react they
j will upon one another, and best will that man
\ fufil the objects of his being, in whom the active,

> energetic, intelligent, religious mind, is served by
| the well-developed, healthy body. If the form
J of an Apollo be animated by a dull, or depraved,

or sensual mind, how little is its possession
higher than the animal ! And on the other hand,
let the aspirations of the mind be as lofty as
they may, its desire for good and for unselfish
exertion ever so exalted, if it be clogged and
hampered by a body listless and languid, weak,
or ill at ease, it cannot rouse it to full exertion,
and even its best thoughts will be clouded and
tinged by the depression of the material medium.
Only when the free activity of a healthy, reli-
gious, and intelligent man plays freely forth by
means of a perfectly healthy body, does he most
nearly approach that perfect and higher state,
when the spiritual having cast off that which
" loaded" its little " hour" in this world, shall
rise in unincumbered activity in another and a
better.

THE SMILING BOY.

BY E. S. W.

To decorate his golden hair,

He seeks a floweret rich and rare ;

The mountain rose and violet,

The blue-bell in his hair is set.

The weeping willow too is made

To hind the wreath with solemn shade ;

He culls the flowers from every Tine,

The myrtle and the eglantine.

Thus fair and hright he bounds along,
Enraptured by the wild birds' song ;
He plucks a floweret from each stem,
And with it crowns his diadem.
His bounding heart, so light and free,
Is heard in tones of joyous glee ;
How beautiful the scene appears!
Unfading theme for after years

A EIDB TO THE FOETUJSTE - TELLEE'S.

A SKETCH OF SOUTHERN LIFE.

BY PAULINE FORSYTH.

Agnes Lanman was a very pretty girl,
living on a plantation about a mile or two from
Louden. Her figure was tall, and gave promise,
even at the early age of eighteen, of becoming,
in time, quite stately and imposing. She had a
fair round face, with round eyes, blue and soft ;
a nose which, though well enough in its way,
was certainly neither well-defined nor chiselled;
a rosebud of a mouth, with full pouting lips,
almost always slightly parted, as if to show their
pearly treasures ; and a softly-rounded, dimpled
chin. Her light-brown hair, arranged in smooth
heavy bands on either side, served as an appro-
priate setting for her pretty face.

From this catalogue raisonnee of her features,
no physiognomist would expect much mental
force or strong feelings of any kind. She was
merely a soft-hearted, affectionate girl, gifted
with an untiring sweetness of temper and a
great capability for dependence. To have been
condemned to stand alone, to think and act for
herself, would have been the sorest trial that
could have been inflicted on her. But to make
amends for that, she was docile and pliable as a
child, and believed all that was told her, whether
she understood it or not ; and as she carried out
into action as well as she could the different
precepts she had picked up on her short journey
through life, her conduct was often inexplicably
inconsistent.

For instance, every one in Louden knew that
Agnes was in love with James Clinton, a young
lawyer, a cultivated, agreeable, and intelligent
man, every way worthy of her. And yet we
knew — for where can such things be kept secret %
— that she had twice refused him. I had watch-
ed, evening after evening, at our little festive
gatherings, the warm flush that played change-
fully on her cheek as Mr. Clinton talked with
her, the shy, bright glance of her eye, so calm
and steady with every one else, and tried in vain
to unravel the mystery of the two refusals.

She enlightened me herself (she was rather
inclined to confidential communications) one
evening. We had been discussing, perhaps, the
cosmogony of the earth, beginning with the
mossy bank on which we were sitting, or per-
haps the courses of the planets, or the grand
54

rules that govern each star in the mighty heavens,
as their twinkling light lit fitfully up the river
beneath our feet. Some such high topic of
converse perhaps had been occupying us; but
whatever had been the theme on which we had
commenced our conversation, the stream of talk
gradually flowed into the broad channel of
human love.

"Cousin Anne says," said Agnes, "that no
gentleman should be accepted until he has
offered himself at least three times. For she
says that the first offer may come from a passing
fancy, and a second is no proof of any great
affection. But that if a man really loves you,
he will not let even three or four refusals dis-
courage him."

" I should think it was a very dangerous ex-
periment," said I. " One refusal would be
enough for me, I am sure."

"Not if you really loved, Pauline," said
Agnes, with her color rising ; " besides, Cousin
Anne says, that to say yes at once shows that a
lady forgets entirely what is due to herself and
her own dignity."

This was a very strange doctrine to me. My
ideas of such matters were gained almost entirely
from novels, from James's novels especially,
where the lady with the most obliging frankness
says, " Yes, thank you," before the gentleman
has had time to finish his ceremonious speech,
having long before made up her mind, and laid
aside all feminine doubts and trepidations, as
utterly unworthy two such elevated characters
as her lover and herself. This mode of proceed-
ing, though demanding great coolness and com-
posure, just at a time when long custom has
sanctioned a little tremor and agitation, was yet
a safe one ; but the risk implied in " Cousin
Anne's" suggestion was so great that I did not
see how any one in their senses could follow it.

I opposed it warmly, and at every argument I
brought forward Agnes's color rose higher, and
at last large tears gathered in her eyes and glit-
tered in the moonlight.

" Oh, Agnes !" I exclaimed, " that was the
reason you refused Mr. Clinton."

" Indeed, you are very much mistaken, Pau-
line," said Agnes, as indignantly as if I had

A RIDE TO THE FORTUNE-TELLER'S.

accused her of some heinous crime ; " I could
never endure that man ; you know I couldn't."

This assertion made but little impression on
me, as it was the custom in Louden to protest
the utmost dislike and aversion to a favored
suitor until the last moment. Indeed, I had
known a lady persist in her declarations of scorn
while trying on her wedding-dress. How they
reconciled this with their conscience is hard to
say. But Love seems to have a code of his
own, and to tell the plain truth in these matters
would have been regarded in Louden as an out-
rage on maidenly modesty. Agnes's words said
one thing, her looks and actions another, and
the latter were, in this case, the more reliable.

" His love, too," I said, " does not seem to
have stood your Cousin Anne's test. He has
not been to see you since you refused him for
the second time, I think?"

" No," replied she, mournfully.

" How long is it since you have seen him?"

" Five months, yesterday."

" You seem to have a very exact memory,"
said I, " especially considering how you dislike
Mr. Clinton. Isn't there a report that he is ad-
dressing Miss Bettie Graham?"

" Yes," said Agnes ; " I have heard it, but
Cousin Anne says she does not believe that it is
true."

Mr. Clinton had said once to me that nothing
would induce him so far to forget himself as to
propose for a third time after two decided re-
fusals. So, although it was clear that they were
each attached to the other, yet while they both
made such a point of their own dignity, it was
not easy to conceive how the matter would be
made right.

Meantime, days and weeks wore on. Mr.
Clinton resolutely avoided all opportunities of
meeting Miss Lanman, and there were continual
reports of his flirting, now with this person, now
with that, which kept poor Agnes in a constant
state of uneasy expectation. She became very
quiet, cried a great deal in a weak, low-spirited
kind of a way, and seemed to have lost all
interest in her usual occupations and amuse-
ments.

There was but one plan which seemed to
awaken any desire for exertion on her part.
Some eight or ten miles off, in one of the most
uncultivated and desolate portions of the state,
lived an old woman, Betsey Hyslop, who had a
great reputation as a fortune-teller, and a visit
to her had long been one of Agnes's strongest
wishes. We never met that she had not some
new proof to give me of old Betsey's wonderful
wisdom and prescience, and did not urge me to

consent to accompany her on an expedition to
the sylvan seeress. This I readily promised to
do, but there were several obstacles in the way.

Mr. Lanman thought that it was a wild and
unsafe scheme for a number of young people to
go by themselves into such a rude part of the
country. Mrs. Lanman looked upon Betsey
Hyslop as one in close league and fellowship
with the father of evil, and would not listen
with patience to her daughter's countenancing
her in any way. But these and all minor ob-
stacles were overcome at last by the patient
pertinacity of Agnes. Mr. Lanman discovered
that he had some business in that part of the
county, and consented to allow Agnes to ac-
company him. As she wished her expedition
to be kept a profound secret, there was no one
to go with us but her brother Robert, a lad of
sixteen. We took him as a protector, as Mr.
Lanman's errand only led him within a mile of
Mrs. Hyslop's.

" We must start very early in the morning,"
said Agnes to me, the evening before the ap-
pointed day, " for the roads are very bad."

" Suppose the carriage should break down,
and we should have to stay at Mrs. Hyslop's all
night."

" Carriage ! why we are going on horseback !
Didn't you know it?"

" Horseback !" exclaimed I ; " I have never
been on a horse in my life."

Poor Agnes ! she looked as though disappoint-
ment had marked her for its own.

" Don't, pray, Pauline, let pa and ma know
that. We cannot possibly get there in a carriage,
and we have one of the best old horses in the
world; a baby could manage him, I am sure.
Don't you think you could?"

"I have never tried, but I don't think I
should have any difficulty," said I, with that
glorious self-confidence which is the birthright
of every New Englander.

"All you will have to do, Pauline," said
Agnes, "is to be very careful and keep your
seat, and hold the reins steadily, and, above all,
don't let the horse know that you are afraid of
him, or don't understand how to manage nim,
and you will get on very well."

" You mean that I am to act from the very
first as though I were an experienced horsewo-
man, which will not be such an easy matter. 1
may be able to deceive your father, but I am
sure old Gustavus will find me out."

My emotions when, on the next morning, for
the first time in my life, I found myself on horse-
back, were various and contradictory. First
came a feeling of pride in my dignity and pre-

godey's magazine and lady's book.

rogatives as an intellectual and spiritual being.
Here was I, little and weak, and yet I could
turn at my pleasure this great, strong, swift
creature; and I gave a pull at the reins, where-
upon the great, strong, and swift creature sidled
in a most singular way close up to a tall tree as
if he intended to crush me upon it as I would
have crushed a mosquito. Then came a feeling
of terror as I pulled with all my strength in the
other direction, and Gustavus performed the
same manoeuvre against a tree on the opposite
side. Then, with a sensation of utter helpless-
ness, I was just on the verge of betraying my
weakness by bursting into tears, when the black
man, who had brought up the horses, came to
my aid and led Gustavus into the path.

"I reckon, Miss Pauline, you don't know
much about hosses?"

" No," said I, meekly.

" Well, den, de bes' thing you can do is jes'
to hole de reins easy, and ole Gustavus can take
care of himself and you too."

I followed Jim's advice, and thus relieved
of all responsibility, and in an entire spirit of
self-abnegation, the ride to Betsey Hyslop's was
safely performed. We had one gallop, just
enough to let me see what capabilities for rap-
turous enjoyment there are in that mode of
exercise. After Mr. Lanman left us, Robert
proposed that we should run a race, and we
dashed through the mud and over the stones up
to the door of Mrs. Hyslop's cabin, as if we were
bringing to her tidings of some great victory.

A little barefooted colored girl, ragged and
laughing, received us and ushered us into the
best room in the house. We had time to look
about us and collect ourselves a little before the
awful moment came when we should find our-
selves face to face with the soothsayer. There
were no windows to the cabin, but as it was a
warm day, and the wooden shutters were flung
wide open, we did not feel the deficiency. In
one corner of the room stood a loom, with a
piece of coarse cloth in it half finished; in
another, was a bed covered with a blue checked
cotton spread, evidently homemade; a few
Windsor chairs and a pine table constituted the
rest of the furniture. A fire was burning low
on the hearth, which the coolness of the morn-
ings and evenings in that damp, unhealthy part
of the country demanded.

" There is no lack of fresh air here," said I,
pointing to the chinks and crevices between the
logs of which the cabin was built. "Mrs.
Hyslop must suffer in winter with all these
draughts around her, and that shutter wide open
all day."

She is so used to it that she doesn't mind it,"
said Agnes. " Two or three years ago we had
an unusually severe winter, and Uncle Charles,
who does not live far from here, was so uneasy
about this poor lone woman as he called her,
that he had all these cracks stopped up and a
window put in himself, but in two or three days
Mrs. Hyslop took out the window and broke all
the chinking out. She said she should certainly
be found sijffiicated in her bed if she slept
another night in such a shut-up room."

Agnes spoke in a low, tremulous voice, and
her pale cheek and restlessly moving hands
showed that she was much agitated.

"Why do you tremble so?" asked I. "Are
you not well?"

"Yes, but I am frightened. They say that
Betsey Hyslop is such a bad-tempered person
that I am almost afraid to see her. My old
nurse says that she believes she would as soon
kill a person as look at them. She is a dreadful
woman !" And Agnes shuddered with terror.

Just then a little door leading into a small
room, hardly larger than a closet, was throAvn
wide open, and a short stout woman appeared.
A dress of some homemade material was care-
lessly pinned around her. She wore no cap, and
her gray hair was drawn off her face and gathered
into a careless knot behind, fastened up by a
goose-quill in place of a comb. Her face, natu-
rally pale, was now livid with rage, and her
fierce gray eyes flashed upon us with savage ire.
I saw at a glance that she had overheard Agnes's
last unfortunate remark to me, but the poor girl
was too bewildered and confused to observe
anything but the hand that beckoned her with
an imperious gesture into the private apartment
of the angry sibyl.

Agnes mechanically obeyed the summons, and
Mrs. Hyslop was about to close the door, when
Robert interfered, seeing his sister's alarm, and
insisted that it should be left a little ajar. By
this means we could hear distinctly the oracles
that fell from the lips of the gifted woman.

" You are seventeen year old," said Betsey,
after she had shuffled the cards for a few
minutes.

" I was eighteen last fall," said Agnes, timidly.

" Well, I said eighteen, of course. When folks
come to me, they must listen and not talk. I
don't want to hear nothin' from them. The
cards tell me all I need to know. You are
engaged to be married this very spring."

" No," said Agnes, hesitatingly.

" You are ; don't tell me you are not. My
cards always speak true. But you won't marry
him that you think you will."

A RIDE TO THE FORTUNE-TELLER'S.

Agnes grew still paler, and shuddered, whether
from the prophecy or the vindictive and baleful
glances which the old hag seemed to take a
pleasure in bending upon her, in proportion as
she cowered beneath them, I could not tell.

" You will be married three times."

All Agnes's timid, fluttered soul looked out
from her eyes at these ominous words ; she evi-
dently gave full faith to them.

" Your first husband will be a good-sized,
well-stattered man, with"

"Black hair?" asked Agnes, eagerly.

" No, red," said Mrs. Hvslop, with malicious
promptness.

Agnes sighed.

" Your next will be a light-complected man,

with" she paused and turned over the cards,

all the while casting sly glances at the excited
girl from under her shaggy brows, evidently
enjoying her fear and trepidation — "light-colored
hair," said she, at last. " And your third hus-
band will be a dark man with"

"Black hair," said Agnes, almost involun-
tarily.

" No, he won't have no hair at all ; he '11
wear a wig."

Agnes fainted. She said afterwards that Mrs.
Hyslop frightened her so that she did not know
from the first what she said or did, and that at
the last word she flung upon her such a glance
of fiendish triumph, that she could not endure it.

In a little while, Agnes was so far recovered
that she was able to ride to Mr. Stacy's place,
where we expected to meet Mr. Lanman. Mrs.
Hyslop wished to tell Robert and me our fortunes,
and also to finish what she had left untold to
Agnes. But; hurriedly declining all proposals of
the kind, we rode off in a somewhat more sobered
mood than we had been an hour or two before.
" I don't wonder Aggie looks so downcast,"
said Robert; "just think of three husbands, and
not one with black hair among them !"

Instead of laughing at Robert's little sally,
Agnes began to cry, and we saw that no mention
must be made of the disastrous fortune, unless
we wished our poor companion to turn into a
Niobe. Indeed, for the last few weeks; she had
" dissolved in tears," as the novel writers say,
on every occasion that furnished the slightest
possible pretext.

"You have come just at the right moment,
girls," said Helen Stacy, after the first greetings
were over; "we are very gay out here in the
woods just now. Mrs. Mason has three young
ladies staying with her, and there are two or
three gentlemen come home from college with
William Jackson, and Mrs. Flagg has her house

full, as usual. We contrive to meet almost every
pleasant evening, and enjoy ourselves very
much."

" Helen has left out the most agreeable person
of all," said Mary Stacy, with a mischievous
glance. " Mr. Clinton is spending two or three
weeks with his sister, and we see a great deal of
him, or rather Helen does ; she seems to be the
attraction to him."

Helen of course fait bound to disclaim, and
protest that it was all an absurd idea of Mary's ;
but a little conscious blush and smile showed
that in her heart she looked upon tho idea of
Mr. Clinton as a lover to be neither absurd nor
disagreeable.

" I am afraid Aggie will have to be contented
with that red-headed man," said Robert to me,
in a whisper.

" I am afraid she will," I replied.

But Agnes, not very penetrating at the best
of times, and now too weak and confused from
her late fright to pay much heed to what was
going on around her, had only heard that Mr.
Clinton was expected to be at Mr. Stacy's that
evening with the other young people of the
neighborhood, and sat lost in the pleasant but
agitating thoughts produced by the prospect of
meeting him once more. For Mr. Lanman had
said that we must not think of returning before
the next morning, and indeed had seemed desir-
ous that we should accept Mrs. Stacy's urgent
invitation, and spend a week with them. He
thought a little gayety would be useful in re-
viving the spirits that his daughter had lost so
entirely.

Agnes spent at least three hours in arranging
her simple dress to the best advantage, and really
looked exquisitely lovely when she joined the
other guests in the drawing-room. But the even-
ing wore on, and still Mr. Clinton did not appear.
At last Helen Stacy came up to Agnes and my-
self, who were standing a little apart from the
rest, and said, with some vexation in her tone —

" It is too bad of Mr. Clinton. He has just
sent word that a headache, or some other non-
sense of that kind, will prevent him from coming
here this evening, and I know it is only an ex-
cuse, for pa met him riding two or three hours
ago, and told him that you were here, and he
must be sure and come. It is so provoking ! It
is the first evening this week that he has not
spent here, and we particularly wanted him to-
night. He is such a general favorite and so
lively, that he makes everything go off well."

" Oh, it is very pleasant here, I am sure," said
I. "I don't think we need Mr. Clinton to
enliven us."

godey's magazine and lady's book.

It had been so many months since Mr. Clinton
had paid Agnes any attention, that the reports
r bout them had died away, and Helen did not
notice the fading color in the young girl's cheek,
or the gathering tears in her eye, as she went
on talking about Mr. Clinton's unaccountable
absence.

" I am very tired, and my head aches so that I
can hardly hold it up," said Agnes, after a few
moments, when we were again alone ; " do you
think, Pauline, if I should slip off to my own
room, any one would notice it?"

" No ; I will make your excuses to Mrs. Stacy
and the girls, and all the others are enjoying
themselves too much to think of anything else."

The next morning, Agnes came down to break-
fast with pallid cheeks and eyes red and swollen.
She declined decidedly all entreaties to stay
until she had quite recovered from her fatigue ;
but, saying that she feared she was threatened
with a severe headache which a ride might
relieve, she insisted on returning home imme-
diately.

The horses were accordingly brought to the
door soon after breakfast, and Agnes, Robert,
and I set forth, leaving Mr. Lanman to follow at
his leisure. With a heart evidently burdened
and preoccupied, Agnes rode listlessly along; the
cool breeze of the early spring morning, the song
of the birds, the blossoms that hung in fragrant
tassels on the trees, or lifted up their cups of
incense from the green turf at our horses' feet,
moved her in vain to joy and gladness.

But not so with Robert and myself. We were
impatient for a race. Finding it impossible to
induce Agnes to join us, we at last consented to
go by ourselves.

" We will just gallop up to the cross-roads.
That cannot be far from here ; and then we will
come back to you."

Agnes made no objection, and we were soon
dashing along, with a reckless disregard of obsta-
cles, and in that high excitement and enjoyment
which nothing but a swift gallop can produce.

When we reached our goal, we rode back more
leisurely to join our companion. Robert was a
little in advance of me, and, looking through the
intervening trees, he called out —

" We need not go any further. Agnes is com-
ing with father ; I can see them distinctly now.
Let's have another race."

I consented; and, as we rode at our utmost
speed for two or three miles, I was not at all
astonished to find that we so far outstripped our
more moderate companions as to lose sight of
them altogether.

But to return to Agnes, whom wc left so un-

ceremoniously sauntering along the shaded road
that led to Louden. Soon after our departure, by
the turning of the saddle, the young girl found
herself landed on her feet in the middle of the
highway. She was not hurt, but she was a little
frightened, and quite unable to replace the sad-
dle or to resume her seat. Accordingly, she fell
to crying, her usual resource in any difficulty.
The sound of horses' feet behind her roused her
from her abandonment, and, hastily wiping her
eyes, she turned just in time to see that Mr.
Clinton was alighting to assist her. He too had
been hurrying to Louden to avoid meeting Miss
Lanman, which a secret consciousness of his
weakness told him would be a death-blow to his
stern resolution of treating her with the utmost
indifference ; and here, as if Love and Fate were
both combined against them, they met in this
romantic position alone, with the trees, the flow-
ers, and the blue sky for the only witnesses of
their words and blushes. Mr. Clinton was but
mortal, and he yielded to strong necessity.

Their first greetings were cold and embar-
rassed. Mr. Clinton readjusted the saddle, as-
sisted Agnes to mount, and of course could do no
less than ride by her side until we came back to
join her. He tried to keep up a formal conver-
sation, and suggested the weather and several
other common topics as neutral ground, where
they might safely meet ; but his companion was
too much embarrassed to assist him. They both
had a sensation of relief when they saw Robert
and I on our way towards them, and of disap-
pointment when we turned abruptly round and
galloped out of sight.

Perfectly at a loss what to do or say, Mr.
Clinton and Agnes rode on in silence for some
time ; both were thinking upon the same subject,
yet neither were willing by word or look to be-
tray their thoughts.

" I shall never get through this ride of ten
miles without speaking out," thought Mr. Clin-
ton, " and it may as well come first as last."

He spoke accordingly, and as this was the or-
thodox third time, the answer was favorable.

I had been at home two hours, and was lying
down to rest, meditating on the vast quantity of
aches and pains that one long ride could com-
press into a very small compass, and giving an
occasional glance to the sun riding high in the
noontide heavens, whose ardent beams, spring
though it was, were not to be lightly encoun-
tered, when Agnes entered with a flushed check
and a buoyant step, which awoke at once my
admiration and surprise.

" How heated you look, Agnes," said I, " and
no wonder, the sun is so warm and you have

THE OLD FARM HOUSE AND ITS INMATES.

been riding so sharpl}\ It must have been very
tiresome, but I suppose your father is afraid to let
you ride fast. Did he say anything about sending
to the post-office soon ? I have a letter to go."

" Father is not at home yet, I believe," replied
Agnes.

"Why, who came with you?"

" Mr. Clinton."

" Oh ! and you have been riding with him all
this time?"

"Yes."

I was very curious to know the result of the

four hours' communion, and at last seeing that
Agnes was not going to speak first, though evi-
dently waiting to say something, I ventured on
a general question.

" Agnes, which do you think took a right view
of the future, Cousin Anne, Mrs. Hyslop, or I?"

" Cousin Anne f9 and, saying this, Agnes dis-
appeared.

Although my prescience had thus been so
completely set at naught, it was some consola-
tion to know that womanly rights had gained
the victory over the dignity of man.

THE OLD FAKM HOUSE AND ITS INMATES.

T ANN E. PORTER.

" Well, doctor, what shall we try next?" said
my mother, as that most worthy gentleman, our
family physician, Dr. Bradstreet, seated himself
by the open fire, in the front chamber of our
house in Middle Street.

I was then a feeble little invalid, propped up
by pillows in the large easy-chair; and, though
it was early spring, and I could hear the merry
voices of children at play, and, by a little stretch-
ing of my neck, could catch from the narrow
street, lined on each side with tall brick houses,
glimpses of blue sky (oh ! how far away they
seemed though), and could feel now and then a
softer breeze from the green fields beyond the
city, yet I was too sick to stray far from the
narrow room where I then sat.

I loved the doctor ; he never knew how much,
for doctors were great personages in those days,
and I never ventured to be very familiar with so
august a character. This was before the days
of hydropathy and homoeopathy, that have almost
taken captive the whole army of regulars. By
the storming of one, and by the stratagem of the
other, I fear they will succeed. But our good
doctor died before this onslaught upon his pro-
fession. Peace to his ashes !

He was a learned and a gentle man ; I can
almost draw his full-length portrait now; the
blue coat with brass buttons, the white vest that
opened wide, displaying the broad plaited shirt-
ruffles, and I recall, too (for having, from bash-
fulness, a habit of looking down, and therefore
judging people as much by the feet as the
head), the fine white stockings and polished
shoes, with neat buckles which he always wore.
Sometimes, if he happened to come on Sunday,
the stockings were silk. Whether I took my cue

from the doctor or not, I cannot tell ; but I have
ever since had a fancy for neat feet-dressings, and
with some of the first money which came under
my own control, I purchased a pair of silk stock-
ings and black satin shoes.

A gold-headed cane and a snuff-box were the
invariable companions of the doctor.

He placed the one in a corner of the room, and,
while regaling himself with the other, he looked
at my little pale face in the corner, and from
thence his eye fell on the tall three-story house
across the way, which so completely shut out air
and sunshine, and thence down into the narrow
street. Then, taking my little cold hand in his,
he said, turning to my mother —

"Madame, I have little confidence in medi-
cine in this case. Sunshine and fresh air will
do more for her than drugs. Is there no place
in the country where you can place the child
with friends, and let her run about the fields,
play when she pleases, sleep when she lists, and
be, if possible, a merry little animal?"

Oh ! how my little heart bounded, and how
I thanked him from its very depths, though I
dared not speak a word ! No more bitter pills or
more nauseous rhubarb ; and he had said it ; he
who gave the bitter draught was now adminis-
tering honey. v

And, kind reader, this was a regular, old-
fashioned doctor too, who might have kept me
a prisoner in that room, perchance a year, and
received his daily fee, until the slow poison of
vitiated air and unwholesome drugs had done
their work, and I, " by a mysterious providence,''*
as some good folks would say, was taken from
life. The doctor sacrificed his fees, and saved me.

My parents acceded to his proposition and I

godey's magazine and lady's book.

was goon domiciled in a country home, three
miles from town. Oh ! wasn't it a pretty place?
A large, old-fashioned, rambling farm-house,
with rooms enough for a country tavern, but
more neatly kept. An ell here, an odd wing
there, in one part one story high, in another two.
There were a large kitchen and a cheese-room
attached, where, every morning, the milk from
a large number of cows was turned, by what
seemed to me a very mysterious process, into
white curd. I remember the great brass kettle,
the cheesepress, and the old-fashioned red churn ;
and I shall never forget my delight at being per-
mitted to make a cheese in a four inch hoop !
Neither do I forget the pantry, where such
quantities of bread, and pies, and light ginger-
bread were manufactured daily.

The house stood on a little elevation, and com-
manded a fine view : the ocean in the distance —
Kent's Island, a little green gem, nearer — and a
small river, which curved round, at a short dis-
tance from the house, and served to turn a mill.
This last was then an appurtenance to the farm ;
and, near by, was the miller's house.

The family was large, consisting of one aged
but active, sociable old lady (a widow), her son
and his wife ; their son and his Wife, and three
children. A daughter of the latter soon after-
wards married, and resided awhile at home, and,
if I am not misinformed, her first child was born
there. So that under the same roof were five
generations, living in peace and plenty. They
were very healthy, and I have thought many
times since that a residence there would take
many more fees from the doctors.

Every morning, before sunrise, the whole
household were astir ; doors and windows thrown
open even in early spring and lingering autumn,
"for," said Madame P., the mistress of the esta-
blishment, that is, the elder of the three wives,
" there 's no living without air." I never heard
any discussion about diet; that this was un-
healthy, or that wouldn't do to eat — but the
whole household sat round the large table, on
which was an ample supply of good wholesome
food. Milk, butter, cheese, eggs, and fowls were
always "handy," and there was no lack of
skilful hands to compound them for the table.

Indigestion, if there was any, was cured by
labor, for there were no drones in the household ;
none whose hands did not hold the distaff, the
prough, the churn, or the rolling-pin. Indeed,
the only ones who indulged at all in long sitting
were grandma'am and the elder Mr. P., whose
silvered head might be seen occasionally by the
fireside after dinner, in his arm-chair, reading
the weekly newspaper.

I spent much of my time out of doors ; an hour
every morning in the spacious old barn, where I
regularly took a swing, and where I remember at
the same time a matronly old hen would enter
her nest in a corner near me.

I swung while she laid her egg, and then I
would carry the egg into the house, where one
of the kind ladies prepared it with sugar and
milk, and gave me gingerbread to eat with it.

Sometimes, when tired of play, I would sit
down by grandma'am's side, and there I always
found entertainment enough. With her black
bag, knitting-sheath, and stocking, she often sat
down, and then she became very sociable about
old times. She remembered the Revolutionary
War, had known and heard Whitefield, and her
memory was stocked with tales of the marvel-
lous. She could repeat some of Whitefield's
sermons, and describe his appearance, and the
wonderful revival which took place under his
preaching. "And now, grandma," I would say,
" please tell about the ' dark day.' "

" Lawful sake ! child, what makes you want
to hear about that? I hope I shall never see
another such." And the old lady took a pinch
of snuff to console her for such a thought. " You
see, it was in the war time, and there were signs
and wonders in the heavens above and the arth
beneath ; it was a terrible cold winter, so that
many people were frozen to death, and the snow
was so deep you could not see a fence between
here and Prison Lane. There was a wolf, driven
by hunger, I suppose, came right into Captain
Adams's yard, and killed five of his sheep. At
last spring came, but it was a sad time, I assure
you. Our poor soldiers were fighting for liberty,
but they hadn't shoes to their feet or coats to their
backs, and we were trembling all the time lest the
regulars would beat. I never saw a more gloomy
May ; the sun didn't shine out clear for weeks,
but looked of a murky red, and the air was thick
and heavy. One morning, it seemed brighter
and warmer, and I started to see Cousin Polly,
who lived in Fish Street. As I was walking, I
happened to cast my eyes to the west, and saw
clouds moving like swift horses over the sky.
It was very still, scarcely a breath of wind stir-
ring, and yet the clouds kept coming up faster
and faster. I ran till I came to Polly's, all out
of breath, and found all the family gazing at the
sky. It grew darker and darker till twelve
o'clock, and then we all began to think, surely
the Judgment Day has come. It was ' pitch dark ;'
you couldn't see your hand before your eyes ; the
hens went to roost, and the birds that had been
singing in the morning went to their nests ; and
for awhile it was still as midnight out of doors,

THE OLD FARM HOUSE AND ITS INMATES.

though in the houses children were sobbing and
men praying. At last the bell tolled, and lights
were carried into the meeting-house, for we
thought, if it were the last day, we better be
found in the house of God.

"It was a trying time to the wicked, I can tell
you. One Jo Short, that kept a little grocery in
Prison Lane, went through the streets, crying,
' I 've watered the rum ! I 've watered the rum !'
Others confessed their sins less publicly. The
sky had a strange yellowish look even when it
was not at the darkest. The night that followed
was the darkest I have ever known. I didn't go
home, but I couldn't sleep, expecting every
moment to hear the great trumpet sound and
the dead arise. But about one o'clock I saw
that the sky began to grow lighter in the east;
then the wind to blow gently ; and at last the
day broke ; the sun came out, and it seemed to
me earth never was so much like, heaven : and I
thought of two Bible verses, ' And there shall
be no night there.' The other, 'And shall cast
them out into outer darkness.' "

"But what made the darkness, grandma?"
"What made it, child? Why, God sent it.
Some pretended it was caused by woods on fire ;
some said one thing, some another; but /believe
it was a sign from Heaven, for in November fol-
lowing, that Judas (Arnold) betrayed his country.
You know that it is always darkest just before
the break of day, and all these things happened
to try the faith and patience of our country,
struggling for liberty. But Washington came out
bright at last, as the sun after the ' dark day.' "
" And what was the * Ipswich fright' a sign
of, grandma?"

" La, child ! a sign that the fools wer'n't all
dead ; and yet if you ever live to see war in this
country, you '11 not wonder either that people
are easily frightened at such times. It was just
after the fight of Lexington, which had made us
feel that we must fight it out, and all our towns-
people agreed that, we must send men and pro-
visions. A town meeting was appointed, and
Parson Cary had begun his prayer, when some-
body rushed up the stairs. * The regulars ! the
regulars ! Turn out, or you '11 all be killed !
They are at Ipswich, cutting and slashing all
before them !' A great many men had gone to
join the troops at Boston, a few days before, and
this made the women and children more afraid.
Many of them went to Turkey Hill, and spent
the night together, crying and taking on as if
they were made prisoners already. Our neigh-
bor, John Parsons, hid all his papers under a
stone, and then fastened his house, shouldered
his musket, and stood waiting to shoot the

VOL. XLTX. — 6

regulars, as if he could fight the whole British
army alone. I was a girl then ; my father was
gone, and my brothers were away from home ;
so mother and myself started for Uncle Jo's.
The streets were full ; some had all their goods
and children packed in oxcarts, and were driving,
they didn't know where themselves, to escape
the regulars. A man on horseback rode through
the streets screaming, « They 're here ! they 're
got as far as Old Town Bridge, and are killing
everybody !'

" * Let 'em come !' said an old fat man, who
stood at his door with his musket loaded. 'Let
'em come ; I '11 shoot the devils !'

" We saw Sally Morse sitting on a great stone,
with an empty pillow-case in her hands, crying
as if her heart would break, while her children
stood round her.

" ' Now we shall starve to death !' she said.
It seems she had put her pewter and silver ware
in a basket and let it down the well, and then
filled her bag with all the cooked victuals she
had, and started for some place of safety ; but
where, she could not tell.

" Having laid down her bag to return on some
errand, she found, on coming back, that its con-
tents had all been taken, though it must have
been done by other than regulars, as they had
not yet made their appearance.

"A little farther, upon the steps of Mr.
Noble's meeting-house, sat a woman, crying
piteously, while a faithful old cat, which she
had just thrown violently down, stood mewing
by her side.

" ' Oh, dear !' said she, e what will become of
my baby ? I have run four miles with this cat
in my arms, thinking it was little Susy, and I
didn't find out my mistake till I sat down here
to nurse it.'

" Poor woman, we pitied her, but we couldn't
give her much comfort, for just then a man ran
through the streets crying : ' Flee for your lives !
flee for your lives !'

" The panic lasted all night, and such a Babel
as the town presented was never seen before.
At last a gentleman came riding in hot haste from
Ipswich to quiet the people by informing them
that it was a false report. He had ridden twelve
miles in fifty minutes. We then

' Returned safe home, right glad to save
Our property from pillage,
And all agreed to blame the man
Who first alarmed the village.' "*

* An interesting account of the a Ipswich fright*' is
given in Coffin's History of " Ould Newberry." The author
of the ahove sketch is indebted to him for some of the facts
mentioned.

FAKM HOUSE.

[From "Rural Architecture," published by C. M. Saxton, New York.]

:'M„mms0M-

The usual plan of house- building at the South,
wc are aware, is to have detached servants' rooms
and offices, and a space of some yards of unco-
vered way intervenes between the family-rooms
of the chief dwelling and its immediate depend-
ents. Such arrangement, however, we consider
62

both unnecessary and inconvenient; and we
have devised a plan of household accommodation
which will bring the family of the planter him-
self, and their servants, although under different
roofs, into convenient proximity with each other.
A design of this kind is here given.

FARM HOUSE.

The style is mainly Italian, plain, substantial,
yet, we think, becoming. The broad veranda,
stretching around three sides, including the front,
gives an air of sheltered repose to what might
otherwise appear an ambitious structure; and
the connected apartments beyond show a quiet
utility which divests it of an over attempt at
display. Nothing has been attempted for ap-
pearance solely, beyond what is necessary
and proper in the dwelling of a planter of
good estate, who wants his domestic affairs
well regulated, and his family and servants
duly provided with convenient accommoda-
tion. The form of the main dwelling is
nearly square, upright, with two full stories,
giving ample area of room and ventilation,
together with that appropriate indulgence to
ease which the enervating warmth of a south-
ern climate renders necessary. The servants'
apartments and kitchen offices are so disposed
that, while connected to render them easy of
access, they are sufficiently remote to shut
off the familiarity of association which would
render them obnoxious to the most fastidious
— all, in fact, under one shelter, and within
the readiest call.

A stable and carriage-house, in the same
style, are near by, not connected to any part
of the dwelling, with sufficient accommoda-
tion for coachman and grooms, and the num-
ber of saddle and carriage-horses that may be
required for either business or pleasure ; and
to it may be connected in the rear, in the same
style of building, or plainer and less expen-
sive, further conveniences for such domestic
animals as may be required for family use.

The whole stands in open grounds, and may
be separated from each other by inclosures,
as convenience or fancy may direct.

The roofs of all the buildings are broad
and sweeping, well protecting the walls from
storm and frosts, as well as the glaring influences
of the sun, and combining that comfortable idea
of shelter and repose so grateful in a well-con-
ditioned country house.

The chimneys of this' house are placed next
the outer walls, thus giving more space to the
interior, and not being required, as in the others,
to promote additional warmth than their fire-
places will give to the rooms. A deck on the
roof affords a pleasant look-out for the family
from its top, guarded by a parapet, and giving a
finish to its architectural appearance, and yet
making no ambitious attempt at expensive orna-
ment. It is, in fact, a plain, substantial, respect-
able mansion for a gentleman of good estate, and
nothing beyond it.

Interior Arrangement. — This house stands 50
by 40 feet on the ground. The front door opens
from the veranda into a hall, 24 by 14 feet, in
which is a flight of stairs leading to the cham-
bers above. On the left a door leads into a
library, or business-room, 17 by 17 feet, lighted
by three windows. A fireplace is inserted in

the outer wall. Another door leads into a side
hall, six feet wide, which separates the library
from the dining-room, which is also 17 by 17
feet in area, lighted and accommodated with a
fireplace like the other, with a door leading into
it from the side hall, and another door at the
further right-hand corner leading into the rear
hall or entry.

On the right of the chief entrance hall, oppo-
site the library, a door opens into the parlor or
drawing-room, 23 by 19 feet in area, lighted by
three windows, and having a fireplace in the side
wall. A door leads from the rear side of the
parlor into a commodious nursery, or family
bedroom, 19 by 16 feet in size, lighted by a win-
dow in each outer wall. A fireplace is also

64:

godey's magazine and lady's book.

inserted on the same line as in the parlor. From
the nursery, a door leads into and through a large
closet, 9 by 7 feet, into the rear hall. This closet
may also be used as a sleeping-room for the
children, or for a confidential servant-maid or
nurse, or devoted to the storage of bed-linen for
family use. Further on, adjoining, is another
closet, 7 by 6 feet, opening from the rear hall,
and lighted by a window.

Leading from the outer door of the rear hall
is a covered passage six feet wide, 16 feet long,
and one and a half stones high, leading to the
kitchen offices, and lighted by a window on the
left, with a door opening in the same side beyond,
on to the side front of the establishment. On
the right, opposite, a door leads on to the kitchen
porch, which is six feet wide, passing on to the
bath-room and water-closet, in the far rear. At
the end of the connecting passage from the main
dwelling, a door opens into the kitchen, which
is 22 by 18 feet in size, accommodated with two
windows looking on to the porch just described.
At one end is an open fireplace with a cooking-
range on one side, and an oven on the other.
At the left of the entrance door is a large, com-
modious store-room and pantry, 12 by 9 feet,
lighted by a window; and adjoining it (and may
be connected with it by a door, if necessary), a
kitchen closet of the same size, also connected
by a corresponding door from the opposite corner
of the kitchen. Between these doors is a flight
of stairs leading to the sleeping-rooms above, and
a cellar passage beneath them. In the further
right corner of the kitchen a door leads into a
smaller closet, 8 by 6 feet, lighted by a small
window looking on to the rear porch at the end.
A door at the rear of the kitchen leads out into
the porch of the wash-room beyond, which is six
feet wide, and another door into the wash-room
itself, which is 20 by 16 feet, and furnished with
a chimney and boilers. A window looks out on
the extreme right hand, and two windows on to
the porch in front. A door opens from its rear
wall into the wood-house, 32 by 12 feet, which
stands open on two sides, supported by posts,
and under the extended roof of the wash-room
and its porch just mentioned. A servants' water-
closet is attached to the extreme right corner of
the wood-house, by way of lean-to.

The bath-room is 10 by 6 feet in area, and
supplied with water from the kitchen boilers
adjoining. The water-closet beyond is 6 feet
square, and architecturally, in its roof, may be
made a fitting termination to that of the porch
leading to it.

Bedrooms. — The main flight of stairs in the
entrance hall leads on to a broad landing in the

spacious upper hall, from which doors pass into
the several chambers, which may be duly accom-
modated with closets. The passage connecting
with the upper story of the servants' offices opens
from the rear section of this upper hall, and by
the flight of rear stairs communicates with the
kitchen and out-buildings. A garret flight of
steps may be made in the rear section of the main
upper hall, by which that apartment may be
reached, and the upper deck of the roof ascended.

The sleeping-rooms of the kitchen may be
divided off as convenience may dictate, and the
entire structure thus appropriated to every ac-
commodation which a well-regulated family need
require.

Carriage- House. — The carriage-house is 48 by
24 feet in size, with a projection of five feet on
the entrance front, the door of which leads both
into the carriage-room and stables. On the right
is a bedroom, 10 by 8 feet, for the grooms, lighted
by a window ; and beyond are six stalls for horses,
with a window in the rear wall beyond them.
A flight of stairs leads to the hayloft above. In
the rear of the carriage-room are a harness-room,
12 by 4 feet, and a granary of the same size,
each lighted by a window. If further attach-
ments be required for the accommodation of out-
building conveniences, they may be continued
indefinitely in the rear.

THE LILY AND THE STAR.

BY ANNIE GRAY.

Half hid amid the waters bright

Of yonder beauteous stream.
Beneath the evening star's dim light,

A lily pale did gleam.

With tender glance, the star looked dovru

Upon that lily pure and fair;
It gazed from night's bright jewelled crown,

And saw a tear-drop trembling there.

Then said the star : " A whisper soft

I '11 send upon my tranquil ray,
And, as the lily looks aloft

To me, its tears shall fade away."

The lily heard that whisper sweet

The star so gently sent,
And lifted up its head to greet

The ray that o'er it bent.

Then, as on high the lily looked,

The star with love it beamed;
When from her leaves the tears she shook,

Then brighter still it gleamed.

If tby life's leaves through passing years

Be like the lily's pure and fair,
Then look aloft 'mid flowing tears —

Hope's burning star still trembleth there.

WE AEE GROWING OLD TOGETHER.

LINES TO A PET BIRD.

ET JESSIE GLENN.

This remarkable bird is a native of Bombay, and the only
one of the kind in the United States. Its body is Tery
small and graceful, with a tail nearly half a yard in length.
It is singularly affectionate and tame, speaking, in a soft,
melodious voice, over thirty different sentences, and
whistling, with much beauty and power, several difficult
tunes.

Bird of the love-lit eye,

The sea-green vest, and scarlet necklace fair,
Why didst thou hither fly ?

"Where is thy home, sweet bird ? oh, tell me where I

Far in an eastern land,

'Mid orange bowers, beyond the blue seas' foam,
Where old palm-trees by Indian winds are fanned,

Bird of the languid eye, there is thy home !

Wouldst thou return, sweet love ?

Thy cherished woodmates dost thou pant to see ?
Say, wouldst thou leave me for the banyan grove,

And thy forsaken nest ? Bird I can it be ?

No! thou art with me still,

And long wilt linger ; for thy love-lit eye,
This fond caress pressed by thy gentle bill,

These low-breathed words, have each a sweet reply.

We could not part with thee,

For deep within our hearts there is thy home!
Sad would our dwelling be

Were thy gay laughs unheard, thy sweet words gone.

Darling, we love thee well !

Thine is the power to touch and win the heart;
Each word a mystery ! every tune a spell !

Bird, from a foreign clime, we must not part !

Yet I a secret crave —

Whence came thy voice of dream-like melody?
Was it from fairy realms, from magi's cave,

Or from some distant isle known but to thee ?

Caught thou the ocean's moan,
Or whisperings low in eastern forest heard?

Say, from an echo didst thou steal a tone ?
Were these the fabrics of thy voice, sweet bird ?

Higher, the gift may be,

Mysterious one ! with strange and secret powers ;
I ask no more ! thou wilt not answer me !

Enough ! enough ! to know that thou art ours.

Bird of the sea-green vest,

And scarlet necklace! Fairy of our home!
Come, on my finger rest,

And speak to me in love's low, welcome tone I

THE LOST PLEIAD.

INSCRIBED TO M. T. K.

BY JAMES AVIS BARTLEY.

No more with thy bright sisters of the sky,

Who warble ever,
Wilt thou send forth thy choral melody,

Sad maid, forever !

No more the bright, innumerable train,

Who walk in heaven,
Will know thy face upon the etherial plain,

At rosy even.

The night will mourn thine absence evermore

With dewy tears,
And the bright clay will, dimmer now, deplore

The darkened years.

Our wandering eyes will search for thee in vain,

And we shall sigh
That thy high beauty could not conquer pain,

The doom to die.

Earth scarce had mourned some lesser beauty; thou,

Most heavenly maid!
'Midst all, didst wear a so unearthly brow

And thou — decayed.

The lovely thought of thee, which ray-like slept

In our pure love,
Became a memory which we have kept,

To grieve above.

Gone as the blasted pride of eastern spring,

As music, o"cr;
Now thou hast turned from earth thine angel wing,

To come no more.

Struck from thy high and glittering sapphire throne

In upper light,
Say, did thy loveliness go hopeless down

To nether night?

Or, throned beyond the gloomy chance to fall,

Oh ! maid divine !
Sublime amid the Eternal's flaming hall,

Dost thou still shine ?

WE ARE GROWING OLD TOGETHER.

BY H. E. SPENCER.

We are growing old together,

Thou dearest of the dear ;
The morning of our life is past,

And the evening shades appear;
Some friends we loved are in their graves,

And many are estranged ;
But in sunshine and in shadow

Our hearts have never changed.

We are growing old together

The ivy and the tree
A fitting emblem is. dear,

Of the love 'twixt you and me ;
To be worthy of each other

In the past was all our aim;
And 'tis pleasant now to know, dear,

Our hearts are still the same.

We are growing old together —

Together may we die —
Together may our spirits soar

To our home beyond the sky;
For we loved as few can love, dear,

When life's flowery paths we ranged;
And though we 've wandered long here,

Our hearts have never chai

godey's magazine and lady's book.

DREAMS AND REALITIES.

I3Y WILLIAM P. MULCHINOCK

On! for an hour in the haunts of childhood,

Down by the verge of the shady wildwood ;

Oh ! for a sight of the olden places !

Oh ! for a glance at the dear home faces!

Oh ! for a day on the heath-clad mountain!

Oh ! for a draught at its wind-wooed fountain !

Oh ! for a sail on the sun-bright river,

Gliding in music and beauty ever!

Oh ! how my heart would beat free and lightly,

Oh ! what a hope would shine grand and brightly,

Lighting the void of the dark hereafter,

Loosing the springs of my care-bound laughter,

Filling and thrilling with joy all over

The heart and soul of the grieving rover,

Breaking, with power, and a spell Elysian,

Bright on the sense of my tear-dimmed vision,

Striking the chord of a music lighter,

Painting the sky of a Future brighter,

Long-lost joys from their slumber waking,

Killing the grief that has left me aching,

Songs of my youth in the distance singing,

Dreams of my youth from the dark Past bringing,

Honors and wreaths I would win by striving,

Oil consuming, and Wisdom hiving,

Fame, like a star shining bright in distance,

The radiant light of my young existence.

Sweet are the words of my mother's blessing,

Fondly and close are her arms caressing ;

Eilled is my heart with a bliss past telling,

Thickly and fast are my tears down welling ;

Tender and kind is the earnest greeting

By the old fireside at our blest first meeting.

Woe is me, heart of mine, why art thou dreaming?

False are the hopes that are o'er thee gleaming;

Far, far away o'er the heaving ocean

Lies the home thou lov'st with a deep devotion ;

Time rolls on and will roll for ever,

But thy childhood's home shall receive thee never;

Many a dark and a dismal sorrow,

No hope to-day and no hope to-morrow ;

Many the hard and sad privations

Shall wound thy peace aud shall test thy patience ;

Dark is the skein that thy fate is spinning,

Wretched and poor thy rewards for the winning ;

A sunken eye, and a young cheek faded,

A care-worn brow and a heart grief-shaded:

These shall be thine with a gloom eternal,

Killing the flowers of thy fancy vernal,

Blighting whatever of life seemed fairest,

Taking whatever thy heart prized rarest;

Dole and sorrow, and both undying,

Summer friends far away falsely flying;

Want at thy door and no succor near thee ;

Despair at thy hearth, and no friend to cheer thee;

Want at thy door and thy children weeping,

Vigils of hunger the long nights keeping :

These ills shall wound, and these ills shall sting thee,

Hours pass away, but no pleasure bring thee ;

Thorny the way, by no hope attended,

Thy feet must wend as they aye have wended ;

Thou canst not stay, and thou must not linger,

But follow thy dark fate's guiding finger;

Till earth resume thee, till life is over,

Thine is the lot of the wayside rover

On, on, sad heart, by thy dark fate driven;
The poor in spirit are heirs of Heaven.

HOME, SISTER, HOME.

BT B. K. SHAW.

The balmy breeze that fans my brow,

When evening with its shades has come,
A language, sister mine, it speaks
'Tis gently saying, Sister, home!

Home, sister, home !
I'm coming home!

The little rill that leaping runs

Adown the ledge so lightly now,
In language speaketh to the heart;
It gently murmurs, Sister, home!

Home, sister, home!
I 'm coming home.

The beauteous birds that hover round

My woodland path, as oft I stray
Within the spicy groves alone,
Are sweetly singing, Sister, home

Home, sister, home!
I 'm coming home !

The little, merry, prattling child,

With guileless, lightsome heart, and free
From selfish toil and worldly cai*e,
Is sweetly saying, Sister, home !

Home, sister, home!
I 'm coming home !

THE FUTURE IS HIDDEN FROM OUR
SIGHT

It was good, it was kind in the wise One above

To fling destiny's veil o'er the face of our years,
That we dread not the blow that shall strike at ou"r love,

And expect not the beams that shall dry up our tears.
Did we know that the voices now'gentle and bland

Will forego the fond word and the whispering tone;
Did we know that the eager and warm-pressing hand

Will be joyfully forward in casting the stone;

Did we know the affection engrossing our breast

Will end, as it oft does, in madness and pain ;
That the passionate heart will but hazard its rest,

And be wrecked on the shore it is panting to gain;
Oh ! did we but know of the shadows so nigh,

The world would indeed be a prison of gloom;
All light would be quenched in youth's eloquent eye,

And the prayer-lisping infant would ask for tho torn

For if hope be a star that may lead us astray

And " deceivcth the heart," as the aged ones preach,
Yet 'twas mercy that gave it to beacon our way,

Though its halo illumes where we never can reach.
Though friendship but flit like a meteor gleam,

Though it burst like a moon-lighted bubble of dew,
Though it passes away like a leaf on the stream,

Yet, 'tis bliss while we fancy the vision is true.

Oh! 'tis well that the future is hid from our sight,
That we walk in the sunshine, nor dream of the cloud,

That we cherish a flower, and think not of blight,
That we dance on tho loom that may weave us a shroud.

ALMA PERDIDA.

AND I HEARD A VOICE SAYING,
< COME UP HITHER."5

BY MRS. ELIZABETH W. LONG.

Through what distant portal winging
Come these sounds forever ringing!
Words alluring, words inspiring,
Words that wake the heart's desiring
Words that mock our sensual rest,
Rob world-joy of all its zest,
Mingling with its pleasure's sweetness
Bitter taste of incompleteness f

Through all sounds of earthly noises,
We must hear you, airy voices,
Floating round us like a shadow
Cloud-flung o'er a broad green meadow;
Far above the flight of birds
Seems the music of your words ;
Higher than the cirrus fleeting,
Still the selfsame tone repeating.

" Come up hither" from the gained
Look up to the unattainSd.
Lo, each lore the mind is tasting
Gives a sense of inward fasting!
Round about each veiled word
Is the mystic sentence heard,
Urging us to be divining
What is hid within the shrining.

Through the thousand tender blisses
Mingling in Love's lingering kisses ;
Through all joy the senses stirring,
Hauntingly, "the voice" we're hearing!
" Come up hither" would you know
More than earthly passion's glow ;
Here behold that high ideal
Faintly shadowed in your real.

Thought and love and earnest action
Share " the voice's" sweet attraction.
"Come up hither! higher! higher!
Worker, poet, tune thy lyre
To a concord thou mayst hear
In a purer living's sphere !
Worthiest aims thou shalt find ever
Less achievement than endeavor."

Yet for this shall we be mourning?
Soul, look on mere rest with scorning !
List the voice's airy burden,
'Tis thy being's noblest guerdon.
u Come up hither!" Hark the cries
Opening ever newer skies !
Human living's veriest sweetness,
This suggestive incompleteness.

Though we follow slowly, slowly,
Where would lead the voices holy,
While we may with eyes that glisten
Yearningly look up and listen,
Life will have an air of state,
Noble dignity, and weight,
That must claim for its expansion
All eternity's extension.

Let time fleet, joy's embers glimmer;
Let world hopes grow dimmer, dimmer;

Through all thought and conscious vision
Let me hear you, tones Elysian !
Where your words no more resound,
Where the dreaded black profound,
Where the soul in self-complacence
Sinks, undreaming its decadence.
Baltimore, Jan. 1854.

ALMA PERDIDA.

There is a South American bird whose song is so mourn-
ful that it is known among the natives by the name of
Alma perdida (lost soul), from the belief that it is bewail-
ing the fate of the lost.

Far in the sunny south, with its bright, luxuriant groves,
Where the drooping cypress waveth and the golden

orange shines ;
Where the citron wafts sweet odors from amid its clus-

t'ring vines,
And, playing with their fragrance, the idle zephyr roves ;
Where the feathery palm-tree riseth, and the milky guava

grows,
And through its bending foliage the ripe banana glows ;
Where the patriarchal aloe spreadeth forth its long, green

arms,
And the wilderness is but a wild of richly varied charms :
'Mid nature's springing loveliness, 'tis there thou hast thy

birth ;
'Tis there thou mak'st thy dwelling, in the garden-spot of

earth.

The languid breeze that sporteth there amid the od'rous

bowers
Maketh a low sweet whispering as it floateth o'er the

flowers ;
And the richly laden wild bees hum a joyful roundelay,
All through the still and sunny hours of the long summer

day;
The stream that laves the verdant banks, as onward it doth

glide,
Hath a voice of quiet happiness in its dreamy, murm'ring

tide;
Bright birds are flitting gayly through the overhanging

trees,
Their rare and gorgeous plumage gently ruffled by the

breeze ;
And lightsome songs are swelling forth from many a tiny

throat :
There 's nothing sad in all the scene save thine unchanging

note.

And does that song the fearful fate of the " lost soul" be-
wail?

Say, what hast thou, thou harmless bird, to do with that
dark tale?

Thy voice, attuned to harmony, a mournful requiem sings :

Alas, the shadow Sin has cast o'er Earth's most lovely
things !

The shadow falleth dark and broad, and many a joy doth
blight;

It shadeth many an Eden, turneth brightest days to night;

It is a dreadful mystery— a gloomy, loathsome thing

Ah! well may tearful voices in sad complaining sing.

Full many a one besides thine own on this fair earth is
heard ;

Who shall give thee consolation, thou wailing forest bird ?

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK-

TO MY BROTHER FRANK.

BY M A R Y N E A L .

My brother, 'tis for thee,
For thee I tune my weak and trembling harp
Anew : not that I love the others less;
Oh, no! for of the eldest I am proud,
And ever was ; and then our pet, the youngest—
Why, he has ever seemed as clear to me,
As much my own, as is my own sweet boy,
My darling Oscar.

Yet, when back I turn,
And gaze upon each page in Memory's volume,
On every fair, or every blotted leaf,
I trace some token of thy changeless love,
Shedding a sweet and holy light to cheer
My lonely pathway on. Like the sweet beams
Of the pale morn to the lone traveller,
Though clouds and darkness hover o'er his head,
It pierces through the mirk and gloom around,
Sheds a soft light to guide his feet aright,
And fills his heart with hope that a bright sun
Will soon arise to banish clouds and gloom.

When first our gentle mother was called home,
And left our hearth and hearts so desolate —
Left us lone orphans in this chilly world —
Thy love began to dawn. Thou closer clung
Unto thine only sister, as 'twere death
That we should part. And when, at last, the hour
Of parting came, thy young and tender heart
Seemed as 'twould burst in twain.

Two years rolled on —
To us two dark and lonely years. And then
I left the city's crowded solitude
To visit my dear brothers, where the grand
And tow'ring hills arose on every side ;
Where the tall waving trees rose, tier on tier,
Like giant faces, gazing proudly down,
To see their noble forms reflected there,
In Nature's mirror spread beneath their feet.

I went to see thee — but no one may know,

Save those whose hearts are linked, yet who are parted;

No ! none but severed orphans e'er can tell

The bliss of such a meeting ! Yet our joy

Was ever damped and chastened by the thought

That we must part agaiu. And then we sought

No joyous sports, as other children do;

But, stealing unobserved away, we 'd roam

'Mid the darK cliffs that overhung the stream,

And talk of other days, when we were blessed

With a kind mother's love. And when fatigued

With climbing o'er the rocks, we 'd find a seat

Upon some fallen, mossy-covered tree,

And think of her, and of the happy days

We passed with her, until it almost seemed

That we could see her gentle soft blue eye

Smile sweetly on her children from above.

But, ah ! such mournful joy as even this

Not long could we possess; for all too fleet

The sands of Time ran on when I was with thee —

And I must go. And now again thy heart,

Affection's own sweet shrine, could hardly bear

The cross. And then our baby-one would try

To cheer thee up, and with a manly voice,

That could not yet speak plain, or without lisping—

" Brother, don't cry; our sister will return."

But, brother, more than all, when years passed on —

When buffeted about by the cold world,

Far from thee and the others, with no thought

To cheer my heart but that you loved me still,

Though far away — when there alone, alone,

One true, one manly and devoted heart

Sought for my love, I naught but a weak child —

'Twas then I longed for thy sweet sympathy;

'Twas then I wished that thou wert but a sister,

To feel for me, and with me, and be near me,

On whose soft bosom I could lean my head

And speak the joy that swelled my youthful heart

Brother, thy love has ever been a light
Unto my life, though severed we have been.
Go on, my brother, in the way thou 'st chosen,
And when a few more years have winged their flight
Adown the stream of Time, yet once again
Wo '11 meet ; yet, all unlike our former meetings,
'Twill not be darkened by the bitter thought
That we shall part again.
Corydon, Ind.

I MISS THEE, LOVE.

BY "TOLL'

STEWART.

I miss thee, love, whene'er I sing the songs thou lov'dst so

well
To listen to at evening's hour, when moonlight round us fell
In silver lines, and thy dark eyes, that beamed with lustre

bright,
Did kindle in my own warm soul a glow of pure delight.
I miss thee, love, when 'mid the gay, for thy smile was as

bright
As sunbeams nestling round a flower, or stars that shine at

night ;
And thy sweet voice, though sad or gay, was music unto me,
As is the song of "Welcome, Home," to mariners at sea.

Sometimes methinks I see thy form amid the passing throng;
What wild emotions then are mine as quick I pass along!
I hurry by, one tool- is all — what disappointment 's mine —
Another face, it may be fair, but yet it is not thine!
In vain I take my light guitar and wake its sweetest strain,
Its tones are sad as my lone heart, and waken only pain ;
Though Mem'ry with her magic wand would try to bring

thee near,
I miss thy voice, all, e'en my heart, doth tell thou art not
here!
St. Louis, Dec. 1853.

SONNET.— BUTTERFLY.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

No sooner do the vernal breezes blow
Their incense-bearing breath o'er nature's breast,
Than in perfection, from thy wintry rest,

Bright Butterfly! dost thou careering go.

Where, erewhile, were thy wondrous wings concealed,
Which now the Iris-colors all unfold?
A worm, a corpse, insensible and cold,

Till born again with glories all revealed.

As from the Chrysalis, recalled to life
Art thou by Sol's reanimating ray,
So shall man soar to see a brighter day,

On wings with never-fading beauty rife.

The sjiiiit's breath shall wake his vital flame,

And mould anew this now decaying frame.

OUR PRACTICAL DRESS INSTRUCTOR.

THE PEIGNOIR.

This Peignoir requires four breadths of sprig-
ged book-muslin. If of plain muslin, it should
be trimmed down each side of the front, cape,
and sleeves with handsome scalloped work, and
fastened around the waist by a colored ribbon,
or cord and tassel, according to the taste of the
wearer.

Fig. 1. — The Peignoir.

Fig. 2.— The sleeve.

Fig. 3. — Back of cape.

Fig. 4. — Front of cape.

godey's magazine and lady s book.

LACES AND MUSLINS.

Fig. 1. Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

Fis. 4.

We give some new and very choice designs
for dress laces and muslins, which are of more
consequence just now than even costumes, the
season demanding a substitute for the heavy
cambric embroideries suitable for winter and
spring. Among the most stylish novelties to be

found at our principal lace stores, are the basques
or sacques intended to be worn with low corsages.
They remove all the objections that can be
urged to this stylo of dress for watering-places,
and arc especially suitable to the table d'hote or
small evening companies.

COTTAGE FURNITURE.

Fig. 1 is arranged in a very light and tasteful
manner. It may be made of any material, silk,
as well as lace or muslin. This figure also
gives a graceful style of hairdressing.

Fig. 2 differs a little in the coiffeur, which is
finished by a richly ornamented comb, very
much used again. The basque is similar in
general style, the sleeves differ entirely, and are
in favor with those whose figures do not allow
them to adopt full puffs. As given in the en-
graving, it is made of figured India muslin, very

cool and delicate. It is also lower in the neck
than the design of Madame Demorest, furnished
the past month.

Fig. 3 is a rich chemisette of Maltese lace,
coming at about $12 the set. It has a neck-
piece to correspond, and is altogether a very de-
sirable accompaniment to a dinner or bridal
reception dress.

Fig. 4 is the sleeve belonging to the same set.

Fig. 5 is a most elaborate and elegant design
for any one about to lay aside mourning, if made

Fig. 5.

Fig. 6.

in lace, or can be worn in full mourning if of
crape, tarleton, or muslin. The puffs are drawn
full and even, the gathering thread alone sepa-
rating them ; a plaited frill of the same encircles
the neck, and extends down the front of the
corsage.

Fig. 6. — The sleeve to correspond, intended
for an open dress sleeve, and cut so as to fall
very handsomely over the wrist and arm. The
upper part is of plain lace or muslin, as indeed
will be found in the most costly points and em-
broideries.

COTTAGE FUKNITUBE,

The above figure is a neat specimen of a fire-grate in the Gothic style.

godey's magazine and lady's book,

BONNET PEESEEYER

Materials.— Eaworth's thread No. 34, or fino knitting-
cotton ; pins No. 16.

Cast on 92 stitches.
1st row. — Plain.

2d. — Knit 1, * thread forward, knit 2 together ;
repeat from *.
3d.— Pearl.

4th. — Cast off 13 stitches at the beginning and
end of the row, knit the remaining stitches.

5th.— Pearl.

6th.— Knit 3, * thread forward, knit 5, thread
forward, knit 3 together ; repeat from *, and
finish with knit 3.

7th.— Pearl.

INITIALS.

8th.— Knit 1, knit 2 together, * thread for-
ward, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together,
thread forward, knit 1 ; repeat from *, and finish
with knit 2 together, knit 1.

9^.— Pearl.

10th.— Knit 2, * thread forward, knit 3, thread
forward, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together ;
repeat from *, and finish with knit 2.

Uth.— Pearl.

Commence again at 6th row, beginning each

row with knit 2, and knit until five diamonds
are worked ; knit 2 plain rows, then thread for-
ward, knit 2 together, after which a pearl row,
and cast off loosely in knitting the two last dia-
monds, and the remaining rows increase by
making a stitch at the beginning and end of
each row ; join the piece behind, and pass a
narrow ribbon through the open loops and down
the front, leaving sufficient for strings.

INITIALS.

Materials. — French working cotton, No. 120. Work in raised satin-stitch, sewing over the lines,
or in buttonhole-stitch.

vol. xlix. — <

godey's magazine and lady's book.

CHESTNUT-BASKET, FOE THE DESSERT-TABLE.

Materials. — Ilalf a yard of pink glazed calico ; ditto of
flannel; three and a half yards of pink satin ribbon, an
inch and a half wide ; and seven reels of crochet cotton.

This elegant novelty for the dessert-table con-
sists of a square of crochet, edged with lace,
which is afterwards folded into the form seen in
the engraving. It is lined with pink glazed
calico and flannel (the former being on the out-
side) ; a knot of pink ribbon is placed at each
corner, and, in order to cover the opening in the
centre, a double round of flannel, of the proper
dimensions, is quilted with a similar piece of
pink calico, and tacked so as to form a lid. It is
decorated with bows of pink ribbon, which en-
tirely cover it.

The inner square of the toilet-cover first given
would do well for this purpose, working it on a
foundation of 262 stitches and with one row of
dc, and one of open square crochet before the
pattern is begun.

The nearest centre is to be filled with the
initials of the owner, and should be drawn on
checked paper, of not more than 31 squares, and
worked in.

For the border, which is worked all round. —

1st round. — * 1 dc, 1 ch, miss 1 * ; repeat all
round, without missing any at the corners.

2d. — * 1 dc, 3 ch, miss 3 * ; repeat all round,
missing only one, in several stitches at the cor-
ners. •

3d. — * 3 dc (the centre on one dc, 6 ch), miss
6, 1 dc, on dc, 6 ch, * ; repeat all round.

4th. — * 3 dc, on 3 dc, 4 ch, miss 4, 5 dc, 4 ch,
miss 4, * ; repeat all round.

5th. — * 1 dc on the centre of 3 dc, 3 ch, miss
3, 3 dc, 3 ch, miss 3, 3 dc, 3 ch, miss 3, * ; re-
peat all round.

6th. — * 3 dc, over 3 dc, in the 4th row, 4 ch,
miss 4, 5 dc, 4 ch, miss 4, *; repeat all round.

7th. — * 3 dc, over 3 dc, 6 ch, miss 6, 1 dc
over the centre of 5 dc, 6 ch, miss 6, *j repeat
all round.

8th. — * 5 sc (coming over 3 dc, and 1 chain
on each side), 4 ch, miss 4, 5 dc, on 3, 4 ch,
miss 4, *.

9th. — * 3 sc, on the 3 centre of 5 sc, 4 ch,
miss 1 s, and 3 ch, 10 dc, over the 5 dc, and
one chain on each side, 4 ch, *.

CORAL-BORDERED HANDKERCHIEF.

10th. — * sc, on centre of 3 sc, 5 ch, miss 4,
1 sc, 5 ch, miss 3, 1 sc, 5 ch, miss 2, 1 sc, 5 ch,
miss 3, 1 sc, 5 ch, *.

Cut out the rounds of flannel and calico nearly

of the diameter of the square of crochet, net
including the edging. Fold it into the form
shown in the engraving; then make it up as
directed.

CORAL-BORDERED HANDKERCHIEF.

Materials. — A square of French cambric; two skeins of
embroidery cotton, No. 30; six skeins of scarlet ditto; one
piece of toile cir£.

This handkerchief is extremely easy to work,
and is, at the same time, remarkably pretty. In
the section we give, every part is the full size,
and the design may therefore be traced from it,
and repeated as often as may be required for the
handkerchief. The scallop and the centre part
of the letters are done in raised work, the former
being overcast, and the latter in satin-stitch.
Our friends have already learned from our in-
structions in embroidery in previous numbe.""\
that this raised work is produced by running with

soft cotton, backwards and forwards in the parts
to be raised, until there is a sufficient thickness,
which is then to be covered with close open
stitches, either overcast, or simply sewed across
the space. The work is always raised most in
the widest parts. As this tracing is not at all
seen, and it uses a considerable quantity of cot-
ton, it is advisable to do it with the white, which
is very much cheaper than the scarlet. All the
work that is seen is to be done in scarlet. The
coral branches are done in simple chain-stitch,
as are the outlines of the initials. It is very
rapidly done, and extremely effective.

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

CHILD'S SOCKS AND STOCKINGS.

Materiali— Na 30 cotton.

Explanations. — k, knit; t, take two together;
a, take three together ; o, bring forward.

No. 1.

Cast on 30 stitches on each of two pins, and 32
on the third. Knit two and pearl two alternately
for 50 rounds, to form a ribbed top. Knit four
plain rounds, pearling one stitch every round for
a seam.

Is* pattern round. — Knit 15 * from the seam t,
o, k, 8 ; repeat from * until six from the seam ;
knit them plainly. Knit two plain rounds.

4th.— Knit 14 *, t, o, k, 1, o, t, k, 5 ; repeat
from * until 7 from the seam. Knit two plain
rounds.

7th.— Knit 13 *, t, o, k, 3, o, t, k, 3 ; repeat
from * until 8 from the seam.

8th. — Knit 15 *, o, a, o, k, 7 ; repeat from *
until 6 from the seam.

9th. — Plain knitting.

10^.— Knit 12 *, t, o, k, 5, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat
from * until 9 from the seam.

11th. — Knit 14 *, o, t, k, 1, t, o, k, 5; repeat
from * until 7 from the seam.

12th. — Knit 15 *, o, a, o, k, 7 ; repeat from *
until 6 from the seam.

13^.— Plain knitting.

lith. — Knit 15 *, t, o, k, 3, t, o, k, 3 ; repeat
from * until 6 from the seam.

Knit 3 plain rounds.

18th.— Knit 10 *, o, t ; repeat from * until 9
from the seam.

Knit 3 plain rounds. This finishes the border
round the sock before commencing the pattern.

1st pattern round. — Knit 7, from the seam * t,
o, k, 1, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat from * until 6 from the
seam.

2d. — Plain knitting.

Repeat these two rounds twice, making 6 from
the commencement. This forms one pattern.

7th.— Knit 10 *, t, o, k, 1, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat
from * until 9 from the seam.

Sth. — Plain knitting.

Knit these two rounds twice more. Repeat
these two patterns alternately, until there are
12; then form the heel, by dividing half the
number of stitches on to one pin, keeping the
pearled stitch in the centre ; knit and pearl in
alternate rows for 26 rows; then take two
together on each side of the seam every third row,
until there are forty stitches on the pin. Cast
off, and sew the heel together along the bottom.

There will now be 46 stitches along the front
of the foot ; put them on one pin, and pick up

23 on each of two others, along the sides of the
heel, and work round in the same pattern as the
leg on the front pin, knitting the two others
plainly, and pearling one stitch along the bottom
of the foot. Work in the same manner until
there are ten patterns; knit 4 plain rounds, and
decrease for the toe as follows : knit 21 from the
seam; take two together twice; knit 42; take
two together twice ; knit to the seam ; knit 2
plain rounds, and decrease in the same place by
taking two together twice on each side of the toe
every third round, until there are 40 stitches on
the pins. Cast oiF, and sew the ends of the toe
together.

No. 2.

Cast on the same number of stitches as in No.
1 ; rib the top as before ; knit three plain rounds,
pearling one stitch for the seam, and knit the
following pattern round the top : —

1st round. — Knit 10 from the seam *, o, t, k, 4;
repeat from * until 9 from the seam.

2d. — Plain knitting.

3d. — Knit 8 *, t, o, k, 1, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat
from * until 11 from the seam.

4th. — Plain knitting.

5th. — Knit 7, t *, o, k, 3, o, a, repeat from *
until 10 from the seam ; in the last pattern t, k,
1, instead of a.

6th.— Plain knitting.

7th. — Knit 6 *, o, k, 4, t ; repeat from * until
13 from the seam.

8th. — Plain knitting.

9th. — Knit 8 *, o, t, k, 1, t, o, k, 1 ; repeat
from * until 1 1 from the seam.

10^.— Plain knitting.

11th.— Knit 9 *, o, a, o, k, 3; repeat from *
until 10 from the seam.

12^.— Plain knitting.

13th. — Same as first.

14th. — Plain knitting.

Knit 3 plain rounds, and work the following
pattern: —

1st round. — Knit 8 *, from the seam, t, o, k, 2 ;
repeat from * until 7 from the seam.

2d.— Plain knitting.

3d. — Knit 7, t, *, o, k, 1, o, a ; repeat from *
until 6 from the seam ; in the last pattern t, k, 1,
instead of a.

4th. — Plain knitting.

5th. — Knit 6 *, t, o, k, 2 ; repeat from * until
9 from the seam.

6th. — Plain knitting.

7th. — Knit 8 *, o, a, o, k, 1; repeat from *
until 7 from the seam.

8th. — Plain knitting.

Repeat these 8 round* 8 times more, and divide

FRONT OF A LADY'S CAEINET.-EMBROIDERY.

BRAIDING.

the stitches as before for the heel ; knit that, and
take up the stitches for the foot ; knit the pat-
tern 8 times; knit four plain rounds, and de-
crease for the toe as before.

BRAIDING

FRONT FOR LADY'S CABINET.

(See Blue Plate in front of Book.)
Materials. — Black satin ; six shades of crimson, five shades
of yellow, three shades of puce, two shades of scarlet, three
shades of yellow-greens, three shades of blue-greens, and
two shades of brown embroidery silk, or of chonille.

Draw the design upon the satin, frame the
work, and work in embroidery-stitch. The
rose-leaves with the yellow-greens, the leaves
of thistles with the blue-greens, the stems with
brown, the thistle and bud of thistle with the
shades of puce, working the centre of the former
with the shades of scarlet.

Work the rose on the right hand of thistle
with the four darkest shades of crimson, and
that on the left and the buds with the four
lightest shades. Work the remaining rose with
the yellow shades. Work the designs for cor-
ners in a similar manner, shading according to
the taste of the worker.

The above design is adapted for the front or
door of a small rosewood or an inlaid ebony
cabinet, suitable for a lady's boudoir or dressing-
room. It looks well if worked upon white,
instead of black satin ; and, if the former is
used, it is advisable to have plate-glass as a
protection to the needlework.

DESCRIPTION OF CHILDREN'S DRESSES.
(See Cuts in front of Book)

OCR regular nursery article comes due next month ; in
the mean time, we give some of the prettiest styles of the
present season for little people who are in the school-room,
a step more advanced.

No. 1. Party-dress for a little girl of white muslin,
full infant's waist, the skirt trimmed with six broad ruffles,
which should be fluted or gauffered, when properly done
up. Sash and shoulder-knots of pink ribbon good width.

No. 2. Little girl*s travelling-dress of cashmere or nan-
keen. Skirt plain and full; full sacque basque. The
basque and sleeves trimmed with Marseilles braid, if in
nankeen. This is one of the prettiest children's dresses of
the year, and may be had from Mrs. Suplee, undoubted
authority in such matters.

No. 3. Boy's nankeen walking-dress, buttoned at the
Bide and down the half sleeve with large pearl or porcelain
buttons. Black belt good width ; deep collar and leggins
of English embroidery.

No. 4. Lad's dress, jacket of brown pelisse cloth, coming
aver the hip with a pretty outside pocket. Slightly full
pantaloons of some light cross-barred summer stuff; full
undershirt, tied at the throat by a wido black ribbon in a
close or flat knot.

All the above are considered particularly tasteful and
reliable.

EDITORS' TABLE.

The world is given to change," is an old apothogm, and
our age is noted for its novelties. New theories in religion
and philosophy are Drought out, like new fashions of dress,
every season, often to he thrown aside, like a cast-off gar-
ment. Among the curious speculations of the new philo-
sophy, we have heen somewhat startled hy the theory of
the authoritative Sir Archibald Alison, Bart., who, in his late
volume of History,* has advanced the idea that the world
and all the good things therein were made purposely for
the use of the rich, well horn, well educated, orderly Anglo-
Saxon gentlemen of his own class.

The first hlessing of man, religion, has heen revealed for
these alone, and these only are intended hy the Disposer
of the universe to enjoy fret institutions and the advantages
of education.

Now, though we claim to belong to this high Saxon race,
we cannot but feel miserable at the idea of excluding the
other families of the earth from the saving grace of our
Redeemer. But listen to Sir Archibald Alison, Bart. : —

" When Providence gave the blessings of Christianity to
mankind, their diffusion at the appointed season was
intrusted to the acts of free agents; but a particular race
was selected by whose voluntary co-operation its design
might be carried into effect. Beyond all question, the race
of Japhet was the one to which this mighty mission was
intrusted. Experience gives little countenance to the be-
lief that the race of Shem and Ham can be made to any
considerable extent, at least at present, to embrace the
tenets of a spiritual faith. Christianity, as it exists in
some provinces of Asia, is not the Christianity of Europe;
it is paganism in another form. Great efforts have been
made, both by the Protestant and Roman Catholic churches,
especially of late years; but no new nations have been
converted to Christianity — the spread of the Gospel has
been everywhere coextensive only with that of the Eu-
ropean race."

Is not this assuming that Jesus Christ is not the Saviour
of men, but the Saviour of Europeans? Yet he, in his
humanity, was of the raoe of Shem, and gave commission
to men of that race to teach all nations. We might give
many extracts where the same extraordinary self-compla-
cency of Sir Archibald manifests itself. The same theory,
" See all things for my use," is carried out in his political
speculations. Men in a high social position, learned, re-
spectable, and Anglo-Saxons, have the right to speculate
on government, and even do what they can to secure
themselves in rank, wealth, and comfort; but, as to the
multitude, they are meant to be pressed down: the few
ought to rule, the many to be governed like ignorant
children, for ignorance is a sine qua non in Mr. Alison's
Utopia. He would never allow the "schoolmaster to go
abroad." No; shut him up with bars and bolts. Igno-
rance is the only security for the public weal. Popular
education is — destruction of authority. Learning and
science can be safely intrusted only to the select few, and
these had best be Anglo-Saxons. With the " rest of man-
kind," he says, " education and civilization tend to increase
rather than diminish fraud and covctousness." They in-

* From the Fall of Napoleon to the Accession of Louis
Napoleon, &c.
78

flame and create bad passions, and turn the world topsy-
turvy.

'• Voild d quoi Tecriture te sert." The constitutional form
of government is now on trial, Mr. Alison remarks, both in
the Old World and the New, and it will be the historian's
task to trace out its workings. Such a survey will proba-
bly damp many ardent aspirations and hopes on the one
hand, and display the fallacy of many gloomy predictions
on the other. The continent of Europe has tried republics,
and has settled down everywhere into comfortable despot-
ism. In South America, where royalty has been abolished
and republics established instead, the consequences have
been dreadful ; history, in despair, ceases to record the
confused, lawless, and criminal annals of those regions."

We pause in our summary of Mr. Alison's governmental
philosophy, to observe that the South Americans are not
among those over-educated or ultra-civilized populaces that
he deprecates ; there is as much ignorance there among
the governors and governed as even he could desire in any
despotic state ; but ignorance does not seem to be bliss in
South America.

He goes on to say that Anglo-Saxons alone are capable
of a representative government; that, in the British Em-
pire, if the Celtic part of the population had formed a
numerical equality, the constitutional monarchy must
have merged into an absolute one. He scarcely thinks the
United States can maintain free institutions, on account
of the vast Irish emigration into that country — they will
find those Celts a race incapable of independence — that
must be restrained by the strong hand of monarchy. Such
are this ingenious author's ideas of policy. He has great
confidence in the fortunes of his own country, but he thinks
the Reform Bill has deeply injured the future prospects
and present condition of the British Empire. He looks
with fond regret to the golden days of the Stuarts, when
right divine was recognized in the sovereign, and when,
above all, none save the highest nobility, and not many of
these, were furnished with that dangerous, sharp-edged
weapon — a literary education.

Before closing our account of this volume, we would like
to add one extract on the British conquests in India: —

" They have fairly outstripped everything in this age of
wonder; they do not resemble the conquests of Rome in
ancient, or Russia in modern times; they were not the
result of conquest clearly and perseveringly applied to
general subjugation, as little were they the offspring of a
turbulent spirit, similar to that which carried the French
eagles to the Kremlin. The disposition of the age to Saxon
is practical gain-seeking and shunning wars."

History, Mr. Alison has informed us, forbears to record
the unspeakable state of things in South America; how
must it then have tasked her to narrate the wars of Give,
Hastings, and the long succession of bloodshed, violence,
rapine, and oppression which have effected the conquest of
India? In our humble opinion, all that can excuse the
injustice and cruelty of these conquests is the hope, which
Mr. Alison considers quite illusory, namely, that they will
lead to the educating, Christianizing, and civilizing the
much-injured Hindoo, and that the great blessings of spi-
ritual religion and free institutions may, by elevating
woman in the social scale, and thus forming suitable

EDITORS7 TABLE.

instructors for children, work out those improvements in
tli« condition of the people of India which will atone for
the wrongs done by the British conquests.

The extraordinary restrictions in revealed religion, and
the retrograde views of political economy propounded in
this work, do not demand serious refutation, their absurdi-
ty is self evident; but we would like to hear Mr. Alison
explain why, if Christianity be intended for Europeans
exclusively, did the incarnation of our blessed Saviour take
place among an Oriental people? And, if the Anglo-Saxon
ra^e be alone suited to democratical institutions, how were
the republics of Greece and of Rome maintained in the
olden time, and also those of Italy in the Middle Ages ?

Beware of Bad Books. — Among the many floating arti-
cles of genius that gem the sea of literature, we have
selected one worthy of our " Book.:' Let the young reader
consider the sentiments as those of a mother or wise
teacher, saying : " Beware of bad books.'' Does she inquire,
'■ Why, what harm will books do me?" Listen to the reply: —

" The same harm that personal intercourse would with the
bad men or women who wrote them. That ' a man is known
by the company he keeps,' is an old proverb ; but it is no
more true than that a man's character may be determined
by knowing what books he reads. If a good book can be
read without making one better, a bad book cannot be read
without making one the worse. A person may be ruined by
reading a single volume. Bad books are like ardent spirits ;
they furnish neither ' aliment' nor ' medicine ;' they are
' poison.' Both intoxicate — one the mind, the other the
body: the thirst for each increases by being fed, and is
never satisfied ; both ruin — one the intellect, the other the
health, and together, the soul. The makers and venders
of each are equally guilty, and equally corrupters of the
community; and the safeguard against each is the same —
total abstinence from all that intoxicates the mind and body."

The Benefit of Reading.— Another picture, drawn by a
friend of ours, under the rather quaint title of " Rooms,"'
will show the influence of good books : —

" This pleasant household word, with what dear associa-
tions is it surrounded ! Dear in the log-cabins of the west,
and in the ' mansions of merchants who are princes.'

" For the present, we shall stop at the door, surrounded
by yonder little garden. See how the climbing plants and
bushy evergreens adorn the shining windows, gilded as
they are by the setting sun. When 'the gardens in the
frost are,' it is just as pleasant within. The summer
always seems to linger there among the hothouse flowers,
the green geraniums, and the birds, which then change
places. Going inside for warmth and shelter, and genial
care from gentle Aunt Sallie.

" Yet she is an ' old maid,' sad as the truth may seem to
the bright young eyes which may be looking here for
amusement. A sunnier head and countenance than hers
I never knew.

" In the inner rooms are curious old curtains, which
count a century of years, and pictures older still. Among
her pets and flowers, she seems to me to bear a certain
heroism about her, in the cheerful strength with which
she has upborne the weight of many years, and preserved
the 'dew of her youth' among the frosts of age. Her
•omfortable dwelling is a refuge for all distress, and the
entries and outer rooms are perfect greenhouses. Here
lemon and orange-trees blossom, and bear fruit, all winter
through. Each plant, and vine, and tree has a legend
attached.

" Over the comfortable, but old-fashioned sofa hang por-
traits of those who once lived and were dear to her. Old

World prints, with bright blue sky and the greenest of
grassy waves, and bright red ships, kept for memory's sake,
are among landscapes of real beauty and value.

" Among the bright fuchsias are blind old birds from
tropical countries.

" But the charm of the house, that which, more than all
the rest, has assisted her thus to replenish the fountain of
youthful and affectionate sympathy with all that has
beauty and life, lias in the well-stored book-cases. It is
scarcely necessary to say that my favorite is unaffectedly
pious. This, and her love of reading, are the secret of her
superiority.

" She loves those silent friends, and they have well
repaid her in the cheerful energy which they have kept
green through the winter of her life."

Duty versus Fame. — A Southern lady, whose writings
have gained high approval among good judges of literary
talent in England as well as in this country, thus records
her opinions on a very important matter. She says : —

'•Woman was made for duty, not for fame. So soon as
she forgets this great law of her being, which consigns her
to a life of heroism, if she will — but quiet, unobtrusive
heroism — she throws herself from her position, and thus,
of necessity, degrades herself. This mistaken hungering
for the forbidden fruit, this grasping at the notoriety
belonging (if, indeed, it properly belongs to any) by nature
to man, is at the root of all her debasement.

" Look at the ball-room belle, for instance. Why is she
a flirt, a coquette, a heartless trifler with hearts ? Not
bocause there is harm in the ball-room enjoyment of
youth; in the joy-waking music, or the spirit-rousing
dance; but because she would be tailed of, and forgets
duty, conscience, and heart in the love of notoriety.

'• Why does the young mother forget the sick baby in its
cradle to listen to the whispered inanities of those bewhis-
kered fops who surround her? Why, but because she
cannot resign to duty that petty fame to which she de-
grades herself.

" Why does the gray and wrinkled matron, whom nature
and duty would keep at her fireside corner to wake the
young hearts round her to the love of God, nature, nnd
virtue, rush out with her be-rouged cheek and stained
locks, to try and play the belle a little longer? Still she
grasps at her shame. It is her ambition that degrades her.

"Why does the literary lady leave too often her infant
to the hireling? her sick and her poor to chance charity ?
What is it that stocks the world with Harriet Martineaus,
George Sands, and Lady Bulwers? Is it not the same
hungering love for notoriety, the same misdirected ambi-
tion ; misdirected still, though in another track ? There is
nothing unwomanish in the fullest exercise by woman of
the thought and mind, which, if God has given, he has
given for use. There is nothiug unwomanish in the writ-
ing of such thoughts ; nothing unwomanish, even, we
think, in the publishing of them. Society has accordingly
permitted, and does permit, unblamed and unchecked,
woman's fullest liberty in the exercise of her literary
powers in every line; and she has, equally with the man,
as far as she is able to use it, this theatre of effort open to
her. If she has not, equally with the man, distinguished
herself in it, it is because her talents and disposition do not
indicate this as the career best suited to the fullest exer-
cise of her faculties and virtues. It is not her highest
destiny. It is not her noblest life. Nevertheless, many
women, with great and true woman-minds, have written,
have published, and have done good by so expanding the
brighter developments of woman-thought. But so soon aa
woman strives with man's ambition ; so soon as she forgets

godey's magazine and lady's book.

the ruling thought of duty, letting its throne be usurped
by the illegitimate hungering for fame and notoriety which
so fatally misleads her. her writings, as her nature, become
corrupted in the struggle. She has resigned herself to an
igms-fattnu guide, which fails never to plunge her into the
mire of degradation.

"Man, like woman, may fall, and does fall, through
similar causes, to similar degradation. But as the woman's
fall is from a higher and a purer elevation, even so grovels
*he lower in her debasement, and closer and heavier clings
to her its consequent soil. Because women have thus
sinned, we behold their punishment. Degraded they arc,
even in that proportion wherein they have erred. The
ball-room coquette, in the midst of bor triumph, is degraded
in her heart and in her being. The brilliant George Sand,
bold in her impudence and her talent, is degraded to the
dust before the blushing mother, who watches that her
innocent child shall not lay its hand upon the foul produc-
tions, wherein France's brilliant novelist often competes in
obscenity with the nauseous filth spewed forth by her com-
patriots, a Sue and a Dumas, upon a community sufficiently
degraded to admire them. In a steady pursuit of duty,
such names would be perhaps entirely unknown. But
dares any one say that they are better for being thus
known? or is there anything but a sickly appetite for
notoriety which could make such a position to be coveted?
Is a Ninon de PEnclos, a Duchess of Pompadour, or a
George Sand (indisputably celebrated women, all of them)
so good, so pure, or so noble in the eye of God as the un-
known mother who hushes to sleep the weary eye of her
baby, and whispers to its waking thought her never-to-be-
forgotten lessons of duty and of truth? Brilliant fallen
ones the world has seen ; but nature turns from them in
sorrow. She glories not, but weeps for her fallen children."

Wise Liberality. — The Female Medical College of Massa-
chusetts received a grant from the Legislature of $1,000
annually for five years, " in aid of the medical education
of females by the establishment of forty scholarships, the
beneficiaries of which shall be selected from the several
senatorial districts, in numbers according to the senatorial
appointment."

The Female Medical College op Pennsylvania.— It is to
be hoped the example of Massachusetts will arouse the
liberal spirit of the old Keystone State to do something for
the better education of her daughters. We have before us
the " Fifth Announcement" of this college,* and are glad
to find its progress is onward. The success of those women
who have graduated from this excellent institution, and
gone into practice as physicians for their own sex and
children, has been very encouraging. The receipts of seve-
ral for their first year's practice have been over one thousand
dollars, and all have done well. Some of the graduates of
this college have engaged in giving public lectures, to
classes of ladies, on physiology, hygiene, &c, with much
success, realizing from fifty to a hundred dollars per week.
A large field is opening to female talent in this department.
The study of medicine — or, in its true import, the study of
the laws of life and health — is the province of woman more
than of man, for to her the care of children and of the sick
is especially delegated by the Creator. Every opportunity,
therefore, of fitting her for the office of preserver and healer
should be given. Many women of talent are turning their
thoughts to these subjects ; and, if the means were fur-
nished, hundreds of young women would engage in the

* Located in Philadelphia, 22C Arch Street. Address
Professor D. J. Johnson, M. D.

study of medicine. This profession will be the resource,
also, for many widows, who are left while in the prime of
life to support themselves and their children. There is
room for all. At this moment, ten thousand such female
physicians would find places of profit to themselves, and,
as we think, of great advantage to the community, were
such a number qualified to enter on their duties. We hope
the next session of each Female Medical College will be
attended by hundreds of earnest conscientious seekers for
the knowledge of the art of doing good to the sick and
helpless.

A Real Lady. — Mr. Thackaray is not much in the habit
of complimenting ladies; in truth, we have usually found
his specimens of womankind (in novels) very disagreeable,
being either " Sharps" or of such foolish softness as took
away all respect for their character. But here is an excep-
tion— a picture we are proud to show our readers, and hope
an original may be found in many a household: —

"I do not mean to tell you there are no women in the
world vulgar and ill-humored, rancorous and narrow-
minded, mean schemers, son-in-law hunters, slaves of fash-
ion, hypocrites ; but I do respect, and admire, and a^ost
worship good women, and I think there is a very fair num-
ber of such to be found in this world, and I have no doubt
in every educated Englishman's circle of society, whether
he finds that circle in places in Belgravia and May Fair, in
snug little suburban villas, in ancient comfortable old
Bloomsbury, or in back parlors behind the shop. It has
been my fortune to meet with excellent ladies in every one
of these places — wives graceful and affectionate, matrons
tender and good, daughters happy and pure-minded, and I
urge the society of such to you, because I defy you to think
evil in their company. Walk into the drawing-room of
Lady Z., that great lady; look at her charming face, and
listen to her voice. She is one of those fortunate beings
on whom it has pleased Heaven to bestow all sorts of most
precious gifts and worldly favors. With what a grace she
receives you! with what a frank kindness and natural
sweetness and dignity! Her looks, her motions, her
thoughts, all seem to be beautiful and harmonious quite.
See her with her children. What woman can be more
simple and loving? After you have talked to her a while,
you very likely find that she is ten times as well read as
you are ; she has a hundred accomplishments which she is
not in the least anxious to show off, and makes no more
account of them than of her diamonds, or of the splendor
round about her — to all of which she is born, and has a
happy, admirable claim of nature and possession — admira-
ble and happy for her, and for ns, too ; for is it not happi-
ness for us to admire her?"

To Correspondents. — The following articles are accepted :
"Mothers of Genius," "The Letter," 'Toetry and Love,"
"I was not Forgotten," "Welcome News," "Second
Thoughts," " The Ocean Gem," " Time in Search of Cupid,"
" Poison from Flowers," and " The Elm Tree."

The following are not needed : " Serenade" (this has been
translated), "Three Scenes," "The Birthday Present,"
" Mary Carroll," " The First Murder," " The Children of the
Forest," " Aunt Matilda's Evenings," " Ida Lofton," &c,
"What dost thou seek?" "Gentle Maiden," Ac, "Lines"
(good ; but we have no room, and could not give them an
" early insertion"), " Brother, Farewell," " The Home I
have left," " Spirit Voices," and "I hear it still."

Many others we have not yet examined— long poems —
for which we shall hardly be able to find room, were the
articles deserving the highest praise.

LITERARY NOTICES.

Ctterarri Notices.

NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY OF DISTINGUISH-
ED AMERICANS. This truly national work is now com-
plete, and is one of the most desirable books yet published
for every American. It should have a place in the library
of every one who has a love of his country. Independent
of its American claim as a work of art, it is desirable. We
have engravings here by Cheney, Durand, and Dodson —
gentlemen who have now left the profession, and their
masterpieces appear in this work. The portrait of Sparks
by Sehoff is acknowledged to be one of the finest engravings
ever executed in this country. The work is splendidly
bound, and can only be had of the publishers, Messrs. Rice
& Hart, 27 Minor St., Philadelphia. We annex the fol-
lowing notice from the " National Intelligencer."

'•'• The National Portrait Gallery of Distinguished Ameri-
cans, with Biographical Sketches. — The work here mentioned
was originally undertaken, more than twenty years ago,
by Mr. James B. Longacre, of Philadelphia, who was soon
joined in it by Mr. James Herring, of New York. We took
occasion on the publication of their first volume to invite
the public attention to it as an enterprise of extraordinary
merit, richly deserving the patronage of our countrymen.
Siuce that time it has passed through various hands to its
present public-spirited proprietors and publishers, who, by
their many costly improvements in the style of execution
and the addition of several portraits and biographical
sketches, have acquired a greatly enhanced claim to the
thanks of eveiy American who delights in witnessing the
progress of the fine arts in his own country. These mag-
nificent volumes certainly exceed, in richness and elegance
of display, anything of the kind ever before issued from
the American press; indeed, we doubt whether in any
nation the combination of the bindery and the press ever
accomplished a more splendid array of art. The publishers
seem to have spared neither labor nor expense to bring the
execution of their work to the utmost degree of perfection
of which the existing state of the various arts and trades
employed upon it would admit. Of the literary merit of
the biographies it would be superfluous to speak ; the most
of them were written by authors of high reputation, and
the press everywhere has already pronounced its commen-
dation. It has been our good fortune to have known or
seen the greater portion of the distinguished men whose
portraits are given, and from our vivid recollection of them
we are enabled to speak confidently of the fidelity of the
delineations.

•' There are two portraits of Washington in the first
volume : the one from a picture by Col. Trumbull, painted
while he was a member of the general's military family :
the other from Stuart's well-known portrait of him after
he became President of the United States. Both are faith-
ful copies of their respective originals. But, besides these
two fine engravings, the title-page is embellished with a
medallion of the Father of his Country, which is one of the
richest and most exquisitely beautiful specimens of art we
have ever seen.

" Eight biographies and eleven new engravings have
been added since the former edition of the work, the sketches
being brought down to the present time. The four volumes,

all of which are printed in limited numbers, contain no
less than one hundred and forty-four portraits, and their
corresponding biographical sketches.

" From what we have said of the superb appearance of
the work, the public will see at once that it could not have
been got up without an immense outlay of capital, and
that the usual course of trade among booksellers would be
far too slow in its operations to afford anything like a rea-
sonable hope of that prompt remuneration so important to
men of business, and especially to a young and enterprising
firm. This makes it necessary that the ' Portrait Gallery'
should be sold only to order; or, in other words, that it
should sell itself by its own attractions. We have said that
the whole work is printed; but only a few copies are yet
bound, for the publishers are willing to leave to every
purchaser the privilege of choosing the style of binding
which may suit his own taste ; and besides, to bind the
whole edition, even in the least expensive manner, would
add so much to the expenditures already incurred that the
publishers could hardly be expected to take upon them-
selves the risk without some assurance that the whole
could be sold,

" We cannot close this notice without repeating that this
work fairly and honestly deserves the mo3t liberal and
extensive encouragement, not only as a favorable indication
of the perfection to which the fine arts in the United States
are rapidly and surely tending, but as something which,
in its literary and historical character, may serve to awaken
in the youth of our country a spirit of patriotism, of rever-
ence for the heroes and statesmen whose lives have shed
lustre on our republic, and of generous emulation of the
virtues which gained them the place they hold among the
distinguished of the nation."

From Lindsay & Blakiston, Philadelphia : —
STRUGGLES FOR LIFE ; or, tlw, Autobiography of a Dis-
senting Minister. This is the work of a very zealous preacher
of the Gospel in England. His personal history is very
interesting. Born in obscurity and poverty, and with a
physical imperfection from which it seemed impossible he
should ever recover, he nevertheless lived to be a man of
great worth and erudition. His struggles with and for the
poor, and his patient efforts to engage the minds of the
rich in works of benevolence and charity, are worthy of
the Christian vocation he had chosen, and render his
character worthy of being imitated by those who would
walk humbly yet fearlessly in the same paths. Apart from
its controversial opinions, this work may be read with
pleasure and profit by all who take an interest in the
advancement of religious faith. As a dissenting minister,
the author, of course, maintains his antagonism to the
established church of his country with all the arguments,
logic, and eloquence at his command. Price $1.

From Leary & Getz, No. 138 North Second Street, Phila-
delphia : —

THE BOOK OF CURIOSITIES. Containing ten thou-
sand wonders and curiosities of nature and art; and of
remarkable and astonishing places, beings, animals, cus-
toms, experiments, phenomena, etc., of both ancient and
modern times, on all parts of the globe: comprising au-
thentic accounts of the most wondei-ful freaks of nature
and arts of man. By the Rev. J. Platts. First American
edition. Complete in one volume. This is a substantially
bound volume of nearly one thousand pages, and, as may
he judged from the title, contains a vast fund of informa-
tion at once valuable and highly entertaining. Such a
hook cannot fail to produce the most salutary influence
upon the minds of youthful inquirers.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

From Willis P. Hazard, No. 178 Chestnut Street, Phila-
delphia:—

WOMAN'S INFLUENCE AND WOMAN'S MISSION.
This is an excellent and most eloquent treatise on the
moral and religious duties of females, and on the faithful
practice of all those exemplary duties which should distin-
guish them as well in their social relations as in their
intercourse with the world. Nothing can be more absurd,
or more dangerous to the honor and the true dignity of
the sex than many of the theories advocated by modern
enthusiasts ; and hence the great importance of this little
work at this time, which, by its wholesome precepts and
affectionate precautions, is admirably calculated to restrain
the progress of false ideas and the establishment of perni-
cious principles.

THE LADY'S EQUESTRIAN MANUAL, in which Hie
Principles and Practice of Horsemanship for Ladies are
thoroughly explained, to enable every Lady to Ride with
comfort and elegance. With fifty illustrations. This work
will prove of great value to those ladies who desire to perfect
themselves in an accomplishment which is not only a means
of invigorating and healthful exercise, but a source of
innocent and cheerful gratification to the minds of those
who practise it. We believe that nothiug has been omitted
which is required in obtaining a perfect knowledge of the
art, or that could insure safety to those who would avail
themselves of the pleasures it affords.

From Tickxor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through W. P.
JIvzard, Philadelphia: —

AN ART STUDENT IN MUNICH. By Anna Mary
Howitt. The author of this volume is an enthusiast in
her devotion to the fine arts, possessing a very high order
of genius, as well as a glowing imagination. Her descrip-
tion of natural scenes, as well as her criticisms of all that
related to her favorite studies, are very beautiful and
classically correct. But her contemplations are by no
means confined to the sublime and beautiful. The reader
13 made acquainted with the minutest particulars of domes-
tic life in Munich, and of the manners and peculiarities of
the people generally, in a familiar and racy style, at once
amusing and instructive. The author, it is very evident,
belongs to that class of ladies who, in this country, have
taken the lead in proving to the world that the female
mind is capable of attaining the highest distinctions that
can be arrived at by a practical knowledge of the arts and
sciences. At the same time, she has the magnanimity to
•' protest against a very common calumny, namely, that it
is man who thwarts every effort of woman to rise to emi-
nence in the life of art."

THEOLOGICAL ESSAYS AND OTHER PAPERS. By
Thomas De Quincey, author of a Confessions of an English
Opium-Eater," etc. etc. These two elegantly printed vol-
umes form the sixteenth and seventeenth of the famous
"Opium-eater's" works. Though uniform with those pre-
ceding them, they can be purchased separately for seventy-
five cents each. As is intimated by the title, all the essays
are not of a theological character, nor is the theology
delivered ex cathedra, yet rather as if from a Puseyite pul-
pit. Though not always disposed to yield to the opinions
of the learned author, it is hard for us to refuse him the
tribute of our admiration. His chaste and idiomatic Eng-
lish style is certainly delightful. His speculations, dis-
cursive at times to a bewildering degree, are still pleasant,
entertaining, and witty, and sustained by arguments
which, if not convincing, are certainly ingenious. In fact,
De Quincey is an author to be studied, and none pretend-
ing to an acquaintance with English literature can afford
to be without his works.

From Bi.anchard & Lea, Philadelphia: —

ADVANCED LATIN EXERCISES, WITH SELECTIONS
FOR READING. American edition. Revised, with addi-
tions. This volume belongs to Schmitz and Zumpt's
classical series, and has passed through the press under the
supervision of a competent editor.

From Lippincott, Grambo, & Co. (successors to Grigg &
Elliot), No. 14 North Fourth Street, Philadelphia:—-

THE TWO ROADS ; or, the Right and tlie Wrong. By
James Knorr. This is a neat volume, embracing one hun-
dred and sixty-three articles, original and selected, on the
all-important subject of temperance. Many of the articles
are from the pens of able and popular writers, who have
thrown the weight of their example and their talents on
the side of the great moral reform. The author and com-
piler jeserves to be, and we hope will be fully successful in
his efforts, along with others, to check the evils consequent
upon habits which are alike fatal to private happiness and
public virtue. His book is worthy of a place in every
family, the head of which is truly desirous of preserving it
in the bonds of peace and unity.

THE PRINCIPLES OF BOTANY, AS EXEMPLIFIED
IN THE PHANEROGAMIA. By Harland Coultas, Pro-
fessor of General and Medical Botany in the Penn Medical
University. Dedicated to William Schmoele, Doctor of
Philosophy and Medicine, etc., in the same institute. Our
readers are no doubt familiar with the name of Mr. Coultas,
whose essays have frequently graced the pages of the
" Lady's Book." In the present volume, he treats particu-
larly of the flowering plants, and publishes the result of
his investigations as the completion of his previous work
on the " Principles of Botany as Exemplified in the Crypto-
gamia." Though " written with an especial reference to
the wants of medical students and physicians," this com-
prehensive volume is admirably adapted to impart to any
one studying it with proper attention, a clear knowledge
of the first principles of the beautiful science to which it is
devoted.

From II. C. Peck & Theo. Bliss, Philadelphia :—
SUNSHINE ON DAILY PATHS; or, the Revelations of
Beauty and Wander in Common Things. From " Household
Words." By Charles Dickens. With eight original illus-
trations. This is a handsomely printed volume of 450
pages, embracing forty-five articles on various interesting
subjects, selected from the popular works of Dickens. We
need not speak of the merits of these sketches; but we
might well stop to admire the beautiful and durable form
in which they have been preserved and presented to the
American reader.

From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia: —

MISS LESLIE'S NEW RECEIPT BOOK FOR COOKING.
An excellent collection of receipts for the preparation in
different manners of cooking of meats, fish, poultry, game,
pies, pastry, cakes, confectionery, ice-creams, preserves,
jellies, Ac. &c.

VIRGINIA AND MAGDALENE ; or, the Foster Sisters.
One volume. Price 50 cents.

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or, the CliOdren of the
Isle. Two volumes. Price 50 cents each.

Both the above-named works are from the pen of Emma
D. E. N. Southworth, a lady who has greatly distinguished
herself as a writer of fiction. We have had no opportunity
of perusing these volumes, but we may justly presume, as
well from the very favorable notices we have seen of them
as from the established reputation of the author, that they

LITERARY NOTICES.

are equal in spirit and originality to any of her precedent
works.

From J. C. Derby, New York, and IT. W. Derby, Cincin-
nati, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : —

LYRICS BY THE LETTER II. Many of the poems in
this handsome volume are gay, sprightly, affectionate, and
" loveable," others are sentimental and melancholy enough
for any taste, and many more are patriotic, political, and
satirical ; so that no reader will be likely to take up the
book and acknowledge himself disappointed in regard to
the genius, originality, and versatility of the author.

From Bunce & Brother, New York, through T. B. Peter-
son, Philadelphia : —

YIOLET : the Child of the City. A Novel of Metropolitan
Life. By Robert F. Greely. This is a story of peculiar
interest for those who delight in sketches of the vicious
follies of high life, and of the depravities, with here and
there an exception, of low life.

From J. C. Derby, New York, Phillips, Sampson, & Co.,
Boston, and II. W. Derby, Cincinnati, through T. B. Peter-
son, Philadelphia : —

LIFE AND SAYINGS OF MRS. PARTINGTON, AND
OTHERS OF THE FAMILY. Every intelligent person
that has been in the habit of reading the newspapers for
the last two or three years— and where is the intelligent
person that has not? — is more or less familiar with the
amusing and philosophical sayings of Mrs. Partington.
So true is this remark, that it would seem to be a species
of folly for us to attempt a formal recommendation of the
book, in which all the original observations of the amiable
old lady have been carefully recorded, and which, with the
numerous handsome illustrations attached, the reader can
now laugh over and admire at his leisure.

From Dewitt & Davenport, New York, through T. B.
Peterson, Philadelphia :—

SPIRIT MANIFESTATIONS EXAMINED AND EX-
PLAINED. Judge Edmonds Refuted ; or, an Exposition of
the Involuntary Poivers and Instincts of the Human Mind.
By John Boree Dodds, author of " Philosophy of Electrical
Psychology," " Immortality Triumphant," etc. etc. This is
a handsome volume, the substance of which was delivered
at the City Hall, in Auburn, New York, in April, 1851.
From some cause or other, we have paid but little atten-
tion to the "so called spirit manifestations," and to the
" so called rappings," and therefore feel our incompetency,
not, perhaps, to give an opinion, but to decide one way or
the other between the author of this book and Judge
Edmonds. We have neither the time, nor the ability, nor
the inclination to make a searching investigation for spirits
into the depths below or the heights above, and can
therefore do no more than announce the appearance of
this volume to those who are in possession of the pre-
requisites mentioned.

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through T. B.
Peterson, Philadelphia : —

CRITICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS OF T.
NOON TALFOURD, AUTHOR OF " ION." Third American
edition. With additional articles never before published in
this country. We feel that it would be unnecessary for
us to offer any remarks in relation to the contents of this
4 volume. Long before his decease, the lamented author
had attained a degree of celebrity as a critic and a poet
which but few of his contemporaries have yet reached.
His works therefore belong to the treasure? of English

literature, of which no person of literary taste will deny
himself the possession.

From D. Appleton & Co., No. 200 Broadway, New York,
through C. G. Henderson & Co., corner of Fifth and Arch
Streets, Philadelphia : —

TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE ; or, Life in Kentucky. By
Mrs. Mary J Holmes. The characters and incidents of
this novel make us acquainted with many interesting fea-
tures of Western life. We hope, however, there are no
more such strong-minded young women left in Kentucky
as our author has described Julia to have been. Through-
out the book, great care appears to have been taken to
sustain all the peculiarities which distinguish persons of
Southern and Northern birth and education, and, at the
same time, to abstain from introducing offensively any of
those " vexed questions" which have lately been made the
basis of similar works of fiction. We must also give the
author credit for unusual force and originality in her
delineation of several of the principal actors introduced.
We may say, too, that the moral tendency of the work is
unexceptionable.

AFRICA AND THE AMERICAN FLAG. By Com-
mander Andrew H. Foote, U. S. Navy, Lieutenant com-
manding U. S. Brig Perry on the Coast of Africa, A. D.
1850-1851. This work presents us with many new facts
and observations relating to the horrors and enormities of
the African slave trade, and with such general views of the
character of the natives, the progress of commerce, and the
triumphs of the colonization scheme, as will greatly inte-
rest the reader.

From Charles Scriener, New York, through Parry &
M'Millan. Philadelphia:—

MELBOURNE AND THE CHINCA ISLANDS; with
Sketches of Lima, and a Voyage round the World. By
George W. Peck. We do not pi'opose to follow Mr. Peck in
his voyage round the world, in what we have to say of las
book. We, indeed, feel under obligations to him for the
amount of amusement and instruction we have received
by a somewhat careful perusal of his pleasant narrative
and original sketches. We wish, also,, that we could re-
commend to our friends, without the least drawback, to
avail themselves of the opportunity he has presented of
becoming better acquainted than some of them may be
with distant regions, portions of which are just bursting
into the bloom of modern civilization — Melbourne, fox
instance— while others still remain, apparently, in all the
gloom and darkness of the dark ages. There are, however,
some vague allusions in the book to the author's propensi-
ties, and some loose sentiments expressed, which, might
have been openly confessed on the forecastle, or even in
the cabin of some ships, without exciting the least notice,
but which we think could have been omitted with the
greatest propriety in a work intended for the perusal, and
peradventure the instruction, of persons of taste and
judgment.

CIIRYSTALLINE; or, the Heiress of Fall Down Castle.
By E. W. Shelton, A. M., author of the " Rector of St.
Bardolph's," etc. This is a beautiful romance, founded oh
the old legend of the thieving magpie. Its morality is
pure and elevating, and its style such as will greatly inte-
rest and amuse young readers.

THE MYRTLE WREATH'; or, Stray Leaws BecuTled.
By Minnie Myrtle. The short essays and poems of which
this volume is composed breathe the spirit of truthfulness,
not in sadness and complaint, but kindly, benevolently,
and cheerfully, as it comes gushing from the heart. The
" Stray Leaves," or, we Bhould sny, flowers, of whicl hk

godey's magazine and lady's book.

wreath has been formed, have heretofore graced the
columns of sundry newspapers, and are now entwined for
preservation and the gratification of those who admired
them in their original form.

From J. S. Redfieltj, 110 and 112 Nassau Street, New
York, through W. 1?. Zibber, Philadelphia:—

NARRATIVE OF A VOYAGE TO THE NORTH COAST
OF A M ERICA IN THE YEARS 1811, 1S12, 1813, AND 1814 ;
or, the First American Settlement on the Pacific. By Gabriel
Francliere. Translated and edited by J. V. Huntington.
The contents of this volume form an interesting portion of
American history, and will therefore justly claim the
attention of American readers. In the settlement of the
" Oregon Question," the facts related by the author had
the greatest possible influence with our ablest statesmen,
and because, as one of them admitted, the work contained
the fullest and most authentic details of the founding of
Astoria, of its subsequent sale to the North-West Company,
and of its final seizure as a British conquest. The style
of the narrative is simple and unpretending, the work of a
plain practical observer, who has taken care not to dis-
figure, or to bring the character of his adventures into
question, by dressing them up in the exaggerations of
romance.

A YEAR WITH THE TURKS ; or, Sketches of Travel in
the European and Asiatic Dominions of the Sultan. By
Warington W. Smyth, M. A. The intention of the author
of this volume has beeu to give a " plain, unvarnished"
accouut of his journey through Turkey, aud of the charac-
ter of the people, which he endeavors to relieve of much
of the odium that has been attached to it by Christian
writers. Mr. Smyth certainly had excellent opportunities
afforded him of forming a correct judgment in relation to
the peculiarities of the people, and the nature and influ-
ence of the government ; and, from the candor exhibited
throughout his narrative, we have reason to believe that
his opinions have been formed without prejudice, and are
therefore entitled to the respect of the reader.

THE CATACOMBS OF ROME, as Illustrating the Church
of the First Three Centuries. By the Right Rev. Wm.
Ingraham Kip, D. D., Missionary Bishop of California,
author of the " Lenten Fast," " The Double Witness of the
Church," " The Christmas Holidays in Rome," " The Early
Jesuit Mission in North America," etc. This is a work
which will he more likely to excite than to gratify the
curiosity of the Christian reader. The Catacombs of Rome
have furnished subjects for elaborate works of investiga-
tion and speculation for more than three hundred years,
and they are yet among those varied curiosities of past
ages of which the people of the present may be said to
know literally nothing. But the aim of the author of this
interesting work, as he himself confesses, has not been to
produce a volume displaying antiquarian or classical learn-
ing, but a simple and popular view of great historical facts,
which, in this country, are little known, in order that
those who are dreaming of Rome as she is in this age may
see " that an approximation to her, as she now sits on her
Seven Hills, is no approach to the simplicity and truth of
primitive times."

From II. Long & Brother, New York : —

THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. By G. W. M. Reynolds.
This is an historical tale by the author of the " Rye House
riot," " Kenneth," etc., written in the usual vigorous style
of Reynolds, and will amply repay a perusal. In the
intricacy and management of plot, we have few writers
who can equal the author of the "Massacre of Glencoc.

From J. Livingston. New York :—

LIVINGSTON'S NEW LAW REGISTER; or, a ITand-
Book of Useful Information, and Guide for every Man of
Business. Just prepared and published by John Living-
ston, of the New York Bar. An indispensable book, con-
taining a large amount of information which every person
should have at his command. The price of this great work
is three dollars, if purchased of an agent, or two dollars if
the money is sent direct to the publisher, by whom it will
be forwarded through the mail to any part of the United
States, on receipt of $2. The work is perhaps cheaper than
any before offered to the public; the object of the publisher
having been to present, at the cheapest rate, and in the
best style, the largest possible amount of useful matter
having interest and value to the greatest number of people.

The wholesale merchant, retailer, country merchan
attorney, banker, broker, manufacturer, insurer, mechani*
farmer — every man will find that it will pay to purchase tin
work. It gives the laws of every State relative to landi
executing and acknowledging, or proving deeds and wills
collecting and securing debts, taking and certifying deposi-
tions, and proving and certifying accounts, the rights of
mai'ried women, interest and usury, the constitution and
jurisdiction of the several State and Federal courts, with
places and times of their session, military bounty land,
pre-emption, naturalization and patent laws, rates of post-
age, etc., together with many forms and much other useful
information.

The work comprises, also, a complete Blue Book, or Offi-
cial Directory, giving full lists of the officers and agents,-
civil, military, and naval, legislative, executive, and judi-
cial, of the Federal and State governments, and of Great
Britain. It contains the names of about 40.000 government
officers and agents, with their places of residence, salaries,
and tenure of office, a complete list of lawyers in the United
States to the number of 30,000, and showing also where
they live ; marine, fire, and life insurance companies in the
United States, with their location, officers, and capital ;
all solvent banks, with their officers, capital, and locality ;
all railroad companies, with their officers, etc.; packets
and steamers, inlaud, foreign, and coastwise, with their
agents, times of sailing, and destination, and hundreds of
other valuable lists and tables, as may be seen by the
contents.

From J. P. Jewett & Co., Boston, and Jewett, Proctor,
& Worthington, Cleveland, Ohio : —

THE LAMPLIGHTER. We received a copy of the first
edition of this popular work when it first appeared, but
only had time to give it passing notice in the then forth-
coming number of the "Lady's Book." We have been
since furnished with another copy, which we are pleased,
but not astonished to see is one of the " thirty fifih thou-
sand" that have already passed through the press. We
can now say that we have carefully perused this work, and
have.no hesitation in pronouncing it to be, in our opinion,
one of the best and purest of its class that has emanated
from an American mind. Too many of our writers are in
the habit, when attempting to sketch the realities of hum-
ble life, to draw extravagant and revolting pictures of
viciousness, or of too suddenly reforming and transforming
their most abandoned characters into angels of light, and
then setting them up as miracles of virtue. There are,
indeed, some few extravagances observable in the denoue-
ment of the plot of the " Lamplighter;" but, notwithstand-
ing these, the reader will be gratified, entertained, and
instructed by the graphic and feeling style of the author,
and, it may be, made better in heart by the just, generous,

CHEMISTRY FOR YOUTH,

and charitable sentiments that profusely flow from her
yen. jVVe hope the work will go up to another "thirty-
fifth thousand,1' because we think its perusal is calculated
to do a great deal of good, independent of the delight it
affords as a source of amusement.

UNCLE JERRY'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MOTHERS.
Compiled by Anne E. Porter. We have received a copy of
this valuable little work from the author. It has been
published by John P. Jewett & Co., Boston, and by Jewett,
Proctor, & Worthington, Cleveland, Ohio. These " Letters"
contain a vast deal of important instruction which no
mother, and no person intrusted with the care of infants,
or the physical training and moral treatment of children,
should be ignorant of. The advice comes from a wise and
experienced source, and is presented in brief, but compre-
hensive chapters, which appeal directly to the good feelings
and the common sense of the parent or instructor. No
young mother, who desires the well-being and future
health, respectability, and happiness of her family, should
be without this excellent guide a'nd monitor.

- From Gould & Lincoln, Boston: —

MY SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS; or,the Story of
my Education. An Autobiography. By Hugh Miller, au-
thor of " The Old Red Sandstone," " Footprints of the
Creator," etc. This book is the work of a man who has
raised himself by his intellect, combined with great energy
and industry and high principle, from the position of a
mason to that of a well known and appreciated writer. He
gives the detail of his life, and makes it highly interesting
by its evident truth and minuteness. The general facts
and principles that he brings forward constantly, show a
reflective as well as an observant mind, and add much to
the instruction that can be gained by his book. The
author's style is apparently a true picture of his mind,
direct, natural, and forcible. Altogether, it is a work that
will amply repay perusal, not only for the pleasure it gives,
and there is something irresistibly fascinating in an honest
autobiography, but for the encouragement and confidence
every aspiring mind may draw from it, as to the inevitably
upward tendencies of a desire for excellence in any depart-
ment or vocation. The author's schools were the sea-side,
the woods, the highlands, and the firesides of his native
Scotland,' as well as those other places which go more gene-
rally by that name ; his schoolmasters were his relatives
and his companions, his employers, and, above all, Time,
and Toil, and Necessity, and an ardent love for Nature and
everything that, as an emanation from the Creator, showed
his characteristics in their beauty, and truth, and harmony.

From A. Morris, Richmond, Va. : —

ALONE. By Mai-ion Harland, author of " Marrying
from Prudential Motives," "The Thrice-Wedded," etc.
Such is the simple and striking title of a new American
story, possessing far more interest, and exhibiting greater
evidence of talent than any our lady writers have brought
out for many a day. Our readers are not altogether unfa-
miliar with the author's style of narrative and conversa-
tion. " Alone" is characterized by force, clearness, and
originality ; in the last respect, her only danger, as far as
the story is concerned, is allowing her conversations to
occupy too much space, spirited as they are, abounding
with animated discussion and sparkling repartee. The plot
is, however, by no means neglected, and left to care for
itself, developing naturally without startling incidents,
though there are clever dramatic points the authoress has
happily seized. It is a story of life in Virginia, the princi-
pal scenes being laid in Richmond, and alternating to the
VOL. XLTX. — 8

plantations of the heroine and her friends. The morale is
excellent, and we congratulate Marion Harland — be the
name real or assumed — on a most successful book, in point
of merit at least, and we also hope as regards favor with
the reading public.

NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, &C.

From Charles Scribner, New York, through Parry &
M'Millan, Philadelphia: "The Whimsical Woman." By
Emilie F. Carlen, author of" One Year of Wedlock," "The
Bride of Omberg," etc. etc. From the original Swedish, by
Elbert Perce. This is a very agreeable story by a favorite
author.

From Garrett & Co., 18 Ann Street, New York: "Wo-
man and her Master." By the author of "Geo. Howard."
Price 50 cents.

From Merrihew & Thompson, Philadelphia: "Louis
Napoleon Prophetically considered in connection with the
Advent of the Lord Jesus Christ."

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through R. II.
See & Co., Philadelphia : " Martin Merrivale, his X Mark."
By Paul Creyton. Illustrated with engravings from origi-
nal designs, by Billings and other artists. This is number
one of a new work by the popular author of "Father
Brighthopes," " Burcliff," etc., and which will be completed
in about fifteen numbers. Price 12^ cents each.

From William V. Spencer, Boston : " Silver Knife ; or,
the Hunters of the Rocky Mountains." An Autobiography.
By Dr. J. H. Robinson. Price 25 cents. This is a new
edition of a popular work, representing life in the far
West.

dljemtstrr) for SJoatt).

Subaqueous Combustion. — Drop a small piece of phospho-
rus into a tumbler full of hot water, and force a stream of
oxygen immediately upon it, from a bladder furnished with
a stopcock and jet. The most brilliant combustion imagin-
able will be produced under water.

Production under Water of vrvrD Green Streams of Fire.
— Put two ounces of water into an ale glass or tumbler, and
first add to it two or three pieces of phosphorus, the size of
peas, and then forty grains of chlorate of potass; then pour
upon the mass, by means of a long-necked funnel, reaching
to the bottom of the glass, three teaspoonfuls of sulphuric
acid. As soon as the acid comes into contact with the phos-
phorus and chlorate of potass, flashes of fire begin to dart
from under the surface of the fluid ; when this occurs, im-
mediately throw into the mixture a few small lumps of
phosphuret of lime; the bottom of the vessel will become
illuminated, and an emerald-green-colored stream of fire
pass through the fluid. The chlorate of potass yields oxide
of chlorine, by the effusion of sulphuric acid, whilst the
phosphuret of lime produces phosphuretted hydrogen gas,
which, inflaming in the nascent euchlorine, gives the color-
ed flame.

Chemical Effect of Light. — Wash a piece of paper in a
weak solution of salt and water; dry, and then wash it with
a strong solution of nitrate of silver; dry it in the dark, and,
when dry, expose it to the sun's light; though colorless be-
fore, it will now soon become black. A picture may be
made by placing a dried plant, bit of lace, &c, upon the pa-
per, previous to its exposure to light.

Combustion of Charcoal. — Pour some dry charcoal, newly
made and finely powdered, into a jar containing chlorine
gas ; a very beautiful combustion will take place.

d&obrq'a Intt-CjjaU,

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL ENGRAVING.

a And the dove came in to him in the evening; and, lo,
in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off: so Noah knew
that the waters were ahated from off the earth." — Genesis
viii. 11.

Godey fob July — the First Number of the Second
Quarter of a Century. — We confess, in presenting this
number of the " Book" to our readers, to feeling just such
a glow of pleasure and gratitude as any veteran might be
supposed to experience on a similar occasion, being still
able to maintain a most happy and agreeable intercourse
with a new generation of friends and admirers. But, gen-
tle reader, and all our readers are good and gentle, although
we come to you this month under a deep sense of the years
that have passed, it is not with a wrinkled brow or a sad-
dened heart. It was our endeavor to use the pa^t, while it
was passing away, that it would leave no furrows behind to
be smoothed over in the future. And thus we can look
upon the past, as it stands mirrored in our Bool; with the
most perfect composure, and upon our present position, as
being not only fully defined, as the politicians say, but
equal to all the requirements, the great moral progress,
and the brighter and livelier sentiments of the age.

Nothing, indeed, would be more eloquent in defence of
this assertion, which some fastidious persons may think
quite too egotisiical, even for a man of business, than for
them to institute a comparison of our early numbers with
those of the present year. Should any one unfortunately
ontertain the least doubt of our progressiveness, they would
at once be convinced by such an investigation. They
would see that we have not only kept up with the fresh-
ness of the years as they silently stole upon our way, but
that we were always the first to brighten with their new
productions, and, in all possible cases, to take a decided
lead in the cultivation and presentation of the earliest and
purest flowers of literature, the rarest efforts of genius in
the fine arts and the arts of industry, the most unques-
tionable inducements to the practice of religion and mo-
rality, and, with all which, we have so interwoven the
innocent, but ever-varying devices of fashion, as to leave
nothing to be charged against us which could not, or would
not be defended by any virtuous and consistent lady in the
land.

With regard to the fashions, we are aware that they are
stumbling-blocks to many who either believe, or affect to
believe, that there were no such deformities, as some call
them, in the times of their mothers. But the comparison
of which we have been speaking would afford an amusing
contradiction of their faith in the past. They would not
only see that the fashions of a quarter of a century ago
were more fantastical, and more incompatible with the full
development of the human form than those of the present
day, but that even their representations in the " Lady's
Book," artistically, were by no means so beautiful and
attractive as are all similar illustrations now.

With these few remarks, as the lawyers say, " we submit
our case" to our lady readers, and to our generous friends
of the press, with whom, for twenty-fivo years, we have
reciprocated favors, and maintained, with few exceptions,
the most agreeable intercourse.

Aberdeen, Miss., April 16, 1854.
Mr. L. A. Godey : Let me remind you,
If these lines by chance should find you,
That, some two and a half months back,
I met your agent, Parson Black —
Yet. surely, I mistaken am,
For his name was Parson Mann —
Whom, at that time, I chanced to meet
On the walk in Commerce Street;
He had with him a " Lady's Book,"
At which he wished I 'd take a look,
And, if my taste did it commend,
That he, for me, should for it send.
He said, although the price was three,
For two and a half he 'd give it me,
Which sum to him I duly paid,
And the sample in my hand was laid.
No number since has come to hand,
Although from him I understand
That many letters have been sent
To let you know the discontent.
If the trade you disapprove,
Let me know, and I will move
Against the Parson for my dimes,
For these are tight and pinching times.
With peaceful, true, and friendly tones,
Your unknown friend, N. B. Jones.

ANSWER.

Your letter, in verse, dated April sixteen,

Came duly to hand from your town, Aberdeen ;

And now, in reply, it need only be said,

You made no mistake when the :' parson" you paid.

His power is good to collect all he can,

And we hold ourselves bound to receipt for our Mann

Until we shall hear, and be certain it 's true,

That from Godey he holds what to Godey is due.

With regard to the Books, they were put in the mail,

A wonderful engine that sometimes will fail.

Yet, that you may not lose in such an event,

The duplicate numbers have promptly been sent.

So, dear Mr. Jones, we will close these few rhymes

By wishing you always as safe in your " dimes,"

And as safe in the agent and publisher, too,

As they already have been in dealing with you.

Twenty-four years, friend "Clarion;" and thus number
commences the second quarter of a century. It is, as you
gay, " the oldest continued periodical in the United States.''

"The Mails fail sometimes, but Godey never does/'—
They do, that is a fact. Godey never h&a faileil yet, and
that is somewhat remarkable, when you consider the
length of time that he has been in business.

The Crystal Palace has reopened in New York, under
the auspices of the great Barnum. A vast concourse
attended the opening, and the place has since become a
general resort. There is now every prospect of its su<\ ess.
How dreadfully it was managed at first, under its old fogy
administration, the public need hardly be told.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

The pretty lines in our May number, " They say that she
is beautiful," are by Mi.-s Mary Grace Ilalpine, notllalping,
as we published it. She is one of the editors of the " Mo-
ther's Assistant and Young Lady's Friend," published in
Jijston, a very able periodical.

Buodie gives our subscribers two more of his splendid
fashions in this number, the handsomest he has yet given.
Our own fashion-plate, we think, cannot be equalled; at
least, we know that there are no fashions published in this
country that can equal them in truth and finish.

The " Bloomfield Advocate and Press" says : " We heard
a lady say that she would as soon lend her baby as 'Godey's
Lady's Book.' It should be in every family." We move
an amendment ; for it, read they should be in every family,
both the baby and the li Book." By the way, Mrs. Kirk-
land mentions, in her " New Home," a case of baby-
borrowing. The new settler was accosted by this request:
'• Missises compliments, and wants to know if you won't
lend her your baby a little while."

'• The Little Dreamer." Words by Ellis Strand, music
by Charles Jarvis. And very pretty words and music, too.
D. B. Williamson, 141 South Fifth Street, publisher.

Patterns for children's dresses on our first page will be
forwarded at the following prices: No. 1, 75 cents; No. 2,
$125; No. 3, $1; No. 4, $1 25.

We ask attention to the story in this number, "The
Thrice-Wedded." by the author of " Marrying through
Prudential Motives," and of the new novel, " Alone."

Herring's Picture of an English Homestead, now on
exhibition at Earle's, Chestnut Street, is the most beautiful
and lifelike picture we have ever seen. As opinions seem
to vary, we go in most decidedly for the white horse, though
many prefer the black.

Academy of Fine Arts, Philadelphia. — This delightful
place of resort is now open, and contains many gems of art
both in painting and sculpture. Hero and Leander is a
group in marble that alone ought to command the price
asked for admission to the whole collection. West's cele-
brated picture of Death on the Pale Horse, Leutze's Washing-
ton Crossing the Delaware, Glass's Night March, John of
Leyden, and hundreds of other celebrated pictures, make
the academy thi3 season rich in gems.

" Fonxy.'' — This is the caption of an article by our friend
L;rney, of the " Register," a very able paper, by the way,
in which he gently raps us over the fat of our hand for
attributing the article, "A Word upon Bonnets," in our
May number, to the inimitable Mr. Punch. We can only
say that " Punch" would be glad to acknowledge it. By
the way, talking of bonnets reminds us of an article that
we saw in some paper (we see so many), purporting to be a
law report. Some husband was sued before a magistrate
for the price of a bonnet. The man produced his wife with
bonnet on head, and contended that it was but half a bon-
net. The worthy squire gave judgment for half the
amount claimed ; so, milliners, look out.

Very Ingenious. — The Tennessee " Christian Advocate"
says of our " Book :" " It is in uncommon demand among
the ladies. More of them ought to subscribe for it." Now,
if this is not a modest way of saying, '• Ladies, don't bor-
row," then we know nought of the matter.

» Beautiful Establishment.— Mr. White, inventor and pro-
prietor of the far-famed " Hair Regenerator, or Amber
Glos-v' bas removed from Twelfth and Pine Streets to 699
Market Street, above Sixteenth, north side, where be has
fitted up one of the most beautiful establishments to be
found in this city or elsewhere. For restoring the hair,
and imparting to it a glossy appearance, " White's Amber
Gloss" is unequalled by any other preparation extant.
White's Essence of Jamaica Ginger is also an excellent
preparation. Both articles for sale as above, and by drug-
gists geuerally.

Glenn's Verbena Water.— It is well known that Glenn,
of South Fourth near Market, has one of the most extensive
perfumery and fancy stores in the city of Philadelphia.
For articles of great beauty and variety it is unequalled.
The Verbena Water is one of the most delightful extracts
for the toi'et that can be produced. We recommend our
lady friends to give Mr. Glenn a call.

The Schuylkill River.— How beautiful it is at this season
of the year! and how delighted children are to make the
trip on board of the pretty and commodious boats that
hourly ply between Fairmount and Manayunk! It is one
of the most health-giving trips we have.

WniTE's Bonnet Establishment is now in full operation.
The beauty of the outside of his store is only equalled by
tlie interior, and if any persons can prevail upon Mr. W..
and he is easily moved, to bestow half an hour upon them
to visit the manufacturing portion of the building, ar.d
there is only a small portion of it carried on in Second
Street, they will be amply repaid should they only see the
designing- room, where several young ladies are constantly
engaged, and they are ladies of good taste, too, in makiug
new designs. They may also see the biuding of a straw
hat sewed on in twentj'-one seconds by a sewing-machine
of a novel and peculiar kind. The whole establishment
will well repay a visit. The following letter is from a New
York gentleman : —

" Girard House, May 4, 1854.

u Mr. Editor : Spending a few days in your city, I visited
this afternoon the new store of Messrs. Thomas White &
Co., Second Street. Permit me to say that it is decidedly
the finest store I ever saw, and fitted up in such exquisite
taste. We have many fine stores in New York, but none
to compare with this. Surely, T. W. & Co. are deserving of
much credit for erecting such a palace, an ornament to the
City of Brotherly Love. I am much indebted to Mr. Hoyt.
the young gentleman who was so kind in showing myself
and daughter through the various apartments.

" A New Yorker."

Boardman & Gray's Pianos.— We are happy to learn from
these gentlemen that the orders for their beautiful instru-
ments have been very large, and that they have invariably
given great satisfaction. We knew they would, when ve
recommended them. As manufacturers, Messrs. B. & CI.
rank first in the United States. We know their instru-
ments, and our subscribers know that we do not speak
favorably of anything unless we know it to be intrinsically

"Yankee Blade," Boston. — This old established paper,
not satisfied with being one of the best in Boston, has
commenced a new era, and infused new life in its columns
by securing the services of Jos. W. Parrie, Esq., as one of
its editors. Matthews is a host in himself. Success to the
new firm !

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Steamboat Stockton.— This is unquestionably the most
splendid boat on the Delaware. Ever)' department on board
of her is conducted in a way so quiet and regular as at
once to secure the comfort and gratification, and to infuse
the greatest confidence into the minds of her passengers.
In the construction and elegant equipment of this noble
Steamer, nothing was omitted that gave the least pro-
mise of affordiug pleasure, and which, at the same time,
combined utility and security with the greatest possible
speed. In the appointment of her officers, the company
have evinced their usual discrimination in selecting young,
active, and obliging men, brought up, as it were, under
their own eye, whose experience and tact, and familiarity
with the wants and peculiarities of the travelling public,
and a just sense of their own responsibilities as gentlemen,
will always enable them to perform their duties in the
most punctual, agreeable, and satisfactory manner. Her
first officer is Captain Douglass Thompson, her second, Mr.
Charles Gauntt, both well known for years past on the
railroad and steamboat lines of the company, as being
among the most able, correct, and accommodating of their
incomparable corps of agents.

" Mrs. Hale's Cook Book" we will furnish at $1 25, and
pay the postage. Mrs. Hale's " Household Book" on the
same terms.

TnE Cosmopolitan Art and Literary Association. — "We
call attention to the advertisement of this institution in
this number. The design is an admirable one — to support
a public gallery of art by the aid of literature. " Godey's
Lady"s Book" is offered on most accommodating terms. A
subscription of three dollars constitutes a membership in
the association, which not only entitles a person to a ticket
in the annual distribution of paintings and statuary, but
also to one year's subscription to the " Lady's Book." The
first annual distribution will take place in January next,
and amongst the statuary to be distributed is Powers's
Greek Slave, purchased at a cost of $5,000, also a largo
collection of paintings by the first artists in America.
Surely, every one who has $3 to spare will embrace this
opportunity. Remember that you can lose nothing, as you
get a magazine for one year, the subscription price of
which is $3.

"Watering Flowers. — The operation of watering, simple
as it seems, and simply as it is usually performed, is really
a very delicate one. The amateur florist, whether she
delight her eyes with a few geraniums, or verbenas, or
chrysanthemums, which kindly consent to live and be
choked in the atmosphere of a city, as enjoyed on a
window-sill, or whether she luxuriate in trim suburban or
rural garden-beds, or the greenhouse, should bear in mind
that watering a plant requires the greatest care. The
water should never be colder than the atmosphere in
which the plant is surrounded; and too much water rots
the roots, or causes them to perish with cold. A very
popular error is to fill the saucers in which pots are placed
with water, which should never be allowed to remain
there. Too little water is, of course, equally fatal. The
proper plan is to thoroughly moisten all the earth in the
pot, by pouring water equally over the surface, and drain-
ing off the superfluous moisture that escapes into the
uauoer. By this means, the operation needs less froque7it
repetition than is usually adopted; for fresh water need
not be again applied till the earth is nearly dry.

Back numbers of the " Lady's Book" can be supplied
from January, as the work is stereotyped.

Our Patterns. — Ladies do not seem to be aware that
these patterns are facsimiles of the originals in color,
trimming, &c. At a distance, they would be taken for the
garment itself. They could be worn in a tableau without
being detected.

Summer Beverages. — Now is the time for our subscribers
to provide themselves with these excellent and temperance
receipts. See advertisement on cover.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies them.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-
office stamp.

"C. B. N." — The following is the explanation in full of
" Pop goes the Weasel," the music of which was publish* ~
in our March number: The couple at the top begin the
figure; they run forward within the line and back again,
each occupying four bars of the music, and then without
the line and back again during the same interval. After
which, they form a round of three with one of the couple
next to them on the line, and turn once round to the
riu;ht and once to the left, at the end of which making the
one they have chosen pass quickly under their arms to his
(or her) place, all singing, " Pop goes the Weasel ;" they
then turn quickly to the other line, and repeat the same
figure with the partner of the last selected. After which
they have to run forward and backward, inside and outside
the line, and repeat the figure with the next couple. When
they have passed three or four couples, the top couple begin
and repeat the same figure, and so on until all are in mo-
tion. It is understood that, after having passed the third
or fourth couple, it is not necessary to go to the top in
order to pass, to the outside of the line; this is done fcy
breaking through at the part where they may happen to be.

Answer to " Lilium" by Fashion Editor: Black velvet
rosettes, with jet intermixed, makes a very plain and
pretty headdress for a young married lady ; and, if becom-
ing, a roll of the velvet can be worn round the head, to
take the place of the coronet plat. Another simple head*
dress is made of chenille, cut into small pieces, sewed to
form rings, and then these rings looped together, and ful-
bunches made for the side of the head. The chenille pen>
dants are to be of different lengths. The bunches are
joined together by a plat of chenille, which rests on the
top of the head ; and then a network can be formed of these
loops to cover the back of the hair. For black hair, scarlet
is beautiful ; any color, however, can be worn.

" F. E. H." — In the first place, forgot to inclose a stamp
to pay return postage : secondly, the name is not given,
and we do not answer anonymous letters.

"J. M. W." — We have given in three different numbers
of the " Book" all the explanations we know of. We must
leave it to your own ingenuity now. We know of no other
terms. It does seem to us that, with the directions we
have given, any pattern may be worked. If one plan
fails, try another, until you succeed. We have had no
inquiries from any other source.

« Miss M. C. P."— See June number, page 565. Perhaps
we were not particular enough then. Go-dee is the way it
is pronounced ; accent on first syllable.

"M. E. W."— Lowest price is $265; but, without the
"Dolce Cnmpana" attachment, $225. Every piano is war-
ranted. Have no idea what it would cost to deliver it
where you mention. Your letter is dated Alabama, and
post-marked S. C. Where is your residence i Would havo
written you more particularly, if we had known where to
address

RECEIPTS

"Julia" must furnish us with her real name. We can-
not make any effort for a person who is afraid to trust us
with her real signature. Suppose we obtain the situation
she wishes, whom are we to address ? She does not even
mention the place she resides in. Correspondents must be
explicit.

" Mrs. W. J." — To clean white marabout feathers : Take
white soap and warm water, make a suds, pass the feathers
well through them until they become clean ; then shake
them before the fire until they are dry. We have often
cleaned them in this way.

" J. M. C." — Is not quite correct in his answers to the
enigmas, as he will see by May number. But why are you
" a bachelor from necessity ?"

'• Mrs. M. C." — Sent patterns by mail 25th.

" M. A. B." — Sent patterns by mail on 1st.

" C. A. B." — Sent Rapp's pens by mail May 2, '54.

" Mrs. C. V. R." — Sent patterns by mail on 11th.

" Mrs. M. G." — Sent patterns by mail on 11th.

" Mrs. S. W. P."— Sent book by mail on 11th.

* Mrs. L. L. G."— Sent box by Adams & Co. 11th.

" M. L. A."— Sent box by Adams & Co. 13th.

" Miss K. T."— Sent patterns by mail 15th.

" C. M. K." — Sent patterns by mail 15th.

" Miss A. H. L." — Mrs. Suplee's patterns are superior to
all others.

" Mrs. L. A. C." — Sent patterns by mail on 17th.

" Mrs. A. X. B." — Sent patterns by mail on 17th.

" Mrs. E. P."— Sent patterns on the 18th.

" Miss H. P." — Sent patterns on the 18th.

" J. C. L." — Sent Rapp's pen on the 19th.

" Mrs. F. C. M."— Sent patterns on the 20th.

"Mrs. A. V. D. B."— Sent box by Adams & Co. 20th.

" M. H. S.," Norristown. — Appears to know more than
we do upon the subject of freckles. Can therefore give no
advice. The remainder of the letter is very objectionable
in wording.

" A. A. B." — Sent patterns by mail on 3d.

" Mrs. H. E. G." — Sent patterns by mail on 3d.

" Mrs. S. A. B." — Sent patterns by mail on 3d.

" Miss P. P." — Sent patterns by mail on 3d.

" A. D. S." — Sent your Rapp's pen on 4th.

" J. C. W."— Sent bonnet by Adams & Co. on 1st

" C. M. K." — Sent patterns by mail on 5th.

" J. C. W."— Sent dress by Adams & Co. on 5th.

" Mrs. M. L. C." — Sent patterns by mail on 6th.

" Mrs. L. R. F." — Sent patterns by mail on 6th.

" Mrs. D. F." — Sent patterns by mail on 8th.

" Miss M. F. Ringo." — We have a letter for you addressed
to our care, post-marked Burlington, N. J.

" E. A. B." — Will please be more explicit, and explain to
what particular articles she refers.

" Miss H. A. S."— " Ladies' Equestrian Manual." Price
50 cents.

" Mrs. M. II. P."— Sent patterns by mail 18th.
T. J. K."— Returned bird by mail 18th.

" E. B. Q."— Sent patterns on 12th.

" Miss J. B. D."— A Columbine will cost 62% cents.

11 £ c £ t p 1 0, &r.

To Destroy Crickets.— Sprinkle a little quicklime near
to the cracks through which they enter the room. The
lime may be laid down over night and swept away in the
morning. In a few days they will most likely all be de-
stroyed. But care must be taken that children do not med-
dle with the lime, as a very small portion of it getting into

the eye would prove exceedingly hurtful. In case of such
an accident, the best thing to do would be to wash the eye
with vinegar and water.

To Remove Mildew from White Clothes. — Having well
washed the part with soap and water, lay upon it, while it
is yet wet, a thick plaster of finely scraped chalk, expose it
to the air. and as the chalk becomes dry, wet it again and
again, until the spots are quite removed, which will most
likely be on the second if not the first day. A grass plot
in the shade, is the best situation for bleaching.

To Clean Decanters. — Roll up in small pieces some
whited-brown or blotting-paper; then wet and soap tne
same; put them into the vessel with a little lukewarm wa-
ter; shake them well for a few minutes; then rinse the
glass with clean water, and it will be as bright and clear as
when new from the shops.

To Mend Broken Glass. — An excellent cement for uniting
broken glass may be made by dissolving in a pipkin over
the fire (taking especial care that it does not boil over) one
ounce of isinglass in two wine-glasses of spirits of wine.
This will be a transparent glue.

Mixture for Destroying Flies. — Take of infusion of
quassia, one pint; brown sugar, four ounces; ground pep-
per, two ounces. To be well mixed together, and put in
small shallow dishes where required.

Plan for Removing Stoppers from Bottles. — Take one
turn with a piece of listing round the neck of the decanter,
and move it backwards and forwards very rapidly, having
previously stood the decanter in some hot water to warm
the air or other contents inside. The friction of the listing
will warm and expand the neck without warming and ex-
panding the stopper; and the pressure produced within the
decanter by previously heating its contents will tend to ele-
vate the stopper. If decanter stoppers be greased slightly
before they be put in. it will prevent them from sticking.

DOMESTIC RECEIPTS.

A FEW WORDS ON CONFECTIONERY.

(First article.)

Ratafia Cream. — Boil three or four laurel leaves in one
full pint of cream; strain it; when cold, add the yolks of
three eggs beaten and strained, sweeten it, put in a very
little brandy, scald it till thick, stirring it all the time.

Orange Cream.— Squeeze the juice of three or four Seville
oranges to the rind of one; put it over the fire with nearly
a pint of thin cream; takeout the peel before the cream
becomes bitter. When the cream has been boiled and is
cold, put to it the yolks of four eggs, the whites of three,
beaten and strained; sugar to taste; scald it, stirring all
the time till thick enough.

Blanched Cream.— Take a quart of the thickest cream
that can be got; sweeten it with fine sugar and orange-
flower water; boil it, and beat the whites of twenty eggs
with a little cold cream ; strain it, and when the cream is
upon the boil, pour in the eggs, stirring it well till it comes
to a thick curd ; then take it up and strain it again through
a hair sieve, beat it well with a spoon till it is cold, and put
into a dish.

Burnt Cream. — Make a rich custard without sugar, boil
in it some lemon-peel ; when cold, sift sugar over it, and
burn the top with a salamander.

Sweetmeat Cream.— Take some cream and slice some
preserved peaches into it (apricots or plums, if preferred) ;
sweeten the cream with fine sugar, or the syrup the fruit
was preserved in; mix all well, and put it into glasses.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Lemon Cream— A large spoonful of brandy, six ounces
of loaf-sugar powdered, the peel and juice of two lemons,
the peel to be grated. Mix these ingredients well together
in a bowl ; then add a pint of cream, and whisk it up.

Barley Cream.— Two pounds of lean veal, a quarter of a
pound of pearl barley, boiled in a quart of water very
slowly till it becomes the consistence of cream, which
should be passed through a fine sieve, and all salted to
your taste.

Pompadour Cream. — Beat the whites of six eggs to a
Troth with one spoonful of brandy ; sweeten it ; stir it over
the fire three or four minutes ; pour it into a dish ; melted
butter or creani (boiling) over it.

Rhenish Cream. — Boil one ounce and a half of isinglass
iu a pint of water. Strain it through a sieve, and add
eight eggs well beaten, half a pint of Rhenish or other
white wine, the juice of two lemons, and the peel of the
same, grated, with as much pounded loaf-sugar as may
suit the taste. Let them boil all together, very slowly,
until the mixture is of the consistence of custard; then
strain it through thin muslin into china cups. It will not
curn so well out of anything else as out of china.

Ice Cream. — Sweeten the cream ; put it into a tin for the
purpose, with a close cover ; set it into a tub of ice that is
broken to pieces, with a good quantity of salt; when the
cream thickens round the edge, stir it; let it stand as
before till of a proper thickness, turn it out, first dipping
the tin iu cold water ; it must stand in the ice four or five
hours.

Swiss Cream. — A pint of cream, sweetened to your taste,
and the peel of a lemon, to be set over a slow fire till it
boils : the juice of a small lemon and a little flour beaten
up with it, to be mixed with the cream, and let it boil a
few minutes longer; then strain through a sieve. Lay
your cake in the dish, and pour the cream upon it. It
should be made the day before it is wanted.

Cherry Ice Cream. — Take half a pound of preserved
cherries, pound them, stones and all ; put them into a
basin, with one gill of syrup, the juice of a lemon, and a
pint of cream; pass it through a sieve, and freeze it as
usual.

Blanc Mange.— To one quart of milk add one ounce of
isinglass, a quarter of a pound of sugar, a quarter of an
ounce of cinnamon, a little grated nutmeg, half the peel
of a lemon, and a bay leaf; simmer over a slow fire, stirring
it till the isinglass is dissolved; pass it through a napkin
into a basin, and pour iuto a mould. This can be made of
any color or flavor that will not curdle the milk ; the milk
of bitter almonds may be added to flavor it. Soyer recom-
mends Arney's blanc mange powder as being excellent.

.Taune Mange. — Dissolve one ounce and a half of isinglass
in a pint and a half of water, add to it one pint of white
vine, the yolks of eight eggs, and the juice of three lemons;
ooil the peels in the liquor, beat the eggs with the juice of
the lemons, sweeten to your taste; boil it all together,
strain it, and put it into moulds.

Jacque Mange.— To two ounces of isinglass add a pint
of water, dissolve it over the fire, and add the rind of two
large lemons, grated. When it has boiled a little, put in a
pint of white wine, then the yolks of eight eggs thoroughly
beaten, the juice of two lemons, and sugar to taste. The
eggs, lemon-juice, and sugar should be previously mixed
together with a small quantity of the wine. Add the wholo
together, and keep stirring it one way until it boils. Then
strain through muslin, and pour into cups or moulds that
have been well rinsod in cold water.

A TEW CHAPTERS ON PUDDINGS.
(First article.)

Tlum Pudding.— Take a loaf a day old, or about ono
pound of bread, and pour over it a quart of milk ; if mixed
in the morning, the milk should be scalding; if over night,
the milk should be cold. Pass it through a colander. Add
six or eight eggs; two pounds of raisins; spice and sugar
to your taste.

Boiled Plum Pudding.— The raisins first dried a little in
the oven. Then put a layer on the bottom of the mould,
well buttered. Dip some slices of sponge-cake into a rich
batter, to soften it; then lay it on the raisins; then again
raisins ; then cake, as before. Proceed thus until the
mould is full. Boil one hour.

Boiled Plum Pudding without Eggs. — Pour over twelve
crackers, after they are broken, one quart of milk ; let it
stand over night; strain it through a colander. The noxt
morning, add a quarter of a pound of suet, a pound of
raisins, half a pound of currants, a little salt, and a tea-
cupful of molasses. Boil it three or four hours. To be
eaten with a rich sauce.

Marlborough Pudding.— Six large sour apples, stewed :
six eggs : six ounces of butter ; peel of a lemon, grated ;
the juice of two lemons; two milk biscuits; rose water, if
you please. Use eight eggs, if the biscuits are omitted.
Bake in deep plates, with a rich puff paste, and a thick
edging.

Marlborough Pudding! — To two quarts of sour apples,
after they are stewed and strained, put one-half of a pound
of butter; sugar to your taste; peel of two and juice of
three lemons. When cool, add thirty-two eggs ; one quart
of cream. Do not put these puddings into the paste until
just as they are sent to the oven.

The apples to either of these recipes may be grated or
chopped exceedingly fine, instead of stewing them. Per-
haps the flavor is a little better.

Marlborough Pudding without Lemon. — Six ounces of
sour apples, grated; six eggs; eight ounces of sugar; four
ounces of butter ; a pint of good cream ; one glass of wine ;
two nutmegs.

Marlborough Pudding.— Twenty-four apples; one and
three-quarter pound of sugar; one pound of butter; four
plain biscuits; four gills of rose-water; peel and juice of
four lemons: nutmeg and cinnamon.

Cocoa-Nut Pudding. — One pound of grated cocoa-nut:
one pound of sugar; one-quarter pound of butter; twelve
eggs, leaving out six whites ; four spoonfuls of rose-water :
four of cream : the rjnd of one lemon and juice of two.
Break the nut and remove the black skin carefully; wash
the pieces in cold water, and wipe them dry. Stir the
butter and sugar to a cream, adding the rose-water and
cream gradually. Beat the eggs well and separately ; stir
them into the butter and cream, then sprinkle in the nut.
Bake iu a deep dish with a puff paste. Bake it one-half
hour. Sift sugar over it when baked.

Cocoa-Nut Podding. — Grate one nut; take the weight in
sugar; add a little of the milk of the nut, enough to make
a syrup. Boil them, adding the peel of a lemon grated or
chopped very fine; and. when cold, stir all together with
six eggs. If the nut is large, eight eggs will be needed.

Cocoa-Nut Pudding.— Grate the nut and save the milk,
if it is sweet, uot raueid. Boil a quart of milk and pour
upon it; add five eggs, with a cup of sugar; an ounce of
butter: two tablespoonfuls of rose-water; a little salt.
Bake it iu a rich paste.

CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP.

SC 1) e doilct.

Dandruff in the Hajr. — Part the hair, and rub the scalp
■with rum, using a piece of sponge or flannel to apply it.
Eau de Cologne may also he fearlessly used for the same
purpose.

How to Make Lavender Water.— Take four handfuls of
dried lavender flowers, and sprinkle on them one quart of
brandy, the same quantity of white wine and rose-water.
Leave them to remaiu six days iu a large bottle well corked
up. Let the liquor be distilled and poured off.

Ink Spots. — As soon as the accident happens, wet the
place with the juice of sorrel or lemon, or with vinegar,
and the best hard white soap.

Redness in the Face.— A tablespoonful of gin thrown
into lukewarm water will remove redness in the face pro-
duced by exertion.

British Otto of Roses. — Take any convenient quantity
of the petals of fragrant-scented flowers — roses, jasmine,
and others of the same season— with a small quantity of
mignionette and sweet-brier, the rose-leaves making the
greatest quantity, or equalling in bulk all the others.
Spread them on layers of cotton, which dip into the finest
Florence or Lucca oil. Sprinkle upon them a small quan-
tity of fine salt, and place them, a layer of the cotton and
a layer of the flowers, until an earthen vessel or wide-
mouthed glass bottle be full. Bung and tie close with a
bladder, then place the vessel in a south aspect to tho heat
of the sun. or under a glass. In about fifteen days, open
and squeeze the mass, when a fragrant oil will be expressed,
nearly equal to (at any rate, a good substitute for) the real
and high-priced otto of roses.

Milk of Roses. — Put two ounces of rose-water, a tea-
spoonful of oil of almonds, and twelve drops of oil of tartar
into a bottle, and shake the whole till w°ll mixed.

Sweet Soap. — Scrape three pounds of curd soap into a
freezing pot. and pour over it a pint of boiling lees. Put
the pot on the fire in a saucepan of boiling water. When
the soap is dissolved, add to it a quarter of a pint of the oil
of sweet almonds, a quarter of a pint of sweet oil, two
drachms of potash, two ounces of honey, two ounces of
oatmeal, sifted through a silk sieve; a pint of rose-water,
and half an ounce of camphor, dissolved in a little lavender
water. When they are thoroughly dissolved, rub them
through a hair sieve to prevent any lumps being in it; put
it again in the freezer till it is hot; pour* it into a large
basin, and stir in quickly what essence you please. After
this, put it in moulds, and let it stand for three days, when
you may turn out and cut into any shape you please.

(Enigmaa.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN JUNE NUMBER.
20. The north wind. 21. Sunday. 22. A man-of-war.

ENIGMAS.
23.
To civilized beings I prove such a friend
By the worth of the succor I 'm known to extend,

When misfortune implacable reigns,
That 'twould only be just on my part to expect
They would mutually honor, reward, and protect
A tried servant like me, for my pains.

Yet the ingrates, they only exalt me at need,
For their personal gratification indeed,

And my attributes then they extol ;
But whenever the Fates may again on them smile,
I 'm contracted, debased, and ('tis really too vile)

On the dust of the earth I may troll.

In rank, my position will often evince

A station above either lord, duke, or prince —

Sure I'm quite hand in hand with the queen —
Yet I 'm but a true type of the victims of power,
I ;m cherished alone when the elements lower,

And scouted whene'er they 're serene.

24.
To be constant and true in my service to you,

Is the point that I always present to your view;
And remove where you may, the same law I obey,

And steadily still the same duty pursue.

Though myself but a slave, yet to you I behave
As a recognized leader of absolute sway;

Yet 'tis clear, in my case, I can faithfully trace
The one course you prefer — therefore name me, I pray.

25.
Prat how can a charming young lady be styled

A chilling and cold-hearted creature;
And yet to the character feel reconciled,

As you '11 scan on each satisfied feature ?

2G.
Of a sign of the zodiac a symbol am I,
Though, when unemployed, I 'm remarkably dry,

In service I 'm wholly your own ;
Of impressions I 'm very susceptible, yet
I 'm a drunkard, and aye swallow all I can get :

Now my character ;s visibly shown.

C*ntre-<£ablt (ffoffjrfp.

NURSERY TACTICS

The "bit of nature" selected from our overflowing corre-
spondence is not inserted in the " Nursery Basket." It is
as reliable, however, as any of the rules and regulations
therein contained: —

" My Dear Mrs. Editor : Did you ever get used to leaving
your baby above stairs with the nurse, while you take rest
and comfort with other people in the parlor, or sit down

for an old-fashioned lover-like chat with your husband, as
the case may be? I never go down of an evening that
I don't fly to the door every five minutes, and appeal to
the company with, 'Miss Clavers, did you hear a yell?'
Heigh-ho! when, indeed, does 'any one find time to do
anything, or go anywhere, with a baby?'

"Apropos to which lament, my baby's favorite air is
'Camptown Races,' to which I have set new and original
words. Try them, and see how they go : —

godey's magazine and lady's book,

1 Bye oh baby, bye oh by,

Bye oh, bye oh,
Bye oh baby, baby by,

Bye oh, baby by.
Oh bye oh baby, baby bye,
Oh bye oh baby bye.
Oh bye oh, bye oh, baby bye oh,

Baby, baby bye.'

She seems perfectly delighted with my performances, and I
imagine I feel rather proud myself; almost as much so as

when poor W used to encourage my trills and quavers

to his guitar accompaniment with, • Vary goot, Mish !' or
when baby's papa hung in ecstasies over the piauo, while
I discoursed eloquently, in more exalted strains, set to the
most delightfully sentimental words.

" Oh, dear, how delightful it was to glance up and meet
his eye, when T tenderly inquired, in my most touching
ballad style, 'Will you love me then as now? or invited
him to ' Roam o'er the Lea,' or ' Come to the Wildwood !'

" My dear, do you know how often my piano has been
opened this winter? Three times, to amuse baby by letting
him thrump the keys with his little fat hand, when all
other means of quieting him were exhausted.

" Why must nurses luxve afternoons vutP

A HARD HIT.

Every needlewoman knows how much more rapidly
work progresses when the mind is occupied in listening to
some pleasant book or story. The plans and reveries that
otherwise fatigue the mind, and so react upon the body,
are thus avoided, and a task can be accomplished well and
cheerfully. Now, then, on the other hand, how rare it is
to find a willing or a practiced reader, especially in the
way of husbands and brothers, for whose benefit and im-
provement we quote a paragraph from a new English tale:

" It is too common to see men and boys engrossed in the
selfish indulgence of reading to themselves books which
are highly interesting, while a sister or a wife sits by labor-
ing with her needle for the supply of indispensable wants
to the family, without any share in the enjoyment of her
companion. Some say they cannot read aloud, it hurts
their chestsj or it tires them — they never could do so in
their lives.

" Let these tender gentlemen, who will shout for hours
in some masculine amusement, try if they cannot acquire
the power. Give them some strong inducement to perse-
vere in the practice, and they may rest assured they will
find it neither painful nor difficult

" In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred (perhaps the
proportion is far larger), where a man will not read aloud,
it is from selfishness, not inability, that he refuses to do so."

We are compelled to add our mite of testimony to this
general statement, adding " thoughtlessness'' to the list of
reasons why this delightful gift, or accomplishment, is so
rarely exercised. A woman, after a fatiguing round of
household duties, often plies her needle through the even-
ing, scarcely exchanging a word with her husband, who
has forgotten the troubles of his business, or the fatigues
of his employment, in the pages of an interesting book or
magazine. Even if he could not get over so much ground
by reading aloud, we should suppose the pleasure of shar-
ing the interest would compensate for slow progression.

HOUSEHOLD ECONOMY. — No. 1.

Washing.— Every housekeeper well knows that washing
the family linen is either very troublesome or very expen-

sive. Troublesome and annoying, if done at home ; and
expensive, if put out to a laundress. And often are young
housekeepers puzzled to know whether to put out their
washing or to do it at home. Much good advice has been
given on this subject; but, after all, it must remain with
the puzzled parties to decide. As to the mere money-cost
— there cannot be a doubt that it is possible to do it at
much less expense at home than by paying a laundress ;
even though a woman or women should be hired to do it.
And then, again, there is no doubt that it may be, and
often is, done at home in such a manner, or with so much
want of management, as to cost nearly or quite as much as
would pay a laundress.

In some families, the money-cost is all that circumstances
will allow to be considered; while others may take into
account the annoyances and inconveniences that too often
accompany a family wash at home, and may consider that
they would rather pay the extra expense than be subject to
these annoyances. To those, however, who think that
they ought to wash at home, we may observe that good
temper and good management will obviate many of the pro-
verbial troubles of washing-day. These troubles are often
caused not so much by washing at home, as by expecting
the work to be performed by those who live at home, and
who have their hands sufficiently occupied by their every-
day employments. When extra work is to be done, there
should be extra hands to do it ; for any girl or woman who
feels that she has to do two days' work in one, must be
something better than ordinary if she does not lose her
good temper.

Some young housekeepers have justified themselves in
keeping a second servant by the plea of its enabling them
to wash at home, without hiriug at the time: this, we are
sure, as a matter of economy, is a fallacious mode of rea-
soning ; it is cheaper to put out washing than keep a girl
all the year to do it.

The suitability of the premises, both for washing and
drying, should be taken into account, as a matter of no
small importance : if a wash cannot be carried on without
the house being filled with steam, damage is done to walls
and furniture that will detract from the saving made by
washing at home. And if, when the things are washed,
they cannot be dried but by the fire, or under the walls of
houses, with the blacks from chimneys falling upon them,
they had better be sent away to be washed where they can
be properly dried.

Some families put out their things to be washed and
rough-dried, at about eighteen cents a dozen, counting
small and large together ; and, for those who live in towns
or confined premises, this is most likely the best plan, as
the getting up of the clothes may be afterwards managed
in the family with comparatively little inconvenience.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

"Marian S." — A "trimming store" is a shop in which
dress trimmings, carpet bindings, purse silks, worsteds,
yarn, cotton, etc. etc., are kept. If you should ask for
such things in a dry-goods store in a city, the clerks would
set you down for a rustic at once. There are no general
stores as in a village, where everything is for sale — groceries,
hardware, and dry-goods mingled indiscriminately.

"Mrs. B.," of Ohio. — We send "Boys at Home," by the
author of " Edgar Clifton," but a much better book. It is
more spirited, and has none of the stiff dialogue that marred
the real excellence of that story. " The Sunshine of Grey-
Btone," also published by Messrs. Appleton, will be etill
more welcome, Louis's schooldays being a universal favorite

FASHIONS.

among the young people. We hope both her pupils will he
pleased with their holiday gifts. The school-books are in
the same package.

" F. II." — We can scarcely tell whose ink to recommend;
it depends so much on the style of writing and the indi-
vidual fancy. For ourselves, we like Maynard & Noyes
as well as any other. For steel pens, suited to a rapid
flowing hand, we cheerfully recommend the Alabata pens
of E. C. Pratt & Brother, having used them exclusively for
two years past, and our experience being rather extensive
previous to lighting upon them by accident. We will for-
ward them, if desired.

" Mrs. N.," of Bleak House.— Wo will look up the points
in gardening which are contained in the letter. Thanks
for the inclosure ! She has probably gone to an extreme,
and made too many applications to the soil.

"A Young Housekeeper."— Will find the list in last
number. Many fashionable people use plated tea services,
the risk of theft being so great in cities. Good Sheffield
plate will wear a long time, and can be marked. For
ladles, extra napkin rings, etc., it answers a very good
purpose. It is best to have forks and spoons of silver, if
possible.

" Marian."'— It is not usual to sell a manuscript out and
out. Publishers generally prefer to give a percentage.
Ten per cent, is the usual rate. If the book succeeds, it
will pay the author better than a sale would do. We can-
not predict fortune for Our young correspondent, and fear
she must be satisfied with only a hearing from the public.

" Mrs. J."— The usual rate of servants' wages in New
York is $6 a month for a waiter, $7 for nurse and seam-
stress, and $8 for a cook. Oak furniture is the prevailing
style for dining-rooms, either cane-seated chairs, or covered
with green, plush, moreen, or brocatelle.

" Anxe McC." — Lounges are much used ; they range at
all prices, from $15 to $28. A sofa to correspond is usually
placed on the opposite side of the same room. Curtains, by
all means.

" A Mother." — Linen handkerchiefs are best when there
is cold or inflam aation. Silk irritates, in a measure.

Jets I) tons,

DESCRIPTION OF FASHION-PLATE FOR JULY.

Fig. lsi. — Evening-dress of blue taffeta, with a raised bar
or quadrille of satin, giving it an unusually rich effect.
The skirt is perfectly plain, the material being sufficiently
elegant in itself. The corsage is especially suited to a
young girl, being copied from the popular peasant dress.
The front is a heart-shaped bodice, composed of alternate
puffs of silk and muslin, a muslin tucker delicately finished
surrounding the neck. The sleeves are very short, and
correspond in style. A light hair necklace and gold cross
about the throat. Hair in waved bandeaux, with a wreath
of graduated blush roses without foliage.

Fig. 2d.— Evening-dress of dotted India muslin, also
suitable for a young lady. The skirt is finished by a hem,
and five rows of satin ribbon an inch in width. Tunic of
peculiar shape, short and plain in front, and falling in full
folds until it touches the first row of the trimming on the
skirt. Three rows of satin ribbon to correspond ; the same
also forms a finish for the waist and the sleeves, which are
looped by a gold cord and tassel to match the girdle, brace-
lets, and central ornaments of the corsage. Headdress, a
full garland of mixed flowers, and a lapel of gold embroi-
dered crimson ribbon. The last may be omitted, however.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR JULY.

According to our usual plan, the topics for this month's
consideration are travelling and evening-dress, more parti-
cularly as it is now the height of the watering-place season.

Southern travellers ar« now refitting in New York and
Philadelphia, where the various circles of society are broken
up, and visiting is suspended, while the young ladies and
their mammas swell the throng of Saratoga, Newport, Cape
May, and the innumerable points of sea-bathing and water-
drinking that are yearly increasing in number and im-
portance. Quieter, and peradventure more prudent, people
are rusticating at farm-houses, or wherever they can find
admittance for love or lucre, so that fresh air, trees,
and grass are to be had. With them it is a time of care-
fulness and economy as regards clothing, especially in the
matter of evening-dress and embroideries. They may, and
probably will, shake their heads sagaciously over the
accounts of the goings on furnished by newspaper corre-
spondence to the daily prints, and make divers unkind
allusions to the well-known proverb, "A fool and his mo-
ney." The present article may come in for its share of
reprehension. They will be none the less eager to read if.
of that we are equally sure; so, for their amusement in
their country solitude, and for the use of those who are
planning to " see the world" for themselves, we take up
our agreeahle theme.

Travelling dress has varied very little in material from
the past season. The favorite cashmere de bege has several
new varieties, being mixed or changeable throughout, or
the darker shades of brown alternating in checks or stripes
with the fawn color that is generally the prevailing hue.
The last are very pretty. They are also embroidered,
spotted, and figured, and, for comparatively cool weather,
nothing could be more desirable. It is well, in taking a
long journey, as coming North, going from the North to
the Sulphur Springs, or the Western Lakes, to be provided
with two dresses, one of gingham or linen for very warm
days, when worsted of any kind is insupportable. Many
ladies provide themselves with a plain black silk, to wear
in steamboats, as on the Lakes, where there is no dust to
be dreaded, or to drive in. Arriving in a hot, dusty de bege
at a fashionable hotel, when they do not stop long enough
to unpack, this will be found a nice, comfortable plan.

Dark nankeen is much used for young ladies, and for
children's coats and cloaks. It is usually trimmed by rows
of narrow linen bobbin on each side a tape of moderate
width, or the tape alone sewed on flat, like a braid. There
is also a new style of white cotton trimming, which may
be called Marseilles braid, being figured like the cloths and
vestings of that name. It comes in graduated widths, the
narrowest being half an inch, the widest three inches
broad, and from eight to twenty-five cents a yard.

Many think a travelling-dress cooler to have an open
corsage, and it is very little more trouble than one coming
close to the throat. The plain cambric or linen sets,
sleeves and chemisettes, are worn with them, and can be
sent to the regular wash. The collars are deeper than
those worn last year, as are the sleeve cuffs, which turn
back at the wrist. Linen or cambric collars, and cuffs to
match, come for those who prefer the closed waist and
sleeves. Points have gone by, both for collars and skirts,
the last having been carried to such an extreme as to be
no longer considered ladylike. And, while we think of it,
it is not considered proper to travel in slippers, aprons,
lace mitts, or showy lace or embroidered muslin sets, all of
which sins against custom are very innocently committed
by those who have never taken long journeys. Expensive

godey's magazine and lady's book.

pilk dresses, showy shawls and mantillas, and dress bon-
nets, are considered out of taste, simplicity and comfort
being the rule, even among fashionable people, In travel-
ling, though they do not always subscribe to it elsewhere.
The most suitable bonnets are lawn and straw, lawn
bonnets being as much, or more worn than the past season.
They are trimmed with braids, or box-plaited frills of the
same outside, and with bows of narrow colored ribbon
inside the brim. White, violet, pink, pale green, or white
and either of the shades mixed, form the best contrast to
the hue of the lawn. In some, the bows are not more
than an inch in width, and extend around inside the brim,
singly above the forehead, and in a cluster on each side.
Straw bonnets are usually lined with plain white crape,
with knots of ribbon, or cap ruches of plain blonde foot-
ing, for inside trimming.

No.l.

Silk gloves, kid finish, or the less expensive kinds, will
be found much more comfortable than kid in the heat of
summer. Many prefer lisle thread or Berlin gloves to
either.

In preparing a wardrobe for a watering-place, distinct
dresses for breakfast, diuner, and evening are necessary.
Our limits will not permit us to speak of more than even-
ing dress at present. First, as to the arrangement of the
hair. Curls or waved bandeaux, as in the very tasteful
plate of the present month, are worn with the addition of
a braid from the back hair, as broad as may be allowed,
passing through the bandeaux above the ear and across
the forehead, making a kind of diadem or coronet, strik-
ingly becoming to many faces. We give two headdresses
besides those in the plate the present month, and shall
have more to say on the subject hereafter.

No. 2.

No. 1 is called the Eugenie, from its being a favorite
style with the empress at court balls. It is composed of
scarlet velvet and gold. The band which encircles the
head is a rouleau of velvet, edged with gold fringe. It is
pointed on the forehead, and terminates at the back of the
head in a bow with two long flowing ends, composed of a
rich ribbon of scarlet velvet interwoven with gold.

No. 2, in contrast with the brilliant headdress of the
empress, is called the Victoria wreath, in imitation of gold
and pearls. The pearls are mounted so as to represent two
clusters of berries, and the whole is mingled with the bright
leaves, so as to produce a brilliant effect in the evening.

We have already described two very elegant, and, at the
same time, simple and tasteful evening-dresses. India
muslin, plain, dotted, or gold-sprigged, is always the most
elegant dress a young lady can wear, with gold ornaments,
flowers, or even knots of ribbon. Tarleton dresses, with
three skirts, embroidered in colored silks; as a wreath of
lilies, roses, etc., are among the imported evening-dresses.
The body is made with a berthc", heart-shaped back and

( front, and open ou the shoulder. In these openings are

> bows of pink satin ribbou, with long floating ends. The
£ tunics are looped up in the same way.

> Another pretty imported dress is white lace (plain net),
I also with two or three skirts. Ou the edge of each is a
? wreath embroidered in gold or silver; the upper one also
\ has stars of the same from the wreath to the waist. The

< body is an infant waist, with puffed sleeves to correspond.

£ All summer evening-dresses should be of as light a mate-

< rial as possible ; the heavy brocades, moir antiques, reps,
\ and damask silks are not suitable for the glare and heat

of a ball-room in July. They are admirable for quiet
chaperons, who have only to sit still and fan themselves;
but for the young ladies who go to gallopade and polk to
"rushing tunes —

To polkas brisk and fast" —

they are too cumbrous and beating. Richness and luxury
may be the rule of a winter toilette du bed; for summer,
lightness and elegance. Fashion.

FASHION PLATES

FOR DECORATING PARLOR WINDOWS.
THE LATEST STYLES.

From W. H. Cabryl's celebrated depot for Curtains, Furniture Coverings, Window Shades, and
all kinds of parlor trimmings, No. 169 Chestnut Street, corner of Fifth, Philadelphia.
vol. xlix. — 9

fig

(5)

LA COMPTESSE WALEWSKL

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

articles of costume.]

Drawn by L. T. Voigt, from actual

The garments we select for illustration as the most beautiful and suitable for the season differ in almost
every respect excepting in their claims upon the favor of the fair wearers, and the popularity which their rival
styles will probably attain. The first is of' an entirely novel and truly fascinating description, being made of
the most gossamer style of black lace, with an embroidery of straw work wrought upon it of vines and flowers.
The exquisite character of the design, which is beautiful beyond all conception, is heightened by the unique
material employed. The golden hue of the glossy straw, rich in shade and glittering in the light, every leallet
flickering in the sunlight like prisoned sunbeams, renders this novel article one of the most bewitching scarfs
which have fallen ander our notice this season. To add the last possible grace, the scarf is adorned with a
beautiful flounce, sprinkled with golden stars and edged with a delicate border of the same brilliant straw
work. In shape, the scarf is a long shawl, with tabs that round from the outside to an acute point, the whole
being flounced as above.
100

THE PEINCESS WAGKAM.

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

articles of costume.]

The companion to this lovely article of attire is one that may be considered by many of refined taste as of
yet superior beauty. It is a guipure mantilla, or, more properly, an appliquS of white taffeta upon white lace.
A border of crochet work surrounds the entire outline of the intricate scrolls of the design. It is fashioned
with a cape, which descends in a pelerine form in front ; the outline is waved in trefoil scallops, as is also the
bottom of the mantilla. The tabs are rounded with a full sweep, and the garment beautifully fringed.

To illustrate but a small proportion of the numerous styles of these beautiful applique goods would require
the entire volume. We must content ourselves by merely remarking that in Mr. Brodie's extensive collection
a most delightful perplexity will be experienced, owing to the difficulty of selecting the most beautiful from
that magazine of fashion. One style which the manufacturer, Madame Wisnick, has named " The Chale de
Brodie," is pre-eminently attractive. This we have already illustrated, it continuing to be admired as much
as ever.

9* . 101

CORNER FOR POCKET HANDKERCHIEF.

French working cotton No. 120. Work in raised satin-stitch, sewing over the lines, or in

buttonhole -stitch.
102

GODEY'S

PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST, 1854.

EYEKYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XXII.

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER.

HINCKLEY.

A SECOND DAY AT A SHIP-YARD.

In tho building of a ship, matters are so ar-
ranged that many different parts are in progress
simultaneously ; some workmen making prepa-
rations for the beams of a vessel withinside, while
others are planking the exterior, and others per-
haps engaged at various parts of the head and
stern. The beams are stout and well finished
timbers, stretching across the vessel from side to
side, at intervals of a few feet, and serving not
only to support the deck or decks, but also to
bind the two sides of the vessel together. These
beams, situated as they are at right angles to
the keel, have given rise to many nautical ex-
pressions which are rather incomprehensible to
general readers : thus the " breadth of beam" is
the width of a vessel ; an object seen at sea in a
direction at right angles with the keel is said to
be " on the beam 5" when a ship inclines very
much on one side, so that her beams approach
to a vertical position, she is said to be " on her
beam ends ;" and many similar phrases might
be adduced.

The beams are ranged at such distances apart,
that a merchantman of a thousand tons burden
requires about thirty beneath the main deck.
Each beam is usually formed either of one or of
three pieces, according to the dimensions of the
vessel; the three pieces, in the latter case, being
securely joined or scarfed together. The beams
are not straight, but are curved upwards in the
middle, so that their upper surfaces are convex
and their lower concave ; the bending being such
that there is a curvature of about one inch to
every yard in the length of the beam. The ends
of the beams are made to rest on stout planks

called clamps ; but the real fastening is by means
of iron brackets technically termed knees, bolted
both to the beam and to the timbers of the ship.
Besides the fastenings at the two ends of each
beam, there are supporters in the middle, which
are often formed of east-iron, combining light-
ness of appearance with strength.

Various ledges and frames, called partners,
coamings, and cartings, being arranged between
the beams, the decks are next attended to. These
divide the hull into different stories, analogous
to those of a house ; and in the one case, as in
the other, the number of floors is greater in some
instances than in others. Large ships of war
are furnished with three entire decks, reaching
from the stem to the stern ; besides two shorter
decks called the forecastle and the quarter-deck,
the one placed at the head of the vessel, and the
other towards the stern, a vacant space called
the waist being left between them, at the middle
of the ship's length. In smaller vessels of war,
and in merchantmen, the decks are fewer. The
deck is generally made of Dantzig or Memel fir,
and for vessels exposed to a hot climate, yellow
pine is sometimes employed. The deck-planks
are laid side by side, lengthwise of the ship, or
parallel to the keel, and vary from six to ten
inches in breadth, and from two to four in thick-
ness. They are nailed down to every beam and
to every carling, either with iron nails or with
nails formed of a mixed metal.

We have said that the planking which covers
the inside and outside of a ship is secured, partly
by bolts and partly by wooden pins called tre-
nails, to the timbers ; and that the trenails are
not driven in until some time after the bolts.
The object of this seems to be tJaat, by making

103

104

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

the trenail-holes a considerable time before the
trenails are inserted, the wood round each hole
has an opportunity to become seasoned. The
holes are made with an augur, which is a kind
of gimlet or borer, varying from an inch to two
inches in diameter, according to the size of the
trenail to be inserted. The head of the augur is
provided with a cross handle of considerable
length, which furnishes a leverage to the work-
man using the instrument. This kind of labor
is often very severe, from the hardness of the
wood, the great depth to which the hole is to be

bored, and the awkward position in which the
man has to place himself. The curvature of a
ship near the keel is almost horizontal, and at
other parts goes through all the gradations from
a horizontal to a vertical direction : and the man
who is engaged in boring the trenail-holes has to
vary his position and mode of working, some-
times standing and at other times sitting, accord-
ing to the part of the vessel at which he is at
work. It is so arranged that the same trenail
shall pass, not only through the outer planking
and the frame timber, but also through the
inner planking ; by which all three are bound
well together; and the trenail-holes are bored
in conformity with this arrangement. When
the proper time arrives for driving in the tre-
nails, a set of men, each provided with a large
and heavy hammer, proceed to that operation.
The trenail is made slightly larger than the hole
into which it is to be driven, so as to bite or
cling closely to the timbers ; and a succession of
powerful blows is requisite to urge it forward.
The trenail is a little longer than the depth of
the hole, and the superfluous end is taken off
with a saw when the driving is finished. It is

then tightened in the hole by small wedges driven
in at the end.

The planking and trcnailing having brought
the surface of the hull to a tolerably even state,
which is further assisted by a little trimming or
" dubbing" with the adze, a process follows which
is indispensable to the exclusion of water from
the vessel, viz., that of calking. The planks can-
not be brought so close together as to make the
joining impenetrable to water, and the joint is
therefore filled up with oakum. We explained
the manner in which threads of oakum are twist-
ed by boys out of refuse rope, and alluded
to the mode in which they are employed. A
kind of chisel, called a calking-iron, is em-
ployed to drive the threads of oakum into the
seams. The oakum is not placed merely at
the outer edges of the crevices, but is driven
in to a depth equal to the whole thickness of
the plank. Sometimes th e edges of the planks
are chiselled away a little, in order to afford
room for the entrance of the oakum ; and in
all cases the calkers manage the seams in
such a manner as to fill them up with a dense
and compact layer of oakum, which not only
answers the purpose of making the vessel
tight, but also helps to consolidate and
strengthen the whole ship in a very con
siderable degree, by making the edges of the
planks bear hard against each other, so that
one part cannot move or work independent
of another. At the time when this calking

of the seams is going on, the planks themselves
are examined, and any shakes or rents or fis-
sures, however small, arc well filled with oakum.
This process being finally completed, all the
calked seams are coated, or, as it is termed,

A DAY AT A SHIP-YAED.

105

"payed," with hot melted pitch and rosin, by
which the hempen fibres of oakum are preserved
from the action of the sea-water. The sheathing
is an exterior coating afterwards put on the
bottom of the vessel ; but this is a stage in the
proceedings at which we have not yet arrived.

The operations withinside the vessel are, as
may be supposed, much more varied than those
on the outside, but they partake more and more
of the nature of carpentry as the construction of
the vessel advances. After the various pieces
arc adjusted which form the main support of the
different parts of the vessel, the hull is divided
into compartments accordant with the purposes
for which the vessel is intended. The decks,
port-holes, magazines, and berths for several
hundred men in a man-of-war, and the cabins,
the passenger accommodation, and luggage-room
of a merchant ship, of course require different
arrangements of the interior. Supposing these
matters to have been completed, we will next
proceed to the important affair of launching, by
which the vessel is borne on to the liquid ele-
ment which is afterwards to form her home.
Those persons who have never seen a ship
launched, and who are but little acquainted with
these matters, may feel it desirable to know in
what stage of the building process the launching
is effected. We may here mention, then, that
the hull is launched before it has been sheathed
or coated with copper, and also before it is fitted
with masts, yards, bowsprit, rudder, sails, or
ropes. There are various reasons why these
several parts are more conveniently fitted after
than before the launching; the height of the ves-
sel from the ground when on the building-slip,
the angle at which it slopes towards the water,
the difficulty of getting into the vessel, &c, are
some of these reasons ; and with regard to the
sheathing, it is deemed better to be postponed
until the soundness of the naked planking has
been tested by immersion in the water.

We explained that the ship is built on blocks,
laid in regular succession along the building-slip,
and so adjusted that the keel, which rests imme-
diately on their upper surfaces, shall have an
inclination of about five-eighths of an inch to
the foot towards the river. These blocks form
the central support beneath the vessel, during
the whole progress of building ; and the vessel
is further supported at the sides by shores, or
poles, raised at various angles from the ground.
As the time of launching approaches, prepara-
tions are made for removing all these lateral
supports, for lifting the keel completely from the
blocks, and for constructing two temporary
" slippery paths" down which the vessel may

slide into the river. The whole of these ope-
rations are very curious, and require great nicety
and care to insure success. Along the building-
slip, on each side of the keel, and distant from
it about one-sixth of the vessel's breadth, is laid
an inclined platform, formed of many pieces of
wood, and presenting a flat upper surface in-
clining downwards towards the river at an
angle of about seven- eighths of an inch to the
foot, and consequently more sloping than the
position of the keel. The inclined plane thus
formed is called the " sliding-plank ;" and it has
a raised edge, or ledge, called the " side-way," or
"ribband," projecting four or five inches up-
wards from its outer edge. The sliding-plank is
placed upon supporting blocks, so as to be ele-
vated some feet from the ground. A long timber,
called a " bilge-way," with a smooth under sur-
face, is laid upon this sliding-plank ; and upon
this timber, as a base, is erected a framework,
reaching up to the hull of the ship. This frame-
work, which is called the " cradle," is formed
partly of solid wood-work, filling up the whole
space between the bilge-way and the hull, and
partly of short poles called "proppets," which
are erected nearly vertically, and abut against a
plank fastened temporarily to the bottom of the
ship. These operations are carried on on both
sides of the keel, and at a few feet distant from
it ; and the vessel may in this state be almost
said to have three keels, the real one midway
between two temporary ones. At a certain stage
in the building-up of these pieces, a layer of tal-
low, soap, and oil is placed between the sliding-
plank and the bilge-way, to diminish the friction
during the sliding of the latter.

But it is not sufficient that these two tempo-
rary false keels reach up to the hull : the hull
must actually bear with its whole pressure upon
them, so that the blocks beneath the real keel
may be relieved from the enormous weight of the
vessel. To effect this, a great number of wedges
are driven in just above the bilge-way, by the
action of which the vessel is in some degree
lifted off the blocks, and made to rest on the
bilge-ways. This operation is one of the most
singular which a ship-yard presents. Very fre-
quently a hundred men are driving the wedges
at once ; half of them being ranged on one side
of the vessel and half on the other. Each man
is provided with a heavy hammer, and at a given
signal all strike together, whereby a hunured
wedges are driven at the same instant. The
effect produced by the wedge is at all times ona
of a remarkable and powerful kind; and when
the exertions of so many men are in this manner
simultaneously applied, the effect is irresistible :

106

godey's magazine and lady's book,

the huge ship, though not actually elevated
above the central blocks, is so far moved as to
transfer her pressure from them to the bilge-
ways and sliding-planks. If the shores by which
the sides of the ship are supported were now
knocked away, the vessel would be likely to
slide down into the river, the bilge-ways gliding
over the slippery surfaces of the sliding-planks.
But to prevent this from occurring before the
proper time, a short piece of wood, called a
" dog-shore," is fitted to the upper end of each
bilge-way, in such a manner as to prevent the
bilge-way from beginning to slide so long as the
dog-shore remains there.

A few other arrangements being made, the
ship is ready for launching. The dog-shores, and
the hammers with which they are to be knocked
away, are generally painted blue, and now be-
come conspicuous objects, for a visitor looks at
them as the apparently slight means whereby
the vessel is to be urged into the water. A screw
is fixed against this end of the keel, to assist in
urging the ship forward, if such a course be
necessary, and some of the blocks under the keel
are cut away, to make the vessel rest more en-
tirely on the bilge-ways. At a given signal, two
men, one on each side, knock away the dog-
shores ; the vessel glides slowly downwards into
the water ; a flask of wine is thrown at the head ;
she is christened with the name selected for her;
and, when she touches the water, all give her a
hearty greeting. This is an exhilarating sight,
and has formed the subject for many a picture ;
which must, however, necessarily be defective,
for a picture cannot represent motion. Poets,
too, have not failed to celebrate this gliding of a
ship to its watery dwelling.

Having launched our ship, we will next pro-
ceed to speak of the masts with which it is to be
furnished. Whether the masts are placed in the
vessel immediately after she is launched, or
whether some other operations are previously
performed, depends on many different circum-
stances ; but in either case, the masts have been
prepared during the time that the ship has been
on the stocks, the workmen employed on the one
being a totally different set from those engaged
en the other, and the operations being carried on
in a different part of the yard. Masts, as is well
known, serve as supports to the sails, and are
themselves supported by ropes and tackle. The
number varies in different kinds of ships : for
instance, a ship, properly so called, is provided
with three masts ; a brig and a schooner are
each provided with two ; while one mast forms
the complement for a sloop, a cutter, or a smack.
But it is necessary here to remark that a mast

is not, except in small vessels, a straight piece
of timber put up in one single length ; it is ge-
nerally formed of three stages or tiers rising one
above another, each of which receives a distinc-
tive name. Let us take for example a 74-gun
ship of war. Here are three masts, the foremast,
the mainmast, and the mizen-mast; and each
one of these three is formed of three subordinate
masts, rising one above another, of which the
lowest is termed the lower mast, the next in
height, the topmast, and the third the topgallant-
mast. The length of the lowest is rather more
than that of the other two put together ; and the
united length of the whole is, in the case of the
mainmast, above two hundred feet. In a mer-
chant vessel, say of a thousand tons burden, the
arrangement is just the same in principle, but
the dimensions smaller, the nine subordinate
masts varying from about twenty to ninety feet
in length, the shortest being the mizen topgal-
lant-mast, and the longest the lower mainmast.

The masts for vessels vary from about ten to
twenty-eight or thirty inches in diameter; and
as the latter dimensions are too great to allow
the whole to be made from one tree, the mast ia
built up of several pieces, laid side by side in
various ways, and bearing the technical names
of spindles, side-trees, front-fishes, side-fishes,
cheeks, cant-pieces, fillings, heel-pieces, and
others equally unintelligible to general readers.
The principal part of each mast, or the whole
mast, if the diameter be small, is made of Cana-
dian fir, a tree which presents a remarkably
straight and uniform trunk.

The mast-making shop is a very large roofed
building, above a hundred feet in length by
seventy in width. The mast-makers have some
tools peculiar to themselves ; but the main ope-
rations bear some resemblance to those by which
the timbers of a ship are fashioned. The various
pieces of which a mast is built up are sawn to
their proper dimensions, and fitted together by
various kinds of joints, called coaking, dowel-
ling, &c, and of which the common tenon and
mortice will furnish some idea. Various cutting
instruments are employed to give the rounded
or convex form to the mast when the pieces are
put together ; and pieces of wood are attached to
its surface, to answer several purposes, when the
mast is put in its place in the ship. The extent
to which this building-up of a mast goes may be
judged from the fact that the lower mainmast
alone of a merchantman weighs upwards of six
tons ; and when lying along the floor of the mast-
shop, its length of ninety feet, and thickness of
two and a half, impress one with no mean idea
of its bulk.

A DAY AT A SHIP-YARD.

107

The various pieces of which a large mast is
formed would not be permanently retained in
their proper places, were there not some external
band or tie employed.. The band used for this
purpose consists of a series of iron hoops, ranged
at intervals of four or five feet apart along the
mast. These hoops are formed of iron bands
about three inches in width and three-eighths
of an inch in thickness ; and after being welded
as nearly as may be to the girth of the mast, they
are fixed on it. Each hoop — of which the lower
mainmast contains about twenty, and the others
a proportionate number — is in the first place
heated, not to such a degree as would scorch the
wood on which it is laid, but so far as to give a
slight expansion to its dimensions, A small
brick-built kiln is situated near the mast-shop,
and in this kiln a fire is made, on which the iron
hoop is laid to be heated. When the heating is
effected, the hoop is taken up by means of a kind
of tongs, carried to the mast-shop, put over the
small end of the mast (for every mast is of
smaller dimensions at one end than the other),
and pushed on as far as its diameter will permit.
A party of fourteen men then join their exer-
tions to drive the hoop on as tightly as possible.
Six of them grasp a long iron bar called a
" poker," and stand in an oblique line on one
side of the mast ; six others hold a similar bar
on the other side of the mast; and the remaining
two are provided with heavy hammers. The
men, thus placed, then strike the hoop with the
two pokers, the end of each poker being made
to strike against the edge of the hoop, and all
the twelve men urging the two pokers simulta-
neously, by which very powerful blows are given.
At the call of " hands up," the men direct their
blows to the edge of the upper part of the hoop ;
while "hands down" is a direction to them to
make the blows lower down. The two men with
the hammers meanwhile deal powerful blows on
the surface or face of the hoop. As the hoop is
driven onwards to a thicker part of the mast, it
necessarily binds the wood more tightly, and
this is still further effected by the contraction
of the hoop as the iron becomes cold. The ulti-
mate effect is that the hoops give an extraordi-
nary degree of strength to the mast.

The bowsprit and the yards of a vessel are
made by the mast-makers, and may indeed be
considered as masts, so far as the mode of making
is concerned. The bowsprit is a large mast
which projects obliquely over the stem, to carry
sail forward, in order to govern the fore part of
a ship, and to counteract the force of the after-
sails ; it also serves to hold the stays or ropes by
which the foremast is kept in its position. It

generally rises at an angle of about thirty-six
degrees. It very nearly equals in diameter and
is about two-thirds of the length of the lower
mainmast ; being in a merchantman nearly sixty
feet in length, and two and a half in diameter at
the larger end. The yards are long pieces of tim-
ber suspended upon the masts, for the purpose
of extending the sails ; some being suspended
across the masts at right angles, and called square
yards ; others suspended obliquely, and termed
lateen yards. The number of these yards in a
large ship is about twenty, and the dimensions
of some of them are very considerable. The
main yard of a first-rate man-of-war is above a
hundred feet in length and two feet in diameter;
while the other remaining yards have various
lengths down to about twenty feet, and various
diameters down to three or four inches. While
hearing of these very large and ponderous masts,
yards, &c, the reader may naturally inquire how
they are conveyed to the ship, and lifted in their
places. On this point we will now offer a brief
explanation. The great difficulty is to get in the
three lower masts ; for the upper ones are after-
wards drawn up by means of tackle with com-
parative ease. The lower masts are fitted in by
sheers.

The sheers used in masting vessels are two
large poles, masts, or spars, erected on the vessel
whose masts are to be fixed; the lower ends
resting on thick planks laid along the sides of
the deck, and the upper ends crossing each other,
where they are securely lashed. The point
where the two spars cross is exactly over the
hole where the mast is to be dropped through the
deck ; and the spars are retained in this position
by strong ropes attached to different parts of the
ship. The mast, being floated to the side of the
ship, is elevated entirely above deck by means
of tackle connected with the sheers ; and when
it is brought with the lower end immediately
over the hole in the deck, it is gently lowered
into its place, passing down through the entire
height of the vessel, and resting on the step or
block fixed to the keelson. When one of the
three masts is fixed in this way, the sheers are
moved to the spot where the second is to be
placed, and afterwards to the third. This is the
general mode of masting merchant ships.

The planks with which the timbers of a ship
are covered, although the seams may be calked
with oakum and pitched, are not in a condition
to be exposed to the sea without serious injury,
and a casing or sheathing is therefore applied-
Deal or fir plank, sheet lead, brown paper coated
with tar, and sheet copper, are the substances
which have been employed for this purpose; and

108

godey's magazine and lady's book.

experience has shown the last to be the best.
Formerly so much grass, ooze, shells, sea-weed,
See., accumulated on and adhered to the bottom
of a ship during a voyage, that the speed was im-
paired ; and a process of breaming or graving was
frequently required when she was in dock. This
breaming consisted in melting the pitchy coating
with which the bottom was covered, by holding
kindled furze, fagots, or reeds under it, and thus
loosening the matters which adhered to it, and
which were subsequently scraped and brushed
off. With the hope of rendering this process less
frequently necessary, a sheathing of copper was
proposed.

The sheets of copper, or of an alloy of copper
and zinc, for sheathing, are about four feet long
by fourteen inches wide; the thickness being
such that one square foot weighs from sixteen to
thirty-two ounces, generally from twenty to
twenty-eight. The copper is sometimes laid on
the bare planking, but in other instances there
is an interposed layer of paper, of felt, or of
shcathing-board. The two latter are nailed on
in their usual state ; but if paper be employed,
the sheets are first dipped in a mixture of melted
tar and pitch, left to dry, and then nailed on.
But whether these interposed layers are used or
not, the copper sheets are put on in a pretty
uniform plan. The sheets are pierced with holes,
not only all round the edges, but at intervals of
three or four inches over the whole surface.
Each sheet laps about one inch over the adjoin-
ing sheet, and is fastened to the ship by means
of flat-headed nails, made of the same metal as
the sheets. Great regularity is observed in the
arrangement of the sheets, so that a certain
symmetry of appearance as well as durability is
attained.

The number of sheets of copper required for a
large ship is very considerable. After a length
of time, the coppering requires to be renewed ;
and the old copper is found to have lost three or
four ounces of its weight in the square foot, by
the action of sea-water, friction, and* other
causes. For re-coppering a vessel, the ship is
docked, and stages or platforms built round her
hull, on which the workmen may stand. With
instruments adapted to the purpose, the men then
strip the old copper from the ship's bottom ; and
it is sent away to the copper-works to be again
melted up into a useful form. The surface of
the planking being brought tolerably smooth, and
prepared in one or other of the ways alluded to
above, the nailing on of the sheets of copper
proceeds in the same way as for a new vessel.

We must now say a little respecting the sails
and rigging of a ship. There is a superintendent

either engaged in, or in some measure connected
with ship-yards, called the "ship's husband,"
whose office is of much importance. The term
is a remarkable one, but it is in character with
the general tone in which a ship is regarded by
those about her. A ship, in the eyes of a sea-
man, is a lady ; there is probably no instance in
which an inanimate object is regarded with more
admiration — nay, even affection — than a gallant
and well- fitted ship is by her crew ; and a lands-
man may perhaps be permitted to say that there
are few more worthy of it. The " ship's hus-
band" is one who is well acquainted not only
with the arrangement and forms of the sails and
rigging, but with the general details of seaman-
ship, and with the services which are required
from every sail, yard, and rope ; and his office
is to see that the ship — his bride — is decked out
with all the trappings necessary for her personal
appearance, and for her future life on the waters.
Although the two facts, that sails are intended
for the propulsion of a ship by the wind, and
that the rigging is intended chiefly for the ma-
nagement of these sails, may appear tolerably
simple, yet the judicious arrangement of the
several parts is a matter of great intricacy, and
requires long study and experience.

The rigging of a ship, which is generally
understood to imply the whole assemblage of
ropes with which she is fitted, is of two kinds,
one termed the standing and the other the run-
ning rigging. The former term is applied to all
the shrouds, stays, backstays, and other ropes
which are employed to maintain the masts and
bowsprit in their proper position, and which
remain pretty nearly in a constant state, whether
the ship is in full sail or all the sails are furled ;
the latter term is applied to various ropes called
braces, sheets, tacks, halliards, buntlines, &c,
which are attached to different parts of the masts,
yards, sails, and shrouds, and are employed
principally in furling and unfurling the sails for
the purposes of navigation. The whole of this
rigging is made of hempen fibres, more or less
saturated with tar. Those pieces of cordage
which are devoted to the management of the
anchors are termed cables; those which are
employed in the general operations of rigging,
and are more than an inch in circumference,
are termed ropes; while cordage of smaller
dimensions than this is generally called lines.
But this classification is not sufficient for the
purposes of the seaman ; every cable, rope, and
line has a distinctive name belonging to it,
according to the place where or the purpose for
which it is applied. The breast-rope, the davit-
rope, the quest-rope, the heel-rope, the parral-

A DAY AT A SHIP-YARD.

109

rope, the bowlines, clew-lines, buntlines, tow-
lines, leech-lines — however unintelligible to
general readers, are associated with perfectly
definite ideas in the mind of a seaman, and have
a regular scale of dimensions.

The business of a ship-rigger is distinct from
that of a ship-builder ; and the operations may
or may not be carried on in a ship-building yard,
according to the facilities which the yard pre-
sents and to other circumstances.

But, wherever the rigging may be carried on,
the operations are always nearly alike. The
rigging-house is a place provided with tackle for
stretching the ropes, and with the necessary
instruments for attaching the blocks, rings, &c,

required for fixing the ropes to the ship, and for
managing the sails. The blocks here alluded to
are a kind of wheel working in a wooden case,
round the circumference of which a rope is
passed to act as a pulley. They are sometimes
made in the mast-making shop, and at other
times by persons who follow that line of busi-
ness only. The outer case, or " shell" of a
block, is made of elm or ash, and, after being
rounded somewhat to an oval form, various per-
forations are made through it. One of these is
for the reception of a pin or spindle, made of
lignum-vitae, or some other hard wood, or of
iron ; and others are for the reception of the
wheels or "sheaves," which vary from one to
eight in number in each block, and which are
made of lignum-vitae. The adjustment of the
ropes to these blocks, to iron rings and hooks,
and to each other, devolves upon the rigger,
who is provided with instruments for cutting,
stretching, bending, and tying the ropes in their
proper places. The cordage employed for a large

VOL. XLIX. — 10

vessel weighs several tons, and some of the
ropes are four inches in diameter : the bending
and fixing of such ropes a3 these, therefore,
require powerful implements. Among the ope-
rations which much of the cordage undergoes
before it is taken to the ship, is that of " serv-
ing." This consists in binding a smaller rope
very tightly round it, in order to preserve it
both from rotting and from any friction to whi«h
it may be exposed. The substance thus bound
round the rope is not necessarily a made-rope
of smaller diameter, but is sometimes formed of
old canvas, mat, plat, hide, or spun-yarn, accord-
ing to circumstances. All these substances re-
ceive the common name of " service ;" and the
mode of proceeding may be understood by
a description of the process of " serving'' a
rope with spun-yarn. The yarn might be*
simply twisted by hand round the rope,
but the necessary tightness and compact-
ness would not be thus attained ; and %
mallet is used instead. The rope being
stretched out horizontally, a man provided
with a mallet, and a boy holding a ball of
spun-yarn, stand opposite to each other at
about two feet distance. The mallet, which
has a concave groove on the side opposite
to the handle, is laid on the rope, handle
uppermost. Two or three turns of the
spun-yarn are passed tightly round the
rope, and round the body of the mallet ;
and, while the boy passes the ball of yarn
continually round the rope, the man, at the
same time, and in the same direction, winds
on the yarn by means of the mallet, whose
handle, acting as a lever, strains every turn
about the rope as firmly as possible. The yarn
then appears like a screw whose threads pass
almost transversely round the rope. The an-
nexed cut shows the position occupied by the
man and boy while " serving" a rope.

While describing the process of masting a
vessel, we stated that it is only the lower masts
and the bowsprit which are fitted by the sheers,
the sheer-hulk, or the masting-house. The
upper masts are not drawn up till the stage in
the proceedings at which we are now arrived.
The lower masts require to be secured by
shrouds, &c, before the others are adjusted to
them, so that the raising of the latter takes plaoa
after the rigging of the ship has been commenced.
We have stated that the topmast surmounts the
lower mast, and that the topgallant-mast sur-
mounts both; but the masts are not actually
joined end to end, in the usual sense of this
term. A few feet below the upper end of tho
lower mast, a kind of platform is erected, on

110

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

which the topmast rests, a little in front of the
lower mast, so that the two do not actually touch
in any part. This platform is called the " top,"
and is supported by various timbers termed
cross-trees and tresscl-trees. The topmast is
drawn up to its place by means of tackle, and
fixed securely to the platform, as also to a piece
of timber projecting forwards from the extreme
top of the lower mast. The platform serves not
only as a support to the topmast, but also as a
place of attachment for the shrouds by which it
is upheld. When the topmast has been raised
and properly secured in its place, the topgallant-
mast is similarly raised, and adjusted to the
apper end of the latter ; and in some of the
ships of war there is still a fourth mast, of very
slender dimensions, called the topgallant-royal-
mast, raised highest of all ; but it is generally a
mere prolongation of the topgallant-mast above
the rigging, instead of being a separate and dis-
tinct mast. The bowsprit is, like the mast,
provided with a kind of topmast or top-bowsprit,
by which its effective length is increased. In
this manner, the vessel is gradually provided
with all her masts and yards ; the shrouds, stays,
and other standing rigging being adjusted to their
places at the same time. The yards, too, or the
ponderous horizontal spars by which the sails
are held, are introduced into the vessel one by
one, and attached to the masts to which they
belong. Whoever has seen a representation of
a ship with her sails furled, must have remarked
the vast number of ropes and blocks which con-
nect the various parts of the masts and yards
together, and which quite baffle the eye in an
attempt to single them out one from another.
All these ropes have certain definite offices to
perform, and are placed in their respective
positions by the rigger.

Meanwhile, the sail-makers have been at
work, preparing their important share of the
ship's fittings. The sail-loft is an oblong apart-
ment, sixty or seventy feet in length, and pro-
vided with tacMe for stretching and drawing
out the ropes which are sewn to the edges of the
sails. During the principal parts of the opera-
tions, the sail-makers are seated on stools, of
which several are placed in different parts of the
loft, each provided with little receptacles for the
tools which he requires.

The canvas used in making sails is a very
stout material, woven from hemp brought from
Russia, and purchased in the form of rolls called
" bolts," each bolt containing about forty yards
of canvas, twenty-four inches in width. There
are six or seven different qualities of canvas,
aocording to the size and position of the sail to

be made ; and each quality has a particular
number attached to it, and must have a certain
weight per square foot; thus, in the navy, a
bolt -of No. 1 canvas, containing thirty-eight
yards, must weigh forty-four pounds, whereas
No. 7 weighs only about half as much ; the inter-
mediate numbers having intermediate weights.
The canvas, though woven of stout yarn, is very
regular and uniform in its appearance, and of ^
tolerably white tint.

The first operation is to cut up a sufficieni
quantity of canvas to make a sail ; and as th*
width of the canvas, whatever be its quality, is
only two feet, a great number of breadths become
necessary. The mainsail contains nearly seven
hundred yards of canvas; while the whole suit
of sails requires as much as nine thousand yards.
Some of the sails are nearly rectangular, some
triangular, some of the edges are straight, some
hollowed, and the foreman has to pay especial
attention to these circumstances in arranging
the breadths of canvas. To cut a piece of can-
vas directly across, the weft or cross-thread is
taken as a guide ; while an oblique section is
marked out by a certain deviation from the
direction of the weft. The canvas is not cut by
shears or scissors ; but a fold being made in the
required direction, previously marked with chalk
or pencil, two men hold the two ends of the
fold, and one of them rips up the canvas with a
sharp knife.

The canvas being cut, the sail-makers then
proceed to work it up. Their labor consists not
only in seaming up the numerous breadths, so
as to give the requisite dimensions to the sail,
but also in sewing on rope, called " bolt-rope,"
round every edge of every sail : were the sail
not strengthened in this manner, it would nei-
ther bear the strain of the wind, nor furnish
fastenings for the ropes by which it is worked.
The seaming and sewing are effected with large
three- sided needles, of seven or eight different
kinds, which are threaded with sewing-twine
made for the purpose, and having from two to
four hundred fathoms to the pound weight.
The skeins of twine, previous to being used, are
dipped into a trough containing melted tar,
grease, and oil, and are twisted round in such a
manner as to force the composition completely
through the twine, and to expel the superfluous
portion. The twine, when dry, is wound into
balls, or on reels, ready for the workman.

The sail-maker, seated on his low stool, holds
the canvas before him in a convenient position
for working. On his thumb he wears a thumb-
stall, consisting of an iron, horn, or leathern
ferrule, against which the thread passes, enabling

TREASURES.

Ill

him to tighten the stitches without hurting his
thumb. He has also a little contrivance called
a "palm," consisting of a flat round piece of
iron, checkered or grooved on the surface, and

intended to act as a thimble : it is sewn to a
piece of leather, which enables it to be conve-
niently attached to the palm of the right hand.
The breadths of canvas are joined by stitching
or " seaming," the stitches having a degree of
closeness well agreed upon between master and
man, and such as to include rather above a
hundred stitches in a yard of length. The seam
or overlapping is from an inch to an inch and a
half in width. Besides the stitching of the
seams, various pieces of canvas called linings,
tabling?, and bands are stitched on the sail in
different directions, for the sake of strengthening
it at those parts which are most liable to strain.
There are also many small holes to be made in
some of the sails, for the reception of short
pieces of cordage necessary in reefing the sail.

The bolt-rope, which is fastened to the edge
of the sails, is carefully covered before it is used,
to preserve it from rotting : it is first " par-
celled," that is, encircled with narrow pieces of
old canvas ; then well tarred ; and afterwards
" served," or bound round with a close coil of
spun-yarn. The ropes are then sewn to the
edges of the sail in a very careful manner ;
arrangements being at the same time made for
the formation of numerous loops, eyes, and other
mechanism necessary for the subsequent guid-
ance of the sail. Different parts of the bolt-rope
receive different names, according to their posi-
tion : that which binds the bottom edge is the
foot-rope ; at the top, the head-rope ; at the
sides, the leech-rope.

Thus the oneration of the sail -maker proceeds,

until the whole suit of sails, generally about
forty in number, for a ship are made. So well
arranged are the plans by which the canvas is
cut for the sails, that not more than three or
four yards are actually wasted in cutting
up the nine thousand yards for a large
ship.

When the sails are finished, they are
adjusted to their proper places in the ship
by means of the ropes which govern them.
The anchors, the colors, the interior fit-
tings and furniture, and a large variety of
matters which we cannot even enumerate,
oeing also completed — the lady, in fact,
being decked out in her complete attire —
she is sent out of dock to the bosom of
the waters, where, to use the language of
Canning, she lies " majestically reposing
on her own shadow," till the hour of
sailing arrives.

If the reader has expected to become a
veritable ship-builder by the perusal of
this sketch, he will doubtless be disap-
pointed; but, if it merely conveys to him some
idea of the vastness, the variety, and the inge-
nuity of the operations involved in the construc-
tion of a ship, free from the embarrassment of
the technical details necessary in a scientific
treatise, the proposed object will have been
attained.

TREASURES.

Those who are taken with the outward show
of things, think that there is more beauty in
persons who are trimmed, curled, and painted,
than uncorrupt nature can give; as if beauty
were merely the corruption of manners.

Nature has left every man a capacity of
being agreeable, though not of shining in com-
pany ; and there are a hundred men sufficiently
qualified for both, who, by a very few faults,
that they might correct in half an hour, are not
so much as tolerable.

Some cases are so nice that a man cannot
recommend himself without vanity, nor ask
many times without uneasiness ; but a kind
proxy will do justice to his merits, and relieve
his modesty, and effect his business without
trouble or blushing. — Coleridge.

Fei end ship is the most sacred of all moral
bonds. Trusts of confidence, though without
any express stipulation or caution, are yet, in
the very nature of them, as sacred as if they
were guarded with a thousand articles or condi-
tions.— Sir R. U Estrange.

THE THRICE-WEDDED.

BY MARION HARLAND, AUTHOR OP "MARRYING THROUGH PRUDENTIAL MOTIVES.'

Concludod from page 23.

CHAPTER IV.

Colonel De Tracy's eccentric character
was so notorious that, when news reached his
American friends that he had married, it was
believed, an English lady, and was living in
comparative seclusion in Paris, it was "no more
than everybody had expected," although some
were sadly chagrined thereby. His nearest
relatives were the son and daughter of a half
brother. They had been reared and educated by
him, and notwithstanding his liberal portion-
ment of them at their marriages, which had
occurred several years previous to his, it was
currently whispered that he would make the
eldest son of one his heir. This unforeseen
matrimonial adventure was a terrible blow to
parental ambition and friendly prognostications.
But his letters — succinct as war dispatches —
were regular as ever; still, at stated, and not
distant periods, came costly gifts to his grand-
nephews ; so hope maintained a struggling exist-
ence.

Two years elapsed, and without a word of
preparation, the Colonel electrified Captain and
Mrs. De Tracy, who resided within a few miles
of his country-seat, by walking into their break-
fast-room one clear, frosty morning. The lady's
scream was certainly unfeigned, as was the gen-
tleman's start ; their expressions of overwhelm-
ing rapture may have been equally so ; but a less
shrewd judge of human nature than himself
oould have detected a dryness in the inquiries
they would have had cordial, after the health
of "his lady."

"And when are we to see her, dear uncle?"
asked Mrs. De Tracy. " I am so impatient !"

He drew two cards from his pocket.

" She charged me with these for you."

" 'At home Thursday evening;' but you will
not forbid her relations from seeing her before
that time? Almost a week !"

" By my desire, she receives no company until
then," he replied; " I wish her to recover en-
tirely from the fatigue of travelling."

He made a similar excuse to his niece and her
husband, upon whom he likewise called that
day; and it was with curiosity, whetted by
112

delay, that they repaired, with the crowd, to his
house at the set time. His establishment befitted
his wealth and taste, and it could have had no
fairer mistress than the magnificently-attired
woman who awaited her guests. Refined in
every motion and look, with strength to conceal
her own feelings, and tact to divine those of
others, she was listening, with an air of respect-
ful attention, to her lord's last injunctions.

" It is, as I have told you, my intention to
adopt one of the boys, sooner or later. In the
choice, I shall be guided by further observations,
and in these I require the aid of your woman's
eye and wit. I should decidedly prefer Edward's
son as bearing my name, were it not that certain
early follies of his father have weakened this
predilection. His sister Emily married a man
of talent and good family, a cousin of Edward's
wife. A proud race are those Lisles."

" Lisles !" almost passed the lady's lips ; and
a perceptible tremor did not escape the speaker.

"Do you know them?" he inquired.

" I have heard of them," was the quiet reply.

" From me, doubtless. I must have spoken
of them frequently to you."

He never had ; and his further remarks were
unheard. This Eleanor, then, whose dutiful
letters to her " very dear uncle" she had perused,
was her early, causeless foe ! the murderess of
her husband! for thus was she branded in the
fire-stamped book of her Past, She, to whom
she owed her lifeless heart and frozen affections ;
her infidelity in human goodness ; her utter
isolation of spirit, would be in her presence in a
few minutes; and she must meet her with
honeyed phrase; must curb the impulse to dash
her to the earth, and crush her with reproaches
and scorn !

She was first upon the list of arrivals. Lean-
ing upon her husband's arm, she swam into the
apartment, as haughty in her bearing, if not so
handsome, as formerly.

Mrs. De Tracy knew them instantly ; and as
he drew off his glove to present his hand, she
thought of the dripping gate-latch and trampled
coin. They did not recollect her. She had not
feared this. Eight years had transformed the
blushing girl into the self-possessed woman.

THE THRICE-WEDDED.

113

Very ladylike and composed was her; reception
of their lavish courtesy; the blood of the Lisles
did not impart to their daughter an air of such:
thorough breeding. Later in the evening, another
couple pressed through the fast-filling rooms.
For a moment, people and walls were a rushing
whirlpool, whose turbulence scarcely subsided,
ere " My niece, Mrs. Hazlitt," " Mr. Hazlitt,"
were named.

She had heard that he was cousin to the Lisles ;
but how could she expect^to see the frank, kind
face which had beamed upon her that bitter
Christmas night — the one star amidst black
clouds'?

While the dance and song and hilarious con-
verse went on — in that brain, prematurely ma-
tured, as her moral sense was blunted by injus-
tice and suffering, there was preparing a scheme
of revenge. Her mentor's maxims of fatality
and destiny had not been without effect upon
her mind. Chance or Fate had placed the rod
and the reward in her hand. Beneath the placid
mien and smiling face burned the spirit of a
Medea; to herself she was a heaven-ordained
Nemesis.

Colonel De Tracy, if a singular, was yet a
sensible man. He had asked duty, not affection,
of his partner, and was too wise to disgust her
by doting fondness. They were an exemplary
couple ; he attentive to her comfort and wishes,
she deferentially consulting his. But at heart
he loved her with a proud affection. He was
gratified by the readiness with which she ruled
and modelled herself to his standard of female
character, and her rare loveliness was an irre-
sistible appeal to his feelings. Reserved to
others, he unbent much of his formality in their
private interviews ; testifying his confidence in
her discretion by conferring with her upon his
most important projects. She knew her power
better than he did. Until now, it had been a
subject of indifference, awakening neither grati-
tude nor ambition ; it suddenly magnified into
an engine of incomparable force.

Others saw it as well. Eleanor cultivated an
intimacy as sedulously as she had shunned her
once. Her advances were met by a passive
politeness she did not know whether to attribute
to indifference or indolent pride. The Hazlitts
did not experience this. Emily was naturally
amiable, and her good traits had been developed
by her husband's judicious influence. Mrs. De
Tracy and himself were friends at sight; and
her partiality extended to his family. His chil-
dren were much at Oakwood — the Colonel's
place; not more frequently than Walter and
Eddv De Tracy ; but these last were never en-

10*

couraged to visit " aunt's" boudoir, or to climb
her lap, as were the little Wilton and Emily.

They were at play in the parlor one day — Mrs.
De Tracy reading apart — when a lisped oath
from Walter caused her to lift her eyes.

" Fie, Walter ! never use that word again !"

" Papa says it," said the boy, confidently.

" But not in the presence of ladies, sir !"

" Yes, ma'am ! He told mamma so the other
day, when Mr. Robinson dined with him. After
he went away, papa came into her room, and said
' the luck!'"

"And what did your mother do?"

"She said, 'Dicey will be your ruin. Why
don't you stop?' Who is Dicey, aunt?"

" One of your father's intimate acquaintances,
I suspect," rejoined she, with a meaning smile.

Another thread of the web of Fate thrown
into her grasp ! Colonel De Tracy's hatred of
gaming was inveterate — confirmed, if not formed
by the circumstance that with his brother it had
been an incurable passion, he having committed
suicide in a rage of disappointment, at his ill-
fortune at Rouge-et-Noir. The manner of his
death was carefully concealed from his son, until
his uncle discovered that the propensity was
hereditary. Edward was then at West Point.
The Colonel made a journey thither; disclosed
the whole sad story, paid his debts of honor, and
swore solemnly to disgrace and beggar him if he
repeated the offence.

Mrs. De Tracy had gathered rumors of her
step-nephew's embarrassments — unpardonable,
in view of his wife's fortune and his uncle's
liberality, and suspected foul play. Robinson
was a noted sporting character; his name — as
Captain De Tracy's guest — was enough to
awaken surmises prejudicial to his character.
She waited patiently, watchfully for proof.
Supports to her convictions were abundant; but
it was long before she could procure positive
evidence against the wary gamester. What she
was sure were losses, he explained as retrench-
ments, and talked prudently of " foolish expen-
ditures for plain country people," and of his
wish " to lay by a pretty fortune for each of his
children." A pair of carriage-horses were sold ;
"Eleanor was afraid to ride after them;" the
carriage followed ; " he wanted a lighter vehicle."
His absences from home were more frequent and
prolonged, and Eleanor's perturbed demeanor
would have touched a less vindictive heart than
that of the woman she had so cruelly injured.

So passed spring, summer, autumn, and Time
ushered in another winter.

" I have an invitation for you," said Eleanor,
entering her uncle's study. " Wilton is to be

godey's magazine and lady's book.

married at last, and writes pressingly for us all
to come to Lisle Hall. Here is his letter to
you, uncle."

"Whom does he marry?" asked Mrs. De
Tracy.

" A Miss Somebody or Nobody from the lower
country. I never heard of her before; but he
is so odd, we did not hope for a brilliant match
from him. Indeed, I wonder at his marrying at
all. He is thirty-two years old. I quite long
to have him see you; you will be mutually
pleased."

" I hope so," answered she, carelessly.

"You would like to go, then?" inquired the
Colonel.

" If you think proper, sir."

He liked to show his wife, and, moreover, had
a sincere friendship for Wilton ; so an acceptance
was sent. Mrs. De Tracy manifested more
interest in this visit than was consistent with
her usual fashionable nonchalance. Her hus-
band smiled at her occasional flutter of expecta-
tion or pleasure, in the preparation for, and
during the journey. Obeying a characteristic
whim, he had avoided questioning her with
regard to her early life. To him, her existence
commenced with his acquaintance. Having
ascertained that she had no near connections to
interfere with his rights, he made her a De Tracy,
and chose to forget that she had ever borne
another name.

At Wilton's invitation, a wild, ungovernable
desire to revisit her former home, and see their
only friend, took possession of her, and mingled
with it was a foreboding, triumphant, yet agi-
tating, of a coming crisis ; a belief that another,
and the most marvellous, was to be added to the
startling coincidences of her eventful life.

It was a chill, rainy evening when they
reached Lisle Hall — still a mansion of noble
proportions, but dwindled from her memory's
picture. Wilton met them upon the steps, and
hurried them into the house with an hospitable
welcome. Upon the threshold was a girlish
figure, with a face of changing smiles and
blushes. Passing an arm around each, Wilton
said, reassuringly —

" Mary, this is your sister Eleanor."

The smile faded, and the color deepened upon
the timid bride's cheek, as her lips touched the
icy ones of her sister-in-law; but Alfred Haz-
1'itt's joyous greeting and his wife's kiss restored
the bloom. Agnes and Mr. Schmidt were there
also. They seemed to have given themselves
up to the cultivation of the animal to the infinite
detriment of their intellectual natures. His
bushv whiskers had a streak or two of gray, and

her hair was growing scanty ; but their excessive
obesity made these trifling disfigurements appear
of no consequence, being in itself a sufficient
disguise to those who had not seen them for
nine years. Wilton acted the host well ; but, as
Eleanor had predicted, one of the company had
his especial notice. Alfred and his charming
partner engaged the modest " Mary" in conver-
sation; the Colonel challenged Mr. Schmidt to
a game of chess ; Edward lounged in a fauteuil,
listening, apparently, to Eleanor's chat with her
sister; and Wilton stationed himself by Mrs. De
Tracy.

The Past throbbed along her pulses at his
remembered voice. He alone was unchanged.
His most honored guest, his gentle courtesy did
not exceed that he had paid her as the humble
mistress of a mechanic's cottage. Her emotion,
hidden as it was, touched a responsive chord.
He became strangely interested in his fair visitor.

"Excuse me," he said, at length, gazing ad-
miringly upon her classically moulded face ;
" but you certainly are not quite a stranger to
me. We must have met before."

"Probably." Her voice was untremulous.
" You have travelled, and we resided abroad
for some time. The face of a countrywoman,
seen under such circumstances, would not be
forgotten soon."

" Perhaps we did meet. My memory retains
features as faithfully as events, and holds both
too tightly for my comfort, sometimes."

"And do you, the enfant gate of Fortune and
Love, speak of forgctfulness as a blessing ? Of
what would you seek oblivion — of injuries or
benefits?"

"Of my injuries, and the misfortunes of
others."

" Would it not be wiser to profit by the expe-
rience you have gained, than to bury recollec-
tion?"

" If I can profit by it," he replied ; " but if the
injury cannot be atoned for, the misfortune is
irreparable ; all that is left for us to do is to for-
get."

Mrs. De Tracy retired at an early hour, upon
the plea of fatigue, and, in accordance with her
earnest request, was permitted to leave the par-
lor alone. She dismissed her maid when she
had removed her satin robe, and hastily donned
her travelling-dress in its stead. Then she threw
a large shawl over her head, opened the door,
and, after listening a moment, glided down the
staircase, through the hall, out into the pitchy
night. The drizzling rain fell steadily; but she
paused not; she trod the well-known lane — past
the Clcarspring— its bubbling unruffled by tho

THE THRICE-WEDDED.

115

swollen waters — she gained the cottage. It was
dark and still— evidently uninhabited. She could
just discern its outlines through the gloom ; but
she felt for the broad door-step, and in the shel-
ter of the rude porch laid herself upon it. The
rain plashed mournfully from the eaves and from
the elm-boughs ; the wind echoed her sighs.
The stone was wet with tears — the first she had
shed since her mother's death — and these were
of a fiery, bitter flood, such as those who weep
them should pray never to have renewed. One
half hour to memory and grief — she arose.

" This injury cannot be atoned for ; this loss
is irreparable ; yet I do not court forgetfulness !"

CHAPTER V.

" I see that ugly hut is standing yet. Why
don't you pull it down, brother?" said Mrs.
Schmidt, as she lounged by one of the east draw-
ing-room windows, next morning.

" Not a stone shall be displaced while I live!"
was the response, and a look, half regret, half
sternness, passed over his face.

" As romantic and ridiculous as you were in
your boyish days ! If Eleanor had not married,
it would not have been there this long."

"Eleanor may rest content with her efforts in
that quarter !"said Wilton, bitterly. The subject
evidently excited him.

" She has never repented her action," retorted
Eleanor.

"I have suffered enough for both," said her
brother ; " but we will not revive that unhappy
affair upon this, of all days."

" I wonder what ever became of the shoe-
maker's wife," continued the unimpressible
Agnes. " She was almost pretty, rather vulgar-
looking, though."

" Enough of cobblers and sentiment for one
morning," said Eleanor, rising. " Lavinia, I
am a petitioner for your ladyship's judgment of
my dress," and the aristocratic arm encircled
Mrs. De Tracy's waist. The embrace of a boa-
constrictor would have been more endurable ;
but, save b> a stiffening of the slender form, as
if the muscles had changed to steel, she did not
resent the caress.

Among the throng of carriages which disgorged
their contents, that evening, at Wilton Lisle's
door, a travel-stained hack was driven up, and
a gentleman, stepping from it, inquired for
Colonel De Tracy.

" He is dressing, sir," said a footman. " Will
you come in and wait?"

" My business is urgent. Take him this card."

"He will see you," said the servant, return-
ing; "please to walk up stairs." He conducted
him to Mrs. De Tracy's dressing-room.

"Mrs. De Tracy, Mr. Holman," said the
Colonel, shaking hands with the new-comer.
" I sent for you here because we shall be less
liable to interruption. I trust nothing unplea-
sant has procured for us the honor of this visit."

"An affair which, 1 hope, may terminate more
happily than my fears forebode," replied the
polished man of law, with a glance at Mrs. De
Tracy.

" You will speak as if we were quite alone,
Mr. Holman," answered the Colonel, observing
it.

" Then, sir, not to detain you from your friends
longer than I can help, will you look at that pa-
per, and say whether the signature is genuine?"

The Colonel adjusted his eye-glass. The
honorable blood of the eld Frenchman mounted
to his silvery locks, as he exclaimed —
• " It is a forgery, sir ! a base fraud ! Who has
dared" His choler choked him.

" I feared so ! I feared so !" said the lawyer,
slowly, shaking his head.

" Do you know a man in your neighborhood
by the name of Robinson, Colonel De Tracy ?"

" I do ! A professed gambler ! an infamous
swindler! What of him?"

"He presented that check at the bank. In
consequence of some knowledge of his character,
or from the clumsiness of the forgery, its genu-
ineness was doubted, and the man detained until
I could be sent for. I should have exposed him
immediately, but for his assertion that he had
received the draught from — I grieve to say it,
sir — Captain De Tracy."

"Edward!" ejaculated the horrified auditor.
The paper fell to the floor.

Mr. Holman picked it up, and went on, in a
tone of sympathy —

"There is one way to save him. You can
acknowledge this as your handwriting, refusing
to return it to Robinson."

"Never, sir! never!" The resolution of a
Brutus spoke in his uplifted head and marble
countenance. " The viper has struck his fang
into the breast that warmed him ! Ho is no
nephew of mine ; the law may take its course !"

"Pardon me, Colonel De Tracy, but these are
matters little suited for a lady's ears. Mrs. De
Tracy would perhaps prefer to be spared the
further discussion of this deplorable circum-
stance."

" I thank you, sir. Lavinia, you had bes*
retire."

116

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

She was scarcely in the corridor, whon a closet
door flew open, and Eleanor sprang out, ghastly
with terror.

" I have heard all !" she gasped, seizing her
arm. " My husband ! save him !"

The hour had come ! A pitiless, retributive
spirit filled her breast at the appeal, expelling all
womanly compassion.

" Come with me," she said, composedly.
" We cannot talk here."

Down the lighted staircase, through the bus-
tling hall, she led the way to the little library,
and locked themselves in. With frantic ve-
hemence, Eleanor pleaded for her erring husband.
She told of his misery at the dominion of his
tyrannical passion ; all was lost, she said — their
estate secretly mortgaged — their furniture even
pledged to the sharpers who had robbed him.
" But let it all go ! Let us live in pinching
want ; only spare us this dreadful shame ! You
can soften that stern old man. Oh ! think of
my children, my guiltless babes, and have mer-
cy !"

In her distraction, she clung to the knees of
the silent, unmoved figure.

" Eleanor Lisle ! look at me !"

She obeyed, with a shudder at the unpitying
accents.

" Nine years ago, a heart-broken woman knelt
to you in this room, knelt where you are crouch-
ing now, and besought your mercy in behalf of
an innocent husband. You drove her out into
the storm with contumely ; by your agency, he
was deprived of every earthly comfort; you
murdered him as certainly as if you had stabbed
him to the heart. You talk of pity ! you, who,
only this morning, gloried in a deed a fiend
would blush to confess ! I answer you as you
did her, 'I never interfere' with Colonel De
Tracy's business. As you ' could not provide
for all the paupers in the State,' we may be ex-
cusable for declining to furnish means of escape
to all the criminals."

Mechanically, Eleanor arose, and stared wildly
at her accuser and judge.

"Who are you?"

"The avenger of innocent blood," was the
reply. " You vouchsafed her but three minutes ;
I have wasted twenty."

She unbolted the door, and passed, with un-
ruffled brow, into the crowded saloon.

To her surprise, Colonel De Tracy entered at
the same moment, with his man of business,
whom he presented to Wilton as a friend who
had arrived unexpectedly. The old officer's face
was ashy pale; but he controlled himself ad-
mirably, receiving recognitions and introductions

with his customary precise politeness. Exchang-
ing bows and friendly greetings with all in his
way, he drew near his wife. His brief whisper
was caught by no other ears.

" All must be kept quiet to-night. We must
have no scenes."

Alfred Hazlitt, asserting his right^as Wilton's
nearest male relative, opened the ball with the
bride, and the groom led out Mrs. De Tracy.
Edward was her vis-a-vis, so dashing and gallant
that his partner, one of the belles of the evening,
did not remember that he was a married man,
until Wilton asked him " what had become of
Eleanor?"

" Hush !" said the Captain, affecting to whis-
per, looking towards the object of his present
devotion, and they whirled away, laughing.

Wilton offered his arm to his companion at
the close of the set, and they sauntered through
the room, chatting gayly and seriously by turns.
The deep recesses of the windows were filled
with shrubs and flowers, and as Mrs. De Tracy
put out her hand to pluck a leaf, her bracelet
became unclasped. Wilton recovered it dexter-
ously before it touched the floor.

" Allow me !" he said, playfully.

She held up her arm, dimpled and round as a
child's. With a start and exclamation he raised
it to the light. He had perceived and recognized
the butterfly scar. One moment he stood trans-
fixed, gazing at her in mute astonishment ; then
throwing back his hair, revealed the irregular
cicatrice upon his temple. Subterfuge would be
idle. She spoke ere he could.

"Your suspicions are just, Mr. Lisle; you
knew me as Minnie Thorn. This is not the
time or place for explanations."

" I must, I will speak !" said he, impetuously.
" I dare not defer what I have to say to another
opportunity. For years I have sought and longed
for this meeting. I never dreamed that it would
come thus. I can be of no use to you now. My
fond hope was to assist or relieve you in some
way, to the sacrifice of years of time, or the
whole of my estate. But I may express my
shame and sorrow at the treatment you encoun-
tered from those of my blood and name, whose
obligations to you were great and uncancelled.
My father was not inhuman. Upon his death-
bed he assured me that he was ignorant of your
husband's real character and situation. His
errors were, hearkening to the representations
of others, and an undue anxiety to secure his
debt. His surprise and grief at learning the
result of his agent's severe measures were ex-
treme. With his dying breath, he mentioned
you and your wrongs. His God forgave him,

THE THRICE-WEDDED.

117

Minnie ; will you cherish resentment against the
dead?"

The familiar pet-name thrilled her; but she
returned with tolerable steadiness —

" I have never considered him the chief in-
strument of our ruin."

Wilton bit his lip.

" You allude to Eleanor. She had only the
extenuation of thoughtlessness, and a silly, un-
founded spite, which distorted her views of
right and wrong. She was a vain, spoiled girl,
with strong prejudices, remaining in force to
this day. I cannot say, * pardon her ;' but your
meekness and charity were boundless once ;
cannot they cover her transgression?"

She was silent.

"Do you know this?" he asked, taking a
worn letter from his pocket-book. " I did not
get it for months after it was written, too late
to reply to your call for immediate aid ; but it
expedited my return. You were gone, no one
knew whither; his noble spirit was in a better,
truer world."

She had retreated further into the embrasure,
close against the window, and was partly con-
cealed by the curtain; the tears were streaming
fast! fast!

" I inquired and looked for you in vain, my
tender nurse. The thought of his death and
your destitution has been a fever-spot upon my
heart, a blight upon every pleasure. My first
act, as master here, was to lay Harry where I
knew he would have wished to sleep — at the
door of his loved home, in the shade of the elms.
I have sat by that grave often and again, and,
reading this blurred sheet, so eloquent of affec-
tion and distress, have wept as for my brother.
You believe me; do you nut, Minnie?"

No answer but a stifled sob and a low moan,
« Oh, Harry ! Harry !"

Mournful accompaniments to the gushing
music and the merry, answering beat of quick
footsteps !

" I must be alone for awhile, Mr. Lisle," she
said, presently, but extending her hand.

He bowed over it as he pressed it, and left
her. She dropped the curtain about her, and
looked, through tears, to the spangled sky.
Her heart — deaf and dumb paralytic ! warmed
and stirred by the healing wand of true friend-
ship— was answering, in feeble whispers, the
voice of her good angel, whose teachings were
of that sublimest of virtues — Forgiveness. One
sentence of Wilton's stung like a scorpion-
lash : Her " meekness and charity !" Was their
proof to be found in her sarcastic, scathing
denial of the prayer of her humbled foe ; in her

deliberate consignment of three sinless babes
to a life of hardship and degradation? Their
mother — wicked and heartless though she had
been — was Wilton's sister. Should his head
be bowed yet lower for the faults of others ?
Would revenge restore her to the enjoyment of
life and love, or make Harry's slumbers more
peaceful? Thus she reasoned, with a changed
spirit; and a sweet quiet stole over her with the
birth of generous resolve. Her husband had
never denied her a single request, and she knew
that, in spite of his lofty sense of justice and
truth, her intercession for his misguided nephew
would be seconded by the pleadings of natural
affection. Mortification and privation might be
in store for the unfortunate family, but not open
disgrace. Emerging from her retirement, she
beheld Eleanor, within a few feet of her, talking
with an excess of volubility and animation, the
most superficial observer could see was forced.
She did not see Mrs. De Tracy ; but her hollow
laugh, as she passed, sounded in the hearer's
brain for years afterwards. The more she
thought of it, the more she wondered at her
presence there, torn, and racked, and despairing
as she was. Some end was to be gained by a
course so opposed to feeling. What was it?
She looked around for Edward. He was nowhere
to be seen ; and when an hour elapsed without
his re-entrance, the truth broke upon her. His
wife had warned him of the impending danger;
her appearance in the scene of mirth was a
screen for his flight.

" Blind fool that I was not to have foreseen
and prevented this !" she muttered. To fly was
to trumpet his crime ; and he might have —
probably had departed. In nervous haste, she
explored the apartments in quest of her husband.
He was planted in front of a loquacious dowager,
enduring, with unflinching civility, her cannon-
ade of prosy reminiscence and anecdote. Upon
ordinary occasions, no one, acquainted with his
punctilios, would have ventured to interrupt
the monologue ; but his wife touched his shoul-
der, and motioned him imperatively to accom-
pany her. On their way up stairs, she commu-
nicated her apprehensions and their cause. One
impassioned supplication for his forbearance
towards the wretched man made him forget his
harsh sentence. None of the servants knew
where he was; but one had met him going to
his chamber about an hour before. The key
was on the inside of the lock.

" Knock !" said the Colonel, in an undertone,
to the boy.

No reply.

" Call him !"

118

godey's magazine and lady's book,

" Mars' Edward ! Mars' Edward !" vociferated
the negro, growing frightened at the manner of
his companions.

Not a breath or a movement.

" He has sot out !" said Mrs. De Tracy, aside.
'•'They may know something about him at the
stables."

The negro had sunk upon his knee, with a
knife turned the key, and applied his eye to the
crevice. His yell, as he sprang to his feet,
brought a crowd to. the spot. "Murder! mur-
der !" it said, and the old Colonel fell across the
threshold. They thronged up — master, and
guests, and servants — the door was forced ; and
there, leaning back in an easy-chair, his hand
clutching the bloody razor, sat the forger, his
throat cut from ear to ear.

CHAPTER VI.

Colonel De Tracy was gathered to his
fathers a year after his nephew's death. Eleanor
and her children had a home at Lisle Hall ; but
a comfortable provision was made for them in
their uncle's will. Oakwood was bequeathed to
young Wilton Hazlitt, upon condition of his
taking the name of De Tracy: and the widow,
anxious to leave scenes fraught with such har-
rowing associations, removed to Baltimore. Here
she had few associates, no intimates. Her inte-
resting appearance and settled sadness excited
curiosity and sympathy; but inquiries and at-
tempted consolation were met by the same rigid
reserve. Her religious duties, neglected for
years, were attended to with a severe exactitude,
denoting a morbid or uneasy conscience. No
beggar passed her door or left her presence
empty-handed; the heats of summer nor the
blasts of winter caused her pew to be vacant ;
yet the eagerness with which she bestowed alms
and went through the form of worship could not
be mistaken for ostentation or devout zeal.
Discovering that ease of mind was not to be
bought, she chose to ascribe her dissatisfaction
to the coldness and poverty of the Protestant
faith, and sought balm in the bosom of the
" Mother Church."

To her confessor, she unloaded her sorrowful
breast ; and he added penances to the propiti-
atory offerings to Remorse. But the " Benidi-
cite" of his absolution failed to drown that hol-
low laughter and awful cry of "murder;" holy
water nor incense could cleanse the blood-stain
she felt resting upon her soul. Such sweets
Revenge carries behind his back to cast upon
the dupes he smiled on while approaching.

In her rounds of mercy she was accompanied,
sometimes by a Sister of Charity; oftencr by
Father Roget, who was exceedingly proud of his
proselyte ; and when he could not attend her in
person, not unfrequently sent, as a substitute, a
guest-brother, or one of his pupils, recommend-
ing a careful imitation of this pious " sister's"
works and deportment, as an invaluable aid in
the improvement of their own religion and
manners.

Paul Kennedy, his favorite student, was of
Irish parentage ; but his feet had pressed the
shores of many lands. Educated for the bar, he
entered the army in a boyish freak ; fought the
French, and afterwards, falling in love with
their customs and style of life, cut no mean
figure as a sa vant-da,ndy in the salons of the
metropolis ; squandered his fortune in dissipa-
tion, disappeared in the smallest circles of the
vortex of society, and came up on the other side
of the Atlantic, a studious, self-denying candi-
date for holy orders. He was, at the time of
our story, about thirty years of age, with an
elegant person, grave, but winning address ; a
far-reaching, scheming brain, and a will that
said "lord and master" to none — not even His
Holiness.

He was to take orders in a few months, and
the worthy Father was benevolently desirous
that he should secure the favor of so useful a
patroness as the rich and childless neophyte.
His junior was not loath to make himself agree-
able. In time, his powerful, acute mind ac-
quired a mighty influence over hers, enfeebled
by distress and superstition ; and the sagacious
superior foresaw, in this ascendency, an addi-
tional and indissoluble chain, binding her to the
One Great Cause.

My poor pen falters in the attempt to convey
a faint idea of the pious scandal, the rage, the
amaze, the unaffected grief of the good man,
when coolly informed by his pupil that he had
written to Rome, praying for a dispensation to
espouse Lavinia De Tracy; and he added, ir-
reverently : " If this reasonable petition is de-
nied, 'Mother Church' loses two unworthy
members. Mammon and Cupid versus stole and
cassock ! what man in his senses could hesitate
in the choice?"

The " reasonable petition" was negatived ; but
the interdict arriving but a day before the nup
tials, the bride was kept in ignorance until the
ceremony was over. It would be difficult To
define her motives in the commission ot this
sacrilegious act. She had never been, at heart,
a Romanist; therefore, was comparatively free
from the horror with which such an alliance

A TRAVELLER'S EXPERIENCE OF WOMAN.

119

would be regarded by the generality of those of
that persuasion. Her loneliness and unprotected
state may have had their effect in producing the
change; but undoubtedly the principal cause
was the mixture of fear and fascination she felt
for her suitor.

Father Roget read, with tears, the sentence
of excommunication upon the Sabbath after their
union; but they were beyond the mutterings
of its thunders, speeding their way towards the
balmy South. They wintered in New Orleans ;
the ex-priest launching upon the dancing billows
of gayety and extravagance with an abandon
tli at testified to the irksomeness of his previous
austerity. Along with other affectations, he
threw off the show of tenderness and respect
for his wife. Without a friend in the world,
insulted daily by her only guardian, deprived of
the importance with which her wealth had in-
vested her, the meanest hireling in her house-
hold was an object of more consideration than
its nominal mistress. In subsequent years, in
reviewing this epoch of her history, she de-
scribed her heart as a desert, above which clouds
brooded forever, moving, indeed, at the breath
of contention, but never passing away.

They had been married but a year, when a
fresh and fruitful cause of discord presented
itself. By a clause in Colonel De Tracy's will,
she had a life interest (not transferable) in cer-
tain property. This was but an inconsiderable
part of her original income, and she was as-
tounded when told by Kennedy that it was now
all they had to depend upon. With this infor-
mation, commenced a system of persecution as
gruel as unprovoked. Again and again she re-
presented that she had no right to dispose of
either land or slaves, and surrendered every cent
transmitted by her Virginia agent; he was ob-
stinate in the assertion that she could devise
some means of evading the testamentary dispo-
sition, at least that it was her fault that the
clause was inserted. His worried victim seemed,
even to his indifferent eyes, to be but a pace
from the tomb, when he unexpectedly stepped
in before her. He met his death in a gambling-
house ; and when his mutilated face was un-
covered to the gaze of the wife of eighteen
months, her comment was in her clasped hands
and fervent ejaculation —
" Thank God !"

Kind reader, I have not drawn upon my
imagination to tax your credulity in setting
down the leading incidents of this tale of vicis-
situdes. I, its veracious writer, have often, in
my childhood, seen the thrice-widowed heroine

— then a calm-eyed woman, long past the me-
ridian of life, residing, in unpretending style, in
a quiet country neighborhood. Well do I re-
member the sensation that rustled through our
little church, as she stood before the pulpit, one
Communion Sabbath, and pronounced the vow
to consecrate her remaining years to the service
of her Saviour, a vow which, as far as man
could discern, was faithfully, prayerfully kept.
Upon a stormy winter night, when the heavy dash
of the rain was like the tramp of mourners, the
sobbing wind like the weeping of the bereaved,
she related her story to a dear friend of my own,
who has since joined her in the far, changeless
land. She touched, unwillingly, upon her latest
and most singular marriage ; spoke of the second
as of the phantasmagoria of a dream ; but upon
the wedlock of her youth, she dwelt with swim-
ming eyes and a smile of tender remembrance.

" Except during these latter years of resigna-
tion and contentment," said she, "I have never
known such happiness as when we sat in that
cottage kitchen, Harry at his bench, and I,
binding shoes, at his side."

A TRAVELLER'S EXPERIENCE OF
WOMAN.

I have observed among all nations, that the
women ornament themselves more than the
men ; that wherever found, they are the same
kind, civil, obliging, humane, tender beings ;
that they are ever inclined to be gay and cheer-
ful, timorous and modest. They do not hesi-
tate, like men, to perform a hospitable or gene-
rous action; not haughty, nor arrogant, nor
supercilious, but full of courtesy, and fond of
society ; industrious, economical, ingenious,
more liable in general to err than man, but in
general also more virtuous, and performing more
good actions than he. I never addressed myself
in the language of decency and friendship to a
woman, whether civilized or savage, without
receiving a decent and friendly answer. With
man, it has often been otherwise. In wandering
over the barren plains of inhospitable Denmark,
through honest Sweden, frozen Lapland, rude
and churlish Finland, unprincipled Russia, and
the wide-spread regions of the wandering Tartar,
if hungry, dry, cold, wet, or sick, woman has
ever been friendly to me, and uniformly so ; and
to add to this virtue, so worthy of the appellation
of benevolence, these actions have been per-
formed in so free and kind a manner, that, if I
was dry, 1 drank the sweet draught, and if
hungry, I ate the coarse morsel with a double
relish. — Ledyard's Letters.

KATHLEEN, THE VILLAGE BELLE.

BT PAULINE FORSYTH.

(Su Plate.)

" Eyer till now,
When men were fond, I smiled and wondered how."

SllAKSPEARE.

Kelloe is a pretty little village on the west-
ern coast of Ireland. Some ten or twelve years
ago, before it had been decimated by famine, or
pressed onward by strong necessity in the race
of improvement, it was a quiet, rustic, old-
fashioned kind of a place, where the people
thought too well of their fathers and grandfa-
thers not to look suspiciously on all innovations
and new customs, and few could be found who
would acknowledge that the course of the world
was not of a crab-like nature, instead of being,
as the modern heresy has it, " upward and
onward."

Indeed, the simple village people troubled
themselves but little about the world in general,
but concentrated their interest within the nar-
row compass of their own and their neighbors'
affairs. Even their local politics were carried
on in an indifferent and careless way, which
was owing perhaps to their being of a very
meagre and uninteresting kind, and also, in
some measure, to the villagers finding ample
occupation for thought and muscle in winning
bread and raiment for their families. The
" great agitator" himself would have found it
difficult to make them forget the pressing wants
of the day in the vaguer, if higher, interest of
the liberty of their country.

The postmaster of this quiet and rural town
was Mr. Drummond. He had filled the office
for more than twenty years to the satisfaction
of all parties, and had no fear that he should
not continue to hold it as long as he could per-
form its duties. The British policy being, in
this respect, essentially different from our own.
On the small salary which his situation afforded
him, aided by a little patrimony in the shape of
a cottage and an acre or two of land, Mr.
Drummond had brought up a family of eight
daughters.

" The eight belles of Killoe" they were called,
for there was not one who had not a more than
ordinary share of beauty. But the flower of
them all, the belle of the belles, was Kathleen,
the fifth daughter. Hers was the large and
genorous style of beauty that fills as well as
120

strikes the eye. Her movements were full of
buoyant grace. She bore herself with a shy air,
half proud, half deprecating, that seemed to
plead for love, even while asserting its inde-
pendence of it. She seldom let the light of her
eyes, large and soft, and full of the tenderest
and most womanly pleadings for affection, rest
upon any but those to whom she was bound by
the ties of kinship. She seemed to dread the
revelation they might make of her loving nature,
and so, like the coquette she was, she veiled
them with her white lids, and turned her head
away with the stately shyness of a deer, while
her lovers pressed their suit, and vowed and
begged and strove for a kindly glance, as if their
everlasting welfare was written in those eyes of
a dove-like gray.

She received the homage of her adorers calmly,
as a monarch listens to the acclamations of his
subjects ; but yet their eager fervor filled her
with a quiet wonder. Affectionate though she
was, her love was of a slow and cautious growth,
and she could not comprehend or sympathize
with the ardent flames that it seemed to need
but a word or look from her to kindle. So she
coquetted, played, and dallied with her troop of
lovers, with but little thought or heed of the
pain that was in store for them when the deci-
sive answer came. She gloried in her charms,
even while she was astonished at their power,
and looked upon the extravagances spoken and
acted by her admirers as a sort of incomprehen-
sible vagaries that would pass away in time and
leave no trace.

She had good reason for thinking thus ; for
one after another, her lovers, finding their suit
hopeless, consoled themselves with more sym-
pathetic hearts. Not one had ever aroused her
remorse, or deepened her belief in the strength
of his feelings by any desperate act. There was
but one who had remained faithful through the
many trials and misgivings to which her co-
quetries had exposed him ; and perhaps a latent
hope, founded on some slight preferences Kath-
leen had inadvertently shown him from time to
time, joined with his love to make him more
constant than his rivals.

Robert Carroll was a young engineer, who had
been sent in the way of his business to Kelloe,

KATHLEEN, THE VILLAGE BELLE.

121

and had first seen Kathleen when, at the age of
fourteen, her beauty was but in its dawning —
when she was yet "a rose, with all its sweetest
leaves still folded." For the three succeeding
years he had found some excuse for making, at
short intervals, long visits to Kathleen's seclud-
ed home, and he had watched the slow maturing
of her charms of person and of nature with the
absorbing interest of a devoted lover.

Kathleen could not help perceiving that, in
mind and character and person, Mr. Carroll was
superior to all her other suitors. The myste-
rious link of sympathy, of congeniality, too, drew
her more closely to him than to any one out of
her own family whom she had ever met ; and,
if he had not been so very ardent and exacting,
she might have allowed him to perceive as
much.

But she was not yet prepared to reciprocate
his feelings in all their intensity. She was very
happy at home, and could not bear to think of
breaking all the household tics that bound her
to her family ; and she shrank, with the reluc-
tance of a timid and apprehensive nature, from
the decisive step of marriage. The conflict
between the two feelings, the love just springing
up with the affections that had so long been
sufficient for her happiness, showed itself in her
conduct to him. It was varying, capricious, and
unreasonable.

When he complained, Kathleen laughed at
him. If he took refuge in an air of proud in-
difference, she grew cold and haughty. If he
entreated, she escaped from him ; and it was only
at rare intervals that she would listen to the
expression of his love, and show by her varying
color and softly shadowed eyes that the deep
fountain of her heart was at last unsealed.
Kathleen always reproached herself for these
involuntary self-revealings. She was ashamed
of them, blushed whenever she thought of them,
and made amends for her folly, as she considered
it, by some most defiant act, meant to prove at
once that she was as free as the summer air,
and regardless, like that, on whom her sweetness
might fall.

She woke one morning with a feeling of self-
dissatisfaction oppressing her. She gradually
recalled its source. The evening before she had
been walking with two of her sisters in one of
the green lanes that led through the pleasant
country around Killoe. Mr. Carroll had joined
them ; and exactly how he had contrived it,
Kathleen could not tell, but before long they
were by themselves, her sisters far on before,
almost out of sight. She was moving slowly by
his side, while the moonlight, the dewy fra-

VOL. XLIX. — 11

grance that filled the air, the hush and stillness
that brooded over the earth, and the passionate
whispers of her companion, all wooed her to
betray the secret of which she was as yet her-
self unconscious.

In the soberness of the morning hour, she
recalled the few words that had been won from
her the evening before.

" He will think I love him. How could I
say that?" thought Kathleen, blushing in her
self-humiliation, and covering her face with her
hands, although she was alone. "I promised,"
thought she, " to ride over with him to cousin
Catharine Dolan's and spend the day j but that
I will not do. I don't think I can ever speak
to him again."

She had not decided what she should do to
avoid the dreaded ride, when she saw Mr. Car-
roll driving up to the door. He had seen her,
too, so that there was for the moment no escape.
His countenance was lighted up by the happi-
ness of his heart, his manner was joyous, and,
as Kathleen thought, exulting and triumphant.
His very tones, as he called out to ask if she
were ready, jarred upon her as being full of
certainty and security.

Without replying, except by a hasty bow,
Kathleen sprang up the flight of stairs leading
to her room, as Mr. Carroll thought, to put on
her bonnet and shawl, but, in reality, to make
her retreat down another way, and, by a side
door, to escape into one of the many green lanes
that led in various directions from her father's
house.

After waiting at the gate until his patience
was exhausted, Mr. Carroll went into the house
to discover the cause of the delay. Kathleen's
sisters sought in all directions for her, but in
vain. At length one of the younger ones, com-
ing in from a morning ramble, testified to hav-
ing met her half a mile from home, walking with
Albert Sullivan.

It is difficult to say whether surprise or indig-
nation prevailed when Robert Carroll understood
how far he had been trifled with. He drove
hastily off, vowing internally to dismiss forever
Kathleen and all connected with her from his
thoughts. Nor was his irritation soothed by the
arch and mischievous smile which stole over her
face as she nodded to him, when he whirled past
Albert and herself strolling slowly along to-
gether.

As soon as he was out of sight, Kathleen bade
Albert good-morning, and directed her steps
homeward. She was relieved that she had
escaped a long te'e-d-tete. drive with one whose
power over her she had begun to dread with a

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godey's magazine and lady's book.

sort of indefinite fear ; she was glad that she had
had so good an opportunity of convincing him
of her indifference and disregard. But mingled
with these feelings of satisfaction were others
not so pleasant. She tried hard, but in vain, to
justify her conduct. Her sisters, too, blamed
her, and her mother reproved. So that, after
she had had a day or two for reflection, she
came to the conclusion that she had not treated
Mr. Carroll with proper consideration, and that
she owed his wounded feelings some apology.
She decided that, having by this act proved to
him her independence, she could now afford to
be a little kinder than usual in her manner.
Her sisters said that she would not have the
opportunity to make the reparation. But she
knew better than they the extent of her power,
and smiled as she listened to their predictions.

The event proved that she was right. On the
third morning after her exploit, on which she
still could not help secretly priding herself, she
was walking through the same lane that had
witnessed her weakness, as she considered it, a
few evenings before. With a basket on her
arm, and her bonnet swinging carelessly in her
hand, she went on murmuring, in a low musical
voice, snatches of melodies that went floating
through her brain. Her rich hair caught and
threw back the golden sunlight. Her hands and
arms, which a critic in such matters might con-
sider rather too large perhaps, but which were
too exquisitely moulded to awaken any emotion
but admiration in an ordinary observer, were
bare, and over them, as over brow and neck,
was the soft roseate flush of perfect health. Her
cheeks and lips were glowing, and her eyes
radiant, and in her countenance there was a
dewy softness that only belongs to innocence
and youth, and comes only with the first throb-
bings of that love which is to prove mightier
than all other earthly affections.

Suddenly, Mr. Carroll appeared before her.
The greetings on either side were cold and con-
strained. Yet Kathleen only waited for the
first word from him to show that she had in her
heart a little liking for him, if he would not
build too much upon so slight a feeling. Un-
fortunately, Mr. Carroll's first remark piqued
her, and aroused her pride.

{i I see plainly now," said he, with a dis-
pleased air and tone, " that it is useless for me
to hope to obtain from you any reciprocation of
my feelings towards you. When you seem most
kind, I find it is only an artifice to lead me into
some painful and mortifying situation. I am at
last convinced that you have not the slightest
regard for me."

" I am glad," said Kathleen, calmly, " that
you see at last what I have assured you of seve-
ral times."

Mr. Carroll could not gainsay this, and he
went on.

" I have wasted too much time here already.
I shall leave this country to-morrow morning."
And he looked sideways at her, to watch the
effect of his words. As far as he could see, they
had no effect at all.

Kathleen merely replied, " Ah," in the most
careless manner.

" I did not like to go without seeing you once
more. Man never loved woman as I have loved
you ; and, if you would have consented to be
my wife, my whole life should have been devoted
"to your happiness. But I have no right to
blame you for your coldness to me. It is by
your coquetry that you have made me feel how
unwarrantably you have been trifling with me.
Still, I cannot part with you in anger. Fare-
well," he continued ; " and, believe me, you
have no friend who wishes your happiness more
sincerely than myself."

For a moment their hands were clasped, and,
before Kathleen had time to realize the meaning
of the words Robert Carroll had just uttered, he
was gone. Resting her basket upon a rude
bench by the wayside, she stood looking after
him, wondering if he were in earnest, and never
intended to return ; while the wistful and trou-
bled glance that she sent after him revealed that
the love that had been so tardy in its awaken-
ing was at last making itself felt. But she was
yet hardly conscious of its power. The golden
haze that, in the blessed ignorance of youth,
throws its bewildering glamour over the present
and the future, prevented Kathleen from seeing
clearly the real state of affairs — that she had
childishly played with and lost the heart of the
one whom she would more willingly call her
husband than any other whom she had ever met.

Yet, as weeks and months passed away, this
became ever clearer to her. Perhaps all the
more so that Mr. Carroll had fulfilled his decla-
ration, and had left Ireland with no intention of
returning to it again. He had found occupation
in England, and it was reported in Kclloc that
he was succeeding wonderfully in his profession.

The ideal has a large share in the love of
many women. And, in her thoughts of Mr.
Carroll, Kathleen not only gave him the virtues
and attractions which really belonged to him,
but gifted him with all the imaginary perfections
of a hero of romance. Her heart occupied with
thoughts of him, she turned a regardless ear to
the flattery and homage of all her other suitors.

KATHLEEN, THE VILLAGE BELLE.

123

There was a fluttering hope in the depths of her
heart which whispered to her assurances of
Robert Carroll's constancy, and of a happy
meeting yet in store for both.

Kathleen had not much time for these mus-
ings. The real cares and troubles of life soon
drove for a time all other thoughts from her
mind. Her father died, and her mother and
five daughters were left with no dependence but
a small income hardly enough for one. The
three older daughters were married, one in Ire-
land, and the other two had emigrated to
America.

Mr. Drummond had exacted a promise from
his wife that she would do her utmost to keep
the family together, and not to allow her daugh-
ters to leave her care but for the protection of a
home of their own. This she contrived to do,
with the assistance of her children, until the
time of general distress fell upon that unhappy
country. Then she began to listen to the urgent
entreaties of her children in America that she
would join them there; and at last, seeing no
alternative between that and entire poverty and
separation, believing that only by that course
she could accomplish her husband's last wishes,
she sailed with her five daughters for New York.

Of them all, not one, not even Mrs. Drum-
mond herself, grieved so much over their de-
parture as did Kathleen. She had a peculiar
cause for sorrow. She had always believed that,
notwithstanding his last protestation, Robert
Carroll would return to her once more. That
had been the star of hope that lighted up the
year of toil and hardship through which she had
just been passing. And that he should return
and find her far away, with the ocean rolling
its vast distance between them, was a thought
full of poignant anguish. But she was too fond
a daughter to pain her mother's heart by ex-
pressing a wish to be left behind, and so it was
only by her uncontrollable burst of grief, as she
saw the land slowly recede from her straining
eyes, that they knew how deep sorrow this
removal had caused her.

Once safely arrived in New York, Mrs. Drum-
mond was soon settled, with the aid of her sons-
in-law, in a comfortable, though small dwelling
in the upper part of the city. Here each of her
daughters contributed in their own way to the
support of the family. One obtained employ-
ment from a button manufactory, another from
an umbrella-maker, another was employed in a
bookbindery. Kathleen embroidered beautifully,
and, having succeeded in obtaining a few fash-
ionable and dress-loving patronesses, was soon
constantly and profitably occupied.

Thus two or three quiet years passed away.
One by one her sisters married, and left their
mother's roof for the shelter of their husbands'
home. The youngest one, who had been the
darling, as Kathleen was the pride and stay of
the family, was taken by her husband, Mr.
Dickson, to Michigan. Soon after this, Mrs.
Drummond began to perceive that Kathleen was
overtasking her strength by her unremitting
industry. The increased exertion she was
obliged to make, now that she was unaided by
her sisters, in order to meet the household ex-
penses, was too great a demand upon her.

" I think we shall have to accept your sister
Catharine's invitation, and go to live with her,"
said she to Kathleen one day j " you are getting
quite pale and thin."

"Oh no, mother," exclaimed Kathleen, "I
am very well. I feel as though I should never
have a home again, if we give up this."

" You have had the offer of a great many,"
said Mrs. Drummond, a little regretfully.

" Yes, mother ; but you are not sorry that I
love you better than any one else. I shall never
leave you."

Mrs. Drummond yielded for that time, for she
loyed Kathleen too well to thwart her. But she
recurred to the removal again and again, until
at last the daughter saw that the only way to set
her mother's mind at rest was to consent. This
she did with a heavy heart, and was superin-
tending the transfer of their slender possessions
to her sister's home, when a letter was put into
her hand.

It was from Mr. Dickson, entreating them to
come immediately to Michigan. His wife was
dangerously ill, and was so urgent in her en-
treaties that he would send for Kathleen or her
mother that he could not resist her wishes.

There was no time for hesitation. Mrs.
Drummond was somewhat of an invalid — far
too delicate, Kathleen thought, to undertake so
hurried a journey. She would go herself, there
was no alternative ; although, to one of her
shrinking and apprehensive nature, it seemed
an undertaking full of difficulties and perils.
"Within two hours after she received the missive
from her brother, she was on her way to her
sick sister.

After travelling for three days and nights,
almost without rest or sleep, burdened with a
feeling of anxious grief at the sad cause of her
journey, bewildered by the constant and hurried
change from steamboat to car, and car to steam-
boat, and oppressed with the crowd of ever-
changing, yet always strange and curious faces
by which she was surrounded, Kathleen found

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herself at last within a few hours' ride of her
brother-in-law's farm.

The last three days had been so full of con-
fusing and oppressive changes that they seemed
to her like a troubled dream ; and it was with
somewhat of the same sensations as those with
which the slumbercr rouses himself from the
nightmare that she welcomed the end of her
journey. The twilight was just deepening into
evening when she entered the cars which were
to carry her within a few miles of her brother's
place. All the seats seemed full, but at last the
conductor found her an unoccupied one.

The cars moved rapidly on, and, for nearly an
hour, Kathleen sat with her veil closely drawn
over her face, trying her best to make her stock
of patience, which had dwindled down to its
lowest point, last a little longer. She could
hardly subdue her restlessness, her eager longing
to be at once with her sister. All at once, she
remembered that it was necessary to ask the
conductor to let her know when the cars arrived
at Charlesville. She was to stop there, and
obtain a carriage of some sort to go to the place
of her destination. She looked around for him,
but he was nowhere to be seen. She waited
until she feared that, in the increasing darkness,
they might pass Charlesville without her know-
ledge.

" Perhaps the gentleman by me can tell me
about it," thought she ; and she half turned
towards him to ask him the question. But she
saw what seemed merely a great coat and a hat,
with the tip of a nose ; evidently the gentleman
was enjoying a deep slumber. Kathleen did not
venture to arouse him. Fortunately, in a few
minutes a sudden jolt threw him a little forward
and woke him. Kathleen turned to him before
he had time to adjust himself for another nap —

" Can you tell me," said she, in a hesitating
voice, and putting back her veil that she might
be understood more easily, " how far we are
from Charlesville'?"

The gentleman, who sat turned from the
window, was in deep shadow, but the bright
moonlight fell full on Kathleen's face. The
gentleman addressed turned politely towards
her —

" I believe, madam, it is about — Kathleen ! —
is it possible?"

" Mr. Carroll !" And it was with difficulty
that Kathleen could control herself, worn out as
she was by fatigue and anxiety. But she would
not on any account have allowed Mr. Carroll to
discover the real state of her feelings towards
him.

She explained to him the different circum-

stances that had brought her first to New York
and then to Michigan; and, in return, Mr.
Carroll informed her that, soon after leaving
Ireland, he had joined a brother of his, who was
advantageously employed on the railroads in
America, and had remained there ever since.
He was at present busy in completing the rail-
road on which they were then travelling.

While they were still conversing, the train
reached Charlesville.

" There is no regular conveyance from this
place to your brother's farm," said Mr. Carroll
to Kathleen ; " but, if you will wait in the
ladies' saloon a few minutes, I think I shall be
able to obtain you some kind of conveyance."

He seemed, as a matter of course, to take
upon himself the charge of Kathleen, and she
was equally contented to find some one who
would relieve her from the heavy burden of
acting for herself in a situation so new to her.
In a few minutes he returned, saying that he
had found a little light wagon, which was now
ready for her. After he had seated her comfort-
ably in it, Kathleen was astonished to see that
he sprang in and took the reins, with the evident
intention of driving.

"Are you not going on in the cars?" she
asked. " Don't go so far out of your way on
my account, I beg."

" Ah, it will be too pleasant a ride to Mr.
Dickson's, this moonlight evening, for me to
lose it willingly," said he.

" Do you know him ? Have you ever seen
my sister since her marriage ?" asked Kathleen,
with a sudden pang. For, if he had known that
Mrs. Dickson was her sister, he would probably
have learned that she was in New York ; and,
in that case, his not having made an effort to see
her would prove his indifference.

" I know Mr. Dickson slightly, and I passed
his house once or twice a year or two ago ; but
I had not heard of his marriage till you told me
of it."

Kathleen was somewhat relieved, and they
drove on for a few minutes in silence. The
moon shone brightly overhead, the trees waved
slowly in the gentle evening breeze, the air
was heavy with the sweet odors of the forest
around. A profound stillness wrapt the whole
earth. At last, Mr. Carroll spoke —

" There is something in this night that re-
minds me of the last evening I walked with you
in Ireland. Do you remember it?"

" Yes," said Kathleen, in a low voice. She
had just been recalling the same time.

" You made me very happy that evening. Do
you remember?"

godey's course of lessons in drawing.

125

Kathleen smiled.

" And more unhappy the next day than I ever
thought I could be made by any human being."

He had no need to ask Kathleen if she recalled
that and the subsequent interview, for her
countenance revealed her vivid memory of the
past.

" I vowed then that I would never give an-
other woman the same power over me, and I
have kept that resolution very well so far. But
I don't know that I made an especial vow
against you. I hope I didn't, for I am afraid I
should not have kept it. Could you not treat me
a little better than you did then, Kathleen?"

" Yes," was the reply ; and, for some time,
Mr. Carroll had to be contented with that sim-
ple confession. But, in the course of the long
and exciting conversation that followed, Kath-
leen allowed .a few inadvertent remarks to slip
from her. These led to sudden and delightful
suspicions on Mr. Carroll's part ; and, at last,
he contrived to extort from Kathleen the real
truth with regard to her feelings towards him —
that she had never loved, nor ever, under any
circumstances, could love any one but a certain
Robert Carroll, who had left her in a sudden
pique five years before.

Before Mr. Carroll had half finished his ex-
pressions of grateful joy at this confession, or
of anger at himself for his unforgiving temper,
as he stigmatized what he had formerly called a
proper feeling of self-respect, they had reached
Mr. Dickson's, and Kathleen found herself,
almost before she knew where she was, in her
sister's sick room.

To her great delight, she found Annie, her
sister, recovering. Then, for the first time, she
yielded to her feelings, and wept for a few
minutes violently. But tears of happiness are
soon dried, and, before the evening was over,
Kathleen began to think herself the most blest
of mortals.

In a few days, Mr. Carroll asked her again to
drive with him. This time she did not disap-
point him. In the course of their drive, they
passed a very pretty romantic-looking house,
standing on a little elevation among a grove of
noble old trees.

" There, Kathleen, that is our house. Do you
see it 1 I thought a year or two ago of keeping
bachelor's hall there ; but I suppose you would
not hear of such a thing now V

"Yes; I have no objection certainly."

Mr. Carroll looked incredulous.

GODEY'S COUKSE OF LESSONS IN DEAWING.

LESSON VIII.
figure and object drawing (Continued).

In Fig. 22 the pupil must put the shading in
by as few strokes as possible, and in such a

Fig. 22.

manner as to obtain the rough appearance in the
copy.

The manner of putting in the foliage, &c. ol
an ash-tree is exemplified in Fig. 23 ; the strokes
must be given in a quick, free manner, and the

23.

branches in graceful curves. Fig. 24 illustrates
the manner of delineating oak-foliage, which is

11*

done in a style very different from the former.
The branches of an oak are twisted in endless

126

godey's magazine and lady's book.

variety; the foliage is drawn in a more angular
style than that of the ash; it must, however,
be kept free and loose, without formality.

In Fig. 25 the manner of delineating the
foliage of a willow is shown ; it is somewhat
similar to that of the ash.

Fig. 24.

In drawing the windmill in Fig. 26, the out-
line is to be drawn in a broken manner, so as to
agree with the subject; a little decided shading
on the lower part will give an effect, and the
grass to be executed in a rough manner.

The sketch of a ship in Fig. 27 is given with

Fig. 25.

Fig. 26.

Fig. 27.

a view of showing the reflection of objects in
water. Water in a perfectly quiescent state re-
flects the objects placed in it almost as distinctly
as the objects themselves, only a little darker;
the darker the water is, the less distinct will the
lights be.

WEDDING-RINGS.

The singular custom of wearing wedding-rings
appears to have taken its rise among the Romans.

Before the celebrating of their nuptials, there
was a meeting of friends at the house of the
lady's father to settle the articles of the marriage
contract, when it was agreed that the dowiy
should be paid down on the wedding-day, or
soon after. On this occasion there was generally
a feast, at the conclusion of which, the man
gave the woman a ring as a pledge, which she
put on the fourth finger of her left hand, be-
cause it was believed that a nerve reached from
thenee to the heart, and a day was then fixed for
the marriage.

LETTEKS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND HER " DEAR,

DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY HOEACE MATJIEW.

THE EIGHTH LETTER LEFT.

{Dated May 1st.)

SHOWING WHAT TOOK PLACE AT SCHOOL ON A

MOST IMPORTANT OCCASION.

There is no school to-day, Nelly. We have
got a holiday, and I mean to enjoy it by writing
to you, dearest.

My pretty Eleanor must know that it has
been our confirmation morning. At last they
are all off; and it has been such a busy time of
crying and laughing — of such frivolity one mo-
ment, and hysterical excitement the next — that
I am not sorry they are gone. I thought they
never would be ready ! The fuss began as early
as six o'clock. First of all the clergyman came
— then the hairdresser (though he styles himself
on his cards "artiste en cheveux") — then a
breathless milliner — then a puffing shoemaker —
then more milliners and more shoemakers — so
that really it has been nothing but hurry, flurry,
worry, skurry, ever since we opened our eyes
this morning. The door-knocker has been
going incessantly for four hours — and there
seemed to be a competition between it and the
girls' tongues as to which of the two should
make the greater noise. So if my letter throbs
with a slight headache, Nell, you will know
exactly on whose head to lay the fault.

To begin, Lizzy's dress was too short, and
Jessie's was so long that it might have run an
express train (Meggy Sharpe said) all the way
to Brentford ! More than this, the two Suetts
could not get their frocks to meet, and it was
laughable to see them running about, begging
of every one to help to lace them. No one's
dress seemed to fit, excepting Amy Darling's ;
but I believe, if Amy was to try on a barrister's
silk gown, that by some miracle it would fit her
as beautifully as the dresses in the Petit Courrier
des Dames !

Poor Mary Owen seemed in a dream. It
made me unhappy to notice her. She was to be
dressed in an ugly, thick, bed-gowny garment,
but it was thought " quite good enough for her."
Her cheeks were transparently pale. Her large
eyes, so full of sorrow, were lit up with a strange
radiance as if a light was burning behind them.

It put me in mind of the light I have sometimes
seen burning over a tomb ; and as I saw Mary's
lips move as if in silent prayer, the picture of a
tomb in some gloomy vault, with the dark figure
of a woman stretched over it, rose without my
helping it before my imagination. I thought
Mary was the mourner, and the tomb was the
one in which were buried all her hopes of hap-
piness in this world.

A warm color flushed over the poor girl's face
(like the tint of a cathedral window falling on
some marble statue) when she first noticed the
difference between her shroud-like frock and
the gay dresses of her companions ; but it quickly
passed away, like a bad thought one 's been
ashamed to think of. After she had assisted to
dress Amy, she was going to put on her ugly
gown, when Amy pushed it aside and brought
forth one just like her own, made by the same
dressmaker out of the same materials, and sent
by her mamma for "dear Mary."

Then, Nelly, poor Owen was quite overcome
— weeping, reproaching, and caressing Amy by
turns — saying first " it was too bad of her," and
then that "it was too good of her," and hanging
round her neck as if she was the only one dear
object on earth she had to cling to — and doing
it all so touchingly that in less time than you
can put on your bonnet we were all crying, and
I firmly believe (so contagious is goodness,
Nelly) that every girl present was angry with
herself that she had not done the same thing,
and wished in atonement to pull off her beautiful
dress, and offer it to Mary.

This crying took so long that there would not
have been a piece of dry muslin carried to
church that day, if the Lady Principal had not
come up stairs to inquire into the reason of the
delay. There she found the artiste tearing his
hair (after the old approved French recipe for
desespoir) in such a liberal manner as to soon
require the use of one of his own wigs; there
she heard the governesses exhausted with scold-
ing ; there she saw the girls with red eyes and
"rats' tails" that "would be a disgrace to any
school." Oh, dear I oh, dear! what a storm
there was after our little shower!

It was a lovely sight, Nelly, these twelve

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young girls in pure white, with their long lace
reils — many of them pretty enough for brides —
and vall of them beautified for the occasion, al-
though, except with Mary and Amy, I do not
think there was much thought of religion in their
souls. It seemed to me that their thoughts were
all wrapt up in their fine clothes.

Carney was the only ugly one, sneaking and
prying behind her veil, as if it could conceal
from heavenly eyes her want of truthfulness.
And those proud creatures — Noble and Peacock !
May I always be as poor as one of our Saturday's
dinners, if they hadn't got Honiton veils and
white bouquets to distinguish them from the rest 1
On an occasion like the present, I think they
might have kept their pride in their drawers at
home — n'est-ce-pas, Nelly?

Just as they were starting, the Lady Principal
came into the room to address " a few words of
motherly admonition to her dear children."
She had scarcely got half way through her first
sentence of big words — every one of which rolled
along as heavily as an omnibus on a breaking-up
day — when she espied Mary's graceful appear-
ance. She grew crimson at the sight, and, call-
ing her forward, inquired, in a voice as ragged
and as cutting as a saw, "Pray, Miss Owen,
inform me why you have presumed to wear
other than the costume I considered suited to
your position. What new pride, I should like
to know, is this, my fine young lady?"

Before Mary could stammer out a word, Amy
had darted forward, and was " telling the whole
tale." The dress had arrived too late to consult
the Lady Principal ; she was very sorry it had
not been done:; if it was any one's fault, it was
hers ; and she begged that the punishment might
not be visited upon any one else, but upon her
alone. As the noble girl spoke, the white veil
round her head shone like a bright fleecy cloud,
and her voice sounded in my ears like an angel's
that was speaking out of it.

There was no time for lecturing, or the in-
dulgence of spite or revenge, or else I am sure
Mary would have had, after all, to wear the
white smock ; and as for Amy, I tremble, dear,
like a dish of blancmange, to think what tortures
might have been in store for her!

Well, after pivoting them round and round to
see that all was tidy, and everybody running to
fetch something that had been forgotten, the
chosen twelve were pronounced "ready," and
divided in two parties, six for each yellow fly.

At this point, Mrs. Dove made her appearance
in the room. Her eyes were swollen, as though
she had only just left off crying. She was
dressed in the deepest mourning, and as she

pressed her baby boy to her bosom, she looked a
sad picture of woman's acutest suffering. There
was something so solemn, so pathetic in the
contrast of her dark widowhood amongst these
youthful bridal figures, that awe stopped every
tongue, and we suddenly stood still, looking
pitifully on her grief, and for the moment be-
coming sharers in it. She did not say a word,
but somehow her sorrow spoke to us with the
eloquence of a touching sermon. Each step,
each look was a heart-rending appeal to our
sympathies ; to gaze upon her was to feel filled
with charity. I daren't look round, but I am
sure there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

She placed the sleeping infant in Blight's
arms, and joined the party that was going to
church ; for it seems that, though married, she
had never been confirmed, and that she had
secretly prepared for the ceremony.

Poor struggling widow ! There at least was
faith and hope, for without them what would
her life be worth? No finery — no Honiton
laces — no love of show had urged her to her
present act — no tender exhortations of a young
and handsome clergyman had prepared her
spirit, and yet, Mary dear, from my heart I
prayed that, when I was confirmed, it might be
as she was — in humble religious sincerity and my
common everyday dress.

Oh ! here they are back. I must run to hear
all about it. Excuse this abrupt flight of
Yours, Nelly love,

The same as ever,

Kitty.
P. S. The Lady Principal is delighted. The
Reverend Mr. Meltam (his hair is parted so
beautifully down the middle, dear) complimented
her upon the " extremely good behavior of her
pupils." The whole twelve, and Mrs. Dove
too, are invited to take supper with her this
evening.

P. S. I don't mind telling you, Nelly, we are
going to have a supper to-night ; not a common
supper with the governesses — off stale sandwiches
and small beer — but a snug little supper up stairs
in our own bedroom — sweets smuggled in a fright,
and eaten all of a tremble. The excitement is
the best part of it, though I must confess justice
is generally done to the sausage-rolls, the ban-
bury-puffs, and the other dainties provided. We
wait until Blight has gone her visiting rounds.
When everything is quiet, Lucy Wilde or Rosy
Mary begins telling some horrible story, often
reciting an entire novel in a quarter of an hour.
As soon as we are sure all spies are asleep, and
that there 's not even a mouse stirring, the wax-
ends, stuck into pomatum-pots, aro lighted

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.

129

(unless the moon graciously gives us the light
of her countenance), and the feasting begins.
There are only six girls in our room — Wilde,
Mary, Sharpe, St. Ledger, Embden, and my
worthy self. Fraulein sleeps in a little closet,
about as big as a china-cupboard, called a dress-
ing-room; but she is a good hard sleeper, and
never wakes or hears anything of our midnight
revels. Once, however, I thought I heard her
giggling under the bedclothes, when Sharpe was
telling a frightful German tragedy. Perhaps
she was enjoying the fun quietly by herself,
though why she should laugh, when every one
else was shivering with fear over the frightful
love incidents, is more than I can tell. Well,
Nelly, the banquet is spread on one of the girl's
beds, round which we all sit, somewhat in tailor
fashion. There is not much variety in our en-
tertainments, as we can only send to the con-
fectioner's ; but it does not matter. If we had
roasted peacocks, or sweetmeats prepared by
nuns, or all the rich things in the Lord Mayor's
larder, we could not enjoy them more. It is
such rare fun, and worth any of the grand din-
ners you go to, Nelly. Sometimes an alarm is
given, and, quicker than any conjuror's trick,
the wax-ends are extinguished, the goodies dis-
appear no one knows where, and in less than a
minute every one is fast asleep. It 's very strange,
but Blight, let her call as loud as she will, never

can wake us. This trick, however, is sometimes
sadly annoying. The rapidity of the change
crumbles the light pastry all into nothing, and
in the quickness of the transformation one can-
not always recollect whose turn it is to be helped
next. Besides, there is the danger, as you jump
into bed in the dark, of falling upon half-a-dozen
"turnovers," which, in the hurry of the sur-
prise, have been swept in between your sheets
to get them out of the way. On one occasion I
saw St. Ledger smeared all over with jam, until
she looked like a large "rolly-polly pudding."
How we did laugh, to be sure ! As our suppers
are rather rich, we generally have a little eau de
Cologne sprinkled on a lump of sugar — just suf-
ficient to scare away the nightmare — though we
prefer the essence of peppermint (when we can
get it) mixed with a little water. You can't
think how nice and warming it is ! To-night
Embden has got a cucumber and some maids-of-
honor, and we expect a rare treat. By-the-by,
Nelly, when you come and see me, remember
our supper-table. Bring something sweet and
rich with you, and put into your pocket some
wax-ends. Our stock of chandlery is rather low
at present. Come soon, there 's a dear pet.

P. S. By-the-by, a lump of sugar and a few
drops of eau de Cologne sprinkled over it, is a
capital recipe for making the eyes bright.

CELESTIAL PHE K 0 ME N A.— AU GU S T.

BY D. W. BELISLE.

DRACO. — This constellation composes a large
portion of the polar regions in its ample folds,
and may be readily traced by its many brilliant
stars. The head, which is situated directly
north of Hercules, is easily distinguished by
means of four stars, which are three degrees four
minutes and five degrees apart, so situated as to
form an irregular square, the two upper ones
being the brightest, and are of the second mag-
nitude. Etanin has been rendered noted in
modern astronomy from its connection with the
discovery of a new law in physical science,
called the aberration of light. The other bright
star, four degrees from it on the left, is Rastaben,
and four degrees west of Rastaben is a small star
which marks the nose of Draco, and which,
together with the other four, forms the figure of
the letter V. Seventeen degrees from Rastaben,
Draco forms a perfect coil near the feet of Her-

cules ; thence it winds northwardly fourteen
degrees to the second coil, where he reaches
nearly the girdle of Cepheus in the second coil ;
then he loops down somewhat in the shape of a
U, and makes a third coil fifteen degrees below
the first. From this point he turns westwardly
fifteen degrees, then goes directly down, passing
between the head of the Lesser and tail of the
Greater Bear. Its whole number of stars is
eighty, many of which are very minute.

This constellation is of Egyptian origin, and
was so named when astronomy was first culti-
vated in Chaldea. By some mythologists, Draco
was supposed to be the dragon which guarded the
golden apples in the garden of the Hesperides.
Juno, who presented these apples to Jupiter on
the day of their nuptials, took Draco up to heaven
and made a constellation of him. There are other
superstitions, but they arc evidently erroneous.

130

godey's magazine and lady's book

LYRA. — This beautiful little cluster is ren-
dered memorable by one of the most beautiful
stars in this part of the hemisphere. It is situ-
ated south of the first coil of Draco, and, when
on the meridian, is directly overhead. It con-
tains twenty-one stars, the principal of which is
Vega, usually known by the name of the group
Lyra. There is no possibility of mistaking this
star for any other, as there is no other within
many degrees of it of equal lustre. There are
two small stars east of it, and two degrees apart,
which form with it a small triangle. Vega
comes to the meridian the 13th of August. The
surpassing brightness of this star has attracted
the admiration of astronomers in all ages.
Manilius, who wrote in the age of Augustus,
thus alludes to it —

" One, placed in front above the rest, displays
A vigorous light, and darts surprising rays."

This is asserted to be the lyre with which
Orpheus entered the infernal regions in search
of his lost Eurydice, and so charmed Pluto and
Proserpine that they consented to yield up the
minstrel's bride.

SAGITTARIUS.— This constellation is situ-
ated east of Scorpio, and occupies a considerable
space in the heavens, although its stars are of
small magnitude. It may readily be distin-
guished by five small stars forming the shape of
a dipper, which is generally known as the Milk-
Dipper, because it partly rests on the Milky-
Way.

This constellation is founded respectively on
Egyptian, Dendera, Estne, and India Zodiacs,
and all that is known of its origin is that it
extends back beyond these records of the past.

THE EAGLE AND ANTINOUS.— This
double constellation is situated north of Sagit-
tarius, and may be distinguished by its superior
brilliancy and beauty. Altair, a star of the first
magnitude, is situated equidistant from two
smaller ones, the three forming a straight line.
Tarazed, the most northern of this row, is a star
of the second magnitude, and with two others
forms a beautiful curve in a southern direction.
Delta, the lower star in this curve, with two
others of equal brilliancy, curves again south,
the bend being in a direction opposite to the
first. These two curves joined, and portrayed
against the clear evening sky, form one of the
most striking figures in the heavens.

This constellation is partly of ancient and
partly of modern origin. The whole group was
formerly called the Eagle, which was asserted to

have been Merops, who was changed into this
bird, and in that form placed among the constel-
lations. Antinous was so named from a youth
in Asia Minor, whose death was so much
lamented by the Emperor Adrian that he erect-
ed a temple to his memory, and built in honor
of him a splendid city on the banks of the Nile,
the ruins of which are still visited by travellers
with much interest.

ECLIPSES. — These phenomena are caused by
the interposition of a body between the orbs and
the earth. The number of eclipses cannot be
over seven or less than two in one year, and
those of the sun are caused by the moon passing
between it and the earth, thus intercepting her
light. An eclipse of the moon takes place when
the earth passes between her and the sun, and
thus throwing a shadow on the moon intercepts
her light. There are but few instances of days
being turned into night by a total darkening of
the sun, and they were formerly beheld by man-
kind with terror and amazement as prodigies
portending calamity and misery. One that was
observed in Portugal one hundred and fifty
years ago created a darkness so sudden and
profound that birds in the air fell to the ground.
Another remarkable one occurred June 18, 1806,
in New England. The day was clear, and seve-
ral stars were visible. Beasts came lowing from
the fields, and, with their masters, exhibited
signs of terror and dismay. The natives of
Mexico keep fasts during eclipses, imagining
the sun has been wounded in a quarrel with the
moon. Other nations have imagined the sun
turned away her face in abhorrence of the crimes
on earth. Columbus, when driven to extremity,
saved himself and crew by predicting an eclipse,
assuring the natives of the New World that the
Deity was angry at their treatment of him, and,
to show his anger, would turn away the light of
the sun the third day after. The eclipse occur-
red, the natives were terrified, and freely gave
the assistance, but for which the discoverer must
have perished.

ORIGIN OF NEW YEAR'S GIFTS.

The ancients made presents out of respect on
the New Year's Day, as a happy augury for the
ensuing year, which were called Strence. Sym-
machus adds that the use of them was first in-
troduced by King Tatius, Romulus's colleague,
who received branches of vervain, gathered in
the sacred grove of the goddess Strenua, as a
happy presage.

THE DONATION VISIT IN FAIKVIEW,

BY THE AUTHOR OF M MY BROTHER TOM.

Aunt Tamar Connor is one of the oldest
inhabitants of the town of Fairview. And what
is very much to her honor, in this day of dis-
guises and false attractions, she is not ashamed
of her age, and, single maiden as she is, she
makes no attempt to conceal the number of
years that she has inhabited the pleasant town
in which her busy lot is cast. Indeed, Tamar
Connor's biography being part of the ecclesiasti-
cal history of the place, she could not disguise
her age if she would. So she makes a merit of
necessity, and, if any one should question her
upon a passage of antediluvian history, we do
think she would poke the end of her knitting-
needle under her cap, and consider before she
answered.

Being a public character and a sort of living
precedent, a way-mark in the annals of Fair-
view, Aunt Tamar's name is in everybody's
mouth, and this the more naturally since she is
an oracle on all matters of past history, present
propriety and expediency, and future probability.
But the name, like other familiar and household
words, could not be rolled over so many tongues
without getting its sharp corners rubbed off— as
a pebble rolled among the shingle on the beach
becomes, by rubbing, round and smooth as a
filbert. Constant repetition has shortened the
word, and caused the elision of the last conso-
nant, until, out of Tamar, by euphony, Tammy
is produced. Tammy Connor is a female Figaro.
It is Tammy here and Tammy there, Tammy,
Tammy everywhere.

Everybody declares, with Aunt Tamar at
their head, that Fairview is a pretty place. And
everybody is right. The best elements of the
picturesque are united in its landscape. Abrupt
hills, capped with ornamented houses; ocean
cliffs, surmounted with here a miniature castle
and there a Swiss cottage ; wooden gothics,
Italian villas, Grecian temples, Indian veran-
dahs, and American nondescripts furnish all
varieties of model and form. Once in a while,
an old farm-house has been found in an eligible
place for improvement; and, being bought for
that purpose, is so converted with paint, crot-
chets, corbeilles, rackets, points, turrets, and
tracery, that its old windows peep out from
under the load of roof and trimmings like frolic
eyes from under grandmother's teen bonnet,

with its bows and bedizenment. These are the
summer dwellings of the cits whom railroads
have invited out of town. Old Ocean seems to
dance and tumble before them in high apprecia-
tion of one sensible fashion which the varying
round of human fancies has brought about. It
is certainly better to live, with one's family, in
such a place, through the warm months, quiet,
comfortable, and domestic, and withal within
the reach of business, than to be crowded, with-
out comfort, in some huge hotel, at a fashion-
able watering or bathing-place.

In the midst of these wilder and bizarre fea-
tures are quiet nooks of homelike comfort, green
slopes and vales, cultivated gardens and inclo-
sures, the residences of the inhabitants proper,
who have caught the contagion of ornament,
and applied the renovating brush to their build-
ings. Clumps of trees, wisely left, shelter and
protect them. The blending of these various
tastes, the ornate and the practical, the beauti-
fully wild and the charmingly cultivated, with
the glancing waters of the ocean for a back-
ground, do, indeed, compose as pretty a picture
as eye could desire to rest upon. And when
Aunt Tammy, with her honest pride of birth,
sings the praises of Fairview, nobody dared or
even desired to contradict her.

There is another feature of the landscape in
Fairview which must not be forgotten — its eight
church-towers and spires. The old original still
supports the effigy of the cock which warned
St. Peter; the others have various ornaments.
One has an angel with a trumpet, another a
comet, and another is an effort to create the
appearance of a star supporting something which
looks like a great bug. Another — tell it not in
Leyden, whisper it not in Plymouth — actually
is surmounted with a cross. The congregation
is most congregational among Congregationalists,
and anti-prelatical among protesters against pre-
lacy, yet still they have a cross ! The architect
wished to avoid the Latin cross, so took the
Greek ; but, as he mounted the equal arms of
the Greek cross upon a long upright, he unwit-
tingly constructed the only emblem under which
the Pope and the Patriarch might shake hands
together.

With its eight churches, Fairview can only,
by the most ambitious enumeration, count four

131

132

godey's magazine and lady's book.

or five thousand inhabitants, even at the height
of the summer solstice. And, as among these
are found the usual proportion of people whose
gifts for religious purposes are " nothing to no-
body," it required all the industry and ingenuity
of those who are willing to give to devise ways
and means for the support of all these churches.
In the good old times, when the chanticleer on
the old steeple had an eye over all as belonging
to his parish, there was no difficulty about the
minister's support. But Aunt Tammy Connor
led the way, or was one of those who led the
way in the schism by which, as the polypus
grows where it is cut, eight churches grew out
of one. Therefore it is well to be supposed that
she took a deep interest in religious fiscal mat-
ters. Many years ago, when Tamar Connor was
young and ardent, she, with other members of
the then one flock, desired and conspired to be
set off and establish a new church and society.
She applied to the church for her dismission and
certificate of regular standing. And the church,
as if it did not know all about it, asked Tamar
if she was going out of town ; and, if she was
not going, why she desired to take leave. We
can't tell all the particulars, but we know that,
according to all tradition, there arose a great
commotion in Fairview. There was a council
ecclesiastical, an assembly of divines, second
hardly, in their own opinion, as to weight
of business, to the Westminster, and the sub-
ject of their debate was whether they should
let Tammy go ; and, if she went, where she
should go, there being no other flock in Fair-
view ; and whether they could suffer her to un-
fold herself, there being no other fold to take
her in. Tammy's case was the test case ; and,
after deliberation and — dinner, and deliberation
again and — tea, and deliberation again, they
decided that Tammy might go, if she must,
though sore against the wishes of her pastor,
whose prophetic eye discovered the increase of
congregations and the diminution of support.
So Tammy went, and others too ; and thus
arose the second church in Fairview, and six
have risen since.

Beautiful in summer, Fairview has its winter
beauties, too. Nothing could be more charming
in its cold pure brightness than the wide sheet of
snow over field and hill. The trees, sparkling
with icicles, or loaded with snow, or presenting
a fairy tracery against the winter sky, in their
nakedness are beautiful. And when the noble
pines and other evergreens have shaken off the
feathery white, and stand in green contrast with
the scene and with the season, Aunt Tammy
Connor is justified in declaring that, summer or

winter, Fairview is a delightful place. So think
not those summer birds, the cits, who abandon
their country homes when the cold sets in, and
are off for the city. Their windows are even
boarded up, their statues and fountains are re-
moved or covered, and the splendid country-
seats are in winter doleful enough. Yet then
old Ocean is most sublime, and the stern beau-
ties of the winter scene are worthy twice over
the mud and soiled snow of the town. So says
Aunt Tammy, and she is not so far wrong
either.

It was just at this season of the year that our
little sketch opens. Aunt Tamar Connor's min-
ister, who, when he first came to Fairview,
divided the town with the old parish, and had a
small family and a large salary, had now a
salary rather less nominally, and actually much
smaller, since more money would buy less than
of old; or, rather, wants had multiplied. He
had, moreover, as ministers usually have, no
lack of children. And he was getting in the
vale of years. His sermons were pronounced
"good, solid, old-fashioned discourses," the
right kind for Aunt Tammy and her confede-
rates. But the young people wanted more life,
or genius, or something, they knew not what,
and the six newer churches were taking away
his flock, even as he had taken a part of that
of old chanticleer. The church under that
steeple had changed also, and a young new light
was restoring its youth. Aunt Tammy saw that
something must be done.

Fancy fairs, mite societies, missionary boxes,
all the usual and unusual modes of beguiling
the penurious into beneficence, and the liberal
into increased munificence, had been tried.
Christmas was at hand, and Tammy happened
to know — what was there that she did not hap-
pen to know ? — that the minister's family were
not at all prepared for it. Aunt Tammy is a
little body, and active and efficient, as little
bodies are apt to be. She has been pretty, and
even now is far from being disagreeable. She
has a pleasant chatty way with her, which
reconciles you to her interference even in what
you feel is not her business. She can make
inquiries in such a natural and easy way that
the person questioned never hesitates to answer.
She can insinuate a direction or a bit of advice
with such an air of confidence that it will bo
followed, that he or she who can resist must be
hard-hearted, indeed, so full is her heart and
manner of good intentions. She knows every-
body's secrets, and everybody's family history
and circumstances. She has a nice perception
of character and of the proprieties, and can un-

THE DONATION VISIT IN FAIRVIEW.

133

derstand precisely how far it will do for a
maiden lady to proceed in any direction. She is
not above a little presse when address will an-
swer better than a bold and open push, and is
self-denying enough to conceal her part and
agency — at least until a thing is fairly started.
Then, indeed, she may come in with her claim
to honor and notice.

The reader will readily guess, then, how it
happened that Fairview became all alive with
talk about a projected "donation party." All
the town talked of it, though only a part could
directly participate ; for it would be something
like denying the faith and becoming an infidel
to " donate" to any but your own minister. At
the very least, it would be robbing Peter to pay
Paul. But all could talk. Fairview is a small
town, but its fund of talk is large. It must be
a religious place, with eight churches. To sup-
pose else were a great scandal. Its conversation
was chiefly on religious subjects, and so forth ;
the etcetera being the more prominent themes,
and consisting of such matters as the following,
to wit: Clergymen, their wardrobes and their
habits, the chronology of their coats, and the
quality and quantity of their cigars; the time
of their daily rising ; the quantity of butter they
like to their toast; their debts, if they contract
any, and their extravagance, if they walk over a
toll-bridge, when they might sneak over on a
railroad track toll free. Their wives, and their
wives' wardrobes, domestic servants, if they
keep any, and children; whether the lady is
proud or not ; how she can be so extravagant as
to wear the net shawl which some city friend,
more liberal than wise, has given her, though,
poor soul ! she atones for the high price of her
shawl by wearing a ninepenny calico frock un-
der it. These, and other like pious topics, are
the natural atmosphere of talk in sewing circles
" for the benefit of the church." The projected
donation party spread the same kind of gossip
over a large surface.

All the young people beset Aunt Tammy.
To be sure, a donation party was no new thing ;
but there had been none for so long a time in
the village that it took the character of a novelty,
and some of the younger people had never wit-
nessed one. To them it would have the sharp
edge of an untried excitement.

" Did you ever see a donation party ?"

" Yes, indeed," said Aunt Tammy ; " but we
used to call them Giving Bees. Who talks of
getting one up?"

" Everybody in our society ; and we thought,
to be sure, you must have started it."
vol. xlix. — 12

" Me, indeed !" said Tamar, with a sly smile ;
" as if I did everything."

"Ah, we know you, Aunt Tammy. Come,
tell us how it 's done."

" Oh, well, if you will have me into it, I sup-
pose the minister would like some shirts, and
that little boy wants a coat, and the minister's
wife a frock." And so she went on through
various articles, of which, as we have said, she
happened to know they were in need at the par-
sonage. Coal and wood, and candles and gro-
ceries, she said, never came amiss. "And
money," added Aunt Tammy, laughing, "is
always a cash article."

It was wonderful, the indefatigability of the
little maiden. The whole thing was in a de-
lightful way of success, and the hints which she
gave at the parsonage opened hopes, which had
been not a little dampened, that the end of the
year would bring both ends to meet. Aunt
Tammy was delighted, dear disinterested soul,
and well she might be. The good work was of
her conception and her promotion, and the share
of pleasure she took in it was fairly hers. Aunt
Tammy was not one of those who carry round
the hat, and count that their share of the collec-
tion, for she was prepared to give, according to
her means, more than they all. The spinster's
mite is as fruitful as the widow's.

But alas! "The best laid schemes of mice
and men gang aft agley." There was an oppo-
sition party in the second parish in Fairview.
A young widow, formerly one of Aunt Tammy's
Sunday school scholars, and the only one whose
ears she had ever found it necessary to box, had
treasured up her wrath for fifteen long years.
She had married ; but that did not efface the
blow. She had lost her only child, but still recol-
lected the tingle of the old maid's fingers. She
buried her husband ; but even then did not bury
her vindictive wrath. She never would be
happy while Tammy Connor sat in the gate of
the second parish in Fairview — to Widow Shute
another king's gate where Tammy Connor was
a Mordecai in petticoats. Widow Shute had
pretty eyes, black, and, when she chose, not a
little spiteful. Widow Shute had delightful
raven tresses. Widow Shute was a brunette,
with the brightest carnation peeping through
her dark skin. She could smile to enchantment.
She could talk to bewitch you. And she re-
solved, there and then, to raise the standard of
revolt in the second parish in Fairview, against
the dictatorial pretensions of " old Tabby Con-
nor." Old Tabby ! To what base uses mav wo
come at last, even beTore we shuffle off" our

134

mortal coil, when a dashing young widow sets
about undermining us.

As fast as Tamar built, Widow Shute ma-
liciously pulled down. We grieve to say it, but
a young widow was too many guns for an old
maid. The excitement was prodigious. Poor
minister Moulton was almost pulled to pieces ;
and, as to his family, dear me ! If the rending
had been literal, and not metaphorical, there
would not have been a shred of them left. It
was even said that the bound girl had nothing
to eat, and less to wear, while the children had
butter to their sponge-cake and broadcloth un-
der-garments. As to Mrs. Moulton, she slept
on down, and drank tea out of a silver pot (too
true, alas ! but it was her only patrimony, that
old tea-service). Mr. Moulton smoked three
cigars every day, and sometimes four. (But
decidedly the worst part of his conduct did not
leak out. He bought his cigars, to my know-
ledge, four for a penny !) It was wonderful
how the failings of the Moultons became bruited
abroad.

Aunt Tammy Connor found out the mischief
that was going on, and tried to propitiate the
Widow Shute. She asked her to take part in
the proceeding. " No, indeed ! not she !"

The night arrived, and dire was the dismay
of Parson Moulton's friends. The house was
well lighted, but the lamps shone in empty
rooms. The Widow Shute had labored with
telling effect. There came at length some visit-
ors, and Tammy strove to put them in good
spirits, while she declared, with a little extension
of the truth, that the matter was not so unsuc-
cessful after all. She counted and counted,
carrying more than one for every ten, till she
raised the evening's donations " almost up to a
hundred dollars, only think !" But it was dull
music ; and the few young people who had come
began to think that a donation party could be
" no such great things after all, just as the Widow
Shute had said."

And was the widow present? No, indeed,
not she ! But there was one there whom nobody
knew. She was a little old woman with a cane,
and she brought her donation — six copper cents
wrapped in a piece of newspaper, which she de-
posited on the table with great circumstance.
Everybody laughed ; who could help it ? Every-
body we mean but Aunt Tammy. She told them
'"■they should know better; they might be de-
spising the widow's mite." People looked at
the stranger, and she pulled down her hood.

The Moultons gave their guests the best wel-
come they could, and tried to feel happy. But
it was a constrained affair for hosts and for

guests. It fell short, and nothing satisfies which
disappoints. The poor minister felt worse than
all the rest what he was compelled to considei
the waning regard of his people.

" Here, Aunt Tammy," said the postmasters
boy, coming in just as the party were thinking
of separating, " are the letters for you, you told
me to bring."

" That 's a man," said aunty, her face bright-
ening up, as she handed the lad refreshments,
and proceeded to open her letters. " This," said
she, "is from Mr. Brown, who lives, in the
summer, in the castle house, and contains twenty
dollars, donation !"

" My !" cried two or three voices.

" And here are twenty more from the Veran-
dah !"

The people crowded into the room as Aunt
Tammy went on, and the number of guests be-
gan to look quite respectable.

" And here are fifty from c several friends !' "

" Dear me !"

So Aunt Tamar Connor proceeded through
the parcel of a dozen letters, more or less, the
proceeds of all being about two hundred dollars,
and the terms in which several were couched
being very gratifying. Quite a knot of gentle-
men, some even from the other seven parishes,,
had followed the postmaster's boy from curiosity.
Their hands went into their pockets, for giving
is contagious, and Aunt Tamar Connor footed
up in cash the sum of three hundred dollars, for
the Rev. Mr. Moulton.

The aged stranger, whose six cents had been
the subject of suppressed laughter, waited to see
what the letters brought, and was hemmed in
by the fresh arrivals of guests, so that she could
not get away. She offered not a word of com-
ment, but seemed somewhat uneasy under her
hood.

"What do you think of this?" asked Aunt
Tammy.

Not a word of reply. But as she turned
hastily to go, her hood was brushed off in the
crowd. With the hood came the cap, and down
fell the raven curls of Widow Shute !

Postscriptum. — The reader may like to hear
how the unexpected happy conclusion of the
Donation Party came about. When Aunt
Tammy perceived how miserably things were
going, she resolved that she would not be foiled,
though it was for the first time in her life ; and
she laid awake through a whole long winter's
night, planning in what mode she should meet
the enemy. The idea came to her about day-
break, and giving herself only time for one little

SEA-BATHING.

135

nap, she wrote a packet of the neatest little
notes of appeal to the absent summer occupants
of the ornamented cottages, with what good
result we have seen. Nobody can think of every
thing ; and city people, who rusticate during the
summer, need only to be reminded of their duty
to the pleasant towns in which they spend the
summer months, in order to practise it.

A permanent good effect followed. Those
who begin to give take an interest in the object
they befriend. The city parishioners of the
second parish in Fairview, when they came the
next summer, opened the subject of an increase
of salary, which should render spasmodic efforts
to support the minister unnecessary. It was
carried. They next proposed that the aged Mr.
Moulton should have a young colleague. This
was carried also. Aunt Tamar Connor in her
lovely old age is delighted — more especially
that certain of the city young men, who used to
have a bad habit of strolling, fishing, sketching,

and other vagabond pursuits on Sundays, now
come obediently to the "meeting" to hear the
young minister preach, and the elder conduct
the other parts of the exercises.

Still another good effect has grown out of the
" Donation Party." The people in Fairview
have learned that to send presents at all times
to the parsonage is better than to pile all up in
troublesome superfluity at one time. All the
year through the ministers are gratefully re-
membered, and the pretty town of Fairview has
become a clerical paradise. The people too are
as well pleased as the pastors ; for, if you can
but keep the relation cordial and pleasant, great
good grows out of preaching and hearing.

We must not forget to add that the Widow
Shute shot madly from her sphere of mischief,
and has not been seen in Fairview since her
sixpenny donation. They do say she is married
again. "Mercy on that man who has her!"
Aunt Tammy says. And so say you and I.

SEA-BATHING*

Sea-bathing, when properly employed, is a
stimulant, in the first instance, to the skin, and
further to the body generally. The stimulant
action upon the skin indeed even proceeds so
far as to cause eruptions somewhat resembling
scarlatina; in some cases, the smarting from
these eruptions is so severe after each immersion
that the practice has to be discontinued, at least
for a time.

The abstraction of caloric from the body, in
consequence of bathing in sea-water, certainly
appears to be less than it is from bathing in
fresh. The effects, however, from bathing in
the sea must vary, as the proportion of the
saline constituents varies considerably in differ-
ent localities. " The average quantity of saline
matter is three per cent., which consists of
chloride of soda, or common salt, sulphate of
magnesia, or Epsom salt, sulphate of soda, or
giauber salt; also muriate of magnesia and of
lime, with salts of iodine and bromine." The
above constituents are uniform as to presence,
but are so unequal as to quantity that, " in the
Baltic, a pint of water contains scarcely two
scruples of salt; on the coasts of Great Britain
it contains more than half an ounce; in the
Mediterranean much more ; and in some parts
under the Line, the quantity amounts to more

than two ounces." "From the beginning of
July, the temperature of the sea is constantly on
the increase, and during the month of August,
it is at the highest, remaining the same with
very little alteration till September, when the
temperature again becomes less. The minimum
temperature of the sea, for each day, is in the
morning before ten o'clock, its maximum from
twelve to five. Other circumstances being the
same, the temperature of sea-water is observed
to be higher in proportion to the proximity of
continents and islands."! Moreover, the tem-
perature of the sea on a line of coast is modified
by the construction of the shore; if this be
rocky, rapidly deepening, the temperature of
the sea during summer will be lower than it is
on a flatter shore, where the advancing tide
travels over an extent of sand warmed by the
sun, and vice versd in winter.

Persons who are unaccustomed to sea-bathing
may sometimes find it of service to take two or
three tepid sea-baths, before going to the open
sea. There is, however, no necessity, as some
suppose, for a course of medicine beforehand,
unless the individual is deuidedly out of health,
and then sea-bathing should not be engaged in
before consultation with a medical man, who
may give medicine for the existing ailment, but

From '-Thompson's Dictionary of Domestic Medicine." '

f " Lee'8 Baths of England.*

136

gudey's magazine and lady's book.

certainly persons in good health have no occa-
sion for preparatory medicine. Individuals who
are very plethoric, who are the subjects of any
organic disease, or who have any tendency to
fulness about the head, also aged persons, should
not bathe without medical sanction.

If a person is in a state of body to be benefited
by bathing, and if the good effects are not coun-
teracted by too long immersion in the water, the
bath should be followed by reaction, which con-
veys a sensation of increased strength and spirits,
a glow of warmth on the skin, and increased
appetite ; if, on the other hand, the reaction is
tardy, if the skin continues cold and blue-look-
ing, if the fingers and toes become what is called
" dead," if there is bodily and mental depression,
with languor and sleepiness, it is certain the
bathing does not agree, from some cause or
other. When cold sea-bathing does not agree,
or is too depressing, the tepid sea-bath is often
of much service, and does not relax like fresh
water tepid bathing.

Sea-water, as might be expected from its
saline constituents, acts as a purgative. The
usual dose is half a pint, repeated once or twice
according to effect. It may be gone on with,

with less risk of depressing consequences than
arises from the use of saline aperients generally ;
indeed, it exerts a tonic influence. " Sea-water
has been frequently taken in habitual costive-
ncss, particularly by those of full habit who lead
a sedentary life. In this instance, its stimulant
properties are as useful as its purgative qualities.
When it is to be given to children, they are
easily persuaded to take the dose if its nauseous
taste be covered with a little port wine. It is a
curious fact, that by the continued employment
of sea- water as a purgative, although for a short
time it produces emaciation, yet its secondary
effect is to promote obesity."

" It is not easy to account for the fact that no
artificial mixture of the component parts of sea-
water produce a compound of powers equal to
the natural." " Although sea- water cannot be
regarded as a purgative of much power, yet in
some constitutions it operates when no other
cathartic will take effect." " When it fails to
purge, which it does in some habits, it produces
fever of a low kind, accompanied with purple
spots on the skin."*

* Thomson's " Materia Medica."

TWILIGHT SHADOWS.

BY MARAH,

Ay, 'tis true ! " There can be no companion-
ship for loneliness of heart." Friends are round
me, the kind and true. Smiles greet, and kind
words welcome me in the social circle : but I
heed them not ; my heart is buried in the past.
I am alone ! I smile, but 'tis a feigned one.
Joy has no place in my heart; Grief holds its
revels there. How changed I am !

When a child, none was happier than I. I
gathered flowers and chased the butterflies ; but
the flowers have withered, and the butterflies
flown. Darkness is on my path : the one who
made life to me all sunshine lies 'neath the sod ;
the lark sings above his grave, and the pale
primrose mingles its fragrance with the evening
air.

Oh ! had I been near him, when the wing of
the Dark Angel swept past, and the dews of
Night gathered on his brow !

But the deep, blue ocean rolled between us.
To-day, the funeral of a babe passed my win-

dow ; a smile came to my lips, and I said. Sweet
child ! thou hast escaped the storms of life, and
gone to mingle with the band of white- winged
worshippers around the throne. God pity the
heart-broken mother ! How she will miss the
voice of her child, and the eloquent language of
its violet eye! In this solemn twilight bour,
comes a form of manly grace and dignity. " I
cannot make him dead :" I see the high expan-
sive forehead, whereon are written high and holy
thoughts ; the love in those deep eyes ; and hear
the voice, which ne'er to mine replied, but in
tones of kindly cheer.

I bear about with me a haunted heart. But
hark ! I hear a low sweet voice murmuring,
"There smiles a band, where sorrow breatbes
not in the air —

Far from the breathings of changeful skies,
Over the seas and the graves it lies,
Where the day of the lightning and cloud is done,
And Joy reigns alone as the lonely sun."

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

FOR GODEY'S YOUNG READERS.

T JOHN D. DUFFE7.

(Continued from page 43.)

CHAPTER V.

First voyage of Columbus — Land discovered.

There was great rejoicing at the house of
friar John Perez, when Columbus once more
reached there, on his way to Palos. The two
friends were now about to make themselves
sure that perseverance must succeed, if backed
by an inward sense of truth.

Yet I would have to fill many pages were I to
tell what trials, and troubles, and vexations
Columbus had still to undergo before he could
obtain the men and ships he needed. At length,
however, after nearly three months spent in the
hardest labor, the fleet of proposed discovery was
ready for sea.

Think you, young reader, that this fleet was
a gallant array of strong and well-built ships 1
Be not mistaken, but let me tell you how many,
and what those vessels were. After years of
almost begging solicitation, Columbus now found
himself at the head of three ships, so called.
Two of these, the Nina and Pinta, commanded
by Vincent and Martin Pinzon, were such as
our hardy New England fishermen would now
trust themselves in doubtfully to sail from Mar-
blehead to Newfoundland. The best and largest,
in which Columbus himself sailed as admiral,
was called by him the St. Mary, " out of respect
for the blessed Virgin, whom he honored with
singular devotion." This was the only vessel
completely covered from the waves ; the other
two having but single decks, except at the prow
and stern, which were built high out of the
water.

Before embarking on his perilous voyage,
Columbus, at the head of those who were to sail
with him, went in solemn procession to the
chapel of that convent at whose gates he had
found the warmest and most faithful of his
friends, the friar John Perez. From the hands
of that pious priest, he and his companions,
about one hundred in number, having confessed
their sins, received the holy sacrament of com-
munion. All then joined their prayers that
Heaven would watch over their enterprise, as
being one which was to carry the knowledge of

12*

Christian truth to the remotest nations of the
earth.

A little before sunrise of the next day, which
was Friday, the third of August, 1492, Columbus
spread his sails to a favoring wind, and, fol-
lowed by the earnest prayers of a sad multitude
of spectators, left the shores of Spain, steering
a straight course for the Canary Isles. On
Saturday, it blew, a hard gale, during which the
rudder of the Pinta broke loose. This accident
greatly alarmed many of the seamen, as they
looked upon it as a warning that the voyage
would come to a bad end. Columbus, however,
held steadily on his way, yet not without gloomy
thoughts ; for every hour's sail showed him that
his ships were but crazy affairs, which a severe
storm might send to the bottom of the sea.

Having at length reached the Canary Isles,
the admiral voyaged among them for three weeks,
trying to find some vessel to take the place of
the Pinta. This he was unable to do. But,
strengthening his frail ships as he best could,
and having taken on board a fresh supply of
water and provisions, he began his voyage in
good earnest on Saturday, the 6th of September.

There being a calm that day, the fleet did not
sail far. In the gray of the following morning,
the highlands of Ferro, the westernmost of the
Canaries, were still in view. But, with the
sun, a lively breeze arose, and swept our ad-
venturers from the sight of land. Then it was
that the hearts of the mariners sank within
them. Beating their breasts, many of these
sturdy and weather-beaten veterans shed tears,
and broke out into loud lamentation, as if they
were never to see land again. Columbus, how-
ever, was never more hopeful than now. " No
one save myself," he might have justly thought,
"is able to guide these ships back safely to the
firm earth of the east. But I am resolved to
follow the sun to those lands which I know
must lie in the distant west." Yet he did not
speak about this. Telling the seamen that a
country full of treasures would presently bo
arrived at, he so comforted them that they dried
up their tears, and, for a while, were quite
cheerful.

137

133

godey's magazine and lady's book.

By the 14th of September, the fleet was more
than six hundred miles westward of the Cana-
ries. Here the trade winds, which, following
the apparent course of the sun, blow constantly
from east to west, began to waft them with
gentle swiftness over a smooth sea. For eleven
days not a sail was changed.

About this time an appearance was noticed,
which no man had ever before remarked. In-
stead of pointing straight towards the north star,
the needle of the compasses began to turn every
day a little to the west. This strange pheno-
menon struck great terror into the hearts of the
men. The compass, by which alone they could
hope to be led out of the watery wilderness they
were now in, seemed about to -lose its hidden
and wonderful power. But this change of the
needle, which is now familiar to most naviga-
tors, though its cause is still uncertainly known,
Columbus explained in a way that quieted the
fears of his companions, if it did not free his
own more enlightened mind from doubt.

Still pursuing a westward course, the fleet
began to fall in with great fields of weeds float-
ing in an easterly direction. These again stirred
up the alarm of the seamen. They declared
that the utmost bounds of the navigable sea
must have been reached, and that these weeds
would soon stop them from sailing further, and
finally hold them fast in the ocean. But, while
Columbus was telling them that they ought
rather to be cheered than dismayed, since the
weeds were green as if but lately torn from some
near land, a fresh breeze sprang up, and swept
the vessels forward so briskly that the sailors
again took heart.

But I need scarcely go on to tell how one day
the men would get discouraged, and the next be
raised up once more with cheerful hope. Now
they took courage from the sight of a little crab
swimming about among the weeds that floated
by ; again, a flock of singing birds, " of such
small kinds as go not far from land," would
light upon the rigging of the ships, and cheer
the sailors with their pleasant warblings. At
times, the air would seem to be sweet with the
f L-agrance of spices ; and, on other occasions, the
clouds which rested on the horizon at sunset
would put on the appearance of mountains,
when the cry of "Land!" wrould ring joyfully
from ship to ship. But still no lan'd was reached.

At length the men began to grow tired.
Though Columbus had kept them ignorant as to
the real distance they had sailed, they were yet
certain that their homes were fearfully far be-
hind. They began to murmur. Columbus tried
to soothe them. But, from murmuring, they

proceeded to plain and outspoken mutiny. The
officers even took sides with the common sailors
against the admiral. Then it was that he began
to fear for the success of what had been the one
great object of his life. Still he gave no sign of
the trouble eating up his heart, but, with a
cheerful, yet fixed countenance, he told the
men that, while " he did not blame their want
of courage," he meant, "right or wrong, that
they should go on."

At length, some of the worst of the seamen
began to talk of throwing Columbus overboard,
and returning to Spain, there to account for his
death by saying that he had fallen into the sea
while looking at the stars and signs of the hea-
vens, as he was wont to do. Others, including
the officers, gathered on deck, and, with loud
threats, called upon the admiral to return at
once to Spain.

But this he wTas determined not to do. Still,
being sure that land was not distant, he solemnly
promised his men that, if it were not reached
within three days, he would change his course
to the eastward. The next day, October the
eleventh, " it pleased God to manifest tokens
that land wras near. A green rush was seen to
float, by, and then a great green fish of that sort
wrhich goes not far from rocks. Then a cane, a
staff curiously wrought, a small board, and many
reed's lately washed away from the shore, were
discovered floating in the sea. Next a fresh
thorn branch, full of red berries, was noticed."

In the evening, "after prayers, the admiral
made a speech to all the men, putting them in
mind of how great a mercy it was that God had
brought them so long a veyage with such fine
weather. Therefore he prayed them to be very
watchful that night, since he had certain hope
that land would be found." Nearly all the sails
were then furled, to keep the ships from running
ashore in the darkness.

About two hours before midnight, as the fleet
was sailing along slowly and silently, with every
one on board watching anxiously for the pro-
mised land, Columbus, who stood alone upon
the forward part of his ship, saw a light a great
way off, seemingly in motion, as if carried in
some person's hand on shore. With a beating
heart, he quietly called two friends to his side.
Meanwhile, the light had vanished. After a
few minutes of anxious watching, however, all
three saw it plainly. Immediately afterward, it
seemed to be suddenly put out, nor was it seen
again.

But, about two o'clock in the morning, "e
startling and joyful boom was heard of the signal'
gun for land. It came from the Pinta, which

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

139

vessel had sailed ahead of the rest. All the
ships were stopped at once, the sailors " think-
ing it a great while till daylight, when they
would be able to see what they had so long
desired."

CHAPTER VI.

First landing of Columbus — Discovery of Cuba and ITayti —
Columbus is cast asbore by the wrecking of his ship.

The first light of Friday, the twelfth of Octo-
ber, 1492, disclosed to Columbus and his com-
panions a beautiful island, about fifteen leagues
long, " without hills, and full of green trees and
delicious waters."

When the sun was fairly up, the admiral
ordered all the boats to be manned. Then,
getting into his own, he led the way to the
shore.

To the inhabitants of the island, who were
seen running down towards the beach, and from
the beach to the woods again, continually mak-
ing signs of extreme wonder and astonishment,
the appearance of the Spaniards must have been
strange indeed. Clad in rich and brilliant scar-
let, Columbus stood up in the prow of the first
boat, supporting with one hand the royal stand-
ard of Spain, and in the other holding his naked
sword. After him came the two brothers, Mar-
tin and Vincent Pinzon, each in his own barge,
and carrying the flag of the enterprise, on which
were a large green cross and other splendid
ornaments.

As soon as they had >?aped upon the firm
earth, Columbus and his followers, kneeling
down, kissed the ground, and, with abundant
tears of joy, gave thanks to God for the mercies
he had shown them. Then a great crucifix was
set up, and, all having gathered around it, the
newly-found island was solemnly named San
Salvador. After that, Columbu3 took possession
of it for the King and Queen of Spain, whose
viceroy, or representative, those present were
now called upon to acknowledge him.

Immediately a singular scene was witnessed.
Crowding with eager tumult around Columbus,
some of the men kissed his hands, others hugged
him in their arms with every show of affection
and respect. Many of those cowardly fellows
who had given him so much trouble during the
voyage, and had even proposed to toss him into
the sea, now threw themselves in the dirt at his
feet, and tremblingly begged his pardon for the
wrongs they had done him.

In the mean time, many of the natives, or

" Indians," as Columbus called them, had
gathered around the Spaniards, looking at them
in speechless wonder and awe. Little by little,
they grew bold enough to come up to them, and
to feel their hands and faces, and to stroke their
beards and shining weapons. But, while they
ceased to fear the Spaniards, they did not the
less respect them as a higher race of beings, who
had flown down' in winged canoes from their
father the sun. Seeing how peaceable they
were, the admiral gave them hawk's-bells, glass
beads, and other small things, which they re-
ceived with loud cries and gestures of joy.
When Columbus went back in the evening to
his ship, crowds of these simple-minded people
followed him,. some swimming as if they had
been born in the water, and others in their
canoes made of the trunks of trees hollowed
out.

Having seen that many of the natives wore
small ornaments of gold in their noses, Colum-
bus, by signs, asked them where they got that
precious metal. They pointed towards the
south. Taking in a fresh supply of wood and
water, the admiral presently set out for the
island from which the gold was said to have
been brought, and which he at once concluded
must be Cipango or Japan. He took along with
him seven of the San Salvador people, whom
he intended to teach the Spanish language, that
they might act as guides and interpreters.

As the fleet glided along over a smooth sea,
many small but beautiful islands were disco-
vered. On one of these, which he called Fer-
nandina, Columbus stopped several days. He
found the people " wiser and more modest" than
the natives of San Salvador, and extremely hos-
pitable. They guided the Spaniards to the
sweetest springs, and helped them to fill their
water-casks and to roll them to the beach.
Charmed with the pleasant meadows and
"sweet" bird-songs of Fernandina, Columbus
" could scarce depart." But, finding there no
precious metals, he steered to the south-east,
and arrived at what is now called Long Island.
Here he again asked for gold. The people still
pointed southward, where, they said, there was
a great and rich country, named Cuba.

Sailing in search of Cuba, Columbus came in
sight of its grand mountains and lovely valleys
on Sunday, October the 28th. He anchored in
a large river, " where the trees were thick and
tall, and adorned with strange fruits and blos-
soms." A boat's crew was sent on shore to
obtain some knowledge of the country. Not far
from the landing-place they found two houses,
built of palm Dranchcs in the shape of tents-

140

godey's magazine and lady's book.

They wore neat and clean, but the owners of
them had fled., leaving behind them "their nets
and oilier fishing-tackle, and a dog that did not
bark." As the admiral had ordered, nothing
was disturbed or taken away.

Coasting some distance to the north-west,
Columbus entered a second large stream. On
the banks of this river many naked Indians were
seen ; but, terrified at the sight of those strange
creatures — the ships — they fled swiftly to the
mountains. Having selected a fit place, Colum-
bus made up his mind to stop here a while to
repair his fleet and explore the country.

Led astray by not understanding his Indian
informants, Columbus now took up the notion
that Cuba was not the Island of Japan, as he
had at first supposed, but, in fact, a part of the
main land of Asia. The real greatness of his
discovery — that of lands hitherto unknown —
was something he did not dream of. He still
looked for the gold, the spices, the populous
cities, and the mighty monarchs of India.

Feeling very certain that some rich oriental
prince lived in the neighborhood of where he
now was, Columbus determined, therefore,
while the ships were being repaired, to send
envoys to find out the court of this fancied
prince, and make his acquaintance. On that
errand he dispatched two Spaniards learned in
eastern languages, and accompanied by a San
Salvador guide.

Just as the fleet was ready for sea the mes-
sengers came back. But they had found little
gold. The greatest city they visited had only a
thousand inhabitants. The people they met
with were a simple, kind-hearted race, slightly
and rudely civilized, and with no riches except
their delightful climate and fertile soil. No
Hiighty prince ruled over them; and they had
worshipped the Spaniards as visitors from
heaven.

During their journey, the Spanish envoys saw
for the first time what are now known as cigars.
Taking certain dried herbs, the natives would
roll them up in a leaf. Having set fire to one
end of this roll, which they called tobacco, they
put the other in their mouths, drawing in the
smoke and puffing it out again. The Spaniards
were much surprised at this performance, as
being equally foolish and useless.

Learning from the Indians that there was a
country to the eastward called Bohio, where
gold was to be had in rich plenty, Columbus
sailed in search of it. Then it was that Martin
Pinzon, the captain and owner of the Pinta, and
one of the first and most useful of the admiral's
friends, by a single wrong act so tarnished his

good name, that the remembrance of all his im-
portant exertions in aid of the great discoverer
can never make it bright again. Eager to be the
first to reach the gold mines of Bohio, Pinzon
left his companions, regardless of all the signals
which Columbus made him to furl his sails.
His ship was the fastest in the fleet, and he was
soon lost sight of. This wilful desertion weighed
heavily on the admiral's heart, for he believed
that Pinzon had hastened to Spain to lay claim
to the honors and rewards of his discovery.

Sailing slowly against head winds, Columbus
at length reached the eastern end of Cuba. In
the distant south-east, he saw the tops of high
mountains rising from the sea, and immediately
turned his course towards them. About sunset
of December the 6th, he cast anchor in the har-
bor of St. Nicholas, at the western end of Hayti,
one of the loveliest, and, since that time, one of
the most unfortunate islands in the world.

Seeing nothing of the Pinta, and being unable
to have any communication with the natives,
Columbus soon left St. Nicholas, and sailed
along the northern shore of Hayti till he came
to a second harbor. Here some of the men
went ashore, and, while rambling through the
woods, surprised and captured a beautiful Indian
girl, whom they carried trembling to the ship.
But Columbus having treated her with all kind-
ness, and sent her home much pleased with
many strings of beads, she told her people how
gentle the strangers were, and they soon began
to flock down to the landing-place. Like the
inhabitants of the other islands, they wenl
almost naked, and were simple, ignorant, and
timid, but wonderfully kind and gentle. They
had more gold than their Cuban neighbors, and
gladly exchanged it for the merest trifles.

Leaving these hospitable people, Columbus
coasted eastward till he reached another fine
harbor. Messengers came to him here from
Guacanahari, a great cacique, or prince of the
country. In the name of their sovereign, these
messengers gave the admiral a curious mask,
the ears, nose, and mouth of which were beaten
gold, and invited him to come with his ships to
the cacique's village, which was some twelve
miles distant to the eastward.

Accepting this invitation, Columbus sailed on
the 24th of December. A light breeze wafted
the ships along so slowly that, at eleven o'clock
in the evening, they were still four miles from
the cacique's village. It was then "a dead
calm, and the sea as quiet as the water in a
dish." Seeing this, the admiral, who hod not
closed his eyes for two days and a night, went
into his cabin to get a little sleep. As soon as

IFE OF COLUMBUS,

141

they noticed his absence, " all the men went to
rest." Even the steersman, having lashed the
helm, fell asleep beside it. While thus every-
thing seemed safe, a swift but silent current
drove the ship forcibly upon a bank of sand.
Feeling the rudder strike, the steersman awoke
and began to cry out. His cries aroused Colum-
bus, who hurried upon deck, and found the
half-awakened crew almost crazy with affright.
The admiral alone was cool and collected. He
made several skilful attempts to get the ship
afloat ; but " she would not budge j her seams
cracked open, and all below deck filled with
water." As there was now no hope of saving
the ship, he directed all his efforts to preserving
the lives of his men. Fortunately, the sea was
still smooth, and all hands made good their
escape to the Niiia, which was about a mile
distant.

CHAPTER VII.

Columbus plants a colony on the Island of Hayti — His
return to Spain.

That must have been to Columbus a dreary
Christmas morning, which dawned upon him
wrecked, and crowded with his worn-out crew
in the smallest and only remaining vessel of his
fleet. But he was not the man to sit down and
lament over the accidents of fortune. Sending
word to the cacique Guacanahari of his mishap,
he went at once to work to save whatever he
could of the treasures in his stranded vessel.

The kind-hearted Indian prince is said to have
shed tears of real sorrow when he learned what
had happened to Columbus. Collecting a great
fleet of canoes, he filled them with his people,
and sent them off to aid the Spaniards in saving
their goods. Thus assisted, Columbus found it
easy to carry almost everything of value ashore.
As fast as the goods were landed, the prince
himself took charge of them, and placed a guard
over them. Not a thing that came ashore was
lost; though it must have been hard for the
simple-minded Indians to keep their hands from
the bright beads and trinkets, which, in their
eyes, were more precious than gold. Writing
in the journal which he kept for the king and
queen : " All the people lamented," says Colum-
bus. " as if our misfortune had been their own.
I do assure your highnesses, there are no better
people in the world. They love their neighbors
as themselves, and their conversation is the
sweetest in the universe, being always gentle
and accompanied by smiles."

When Guacanahari met Columbus for the
first time, he was much grieved to see him look-
ing so sorrowful. The kind-hearted caciquo
tried in every way to comfort him, providing
houses and food for his shipwrecked seamen,
and entertaining him with shows, in which a
thousand or more of the natives would assemble
in a shady grove, and dance their singular dances,
and play their curious games.

The efforts of the Indian prince to cheei
Columbus were not altogether without effect.
Yet the admiral's thoughts were often gloomy.
The desertion of Martin Pinzon and his own
shipwreck, by which he was left with one frail
caraval, seemed to forbid him to hope of ever
returning to Spain. And, even if he should
think of going back, how was he to carry all his
men in a vessel so small as the Nina 1

As good fortune would have it, while Colum-
bus was trying to answer this question in his
mind, the shipwrecked sailors were becoming
enchanted with their easy life on the island, and
some of them began to talk about how they
would like to stay there as long as they lived.
Hearing of this, the admiral immediately deter-
mined to plant a colony on the island, provided
the cacique would permit him. Guacanahari
gladly gave his permission ; for he lived in con-
stant dread of certain fierce islanders, called
Caribs, from whose attacks he hoped the Spanish
colonists would defend him and his gentle peo-
ple with their sharp weapons of steel, and with
those terrible monsters, the cannon, which
seemed to pour the noise of thunder and the
destruction of lightning from their deep throats.

Thirty-six seamen, and three others, having
volunteered to stay and found the proposed
colony, Columbus marked out the ground for a
small fortress, or fortified castle. By the help
of the natives, this building was finished within
ten days. To it, and to the harbor, Columbus
gave the name La Navidad, or the Nativity, as
it was on Christmas day that he suffered ship-
wreck there. The command of the infant
colony was intrusted to James de Arana.

On the 3d of January, 1493, Columbus de-
livered his parting advice to the gallant little
band who had volunteered to remain in the
wilderness of an unknown world. Leaving the
cacique Guacanahari in tears, and giving three
hearty cheers to their friends on shore, the
admiral and his companions unfurled the Nina's
sails at sunrise of January the 4th, and were
wafted slowly on their homeward voyage.

Two days afterwards, the joyful sight was
seen sweeping towards them of a ship with all
sails open to a fresh and favorable breeze. It

142

was the Pinta. In the pleasure he felt at being
thus rejoined, Columbus did not deem it worth
while to use his just right of punishing Martin
Pinzon for his mutinous conduct, but quietly
received his excuses, though he believed scarcely
a word of them.

Continuing his voyago along the coast of
Hayti, Columbus came to anchor near a cape
called Enamorado, or the Lover's Cape. Here
a boat was sent ashore. As the Spaniards ap-
proached the land, they saw several Indians,
who, greatly to their surprise, ran boldly towards
them, as if about to attack them. Their looks
were fierce, and they talked sternly. Their faces
were painted hideously, some red, some black,
and others white. All went naked, wearing
their hair long, and adorned with the feathers
of parrots or other birds. Their bows were of
great length, their arrows pointed with sharp
bones, and, " instead of a sword, each carried a
heavy club." In fact, they were a hardy, war-
like people, wholly unlike the timorous tribes
Columbus had been dealing with.

Though it was plain that these savages did not
like the Spaniards, they suffered the boat to
land. After a great deal of talk, they were in-
duced to sell a few bows and arrows, and, when
the boat went back to the ship, some of them
ventured to go along.

Having given them many strings of beads,
Columbus sent the Indians ashore again, accom-
panied by seven of the crew. By this time
there was quite a crowd of savages on the beach.
When the Spaniards offered to trade, they "not
only refused to sell anything more, but scorn-
fully made as if they would seize the Christians.
Seeing their fury, the sailors fell upon them,
and put them to flight," killing and wounding
several.

Notwithstanding this bloody affray, when
Columbus again set sail, he had become so
friendly with the natives that four of their
young men went with him to guide him to cer-
tain islands which he desired to visit.

But, his ships being leaky, and his men
anxious to get home, the admiral, taking advan-
tage of a favorable wind, gave up all hope of
making further explorations at that time, and
steered his course towards Spain. After four
weeks of fine weather, a terrific storm arose, on
the first day of which the Pinta disappeared.
For a while, Columbus looked for death in every
wave, and in every blast of the tempest. All
ki» seamanship seemed to be useless, and he

endeavored to win the favor of heaven by
solemn vows to perform pilgrimages and pe-
nances.

But the tempest grew still more furious, and
all abandoned themselves to despair. Columbus
had been under the stroke of death too often to
fear that alone. Yet there was a heavy load on
his heart, harder to bear than the mere prospect
of dying. The men blamed his ambition for
bringing them into such peril 5 he was grieved
with the thought that his two sons would be
left poor and friendless to struggle with the
world. But more agonizing than all was his
fear that, if his ship were lost, no knowledge
of his discovery would ever reach Spain, and
his name go down to future ages as that of a
madman who had met destruction while in
search of a visionary world.

" Being thus distressed" — such are the admi-
ral's words — " I writ upon parchment an ac-
count of the discoveries I had made, which
writing I folded and sealed, and, having wrapped
it in an oiled cloth, and then put it into a cake
of wax, I dropped it into a cask, which I stopped
up and tossed into the sea." The writing itself
was directed to the sovereigns of Spain, with a
promise upon it that two thousand ducats would
be given to any one who should take it to the
persons for whom it was intended.

Fortunately, Columbus was not compelled to
rely wholly upon so uncertain a messenger. On
Friday, the 15th of February, the storm passed
away. That evening the joyful sight was seen
of land, and, on the following day, anchor was
cast off the Island of St. Mary's, one of the
Azores.

After a hot quarrel with the Portuguese
governor, who seemed desirous of making him
and his companions prisoners, Columbus again
set sail with a favorable wind, on the 24th of
February. For several days the weather was
all that he could wish. But, when they were
expecting every moment to see the beloved coast
of Spain rise up from the ocean, the poor, tem-
pest-tossed mariners were again stricken by a
terrible storm, and again did they give them-
selves up for lost. Still driven by this fearful
tempest, they at length came in sight of the
coast of Portugal on the 4th of March. Scarce-
ly hoping better treatment from the King of
Portugal than the tempest offered him, Colum-
bus that afternoon entered the Tagus, a river
which runs by the city of Lisbon.
(To be continued.)

"THE PERFECT TEE A SURE."

BY ALICE B. NEAL.

It is not often that city friendships are worth
much — not that we inveigh against those that
grow with our growth, and strengthen with our
strength, be it in town or country. We mean
that fleeting excitement of intimacy, which
springs up on a party or concert night, between
two ladies who have scarcely heard of each
other before ; flourishes luxuriantly through a
season ; and ends in coldness or decided rupture
by a twelvemonth, leaving both parties to shrug
their fair shoulders meaningly when the other
is named, to avoid all contact in shops or picture
galleries, and to declare to themselves three
times a day that they " would give a hundred
dollars if they had not told Mrs. Dash that fuss
with Harry, or about that bill at Stewart's."

Once in a while, a real and increasing interest
arises for some person met in the whirl of society,
which, if circumstances will allow, brings forth
the good fruit of kindly feeling, and mutual
friendly offices. It was such an attraction that
drew the quiet Mrs. Dalton towards the prettiest
bride of the season in their large circle, Mrs.
George Porter. It was not returned very
ardently at first, for Mrs. Dalton was not what
is called an elegant woman, nor did she live in
a stylish house. Her house was comfortably
furnished, her children and herself well, but not
showily dressed. Perhaps the elder lady would
not have troubled herself to continue advances
so carelessly met, had it not been that Mrs.
Porter was careless about everything except her
own pretty person, and Mrs. Dalton knew that
the time would come when her really friendly
feelings would be better understood and appre-
ciated.

There are many such young wives and mo-
thers— in city life especially — who love their
husbands and their children after a style of their
own, provided they do not encroach too much
upon their own pleasures and pursuits. They
have, not yet made that sacrifice of " self" which
commences a new era in the life of every person,
and sometimes changes the most apparently
trivial nature to an earnest and thoughtful
character, which they wonder at, as much as
their friends.

Mrs. Porter, as a young mother, was the same
good-naturedly selfish creature as had been the

bride, after the first excitement of showing her
pretty baby to all her friends and acquaintances,
in its embroidered blanket and Valenciennes
frilled cap, was over. She tied its sleeve ribbons
every morning in the most exquisite little bows,
and fondled it ten minutes at a time, whenever
she was not too handsomely dressed to take it.
The little Ella renounced the pomps and vanities
in as handsome a christening robe as her papa's
means would afford, and for the rest was left
pretty much to the management of her nurse,
fortunately a careful, middle-aged woman, who
took much better care of the infant than its
mother, with the very best intentions, could
have done.

It is a great pity that these " domestic trea-
sures" are subject to the common ills of life, and
get sick, or have dying friends to nurse now and
then. It was in this way that " Manmer" left
Mrs. Porter the day before Mrs. Dalton, going
to pay her an early morning call, found the dis
comfited mother of Miss Ella just going in searcl
of a nurse.

" Did you ever know anything more provok
ing?'* was Mrs. Porter's salutation, tying hej
bonnet-strings as becomingly as possible befor<
the parlor mirror, and settling her mantilla ovei
her shoulders as if it had been for a fashionable)
call. Mrs. Porter had a habit of taking pains
with her own appearance. " I declare I am half
distracted to think this brother of Manmer'i
should get sick j ust as we 're going to West Point,
and all. Whatever I 'm going to do without her
I can't imagine! I depend on her so — she has
had her own way in everything — I never interfere
in anything ; and here she must go and leave me
without a day's warning because her brother
took it into his head to have a ship fever."

"Oh, I am very sorry to know of it; ship
fever is so dangerous and infectious, too !"

" Yes ; that 's what makes it so particularly
bad for me ; the people where he boarded were
afraid to nurse him, and then I sha'n't dare to
let ' Manmer' come back, you know, when it 's
all over. Just see here," and Mrs. Porter held
up a handful of slips, very much resembling
motto papers, " Advertisements. See what a
quantity of places I have to go to; streets I
never heard of before I cut them out of the

143

GODEYS MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

1 Herald' at breakfast, or George did, and he or-
dered the. carriage to be here at eleven."

'•It is after eleven now," Mrs. Dalton said,
as consolingly as she could, for she knew the
loss of such a person as Nurse was no light
trouble ; " so I will not keep you."

" I can't urge you to stay, though I really did
want to see you ; I suppose these people must
be seen after — or won't you come with me?"
hastily asked Mrs. Porter, as they stood in the
hall, and she saw the comfortable carriage her
always thoughtful husband had sent.

Mrs. Dalton accepted the invitation. She
had no particular engagement for the morning,
and it occurred to her that she might be of ser-
vice to the inexperienced mother in selecting
'Manmcr's' successor.

" 9 llenson Street. Do you know where it is,
driver? I'm sure I don't; she advertises as
nurse and seamstress. Mrs. Dalton, that 's the
only objection I had to Nurse; she couldn't sew.
She said there was no time without neglecting
baby ; now that 's foolish, for I never heard her
ci-y; if she had been a cross child, it would be
different," ran on Mrs. Porter, as they crossed
Broadway, and entered the narrower streets
beyond.

" Perhaps the good care Nurse gave her pre-
vented her being fretful. Neglected children
are always the most peevish."

"Oh, but she was naturally good-tempered,
and I don't believe she was ever sick a day in
her life. Now that it 's most time to put her in
short-clothes, I want a nurse that can sew.
Mrs. Parks showed me some beautiful dresses
her nurse made, and Mrs. Moss told me her
nurse did half the family sewing, and neither
of those children is as well or as good as Ella."

Mrs. Dalton smiled a little. "Just as I said,
Mrs. Porter. I 'm afraid they gave more time to
the needle than the child, though it was not
their fault if the mother exacted it. However,
there is a great difference. Some nurses arc
idle; still, I would rather have the child well
taken care of than the work done, of the two."

The carriage here stopped in front of a low
grocery store, the number designated. The man
seated on an empty barrel at the door removed
his pipe, and in reply to the driver's query,
" Belaved there was a young 'oman wantin' a
place in the rear." In the rear then the ladies
were obliged to pick their way, through a narrow
alley choked up by ashes, vegetable peelings,
and coffee-grounds. Here they found a tall
frame house, where high steps, windows, and
doors, as far as they could see in the entry, were
swarminjr with children, and the undressed heads

of women and girls, one of whom was supposed
to be the individual advertising. But no ; "She
had gone out to sec till a place," and her repre-
sentative and spokeswoman, a slovenly girl with
frowsy head and an enormous cherry-colored
bow, offered her services, which were, however,
instantly declined.

"No. 199 Twentieth Street, child's nurse:
can bring the best references from her last place,
where she has lived five years; is fully capable
to take charge of a young baby," read Mrs.
Porter, from the pile in her hand.

"Oh, let us see her by all means !" suggested
Mrs. Dalton ; " I should think she would just
suit you !"

" Or this," continued Mrs. Porter. " This is
more what I want. 15 Carmine Street. That
must be somewhere on the line of the Sixth
Avenue Railroad. Nurse and seamstress ; ha?
the most undoubted recommendations; can cut
and fit children's dresses. There 's a treasure
for you. 15 Carmine Street, driver."

" Had you not better seethe other first?" in-
quired Mrs. Dalton. " Being so long in one
place is a recommendation of itself; and you
particularly need some one )rou can trust, and
who has experience."

" Well, I don't mind, as it 's on this side the
town ; but I 've taken a fancy I shall like 15
Carmine Street."

The number they were in search of made
rather a long drive, and Mrs. Dalton tried to
suggest between whiles some practical matters
in the daily walk and conversation of Miss Ella
and her nurse. She did not urge them as her
own experience, or preface them "if I were in
your place," two means of administering advice
which prove fatal to some constitutions, our own
among the number. But her companion was so
occupied in detailing her plans for the summer,
particularly as to her child's dress, which was
to be " sweet as possible, for Ella was so fair" —
" as low as could be on the shoulders, for she
had such a beautiful neck and arm" — and " quitw
short, for Ella had remarkably small feet" — to
take them much to heart. This she proved by
showing very little interest in the tidy, well-
recommended woman, in whom Mrs. Dalton
instantly felt confidence, and making a vague
engagement to see her again if not suited by
three o'clock, they departed in search of the girl
Mrs. Porter fancied.

Fortune seemed propitious, the young person
was in, and came flourishing forward to the
carriage in a pink muslin dress, with a full white
cross-barred apron, that stood out around her
like a tunic. Her hair was dressed in fill

HE PERFECT TREASURE.

145

Jenny Lind bandeaux, and she showed very
good teeth when she smiled, as she did con-
stantly. Mrs. Porter was delighted, and would
have engaged her on the spot without a single
question, if Mrs. Dalton had not been with her.
She felt a little embarrassed about questioning
such a genteel personage on her capabilities of
performing a servant's duties ; but her com-
panion, seeing her hesitation, said quietly —

" I suppose you would like to know if she
has ever had the care of a young infant?"

" Oh yes, ma'am, the intire charge/' And the
damsel folded her hands demurely over the
rnuslin apron.

"At night?" pursued Mrs. Porter. "For I
can't be broken of my rest,"

" Oh, certainly, ma'am. Ladies was usually
so delicate they couldn't lose their rest. What
wages would you give, ma'am ?"

" Eight dollars a month to any one who suit-
ed me, and could sew. You can sew?"

" Oh, yes, ma'am, and work the English em-
broideries. This collar, ma'am, if you 'd be
pl'ased to look, I did miself; and, for young
children, ma'am, it 's so suitable for their
clothes."

" I should not think a nurse would find much
time for embroidery," Mrs. Dalton said.

" Oh, whin the young master — or wag it a
Miss, ma'am? — was asleep, 'specially if they
was quiet children."

"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Porter, eagerly; for
the English embroidery had settled the question
in her own mind. Mrs. Park's nursery-maid
was not equal to that, and English embroidery
was so fashionable and so expensive. "And
my baby is very good ; has never cried half an
hour in her life."

"To be sure, the sweet little thing !" interpo-
lated the damsel in pink.

"When can you come to me?" continued
Mrs. Porter.

" Wheniver the lady pl'ascs ; but wouldn't
she look at the recommend?"

Mrs. Porter met Mrs. Dalton's eye, and felt
she had been headlong in her movements ; but,
then, the girl looked so sensible and so clever,
and the collar she had on couldn't be bought for
less than two dollars.

" I was going to ask for your references," she
said, recollecting herself.

And, reading the slips of paper with becom-
ing gravity, she handed them in triumph to her
friend as she did so. They were from ladies
somewhat known in fashionable life, and both
spoke especially of the unusual skill with which
" Minnie Brenan" used her needle.

VOL. XLTX. — 13

" You may come to-night at four," said Mrs.
Porter ; " my nurse has been obliged to leave.
You will find it a very easy place," she added,
thinking of the many tempting offers that might
be made meantime. " There is no washing to
do, and only one child. Minnie is such a plea-
sant name to speak !" But this was addressed
to Mrs. Dalton, as the carriage turned home-
wards. "I'm so tired of Bridgets and Anns!
Your paragon was a Bridget, I noticed. Now,
don't scold ; and don't tell George. I know you
think I ought to have taken her. Just see ii'
Minnie doesn't turn out as well. I really needed
a person who could do fine sewing."

"I never waste my regrets," Mrs. Dalton re-
turned, pleasantly, " and I 'm sure I wish for
the best ; but I can't help thinking how much
more experience Bridget has probably had, and
how much care she would take from you."

" And how much sewing Minnie will relieve
me of! Think of that, instead," persisted Mrs.
Porter, a little petulantly, and not quite at ease
with herself, as the ladies separated.

They missed each other in paying the last
town visits, and Mrs. Dalton heard no more of
Mrs. Porter's treasure until they met on the
piazza of the summer resort at which they were
both to pass a few weeks. Mrs. Porter had
been there some days, and broke away from a
circle of young ladies, married and single, as
handsomely dressed and as gay as herself, to
welcome her friend.

" How is Ellie ?" was the very natural ques-
tion of the motherly elder lady, after the first
greeting.

" Oh, lovely as ever. There she is, with the
blue bows, a great deal prettier" — and she signed
for the nurse to come towards them — " for Min-
nie curls her hair so nicely. Nurse used to say
it never would curl. Come here, darling. Min-
nie does my hair, too, beautifully—just look at
it — every day. Wouldn't you think she had
had lessons from Martel ? Mamma's little fairy !
Don't she look lovely, Mrs. Dalton ?"

Mrs. Dalton could say "Yes" without any
twinges of conscience, a fortunate thing, when
such a direct appeal is made ; but she was struck
with the extreme delicacy of the child's appear-
ance, and a languid, dreamy expression in her
large blue eyes.

"There, George." And Mrs. Porter turned
to her husband, who had just come from the
house. "George fancies she looks thin, and
goes on very absurdly about it. I do believe
he 'd like me to shut myself up and become a
child's nurse to all intents and purposes."

" Oh no, Eleanor. But do you think, Mrs.

146

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Dalton, she looks as well as she did ■ You
nave not soon her lately, and would be the best
judge. 1 don't wish to be unreasonable, I *m
sure.'*

" She certainly is not as stout," was all Mrs.
Dalton trusted herself to say, for she did not
wish to alarm Mr. Porter unnecessarily ; but
she resolved to speak more plainly, if she
thought the child really ill.

" Of course, she 's not so stout," Mrs. Porter
-aid, with the air of an experienced matron ;
" she's beginning to teeth ; and teething children
never look well. Mrs. De Chambourg says so,
and tells me not to listen to George. She is
delighted with Minnie, and thinks, as I do, that
she 's a perfect prize. She does Mrs. De Cham-
bourg's hair every afternoon. I take it as quite
a compliment to her skill."

" Your new friend takes it quite as a conve-
nience to herself," Mr. Porter said, rather testily
for him. " As general hair-dresser and ladies'-
maid, how does Ellie get any care ?"

" I am glad you are satisfied," was all Mrs.
Dalton returned, as she walked away from the
momentary cloud of ill-humor ; but, though the
mother was, she was not, and, being asked still
more plainly by Mr. Porter for her opinion of
!he child's health, she gave it as frankly.

" She cries so much more than she did, at
times," the anxious young father said ; " and
then, again, she has a languor that does not
seem at all natural to her. I 'm here but once a
week, you know, and Eleanor is so inexperi-
enced I can't see how things go on."

Mrs. Dalton could ; for, with Mrs. Porter's
pleasure-loving disposition, and the opportunity
she now had of indulging it, the baby was left
entirely at the mercy of the all-accomplished
nurse. Evenings, particularly, Mrs. Porter al-
ways passed in the parlors, dancing, singing, and
chatting with the gay circle ; and, more than
once attracted by the child's cries, Mrs. Dalton
had found it entirely alone. If the mother thus
deserted it for her pleasure, it was scarcely to
be supposed that a hired attendant would be
more faithful to her trust.

" I really wish, my dear Eleanor," Mr. Por-
ter said to his wife, as they were dressing for
dinner, " that you would see to Minnie and the
baby a little more."

" I really wish, my dear George, that you
would attend to the counting-house, and leave
the baby to me."

" But I don't think you realize how ill she
looks, Ellie. Last night I came in, and found
her sleeping as heavily as if she had a fever."

" Nonsense ! She is as well as I am this

minute. I declare, I shall get jealous, if yon
waste all your thoughts on the little puss."

"And 1 shall return the compliment, if you
waltz much more with that little puppy Cleaves,'*
Mr. Porter returned, as playfully. "But, seri-
ously, Mrs. Dalton says she is afraid Minnie is
not as careful as she might be."

" 1 wish Mrs. Dalton would leave me to ma-
nage my own affairs." And the glass reflected
a very unamiable face at that moment, though a
very fair one. "She never did like Minnie
from the first. She wanted me to take some
abominable rough Bridget, as Irish as possible.
Why, Minnie's manners are so ladylike, it is a
pleasure to have her near me. All the other
ladies speak of it, and say how fortunate I am ;
Mrs. De Chambourg and all."

"Mrs. De Chambourg likes any one she can
use. Mrs. Dalton is worth ten of her," re-
turned Mr. Porter, warmly ; for Mrs. Dalton
called forth a genuine respect, wmile he heartily
disliked, and rather dreaded the influence of the
heartless, worldly belle his wife had suddenly
grown so intimate with.

" I shall do as I please," was all Mrs. Portei
vouchsafed to this remark ; and her husband's
reply was equally laconic, as he left the room :
" I dare say." It was the first time they had
ever parted coldly.

Meantime, Mrs. Dalton, though repelled al-
most rudely by the mother, kept her silent and
loving watch over the delicate little child, for
she had no infant ; and it reminded her of the
days of her first maternity, as she soothed the
moaning baby on her bosom for hours together,
while the jar and clash of the band and the
dancers came up from the room below.

Busy preparations were making for the prin-
cipal "hop" of the season, and Mrs. Porter,
among the rest, had ordered a fresh dress in
town, and calculated largely on the brilliancy
of the evening, although her husband would be
detained. Minnie had surpassed herself, and
dressed her mistress's hair " to perfection," as
Mrs. De Chambourg declared. Mrs. Porter was
by no means displeased with the performance
still she was not quite herself; Ellie, lying in
her little cot bed, cried almost incessantly
through the hour and a half which the toilet
occupied. It fretted and worried her.

" What on earth 's the matter with baby.
Minnie? Is she sick?" she asked, petulantly,
as if the little creature had no right to disturb
her repose of mind, particularly when she do-
sired to look her best. " Mamma's darling baby
sick?"

The wailing hushed for a second, and the

THE PERFECT TREASURE

almost transparent arms were held out beseech-
ingly.

" No, beauty, mamma can't take Ellie now ;
mamma all dressed." And Mrs. Porter turned
for a full length survey in the mirror. "Do
you think the skirt is quite long enough, Min-
nie ? And how is this glove band to go on ?
Oh, so. Minnie rock mamma's pet to sleep ;
do, Mine, that 's a good girl," for the cries from
the crib had commenced again. " I declare, I
should feel quite wretched all the evening, if I
thought she was crying up here."

"Oh, don't worry yerself, ma'am; she isn't
sick the laste, only fatigued like, with walkin'
so fur this afternoon."

" Yes, and the sun was very hot. You must
be careful of going out with her in the sun.
Why do you always go at four o'clock, the hot-^
test part of the day V

Minnie did not explain that was the hour
which best suited " a gentleman's own gentle-
man" to promenade, his master being at dinner,
or that she had received an invitation to go, in
company with several other members of the
servants' hall, on a little boating party that
evening, to be finished by a petit souper worthy
of a better cause. If Mrs. Porter had not been
so late, by reason of lending Minnie to Mrs. Dc
Chambourg first, she would have stopped ^to kiss
her baby good-by, and thus have noticed that
the child's face was flushed, and the cries were
from pain, not crossness. No wonder, for a
little tooth was cutting its way laboriously
through the swollen gum.

Mrs. Dalton did not go to hops, and, as she
had a severe headache, retired early, seeing first
that the baby was in a sound sleep, and Minnie,
for a wonder, watching beside her, conning over
a mass book.

She woke in the dull gray light of early dawn
with a piercing shriek, such as one hears in un-
pleasant dreams, ringing in her cars. But this
was not a dream ; and she found herself, she
scarcely knew how, in Mrs. Porter's room before
the next rang through the corridor. It was half
filled with the wondering tenants of neighboring
apartments, crowding around Mrs. Porter, who
sat upon the floor still in her ball-dress holding
the rigid figure of her baby, the wax-like hands
clenched and purple, and white foam starting
from the close-drawn lips.

" Oh, my God, she is dying ! she is dying !
Oh, why doesn't some one help me ? She will
die ! Isn't there any one that can stop this ?
Ellie ! my poor baby ! mamma's Ellie ! poor
Ellie !" screamed the agonized mother, her face
«, strange contrast to her gay dress crushed

around her. " Oh, Mrs. Dalton ! dear Mrs.
Dalton ! can't you tell what to do ? Look at
mamma, my darling, precious mamma !"

But the stiffened lids opened to no entreaties ;
even when the paroxysm had passed, the child
lay passive, but in a senseless, heavy stupor.
Mrs. Dalton did all she could, and that was
almost all that an experienced physician would
have ordered ; but it was a fearful half hour
before medical assistance came.

" This is more than a simple convulsion occa-
sioned by teething," the young physician said,
gravely. "Did any one administer an opiate
before I was called?"

A sudden suspicion passed through Mrs. Dal-
ton's mind. Minnie, up and gayly dressed, at
this unusual hour, was crouching half kneeling
behind the bed, unable by fright to be of any
assistance.

" My good girl," said the doctor, soothingly,
following Mrs. Dalton's glance, "do you ever
give the baby anything when it cries ?"

" Niver the laste, sir, on my sowl, sir ; the
Holy Virgin to witness, sir."

The vehemence of the girl's manner attracted
even Mrs. Porter.

" No one blames you, Minnie," she said, try-
ing to conquer herself for a moment. " Oh,
doctor, is there nothing you can do for my poor,
poor baby?"

" If you suspect laudanum has been given,
do not hesitate to treat the child for it," Mrs.
Dalton said, quickly.

" If I was sure there was poison to counter-
act. This looks very much like it. But the
child is so very delicate, I do not like to use
such powerful remedies unless absolutely neces-
sary. As it is, there seems such an unnatural
lethargy. Are you sure the nurse has not ad-
ministered an overdose of paragoric, at least?
The child seems to be cutting her teeth very
hard, and would be likely to cry and fret."

" Oh, give her anything, anything, doctor !
Oh, if her father was only here !" said Mrs.
Porter, as the paroxysm returned more violent
than before. " Do you think she will die ?
She can't have taken anything. Minnie, tell
the gentleman."

But Minnie was gone, and Mrs. Dalton fol-
lowed her out, confronting the startled girl in
the long corridor. She had seen the stealthy
movement towards the door the instant they
turned away from her, and, knowing how much
depended on ascertaining exactly what was given
to Ellie, and when it was administered, she.
resolved to extort a confession.

Much as she doubted the girl, Mrs. Dalton

148

GODEY'ri MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

was staggered at her repeated and solemn de-
nials ; but, at length, cowardice betrayed the
very thing she was trying to conceal ; and, ply-
in? her with questions, threats of punishment,
and promises, the guilty nurse confessed all.

•• But oh, ma'am, it was only three drops left in
the very bottom of the bottle, not the half-full
of the taespoon ; an' she cried so, an' they was
all waitin' on me; an' I had it ricommended to
meself whin I had the toothache, an' I didn't
mane the laste of harm. Will they put me in
prison, ma'am, if she dies 1 Pl'ase let me go
now, I've towld all I can tell. An' it niver
hurt her the laste before ; an' I 'm sure it was
her teeth, ma'am, she's gettin' so hard."

The physician had already acted on the sup-
position that laudanum had been given, when
Mrs. Dalton returned; but there were many
hours of suspense and mental torture before the
unhappy mother had any surety that her child
would be saved. Even the careless throng that
sauntered and slept, and trifled through the
intense heat of the summer day, were moved to
something like sympathy when they caught a
glimpse of the closed shutters of her room, or
missed the lively Mrs. Porter from the lunch -
table and the drawing-room.

The ladies talked it over among themselves ;
and those who had chosen to consider Mrs. Por-
ter a rival, were not slow to blame her for
negligence of her child. Even Mrs. De Cham-
bourg, to whose influence it was so greatly
owing, shrugged her pearl- whitened shoulders,
and hoped " it would be a lesson to her." The
wish, uncharitable as it was in spirit, certainly
was gratified ; but the knowledge of public cen-
sure could scarcely have added a pang to the
anguish of remorse and sorrow with which Mrs.
Porter received the physician's final verdict,
that the little one would not then die ; but the
shock had so enfeebled an already delicate con-'
stitution, that it was scarcely possible she could
live through a sickly childhood.

Her husband met her with no word, no look
even of reproach, when he came; it was not
needed ; but he opened his arms to a changed
and sorrowful woman, who watched henceforth
with untiring patience and love over the young
life doomed, by her own neglect, to be one of
suffering.

" I don't think I 'vc met Mrs. Porter out this
winter," a mutual acquaintance said to Mrs.
Dalton at an evening party.

" No," returned that kind and steadfast friend,
" her little girl is so delicate she never leaves
her."

" Oh, I remember. Shocking thing, wasn't

it ? At West Point, Mrs. Dc Chambourg told
me all about it. She says she flirted — Mrs. Por-
ter, I mean— with young Balsell (they say Mrs.
De Chambourg is engaged to him, by the way),
and wras as gay as possible. I could have told
her not to trust that Minnie too far. She lived
with me a while."

" Yes. And did she have a recommendation
from you?"

" Oh, of course ; you know, one always has
to do that. Poor creatures ! it 's their bread and
butter. So I said she could sew well, and all
that sort of thing ; but, if a lady comes to mc
herself to inquire, that 's another thing."

" But you were out of town," Mrs. Dalton
said, with some displeasure. " And, now I
think of it, it was your name Mrs. Porter par-
ticularly noticed."

" One doesn't like to be hard," the lady re-
turned, lightly. " I 've got a blessing in Bridget,
though. I was very much obliged to Mrs. Por-
ter for not engaging her. I saw her drive away
that day just as I turned the corner. She has
lived in a physician's family so many years, that
I trust her to manage all the little sicknesses in
the nursery. Nothing serious, you understand.
I went to Mrs. Dr. Jeffrey myself to inquire
about her, and she gave her the highest charac-
ter. Mr. Johnson thinks we 've been very for-
tunate."

And so it was that Mrs. Porter missed the
" perfect treasure."

BY COHTEZ.

Apart from thee — apart from thee —
What more has bitterest fate to cas*

On one whose only joy can be
To think on thee and on the past!

To think on thee and on the past,
As some bright scene on fancy's stage ;

That, like such scenes, too briefly last,
Were moments in our earthly age.

But e'en though momentary, they
(In all my gloom one brilliant star)

Than aught which cheers my lonely way
To me are brighter, sweeter far.

And who that gazed upon thy face,
And looked upon thy brilliant eye,

Could think that aught could e'er efface
That loveliness— that thou must die?

But part we must — this world below
Thou canst not hope to light forever ;

But, parted for a time, we '11 go
Where naught again our love can sever.

A GAKEER OF INDUSTJRY:

WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF HATS AND HATTING.

A career of honest industry and self-sacri-
ficing devotion to the demands of business carries
with it a moral in the ultimate success it is sure
to achieve, which makes the biography of the
actor therein a most proper subject to engage the
attention of the press. The recital of the inci-
dents in the life of one who has risen to fortune,
without capital and without friends to assist
him, save as they were made by the confidence
in his business qualities which his attention
achieved, may be read profitably both by old and
young. Thus impressed, we have procured from
our townsman, Mr. Charles Oakford, the out-
lines of his eventful history, to lay before our
readers, in the full confidence that they will
stimulate the young to habits of industry, and
teach the adult that the only road to success is
unremitting attention to business, rigid economy,
and a studious avoidance of debt. The biogra-
phy we are about to present will adduce con-
vincing evidence of the truth of this remark.

Charles Oakford, on the 27th September, 1827,
being then twenty years of age, and having served
six years and ten months apprenticeship to the
hatting trade, resolved to commence business
on his own account. His entire available capital
was five dollars thirty-seven and a half cents !
But he had something better than an account at
bank, or a rich and friendly endorser ; this was
a determination to succeed, confident hopes in
himself, and rules of action resolved upon to
guide his future business life. The first day he
received orders for four $4 hats ; at that period,
hats of this price were made by napping a fine
Saxony wool body with one ounce of muskrat
and three-quarters of an ounce of coney. He
therefore purchased six muskrat skins at thirty-
seven and a half cents each, and four bodies at
fifty cents each, with a quarter pound of raw
coney fur, which was selling at $3 per pound.
This expenditure of five dollars reduced his
capital to thirty-seven and a half cents, with
which he purchased an apron, knife, and whet-
stone. Mr. Gillingham, who carried on business
in Front below Spruce Street, agreed to stiffen
the bodies, and color and finish the hats com-
plete for $1 10 each. Mr. John Land, whose
place of business was located opposite the New
Market, in Second below Lombard Street, kindly
offered the use of his shop to make the hats, nor

13*

could he be induced to accept any remuneration,,
though young Oakford stated his determination
to be independent and pay for everything he
received. He, however, had an opportunity of
repaying his kindness fully in after life. The
hats were completed according to order, and on
Saturday evening he took them home and received
sixteen dollars. "With the proceeds he paid his
board $2 50, and $4 40 for finishing them, thus
leaving a balance of $9 10. The next week he
obtained orders for four $4 hats and two $6
hats. Having two ounces of muskrat fur left, he
purchased the necessary stock, manufactured the
hats, took them home himself, and received $28.
He again paid his board $2 50, and $6 60 for
finishing and trimming the hats, leaving a balance
of $18 90. Orders after this continued to come
in so as to keep him busily engaged ; his friends
appreciated his independent efforts to make his
way in the world, and did him material service
by recommending him to the favorable notice of
others. His little capital was consequently ac-
cumulating, for a rigid economy governed all his
actions, and customers increased so fast that it
became necessary to enlarge his manufacturing
facilities. One day Oakford was in a brown study,

ruminating how this was to be accomplished,
with his chin resting on the palms of his hands,

149

15v

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

and his elbows on his knees, when his mother,
who was seated opposite, watching every motion
with maternal anxiety, peering over her specta-
cles with a distrustful look, said —

" Charley, aren't you afraid you'll break?"

This question aroused him.

" Break !" replied he ; " how. can that be possi
ble, when I do not owe a cent in the world ! But,
mother, I was thinking, if you would give up the
kitchen, I would hire a kettle and tools, and put
them up there." To this proposition, she, will-
ing to undergo any privation for her son's advan-
tage, immediately assented, and he made an
arrangement with Mr. Gillingham to take his
kettle and tools, put them up, and allow a man
to work for him in the kitchen, now raised to
the dignity of a shop, without charge. After this
he hired a room over the store in front of No.
35 Lombard Street, at $40 per annum, where he
put up his hurls and finishing benches, and went
to work in good earnest. Shortly after this, a

shoemaker vacated the shop next door, No. 37,
which he rented at one dollar a week, and took
possession.

Over the door of this tenement, which, with
all the appurtenances thereunto belonging, was
the castle of his hopes and highest ambition, he
hoisted his first sign : " Charles Oakford, Hat-
ter." The area pf this glorious realization of
his ideas was ninety-six square feet, and its solid
capacity some twenty-five or thirty cubic yards ;
it was twelve feet front, eight feet deep, and one
story high ! This account may appear almost
incredible, but we assure our readers that, though

we have often questioned Oakford on the sub-
ject, he has always steadily and undeviatingly
adhered to the same one story. This sign-raising
occurred on the 15th of November, 1827, and
we question if any conqueror ever hoisted his
victorious flag over a subjugated city, if Paul
Jones ever regarded his "rattlesnake" banner,
or General Scott spread the star-spangled
bunting to the breeze, above the walls of van-
quished Mexico, with such pride as Oakford
saw his name in print for the first lime. We
can, in imagination, see him stealing over to
the opposite side of the street, and looking up,

A CAREER OF INDUSTRY.

151

like Constantine, to the inspiring revelation >

which assured him "by this sign thou shalt \

conquer!" That day probably was the hinge- >

day of his fate, for doubtless, in his honest pride \

of heart, he then made the secret determination, \

if life were spared, he would be at the pinnacle \

of his business. Acting upon this resolve, he j

laid down as rules, to make the very best work, i

sell at fair prices, and never, through any false \

pride, to be above his occupation. In those days, \

Mr. David Jones was engaged in the hatting \
business, in Second above Race Street, and took

in hats to color from the different hatters. It '

was customary to block the hats on heavy gum
blocks, on which they were dyed. Oakfokd
always wheeled his hats himself from his shop
to the above place, being fearful to trust then;
in other hands, lest they should be rubbed or
galled. He was not induced to do this inA\\
mean parsimony, as no doubt many thought, to
save a quarter dollar — for such a thing as mean-
ness, we may safely affirm, never entered his
mind, or belonged to his organization ; but he
only desired to prevent damage to his wares, on
which he prided himself.

In this little shop — stall we might call it, with-
out insulting its dignity — he continued until
August, 1828, when burglars attempted to break
open the door. This would have been no diffi-
cult task even to an inexperienced " cracksman,"
but it was fortunately frustrated by one of his
journeymen, who happened to be passing; he
aroused Oakford, who took his cot and his nap
in the store that night to protect the nap and
body of his hats.

The next month he rented the store, No. 30,
on the opposite side of the street, took an account
of stock, found himself worth $560, and not
owing a cent in the world. His business had
increased so rapidly that he rented a factory and
put up all the necessary apparatus for manufac-
turing. He now had an entire business under
his control, employed several hands, and took
two apprentices. It was often the subject of
surprise and remark how he could do so thriving
a business in such a deserted street. When he
was asked the secret of his success, he replied it
was " by making good hats, being attentive to
my customers, and taking care not to forget the
advice of the shoemaker from whom I rented
my shop, who said, ' Charley, never hold a
penny so close to your eye as to lose sight of a
dollar.' " Apropos of the motives and business
tact of Mr. Oakford, is an anecdote which speaks
volumes for the guidance of all young beginners
and even for old established merchants. One
of his journeymen one day finished a hat for a
customer, and brought it to Mr. Oakford, who
observed a very slight blemish in it, and told
the workman that the hat was not perfect.
"Pooh!" was the reply; "not one man in a
thousand would notice it!" This did not suit
Oakford, who immediately said, "Well, then,
let us have a hat for that one man; it may
bring us a thousand customers which the 'little
blemish,' if detected, would certainly keep
away." Remembering and profiting by such
counsel, worthy of " Poor Richard" himself, and
actuated by such rules for doing a perfect busi-
ness, Oakford increased in worldly gear, and

152

godey's magazine and lady's book.

became impressed, as most thriving young men
will do, with the idea that he must have a part-
ner. Once determined, was immediately to act ;
so on the second of June, 1829, he got married,
fitted up the kitchen which he had occupied and
the adjoining three story building, making the
total of his rent for house, store, and factory,
$210, expended about $300 for furniture, and on
the day of his wedding everything was paid for,
having traded off his hats.

In the spring of 1830, an incident occurred to
Mr. Oakford which produced great results on
his future prospects. Mr. John Darrieux, his
next door neighbor, was passing his shop, when
he accosted him, and asked him to walk in while
he had the pleasure of ironing his hat. Mr. D.
did so, handed his hat, and while Oakford was
engaged in his work, said to him : " I want you
to make me one thousand hats." Had a comet
struck the shop, or a meteor fallen at his feet, he
could not have jumped higher than he did at
this unexpected piece of good fortune ! Only to
think ! a thousand hats ! "What an order ! But
Mr. D. did not stop here. After dinner, he
returned to the store, accompanied by Mr.
Lewis Clappier, known as one of our most
wealthy and enterprising merchants, and before
they left they had increased the order to $10,000.
Here El Dorado opened upon Oakford. He had
read the " Arabian Nights," but never believed
there was such an " open sesame" for him to
enter the eave of fortune ! But these new
friends, one of whom Mr. Oakford had secured
to him by an iron bond, did not confer half way
benefits. Knowing that he was a young begin-
ner, and not a gun great enough to carry a ten
thousand dollar shot, they relieved him from all
the embarrassments which began to suggest
themselves to him as to procuring the large
necessary amount of material, by kindly offering
to go security for all his purchases, and advancing
the money requisite to pay his hands, without
asking any security of any kind. This was a
compliment to the reputation Oakford had al-
ready acquired as a prompt man of business ;
but still such unlooked-for kindness affected
him most sensibly. There was only one way
to repay such friends, and that was by faithful
attention to their orders. Six weeks were given
to complete the hats. "Charley was on the
spot" two days before the time expired, delivered
them all, received his money, less five per cent,
discount, and before he sat down to his dinner
had paid every dollar he owed in the world,
which gave him a most glorious appetite and
truly healthy digestion.

There was one very happy man in Philadel-

phia about those days, and the initials of his name
were Charles Oakford ! We have heard him
describe his sensations and the various plans
which he formed for the future, and that reminds
us to relate why it was so very large an order
happened to be given. The Mexican government
had abolished the duty on hats some time pre-
vious, and as it was anticipated that the duty-
would soon be restored, a Frenchman, resident
in Mexico, came to New York and purchased
$30,000 worth. He sailed from New York with
his venture, but the vessel encountered a heavy
gale off the Capes of Delaware, and was lost with
the cargo and nearly all the souls on board, in-
cluding the Frenchman. Messrs. Darrieux and
Clappier, hearing of this disaster, took advantage
of their information, as they at the time were
doing a heavy business in Mexico, and made the
shipment. Mr. D. was probably revolving the
venture in his mind when Oakford accosted him
with his polite offer to iron his hat, and that
urbanity secured the order. By the way, it was
a very judicious way for a young beginner to
make friends — this habit of inviting acquaint-
ances to step in and have the polish put on their
beavers — for it secured good customers and caused
him to be spoken of, as one good turn always
deserves another.

From this time, matters went on quietly but
sAccessfully until 1833, when Oakford com-
menced making brush hats ; this process was
from very fine Russia fur with all the nap brushed
out of the body. The first one he sold was to
Francis Peters, son of the late Richard Peters,
Esq., a young gentleman who at that time held
the position in Philadelphia which the "pretty
Ophelia" accords to Hamlet : —

" The glass of fashion and the mould of form.
The observed of all observers ;"

in fact, the leader of the ton twenty years ago-
"the card and calendar of gentry." He wore
this hat nine months, then purchased another,
and as he left the old one at the store, Mr. Oak-
ford washed and ironed it up, and put it in the
Exhibition of the Franklin Institute, with the
following label : —

"This hat was worn by F. Peters, Esq., nine
months, constant wear, made by C. Oakford,
No. 30 Lombard Street."

This was a palpable hit ! Crowds flocked to
his store, attracted by the qualities of a hat which
could be worn nine months, and then be made
to look as good as new. About this time, too,
Mr. Oakford was much benefited by the interest
which Messrs. W. and F. Carpenter, the cele-
brated tailors, took in his welfare. They sent him

A CAREER OF INDUSTRY.

153

a large number of customers, and, by their liberal
friendship, obtained a claim upon his gratitude
which has never yet been effaced, and can never
be repaid.

In the winter of 1833-4, it was the fashion for
iho ladies to wear black beaver hats ; and a
very becoming fashion it is when compared with
the little coal-scuttle absurdities they now hang
on the napes of their necks. This was a great
source of profit to Oakford, who made great num-
bers of them, while the increasing fame of his
brush hats spread far and wide, for Mr. Peters
brought many repeaters, and kept him constantly
busy ; his customers having frequently to wait a
month or even six weeks, owing to the utter
impossibility of filling the orders as fast as they
came in. He could have sold any quantity of
them, had it not been for the scarcity of work-
men competent to the proper performance of this
particular branch of the business, which was a
novelty.

In March, 1835, Oakford removed to No. 210
South Second Street, opposite the New Market.
Mr. John Ely, Jr., his landlord, having built him
a factory in the rear and altered the store and
dwelling, he now had his entire business com-
pletely under his own control and personal super-
vision, and it continued to increase rapidly. But
his uptown customers having found fault with
the distance they had to come for their hats.

upon the advice of his excellent good friends,
the Messrs. Carpenter, in March, 1839, he rented
the store No. 78 South Third Street, and opened
a branch establishment. But in 1840, he sold
out the Second Street store, and remained i:;
Third Street until September, 1843, when the
establishment No. 104 Chestnut Street was offered
to him, it having been established in 1829 by
Mr. A. Russel. In the new location, good fortune
and increasing business still attended him. Id
1847, the celebrated New York hatters, Messrs.
Becbe and Costar, who had acquired quite a na-
tional reputation, came to this city, altered the
store No. 138 Chestnut Street, and opened a branch
of their business there. This induced correspond-
ing emulation on the part of Mr. Oakford, who
laid out $2,000 in altering and embellishing his
store, while his landlord, the commissioner of the
Girard Estate, also appropriated $1,000. These
new arrangements were all completed by August
25, 1847, and Oakford had all his Philadelphia
pride aroused, not to be outdone by New York
rivalry. His enterprise and liberality were re-
warded by the most generous patronage, and his
books showed an increase in his business of
$15,000 in the four following months. In 1850,
he rented two stories in the rear of the granite
buildings, No. 101 Chestnut Street, for a manu-
factory ; put up a steam-engine to facilitate his
business, and commenced the wholesale trade in

connection with his previous retail business.
This was rather slow work at first, but he found
Kossuth's remark literally true, "that there is
no obstacle to him that wills !" The superiority
of his fabrics and the elegance of his styles soon
became known over the Union, and even in other

countries, and now there is probably no battel
in America who does so large an export trade,
or whose name is better or more extensively
known in the crown of hats over this entire
continent.

In 1852, it was determined to improve, the

154

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

A CAREER OF INDUSTRY.

155

Girard Estate property on Chestnut Street, and
Mr. Oak ford agreed with the commissioners to
take the store and basement, and one room in the
back building, at $3,000 per annum; and to make
way for the demolition of the old tenement, he
removed temporarily to a store in the front of the
United States Hotel building. About this time,
J. Francis Fisher, Esq., resolved to build upon
his elegant property situated between Jones's
Hotel and the site of Barnum's Museum, which
had been recently destroyed by fire. Mr. Oak-
ford thought this a better location, as being more
centrally situated, and he accordingly effected
a release of his engagement with the Girard
Commissioners, and contracted for the store he
now occupies, No. 158 Chestnut Street. The
commissioners were willing to cancel the agree-
ment, as they had been offered a higher rent, and
Oakford has ever since had every cause to be
satisfied with the change, for his business has
increased 125 per cent, since he moved into his
new and magnificent premises on the 8th June,
1853. He was convinced that the growing popu-
lation, and the increasing intercourse of other
States with Philadelphia, would sustain a large
establishment, arranged with all the luxurious
modern improvements and tasteful embellish-
ments, and he now can boast as elegant a store
as can be found in the entire world. Here he
is now located, doing an immense business, with
fortune pouring in upon him ; possessing the
confidence and respect of all, and noted for the
suavity of his manners and the same courteous
attentions to his customers which distinguished
him twenty-seven years ago, when, a penniless
lad, he resolved to embark on the stormy sea
of business life, with no sail to propel him but
habits of industry and perseverance, and no
beacon to steer by but honesty and his determi-
nation never to be in debt. We have said that
the career of Mr. Oakford can teach a lesson
to the young as well as the adult, and we cannot
better close this sketch than by making the
application.

Energy of character is better than an heirship
to an estate. Oakford worked hard for every
cent he ever made, and therefore knew the value
of money. He was economical without being
parsimonious ; he was diligent without forgetting
the pure delights of social life; he knew there
was a time for all things, and he would there-
fore lighten the toils of the day by enlivening his
friends with a good song when the day's labors
were over. He always pursued a most liberal
business policy ; paid his workmen the best
wages and highest rates for piecework ; purchased
the very best materials ; competed fairly with all

his rivals; turned out unexceptionable fabrics,
and was never above his business. Oakford's
friends will remember the story of an apprentice
he once had, who, when requested to take a hat
home a short distance from the store, went to a
looking-glass, and began brushing his hair and
fixing himself up. Oakford was busy at the
time shaving hats, and finding that the young
man was thus engaged, told him it was folly,
and that he ought not to let pride get the up'per
hand of him. Not content with this advice, he
gave him a practical lesson, and when the ap-
prentice was spruced up, Oakford took his arm
and carried the hat himself to its destination.
When they entered the store there were several
customers present, purchasing goods, and Oak-

ford called out, " Here 's your hat, sir. I brought
this lad with me to show him that his master is
not too proud to carry his wares home, with his
sleeves rolled up and his apron on." This les-
son ought to have had a good effect upon the
youngster for whose benefit it was intended.
All young men commencing business may profit
by the independence which it exhibited. Ap-
prentices now have easier times than fell to
their lot thirty years since. During Oakford's
indenture, they used to wash their hats out at
the pump in the street, at from one to four
o'clock in the morning, frequently when it was
bitter cold, with snow, rain, or sleet pouring
down upon them. But they went to work
cheerfully and merrily, and, as an accompani-
ment, Oakford would sometimes strike up our
country's song, "The Star-Spangled Banner,"
or some other popular ditty of the day, and at
its close his audience of 'prentice boys, and the

156

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

■&i

watchmen, who were attracted by the strains,
would join in applause. There is no such hard
work required now. Instead of apprentices
coloring hats, black men are employed generally,
for, being " dyed in the wool," they can better
apply the dye to the furs and other fabrics. As
boys learning trades are so much more comfort-
able now than their fathers were, they should
resolve to serve their masters faithfully, for by
so doing they not only gain the esteem of their
employers, but their good conduct will be noticed
by their customers and the community at large,
and, when they commence business for them-
selves, they will find that their assiduity and
fidelity will induce many persons to follow them
as customers. They should learn, too, from the
career of Mr. Oakford, above all things, never
to be anxious to make money too fast, but
rather secure a good reputation, do justice to all
in business dealings, and wealth will surely fol-
low.

There is one other secret to success, which
Mr. Oakford early learned and most liberally
practised, and that is the value of advertis-
ing. He has always kept his name before the
public in the newspapers ; he has multiplied
these "travelling signs" by the millions, and
sent them all over the land. His name has
become identified with Philadelphia through the
press, and for every dollar spent in this manner
he has had a thousand returned to him. No
one knows the benefits of advertising better
than Oakford. All his industry might never
have led to fortune, had he not used the press
to advertise his business. Oakford's Hats —
Oakford's Fashions— Oakford's Spring Styles —

Oakford's Furs — arc destined to meet the eye of
every newspaper reader, when he takes up a
journal, and thus hundreds of strangers are at-
tracted to his magnificent establishment. He
knows the true motive power for driving busi-
ness ahead ; he knows that industry must have
the co-operation of the press to show where it
builds its hive, and that without advertising an
industrious man may make a living, but cannot
achieve fortune. From the success of his career,
then, the youthful reader may learn that perse-
verance, fidelity to employers, and strict in-
tegrity will bring friends and business, and lay
the foundation of permanent wealth ; and those
more advanced in life may receive the assurance
that the surest path to fortune, even when as-
sisted by indomitable energy and undeviating
honesty, is through the advertising medium of
the press. By keeping these facts steadily in
view, all may emulate the enviable career of
Charles Oakford, and with him achieve compe-
tence as the deserved reward of business ta<'t,
liberality, and unbounded enterprise.

USEFULNESS.

Can you think that it is the design of Him
who created all things for a wise end, that any
human being shall merely fill a place in the
world without being of service to his fellow-
creatures or to himself! God, in giving us the
various and wonderful faculties with which all
are to a greater or lesser degree endowed, has evi-
dently designed us to become "forms of use;"'
for to bestow a useless gift would be inconsistent
with his wisdom. To some he has given the ten
talents, to some five, and to some but one ; but
to all he has given at least that one. And have
you a right to go and bury your one talent in the
earth, instead of using it and increasing it to
five ? When you see that the reward of useful-
ness is happiness even in this world, that occu-
pation brings enjoyment, that the only perma-
nent felicity is found in active life, can you help
being convinced that to be useful to others and
to ourselves is our destined end ? We learn thi*
lesson from every tree, every herb, every flower
that grows, even from the meanest weed that wc
trample beneath our feet. Are they not all
images of use, springing up to some useful end ?
Does not every one possess some property service-
able to mankind, and does not every one perform
an appointed office? There is virtue in the leaves
of even the despised weed ; and look, how it un-
folds those leaves, shoots forth blossoms, and
forms seed which serve to propagate its Bpecics

ON PARASITIC PLANTS

BT nAIUAND CO0LTAS, PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN PENN MEDICAL UNIVERSITY, PHILADELPHIA.

Duiung the month of August, several inte-
resting native parasitic plants may be collected.
Parasites (-r*i>ji beside, ct/tcc food) arc so called
because they derive their nutriment from the
plants to which they attach themselves, and not
directly from the soil and atmosphere, the usual
sources of vegetable nutrition. These plants are
therefore usually without leaves or aerial organs,
and of some other color than green. They do
not live on all plants indiscriminately, but are
only found growing on certain species, whose
elaborated juices, it wrould seem from this cir-
cumstance, are alone capable of supplying them
with their proper food. Indeed, in some in-
stances, the power of affording the requisite nu-
trition to the parasite appears to be restricted to
the root or to the stem of that peculiar species of
plant on which the parasite is invariably found,
as its seed will not germinate on any other part.

The Indian pipe (Monotropa uniflora), one
of the most remarkable of our native parasites,
may now be found in deep rich woods. This
plant appears to be parasitic on decaying vege-
table matter, and is singularly pallid and fun-
gus-looking, to which order of vegetables it
appears to be closely allied. It is fleshy, scent-
less, and snow-white throughout, its stem rising

d a

VOL. XL.IX. — 14

to an altitude of from four to eight inches above
the ground, symmetrically clothed with scales
like the petals of the solitary terminal flower at
its summit, which is at first nodding, but after-
wards becomes upright in fruit. The whole
plant turns black in drying, and, before its flower
becomes erect, strikingly resembles a pipe in
appearance.

The accompanying figure is a representation
of this curious plant, a. The complete plant.
b. One of the petals, c. The capsule or seed-
vessel, with the surrounding stamens, d. Trans-
verse section of the capsule.

Under the covering of the broad-spreading
beech, ladies will readily perceive a brownish
plant, which is parasitic on the roots of this
tree. It is called by botanists the Epiphsgus
Virginiana, or beech-drops. This plant, when
carelessly observed, maybe readily mistaken for
some withered and dead vegetation ; but this
delusion is at once removed when it is examined.

Along the margins of streams, and in damp
low grounds, the Cuscuta gronovii, or American
dodder, may now be met with. This plant is a
slender, thread-like yellow vine, bearing clusters
of white flowers, and twines about the herbage
in its vicinity. Its seed at first germinates in
the earth, from which it derives its nutriment
in the ordinary manner. When, however, the
slender twining stem is sufficiently developed to
reach the vegetation in its neighborhood, it pro-
duces laterally rounded suckers, by means of
which it draws its nourishment from the stems
of those plants about which it becomes coiled.
It has now no longer any connection with the
soil ; and the original root and the lower part of
the stem, being of no further use, perish, the
plant deriving all its nutriment for the future
from that vegetation to which it has become
attached. The dodder, when considered in re-
ference to its coiling and predacious tendencies,
maybe regarded as a species of vegetable snake,
which coils about other plants and preys on them.
It is exceedingly destructive in the clover and
flax-fields of Europe. It belongs to the natural
order Convolvulaceae, and in this respect differs
from the morning glory and other twining plants
of the same order, which are perfectly harmless,
and whose stems envelop other plants as mere
points of support, and not as sources of food.

107

TEE QUEEN'S VISIT TO THE FEENCH EMBASSY.

[We give the following account for several
reasons. The first and principal one is that we
know the ladies will be interested in it; another
is to show our readers how expensively these court
ladies were dressed. We hope that none of our
fair subscribers will have their republican no-
tions shocked by these doings of royalty. Queen
Victoria is a good queen, and, what is still bet-
ter, a good wife and mother.]

On the evening of yesterday week, the Queen,
waiving for a moment that rigid rule of etiquette
with which the custom of ages has surrounded
the royalty of England, left her palace, to ac-
cept, graciously and cordially, the splendid hos-
pitalities respectfully proffered by the subject and
minister of an imperial ally.

Unparalleled, for nearly two centuries, as
was this example of royal condescension, it is
not that circumstance which creates any difficulty
in referring to the subject, according to the
spirit in which it ought to be considered; for,
happily, the instances are not few in which
Queen Victoria has evinced an inclination to
meet the citizens of her own realm, and those
of other countries, on the terms which most
surely engage as well affection as reverence to-
wards a monarch. Neither is it the unusual
brilliancy of the reunion — the unusual concen-
tration of rank and eminence, worth and talent,
in all their spheres and aspects. There have
often before been assemblages where (with the
single illustrious exception by which the present
will be long remembered) an array of personages
equally eminent, equally worthy, have been
congregated under the roof of a private noble or
gentleman. But that which imparts to the bal
costume of the 11 th of May its distinctive cha-
racter, removes it wholly out of the category of
ordinary festivities ; that which renders it almost
impossible to mention it in terms of common-
place narrative and detail, is the meaning con-
veyed in the distinction which our gracious
Sovereign has conferred on the accomplished
representative of his Majesty, Napoleon the
Third.

There is, truly, a meaning, a deep and solemn
significancy, in this memorable demonstration.
It indicates the force and constancy of the mu-
tual resolution of the two great nations to stand
158

by each other in the holy and righteous under-
taking upon which they have entered — to fight,
with all the energy which the consciousness of
right can convey, the battle of truth, justice,
and honor — to withstand the aggression of
wrongful force, be the strength and arrogance
of the assailant how great soever — to check,
once and for all future time, the further progress
of that baleful " hereditary policy" which, for a
century and a half, has menaced the peace of
the world.

Throughout the whole of the day there was
much excitement in the neighborhood of Albert-
gate — the approaching visit of her Majesty formed
a fertile theme of discussion. The extensive pre-
parations outside the mansion gave token of the
more recherche display prepared in the interior,
and groups stood watching anxiously each open-
ing of the great doors, observing the various
collections of flowers as they were borne in, by
van loads, to decorate the staircase and salons,
and the huge bales of cocoa-nut matting and
crimson cloth which were rolled out to cover the
pavements leading to the approaches.

The decorations of the exterior of the mansion
were indeed such as to excite attention. An
awning had been carried out along the side of
the house over the whole pavement, so that
three carriages might set down at the same time.
Added to this, a pavilion had been erected over
the portico; and advantage was taken of the
entire wall of this to constitute a gigantic il-
lumination. On one side were the royal initials,
" V. A.," and on the other the imperial mono-
gram, " N.," each in a laurelled circle of twelve
feet in diameter. Above and between both were
two crowns, surmounted by a star in a centre of
nine feet in diameter.

The fineness of the evening attracted a nu-
merous attendance of fashionables in the Park,
and many of the elite of the aristocracy seemed,
in passing through Albert-gate, to give great
attention to the arrangements going on for the
grand entertainment, of which they were them-
selves to form a distinguished portion later in
the evening.

The preparations in the interior were so ad-
mirably managed as to be brought to a close
early in the afternoon, after which period all
was repose and order throughout the mansion.

THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO THE FRENCH EMBASSY

159

At eight o'clock the whole was illuminated, and
now was first seen in all its brilliancy the full
effect of the splendid tout ensemble which had
been so sedulously elaborated in honor of the
royal visit.

On entering the hall from the vestibule, the
atmosphere, redolent with the perfume of roses
and violets, was fitted for the welcome of a
queen. Everywhere the chief ornament of the
evening seemed to be flowers ; the subdued and
delicate coloring of white and gold, which per-
vades the entire place, afforded a charming
background, and to such a decoration, music,
light, and flowers were the exquisite components
of a fUe in which royalty and beauty shone so
brightly. The appearance of the staircase, the
leading architectural feature of the mansion,
was, under these circumstances, very beautiful.
High up in the campanile was a wreath of light,
the jets of gas producing which were concealed;
but those who know the effect produced by a
flood of light falling from, and equally distributed
over bright objects, can judge how brilliant was
the effect here upon carpets of deep crimson and
balustrades of white and gold — an effect to be
in a short time highly enhanced by the moving
groups of youth and beauty in costumes of ex-
quisite fancy.

To the right of the entrance from the hall,
and opposite the library, was the supper-room,
where tables, set out with exceeding taste,
sparkled with rare fruits and costly viands, in
precious vases or plate of exquisite workman-
ship.

Passing out of the supper-room, and ascending
the staircase, the entrance into the green draw-
ing-room faced the spectator on the first landing.
Through a plate-glass door, thrown back, might
be seen, on either side, an opposite doorway,
two compartments covered with crimson velvet
and gold fringe, where sat a band of musicians,
under the able presidence of M. Emile Laurent,
all of them arrayed in blue surcoats, with the
arms of the Embassy emblazoned on the front in
rich gold embroidery. The Count Walewski
has inherited from Poland this fashion of clothing
musicians in livery. At a costume ball it cer-
tainly very greatly enhances the effect. A re-
freshing breeze here first reminds the guests that
a window has been taken out, so as to give a
further length to the room, and a pavilion car-
ried out over the portico.

The coup oVozil of the ball-room, which is
entered from the green-room on the left, is mag-
nificent in the extreme. Here is the dais erected
for the royal party, on which five chairs in golden
damask stand prominent from the crimson

ground on which they are placed. On the right,
as we enter, is a recess formed by taking out
one of the windows ; there, in a perfect bower,
or rather, amidst a bouquet of flowers, was placed
a marble bust of her Majesty — the circular arch
above it being overrun by natural ivy, forming a
graceful trellis, and, as it were, a framework for
the brighter flowers. On the right and left of
this recess were placed Winterhalter's full-length
portraits of their Imperial Majesties of France.
These paintings are gems of art in themselves.
The Emperor is represented in a marshal's uni-
form, holding the sceptre. Having passed the
throne, the ball-room is quitted by a passage
reconducting through the boudoir to the drawing-
room, thus completing the circuit of the salons.
This boudoir, a blue room, is one of the most
elegant apartments in the mansion.

The company, both numerous and select, be-
gan to arrive at nine o'clock, and from that hour
until ten they continued to pour in with unin-
termitting rapidity.

Conspicuous amongst the guests was her
Grace, the Duchess of Wellington.

A great deal might be said relevant to the rich
and varied displays of taste and magnificence
which distinguished the costumes worn.

At half past nine o'clock their Royal High-
nesses the Duchess of Cambridge and the Prin-
cess Mary arrived, attended by Lady Caroline
Cust and Major Purves. The duchess wore a
gray silk dress, trimmed with crape and mara-
bout feathers, and having a deep flounce of
Brussels lace. The stomacher was covered with
diamonds and pearls. The headdress was formed
of marabout feathers and a tiara of large pearls.
The necklace was of diamonds. The Princess
Mary wore a pink crape ball dress over pink
satin, the skirt trimmed with pink roses. The
front of the dress was ornamented with two
rows of roses (one on each side) continued from
the skirt to the girdle. The Princess- wore a
diamond stomacher, and had round her head a
wreath of roses, similar to those on the dress-
richly adorned with stars and turquoise. The
necklace was composed of pearls and diamonds.
Their Royal Highnesses were received by the
Ambassador and the secretaries in attendance,
and conducted to the library, where they were
welcomed by the Countess Walewski.

Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Kent,
came shortly afterwards, attended by Lady Anna
Maria Dawson and Lord James Murray. Her
Royal Highness was received with the honors
due to her exalted rank, and joined the Duchess
of Cambridge in the library.

With a punctuality truly royal, her Majesty

160

godey's magazine and lady's book,

arrived at the Embassy exactly at ten o'clock.
The approach of the royal party was heralded
by loud cheers from the assembled multitude
who had crowded the streets and park for the
last three hours. The Ambassador and the
Countess Walcwski were instantly in attendance,
and received her Majesty not merely at the
verge of the mansion, but almost at the carriage
door, thus testifying, as far as possible, their
sense of the high honor conferred upon them.

Her Majesty entered the Embassy leaning on
the arm of the Count Walewski, his royal High-
ness Prince Albert leading the Countess Walew-
ski. The illustrious guests were conducted by
his Excellency to the library, where for a few
moments they remained in conversation with
their royal relatives.

The queen was looking remarkably well. Her
majesty was attired in a costume of great ele-
gance, the prevailing color of which was pink.
Upon her head she wore a diamond tiara, and
the same precious stones were scattered profusely
over the dress. The Prince Consort wore his
full military uniform as Field Marshal.

The costume of the countess was of the time
of Henry III. of France, the color chosen being
that peculiar to the Napoleon family. The Count
Walewski, in obedience to a special desire, ap-
peared in his usual official costume, over which
were displayed the several orders with which he
has been honored by various sovereigns.

After a few moments' pause, her Majesty, pre-
ceded by the Secretaries of the Embassy, M.
Jules de Saux and M. Charles Baudin, ascended
the staircase, leaning on the arm of Count Wa-
lewski, and entered the ball-room — the orchestra
playing the National Anthem.

As soon as the royal party had taken their
places on the dais, the National Anthem was
changed to a " Marche Polonaise" — a signal to
the guests assembled in the drawing-room and
other saloons that they were to commence defil-
ing before her Majesty.

The brilliant cortege having passed by, expec-
tation was now on the tiptoe for the grand event
of the fete — the entrance of the four quadrilles,
and their dancing before her Majesty. Up to
this moment, the distinguished ladies and gentle-
men who formed these gay assemblages had not
made their appearance, except as birds of Para-
dise, fluttering their gay plumage, separately, in
the crowd. They were now about to display
their collective elegance, the harmony and appro-
priateness of their costumery, and their adequacy
to fill up the characters whose outlines, in dress,
they had assumed. The first to appear was the
Spanish quadrille, led by the Countess of Wilton.

The Countess of Wilton's costume was remark-
able for its richness and elegance. The dress
was of silver-gray satin, trimmed with handsome
point d'Espagne, over which hung gracefully a
manteau of magnificent blue satin, lined with
bright amber, decorated with gold and fastened
with cord and tassels. The costume was com-
pleted by a gold cordeliere, set in with precious
stones. The hat of her ladyship was made of
blue velvet, ornamented with feathers, and she
wore diamonds and necklace en suite.

The costume of the other ladies was composed
of rich taffetas shirt, trimmed with three flounces
of black Spanish guipure, headed with black vel-
vet and silver ; corsage dessous en batiste Jiutee,
with caraco of black velvet, trimmed with gui-
pure, silver fringe, cord, and button lace ; a la
Louis XIV. ; sleeves, with epaulettes and revers
of black velvet trimmed to correspond. A head-
dress, formed by a Spanish lace mantilla, over a
high comb, completed the costume.

The next quadrille was that of Frances Count-
ess of Waldegrave. The period selected for illus-
tration was the reign of Henri IV. The Countess
was a faithful personification of Marguerite de
Navarre, as described by Brantome. Her lady-
ship wore a robe of royal crimson velvet, mag-
nificently embroidered with fieurs de lis and gold
borders, lined with blue silk over a skirt of gold
cloth embroidered in gold. Corsage to corre-
spond, of the characteristic shape of the period,
embroidered in fteur de lis, and stomacher of
splendid diamonds ; the aumoniere embroidered
with the royal arms ; the long gold sleeves, and
beautiful coiffure, with veil and profusion of
diamonds, rendered the whole costume admirable
in effect, which was much enhanced by the beauty
and spirit of the wearer.

The Hon. Mrs. Russel personified the Duchess
of Guise, and wore a costume de cour of the
period, composed of a dress of the richest white
satin, beautifully trimmed with gold cloth and
green velvet, embroidered in gold: corsage to
correspond with stomacher entirely covered with
splendid diamonds. Aumonieres, with green
velvet, embroidered with the crown and initials
of Marguerite de Navarre. Coiffure of green
velvet, embroidered in gold, and covered with a
pro/usion of splendid diamonds. The dress was
in elegant contrast with the costumes of the six
demoiselles dlwnneur of the court, so charmingly
personated by the other beautiful and young
members of the quadrille.

The gentlemen in this quadrille were magnifi-
cently costumed as courtiers of the period.

Lady Stanley's quadrille, " Les Bergcrcs dc
Watteau," came next. This quadrille was a

THOUGHTS.

161

charming spectacle. The ladies looked like shep-
herdesses just stepped out of Watteau's pictures,
or such as might descend from china pedestals
on mantle-shelves. The dresses were made of
white glace and tulle, with garlands of roses and
violets typical of France and England ; the head
very elegantly arranged with the shepherdess
hat, decorated with flowers ; each lady carrying a
crook, ornamented with ribbon.

Lady Barrington's " Quadrille Louis XV.,
Mousquetaire de la Reine" concluded the fancy
sets.

The costume of the fair leader of this quadrille
differed but slightly from that of the other ladies,
except in material, which was of moire antique.
Her ladyship wore an upper dress, or manteau,
vest de mer, trimmed with gold lace and pinks
over cerise. The corsage was ornamented with
bows and diamonds.

The other ladies assumed the court costume of
the period.

The effect of the gentlemen's costumes in this
quadrille was very striking.

The " set" quadrilles having been brought to
a conclusion, her Majesty was graciously pleased
to honor the Count Walewski with her hand by
dancing with him in a quadrille, which was im-
mediately formed, his Royal Highness Prince
Albert taking the Countess Walewski as a part-
ner.

Several other dances having intervened, her
Majesty honored the Duke of Hamilton with
her hand in a quadrille — the Prince Consort
dancing with the Duchess of Hamilton (nee
Princess Mary of Baden).

After a short interval, during which the Queen
was pleased to accept of refreshments from the
hand of the Ambassador, her Majesty again
danced in a quadrille — this time honoring the
Earl Granville with her hand, the Prince Consort
dancing with the Princess Mary.

Her Majesty, at the conclusion of this dance,
received presentations of the more distinguished
guests on the introduction of the Ambassador,
and subsequently made the circuit of the salons,
resting on the arm of the Count Walewski.

At midnight, the Queen and the royal party
descended to the supper- room, where a banquet
was spread combining every delicacy that the
art of cuisinier could suggest.

After supper, her Majesty returned to the ball-
room, and again joined in a quadrille.

It was half past one o'clock when the Queen
left the Embassy. Her majesty's departure was
accompanied by the same recognition as had
marked her arrival.

14*

THOUGHTS.

BY MARY NEAL.

Ye winged messengers of light and love,

Say, whither do ye go 1
Whence come ye 1 Are ye sent from realms above

To brighten hearts below ?

Ah ! ye are like all earthly dreams of light

That flit across the heart ;
We scarce have time to see the colors bright,

Ere we are doomed to part.

Ye come, like rainbows, o'er my clouded soul

To beautify my life,
While heavenly visions o'er my spirit roll,

Drowning the world's dark strife.

But when I strive your beauties to portray,

And living colors start
Forth from my pencil, then ye flit away

To cheat some other heart.

Like to the bird that soon is lost from sight,

When loosened from our hold ;
Like the wave rushing down the mountain height,

That we no more behold ;

Like the white cloud against the summer sky,

Now seen, and now no more ;
Like to the foamy mountain dashing high

Against the rocky shore —

Like these ye come, like these as soon are gone,

Ye beams of heavenly birth !
Ye rainbow tints, whose colors ne'er were drawn
I By children of the earth.

And yet within my soul a longing dwells

To paint to human view
The thoughts that fill my spirit's hidden cells

With beauties ever new.

Vain longing ! As the dew-gemmed gossamer

Tinged by the morning sun,
The first wild breeze that 'mid the branches stir

Breaks it — its course is done !

So I, when thoughts up from my spirit start

Too deep for words to tell,
Some breeze of earth that flutters round my heart

Dissolves the "wizard" spell.

And then in vain I strive to link the chain

By earthly simoom broken,
In vain I strive to gather up again

Those thoughts that ne'er were spoken.

They still elude my grasp. They come and go,

Regardless of control ;
Like ocean-wave's unceasing ebb and flow,

They sweep across my soul.

And well I know the poet ne'er hath told,

Unto the list'ning earth,
One-half the dreams that in his heart unfold,

Dreams of immortal birth.

For earthly colors ne'er can paint the light

That to the clouds are given,
And words can never tell the visions bright

That beam on us from heaven.

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

THE LAST BANQUET OF THE
GIRONDISTS.

BY J. H. A. BONE.

" Ho ! pass the wine-cup, brother;

The night is fleeting fast,
And ere shall come another

Our feasting will he past !
A truce to care and thinking,

For when the sun shall shine
Earth will our blood be drinking,

As now we drink this wine

" Let others dread the morrow ;

For us there 's but to-night ;
No dreams of future sorrow"

Our stoic souls affright.
'Tis said, when comes the morning

We draw our parting breath ;
We scorn the idle warning —

We fear thee not, Old Death !"

Gay were the song and story ;

Loud were the laugh and jest :
Hot youth nor senior hoary

That night lay down to rest.
In the dungeon, jests and singing;

In the street, a frenzied shout ;
Within, full goblets ringing ;

The bloody knife without.

Amid the revel glowing,

One spoke no jesting word ;
His cup, with rich wine flowing,

Untouched stood on the board :
He saw no banquet reeking ;

He heard no laughter gay ;
His eyes the floor were seeking ;

His thoughts were far away.

He saw a young boy bending

Beside his mother's knee,
A meek petition sending

That God his guard would be :
He heard the anthem swelling

From the church at even dim ;
And when dawning lit the dwelling,

He heard the morning hymn.

He heard the old priest speaking

Of a life beyond the grave —
Of One all barriers breaking

The guilty soul to save :
He saw his father dying,

Yet, with his parting breath,
Exclaiming he was flying

To a greater king than Death.

And then his thoughts returning

Beheld the dungeon wall ;
Listened words of classic learning

Blent with the joyous call :
But he heard the deathwatch beating

Through all the festal din—
And he saw a shadow waiting

For the destined prey within.

Morn came — the riot dizzy
Had vanished from the cell :

The bloody knife was busy ;
Uprose the frenzied yell.

Together, like fond brothers,
They passed the dungeon door :

One came not with the others-
He had greeted Death before.

POETRY AND LOVE.

BY C. H. CKISWELL,
POETRY.

A gift from Heaven — and as rare

As angel music to our ears ;
'Tis born above, 'tis nurtured there,

'Neath angels' smiles and angels' tears.

Sweet Poetry ! thou blessed thing !

Thou holy, soul-inspiring power !
Thou teachest summer birds to sing

In leafy tree and fragrant bower :

Thou teachest man to feel and know
That, else he 'd never know nor feel ;

Thou teachest woman's heart to glow
With thoughts too precious to reveal.

Sweet Poetry ! we owe thee more :
Thou givest us the power to tell,

In hymns of praise, how we adore
The blessed One in whom we dwell.

LOVE.

There is a silent, rapturous spell
That sleeps within the secret heart :

Poet, thou knowest its power full well ;
Minstrel, it weds thee to thine art.

There is a sweet and trembling thrill,
A something which we can't express,

That courses through the heart until
'Tis brimming o'er with happiness.

Who hath not felt Love's burning power \
Love's magic thrill who doth not know '}

Ah me ! life's clouds must darkly lower
When in youth's heart Love doth not glow.

LET ME LIVE!

BY S. M. MONTGOMERY.

Oh ! who would die, when the world is bright

With beauty and loveliness ;
When friends are left, unchanged and true,

Our young life still to bless ;
When the heart beats high with hope and lore.

And the cup of joy runs o'er :
Oh, who would leave this beauteous earth,

To return, ay, nevermore !

Let me live ! I could not bear to rest

In the cold and silent tomb,
Where the earth-worm creeps, and darkness reig;

Nor sunshine pierce the gloom ;
Where the winter rain will fiercely fall —

And hoarse winds, rushing by,
My dirge will chant in wild, sad Pus,

Through the long grass, dark and high.

SECOND THOUGHTS.

163

EVENING THOUGHTS.

WRITTEN AFTER A SHOWER.
BY MRS. E. LOCK, LATE OF CALCUTTA.

The clouds their drapery have drawn aside,

And now the moon, with her soft light, appears

As from the inner courts of heaven's serene

Effulgent glory. One by one the stars

Are peering forth from out the blue concave,

Joining the others, like my nation's flag,

That adds from time to time its State-stars blight,

Till, by and by (so God's good-will decree !),

Les Etats JJnis of fair America

Will shine, alluring by intrinsio light,

The whole wide world, as heaven's own canopy,

Bestud wich never-fading stellar gems,

Is wont to attract by the enchanting raya

That emanate as from the eye-beam of

Divinity.

A most delightful eve !
Silence and peace now undisturbed do reign
Supremely all around ; no human sound
Is heard, save when a vagrant chance to pass,
Houseless perhaps, no place to lay his head,
Who cries aloud to God, " Allah-y-allah!"
Or when, from forth the grassy sedge, that seems
A fit&ng carpet on the banks of yon
Smooth lakelet clear, the croaking choristers
Upon the air trill out their sylvan notes,
From the low pev-o-wah, in soft piano,
Or up to basso alto in ascent,
Gradual, and not discordant to my ear.
Yon giant Bakool*-tiees, whose branches are
Together brought in close companionship
By their luxuriant foliage, like sweet
And friendly intercourse of loving hearts,
Are filled with tiny folks, who gayly sport ;
Each with his fairy torch by nature given,
Their myriads bright a starry fruitage seems ;
In harmony they dwell with varied plumes
That there seek shade by day, repose at night.
The shaddock sends its offering on the breeze,
The soft south breeze, on each returning wing
To groves of laden boughs that ponderous hang
Weighty with fragrant globes that treasure up
The cool, refreshing, and delicious juice
Welcome to all in this sky-glowing clime,
Most to the hot, parched lip of fever's prey.
The odorous atmosphere is welling up,
Filled with the breath of India's thousand flowers ;
The floral sisterhood, with heads inclined,
Each to the other as in conference,
A lesson teach of unity and love.
The Lavendula shows her ornate gems
Of vestal amethystine hue ; their shape
And grace, so fairy-like, would well befit
Titania's dainty council-coronet.
With pleasure, she displays them to the rose,
Her red-rose-neighbor-friend, whose arm has oft,
Beneath the glowing noontide beams of Sol,
Or the too urgent down-pour of a shower,
Falling at times with rash impetuous force,
Sustained her thread-like boughs that lithely bend.
The garden tenants all, save here and there

* Vakoola. Sangskrit. Botanical term Mimus-ops-

Elengi.

A spirit lone that close together folds
Its leaves, like some sad human hearts that shut
Their joys and sorrows in from curious eyes,
From the full title-paged yet empty world,
Seem whispering low, each to its fair compeer ;
Perchance it may be of their nature frail,
Of sad anticipation of remove,
Or of the mdWs* sharp dissecting-knife,
Or of the various gifts by each possessed.
While some of healing balm full well may boast,
Others may please the smell, and all the eye.
As when a darling child holds up its face
For the accustomed " mother's good-night kiss,"
So these young buds that cluster round the stem
Are upward gazing with their loving eyea
To her who sits, in queenly dignity,
Enthroned above them with her outspread leaves-
Her snowy leaves expanded as a guard,
While nectared kisses drop in love adown,
Her farewell tokens. Oh, in each there dwells
An eloquent and sorrowful adieu !
It must be so. To-morrow's waxing light
Will lie upon her birth-place and her grave.
Her winding-sheet e'en now is in the loom,
When that last burning sunbeam came, alas !
Death's dark destroying angel touched her heart ;
And, though her petals now seem fair and bright
Beneath the look of careless passers-by,
Yet ah, the shrinking of those tinted vein3
Foretokens that the spirit soon must leave,
And they along the sward will scattered lie !
Ah, said I, that the spirit soon must leave !
-The sweet aroma still will linger there,
Till noonday smiles absorb it into heaven.
And not unwept are Flora's children fair;
The tristful spirits from the midnight dome
Look down in pity for their early fate.
Sincerest tears they give, unlike the world's,
That all unmeaning are, heartless and valueless.

* " Mali." Bengali term for gardener.

SECOND THOUGHTS.

BY BLANCHE BEKNAIKDE.

Swift as an eagle, our thoughts, ever flying,
Roam o'er the earth, and in fancy pursue

Objects of pleasure, for which we are sighing,
Though they are fleeting, and fading, and few.

Often for friends who are absent we languish,
Often the dead we lament and we mourn ;

Yet we but add to our grief and our anguish,
While they are blest, though from us they 're born

Sometimes we dwell on the brightness of beauty,
Sometimes our thoughts are 'mid music and mirth,

Seldom they rest on the plain path of duty,
Though 'tis the fairest and best on the earth.

First thoughts are seldom the clearest and brightest,

We must rellect ere we ever decide ;
Then second thoughts, though they are not the lightest,

Never from truth or from duty divide.

Swift as an epgle, our thoughts, ever flying,
Roam o'er the earth, and in fancy pursue

Objects of pleasure, for which we are sighing,
Though they are fleeting, and fading, and few,

164

SONNET. — THE POET.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

The Poet " born, not made," is one in thought,
Whose life presents a poem, a reverie;

Whose mind with glorious pictures still is fraught;
His ear oped to ineffable harmony.

No sublunary care disturbs his soul serene ;
Wide nature a sweet refuge him presents,
Where infinite his ravished sight contents —

Where variegated, beauteous, is the scene.

Space, which the golden-winged worlds contains,
Affords him liberty to soar afar,
Like some strange, isolated, wandering star,

Which lonely lives on the blue boundless plains ;

Or, as an eagle on some mountain's height,

Claims he space, silence, as bis sovereign right.

EVENTIDE.

BY D. HARDY, JR.

Sunset colors now are playing

In the distant, distant west,
With a golden robe arraying

Hill-top and the mountain's crest.
Workmen now are homeward hieing,
Sound and echo now are dying —

Gently they away have died ;

'Tis the solemn eventide.

Mists are stealing o'er the meadows,

Where the brooklets laugh and sing ;
Birds are seeking forest shadows,

There to rest with folded wing.
List ! the vesper bells are chiming
Sweetly as a poet's rhyming :

All things now seem sanctified j

•Tis the holy eventide.

Stars above are brightly beaming

In the coronet of night,
Like the eyes of angels seeming,

Gazing from that world of light —
Far from earth-land lone and dreary,
Where'er rest the sad and weary,

Where hope, faith, and love abide,

And is known no eventide.

Gentle zephyrs sport and dally,

Breathing music on the air,
Dancing hill-top o'er and valley,

Singing sweetly everywhere.
As we take a retrospection,
Renews its birth each sweet affection

Of our youth-time, and we glide

Back to childhood's eventide.

Oh, to dream such love-dreams, glowing,

Of those joys which never cease,
Where sweet streams of love are flowing

From thy crystal fount of peace,
Lifts the soul from earth to heaven,
Through the dusky gates of even;

Holy scenes before us glide

In the quiet eventide.

When our days on earth are ended,
When life's sorrows all are o'er,

Then may all our songs be blended
Sweetly on the spirit-shore ;

We can then, in spirit-union,

With our lost ones hold communion —
Dwell with all the sanctified,
Where is known no eventide.

HEART VERSUS PURSE, OR CUPID'S
DEFEAT.

±z^^

This is a pretty little trifle, forming also a nice
kind of pincushion. To make this, cut four cir-
cular pieces of card-board, each measuring two
inches in diameter, and cover them with pink
silk or velvet. Now pass a needle with purse
silk through one of the pieces of covered card-
board, as in the annexed design ; that is, in three
places, equidistant, so as to look like one side of
a pair of scales. Each piece of purse-silk should
be about six inches long, and knotted at one end,
while the other end is affixed to a piece of silk-
wire covered with China ribbon, and bent at each
end, thus — o, the centre of wire having a small
tassel of purse-silk, by which the scales may be
held. Now net a verxj small purse of green purse-
silk, and having put eight or ten gilt spangles in
each end of it, sew it to one of the pieces of
covered card-board, and then passing the needle
through, string eight small gilt beads, and pass-
ing the needle down again, thus form one slide
of the purse ; repeat again for the other, placing
them as in the diagram. Form the tassels of
small gilt beads, then sew two of the covered
card-boards together, and stick small piss all
round, as in the diagram. Repeat for the other
scale, only place a small red heart in the centre
instead of the purse. It is necessary that the
scale containing the purse should weigh down
the one with the heart.

The remainder of the stall may be made up by
placing some of the little things recommended for
other stalls, here and there among the larger
articles, and setting off the whole with some
pretty little vases filled with flowers.

CAPS, HEADDRESSES, ETC.
Pig. 1. Fig. 2.

3 ^ ^V

No one, until they themselves have suffered
it, can understand the mortification with which
one resigns one's self to the necessity of wearing
caps. After they are fairly assumed, it ceases to
be thought of; but when the gift of luxuriant
hair is passing away, and what once was a plea-
sure becomes an unsatisfactory task ; when no
parting, or brushing, or curling will conceal the
deficiency, and one is obliged to decide between
the two evils — false hair or caps ! — forgive our
sex if we do so with a troubled and dejected
spirit, nor be it all set down to a weak personal
vanity by those who have never been so tried.
And then the expense, and the difficulties that
arise from it, in procuring new caps, or new
and becoming styles — if there be pangs of vanity,
there is also " vexation of spirit." Doing all
we can to aid the sisterhood in their selection,

we give two new French designs, the one for
morning, the other for a dinner or dress cap.

Fig. 1, for morning wear, is rather more elabo-
rate than is usual for early in the day. It is
designed for watering-places, or when entertain-
ing visitors before dinner. The frill, it xvill he
noticed, is quilled full, and entirely encircles the
face, though raised from it by a knot of the sarno
ribbon used to ornament the cap, which may be
of any becoming shade.

Fig. 2 is a lighter, and, to our mind, more
graceful style, better suited to a young matron.
It is composed of lace, either Maltese, Guipure.^
or broad Valenciennes, separated by bows of
rich ribbon, with a pearled edge to correspond
to the point of the lace. It will be seen that
the second or brim row of lace only passes across
the forehead, being there taken up by the ribbon
which retreats to the ear, on either side.

165

166

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Fig. 3.

Wl Mii^s

» v

Fig. 4.

HEADDRESSES.

For those who are more fortunate, and
still retain " woman's chief ornament"
— flowing tresses — we give a favorite
style of arranging them for full evening
dress.

Fig. 3, front view of the coiffeur.

Fig. 4, the back of the same.

The hair is divided in the centre in
two full bands on each "side, a broad
ribbon being passed through the divi-
sion, and forming a roll or coronal above
the forehead, and terminating in a simi-
lar roll, bow and short ends under the
ear.

At the back it forms two puffs, the
upper one being kept in place by an
ornamented comb ; the other, quite low,
is finished by a court bow, falling over
the neck and shoulders. This style is
very much in favor, as will be seen by
our closing extract from a Paris corre-
spondent : —

" A headdress in great favor is styled
the nceuds de cour — court bows — formed
of white ribbon or lace, placed behind
the back hair, forming two large tufts,
separated in the middle by a brooch of
diamonds or other precious stones. Jew-
els are much worn, and are often min-
gled with flowers ; for instance, coiffeurs,
with bandeaux of emeralds, tufts of iris
of a delicate green velvet, mixed with
others of white and lilac, and with eme-
rald green heath, behind a court bow
formed of an iris flower, with buds and
foliage. Headdresses of white feathers,
edged with sky blue mixed with blue
bindweed, terminated behind with a
band, forming a court bow, fastened by
turquoises and diamonds, are also worn.
Also an Empress-diadem wreath of sil-
ver ears of wheat, mixed with others of
purple crape, with silver ornamented
hearts-ease mixed with grapes, on either
side. Violets of gold guipure lace are
a choice hair ornament."

EMBROIDERED SCENT-BAG,

167

Materials. — A square of silk canvas, rather more than
twice the size represented in the engraving ; a skein of
ombre green netting silk, one of rose ditto ; a little violet,
blue, and yellow netting silk; % yard of white silk
fringe, some wkite satin, pot-pourri, &c.

The design of the wreath of flowers embroi-
dered on this scent-bag must be enlarged to
about twice the size represented in the engraving.
Still further increased, and worked on kid or
cloth, it is suitable for the mats now so much
used as stands for the ornaments on the mantel-
piece.

All the foliage, various as it is, is worked with
the one skein of green silk, a needleful of the
darkest part being taken for some of the leaves,
the very lightest tints being selected for others,
and the medium colors for the remainder. They
must be worked according to the taste, and so as
to produce the greatest possible variety — two
leaves of a similar tint never coming together.
The leaves are done in the usual way; the
veinings up the centre in half polka stitch.
Besides all the foliage, another part of the design
is also worked in green — that is, all the sprays
of heath, the dots of which only are worked in
scarlet, in French knots. The China asters are

done in shades of violet, with yellow eyes, also
worked in French knots. The petals of those
flowers are done by using a double thread in
the needle. The forget-me-nots are worked in
French knots ; five blue ones form a small circle,
with a yellow one in the centre for the eye. In
working the roses, begin at the heart of the
flower, threading your needle so as to use the
silk double. Take care that both the ends are
of the same tint, either the darkest or the lightest.
Having made a single French knot, with green
silk, in the eye of the flower, begin to work
round it, in stitches partly laying over each
other, and gradually longer, until the heart is
entirely worked. The outer petals are to be
done in the usual embroidery stitch, with a
single thread, and in such a tint as shall corre-
spond with the outer part of the heart of the
flower.

This embroidery requires to be worked in a
frame.

To make it up, fill a muslin bag, of the proper
size, with any pleasant scent, and cover it again
with white silk or satin. Tack on the canvas
on one side, sewing it round the edges, and add
the fringe.

163

godey's magazine and lady's book.

COLLAR IN BKODEEIE ANGLAISE.

Materials.— French muslin and embroidery cottons,
N03. 50 and 60. French muslin is the thickest and
strongest material known under the name of muslin. It
is considerably stouter than jaconet, which it rather
resembles in make; very glossy, and with very close
threads. It is the material almost universally used for
the embroidery known as Broderie Anglaise.

The collar, of which we give a section the full
size, is extremely easy to work. Transfer the
design to tracing-paper, repeating the scallops,
with the wheels and the cluster of grapes, once ;
the next wheels, and so on until you set the size
of the collar.

Draw the pattern on the muslfn with indigo.
Then tack the muslin on toile tire, and trace the
inner and outer edges of the scallops. As this
work is to be raised, the space between these
lines is to be filled with running, and then worked
in very neat and smooth buttonhole-stitch.

For the wheels, run round the inner circle first,
twice, taking the thread across to the outer round
at every bar, and back again to Ihe inner one, so
that every bar is formed of a double thread ; sew

round the circle in buttonhole-stitch ; then trace
round the outer part of the wheel ; cut away the
muslin between, but without injuring the bars ;
work the wheel in close fine buttonhole-stitch,
catching the needle in the small round, at every
spoke of the wheel, and working back by cover-
ing the three threads with buttonhole-stitch.

The stems of the bunches of grapes must be
run, and sewed over. The leaves are to be traced
in outline, run slightly, like the edge, and then
worked in satin-stitch, the stitch being taken
always from the veining to the edge of the leaf,
which must be very smooth and even. The grape*
are made by piercing a hole with a stiletto, and
sewin°- it round; where stems are visible, the
thread must be run and sewed over, but in the
other places the needle is to be slipped from one
round to another, on the wrong side. In tacking
the muslin on the toile ciri, be particular to pass
the needle through the centre of every wheel.
Run a thread for the outline of the neck. It need
not be sewed over.

child's socks and stockings.

169

EDGING IN BEODEEIE ANGLAISE.

Materials. — French muslin, and embroidery cotton,
No. 40.

This pattern, intended for trimmings of various
descriptions, is to be drawn from the engraving,
which gives a section of the full size. Mark the
muslin to be worked, in strips, using a solution
of indigo. Then tack the work on a bit of toile
cire, taking care not to take the needle through
any of those parts which are afterwards to be cut
out. Trace the edging first in outlines ; fill up
the space between with cotton run in; then work
over it in buttonhole-stitch, making very smooth
and even edges. The pattern in each scallop
will be seen to consist of a series of rounds, every
one of which has four oblong sections, forming
the outer part, and a diamond in the centre.
The oblong parts are to be cut out, and then
sewed closely round, as in other broderie An-
glaise. A line of thread must also be run and
sewed over for the white part of each diamond,
and an eyelet-hole made in the centre. The
three stems are to be merely sewed over, but the
loops at the top are to be cut out, and sewed
round.

The cluster of rounds between are merely holes
made and sewed closely round. The small ones
may be made with a stiletto, but a morsel of the
muslin must be cut out of the large ones, and
then the stiletto may be used to form a perfect
circle. It makes the work stronger if the parts
cut out arc first traced all round with the em-
broidery cotton.

VOL. XLTX. — 15

CHILD'S SOCKS AND STOCKINGS.

A strong, plain Stocking, of a middle size.

Material. — No. 24 cotton.

Cast on 67 stitches on each of three pins, and
knit round, pearling one stitch for a seam for
eleven rounds; then take two together every
third round, on each side of the seam, until
there are 161 ; take two together on each side of
the seam, every fifth round, until there are 136
stitches on the pins ; then knit 150 rounds with-
out decreasing, and divide half the number of
stitches on to one pin for the heel, keeping the
seam in the centre. Knit and pearl alternately
for 48 rows; then take two together on each
side of the seam every other row, until there are
50 stitches ; cast off, and sew the heel together
along the bottom.

There will now be 68 stitches on one pin
along the front of the foot ; take up 43 on each
of two others, and work round for the foot,
pearling one stitch along the bottom, and taking
two together on each side of the seam every
fourth round, until there are 136 stitches left.
Knit without decreasing for 100 rounds, and de-
crease for the to'e as follows : Knit 32 from the
seam, take two together twice, knit 64, take two
together twice, knit plainly to the seam, knit
two plain rounds; continue decreasing in the
same place by knitting two together twice on
each side of the toe every third round, until
there are 56 stitches left. Cast off, and sew the
ends of the toe together.

170

godey's magazine and lady's book.

PAELOE DRAPERIES.— NEW DESIGNS,

FURNISHED BY W. H. CARRY L.

The design which Mr. Carryl has furnished
at the commencement of the present number
serves a double purpose ; not only does it give
tasteful window drapery, but those who live
far from the luxury and lavish expenditure of
crowded cities will have a very good idea from
it of the appearance of the parlors, or rather
drawing-rooms, of our more fashionable residents.

Until Mr. Carryl began to spread a taste for
these elegant decorations by the richness and
grace of his imported fabrics, and their arrange-
ment, rich cornices except for mirrors were rarely
met with, even amon£ those who could well afford

the expenditure. Indeed, it is but a few weeks
since that we noticed, in one of the most substan-
tial and costly houses in the upper part of Wal-
nut St., the Fifth Avenue of Philadelphia, carpets
of the same pattern and richness with that so
well known upon the floor of the east room of
the White House ; furniture that would not have
disgraced a palace ; and yet a bareness of aspect,
so to speak, from the absence of all drapery or
hangings — their place usurped, not filled, by the
stone-colored blinds, against which we have
preached more than one crusade in times that
arc past.

PARLOR DRAPERIES,

171

To refer to our first design, it will be seen that
it presents the entire front of a drawing-room,
the pier-glass of rich plate and exquisite setting,
the window draperies on each side finished by
heavy cornices corresponding with that of the
mirror, and in fact forming one heavy mass of
rioh carving and gilding, which would do no
discredit to the days of the monarch for whom
it is called, Louis XIV. The curtains themselves
are of crimson brocatelle, lined and interlined
with white silk ; undercurtain of a heavy French
embroidery ; all the trimmings, which are ar-
ranged with peculiar taste, are manufactured
of the best materials expressly to correspond ;
and the marble console beneath the mirror has a
rich lambrequin in the same style. Even the
very chairs, and their arrangement just inside the
curtain, are of the favorite style of the day, and
are suited to the fashion of the cornices. We
could scarcely give a more correct idea of the
interior of the house-palaces of our " merchant
princes."

This is a winter arrangement, the heavy folds of
the silk drapery being usually taken down at the
approach of a warmer season. The design more
immediately heading our article gives a summer
drapery, the cornice of a lighter style, the long
curtains of delicate French lace embroidery, and
the lambrequin only, with its heavy garniture of
fringe, cords, tassels, and gimp (all correspond-
ing in hue and style), being of brocatelle. This
is especially suited to country houses, used chiefly
in the summer season, and usually more lightly
furnished than a town residence. It is also a
tasteful drapery for the long windows opening
into the third room or saloon from the parlors,
in houses arranged in that manner, being gene-
rally adopted in New York, where the best houses
are built in that manner.

But decorating the mansions of city residents
is by no means the extent of Mr. Carryl's engage-
ments. Since his success in the curtaining of
the La Pierre in this city, and the State House
at Harrisburg, which we recently chronicled,
orders of a similar nature, for public buildings,
the halls of the Order of Odd Fellows, hotels,
steamers, etc., have been on a rapid increase.
Western and southern merchants have discovered
that they need trouble themselves no further with
the orders intrusted to them by their customers,
as, by giving them entirely into Mr. Carryl's
hands, they can be as speedily, cheaply, and satis-
factorily executed, as at any other establishment
in the country. Mr. Carryl is now abroad,
selecting in Paris and Lyons fresh novelties to
add to his already large stock. That our readers
may see how large an assortment his establish-

ment at present presents, we copy a list of
brocatelles alone, remembering that these same
colors are to be had in satin laines, and even
much cheaper materials, while on the other hand
the richest bouquet brocades, rivalling nature in
coloring and harmony of arrangement, are to be
had in every variety. Of brocatelles, flashing in
the sunlight as they were unrolled before us, and
of the heaviest texture, we saw at Mr. Carryl's
establishment : Green, gold, and green; crimson,
maroon, and gold ; crimson, maroon, and crim-
son ; blue, gold, and blue. Where the same color
is mentioned twice, two shades are intended.
Plain crimson, green, and blue; crimson and
maroon ; crimson and gold ; crimson and white ;
green and gold ; blue and gold ; purple and gold ;
delicate rose-color ; richest shade rose-color.

When it is remembered that appropriate trim-
mings of every variety are constantly on hand —
consisting of fringes, gimps, cords, tassels, cur-
tain-pins, and cornices, from the light metallic
stamped cornices to the heaviest wood-carvings
covered with burnished gold — some idea can be
had of the stock from which a choice can be
made.

Mr. Carryl is particularly fortunate in securing
the services of an unrivalled draughtsman and
designer, employed exclusively by him, who
superintends personally the making of every
drapery that leaves the establishment; and it is
only necessary to send Mr. Carryl the height
from the floor to the top of the window-frame,
and the exact width of the window-frame at the
top, to enable him to arrange a suitable drapery
for it. The color or colors preferred, and the
price, which will range from $15 to $150 a win-
dow, are the only needful stipulations. The
lace or muslin undercurtain always accompanies
a drapery of satin laine, brocade, or brocatelle,
and corresponds in fineness to the general style
of the order.

We know how often our southern and western
subscribers, whether committees for the decora-
tion of public buildings, merchants or families,
may find this knowledge — that all curtains fur-
nished by Mr. Carryl are excellent in quality and
moderate in price — a great saving of time and
trouble, many such orders having already reached
us through the editor of the fashion department.

Shades are still in constant demand, many
people using them to graduate the light beneath
curtains, and others preferring them to draperies.
They range in price from $2 to $20 a window.
Pale buff, blue, rose-color, white, and green cen-
tres, with gilt borders, are the most elegant.
Buff and white holland for halls, and dining-
rooms, are also furnished by Mr. Carryl.

172

godey's magazine and lady's book.

CH ILDEEN'S SHOES.

SELECTED FROM E. A. BROOK'S NEW YORK BOOT AND SHOE EMPORIUM, 575 BROADWAY,
AND 150 FULTON STREET, EXPRESSLY FOR OUR PAGES.

We are puzzled to tell why it is so, but there
is to us a greater charm in a young child's shoe
than in any other article of its toilet. When-
ever our eye lights upon one while a smile is
playing around the lip of the wearer, we feel a
warmer pulsation at the heart. Fancy at the
instant brings before us a rosy prattler, winning
with its gracefully tottering step its difficult
way over the level carpet that spreads its inter-
vening space between us. Don't you hear the
joyous crowing when its goal is won ? Or, per-
chance, a gleesome, curly-headed fairy, wanton-
ing like any other butterfly in the sunlight shed
from her own heart, whilst her musical laugh
and joyful welcome chime in sweetly with the
pattering of the twinkling soles in the eager race
to be the first to receive the prized kiss. Bless
us ! we have wandered strangely from the duty

of simply saying a few words relative to our
illustrations. Well — well ! every parent at least
will forgive us.

The " ankle-tie" is the name of the first pair
we publish ; these, as indeed the companion pair,
are made of patent glazed calfskin, the pliancy
and lustrous blackness of which render it pecu-
liarly adapted to children's shoes. The slipper
is confined by straps which pass from the top of
the shoe at the heel over the ankle, tied by a
ribbon which forms in front a bow that adds
great beauty to this variety of children's foot-
gear. The advantage of this strap is apparent,
as, independently of its ornamental appearance,
it prevents the loss of a shoe from an infant's
foot, and on larger children keeps the heel from
being trodden down. We regard it as a decided
desideratum to the nursery.

The prominent shoes in the second group are
also designed for children's wear.

These shoes are made of patent leather also,
the quarters or back portion being formed of
white kid or morocco ; they are fastened by
silvered buttons. These shoes present a delicate
and exceedingly dressy appearance, well calcu-
lated to retain the favor extended to them by the
most fashionable ladies.

The toilet slippers which we have introduced
into this group are made of bronzed morocco,
ornamented with a magnificent embroidery of

needlework upon a fancy colored ground ; the
arabesque pattern is beautiful as novel, and is
yet further enriched by a nceud of ribbon, or
rather ribbons, inasmuch as each separate loop
is made of a different colored satin ribbon, the
effect of which upon the foot is very pretty
indeed. We cordially advise our lady readers
to call personally on Brook, or order their shoes
from him, as his extensive and constantly in-
creasing stock renders it impossible for any
visitor to depart without having obtained what-
ever style her fancy may require.

PATTERNS FOR EMBROIDERY.

173

INSERTION FOR TUCKS OF CHILD'S DRESS.

EMBROIDERY.

@> <§><§>

15*

flTORS' TASil

Are the Planets Inhabited? — The Earth, our
pin net, is, as we know, inhabited ; the question is con-
cerning the other planets belonging to the solar system :
are these inhabited?

A book* has lately appeared which attempts to dis-
prove the present popular belief that the planets, Jupi-
ter, Venus, and the others, are, like our world, places
of habitation for sentient beings. The author, who has
not given his name, maintains that the earth is the
only theatre of our universe where God has chosen to
display his wonderful power in the creation of man ;
therefore the earth must be the grand object for which
all other things were made.

These views harmonise with the Bible, where the
coming forth of sun, moon, and stars is related as sub-
sidiary to the earth, the perfect work of the material
creation, as man was the perfection of the world of life.
The author of the " Plurality of Worlds" has shown his
thorough knowledge of the natural sciences, and brings
powerful arguments from astronomy and geology to
prove that the planets, except the earth, are not inha-
bited. As a specimen of his manner, we will give his
proofs that the planet Jupiter, notwithstanding its
moons, cannot be a comfortable place of residence : —

" The density of Jupiter, taken as a whole, is about a
quarter of the earth's density; less than that of any of
the stones which form the crust of the earth ; and not
much greater than the density of water. Indeed, it is
tolerably certain that the density of Jupiter is not
greater than it would be if his entire globe were com-
posed of water, making allowance for the compression
which the interior parts would suffer by the pressure of
those parts superincumbent. We might therefore offer
it as a conjecture not quite arbitrary, that Jupiter is a
mere sphere of water."

These statements the writer proves by scientific
deductions and admitted facts. Then he adds : —

" Taking into account, then, these circumstances in
Jupiter's state : his (probably) bottomless waters ; his
light (if any) solid materials; the strong hand with
which gravity presses down such materials as there
are ; the small amount of light and heat which reaches
him at five times the earth's distance from the sun —
what kind of inhabitants shall we be led to assign to
him ? Can they have skeletons where no substance so
dense as bone is found, at least in large masses ? It
would not seem probable. And it would seem they
must be dwellers in the waters ; for against the exist-
ence there of solid land we have much evidence. They
must, with so little of light and heat, have a low degree
of vitality. They must, then, it would seem, be cartila-
ginous and glutinous masses ; peopling the waters with
minute forms — perhaps also with floating monsters;
for the weight of a bulky creature floating in the fluid
would be much more easily sustained than on solid
ground."

* " Of the Plurality of Worlds." London. Repub-
lished in Boston by Gould & Lincoln.
174

After showing that, in our world, the evidences are
conclusive that the inferior provinces or creations occu-
pied an immensely larger portion of time than the supe-
rior, as the rocks of the earth and the fossil remains
imbedded therein were in course of formation myriads
of ages before man appeared, he infers that the superior
may attain equally well its greatness in a small space.
He says : —

"It is quite agreeable to analogy that the solar sys-
tem, of which the Jlowers are not many, should have
borne but one fertile flower. One in eight, or in twice
eight, reared into such wondrous fertility as belongs to
the earth, is an abundant produce, compared with the
result in the most fertile provinces of nature. And
even if any number of the fixed stars were also found to
be barren flowers of the sky — objects, however beautiful,
yet not sources of life or development — we need not
think the powers of creation wasted or frustrated,
thrown away or perverted. One such fertile result as
the earth, with all its hosts of plants and animals, and
especially with man — an intelligent being to stand at
the head of those hosts — is a worthy and sufficient pro-
duce, so far as we can judge of the Creator's ways by
analogy of all but universal scheme."

We are glad to find this subject discussed by one who
has evidently studied it Avith the intelligence of a scholar
and the heart of a Christian. The philosophy of the
age is material in its tone and tendency. To deprive
humanity of its glory in being "made in the image of
God," and to elevate the physical creation — these ob-
jects are pursued by writers who would set uj> the altars
of natural religion and overthrow the spiritual worship
enjoined by the revealed Word. This Word places the
human race, when created, but "little lower than the
angels," and declares those redeemed by the Saviour to
"be heirs of God and joint heirs with Jesus Christ."
Should we wonder to find the world, where such a host
of immortal beings were to be called forth, attended by
a troop of planets and stars, whose office should be,
as Divine wisdom has revealed, "to give light upon
the earth, and to rule over the day and over the night,
and to divide the light from the darkness, and to be for
signs, and for seasons, and for days, and for years?"

This view elevates human beings, and should cause
every soul to look upward with profound awe as well as
gratitude to the Lord God, who has formed such a mag-
nificent display for the benefit, instruction, and delight
of his children, even while dwelling in the flesh.

These ideas are not new to us. Some seven years ago,
we were so impressed with the truth of the theory which
the author of " The Plurality of Worlds" has now
worthily set forth and vindicated, that we embodied
our views in a poem. It has been published, but not in
the " Lady's Book ;" so we insert it here as another
proof of coincidence in thought, where minds had had
no communication. The arguments of the 1"
writer we could not have prepared ; but the result of his
reasoning was as clear to the eye of our faith when we
penned the following as it is now, after studying lus
elaborate and most interesting essay :—

EBITOKS' TABLE.

175

THE HISTORY OF THE PLANETS.

11 Creation is finished !" In worship profound,

The angels bowed down at the word,
Then on the bright planets their eyes wandered round,

But rested with joy on the third :
They knew that the Earth held the paradised pair

Jehovah's own breath had endued,
The crowning perfection of all that was fair,

Where all had been hallowed as "good!"
They knew from this Fountain of Being would rise,
Like dews from the ocean, Life's Hosts for the skies.

Each planet was fair; but their Queen, as they rolled,

Was Earth with its Eden of bliss ;
God's children were here ; and the angels behold

All planets do homage to this.
Swift Mercury shed, from its sun-hidden way,

On the mind of the Woman its light,
And Venus was blushing with love's purple ray

It sent to her heart warm and bright.
Thus the tribute of matter to life was begun
By the planets that move 'twixt the earth and the sun.

Beyond rolled red Mars, like the tocsin of war,

To action man's spirit it cheered;
Then followed the largest and loveliest star,

Pure diamond its lustre appeared ;
Its beautiful ray was the mirror of Truth,

Sweet Innocence played in the light ;
Wherever it shone bloomed the freshness of youth,

Unshadowed by sorrow or blight :
Its beams o'er the soul of the Woman were thrown,
On Earth as her Guardian planet 'twas known.

Next Jupiter, regal in splendor, swept by,

Man's reason to raise and refine,
While lifting, untroubled, his gaze to the sky,

He welcomed the Presence Divine ;
Then, coursing an orbit that circled the whole,

Came Saturn, like patience untired,
And, through its broad range giving light to the soul

Of Man, a calm wisdom inspired.
And all these proud planets in harmony move
Round the Sun, as their centre of light, life, and love.

In wonder, the angels bent over the Earth,

And sought for the human abode,
When the StaT*s of the morning together sang forth

Their anthem of " Glory to God !"
And a shout of rejoicing was heard to arise,

It burst like a torrent of sound,
As the harps of the Seraphim poured from the skies

The music of heaven around :
The melody through the Empyrean flowed —
" Creation is finished ! All glory to God !"

'Twas glorious all ; the beauty of peace

Smiled over the Earth and the Skies ;
But the harps of the Seraphim suddenly cease,

And wailings of terror arise !
The shadow of Death over Eden comes down— '

The Earth from its centre is hurled —
Creation is darkened and shook by the frown

Jehovah has thrown on the world.
It passed ; but the Guardian planet* was gone,
While, dim in the distance, cold Herschel crept on !

* Between Mars and Jupiter move four small planets,
viz., Ceres, Pallas, Juno, and Vesta. It has been con-
jectured by learned astronomers that these little planets

Awe-stricken, the angels recoiled at the sight,

A sigh through the Universe ran,
The Stars of the morning were shrouded in night,

As mourning the ruin of Man !
But out of the darkness there issued a Dove,
Like Hope from the breast of Despair ;
j Its white wings beat time to its breathings of love,
; While a Voice thrilled the listening air :
; " Though Sin has the prime of creation destroyed,
i And the Guardian planet is gone,
j The Star of Redemption shall rise through the void,

And the heavens new glory put on —
; A glory to banish Man's sorrows and fears,

When the Saviour, the seed of the Woman, appears."

Woman in Works of Charity. — From the very
interesting address of Governor Bigler, delivered at the
opening of the New House of Refuge in Philadelphia,
we take the following beautiful compliment to our sex : —

" Amongst the admirable arrangements that have
increased, if possible, my confidence in the future of the
institution, is the fact that, in the execution of its
details, the active agency of woman is to be employed.
Her spirit is to preside in some departments at least ;
and to whom could the work of disinterested benevo-
lence be more properly confided] Her hand is the
fountain of the purest affection, and her influence over
the obdurate and wicked is ever the most soothing
and powerful —

' Her might is gentleness — she winneth sway
By a soft word and a sober look.'

Let her voice fall in tones of kindness and love on the
ears of even the wayward and vicious, and deep from
the inmost soul of such will come up a response, indi-
cating a return of moral sensibility, and that the heart
is not all evil — that there is still hope of reformation.

" This agency of love and benevolence will at all
times be essential to the triumph of the institution.
Not a sickly sentimentalism, but an active and vigilant
principle. There is no redeeming influence so potent as
a pure and disinterested affection. ' It is mightier than
the sword of the magistrate or the armies of the monarch
to conquer evil. It will touch the heart hardened
against all other influences. It will say to the reckless
transgressor, in the only language he can understand,
that he is not an outcast from his race.' Depravity
must, indeed, have wrought a fearful moral change in
that soul where there lingers not a single chord respon-
sive to the manifestations of goodness. Even the raging
maniac is subdued by the influence. In it consisted the
secret of Howard's power over the degraded, the wicked,
and violent. In it was found the magic spell that
flowed from the lips of Elizabeth Fry."

American Woman's Educational Association.
—The Board of Managers of this Society held their
second annual meeting at the residence of Mrs. Dr.
Cheever, on Saturday. From the report of the agent,
Rev. W. L. Parsons, it appears that the Society has for
its leading and comprehensive object to develop and
bring to bear upon society the immense moral and edu-

were formed by the disruption of a large planet, once
revolving in that region of space. This planet we have
assumed to be "the Guardian," and that the catastro-
phe of its disruption was coincident with " Man's first
disobedience and his fall."

176

godey's magazine and lady's book.

cational power of woman. The principles underlying
the movement are :—

1. That virtue and intelligence are the radical and
only effectual safeguards of American institutions.

2. That the only hope of securing the virtue of a peo-
ple, especially, lies in the right training of childhood.

3. That woman is the natural and appropriate edu-
cator and rector of childhood. She is every way better
constituted for the work than man.

4. That the calling and profession of woman to teach,
to construct fundamentally the habits and morals of
generations, and hence to fix their destinies in life,
ought to be so elevated, honored, and rewarded that,
instead of being ever repulsive, it will command the
best talent and the most heroic endeavors of the most
highly cultivated, and even the most pecuniarily inde-
pendent of the sex.

The Association wish to render the profession of
woman as an educator as honorable, attractive, and
remunerative to her as the professions of men are to
them. If this can be done, they believe that their sex
will enlist in their work with an entirely new devotion,
and do for the morals of the nation what railroads,
steamships, telegraphs, and types are doing for its
aggrandizement in power and wealth ; that they will,
in short, make good the foundation upon which the
American superstructure rests. *

Woman has waited until the middle of the nineteenth
century for the endowment of the first institution for her
education. Millions upon millions have, from time im-
memorial, been invested to enrich and render most
valuable the colleges for the other sex. This ought to
have been done, and the other not left undone.

If the world wants the benefit of female influence in
its best and most potent form, let the education of wo-
man be what it should be ; and let her position as an
educator be acknowledged, and let her occupy it with
honor and pride, and not be compelled to resort to it
merely as a means of earning her daily bread.

The Association has already, in its infancy, secured
the establishment of two institutions on its proposed
plan, and is laboring to raise for each an endowment of
$20,000. One is located at Milwaukee, Wis., the other
at Dubuque, Iowa.

The Association is not denominational in its charac-
ter, but embraces ladies of the different churches and
societies, and aims to combine the influence of all who
love the great cause of American and Christian educa-
tion.

Make way for Boston. — The City Councils of
Boston have proposed that four High Schools for Girls
shall be established in that city, having at the head of
each a lady of the highest accomplishments. Should
this liberal provision for female education be made, the
old Puritan city will shine forth with a new lustre in
the " good time coming."

" The Female School of Design, in Philadelphia,
has been discontinued for want of funds, the liabilities
exceeding the assets." Such a paragraph has been
going the rounds of the papers, and we notice it here to
say that the school named is not " The Philadelphia
School of Design for Women," founded by Mrs. Peter.
This school is flourishing, has an endowment of fifty
thousand dollars in expectation — about half the sum al-
ready contributed — and has every prospect of continued
success. It offers great advantages to intelligent young

women, who desire to educate themselves for the pro-
fession of teachers in drawing or as artists.

RlCHMONDVILLE UNION SEMINARY AND FEBTALE

Collegiate Institute. — We have the programme of
this Union Seminary, located near Albany, N. Y. The
Trustees, in order to advance the best interests of edu-
cation, have opened the institution to young ladies by
adding for them a Collegiate Institute. The teachers
and course of education are the same for both sexes, with
the exception of a lady principal, Miss Sarah Smith.
The institution gives good promise of usefulness.

Place for a Teacher. — A lady accustomed to
teach, and of superior education, would like a situation
as teacher of the higher English branches and French in
some institution, or the entire charge of a school. The
best references given, and a liberal salary required.
Address, with terms, &c, Mrs. S. J. Hale, Editor of the
" Lady's Book," Philadelphia.

To our Correspondents. — The following articles
are accepted : " Now and Then," " The Music of Foot-
steps," "A Song for the New Year," "Memory," " To
the Rio Brassos," " To my Mother," " The Dying Wife,"
"A Mother to her Dead Boy," " Eurica," and "The
Buried Flower."

The following we have not room for: "The Little
Flower Maid," " In the loveliest wild is blooming,"
." To a Young Friend," " Departure of Winter,"
"Thoughts of a Broken Heart," "Aline," &c. (will be
returned, if requested), " The Escape," " Bury me
where I was Born," " Lilian," " To Laura," and " The
Wanderer in the Wilderness."

A number of articles are on hand that we have not
had time to examine. The following poem was in type
last month, but crowded out. We give it as a good
specimen of working-day poetry. Such strains gush
from the hearts of thousands of our countrymen, who
are apparently seeking only to gain gold — it does not
satisfy the affections : —

THE ELM-TREE.
My home, my homo, my far-off home,

Oh, would I were again with thee !
Again o'er hill or dale to roam,

Again to sit by the old elm-tree.

That old elm-tree, with branchlets wide,

Is in my memory, in my dream,
Where oft I 've sat at eventide,

And watched the sparkling of the stream.

I love that shade, I love the brook
That glides adown the mossy dell;

I love the flower3 of every nook,
For to my heart they volumes tell.

Oh, would I were by that gentle stream,
Where oft I've lingered many an hour

To catch the sun's last golden gleam,
Or snatch a bud from the wild-rose bower.

There is a rose by the elm so tall,

I wish to see it bloom again;
I wish that it may never fall,

But brightly bloom and long remain.

That elm has seen me, in childhood's hour,
Sporting by that pparkling stream :

'Twas there that I first felt the power
Of love's young, fond, and ardent dream.

LITERARY NOTICES.

177

Citerartj 18 otitis.

Eooks by Mail. — Now that the postage on printed
matter is so low, we offer our services to procure for our
subscribers or others any of the books that we notice.
Information touching books will be cheerfully given by
inclosing a stamp to pay return postage.

From J. W. Bradley, Philadelphia : —
THE ANGEL OF THE HOUSEHOLD. By T. S.
Arthur. This handsome volume, which belongs to
" Arthur's Cottage Library," will be a treasure in any
library, and alongside of works of the greatest magnifi-
cence. For what is the value of the highest works of
art and imagination, or of the deepest investigation into
the mysteries of the sciences, if the moral and religious
duties are neglected, and the purer and holier aspira-
tions of the heart are left without culture and support ?
To teach those great duties, and to give direction to the
nobler feelings of our nature, is the great object of this
little work ; and for this it is as worthy of a place, and
may be as attractive and as useful, in a palace as in a
cottage.

TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM; AND WHAT I
SAW THERE. By T. S. Arthur. The advertisement
of a new temperance volume, by the author of " Six
Nights with the Washingtonians," might well be ex-
pected, at this particular time, to create a sensation,
and we were not at all surprised to learn that the orders
for the work reached 6,000 copies in two weeks from the
day of its announcement, and before it could be got
through the press. Public expectation in regard to this
volume will not be disappointed. It is written in the
author's best vein, and abounds in vivid portraiture
and scenes of powerful and touching interest. " Step
by step the author traces the downward course of the
tempting vender and his infatuated victims, until both
are involved in hopeless ruin. The book is marred by
no exaggerations, but exhibits the actualities of bar-
room life, and the consequences flowing therefrom, with
a severe simplicity and adherence to truth that give to
every picture a Daguerrean vividness." As an auxili-
ary in the present great struggle for temperance princi-
ples, it will prove of invaluable service. If the sale of
" Ten Nights" does not reach 50,000 in the next six
months, we shall be very much mistaken.

From Parry & McMillan (successors to A. Hart,
late Carey & Hart), corner of Fourth and Chestnut
Streets, Philadelphia :—

VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES, Old Walls,
Bailie- Fields, and Scenes Illustrative of Striking Passages
in English History and Poetry. By William Howitt,
author of " The Rural Life of England," " Rural Life
in Germany," etc. etc. We have here a third and very
handsome edition of this work, which we deem a very
significant fact in its favor. The author is extensively
known as a chaste and accomplished writer. With
regard to the present work, the title thereof will explain
its historical and literary character. As to the objects
in view, we think they have generally been attained in
as agreeable a way as was possible. We might make
some exceptions, however, to the fulsomeness of human
respect sometimes paid to mere creatures, amounting,
in certain cases, almost to man-worship. But it will
probably be thought too late to make even a single
objection to a work which has reached its third edition
in America.

From Lipfincott, Grambo, & Co., No. 14 North
Fourth Street, Philadelphia :—

LIFE AND ITS AIMS. In two Parts. Part first-
Ideal Life. Part second — Actual Life. The name of
the author does not appear on the title-page of this
pleasant volume. But to whomsoever its paternity
belongs, the work certainly abounds in useful and prac-
tical lessons of great interest and importance to such as
are just entering upon the eventful and trying stage of
active life. These lessons are imparted in a familiar
and agreeable style, and will, we think, leave quite as
lasting impressions on the mind of the reader as they
would have done had they been delivered in a more
solemn and dogmatical form of language. The author
has been most happy in delineating the impulsive and
ardent feelings of youth, and in moulding them to the
full development of the great moral principle which he
seems steadily to have kept in view as the main object
of his book.

From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia :—
THE BRIDE OF THE WILDERNESS. By Emerson
Bennett, author of " Clara Moreland," " The Forged
Will," etc. This is probably one of the very best of the
author's productions, which have already become nume-
rous, and by which he has secured to himself a promi-
nent position among the best American authors. His
pictures of western scenery, and delineations of western
character, and of .early life in the backwoods, have
rarely been equalled and never surpassed. The present
volume opens at an exciting period in the history of our
frontier settlements, and is sustained throughout by
spirited illustrations of the pen, fully in accordance with
the deeds of the brave and fearless adventurers intro-
duced, and the thrilling incidents described. Price 50
cents.

From D. Appleton & Co., No. 200 Broadway, New
York, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : —

THE HIVE OF THE " BEE-HUNTER :" a Reposi-
tory of Sketches, including peculiar American Character,
Scen-cry, and Rural Sports. By T. B. Thorpe, of Louisi-
ana, author of " Tom Owen, the Bee-Hunter." Illus-
trated by sketehes from nature. This is an effort " to
give to those personally unacquainted with the scenery
of the south-west some idea of the country, its surface,
and vegetation." In thi3 effort, the author has suc-
ceeded admirably, as well as in his delineations of the
character and habits of the hunters of the withdrawing
West. His sketches should be carefully laid aside,
after having been carefully read, for the benefit of a
future generation, when his revelations will probably
be referred to in order to decide important questions of
American history.

FARMINGDALE. By Caroline Thomas. This is a
quiet New England story, in which the domestic man-
ners and peculiarities of the people are ably and inte-
restingly portrayed. It is a delightful book.

LIFE IN ABYSSINIA : being Notes collected dxiring
three years' Residence and Travels in that Country. By
Mansfield Parkyns. In two volumes. With illustra-
tions. The Btyle of this work is familiar and interest-
ing. The author appears to have made himself fully
acquainted with the habits of the people of whom he
speaks, and even to have identified himself with their
feelings during his residence among them, and may
therefore be presumed to have given an honest and.
accurate account of his observations and adventures.

178

godey's magazine and lady's book.

From Miller, Orton, & Mulligan, Auburn and
Buffalo, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia:—

FERN LEAVES FROM FANNY'S PORTFOLIO.
Second series. With original designs by Fred. M.
Coffin. Every one — that is, every one in the habit of
reading the newspapers — has read, and consequently
admired at least a few of the long and short essays,
paraeraphs, and memorable remarks, which, like flash-
ing meteors, have shot athwart the literary firmament
from time to time, to the amazement, in particular, of a
eertain class of quiet writers, who for a time have been
left to wander in the gloom of the past. But, unlike
meteors, which fade away after a brief flash, Fanny's
flashes are designed for preservation, and are carefully
collected together and made to form a brilliant galaxy
for permanent usefulness and lasting admiration. Her
originality, industry, and proficiency in all the depart-
ments of life and human knowledge are wonderful,
indeed, and therefore wonderfully widespread is her
popularity. She is, besides, very bold and independent
in her strictures on men, women, and every object else
that comes in her way, and she has the courage to say
things which almost any common thinker might think,
but which very few, perhaps, could put upon paper in
the same nervous and striking language. Hence, no
doubt, in a great measure, Fanny's popularity with the
multitude of readers.

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through
W. P. Hazard, Philadelphia :—

ESSAYS ON THE FORMATION AND PUBLICA-
TION OF OPINIONS, THE PURSUIT OF TRUTH,

and on other Subjects. By Samuel Bailey. New edition,
revised and enlarged. This is a philosophical inquiry
into what we might justly call the mysteries of the
human mind, and the consequent motives and actions
of men under the same or different circumstances.
Though it may be said that such investigations lead to
no definite or positive conclusions, they are nevertheless
pleasing and highly instructive, invigorating the intel-
lect with noble thoughts, and leading it to habits of
reflection, which cannot be otherwise than salutary in
their effects.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through
Lindsay & Blakiston, Philadelphia : —

A HISTORY OF GREECE, FROxM THE EARLIEST
TIMES TO THE ROMAN CONQUEST. With Supple-
mentary Chapters on the History of Literature and Art.
By William Smith, LL. D., Editor of the Dictionaries
of " Greek and Roman Antiquities," " Biography and
Mythology," and " Geography." Revised, with an Ap-
pendix, by George W. Greene, A. M. Illustrated by one
hundred engravings on wood. Next in importance to
an intimate and accurate knowledge of the political and
constitutional history of our own country, is a familiar
acquaintance with the history of such of the ancient
forms of government, and of the characters of their
rulers and their people, as have preceded us in attempts
to establish free, popular, or democratic institutions.
To the American politician and patriot, the study of
Grecian history, in particular, opens a wide and most
interesting field for reflection and comparison, present-
ing him, at the same time, with such lessons of experi-
ence, wisdom, and precaution as cannot fail to influence
him in his private conduct as a faithful citizen, and in
the performance of his public duties, if called on to
participate in the government of the republic. Although
this work addresses itself more especially to youthful

readers, its style is vivid and classical, embracing in
the narrative all the important events in the history of
the nation, and bringing out prominently the lives and
characters of its great men. It is thus rendered valu-
able, by its conciseness, as a book of reference to a
higher class of readers, who may not have time or
opportunity to examine more elaborate histories.

FARM IMPLEMENTS, AND THE PRINCIPLES
OF THEIR CONSTRUCTION AND USE: an Ele-
mentary and Familiar Treatise on Mechanics, and on
Natural Philosophy generally, as applied to the ordinary
practices of Agriculture. With two hundred engraved
illustrations. By John J. Thomas. The title of this
work will readily suggest its value to persons engaged
in agriculture. We have looked through its pages, and
have no hesitation in recommending it to the attention
of those who can fully test its merits.

THE KNOUT AND THE RUSSIANS ; or, the Mus-
covite Empire, the Czar, and his People. By Germain de
Lagny. Translated from the French, by John Bridge-
man. We are admonished by what has been sometimes
admitted to be the truthfulness of history, but which
has been written in times of peculiar excitement, and
by professed partisans, to be careful in forming hasty
opinions in regard to the condition of any nation or
people with whose institutions and general character
we are not familiar. This volume presents us with a
melancholy, we should rather say a horrible, picture of
the great Russian empire. There is in it so much that
is revolting to our hopes of freedom, and to our antici-
pations of the enlightened prospects of the human race
in this nineteenth century, that we might, in all charity,
pray that the author has been guilty of consulting his
political prejudices, rather than following the honest
dictates of truth in the details of his work. If, how-
ever, as is too probably the case, he has given us a fair
exposition, of the tyranny of the Russian government,
and of the degraded condition of the millions of people
groaning under its yoke, we are justified in saying that
a more infamous or grinding despotism has never existed
under the appearances and pretensions of civilization
and Christianity. But we should not forget that the
author is a Frenchman, and that France is at war with
Russia. Neither should we be unmindful of the severe
accusations which individuals and nations are prone to
make against each other when preparing to take each
other's lives.

ARMENIA : a Year at Erzeroom, and on the Frontier
of Russia, Turkey, and Persia. By the Hon. Robert
Curzon, author of " Visits to the Monasteries of the
Levant." Illustrated with map and wood-cuts. This
book contains a great amount of information, which
will be found highly interesting in connection with the
present posture of affairs in the Old World.

LIVES OF THE QUEENS OF SCOTLAND, and
other English Princesses connected with the Royal Succes-
sion of Great Britain. By Agnes Strickland, author of
" The Lives of the Queens of England." Vol. i. The
historical researches of Miss Strickland are destined to
put a new face upon many events and many actors in
the most trying periods of Scottish and English royalty.

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, and James
C. Derby, New York, through See, Peters, & Co.,
Philadelphia : —

THE RECREATIONS OF CHRISTOPHER NORTH.
Complete in one volume. Of the merits or demerits
that may be observable in the contents of this volume,
it may not become us to speak, unless we could main-

LITERARY NOTICES.

179

tain our ground satisfactorily to ourselves, if to no one
else. Better for us, therefore, to leave the decision of
such high literary questions, as we could only hope to
refer to briefly, to persons of higher literary pretensions
and larger means of amplification. We will confess,
however, to the fact of not having been always swayed
by the literary dogmas of Professor Wilson while he
was living, and we are not now, because he has depart-
ed, in any better disposition to give up our original im-
pressions of certain of his opinions and criticisms, some
of which form portions of this volume of his " Recrea-
tions" and " Remains." Nevertheless, the professor
was an able and original writer, and has many ad-
mirers in America (and was deserving of them all), as
well as in the British Isles. They will be happy to
procure this handsome volume as a memorial of the
great abilities of the author, and as a testimony of their
appreciation of his sentiments.

THIS, THAT, AND THE OTHER. By Ellen Louise
Chandler. With illustrations by Rowse. This is a
handsome volume of stories and sketches, many of
which will be found agreeable and interesting to the
general reader. The author is evidently of that senti-
mental class of writers who are disposed to make the
most of all incidents common to humanity, by por-
traying them in striking language and startling sen-
tences, which too often fail in producing the effect
desired.

From J. S. Redfield, 110 and 112 Nassau Street,
New York, through W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia : —

THE RUSSO-TURKISH CAMPAIGNS OF 1828
AND 1829. With a View of the Present State of Affairs in
the East. By Colonel Chesney, R. A., D. C. L., F. R. S.,
author of " The Expedition for the Survey of the Rivers
Euphrates and Tigris." With an Appendix, contain-
ing the Diplomatic Correspondence between the Four
Powers, and the Secret Correspondence between the
Russian and English Governors. With maps. This is
another volume intended to form public opinion — we will
not say to bias it unreasonably — in favor of the Turkish
cause. It is formally dedicated " to his Imperial Ma-
jesty, the Sultan Abdul Medjid Khan, Emperor of the
Ottomans." In this dedication, the author expresses
his grateful acknowledgments for the uniform kindness
he received when journeying as a traveller through his
majesty's dominions in Europe and Asia, as well as
the furtherance experienced by him in a public capacity.
And so confident is the author of the "fidelity and
straightforward character of the Turkish people, that he
does not doubt for a moment that increasing intercourse
will at length remove existing prejudices, and produce
throughout Europe the same impressions of the loyal
character of the Turks" which the author entertained
on the 31st of June, 1854. We confess to not having
followed the author through the campaigns of 1828 and
1829 ; but, in his remarks on Turkey's resistance to
Russia, we find the following paragraph, which, in a
political sense, will account for the disinterestedness of
those who have engaged in her defence : " The central
position of Turkey," says the author, " as a non-aggres-
sive power, serves England therefore as a barrier to-
wards India" — securing her in her ill-gotten possessions
— "protects the interests of France in the Black Sea, as
well as in the Mediterranean, and is necessary to the
very existence of Austria." Happily, we are no poli-
tician. It may be well for those who are, however, to
consider the barriers and the interests the aggressive
powers of Europe will attempt to establish in another

quarter of the globe, when they shall have succeeded by
distracting and dividing them into the "non-aggress-
ive."

CALA VAR ; or, a Romance of Mexico. By Robert
Montgomery Bird- This is the third edition of a ro-
mance which has for a number of years sustained a high
rank among similar works of the most popular Ameri-
can authors. A peculiar and interesting feature of this
work is its close adherence to the important facts of
history.

KATHARINE WALTON ; or, the Rebel of Dorchester.
By W. Gilmore Simms, Esq., author of the " Yemassee,"
" The Partisan," " Guy Rivers," etc. A new and re-
vised edition. We have here another most attractive
volume of the series intended to form a complete and
uniform edition of the author's works. " Katharine
Walton" constitutes a sequel to the " Partisan," and,
though claiming no higher literary distinction than that
which belongs to romance, is, in truth, a most interest-
ing history of an important and eventful period of the
war of the Revolution in South Carolina. Our readers
are already acquainted with the scrupulous fidelity of
Mr. Simms to American annals and American charac-
ter, and they are also familiar with the brilliant powers
of his imagination, and with the pure, lofty, and liberal
sentiments of patriotism which have guided his pen in
all his books. No further duty is required of us, there-
fore, beyond the announcement of a new edition of
" Katharine Walton."

From C. S. Francis & Co., New York, and Crosby,
Nichols, &, Co., Boston: —
THE UNDYING ONE ; SORROWS OF ROSALIE ;

and other Poems. By the Hon. Mrs. Norton. The poe-
try of this volume is all of a melancholy character. It
is evidently the production of a mind deeply imbued
with the spirit of sadness, and which has imparted
much of its own natural feelings and sufferings to what
might at first appear to be the mere efforts of the imagi-
nation. Mrs. Norton's poetry has always found ad-
mirers among readers of taste and judgment, and to
that class the present volume will no doubt be most
acceptable.

From James Munroe & Co., Boston and Cam-
bridge : —

THE BOW IN THE CLOUD : Discourses by George
Ware Briggs, Minister of the First Church in Salem, Mass.
There are fifteen discourses, all intended to comfort
those who mourn, and show the mercy of God to men
even in their afflictions. The book will be a treasure
to the sorrowful.

THE BIRD-KEEPER'S GUIDE AND COMPA-
NION. Containing plain directions for keeping and
breeding Canaries and all other Song Birds, as well as
practical receipts for the prevention and cure of those
disorders to which they are all liable ; with the German
method of teaching birds to sing tunes, &c. &c. A good
manual for all persons who keep birds.

A COMPLETE GUIDE TO ORNAMENTAL J EA-
THER-WORK. With twenty cuts. Reprinted from
the London edition. Ladies who wish to become ac-
complished in this kind of fancy work will find this
book indispensable.

THE BUD, THE FLOWER, AND THE FRUIT;
or, the Effects of Education. By a Lady of Boston. We
have read this story with much interest, and commend
it to mothers.

THE BRIDE OF THE ICONOCLAST. A Poem.

180

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Suggestions towards the mechanical art in verse. We
name this book; but shall delay our notice till we
have more leisure to read the poem, as the author
desires it to be read in the country.

NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, ETC.

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through W. P.
Hazard, Philadelphia : " Wensley : a Story without a
.Moral." This story has been run through the pages of
one of our magazines. Although it claims to be a story
without a moral, yet it is by no means an immoral story.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Lindsay
&, Blakiston, Philadelphia : " The Dodd Family Abroad."
By Charles Lever, author of " The Daltons," etc. This
is an amusing and an instructive work, especially for
those who intend visiting foreign countries. It is No.
187 of "Library of Select Novels." Price 75 cents. —
No. 189, " Library of Select Novels." " The Quiet
Heart." From " Blackwood's Magazine." Price 25
cents.

From D. Appleton, New York, through T. B. Peterson,
Philadelphia: "The Chemistry of Common Life." By
James F. Johnston, M. A., etc. etc., author of " Lectures
on Agricultural Chemistry and Geology." No. 2. Com-
prising two numbers of the English edition. Contain-
ing, " The Bread we Eat," " The Beef we Cook," and
" The Beverage we Infuse." Price 25 cents. There is
a great deal of practical and scientific information in
this work.

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, and James C.
Derby, New York, through See, Peters, & Co., Philadel-
phia :" Martin Merrivale." Nos.3and4. We take great
interest in marking the progress of " Martin Merrivale."
He gains friends at every turn of the narrative, and
promises to be one of the most popular characters of the

age. Price 12,^ cents. — " Woodworth's American Mis-
cellany of Entertaining Knowledge." By Francis C.
Woodworth, author of " Stones about Animals," etc.
etc. An excellent work for young readers.

From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : " A Year after
Marriage." By T. S. Arthur, author of " The Iron
Rule," "Lady at Home," etc. etc. This is a cheap
edition (price 25 cents) of one of Mr. Arthur's excellent
works, the practical teachings of which have restored
so many erring hearts and wandering footsteps to the
sanctities and comforts of desecrated and deserted
homes. No man deserves a higher rank among the
benefactors of his age than T. S. Arthur. Will be sent
by mail, free of postage. — " The Deserted Wife." By
Emma D. E. N. Southworth, author of " The Curse of
Clifton," etc. This is also a cheap edition of a popular
novel, which has already been most favorably received
by the critics and the reading public. Price 50 cents.
Sent free of postage. — " The Curse of Clifton : a Tale of
Expiation and Redemption." This work is by the
same author as the preceding. We need not repeat
here our opinions of Mrs. Southworth's great powers as
a writer of fiction. Those who desire to satisfy them-
selves can do so at a cheap rate, the cost of the work
being only fifty cents a volume, and will be sont free of
postage by mail.

From Garrett & Co., New York : " Gideon Giles ; or,
the Struggles of Life." By Thomas Miller, Esq., author
of " Godfrey Malvern," etc. Price 50 cents.

From Bunce & Brother, New York, through T. B.
Peterson, Philadelphia : " The Star Chamber : an His-
torical Romance." By William Harrison Ainsworth,
author of " Tower of London," etc. This work is pro-
fusely illustrated and handsomely printed. Price 50
cents.

(Bnhiys SUm-^au.

Our August Number. — Another of our gem num-
bers. No falling off yet. Our July number received
more encomiums from the press and subscribers than
any number yet published this year. The Scriptural
plate of Noah appears to have given very general satis-
faction. It is the first time, to our knowledge, that an
engraving has been made from the picture. " A Day at
a Ship-yard," of which we give the conclusion in this
number, seems to have awakened a general interest.

It is probably known to some of our subscribers that
we are somewhat portly. We like that word, " portly."
George the Fourth was said to be "portly;" nobody
dared say he was fat. However, we well remember, as
did that other portly gentleman, Sir John Falstaff,
" when we could have gone through an alderman's
thumb-ring." A plan has been proposed by one of our
correspondents to reduce " this too solid flesh," by one
of the most agreeable methods of treatment that could
be suggested ; but let us give the prescription : —

" P. S. By the by, if Godey was to take a tour
through the Union, what, a brilliant epoch it would be
in the life of the best magazine publisher extant ! Why,
the ladies would fairly devour him with kisses, and he

would return to his own faithful spouse a mere shadow.
Every lady would be sure to pluck a hair from the
noble head of their devoted caterer, and thereby cheat
old Time of his deserts. O Excelsior ! G."

It is evident our friend don't know the early habits of
" old Time." Why, the old fellow has been very busy
already with that same hair, and, in good truth, he
has hardly left one a piece for the fair pluckers. How-
ever, we are willing to go every hair that is left for the
sake of the kisses and the loss of ponderosity.

The inimitable New York " Picayune" says : —
" ' Godey's Lady's Book.' This, the most piquant
and best conducted in the magazine line, is on our table.
Were we to fail in laying this periodical aside for our
' Allie,' we should hear such a young hurricane kicked
up about our ears, that we should wish Godey ' tother
end of nowhere.' So we don't forget it. By the way,
we will here remark that Allie has the finest taste for
literature of any young lady we ever knew."

The indefatigable Brodie, 51 Canal Street, New York,
has again laid us under obligations to him for the beau-
tiful engravings that grace this number.

lit Still."

godey's arm-chair.

181

" A stjffehkk" has sent us the foregoing, which he
says is a true picture of his situation at a celebrated
watering-place. He certainly must have been " a
sufferer," indeed. Why don't he take country lodgings,
a3 we do, where we are treated in a princely manner by
the best host and hostess that ever catered to human
Kind?

If any of our subscribers have some very pleasant
anecdotes, new and not long, we shall be pleased to
give them a chance for preservation by publishing them
from our " Arm-Chair."

Bridal Dress of the Empress of Austria. — She
wore an exquisitely fine lace dress, over a silk slip of
couleur de rose. On her head she wore a diadem of bril-
liants, and a garland of fresh pink and white roses ;
the belt, or girdle, was splendidly set off with precious
Btones, rubies, emeralds, Sec, and she wore magnificent
bracelets.

Rapp's Gold Pens. — We had an order for two dozen
of these celebrated pens last month. Their celebrity is
increasing, and we do not wonder at it, for they are the
best article of the kind ever offered. We will guarantee
them. Prices as follows : Condor size, with a holder,
$6 ; in a silver case, $7 ; swan-quill size, with double
extension silver cases, $4 ; goose-quill size, suitable for
ladies, with holders as above, 03.

Summer Beverages. — Now is the time for our sub-
scribers to provide themselves with these excellent and
temperance receipts. See advertisement on cover.

VOL. XLIX. — 16

Mrs. Hale's "Cook Book" we will furnish at $1f
and pay the postage. Mrs. Hale's " Household Book"
on the same terms. Every one of our lady subscribers
ought to have both these books, and they would, if they
knew their value.

General Godey. — The N. H. " Mirror" thus dubs
us ; but we think, from the reading of his article, our
title should be " General Enterprise." Hear him : —

" Godey has come ! — Not General Godey himself,
but his ' Lady's Book.' The General has enterprise
enough to conduct all the journals in New England,
For three years we have been looking to see if he would
not break some of his astounding promises, and if there
would not be an occasional falling off; but we have
found neither. Each succeeding number seems a little
better. It does us good to say a word in his favor, for
he never skips his exchanges, and, also, because his
' Book' is so much inquired after at the home-table.

" This number is fresh as a rose, and will bring de-
light to thousands of homes."

Shocking Language.— An exchange says: "Any
one would suppose that the employment of sewing was
the most peaceful and quiet occupation in the world ;
and yet it is absolutely horrifying to hear ladies talk of
stilettos, bodkins, gatherings, surgings, hemmings, gor-
ings, cuttings, whippings, lacings, curlings, and baistings.
What a list of abominables !"

" How to Make a Dress."— We can now send this
work to all who Uave ordered it, our new edition ben\j
ready.

182

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Trips on the Schuylkill.— We have often urged
upon our citizens, and strangers visiting our city, that
they should not neglect this delightful trip. Were half
the beauties of the Schuylkill to be seen by a travel of
some hundreds of miles, then would every one be
anxious to go; but here we have it at our very door.
Take either the Chestnut, Arch, Vine, Race, or Coates
Street line of omnibuses, and they will take you to Fair-
mount. Go right through this, also delightful spot, to
the boat, and, our word for it, you will thank us for our
advice. Parents should take the young children upon
the morning boats, when there are few passengers, and
visit Laurel Hill, the Falls, Columbia Bridge, Wissa-
hicon, or Manayunk. The " Inquirer" says, and we
agree with it : " The scenery along the route is very
beautiful, indeed ; we know of no more agreeable trips
during the summer weather ; the officers of the boats
are gentlemanly and vigilant, and make every effort to

afford satisfaction."

(

In our June number, we published, " A Loving
Heart," by W. S. Gaffney ; one verse, from some cause,
was omitted. We give it now : —

Death may strike the clay around it,

Rob it of its earthly bloom ;

Yet Heaven has a claim upon it —

There 'twill shed a sweet perfume.

There in Eden,

Morn and even,

Still will bloom the loving heart.

Dickens never wrote anything more beautiful and
true than the following : " The true woman, for whose
ambition a husband's love and her children's adoration
are sufficient, who applies her military instincts to the
discipline of her household, and whose legislative facul-
ties exercise themselves in making laws for her nursery;
whose intellect has field enough for her in communion
with her husband, and whose heart asks no other honors
than his love and admiration ; a woman who does not
think it a weakness to attend to her toilet, and who
does not disdain to be beautiful ; who believes in the
virtue of glossy hairs and well-fitting gowns, and who
eschews scents and ravelled edges, slip-shod shoes and
audacious make-ups ; a woman who speaks low, and
does not speak much ; who is patient and gentle, and
intellectual and industrious ; who loves more than she
reasons, and yet does not love blindly; who never
scolds, and rarely argues, but who adjusts with a smile :
a woman who is the wife we have all dreamed of once
in our lives, and who is the mother we still worship in
the backward distance of the past ; such a woman as
this does more for human nature, and more for woman's
cause, than all the sea captains, barristers, judges, and
members of Parliament put together — God-given and
God-blessed as she is !"

We agree with the California " Pioneer," a mos*
excellent monthly, lately started in San Francisco, that
"the man that does not read the following a second
time must have a heart intrinsically bad :" —

"THE BABIE.

" Nae shoon to hide her tiny toe,
Nae stocking on her feet ;
Her supple ankle white as snaw,
As early blossoms Bweet.

u Her simple dress of sprinkled pink —
Her double dimpled chin ;
Her puckered lips and balmy mou,
With nae one tooth between.

u Her een, sae like her mother's een,
Twa gentle liquid things ;
Her face — 'tis like an angel's face ;
We 're glad she has no wings.

" She is the budding of our love,
A giftie God gied us ;
We maun na love the gift ower weel,
'Twad be nae blessing thus."

Our Patterns. — Ladies do not seem to be aware
that these patterns are facsimiles of the originals in
color, trimming, &c. At a distance, they would be
taken for the garment itself. They could be worn in a
tableau without being detected.

Word Painting. — The New York " Times" gives
the following portraiture of fashionable life and society
in New York : " Our fashionable society in this city is
a sham from beginning to end. It is utterly unsound,
depraved, and unnatural — a deceptive piece of rotten
wood, made to look shiny with French polish, and glit-
tering with the phosphorescent light of corruption — a
copper cent, trying its very best to look like a five-frano
piece, and, what is worse, in nine cases out of ten suc-
ceeding."

Dr. May, of Sacramento.— We return our thanks
to you for your very kind notice of the " Book." We
copy a portion of it : " By employing the best talent in
the United States, he has succeeded in making the very
best 'monthly' now published, and richly merits the
support received. It has a very extensive circulation
in California, where the ladies look for its arrival with
as much interest as they do ' letters from home.' "

Husbands, look at this : " It is one great source of
pride to every correct husband to afford their wives with
the necessary facilities of appearing lovely, and, as
dress has something to do with gaining that object, we
would advise them to patronize Godey, and study his
fashions." So says the Louisiana " Weekly Record."

The best part of human qualities are the tenderness
and delicacy of feeling in little matters, the desire to
soothe and please others, the minutiae of the social vir-
tues. Some ridicule the feminine attributes, which are
left out of many men's natures ; but I have known the
brave, the intellectual, the eloquent possess these quali-
ties ; the braggart, the weak never. Benevolence and
feeling ennoble the most trifling actions.

Back numbers of the " Lady's Book" can be supplied
from January, as the work is stereotyped. >

Each hair composing the human beard is furnished
with a distinct gland, elaborately and beautifully com-
plete. Underneath are innumerable nerves, imme-
diately connected with the various organs of the senses
ramifying in every direction, and performing important
functions. This hair, when in full growth, forms a
natural protection to the nerves, and also holds, as it
were, in suspension, a quantity of warm air, through
which the cold air in breathing passes, and then becomes
rarefied and attempered, and fit to come in contact with
the lungs.

GODEY S ARi.l-CHAIR

183

THE BRIDAL.

BY A DECIDEDLY CONFIRMED BACHELOR.

Not a laugh was heard, nor a joyous note,
As our friend to the bridal we hurried 5

Not a wit discharged his farewell shot,
As the bachelor went to be married.

We married him quickly to save his fright,
Our heads from the sad sight turning ;

And we sighed as we stood by the lamp's dim light,
To think him not more discerning.

To think that a bachelor free and bright,

And shy of the sex as we found him,
Should there at the altar, at dead of night,

Be caught in the snare that bound him.

Few and short were the words we said,

Though of wine and cake partaking ;
We escorted him home from the scene of dread,

While his knees were awfully shaking.

Slowly and sadly we marched adown

From the first to the lowermost story,
And we never have heard from or seen the poor man,

Whom we left alone in his glory.

To the following, from the Smithport "News," we
say Amen ! with all our heart : " We hope Godey may
be blessed with a long and happy life, and his endeavors
not only to interest, but to instruct his many thousand
readers, prove far more prosperous than generally
rewards such unceasing labor!"

The Darlington " Flag" says : " Godey's devotion to
the ladies is worthy of the best days of chivalry, and he
ought to be dubbed a Knight of the Golden Pen." We
ask that it may be one of " Rapp's."

Tea and Coffee. — A few evenings since (says the
" Lancet"), at the London Medical Society, the Presi-
dent referred to a case in which tea drank in the morn-
ing, and coffee in the evening, always produced ill
effects ; the reverse, none. The cause is probably this,
that the stomach, needing a nourishing beverage in the
morning, finds it in coffee only. Needing none after
dinner, it obtains a mere stimulant in tea.

The entrance of a single woman of talent into a
family is sufficient to keep it clear of fools for several
generations.

We have received the speech of the Hon. Joseph R.
Chandler upon the postage question. It is the best
speech of the session, and, like every speech from the
honorable member, is beautiful in language and remark-
able for its close research. His argument is unan-
swerable.

Stiff Neck. — This most remarkable and disagreeable
disease, for which, we believe, no sure preventive or reli-
able remedy has yet been discovered, has recently assumed
the form of an epidemic. The first attack is often very
sudden, and apparently very painful to the patient; but,
at the same time, its effects are very amusing to those of
his best friends and most intimate acquaintances who may
happen to observe them. In other cases, the disorder
comes on very gradually, being at first scarcely perceptible
to the nearest and dearest companions, until at last the
neck becomes singularly perpendicular, and so stiffly and
rigidly set upon the shoulders as to prevent the unfortu-
nate individual from turning his face, or his eyes, or even
his nose, to the right or to the left, and, consequently,
debarring him from the pleasure and the duty of ever
again recognizing those with whom he may in times past
have been familiar, and to whom he may even yet owe
some unliquidated debts of gratitude.

The difference in the nature of the attacks of this for-
midable disease is owing, however, entirely to the sudden-
ness, on the one hand, and to the gradual accumulation,
on the other, of that which in so many cases proves to be
the vicious matter, and in which this distressing disorder
originates. In this complaint, if the purse, not the pulse,
of the patient becomes violently distended, the strings
thereof are immediately so tightly drawn together that
there is no possibility of an overflow or discharge of the
mucus, which, being thus unexpectedly thrown upon the
system, altogether unused to bearing so heavy a burden,
all the muscles of the neck are put in requisition to enable
the afflicted man to carry it.

In the other case, as we have intimated, the disorder
comes on gradually; but, in the end, it is not less fatal.
At first, its existence in the system is almost imperceptible.
But, as the secretions go on day by day, so we find, day by
day, that the neck of the poor victim becomes more and
more rigid, till at last all power of turning a once smiling
face one way or the other, as well as the powers of memory,
of recognition, of gratitude, of old friendships, of humility
and godliness— attributes of the imperial crown it was
formed to sustain — are forever destroyed.

Is there no remedy for a disease so destroying as this of
the stiff neck ? Alas ! we fear there is only one, and that
one more to be dreaded than the disease itself.

An excellent Article for the Season. — Wm.
White, chemist, 699 Market Street, has prepared a com-
pound for the prevention of moths in carpets, furs,
woollens, etc. It has an agreeable fragrance, and we
shall certainly give it a fair trial ; but we are satisfied
in advance of its utility, as we have never been disap-
pointed in any of Mr. White's preparations. For in-
stance, his Hair Regenerator, his pure Essence of
Jamaica Ginger, his Pectoral Syrup, Fever and Ague or
Tonic Mixture, and his Compound Syrup of Sarsapa-
rilla, etc. etc. There is something in the name of
White; for instance, Thomas White has the most
splendid store in Second Street, and does the largest
bonnet business of any house in the United States, and
William White has one of the handsomest stores in
Market Street, and we think doe3 as large a business as
any drug store in the city.

That satirical Punch gives the following directions :—
How to Plot out an Evening Partt.— Sift card-rack for
most respectable acquaintances. Frame invitations with
lace-borders. Sweep drawing-room quite clean, and shoot
rubbish into back bedroom. Map out an artificial parterre
on floor with chalk. Sow seed for seed-cake. Gather mus-
tard for sandwiches. Beat about the bush for gooseberries,
and put them in bottles to come up as champagne. Order
in old man from green-grocer's, and put Berlin bags on his
hands for gloves. Buy slip for new dress, and gather flow-
ers for your hair. Put the young twigs in their beds, but
the elderly plants stick in library with cards. Lay traps
for rich young men. Plant your company in rows and
couples, and set musicians in full blow in corner of drawing-
room. When they are a little faint, water them with Sherry.
Hang wallflowers round the room. Dig for compliments,

184

godey's magazine and lady's book.

and run up a flirtation wherever von can fasten one. Above
all, nail a husband, or else your plot will be without its
greatest ornament and centre.

Shadow Ruff. — Hang a sheet across one end of the room,
and place a table with alighted candle upon it about a yard
behind the screen. Choose " buff" from the party, and place
him in front of the screen, with his face towards it ; then let
each of the party pass between the table and the screen in
any way they please, such as on tip-toe, or on their knees;
and, as the shadow of each will be disguised by their ges-
tures, "buff" must endeavor to name each person as they
pass behind the screen ; and, if he is successful, the person
first named correctly becomes "buff," and the game com-
mences again.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

" Miss B. R."— See Mrs. Hale's " Household Receipt-
Book," pflge 140. You will there find what you want.

" Mrs. C. H. B." — Sent patterns and book by mail on
9th.

" Mrs. A. E. H." — Sent patterns by mail on 10th.

" S. L. H." — Sent trimmings by Kinsley 10th.

" Mrs. A. L. L." — Sent patterns by mail 13th.

" Mrs. S. R."— Sent patterns by mail 13th.

" Mrs. C. C. D."— Sent patterns by mail 13th.

" Mrs. G. McC."— Sent patterns by mail 13th.

" S. L. H." — Sent book by Kinsley's Express 14th.

" J. L. S."— Sent ring by mail 14th.

" Mrs. M. H."— Sent bonnet by Adams & Co. 14th.

" Mrs. M. E. G." — Will please receive our thanks for
patterns.

Another lady also sent us patterns ; but we have no
clue to whom our thanks are due.

"Mrs. A. M. H." — You have a copy of Mrs. Hale's
" Household Receipt-Book." See page 96.

" C. A. L. or C. H. L."— The following is said to be
an excellent receipt for the hair, and we have seen an
instance where it was most efficacious. One lock of a
lady's hair had turned gray, and the following receipt
restored it to its original color : Sugar of lead, 4 drachms ;
lac sulphur, 1 ounce ; water, 1 pint ; and sufficient rose-
water to give it an agreeable fragrance.

" M. A. B." — Sulphur and lard, equal quantities, will
answer your purpose.

" S. H. W."— Sent patterns by mail 20th.

" Mrs. R. M. M."— Sent patterns by mail 20th.

" Mrs. J. B. B."~ Sent patterns by mail 22d.

" C. B. B."— Sent pen by mail 22d.

" E. J. L."— Sent patterns by mail 23d.

" Mrs. T. F. L."— Sent patterns by mail 23d.

"J. C. R." — Sent patterns and "Cook Book" by mail
24th.

" J. R. M." — Sent patterns and " Cook Book" by mail
25th.

"J. B. R."— Sent patterns and "How to Make a
Dress" by mail 27th.

" C. A. W."— Sent patterns by mail 30th.

" C. M. R."— Sent patterns by mail 30th.

" Mrs. M. A." — Sent patterns by mail 30th.

" Mrs. K. T."— Sent patterns by mail 31st.

" Mrs. A. D. H."— Sent articles by mail 31st.

" Mrs. E. J. E." — Sent patterns by mail 1st.

" E. M." — Sent patterns by mail 2d.

" Miss L. A. O." — Sent accordeon by Adams & Co. 2d.

"J. F. P."— Sent patterns and book by mail 3d.

" Subscriber," Milford, Del.— -Must write uTVler her
own name.

ull)c Borrower's Department.

" The wicked borrowcth and pai/cth not again."

The Glenn's Falls " Republican" says : " By the
way, we would inform our readers that we don't lend
our ' Book.' They must subscribe for themselves."
The Venango " Spectator" ought to follow the above
example. He says : " We don't see how the ladies can
do without the ' Book.' Our copy always keeps lent."
And the consequence is thai we have not one subscriber in
the town of Franklin, where the " Spectator" is published.
The Manheim " Sentinel" will not lend his numbers.
Hear him : " We have already been asked by several to
lend our ' Lady's Book ;> but our answer is : We don't
lend Godey. Pay us $3 in advance, and we will fur-
nish you with the ' Book' for one year, and give you the
' Sentinel' in the bargain." A very fair offer.

Yes, why don't they ]—" Everybody in town is
borrowing our copy." What a reflection upon the
ladies of Gunterville ! But we will give the article
entire from the Gunterville, Ala. " Eagle :" —

" Godey comes to us laden with the choicest flowers
of poetry and prose. Everybody m town is borrowing
our copy. What a magnificent fellow Godey is in the
eyes of Southern ladies ! Guess he could batter down
the dry affections of many of our fair creatures by the
presentation of his pretty ' Book.' Query? Why don't
they subscribe'?"

Receipts, $tt.

Preserving Fruits in their own Juice. — Thir-
teen bottles of preserved fruit were exhibited lately at
Rochester, New York, by Wm. R. Smith, of Wayne
County, viz., five of cherries, two of peaches, one of
different varieties of currants, one of blackberries, and
one of plums. They were examined by a committee,
and found of fine flavor, and the committee expressed
the opinion that the art of preserving fruit in this man-
ner is practicable, and that the fruit, when carefully
put up, can be made to keep as long as may be desira-
ble. The method of preserving is thus given to the New
York State Society by Mr. Smith : " They are preserved
by placing the bottles filled with the fruit in cold water,
and raising the temperature to the boiling point as quick
as possible, then cork and seal the bottles immediately.
Some varieties of fruit will not fill the bottles with their
own juice — these must be filled with boiling water, and
corked as before mentioned, after the surrounding water
boils." Fruits can also be preserved by carbonic acid
gas. The bottles, after the fruit is put into them,
should be charged with this gas under pressure, to expel
all the air, and then sealed up.— Scientific American.

To Preserve Nursery Pictures.— Pictures are an almost
endless source of amusement to children, and as a great
variety may now be had at a trifling cost, there are but few
families where some are not to be found: there are, per-
haps, as few families where vexation has not been experi-
enced in finding how soon the mere paper pictures are torn.
A simple plan, by which children may use them for years
without tearing, is to paste them on to cheap calico— or the
better part of worn-out calico garments will do just as well.
Rub with a little smooth flour paste the back of the pioture
and the calico on which it is to be put: lay the picture
smooth upon the calico, and leave it to dry gradually;

RECEIPTS.

185

when quite dry, neatly cut round the edges, and the pic-
ture will bear all the treatment children are likely to give
it without being torn. Parents who have not tried, would
be surprised what a fund of amusement they might inex-
pensively acquire for their children, if they would so serve
every picture that comes in tbeir way, and provide a port-
folio or box for their reception. When, however, we say
every picture, we must be understood of course to mean
every picture that has no impure or hurtful meaning. It
is a pity that so many of an objectionable sort are pub-
lished, and if a child should become possessed of any such,
it will be the part of wisdom in the parent to destroy them.

To Wash Carpets. — Shake and beat it well ; lay it
upon the floor, and tack it firmly; then with a clean
flannel wash it over with one quart of bullock's gall,
mixed with three quarts of soft cold water, and rub it off
with a clean flannel or housecloth. Any particular dirty
spot should be rubbed with pure gall.

To Sweep Carpets. — The oftener these are taken up
and shaken, the longer they will wear, as the dust and
dirt underneath grind them out. Sweep carpets with a
stiff hair-brush, if you wish them to wear long or look
well. At any rate, keep a good broom purposely for the
carpet.

T,o Clean Paint. — Put a very little pearlash, or soda,
in the water to soften it, then wash the paint with flan-
nel and soft soap ; wash the soap off, and wipe dry with
a clean linen cloth.

To Clean Paper Walls. — The very best method is
to sweep off lightly all the dust, then rub the paper with
stale bread ; cut the crust off very thick, and wipe straight
down from the top ; then begin at the top agaki ; and so
on.

To Polish Mahogany Furniture.— Rub it with
cold-drawn linseed oil, and polish by rubbing with a
clean dry cloth, after wiping the oil from the furniture.
Do this once a week, and your mahogany tables will be
so finely polished that hot water would not injure them.
The reason is this, linseed oil hardens when exposed to
the air ; and when it has filled all the pores of the wood,
the surface becomes hard and smooth like.glass.

DOMESTIC RECEIPTS.

A FEW WORDS ON CONFECTIONERY.

{Second article.)

Stone Cream.— Put in the dish you mean to send to table
three spoonfuls of the lemon-juice with a little of the peel
grated, to apricot jam ; boil together a pint of cream, half
an ounce of isinglass, and some sugar ; when nearly cold,
pour it on the sweetmeat. A few macaroons at the bottom
of the dish is an improvement. To be made a few hours
before using.

Apple Trifle. — Scald as many as will make, when
pulped, a thick layer at the bottom of your dish ; mix the
rind of half a lemon, grated fine, and as much sugar as
will sweeten to taste. Mix half a pint of milk, half a
pint of cream, and the yolk of one egg ; give it a scald
over the fire, and stir it all the time — do not let it boil ;
add a little sugar if required, and let it stand to cool.
Lay over it the apples with a spoon ; and then put on a
whip made the day before, as for other trifles.

Whip for a Trifle. — One pint of cream, one quart
of water, a quarter of a pound of powdered loaf-sugar,
and the j nice of four lemons. Whisk it to a strong froth :
take the froth off as it rises with a skimmer, and lay it

1G*

on a sieve to drain, continuing doing so as long as you
can obtain any. It should be made and kept in a cool
place four or five hours before it is wanted.

Gateau de Pommes. — Boil half a pound of lump-
sugar in a pint of spring water till it becomes sugar again ;
then pound and core two pounds of apples, put altogether
in a stewpan, grate in pulp of a large lemon, stew it till
it becomes a stiff jelly, put it in a mould; it will turn
out when cold. If the apples are flat, you may add a
little lemon-juice. A custard put in the dish is an im-
provement. If not stiff enough, add a little isinglass.
Some think it better, leaving out half a pound of sugar
and reducing the water.

Lemon Salad. — Grate the peel of two or three lemons
into a dish; squeeze the juice of three upon it; sweeten
it well. Dissolve a quarter of an ounce of isinglass in a
very little water, and strain into a quart of cream, which
you will boil. Put it into a jug, and pour it, as slowly
as possible, into the dish containing the lemon-juice and
peel. Whilst pouring, hold the jug at as great a height
as possible, that the mixture may froth. Do not move
the dish until the contents are quite cold. The cream
should be poured in as hot as the safety of the dish will
permit.

Lemon Sponge. — Pare off the rind of one large lemon,
and boil it in a pint of water with one ounce of isinglass.
As soon as the isinglass is dissolved, strain through
muslin, and let it stand until cool, but not until it is set.
Grate very finely the rind of another lemon, and let it
stand in a basin with the juice of both until the stock is
cold. Then add half a pound of loaf-sugar ; strain all
the ingredients together into a bowl, and whisk them till
they begin to stiffen. Then pour the mixture, as quietly
as possible, into a flat dish, and when cold, cut into
squares.

N. B. — It is to be made the night before it is intended
to be eaten.

A FEW CHAPTERS ON PUDDINGS.
(Second article.)

Eve's Pudding. — Six eggs; six apples, chopped fine; six
ounces of suet ; six ounces of cracker, pounded ; six ounces
of currants; six ounces of sugar; a little salt and nutmeg.
Boil it three hours. Serve with wine or brandy sauce.

Eve's Pudding. — Pound three-fourths of a pound of
crackers, and mix it with the same quantity of fine suet,
apples, and dried currants ; seven eggs ; and the rind of a
lemon, chopped fine. Boil it three hours.

Lemon Pudding. — Chop very fine the rind of three large
lemons ; beat yolks of twelve eggs and whites of six, with
one-half pint of cream; two groat biscuits ; one-half pound
of sugar; one-quarter pound of butter; one gill of rose-
water; with the juice of three lemons. Bake in a puff
paste. You can stick in the top some strips of citron. Bake
three-fourths of an hour. Serve hot.

Bread and Butter Pudding. — Cut the bread in
thin slices; butter them, and put a layer into a well-
buttered dish. Strew currants, raisins, and citron, or
sweetmeats over it. Then another layer of bread and
fruit; so on, until the dish is filled. Beat six eggs, with
one pint of milk, a little salt, nutmeg, and a spoonful of
rose-water ; sweeten to your taste, and pour it over the
bread. Let it soak one or two hours before baking.
Bake one-half hour.

Potato Pudding. — To two pounds of white potatoes,
boiled and mashed smooth, add one-half pound of butter

136

godey's magazine and lady's book.

the yolks of eight eggs, and the whites of three ; one-half
pound of sugar; one-half pint of wine; onenutmeg; two
grills of Dream. Bake in deep dishes with a rich puff
paste and rather a thick edging. Some persons put in
one-half pound of dried currants.

Potato Pudding.— One pound of potatoes; one gill
of wine; one gill of cream; seven eggs; the juice and
peel of two lemons ; one-quarter pound of butter ; sugar
to your taste. Strew over the top an ounce of citron,
shred fine.

Potato Pudding, eaten hot. — One pound of sifted
potato ; one-half pound of butter ; one-half pound of sugar ;
ten eggs ; one glass of wine ; one of rose-water. Put no
paste round the dish. Bake this in one hour. Serve it
with cold sauce.

Baked Almond Pudding. — Blanch one-half pound
of almonds ; beat them smooth in a mortar ; one spoon-
ful of ro3e-water ; one of cream or milk, thickened with
one large spoonful of pounded biscuit; one-half pound
of sugar ; seven eggs, and one nutmeg.

Boiled Almond Pudding. — Blanch one pound of
almonds ; beat them in a mortar to a smooth paste, with
three teaspoonfuls of rose-water. Add one gill of wine ;
one pint of cream ; one gill of milk ; one egg ; one spoon-
Ail of flour. Boil one-half hour.

Ground Rice Pudding. — Two quarts of milk; one
quart of cream; eighteen eggs ; the juice and peel of four
lemons ; nine tablespoonfuls of ground rice ; one-quarter
pound of butter; sugar and rose-water to your taste.
Boil the milk; mix the rice with a little cold milk, then
stir it into the boiling milk ; let it boil to thicken ; stir it
that it may not lump. When cool, add eggs and other
ingredients. Put a paste round the dish.

Ground Rice Pudding. — Mix two and a half large
spoonfuls of rice in a little cold milk ; stir it into one
quart of boiling milk ; let it boil fifteen minutes, stirring
it constantly. When cold, add five eggs ; a little lemon ;
sugar to your taste, and bake it one hour. Put a paste
or not, as you prefer, on the dish.

SICK-ROOM AND NURSERY.

A Strengthening Drink. — Put a teacupful of pearl-
barley into a saucepan with three pints of cold water,
the rind of a lemon, and a small piece of cinnamon ; boil
the whole gently until the barley becomes tender, then
strain it through a fine sieve, and sweeten with treacle,
honey, or sugar.

Baked Milk for Consumptive Persons. — Put
half a gallon of milk into a jar, tie it down with writing-
paper, and, after the bread is drawn, let it stand all
night in the oven ; the next morning it will be the thick-
ness of cream, and may be drunk as occasion requires.

Drink in a Fever. — Put a little tea-sage, two sprigs
of balm, and a little wood sorrel, into a stone jug, having
first washed and dried them ; peel thin a small lemon,
and clear from the white : slice it, and put. a bit of the
peel in; then pour in three pints of boiling water.
Sweeten and cover it close. Perhaps no drink, however,
is more refreshing in such a case than weak green tea,
into which lemon-juice is infused instead of milk. It
may be drunk either cold or hot ; but the latter is the best.

Barley- Water with Honey.— Add the juice and
rind of one lemon to one tablespoonful of honey, and two
teacupfuls of barley; put it into a jug, and pour a quart
of boiling water upon it.

Barley- Water with Isinglass.— A tablespoonful
of pearl-barley, six lumps of loaf-sugar, half of a lemon,
and enough isinglass to clear it. Pour two quarts of
boiling spring-water on these ingredients, and let it stand
until cold.

Tamarinds or Cranberry Juice, with double the
quantity of water, also form a pleasant drink for an
invalid when approaching convalescence.

Baked Flour for Infants. — Tie up tight in a cloth
two pounds of flour; put it in a saucepan of boiling
water, and let it boil hard for three hours, when it will
come out in a round ball. A small quantity is scraped
oif, and prepared in the same manner as thick milk or
gruel. For infants, the preparation should not be thicker
than very thin gruel.

Cleanliness. — A dirty cup, or a bit of coal on toast
or in broth, may turn an invalid's stomach. It is highly
necessary, also, for the sake both of the patients and
others, that the room should be kept thoroughly clean and
sweet, nothing offensive being allowed to remain in it.
As much air as the patient can bear should be admitted,
and occasionally a thorough draught, extending to all
parts of the room, except the immediate neighborhood of
the patient, who must be protected from it by the curtains
or bed-clothes.

(H 1) e a o i 1 1 1.

To Restore Color in Silks taken out by Acros— Sal
volatile or hartshorn will suffice for this purpose. It may
be dropped on silk without doing any injury.

To Remove Creases from Velvet. — Pass the underside of
the velvet gently over a warm smoothing-iron. Let one
person hold the velvet tight, and another pass the iron ;
then spread out the garment, and brush gently yet briskly
with a velvet brush.

Economical Wash for the Hair. — C L. writes :
" Your correspondent ' Minnie' will find the following
receipt an excellent wash for the hair, as I have fre-
quently used it,and am able to speak confidently as to its
efficacy : Take one ounce of borax, half an ounce of
camphor; powder these ingredients fine, and dissolve
them in one quart of boiling water ; when cool, the solu-
tion will be ready for use. This wash should be applied
before retiring to bed at night, by well wetting the hands
with it, or with a piece of sponge, and rubbing it into the
roots ; afterwards wipe dry with a towel. Oil or pomatum
should be employed the following morning, to maintain
the moisture of the hair. This wash cleanses and beau-
tifies the hair, and stimulates its growth ; but oil or po-
matum is required to soften it and maintain its gloss."

Toothpowder. — Powdered orris-root, half an ounce ;
powdered charcoal, two ounces ; powdered Peruvian
bark, one ounce; prepared chalk, half an ounce; oil of
bergamot or lavender, twenty drops. These ingredients
must be well worked up in a mortar until thoroughly
incorporated. This toothpowder possesses three essen-
tial virtues; giving an odorous breath, cleansing and
purifying the gums, and preserving the enamel — the last
rarely found in popular toothpowders.

Esprit de Fleurs. — Take one ounce of essence of
bergamot, three drachms of English oil of lavender, half
a drachm of oil of cloves, half a drachm of aromatic vine-
gar, six grains of musk, and one and a half pint of retai-
ned spirits of wine; distil.

Centre- CubU (Sdffiip

SOCIAL VISITING.

We take from a foreign source the truest portrait of
social and formal visits that we have ever met with.
The evil it is directed against is one fast consuming all
good feeling and enjoyment in our city circles. We can
but hope the picture — not overdrawn — will be of use.
A country neighborhood certainly has the advantage
over town life in this respect, as matters are now
arranged : —

" How delightful a picnic of friends, who forget all
observances save those dictated by good nature ! How
pleasant the little unpretending gatherings of book
societies, and the like ! or those purely accidental meet-
ings of a few people well known to each other ! Then,
indeed, we may see that ' a man sharpeneth the counte-
nance of his friend.' Cheeks flush and eyes sparkle.
The witty grow brilliant, and even the dull are excited
into saying good things. There is an overflow of topics ;
and the right thought, and the right words to put it in,
spring up unsought. Grave alternates with gay ; now
seriou3 converse, and now jokes, anecdotes, and playful
raillery. Every one's best nature is shown ; every one's
best feelings are in pleasurable activity ; and, for the
time, life seems well worth having. Go now and dress
for some half-past eight dinner, or for some ten o'clock
' at home,' and present yourself in spotless attire, and
with every hair arranged to perfection. How graat the
dilFerence ! The enjoyment seems in the inverse ratio
of the preparation. These figures, got up with such
finish and precision, appear but half alive. They have
frozen each other by their primness, and your faculties
feel the numbing effects of the atmosphere the moment
you enter it. All those thoughts, so nimble and so
apt a while since, have disappeared — have suddenly
acquired a preternatural power of eluding you. If you
venture a remark to your neighbor, there comes a trite
rejoinder, and there it ends. No subject you can hit
upon outlives half a dozen sentences. Nothing that is
said excites any real interest in you ; and you feel that
all you say is listened to with apathy. By some strange
magic, things that usually give pleasure seem to have
lost all charm. You have a taste for art. Weary of
frivolous talk, you turn to the table, and And that the
book of engravings and the portfolio of photographs are
as flat as the conversation. You are fond of music.
Yet the singing, good as it is, you hear with utter indif-
ference; and say, ' Thank you !' with a sense of being a
profound hypocrite. Wholly at ease though you could
be, for your own part, you find that your sympathies
will not let you. You see young gentlemen feeling
whether their ties are properly adjusted, looking vacant-
ly round, and considering what they shall do next.
You see ladies sitting disconsolately, waiting for some
one to speak to them, and wishing they had the where-
with to occupy their fingers. You see the hostess
standing about the doorway, keeping a factitious smile
on her face, and racking her brain to find the requisite
nothings with which to greet her guests as they enter.
You see numberless traits of weariness and embarrass-
ment ; and, if you have any fellow feeling, these cannot
fail to produce a sense of discomfort. The disorder is

catching; it spreads from one to another; do what you
will, you cannot resist the general infection. You
struggle against it ; you make spasmodic efforts to be
lively ; but none of your sallies or your good stories do
more than raise a. simper or a forced laugh. Every-
thing falls dead. Intellect and feeling are alike as-
phyxiated. And when, at length, yielding to your
disgust, you rush away, how great is the relief when
you get into the fresh air and see the stars !"

THE HUNDRED DOLLAR BONNET.
BY ELLEN EYRIE.

We willingly give place to this clever city lyric,
though it has before appeared. It is worthy Haynes
Bayly in his best days, and carries its own weight of
argument. Ellen Eyrie preaches quite as effectively as
" the milliners :" —

Oh, it cost a hundred dollars,

And was just the sweetest thing!
Perched above a queen of collars,

Tied with vast expanse of string.

And the fringe weighed twenty ounces
Round her mantle short and cool ;

And her silk brocade, with flounces,
Filled the pew superbly full.

Dainty gloves and kerchief broidered,
In her psalm-book kept the stops ;

All the things she wore were ordered
From the first Parisian shops.

But that hundred dollar bonnet-
That 's the gem I wished to paint ;

Such a shower of things were on it,
Quite enough to craze a saint.

Oh, I could not hear a word of

What the pious pastor said,
For the shapes and shines unheard of

That were floating round her head.

Bands and plumes, and flowers and laces,
Fancies more than you could name;

And they say Miss Dorsey's cases
Boast a dozen just the same.

How I wonder who will wear them :

If the pastor seeks to teach
By his texts, he well may spare them—

'Tis the milliners that preach.

All our eyes such sights are drinking,

Counting o'er their cost anew ;
And we break the Sabbath, thinking,

What if we could wear them too !

SELF-EDUCATION.

It would be impossible to compress into an ordinary
sheet of letter paper, much less into the five minutes
allowed for the suggestion of a topic to our club, even

187

18S

godey's magazine and lady's book.

an analysis of what might be written in answer to the
simple question, " How shall I educate myself?"

To be removed from the ordinary opportunity for
study — that is, good schools, teachers, and lectures, and
the society or association with cultivated people — yet
to have an earnest desire for self-improvement, is a
hard lot, presenting difficulties that will need untiring
patience, first and over all other qualities. Natural
talent will not surmount them, nor quickness, nor a
retentive memory.

In the first place, what is the aim proposed 1 To fit
one's self for a teacher of others, or to take a place
among those who have had all the advantages denied to
yourself, or simply " to do my duty in that state of life
to which it has pleased God to call mel" Many a girl
goes to school and has masters all her life, who does
not ask herself why all this trouble is taken, except
that she " has to go to school," " has to take music les-
sons," or is inspired by a questionable ambition for
class rank or prizes. But, when a person undertakes
" self-education," there must be some definite aim to
call forth a longing for advantages that are not pos-
sessed, or a desire to accomplish alone what others
claim constant assistance for.

If it is to be a teacher, for what branch of study have
they the strongest predilection 1 Few who teach, unless
it is the governess or the learned preceptress of a pri-
vate school, undertake to teach all comprehended in an
ordinary circular. In a school, there is the English
teacher, including the ordinary day-school tasks, rhe-
toric, natural, moral, and mental philosophy, composi-
tion, general history, etc. Music and French, or music
alone, is the duty of a second person, Latin and mathe-
matics of a third, and so on through the list. No one
but an Englishwoman, advertising for a governess at
five pounds a year, would expect one person to be
pre-eminently skilled in all these things. A general
acquaintance with all the ordinary branches of an
English education is looked for in every lady, and lan-
guages and music come under the head of accomplish-
ments. A music teacher will always command the
highest salary, especially at the South ; and this is as it
should be, since it requires more time and expense in
masters, etc., to become a proficient. A teacher of the
modern languages, or of Latin and mathematics, which
are usually coupled together, will also hold a good
position. These three posts it is scarcely possible to fit
one's self for without instruction. The accent of the
modern languages cannot be purely caught without
long practice in speaking and reading with a foreign
instructor. It is possible to teach one's self by the aid
of a good grammar, or the Ollendorf methods above all
others, to write and read them correctly, but pronounc-
ing or conversing correctly requires oral practice. Latin
and mathematics, in which last are included usually
algebra and geometry — rarely for a lady trigonometry
and mathematical philosophy — are more within the
reach of talent and perseverance. English studies are
within the comprehension of any quick and determined
intellect. We do not, of course, mean the heights of
scientific attainment, but the elementary introduction
to them usually taught in schools and classes. A
governess is usually expected to be conversant with
them, and music and French are almost invariably
expected of her.

If our correspondent wishes it, we will furnish a list
of desirable text-books, also, at some future time, of
books of reference to be read in connection. She must
not be discouraged at the dryness of the " rudiments,"

remembering there is "no royal road to learning."
Grammars, propositions, and problems are dry and
confusing enough ; but, after a while, she will see
growing out of the chaos the beautiful order of expanded
thought and quickened perception, which are the ma-
gical keys unlocking the prize she covets.

Supposing her object to be more indefinite, and reached
by less laborious pursuits — the fitting herself to be a
refined and intelligent member of society — we have still
more to say on the subject of self-education, which we
reserve for a month to come.

A ROYAL BRIDAL-DRESS.

As a wedding-dress is a matter of first consideration
with all engaged young ladies, we need not bespeak the
interest of our circle for a description of one that has
had the honor of flourishing in Parisian high life.

The theatre of its display was no less a place than
the chapel of the Tuileries, where the emperor and em-
press were present. The bride was the Princess of
Wagram, the groom Prince Joachim Murat, grandson
of Murat, formerly King of Naples. The bridal-dress
was of white silk covered by wonderfully beautiful
Honiton lace, in the form of a double tunic, the upper
one gathered up on each side with magnificent pearl
ornaments. The corsage was high, fitting close to the
figure, and covered with Honiton lace ; it was closed
from the throat to the point of the bodice by a row of
large pearls set as buttons. A small Honiton collar
was fastened by a pearl brooch. The sleeves were also
covered with Honiton, and terminated by two deep frills
of lace, these being looped up on the inside by pearl
ornaments to correspond with those on the skirt. A
bouquet of orange-flowers was also fastened by pearls,
and the rich Honiton lace scarf, which served as a veil,
was fastened by a pearl tie or brooch. The wreath was
of jasmine, roses, and orange-blossoms.

The prayer-book was a delicately painted missal, the
binding ornamented with mother-of-pearl, and inlaid
with pearls and silver.

There was a brilliant reception at the Tuileries the
same evening in honor of the event. The empress wore
a dress of pink and silver brocade. It was trimmed by
silver-figured blonde, and looped by ornaments of ame-
thysts set round with diamonds. Her bandeau was
also of amethysts and diamonds. The Princess Matilda
wore maize-colored velvet ; the skirt as high as the
knee was studded with topazes, surrounded by blue
enamel, and set in the form of flowers. The corsage
had ornaments of the same, and she wore a diadem of
topaz and blue enamel.

Flowers as well as jewels are much used to ornament
the skirts and waists of evening-dresses, as, for in-
stance, one that was worn at a ball given to the dis-
tinguished bride. It was of white organdy, with two
skirts, the upper one raised on one side by a wreath of
white lilac, one end of which was fixed at the waist
under a waistband of white silk. In the corsage was
worn a bouquet of lilac, and a demi-wreath of the same
was placed above the plat at the back of the head, and
nearly concealed it. Another organdy dress had three
flounces, edged with delicate wreaths of violets, the
same blossoms being worn in the waist and hair.

At one of the little parties given at the Tuileries, the
empress wore a dress of plain white, ornamented only
by a bouquet of violets in front of the corsage. Her
hair was dressed in full bandeaux, and finished by a
wreath of violets. So our ladies of the " Centre-Table"

CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP.

189

would find no difficulty in wearing a royal costume,
and would no doubt find simplicity as becoming to them
as to the empress.

GOLD EMBROIDERIES AND LACE.

Now that gold embroideries on silks and ribbons are
again the fashion (however unsuited they are to so-called
republicans, though generally adopted in courtly circles),
our readers will be interested in the curious manufacture
of sold thread. There is a fascination about the very word,
whether in the shining coin or the glittering stuffs that
figure at the receptions of the new Napoleon. But, at the
outset, we have the startling assertion that gold lace is not
gold lace. It does not deserve the title, for the gold is
applied as a surface to silver. It is not even silver lace,
for the silver is applied to a foundation of silk. Therefore,
when we are admiring the glittering splendor of gold lace,
we should, if " honor be given where honor is due," remem-
ber that it is silk lace, with a silver gilt coating. The
silken threads for making this material are wound round
with gold wire, so thickly as to conceal the silk ; and the
making of this gold wire is one of the most singular me-
chanical operations imaginable. In the first place, the
refiner prepares a solid rod of silver, about an inch in
thickness ; he heats this rod, applies on the surface a coat-
ing of gold! eaf, burnishes this down, applies another coat-
ing, burnishes this down, and so on, until the gold is about
the one-hundredth part the thickness of the silver. Then
tbe rod is subjected to a train of processes which bring it
down to the state of a fine wire ; it is passed through holes
in a steel plate, lessening step by step in diameter. The
gold never deserts tbe silver, but adheres closely to it, and
shares all its mutations; it was one-hundredth part the
thickness of the silver at the beginning, and it maintains
the same ratio at the end.

As to the thinness which the gold-coated rod of silver can
be brought, the limit depends on the delicacy of human
skill ; but the most wondrous example ever known was
brought forward by the late Dr. Wollaston, a man of extra-
ordinary tact in minute experiments. This is an example
of a solid gold wire, without any silver.

He procured a small rod of silver, bored a hole through
it from end to end, and inserted in this hole the smallest
gold wire he could procure; he subjected the silver to the
usual wire-drawing process, until he had brought it to the
finest attainable state ; it was, in fact, a silver wire as fine
as a hair, with tbe gold wire in its centre. How to isolate
this gold wire was the next point. He subjected it to warm
nitrous acid, by which the silver was dissolved, leaving a
gold wire one thirty-thousandth of an inch in thickness —
perhaps the thinnest round wire that the hand of man has
yet produced. But this wire, though beyond all comparison
finer than any employed in manufactures, does not approach
in thinness the film of gold on the surface of the silver in
gold lace. It has been calculated that the gold on the very
finest silver wire for gold lace is not more than one- third
of one-millionth of an inch in thickness ; that is, not above
one-tenth the thickness of ordinary leaf gold. The mind
gets not a little bewildered by these fractions, but we shall
appreciate the matter in the following way : Let us imagine
that a sovereign could be rolled or beaten into the form of
a ribbon, one inch in width, and as thin as this film ; then
this ribbon might form a girdle completely round the
Crystal Palace, with perhaps "a little to spare."

ITEMS.

The space usually allotted to our fashion chat being
occupied by the juveniles this month, it may not be

amiss to nqte here that green, peach-blossom, and violet
are still favorite colors for bonnets, mantles, and glacS
silks. Some of the most beautiful summer bonnets are
of French chip, with light flower and ribbon trimming.
Drawn bonnets of white, pale green, primrose, and violet
crape, are also just in season. The favorite flowers
used in trimming them are bouquets of violets and jas-
mine, sprays of peach and apple-blossoms, horse-
chestnut, and wild roses, in a profusion of graceful buds
and foliage. The flowers imported this season are more
beautiful than ever, vying with nature in grace of
arrangement, delicacy of petals, and beauty of coloring.
Crape being the favorite material employed in tie
manufacture, there is a lightness and perfection of
shape impossible in the old style of stiff muslin, cam-
bric, and silk. Be it known to the wearers of cheap
" artificials," sold at the rate of a quarter dollar a pair
— that is, two straight, stiff rows of cambric blossom;--
called "face flowers" — that it is far preferable to adopt
a simple bonnet cap of blonde, wash-blonde even, than
the coarse imitations of nature, which have neither
taste nor beauty to recommend them.

Walking bonnets are still of straw and leghorn, trim-
med with ribbons and flowers. A city woman means
by " a dress bonnet" what is called a carriage bonnet
abroad. That is, a delicate headdress of crape, blonde,
and flowers, to be worn in paying ceremonious calls, or
to concerts, opera, and the like. There is no need for a
dress bonnet in the country. Lawn, straw, or a simple
silk casing are all-sufficient. Our topic for next month
will be " mourning."

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

" Mrs. W. B. L."— Will find the following the jeeeipt
she is in search of; it is of English origin, and perfectly
reliable, though in an unusual form. The so-called
Eve's Pudding of modern cookery books is not nearly as
rich : —

EVE'S PUDDING.

If you like a good pudding,

Mind what you are taught :
First take six eggs,

When bought for a groat ;
Next take of the fruit

Which Eve did once cozen,
When pared and well chopped,

At least half a dozen.
Six ounces of currants

From the stones you must sort,
Lest they break out your teeth,

And spoil all your sport
Six ounces of bread —

Let Moll cut the crust—
And let it be crumbled

As fine as the dust.
Six ounces of sugar

Will not be too sweet;
Some salt, and some nutmeg

The whole will complete.
Three hours let it boil,

Without any flutter—
Nor is it quite good

Without wine and butter.

" Maurice," we grieve to give the verdict, will never

be a song writer. We question if it is possible for any

one having no musical taste to write an acceptable

lyric. Something besides short lines and rhymes are

190

godey's magazine and lady's book.

essential — a musical rlow and rhythm of syllables, and
an adaptation of sentiment to the proper accOTuation of
the music. Mrs. Norton's ballads have their charm in
this, and, still more fortunately for their popularity, the
authoress could give voice to the melody which they
floated to in her own mind before they were penned.
Mrs. Hemans, Moore, and Lever also have this gift.
Shallow sentiment and jingling rhymes are insufficient
for more than a passing success. A ballad is usually
distinguished by pathos, a song by spirit, grace, or
humor; though in the last very few have ever been
successful.

" N. L. G."— We do not agree with our Michigan
friend in his protest against the space we allow to the
fashion department. Ours is a " Lady's Book," he must
remember; and, since he admits that he "likes to see
his lady friends dressed with taste," why quarrel with
a department that contributes so essentially to this?
We suspect " N. L. G." of being a bachelor.

" Emeline" will find that knitting lace is by no
means a modern invention. It originated in Saxony
about 1560 or 1561. Barbara Uttmann was the disco-
verer. The inner stitch had been missed by our corre-
spondent, which made the whole scallop wrong. See
the 7th, 10th, and 13th rows.

" The Book Club of Edisto" should have Hugh
Miller's " School and Schoolmasters," by all means ; the
other volumes are collections of fugitive tales and
poems, with romantic titles, scarcely worth the binding,
certainly not the price and postage. " Bartlett's Expe-
dition" is published by the Appletons, and is a valuable
book of travels.

" Mrs. J." will find her questions answered in the
nursery article of the present month.

" Lost or Mislaid." — We sincerely regret to say
that a letter, requesting advice on self-education, has
thus disappeared from our portfolio. It is a subject on
which much may be written, and something may be
gained by our correspondent — we should be glad to hear
from her again — by an article in our " Centre-Table
Gossip."

" Henry S." is rather out of place in his inquiries.
We never betray the secrets of authorship.

Jasljions.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the
Blitress 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.
Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn bonnets, dresses,
jewelry, bridal cards, cake-boxes, envelopes, etc. etc., will
be chosen with a view to economy, 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, accompa?iied by checks for the proposed expendi-
ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., who will
be responsible for the amount, and the early execution of com-
missions.

No order will be attended to unless the money is first re-
ceived.

Brodie's, 51 Canal Street, New York; bonnets from Miss
Wharton's ; jewelry from Bailey's or Warden's, Philadel-
phia, or Tiffany's, New York, if requested.

HOME-DRESSES FOR THE COUNTRY.

(See " Fashions.'''1)

Fig. 1st. — Dress of pink mousseline, with a narrow
black thread or stripe running through it, made in the
simplest manner, with sleeves demi-long, and loose
undersleeves of spotted muslin. A cape of the same, cut
square in the neck, after the fashion of the basque Evan-
geline. Dress apron of alternate widths of pink, and a
gay brocaded ribbon.

Fig. 2d. — Walking-dress of plain green silk, the front
of the skirt ornamented by a triple row of velvet embos-
sings, or stamped velvet ornaments, the same shade as
the silk. A mantilla of medium silk, in three flounces,
pinked, suitable for an ordinary walk or drive. Plain
straw bonnet, Princess braid, trimmed with ruches of
white and wine-colored ribbon.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILA-
DELPHIA FASHIONS FOR AUGUST.

As we have heretofore promised, we give the principal
space this month to the young people, who have been
made to stand aside, as is the case in many other fami-
lies, until their older sisters have been attended to.
August finds them — the elders and betters — fairly dis-
posed of at watering-places. The cities are deserted :
figuratively, we mean, for whether the tide of fashion-
able people are in or out, the same crowd haunts the
shops, and ribbons are bought and trimmings matched
with the same zeal as ever.

We have thought it best to illustrate our chat by cuts
of what is considered in good taste for the present sea-
son, and that which heads our article shows a suitable
dress for children from ten to thirteen years of age.
Fig. 1 is for a school-girl just emerging from short frocks,
a dove-colored summer silk skirt, full, and trimmed
with three tucks or folds, each edged by a ribbon of
medium width, or a fringe, just now fashionable, of
some corresponding color. The tucks untrimmed we
consider the most simple and girlish, or there may be
folds with a narrow ribbon edge. For lawns, colored or
white, tucks are made as much as ever, either three of
the depth given above, or five an inch narrower. The
very fine tucks are not so much seen as formerly. In
all cases, the plain space should be the exact width of
the tuck.

The waist of the dress shows a fashion at once taste-
ful and convenient. It is a spencer of spotted muslin,
full from the shoulder to the waist, where it is confined
by a narrow belt, the same color as the skirt, fastened
by a pearl buckle. This is intended for street wear,
and has small bishop sleeves, gathered into a band of
insertion at the wrist. A small square collar, edged
with fine Swiss needlework, turns over at the throat,
and is tied carelessly by a blue ribbon. These spencers
are worn by all girls from eight to fourteen and fifteen,
and, where skirts can be made of the dresses older
members of the family have laid aside, they are very
economical, as children soil the waist and sleeves of a
silk dress so soon. Spencers are made of plain cambric,
mull, lawn, any thin white material, and can be as
cheap or as expensive as means or taste allow. Many
ladies have found them a most convenient article for

inbtj's Xntrst /itstjions

FASHIONS.

191

summer wear, especially in the morning. On the
street, when worn with a mantle, they have the effect
of a full chemisette and sleeves, and thus the ruinous
effects of perspiration on silks or painted lawns are
avoided, while the same effect is produced. For the
country, they are also very serviceable.

The cut gives more of shape and stiffness to the Leg-
horn flat than is intended. The rosettes and bow are
of white Mantua ribbon with a satin edge. The plume
may be dispensed with without altering the effect of the
hat, which is even more girlish without it. Flats,
whether of Leghorn or split straw, are decidedly the
most preferable for country hats. In town, a school-
girl may wear with propriety a plain drawn silk or
pretty straw, trimmed with ribbons, narrow blonde, or
very delicate face wreaths of spring blossoms or buds;
but what is called " a dress hat" should never be pur-
chased for them before they have left the school-roam,
though we know they are usually as ambitious of it as
a boy of his first dress coat.

Fig. 2d. A lad's dress suited to the same age, and
very simple. The trowsers are loose without being full,
of white linen jean; the blouse, belted at the hip, of any
shade of cashmere that may suit the mother's taste, or
of brown Holland even. In case it is made of cashmere,
there are narrow white cambric frills at the neck and
sleeves. Broad straw hat, tied with a black or green
ribbon. There is very little change in the dress of a lad
from the past season. Blouses will always be more or

less in favor, from the comfort and ease they allow the
figure. Trowsers are, as we have said, rather loose
than full over the hips, which is always apt to be car-
ried to a " bagging" extreme by those who do not under-
stand shaping the pants. There is another distinct
style, where the trowsers are short, reaching half way
to the ankle, where they are quite narrow, with a
stitched (or on white) embroidered side seam. These
are worn with a plain linen spencer and sleeves, either
with or without the loose cut-away jacket of cashmere
or pelisse cloth. We have described this style already
the present season. The designs, it will be remem-
bered, were furnished by Mrs. Suplee.

It would be as well to answer in this connection the
question which is frequently asked, as to the establish-
ment of the first pattern depot, a business that has
grown rapidly, and has at present many imitators.
The credit is certainly due to Mrs. Suplee, who, from the
first, was recommended as reliable by Miss Wharton*
and others of the first modistes in the country to their
customers. For children's patterns, mothers may espe-
cially thank Mrs. Suplee for the variety and correctness
of the styles she furnishes, as may be seen from the
" Lady's Book," in which many of them have appeared.
Ladies will do well to remember that Ihe pattern of any
article of dress published either in the cuts or plates of
this magazine, which may happen to please their fancy,
will be furnished from her establishment, if they will
designate distinctly the number and page of the " Book"

192

godey's magazine and lady's book,

on which it was found. In the matter of juvenile fash- > gives a place to this braid each side the face. It is

ions, this is an especial advantage to those residing in
far-off country places or towns.
In our second illustration, we give a dress of a little

girl still younger, though it would not be unsuited to a
child of ten or twelve. The material is a pink barege,
the skirt has a hem and tuck of good depth, both being
headed by two row3 of fanciful silk braid the same
shade as the dress. Sleeves plain and loose, trimmed
with the same ; waist plain, with a berthe or shoulder
cape crossing in front to the belt, which is narrow, and
rounds slightly in front. The space left by the berthe is
filled up with a pretty tucker or chemisette, which can
be'made of rows of lace or muslin puffs. Loose under-
sieeves are made to correspond. This is a pretty way
to make plain cashmeres or mousselines in the fall, a
plain piece of the same being substituted for the muslin
tucker, and a simple frill or row of lace being carried
around the neck. The pantalettes, which are displayed
rather more than usual, have crimped frills of lace or
muslin.

Little girls of this age do not wear the long braids or
queues of hair once so universal. The present favorite
style is to part the hair as then, through the back of the
head, in two equal divisions ; but the thick braid (plain
or Grecian) which these divisions form, is placed in a
round coil each side of the head, the space being filled
up by rosettes, either of ribbon or black velvet, some of
which have long ends or lapels reaching to the shoul-
der. The very open shape of the bonnets now worn

usual to take out the rosettes when the bonnet is worn.
Still younger children have the hair cut rather close,
and either parted in the middle or brought back over
the head with a circular comb. Fashion.

Enigmas.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN JULY NUMBER.
23. An umbrella. 24. The magnetic compass.

25. A-n-ice girl. 26. A sponge.

ENIGMAS.

27.
My national character none can dispute,
For all classes and doctrines I equally suit,

And the learned my ministry need;
I 'm a family multitude oft in myself,
Yet, again, I 'm but one individual elf,

Though by you I 'm made plural indeed.

My service is often engaged to annoy,
Yet as frequently meditate I for your joy,

I 'm so universal an aid ;
'Twixt lovers I 'm sure to make words, though, 'tis quoer,
When they become distant I 'm sure to endear

Their love by the words that I 've made.

I 'm a multiform object, as you may descry,
An insect, an ocean, an organ am I,

A measure, an orb, and a seed ;
A village, an herb — you'll perceive why I've said
I 'm so very potential, if rightly you 've read,

For I 've proved it in word and indeed.

28.
Though I nourish your body, 'tis also my role,

On a different footing engaged,
Acutely to worry your sensitive soul ;

So, doubtless, my name you 've presaged.

29.
No readier servant known than me

Upon the fair attends ;
So great is my utility,

So much on me depend?,
That I believe myself to be,

At many a moment's need,
When hapless ladies summon me,

Their veriest aid indeed.

My point of duty 's to accord,

Howe'er they may direct ;
For ne'er can I feel over-bored

In service so select.
In fact, I 'm so familiarized

With all the charming fair,
That smarting swains have stigmatized

The confidence I share.

But they may vent their crude abuse,

The glory still be mine
In beauty's aid to be of use,

In woman's cause to shine !

30.
" Once resembling each other," folks said, " to the life,"
We've grown aged together, as might man and Wife,
Yet as you 're growing old, I *m becoming too young—
'Tis a fact, though it seem on a paradox hung.

THE OZAEINA.

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

articles of costume.]

Drawn by L. T. Voigt, from actuai

We are certain that nothing of the present season surpasses this truly beautiful garment. Admirably
adapted as a dress intermediate between the transparent tissues of the dog-days and the heavier articles
demanded by winter, this garment combines the qualities of comfort and commodiousness, with a graceful
modesty of style that must render it an especial favorite. A yoke, cut in one piece, which extends only *"
the shoulder-seam, is covered by a second yoke, which thus becomes a cape ; this is continued in front, where
it is now single, sweeping very slightly downwards. It, like the skirt, is scalloped. Upon the back, the skirt
is box-plaited, being seamed to the under yoke, which is a trifle less deep than the cape, and the seam is
covered by it from sight. There are six box-plaits, so full that the portions which are folded under touch en eh
othei at their edges under the middle of the face of each box-plait. These plaits cease at the arms, after which
the skirt is set on plain ; this is stitched to the cape, the seam being concealed by the embroidery. The ta
front are a trifle shorter than the back portion, which extends only about midway between the shoulder-
and the front of the garment. The perpendicular edge of the back portion is sewed over the •front tabs, the
seam extending only to the inner bend of the arm, from whence it falls free: the arm passing over ik.r
tabs, whilst the back portion covers them. A bow decorates the point where the seam terminates. It is beau-
tified with embroidery, and constructed chiefly in purple, maroon, and brown taffetas.

VOL. XLTX. — 17 19^

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THE ROSAMOND,

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

articles of costume.]

Drawn by L. T. Voigt, from actual

There is an air of richness in the garment which we have here pictured that cannot be at all adequately
represented by a wood-engraving. The metallic lustre and undulating play of light, and shade over the wider
velvet portions ; the exquisite workmanship and charming ornamental scroll-work displayed in tasteful relief
upon the black lace by the crochet outline, altogether constitute the very beau ideal of a garment. Its form is
simplicity itself — about half a circle of nearly a yard and three-quarters in diameter. The neck hollowing in
about five inches from the diameter, and sloped so as to form a V bosom, leaves the depth of the back nearly
three-quarters of a yard deep. It is slightly taken in at the shoulders, so as to lie gracefully upon the neck.
The design is wrought upon the velvet, which is in two breadths, sewed upon the foundation or tulle below,
the intermediate portions cut away, and the lace thus exposed. It is fringed with a very heavy corded fringe.

19S

GODEY'S

PHILADELPHIA, SEPTEMBER, 1854.

EVERYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XXIII,

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER.

HINCKLEY.

LAPIDARY WORK.

(Lapidarius, pertaining to stones, from Lapis, a stone.)

The art of the lapidary does not include the
various modes of working or finishing stones, as
its derivation would seem to imply, hut is re-
stricted to the cutting, grinding, and polishing
of gems, small stones, &c, for jewellery, or for
mineralogical specimens.

The stones cut by the lapidary are of various
degrees of hardness, and in cutting or polishing
any particular stone, another harder stone is
used, in the form of a powder, applied to the
edge or the surface of what are called mills,
which are disks of metal and other materials re-
volving horizontally on vertical spindles. Thus,
the slitting -mill, the roughing -mill, the smooth-
ing-mill, and the polishing -mill, are generally
of metal; hut for soft stones, the smoothing-
mill may be a disk of willow wood or mahogany.
The polishing-mill may be a spiral coil of list,
the surface presented by the edges being the part
ascd. Or wood, covered with buff leather, may
be used.

The processes of the lapidary vary with the
hardness of the stone. Taking alabaster as the
{3 re of soft minerals, carnelian as the type of
minerals of medium hardness, and sapphire as
(lie type of hard minerals, three distinct groups
n ay be formed in which the mode of treatment
<.<■ esponds for all the members of each group.

The following is the Scale of Hardness in
minerals : In the examples selected, each mine-
ral is scratched by that which follows it. The
use of this scale is to determine the hardness of
any given mineral by reference to the types here
selected. Thus, suppose a body neither to scratch

nor to be scratched by fluor spar, its hardness
is represented by 4 ; but if it should scratch fluor
spar, and not apatite, then its hardness is said to
be from 4 to 5. The degrees of hardness are
numbered from 1 to 10. The third column con-
tains the names of some of the minerals, metals,
and other substances of similar degrees of hard-
ness ; and the fourth column contains the num-
ber of minerals which in respect of hardness
are ranked under each of the ten grades. The
hardness of other minerals is represented in
whole numbers and decimals : —

<<l

TYPES OF HARDNESS.

EXAMPLES.

% 0
0 <

. w
0

6 fc<

■A

S5 0

( Lead, steatite, or ~i

Talc

< soapstone, meer- >
( schaum . . . )
f Tin, ivory, figure-")

Compact gypsum

J stone, pot-stone, !
1 cannel coal, jet, |

L &o J

fGold, silver, cop-1

per, when pure ; j j

Calcareous spar, any

J soft brass ; ser- (,_ r..
1 pentine, marble, [j

cleavable variety

oriental alabas- |

[, ter, &c. . . . J

Fluor spar, .any)
cleavable variety $

Platinum, gun-metal

Apatite, in transpa- )
rent crystals $

Soft iron ....

Feldspar, cleavable )
variety . . . . $

Soft steel, porphyry,

glass

f Hardened steel, si-"]
J lex, flint, agate, 1

Quartz, limpid and

transparent . . .

] granite, sand- f

t stone, sanu . J ,

Topaz . . v. . . .

Hardest steel ... ft

Sapphire, or corun- )
dum-stone . . s

Ruby and corundum

Diamond ....

Cuts all substances .

199

200

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ALABASTER. Hardness, 1.5 to 2.

Amber.

Jet.

Opal.

Cartnel coal.

Lava.

Pot-stone.

Coral.

Malachite.

Satin-stone.

Enamels.

Mother of pearl.

Steatite.

Glass.

Nacreous shells.

Turquoise.

CARNELIAN. Hardness, 7.

Agate.

Elvans.

Mina nova.

Amethyst.

Emerald.

Onyx.

Aquamarine.

Feldspar.

Opal.

Beryl.

Flint.

Pastes.

Blood-stone.

Fluor spar.

Peridot.

Brazilian topaz.

Garnet.

Plasma.

Carbuncle.

Granite.

Porphyry.

Cat's-eye.

Heliotrope.

Quartz.

Chalcedony.

Jade.

Sard.

Chrysolite.

Jasper.

Sardonyx.

Chrysopraae.

Lapis lazuli.

Serpentine.

Crystal.

Marble.

Topazes.

SAPPHIRE. Hardness, 9.

Mineralogists and jewellers apply several names to
the Sapphire, depending on its color and lustre, viz : —

White Sapphire, when transparent or translucent.

Oriental Sapphire, when blue.

Oriental Amethyst, when violet-blue.

Oriental Topaz, when yellow.

Oriental Emerald, when green.

Oriental Ruby, when red.

Chatoyant, or Opalescent Sapphire, with pearly re-
flections.

Girasol Sapphire, when transparent, and with a pale-
reddish or pale-bluish reflection.

Asteria, or Star Sapphire, has six milk-white rays,
radiating from the centre of a hexagonal prism, and
placed at right angles to its sides. The asteria is
found in both the red and blue varieties of sapphire,
and is always cut so as to show the figures.

All the above sapphires, the chrysoberyl, the zircon,
and some other gems, are cut with diamond powder, and
polished with rottenstone.

Fig. 1 represents a lapidary's bench. It con-
gists of a stout plank, about three feet six inches
long, and one foot nine inches wide, supported

Fig. 1

on a frame about two feet six inches high. The
top is divided into two unequal compartments,

and a rim rises about two inches above the top,
to catch the waste emery and water thrown
off by the mill. In the left-hand compartment
are a hole and a collar, through which passes
the vertical spindle of the driving wheel a, the
lower conical end fitting in a rail of the frame.
The driving wheel is about eighteen inches in
diameter, and works just below the under sur-
face of the bench top : it is worked by a hori-
zontal handle c. In the right-hand compartment,
the spindle d carries the mill, which is about
eight or nine inches diameter, and revolves about
an inch above the surface of the bench ; but it
may be adjusted by means of a flange and
screwed nut to a greater or less distance, accord-
ing as the edge or side of the mill is required to
be used. In the figure, the lower centre is a
square wooden rod, passing through a mortise
in a transverse rail of the frame, and kept to the
desired height by a side wedge. By this con-
trivance, lap spindles of various lengths may be
accommodcited. The top end of the spindle also
works in a wooden centre, screwed into a hole
near the end of a horizontal iron arm e, which
slides upon a perpendicular bar/, and is retained
at the proper height by the binding screw g.
The pulley is about four inches in diameter, and
is fixed on the spindle just below the bench top.
A little to the right, and in advance of the lap,
is an iron support h} called a gim-peg, or germ-
peg, about eight inches high, and in the form of
a crank : it is secured below the bench by a
wing-nut, so as to allow the peg to be moved
round to different distances from the lap, as may
be required. Its use is to support the arm of
the workman in grinding the edges of small
stones, and also to serve as a guide for the
vertical angle in cutting facets, for which pur-
pose a wooden socket, shown in the figure, is
slipped over the upper part of the rod, and held
in its place by a wedge. Holes or notches,
arranged round the sides of the socket, serve to
determine the inclination of the stick upon
which the stones to be cut are cemented.

In producing a plane surface upon an irregular
piece of stone, as in smoothing a mineralogical
specimen, if the natural surface be nearly flat,
it may be at once applied to the flat surface of
the roughing-mill ; and if the stone be soft,
such as a piece of pot-stone, a flat surface will
be quickly formed ; but if the natural surface
be irregular, and the stone be hard, as a piece
of blood-stone, or even an ordinary pebble, the
process of grinding would be too tedious. Split-
ting or cleavage can seldom be adopted, since the
stones wrought by the lapidary have not often a
sufficiently lamellar structure to allow of piano

LAPIDARY WORK.

201

surfaces being produced in this way. And,
besides this, flaws or veins might interfere with
the surface. In most cases, a plane surface is
produced by cutting off a thin slice of the stone
with the slitting-mill or slicer, which is a disk
of thin sheet-iron, charged on the edge with
diamond powder, and used as a circular saw for
dividing all stones inferior in hardness to the
diamond.

The use of diamond power is very general.
Mr. Holtzapffcl remarks that, "notwithstanding
the apparent expense of the diamond powder, it
is very generally emploj'cd, and is used for cut-
ting nearly every Turkey oil-stone that is sold ;
and, although for this and some of the softer
stones emery, or in some cases even sand, might
be successfully employed, the diamond powder
is almost exclusively used, as it is found to be
the most economical, when the time occupied
in the cutting is taken into account. The dia-
mond powder cuts more rapidly than emery, and
is very much more enduring ; it also admits of
being employed with very thin plates, and con-
sequently the progress is also more expeditious
on this account, and comparatively only a small
thickness of material is wasted in the cutting.
This is sometimes an important object with
valuable stones, and the slicer is then made of
small diameter, in order that it may be as thin
as possible, and still retain the required degree
of stiffness."

Diamond powder is prepared from bort, from
imperfect diamonds, and the fragments removed
by the jeweller in splitting or cleavage. These
fragments are crushed in a mortar, Fig. 2, eon-

Fk. 2.

faining a deep cylindrical hole, terminating in
the bottom in a spherical cavity of hardenod
steel, into which the pestle b accurately fits by
grinding. This form of pestle and mortar is
adopted to prevent the valuable dust from being
scattered about ; the cover c is added with a
similar intention. When the diamonds have
been put into the mortar, the pestle is thrust
down, and struck a few blows with a light ham-

mer, twisting it round after every blow. The
crystalline structure of the diamond renders it
brittle, and hence it is crushed without difficulty,
although it stands alone and with the highest
number on the scale of hardness. If the powder
be not crushed sufficiently fine, it is mixed with
a little olive oil or oil of brick spread upon a
flat piece of iron, such as an old laundry iron,
and another small piece of iron is used as a
mullcr. Oil of brick is generally preferred as
the vehicle for the diamond powder. Its ad-
vantages are its limpidity, and its not being
liable to thicken by exposure to the air.

The slicer is of sheet-iron eight or nine inches
in diameter, and onc-two-hundredth of an incli
in thickness. In order that it may run in one
plane, and not be distorted by the resistance of
the work, it is planished or hammered into a
slightly arched or disked form. This causes the
edge to run true, and when it has cut a small
depth into the stone, the trifling curvature of the
disk gives way, and it is flattened by the groove
it has cut, and in which it is compelled to run.
The diamond powder, formed into a paste with
oil of brick, is applied to the edge of the slicer
with a small piece of stick or a slitted quill, and
when uniformly distributed, the particles are
fixed into the iron by gently pressing a piece of
agate or flint against the edge. As soon as the
diamond-dust begins to cut the stone, another
part of the edge is operated on in a similar man-
ner. Any particles of powder which escape to
the sides of the slicer are wiped off with the
finger, pushed to the edge, and pressed in with
the charging-stone. With a new slicer, this
seasoning, as it is called, must be performed a
second time. When once properly seasoned,
the slicer can be used for several hours, after
which its cutting edge may be restored by a
single application of the powder.

Before beginning the operation, the stone is
washed clean and dried, and the line of the
intended section marked with ink as a guide.
The stone, held in the right hand, is applied
lightly to the edge of the slicer, which is made
to revolve with moderate velocity by turning the
handle c, Fig. 1, with the left hand. During the
slitting, the slicer must be well supplied with
oil of brick ; and care must be taken to keep the
cut in a straight line, the dished form of the
slicer making it liable to cut upwards. A tole-
rably smooth surface, not an angle, ought first
to be presented to the slicer, to prevent the
diamond powder from being torn off. A mode-
rate velocity and pressure arc desirable to pre-
vent the effects of heating. If the stone is too
large and heavy for the hand, it is mounted on

202

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ii crane, consisting of an upright rod moving
between centres just in front of the perpendicu-
lar bar/, Fig. 3, and upon this rod slides verti-
cally a horizontal arm /, which is fixed to the
rod at an.v height by means of a binding screw. -

The stone is fixed to the arm by a clamping
piece and two binding screws, and is drawn for-
ward by a weight k attached to a line leading
from the extremity of the horizontal arm over a
pulley. In this way the stone is kept up to the
edge of the slicer, which the operator keeps in
motion and supplies with oil. For cutting
parallel slices, the horizontal arm must be
shifted after every cut.

The flat surfaces thus produced are ground
upon the roughing-mill to remove the marks of
the slitting-mill. The roughing-mill is a lead
lap, and is kept supplied with emery and water.
If the stones are too thin to be held by hand,
they are cemented to a disk of wood with a
handle of the same material. In charging the
lap the emery is rubbed into it with a smooth
lump of emery-stone, or a piece of iron. The
emery and water are then applied with a brush,
and, as the work proceeds, finer emery is used.
The stone is applied flat to the surface of the
mill, and pressed against it with moderate force.

When the stone has been sufficiently smoothed,
it is polished on a lead or pewter mill well sup-
plied with rottenstone and water ; but as this
fine powder will not adhere by simple pressure
as the emery docs, the face of the polishing-lap
is hacked or jarred with the blade of an old table-
knife, held near the middle between the thumb
and finger, with the edge on the lap. On turn-
ing this round, the blade is made to vibrate or
jump on the lap, and at each jump it produces a
slight furrow. In this way the face of the mill
is covered with minute lines or grooves, which
serve to hold and retain the finely-powdered
rottenstone.

If the stone is to be worked into a definite

shape, such as an oval, a pattern is cut out in
card, placed upon the stone, and its outline
marked with ink upon it. The stone is then
brought very nearly to the shape required by
means of flat nippers of soft iron, which, being
firmly compressed upon the stone, and then
twisted sideways, break off small particles.
When by this contrivance the stone is brought
nearly into shape, it is cemented upon a stick,
the edge being left exposed, and is ground by
holding the stick horizontally, at the same
time constantly twisting it round. This will
produce a square edge ; but if a bevel or
chamfer be required, the stick must be held
at an angle, and twisted round as before. If
a rounded edge be required, the stone is first
prepared with a bevelled edge, and the angle
is then removed by a rocking motion of the
stone upon the flat mill. Rounded and ellip-
tical faces are produced by peculiar rolling
motions of the wrist, and it is surprising what
accurate results are produced by working lapi-
daries by a cultivation of the sense of feeling.
Stones that are flat on the back, and much
rounded on the front, are called tallow-tops,
from their resemblance to a drop of tallow. In
cutting facets, the stone is applied to the mill as
shown in Fig. 4, the gim-peg being adjusted so

Fig. 4.

that, on inserting the end of the stick in one of
the notches of the wooden socket, the stick is
inclined at the proper angle. All the different
forms of faceting, which are numerous, arc
usually cut by practical lapidaries without any
other guide.

Stones that are rounded to a cylindrical or
conical form, such as a drop for an ear-ring, arc
cemented sideways upon a stick, and one-half
ground to the shape required. They arc then
detached from the stick, and cemented with the
other side exposed. When this has been ground,
the stone is successively cemented in two other
positions at right angles to the first two, so as
to connect the junctures of the two curved sur-
faces first produced. Stones that are to be
ground into spheres for beads or the head.- of

SEAL-ENGRAVING.

203

pins, must also be cemented in at least four
positions. The lap used for grinding flat sur-
faces is not used for rounded ones. The lap
which is used becomes worn into numerous
hollows of different sizes, some of which fit the
curve of the stone under operation. " Stones
that are semi-transparent, such as garnets, are
frequently left round on the face, or cut en
cabochon; but such stones, if left of the full
thickness, would be too opaque to display much
brilliancy; and therefore, with the view of
increasing the transparency, garnets cut en cabo-
chen, and called carbuncles, are generally hol-
lowed on the under side, to make them thinner.
The hollow on the under side is ground upon
small spherical grinders of lead, called balls,
made of various thicknesses and diameters, but
mostly of the size of bullets. The balls are
mounted upon a small conical spindle fitted to
the lapidary's bench ; the hole through the balls
is also made slightly conical, so that they may
be retained upon the spindle by the plain fitting,

and allow of being readily detached for the sub-
stitution of other balls of different sizes. Simi-
lar balls made of pewter are employed for
polishing."

The foregoing details will convey some idea
of the lapidary's art.

At Amsterdam, where most of the diamond-
cutting is performed, the steam-engine has
recently been employed to give motion to the
mills, by which means a great saving in labor is
effected, and a very much greater speed pro-
duced. The celebrated Koh-i-noor (whose want
of brilliancy excited* general disappointment at
the Great Exhibition) has been recut in London
under the superintendence of some artists from
Amsterdam, in a most artistic manner, in order
to enhance the brilliancy of this fine gem. The
mill which operated upon it was made to rotate
2,400 times per minute.

The engraving of this diamond, which is
given below, represents its size previous to being
recut.

Fie\ 5. — T HE KOH-I-NOOR DIAMOND — NATURAL SIZE,

As it is an art approximating to a certain
degree to the manipulations of the lapidary, we
append a description of the art of

SEAL-ENGRAVING.

Seal-engraving is the art of sinking, in in-
taglio, armorial bearings on gems and hard
stones. When the subjects are of a more artistic
kind, the art is properly called Gem-engkaving.
When the design is engraved in relief, it forms
a third division of the art, viz., Cameo-cut-
ting. All three branches have, however, in
practice, a great affinity, and the tools and pro-
cesses are similar in all. The tools are small
revolving wheels, the edges of which are charged
with a fine abrasive powder, applied by means
of oil or water; the object to be engraved is
held in the fingers of the artist, and thus applied
to the lower edges of the small wheels, and is

moved about into the positions favorable to the
production of those fine lines, grooves, and
hollows, which are in fact counterparts of the
small wheels or tools themselves. For hard
stones the wheels are of iron charged with dia-
mond powder by means of oil of bricks, the
polishing being performed by means of copper
wheels charged with rottenstone and water.
For engraving glass, similar but larger tools of
copper are used, charged with emery and olive
oil, the polishing being effected by means of
leaden tools charged with pumice-stone and
water.

All gems inferior in hardness to the diamond
admit of being operated on by the seal-engraver,
and even the diamond itself has been engraved.
The sapphire is cut very slowly, but smoothly ;
the ruby is cut slowly, and is apt to break off" in
small flakes ; carnclian and bloodstone arc oi

204:

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK,

close structure, and can be cut slowly. The
.softer stones can be cut with greater rapidity,
but the effect is not so smooth as in the case of
the harder stones. The amethyst is as soft a
stone as can be engraved smoothly : when such
soft substances as glass or marble are engraved,
the tools soon become deteriorated in conse-
quence of the diamond powder becoming im-
bedded in the material, and reacting on the tool.
Stones consisting of laminae of different degrees
of hardness require care in the cutting, to pre-
vent the tool from sinking more deeply into the

softer parts. When the device is seen from the
surface in the colors of the lower stratum, the
seal is called a nicolci.

The seal-engraver's tools are furnished with
long conical stems for fitting into the hollow
mandrel or quill of a small lathe head or engine,
Fig. 7, mounted on a table, Fig. 6, which is hol-
lowed out in front, and furnished below with a
light foot-wheel for driving the engine with a
steady motion. The engine, shown separately
in section, Fig. 7, is a brass pillar about six
inches high, with a bolt at the bottom for pass-

Fisr. 6.

Fie. 7.

LATHE.

ing through the bench, where it is retained by a
nut. At the upper part of the pillar are two
openings which cross at right angles ; these are
for the reception of the pulley and the bearings
of the quill. The bearings are usually cylindri-
cal, and are made of tin or pewter cast upon the
quill, fitting it by a set screw, which passes
through a brass cap at the top of the pillar.
The quill is of steel, about two inches long and
half an inch diameter ; it passes through the
bearings, and has two small beads upon it for
preventing end play. The quill is hollow
throughout its length, and slightly conical, and
on one side of the perforation is a small groove,
into which passes a feather on the tools, which
prevents them from slipping round. The pulley
is about one and a half inch diameter, and is
generally made in one piece with the quill.
The top of the pillar is covered with a small cap
for keeping away dust, and grit from the bear-

ings, and is used as a rest for steadying the
hand of the engraver. The tools are of soft iron
wire carefully annealed. Around the stem of
each tube is cast a conical plug of tin, pewter,
or other soft metal, for fitting it into the quill
of the engine. As it is of great importance that
the tools should run true, they arc fixed in the
quill and turned to the proper forms ; the rest
for turning the tools is passed through a mor-
tise in the brass standard. The forms of the
tools arc very various, but the general form is
that of a small disk more or less rounded on the
edges, which is the part used in cutting. For
cutting fine lines the edge is nearly as thin as
that of a knife ; a thicker and more rounded
edge is used for thicker lines. For sinking
large shields the tools arc considerably rounded,
and in some cases almost spherical. The round-
ed tool cuts more rapidly than one with a nearly
flat edge, and is commonly used for removing

SEAL-EX GRAVING.

205

the chief bulk of the material, while the flatter
edge is used for smoothing the surface. To
allow the tool to be applied to sunken flat sur-
faces, without the stem interfering with its
action, the edge is made conical, as at e, Fig. 8.

Fig. 8.

The tools b c d e are seldom larger than one-
sixth of an inch in diameter, and they are made
so small as not to exceed one-one-hundred-and- \
fiftieth of an inch in diameter, when the tool
can scarcely be distinguished by the unassisted '
eye from its stem. These very small tools can-
not be formed by the file alone ; but, when i
made as small as possible by that means, they
are used on works of larger size until worn
down small enough to be used for making small '<
dots and markings in the figures of men or ani- j
mals, the full lengths of which are not more <
than one-quarter of an inch. The surfaces of
the tools must be smooth, i. e. free from creases,
as the hollows are called, one of which, in a j
thin tool, such as b or d, will be likely to chip >
instead of cut. The formation of creases is
prevented by the frequent use of a fine file.

The mode of preparing diamond powder is
described under Lapidary-work. It is brought
into a pasty condition by mixing with olive-oil, >
and the paste is kept in a small conical cup, j
which every now and then is applied to the i
tool, or the engraver may wear on the forefinger <
of the right hand a ring made of a strip of tin,
to which are soldered two little hollow disks \
about half an inch in diameter, one of which j
contains a very small quantity of diamond paste, \
the other one or two drops of the oil of bricks. $
The diamond paste is applied to the extreme
edge of the tool while in slow motion ; the tool I
is then moistened with the oil of bricks, and the
cutting is proceeded with until the brick-oil is $
evaporated. The tool must not be allowed to
become too dry, or the diamond paste would
become detached from the tool, which would
then be cut instead of the stone. Sperm-oil is
sometimes used instead of brick-oil.

The stones to be engraved are brought to \
vol. xltx. — 18

their general form by the lapidary, and are often
set by the jeweller before being engraved. They
are then mounted in a handle about five inches
long and three-quarters of an inch in diameter.
If the stone is not set, it is fixed with lapidary's
cement upon a wooden handle, the cement being
coated with sealing-wax to prevent the cement
from adhering to the fingers. If the stone is
set, it is inserted in a notch made in a piece of
cork or bamboo. If the stone is hard and
polished, the surface is roughened by rubbing it
upon a soft steel plate charged with a little dia-
mond powder and oil, or, if the stone be soft,
upon a leaden plate charged with emery. The
tools are less liable to slip, and penetrate better
on a rough than on a smooth surface ; and the
outline of the device can also be better sketched
out upon the rough surface. The general out-
line is first carefully drawn upon the stone with
a brass point ; the entire surface within this
outline is then sunk ; the details of the design
are next sketched in and sunk in succession.
For forming an outline, the small tool b, Fig. 8,
is used ; this is called a sharp or knife tool. The
outline being dotted out with this tool, a thicker
tool, with a rounded edge, such as d, may be
employed for perfecting the outline : a thicker
and larger tool, such as f, is next used for re-
moving the bulk of the material within the
outline. The surface, when sufficiently low-
ered, is smoothed or stippled with a smaller and
flatter tool, such as e. In roughing out the
work, the engine is driven rapidly, and the
stone applied with moderate pressure. A slower
speed and a less pressure are used when the
smaller tools are applied ; and, with the smallest,
tools, such as are used for cutting the details,
the pressure is slight, and the engine is driven
still more slowly. Curved lines and rounded
forms are, from the circular forms of the tools,
more easily' engraved than straight lines. Fine
lines, with sharp curves, such as the hair-
strokes in writing, are difficult to engrave ; but
the bolder lines, in German-text initials, are far
more easy of execution. " The cutting of the
fine parallel lines on the field, called color lines.
presents considerable difficulty, as they are very
shallow, and to give them a uniform appearance
requires much care, and a light but steady hand.
To assist in cutting these lines equidistant, a
tool is used having two knife-edges e, Fig. 8,
and called a coloring tool. The front edge of
this tool is used to cut the first line to the
required depth, and the second line is at the
same time marked out by the back edge ; at the
next process the second line is cut to the full
depth, while the third line is marked in the

206

godey's magazine and lady's book.

same manner, and so on ; the lines being cut in
succession from right to left, in order that the
operator may be enabled to watch the progress
of the tool throughout, and the stone is held in
an inclined position to cause the greater pene-
tration of the front edge of the tool."

The engraver watches his work during the
cutting through a lens of from one to two inches
focus, which is mounted in an adjustable stand
directly over the tool. The work is brushed
from time to time to allow of its being seen dis-
tinctly ; but the engraver depends very much
on the sense of feeling for placing the work in
the proper position with respect to the tool, and
upon that of hearing forjudging of the progress
of the tool. He occasionally takes a proof of
his work in blue modelling clay, or in a black
wax made by mixing fine charcoal powder with
beeswax.

It is of great importance that the artist should
have his hands perfectly steady, and placed so
as to be moved about in all directions with free-
dom. For this purpose, it is usual for him to
rest the palm of the left hand on the cap of the
engine, Fig. 7, while the forefinger and thumb
embrace the revolving tool, and grasp the upper
end of the stick on which the stone is mounted.
The thumb and forefinger of the right hand
grasp the stick just below those of the left, and
the right elbow is supported on a small cushion.
A different form of engine would require a
different position.

When the engraving is finished, polish is re-
stored to the flat surface of the stone by means
of rottenstone and water applied on a pewter
lap. The engraved surfaces of seals are not
usually polished ; but those of gems are polished
most carefully with copper tools eharged with
very fine diamond powder. The copper being
softer than the iron, the diamond powder be-
comes more deeply imbedded in the surface of
the tools, and thus produces a smoother surface.
Boxwood tools, with still finer diamond powder,
are used after the copper tools; and then the
copper tools charged with rottenstone and water.

Cameo-cutting, or the engraving of gems in
relief, is a similar operation to seal-engraving,
or the engraving of gems in intaglio. The
stones selected for the purpose are those varie-
ties of agate called onyxes,* which consist of

* According to Mr. H. Weigall, " all the stones in
different colored layers employed for cameos, are known
to practical men by the general name of onyxes." The
word onyx is stated under Agate to have been applied
on account of some resemblance in the stone to the
markings of the human nail, or to the pink and white
colors observable thereon. In many cases, however,

two layers of different colors, such as the black
and white of the agate, and the red and white
layers of the carnclian. The design is generally
engraved in the white layer, the dark layer
forming the background. The stone is prepared
by the lapidary, and the artist arranges his
design according to the capabilities of the stone.
He makes a drawing in paper on an enlarged
scale, and a model in wax of the exact size, and
the latter is carefully compared with the stone,
and such alterations made as the markings on
the stone seem to require. The outline is then
sketched on the surface, and is cut in with a
knife-edged tool b, Fig. 8. The general contour
of the figure is next formed, and then the details,
the wax model serving as a guide. The surface
of the background is flattened by the broad flat
surface of such a tool as d, Fig. 8, and small
irregularities are removed from the rounded sur-
faces of the figure with the convex edge of a
revolving tool called a spade ; it is a piece of
soft iron, three or four inches long, the end of
which is filed to an angle of 45°, and charged
with diamond powder ; it is held in the fingers
like a pencil, and rubbed on the work with
short strokes. The last delicate touches are
executed with very small tools, and the cameo
is smoothed and polished as described for the
best works in intaglio.

Shell-Cameos. — Several varieties of the
genus Strombus,\ or conch, supply suitable
shells for cameo-cutting. The outer layer is
nearly colorless, can be operated upon with
steel tools, and may be carved into smooth and
finished forms. Experience has taught the
cameo-cutter to choose the kinds known as the
BulVs Mouth, the Black Helmet, the Horned
Helmet, and the Queen Conch, of which the first
two are the best. The art of cameo-cutting was
confined to Rome for upwards of forty years,
and to Italy until the last twenty-six years, at
which time an Italian began cutting cameos in
Paris, and now upwards of three hundred per-
sons are employed in the trade in that city.

The Black Helmet, on account of the advan-
tageous contrast of color in the layers^ produces
very effective cameos, the carved figure of the

there is no such resemblance, at least to the eye of the
mineralogist ; but Mr. Weigall suggests " that there
was an original propriety in the name, and that it most
probably arose from the practice of the ancients in
staining their nails ; for if the stain were only applied
at distant intervals of time, the lower portion of the
nail would grow between the applications, and present
a band of white at the bottom of the colored nail, and
thus render it a fair type of the onyx stone."

t The Greek name for a spiral shell, from strobco, to
twist.

RISING IN THE WORLD

207

white upper layer being strongly relieved by the
dark, almost black ground, supplied by the
seeond layer. The shell is first cut into pieces
the size of the required cameos, by means of
diamond dust and the slitting mill, or by a blade
of iron or steel fed with emery and water. It is
then carefully shaped into a square, oval, or
other shape on the grindstone, and the edges are
finished with oilstone. It is next cemented to
a block of wood, which serves as a handle to be
grasped by the artist while tracing out with a
pencil the figure to be cut on the shell. The
pencil mark is followed by a sharp point, which
scratches the desired outline, and this again by
delicate tools of steel wire flattened at the end
and hardened, and by files and gravers, for the
removal of the superfluous portions of the white
enamel. A common darning-needle, fixed in a
wooden handle, forms a useful tool in this very
minute and delicate species of carving. The
careful manipulation necessary in this work can
only be acquired by experience ; but there are
general rules thus sensibly given which the
learner would do well to remember : " As in all
other processes of producing form by reduction,
the general shape should be first wrought, with
care to leave every projection rather in excess,
to be gradually reduced as the details and finish
of the work are approached. To render the
high parts more distinct during the process of
carving, it will be found convenient to mark
them slightly with a black-lead pencil. Through-
out the cutting, great caution should be observed
that, in removing the white thickness, the dark
ground is not damaged, as the natural surface
of the dark layer is far superior to any that can
be given artificially ; indeed, should the ground
be broken up at one part, it would be requisite
from its lamellar structure to remove the entire
scale or lamina from the whole surface, a pro-
cess that will be found very tedious, and much
more difficult than the separation of the white
from the black thickness. In order that the
finished cameo may possess a distinct outline at
all points of view, it is desirable to adopt the
system followed in antique cameos, namely, to
leave all the edges of the figure quite square
from the ground, and not gradually rounded
down to the dark surface ; should this latter
method be followed, it will be found that the
outline is in many places undefined, owing to
the color of the White raised figure of the cameo
gradually emerging into that of the dark ground ;
this evil is entirely avoided by leaving the edge
of the figure quite square, for the thickness of
about one-fiftieth of an inch. The surface of
the cameo should be finished as nearly as possi-

ble with the cutting tools, as all polishing with
abrasive powders is liable to remove the sharp
angles of the figures, and deteriorate the cameo
by leaving the form undefined. When, how-
ever, the work has been finished as smooth as
possible with the cutting tools, the final polish
may be given by a little putty-powder used dry,
upon a moderately stiff tooth-brush, applied
with care, and rather to the dark ground than
to the carved surface; this is the concluding
process, after which the cameo is ready for
removing from the block prior to mounting."

The covering of the tortoise does not properly
come under the denomination shell, partaking
as it does of the nature of horn.

RISING IN THE WORLD.

You should bear consistently in mind that
nine-tenths of us are, from the very nature and
necessities of the world, born to gain our liveli-
hood by the sweat of the brow. What reason
then have we to presume that our children are
not to do the same 1 If they be, as now and then
one will be, endowed with extraordinary powers
of mind, those powers may have an opportunity
of developing themselves; and if they never have
that opportunity, the harm is not very great to
us or to them. Nor does it hence follow that tho
descendants of laborers are always to be laborers.
The path upwards is steep and long to be sure.
Industry, care, skill, excellence, in the present
parent, lay the foundation of a rise, under more
favorable circumstances for the children. The
children of these take another rise, and by-and-
by the descendants of the present laborer become
gentlemen. This is the natural progress. It is
by attempting to reach the top at a single leap
that so much misery is produced in the world ;
and the propensity to make such attempt has
been cherished and encouraged by the strange
projects that we have witnessed of late years for
making the laborers virtuous and happy by giving
them what is called education. The education
which I speak of consists in bringing children up
to labor with steadiness, with care, and with skill ;
to show them how to do as many useful things as
possible; to teach them to do them all in the best
manner; to set them an example in industry,
sobriety, cleanliness, and neatness; to make all
these habitual to them, so that they never shall
be liable to fall into the contrary ; to let them
always see a good living proceeding from labor,
and thus to remove from them the temptations
to get at the goods of others by violent or fraud-
ulent means. — William Cobbett.

THE GOSSIP OF WOOD YALE.

BY MllS. M,

UOBINSON,

Mrs. Ckocker was one of those restless,
prying characters, who continually observe the
conduct of their neighbors without once turning
a serious glance toward themselves. She studied
other people, but not to discover their virtues.
She never put on her far-seeing glasses to look
after good traits and commendable qualities.
She was, emphatically, ax prophetess of evil,
being seldom known to predict anything but
misfortune for any individual upon whom she
exercised her intuitive art.

Mrs. Crocker was thoughtless and selfish ;
thoughtless, because she did not pause to con-
sider what might be the result of propagating
unfounded reports; and selfish, for the reason
that she never attached importance to any one's
happiness but her own. She dealt wholly in
surmises and suspicions, and was always ready
to declare the prospects and intentions of her
neighbors for any given length of time. Had
she kept these surmises entirely to herself, no-
body, probably, would have been injured by
them. But here was the difficulty ; it seemed
to constitute the sole pleasure of her life to
communicate them to a chosen few of the same
ilk, who sought her when they desired a choice
bit of gossip, and never repeated the tales which
they heard without exaggeration.

We know that words are but air, yet, though
apparently insignificant, they sometimes pro-
duce incalculable mischief; and indeed nearly
all the great events that have agitated the world,
dethroned kings, leveled empires, overthrown
governments, given nations to the sword, and
devastated kingdoms and countries, have been
produced by words, either vocally expressed or
written. In some respects words are weak, and
in others powerful to stir up discord, or soothe
the angry passions of men. Nor is it wonderful
that one thoughtless, surmising, mischief-making
woman can irreparably injure honest, respectable,
industrious citizens, and disturb the enjoyment
and equanimity of a country village.

We will give an incident illustrative of the
character of Mrs. Crocker, which we trust will
not be uninteresting to the reader : —

Being at a lecture one evening, she observed

that a young lady, with whom she was but

slightly acquainted, looked quite pale, and

coughed several times. On the following morn-

208

ing, she hastened to tell Mrs. Laning — a sym-
pathizing spirit — that "Miss Moore was in a
quick consumption."

The listener was, of course, shocked, and in-
quired what had produced such a melancholy
result.

" I have my suspicions," replied Mrs. Crocker,
mysteriously.

Mrs. Laning was now full of eagerness to hear
what was to be developed, and pushed her chair
nearer to her wise neighbor.

" I suspect that she and her beau have had a
falling out" was the solemn rejoinder.

" Of all things in this world, I declare it 's
mournful !" exclaimed Mrs. Laning.

" Such a pretty creature !" added the other.

"And so intelligent!" resumed Mrs. Laning.

" Well, death is the common lot of all," sighed
her companion, sentimentally, and the gossips
parted.

Before two days had elapsed, it was currently
reported that Miss Moore was at the " point of
death," to which dreadful condition she had
been reduced by an unfortunate "falling out"
with her lover.

The subject was talked of by many who
scarcely knew the young lady, and much sym-
pathy manifested by them.

Had this rumor stopped here, no great, harm
would have resulted ; but it was otherwise.
The young lady, whom the surmises of Mrs.
Crocker had reduced to such a lamentable situ-
ation, had been receiving the addresses of a
young man who occupied a place of trust in a
large mercantile establishment at Philadelphia,
which was some two hundred miles distant from
the town of Woodvale.

Now it happened that one of the village traders,
who had heard the story concerning Miss
Moore's dangerous illness, was going directly
to that city. Arrived there, he considered it his
duty to acquaint Mr. Maxwell (for that was
the lover's name) with a fact that would natu-
rally interest him so much.

This was all very well on his part, and the
result of the communication was just what might
have been expected. Maxwell immediately
started for Woodvale, although his services were
very much needed at that time by his employ-
ers. Imagine his feelings, if you can, during

THE GOSSIP OF WOODVALE.

209

his journey, and the anxiety and suspense
which agitated his mind as he approached the
village.

As ill luck would have it, the bell of the little
church was tolling, and he saw persons entering,
and congregated about the door. The spectacle
filled him with alarm, and all his gloomy fore-
bodings seemed realized, for he was fully per-
suaded that the object of his solicitude was no
more, and the friends and neighbors were ren-
dering her the last tribute of love. His brain
reeled as he advanced, and it was with difficulty
that he could control his emotions.

"Who is dead V he asked, with a tremulous
voice, of an individual who was sitting upon
the steps of the church.

" A young woman, I believe, sir," he replied.

Maxwell now imagined that his worst fears
were confirmed.

"Do you know her name?" he continued,
with increasing perturbation.

The man was a stranger in the place, and did
not know. Maxwell turned hurriedly away,
and proposed the same question to a lady who
was at that moment entering.

"It's a sad case, sir," she answered, with a
mournful shake of the head. " It's young Mrs.
Stephens, and she leaves an afflicted husband
and a poor little infant."

" Thank God !" exclaimed the young man,
earnestly, and then rushed down the street,
without pausing to hear more.

By a singular coincidence, it happened that
the woman of whom he made this inquiry was
Mrs. Crocker. Hearing him make such a strange
rejoinder, and seeing him leave the spot so preci-
pitately, she drew her own inferences from the
same, and the moment the services were over,
hastened to see Mrs. Laning.

She found that lady ready to receive the
smallest favors in the way of news, and willing
to make the most of them. Mrs. Crocker re-
lieved her mind by informing her friend that
she had seen Maxwell, " and I do believe," she
added, " that his mind is unsettled ; for he
thanked God when I told him that Mrs. Stephens
was dead and had left a poor babe."

" Heartless man !" cried the other lady, indig-
nantly.

" No ; he is to be pitied ; for I 'm sure his
mind can't be right," returned Mrs. Crocker;
" and I suppose it's all on account of Miss Moore.
I shouldn't be surprised if he jumped off the
bridge into the river!"

" Why, Mrs. Crocker, how you do talk ! It
does seem as though you see everything that 's
going on !"

18*

This last remark encouraged and flattered our
gossip not a little

" I always think it best to keep my eyes
about me. There 's nothing like looking ahead.
My motto is, 'look ahead and see who's com-
ing,' and nothing takes me by surprise, as it
were."

Meantime, young Maxwell hurried to the
residence of Miss Moore, and rang the bell with
nervous haste. His surprise cannot well be
conceived when that lady herself opened the
door, looking as well as he had ever seen her.
He was suddenly relieved of a great burden of
anxiety, and upon informing her of the nature
of the report that had reached him so directly, his
astonishment was greatly enhanced by a decla-
ration from her that she had not been ill, having
enjoyed, on the contrary, very good health since
they had parted.

Irritated by the seeming duplicity of the trader,
whose name was Lewis, Maxwell addressed him
a note, reproving him sharply for perpetrating a
practical joke so cruel and unmanly.

When Lewis received this missive, he was
nearly as much surprised as Maxwell had been
upon finding the report which had brought him
to Woodvale untrue. He immediately called
upon the young man, demanding to know what
he meant ; and was told in return that the com-
munication he had made in Philadelphia was
entirely false.

" That 's very singular," replied Lewis, " for
I heard the subject of Miss Moore's illness dis-
cussed on several occasions, and at one time,
particularly, in my store, by Mrs. Laning and
Mrs. Jarvis. I really believed that the young
lady was very near death."

As the trader perceived that he had not quite
satisfied Maxwell, he resolved to question some
of the parties from whom he had received the
erroneous impression. He met Mrs. Jarvis on
the way to the store, and she knew nothing
whatever of the matter save what she had learned
of Mrs. Laning; "but everybody," she added,
" knew that Miss Moore wasn't expected to live,
for it was the town's talk."

On the following day, the gentleman saw Mrs.
Laning, who averred that she derived her know-
ledge principally from Mrs. Crocker; "but," she
continued, "it's no secret, because the whole
village knows all about it. And there 's young
Maxwell, he's come all the way from Philadel-
phia to see her, and they do say he acts odd."

" Odd?" said Lewis, inquiringly.

" Oh, very odd, sir! He 's made some of the
queerest expressions, and it is reported that yes-
terday he jumped off the bridge into the river."

210

godey's magazine and lady's book.

"I can't understand this," said the trader,
musingly. " There 's something inexplicable
about it."

"Have you seen him?" asked the gossip.
"Yes; and he assured me that Miss Moore
was never in better health in her life."

" Poor man ! I was afraid it would affect
him in that way. They say there was never so
many insane people as there are this year."

Wishing Mr. Lewis good-morning, Mrs. Lan-
ing went her way to scatter the contents of
her budget as opportunity offered. The former
returned to his counting-room, completely mys-
tified and at fault; for he could not decide upon
the merits of the case, having made no inquiries
about it, except in the instances mentioned.

To resume the thread of the story. Maxwell,
being somewhat indisposed, passed three or four
days at Woodvale, which time was well improved
by Mrs. Crocker and her aids. The reader will
be prepared for the announcement that it was
soon believed by many of the townspeople that
Maxwell was crazy. The mischief went further,
and was productive of still more serious results.

Mrs. Jarvis's husband was a dry-goods mer-
chant, and frequently went to Philadelphia to
make purchases, and it happened that business
of this character made it necessary for him to
visit that city at that particular time. Among
other wholesale establishments which he entered,
chance led him to the very one where Maxwell
had been employed, and where his return was
momentarily expected.

Learning that he was from the town of Wood-
vale, one of the partners of the concern inquired
if he knew the young man referred to.

"I know him by sight," said Jarvis; "but I
am not personally acquainted with him. He is
now, I understand, in quite a bad way."

"Indeed! What is the matter?" continued
the merchant.

" Well, they say he is quite unsettled in his
mind."

" Is it possible !"

" I 'm afraid it 's true ; for Mrs. Laning told
my wife that he had attempted to commit suicide
by jumping off the bridge into the river."

"Occasioned by grief, doubtless, on account
of the illness of the young lady to whom he is
engaged."

" Well, that 's very doubtful, although I
thought so at first ; but just as I was leaving the
village, I met her brother, who assured me posi-
tively that his sister was in perfect health."

"Then the story which he told me with so
much apparent sincerity was a sheer fabrication.
I regretthis .exceedingly, for I liked the young

man, and was disposed to befriend him. Will
you be kind enough to be the bearer of a note
to him?"

Jarvis expressed his willingness to do so, and
the merchant penned the following lines : —

"Mr. Maxwell—

" We think we shall be able to do without
your services. We regret to hear that you are
so much indisposed. Hoping you may soon re-
cover your wonted health, we remain,

"Yours, &c, Niles & Brothers."

Maxwell supposed that he had been mystified
on several occasions previous to the reception
of this most extraordinary epistle ; but he now
began to imagine that he was never really puz-
zled until the present moment. Why did " Niles
& Brothers" dismiss him in this abrupt manner,
without mentioning the cause of their dissatisfac-
tion? What did they mean by alluding, as they
had, to his health? Certainly they could not
have heard about his having contracted a slight
cold, for that was not a matter of sufficient im-
portance to claim attention.

While he was returning from the post-office,
cogitating as above, whom should he meet but
Mr. Lewis, to whom he at onee showed the in-
explicable note?

" I am confident," said that gentleman, " that
this means something which is not fully compre-
hended. I see that it was dropped into the office
here, and was probably brought from Philadel-
phia by one of our townspeople, possibly Mr.
Jarvis; for I understand that he has recently
purchased goods. If you wish it, I will step in
and see him."

Maxwell assured Lewis that he should like to
have him do so. The latter accordingly called
at the store of Mr. Jarvis, and learned the pur-
port of the conversation that had induced " Niles
& Brothers" to dismiss the young man from their
employ. This new version of Maxwell's insan-
ity reminded the trader of the remarks made by
Mrs. Laning touching the same matter.

He hastened back to acquaint Maxwell of the
unpleasant scandal that was afloat, and that it
probably owed its origin to a bevy of inveterate
gossips that continually kept the neighborhood
in a turmoil.

Ineffectual attempts were thereupon made to
trace the rumor to its proper source ; but after
following it through half a dozen channels — Mrs.
Laning and Mrs. Jarvis being among them — it
finally ended with Mrs. Crocker, who averred
herself as innocent of the whole "as a saint in
the skies." She only knew what Mrs. Laning,
Jarvis, and others too numerous to mention, had

THE GOSSIP OF WOODVALE.

211

talked of at different times in her hearing. " She
was so retired, went out so little, and kept her-
self to herself so much, that the President of the
United States might sicken and die, and she
never know a word about it. She often told her
husband that there might be a war with China or
with England, and she be none the wiser for it."

Of course, no satisfaction could be obtained.
Thoughtless, irresponsible parties had done the
mischief, and there appeared to be no means of
redress. Maxwell had been deeply injured by
those who felt no sympathy for him, nor seemed
conscious that their conduct merited the severest
rebuke.

Several of the most respectable and influential
citizens instantly wrote to " Niles & Brothers,"
explaining the case as well as possible, and bear-
ing unequivocal testimony to the sanity and high
moral worth of Maxwell. But unfortunately
they had engaged another person, and it was
several months before they were able to offer him
a situation.

Mrs. Crocker remained quite quiet (for her)
until the excitement consequent upon her last
piece of work had subsided, when another grand
opportunity offered to set her inquisitive dispo-
sition into active operation.

A stranger came to the town of Woodvale, and
purchased one of the best houses he could find,
which was situated not far from the residence of
our gossip. He was a man of about thirty-five,
of gentlemanly deportment, scrupulously polite,
but distant and reserved. He had no wife, chil-
dren, nor relative, to the knowledge of any one
in that vicinity ; his affairs being managed exclu-
sively by one servant, a stout and rather surly-
looking Hibernian. The stranger passed by the
name of Harlow, although not a single inhabitant
of Woodvale appeared to enjoy any acquaintance
with him. If he went out to take air and exer-
cise, his hat was usually slouched over his eyes,
and his gaze riveted to the earth. If a towns-
man bowed to him, he bowed in return, but made
no further advances.

Mr. Harlow had no visits from the citizens of
Woodvale, nor seemed to desire any. The natu-
ral effect of all this mystery upon Mrs. Crocker
may easily be guessed ; her rest was disturbed,
and she felt it incumbent upon her to discover
who the stranger was, what he did for a living,
why he kept himself so retired, with many other
items which we cannot enumerate. She had now
ample means of putting all her surmising powers
into service ; nor did she shrink at all from the
task before her, but addressed herself to this new
endeavor with a courage and perseverance worthy
of a better cause.

Although apparently unconscious of the fact,
Mr. Harlow was daily besieged in his castle by
the over-curious eyes of Mrs. Crocker and her
two able colleagues, Laning and Jarvis.

She watched the stranger's house constantly,
from a window commanding a view of the same,
but could sec nothing to reward her pains. The
inner shutters were generally closed, and the
same dull, monotonous, incomprehensible, and
altogether unbearable mystery prevailed.

Our gossip lost her appetite, and was unable
to attend to her domestic duties, so deeply was
she interested in this new field of observation
upon which she had entered. She used to pass
by the dwelling without any other object in view
than that of gratifying her curiosity by peering
into the yard and casting wistful glances toward
the heavy, old-fashioned knocker upon the door,
and the Venetian blinds that forbade her truant
glances to penetrate within.

Mrs. Crocker was not the only one who was
aching to know what the stranger evidently did
not care about having known ; and being at the
head of her profession in the place, she felt that
her honor was somewhat at stake, and that her
well-known reputation for perspicacity would
suffer, were she not the first to arrive at Harlow's
secrets. She surmised many things, but none of
her surmises seemed to hit the popular taste, or
make any great commotion in the village.

" It's very extraordinary," she said one day to
Mrs. Laning; "and, for my part, I'm sorry to
have anybody in town who is afraid to come out
and mix with the rest of us. You may depend
there 's something wrong. I wouldn't have such
a troubled conscience as that man has for the
whole world."

" It 's a disgrace to the town, I think," was the
reply.

" That's just what I told Mr. Crocker, and if
I was a man, I 'd go and ask Mr. Harlow if he
intended to bring misfortune upon this peaceable
community."

" I do believe that you're the only woman of
spirit among us ! I think the matter ought to be
brought before the selectmen," returned Mrs.
Laning.

" If women only had their rights, something
could be done; but as long as they 're deprived
of 'em, of course their moral sense must be
blunted, so that they positively don't know when
bad examples are set for the rising generation.
But being born free and equal, with certain in-
alienable rights, I would respectfully ask any
person, irrespective of politics or religion, what
right this Mr. Harlow has to come here and shut
himself up in that way?"

212

godey's magazine and lady's book,

" The answer must be unanimous. He has no
Lusincss whatever to run such a rig as he has,
and set such an unwarrantable example for young
people. Why, what would the world come to
if we should all shut ourselves up and have an
Irish servant to wait on us !"

" The idea really shocks me !" added Mrs.
Crocker, swaying solemnly to and fro in her chair,
and looking as though some mighty misfortune
was about to involve the whole community in
universal ruin.

On her way home, she devised what she con-
sidered a most ingenious plot for unmasking the
degenerate Harlow.

The next morning, dressed in her best, she
slowly approached the mansion so inexplicably
mysterious. Confidently she pushed open the
gate, and tripping affectedly up the graveled walk,
daintily grasped the brass knocker.

She thumped away some time before hearing
any indications of life within, and then, to her
joy, footsteps were heard in the hall. Her heart
beat with expectation as the door was cautiously
opened by Timothy Donigan, the servant.

"Is Mr. Harlow in?" she inquired, with a
simper.

"It wouldn't be strange," said Tim.

" I have business with him," said Mrs. Crocker,
with an air of importance.

"And what's the nathure in that same?"
asked Tim, keeping the door ajar just enough to
allow him to thrust his .nose out.

" I prefer to tell your master my business,"
answered the lady, bridling up, and vainly trying
to look into the hall.

" And sure, ma'am, I 'tind to all the bizness
meself," resumed Tim, with admirable noncha-
lance.

" You!"

" Ivery bit iv it intirely, ma'am."

"His money matters?"

"Ivery farthin'."

"And his cooking?" pursued Mrs. Crocker,
thinking it best to keep the ball in motion.

" Betwane you an' me, ma'am, he lives with-
out ating."

"Isn'therathcrastrangeman?"shecontinucd,
nothing daunted by this sweeping assertion.

" He 's jist that, ma'am."

" I have a petition to which I wish to call his
attention."

"A parthition, is it? And sure we doesn't
need it, for the house is in fust-rate orthcr."

"Can I see him? I wish to show him this
paper."

" He doesn't sec anybody, ma'am — not a soul.
I 'm his duplcrcate, an' when he wants to see

anybody, I sees 'em for him, an' that's the
thruth. Ye can lave the paper, an' 1 '11 examine
it at me lashure," responded Tim, patronizingly.

Poor Mrs. Crocker felt, baffled and chagrined.
It was very evident that her errand would be a
fruitless one, and she began to feel somewhat
indignant at her reception.

" Is this the way you treat Mr. Harlow's visit-
ors?" she said, in tones of sharp rebuke.

" It 's the way I thrates ladies, ma'am ; but
jintlemen I pitches out in the yard widout
ceremony," replied Mr. Donigan.

" I shall inform Mr. Harlow of your imperti-
nence !"

. " Do it by all manes, the fust time ye spake
wid him;" and so saying, Tim shut the door with
a bang, and our discomfited gossip heard a bolt
shot on the inside.

Thrusting the petition, which she had been to
so much pains to indite, into her pocket, she
hastened away with a flushed face, and walked
to Mrs. Laning's to vent her pent-up wrath,
where her surmises took a darker hue than ever.
She threw out hints of a most startling character,
which were exceedingly well received by her
auditor, who, half an hour later, retailed them
to Mrs. Jarvis, through whose agency they were
widely disseminated and properly exaggerated ;
being made to take the positive form of truth, a
thing which she well knew how to perform,
having served a long apprenticeship at that busi-
ness, much to the detriment and enjoyment of
many well-disposed persons.

Mrs. Crocker returned home, but could think
of nothing but the mystery which wras wrapt
about the Harlow mansion, and laid many hope-
ful plans for the elucidation of the same. She
surmised that he was an escaped convict, and
took some trouble to promulgate the idea ; but
sceptical persons required some proof, and she
resolved to have it in her power to furnish any
amount, of evidence that might be demanded.

The following night she sent her son James to
Mr. Harlow's house, with instructions to recon-
noitre it on every side, and if necessary to scale
the fence in the rear, and push his observations
still further.

The first night failing to develop anything new,
he went several nights in succession with the
same praiseworthy motive in view. At length
his rcconnoissances appeared to be attended with
some symptoms of success ; for he came running
home much out of breath, at about eight in the
evening, averring "that there was something
going on over there."

Mrs. Crocker caught her dutiful son by the
arm, and eagerly asked "what he had seen :*" to

THE GOSSIP OF WOODVALB.

213

which he replied, " that he couldn't tell, but she
had better go herself, and then she would know
all about it."

The mother needed no urging on this point,
but, hastily putting on her bonnet and shawl,
started for the mysterious locality. Just before
they reached the house, James jumped over the
fence into the field, and then did what he could
to assist his mother over, informing her that they
must approach the building in the rear. The
night was excessively dark, and the parties had
literally to feel their way along.

" There 's a spring here about two feet deep,
mother ; be careful and not get in," said the lad.

An energetic splashing admonished the boy
that his warning had been given rather too late ;
his maternal parent had evidently found " the
spring," although the discovery had not been
attended with very pleasant consequences, hav-
ing fallen into it in a manner to wet her tho-
roughly, and for which accident she threatened
James with a severe flaggellation ; but he ex-
cused himself on the ground that he had done
the best he could, and the adventure was one of
her own seeking.

Another mishap occurred in scaling the high
fence behind the building. Not being very ex-
pert at climbing, nor remarkably agile in her
movements, Mrs. Crocker's foot slipped just as
she reached the top, and, falling forward, her
skirt caught upon a projecting stick ; and, being
of an exceedingly stout fabric, held her suspend-
ed in a very awkward, not to say painful
position.

The lad, having an acute sense of the ludi-
crous, could not help laughing in a very unbe-
coming manner at her ineffectual struggles to
free herself; but, as it was imperatively neces-
sary that he should make as little noise as
possible, he was obliged to suppress his cachin-
nations by putting both hands over his mouth.

When he had somewhat exhausted his mirth-
fulness, he went to his mother's assistance ; but,
she being a heavy woman, he was not able to
lift her in such a manner as to disengage her
dress ; consequently, he was obliged to resort to
the ingenious expedient of cutting it loose with
his knife.

Mrs. Crocker was not diverted from her pur-
pose by these trifling misfortunes. What was a
cold bath, or a fall from a five rail fence, in
comparison with the high object of unmasking
a mysterious villain, who wore his hat slouched
over his eyes, and kept himself secluded from
society 1

A light glimmered from a window, and,
advancing cautiously, she would fain have taken

in the startling secrets of the Harlow house at a
glance, had it not been for a curtain which
covered nearly the whole window. Our heroine
listened ; she heard a fire hissing and crackling,
a sound like the working of bellows, hammer-
ing, together with other ambiguous noises.
Presently a voice said —

" Raise the window."

Falling back a few paces, she saw the order
obeyed, while, at the same time, her olfactories
were greeted with strong and almost suffocating
vapors.

As soon as the gases had ceased to pour out
so copiously, Mrs. Crocker returned to her
former station, determined to use her eyes and
cars to good advantage. Once or twice, when
the wind blew up the curtain, she caught a
glimpse of Harlow bending over a glowing cruci-
ble, stirring its contents with a rod, while Timo-
thy Donigan stood at his side holding several
small bottles containing powders of divers
colors,

" It 's a hape iv money I hope ye '11 be afther
makin', Misther Harlow, out iv this bizness,"
said the latter.

" I hope so too, Tim," responded Harlow.

" It 's risk enough ye run intircly, with these
dirthy powthcrs and gases. It's many a dollar
I should want to pocket by the manes iv it."

The next view that she was favored with
revealed Harlow pouring the molten fluid into a
curious-looking vessel. A moment after she
heard them hammering again, which demonstra-
tion was succeeded by more of the disagreeable
fumes escaping from the open window.

Mrs. Crocker thought she had heard enough,
nor did she deem it prudent to remain longer,
for she was shivering with cold, her clothes
having been thoroughly saturated ; besides, one
of her wrists pained her, on account of an
injury which she had received in falling. But
these discomforts were more than balanced by
the important discoveries she had made.

The parties being so busily engaged, she per-
ceived that she should incur no new risk by
passing directly through the front yard, when
she wended her way home, overwhelmed with
the magnitude of what she had accomplished.

Her surmises she imagined she could now
invest in the garb of certainty. She said no-
thing to her husband that night of what she had
seen and heard — for he, good man, was sleeping
soundly when she returned — and she laid awake
until the small hours, calculating the most
effectual method of springing her splendid dis-
coveries upon the town of Woodvalc.

For the first time since the mysterious Harlow

214

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

had dared to do as he had done — slouching his
hat ovTcr his eyes, and living so shamefully
retired — she felt really happy. How she would
surprise all the curious people ! What com-
mendable pride she should take in unfolding
the scheme of villany, and showing what a
woman can do !

In the morning, she cracked this new egg of
scandal to her husband, enjoining it upon him
to say nothing about it; but he, being rather
stupid, could not at first comprehend her broad
insinuations.

" I can't see what you 're coming at," he said,
when his spouse had fairly exhausted herself
through the combined influences of wonder,
hints, and exclamations.

"He 's a counterfeiter!" whispered Mrs.
Crocker, condescending to be plain, because she
pitied her husband's dulness.

" I don't believe it !" he returned, with unu-
sual asperity; for, truth to tell, his wife gene-
rally had things her own way.

" That 's because you never look ahead," she
retorted.

" This ' looking ahead and surmising' has
never done you much good, wife, and I 've often
thought it would be better for you to leave it
off. It has occasioned a great deal of mischief,
first and last, and I 've an idea that you '11 some
time get into serious trouble by it."

With these words, Mr. Crocker arose from
the breakfast-table and went to his work.

" What an unreasonable man ! He never
knows anything till it happens, and all because
he never watches other people," soliloquized
shrewd Mrs. Crocker.

Our gossip did not stop to attend to her do-
mestic duties, but hurried to make Mrs. Laning
the favored participant of her immense secret.
A lad was dispatched for Mrs. Jarvis, and one
or two other kindred minds, and the shocking
revelation of the last twelve hours was looked
at, turned over, and discussed from every point
of view.

What was to be done ? An enemy was in their
midst — a counterfeiter was among them. The
noble, the heroic Mrs. Crocker had discovered
him plying his unlawful trade, and this, too, at
the great personal inconvenience of tumbling
into a spring, and falling from the top of a five-
rail fence. She was certainly the Susannah of
the village, and, to carry out the figure, the man
who wore his hat slouched was the Holofcrncs.
She deserved to be the standing toast of the
neighborhood.

Such was the tone of the remarks made at that
time, although Mrs. Laning secretly felt a little

jealous of Mrs. Crocker's rising fame. It was
now evident to these philanthropic ladies that
immediate steps should be taken to bring the
coiner to justice ; but our heroine was not quite
so strenuous on this point. To be sure, she had
had ocular proof of Harlow's guilt, but didn't
exactly wish to be the means of getting the mis-
guided man convicted and sent to prison.

Mrs. Jarvis left them abruptly, without mak-
ing known her purpose, which was to lay the
whole matter before proper authorities. The
magistrate whose duty it was to investigate such
affairs, being a man of good sense, was greatly
perplexed ; but, the evidence being so direct, he
was obliged to order the premises of Mr. Harlow
to be searched.

That gentleman was unspeakably surprised
when he saw a posse of men enter his yard ;
but, when they made known their object, he
appeared much excited, although he did not for
a moment cease to treat them with politeness.

" Gentlemen," he said, with forced calmness,
" you are at liberty to search my house. May I
ask who is my accuser ?"

" I have sent for her, sir. I thought, in this
case, that it might be well to have the accused
and accuser face to face ; besides, she can at
once conduct us to the underground apartment,
where she testifies she saw the process of coin-
ing going on. Here she is."

Mr. Harlow bowed, and cast an inquisitive
glance at Mrs. Crocker, who entered, looking
very pale and obviously startled.

"An' shure it 's the same pryin' body as
brought the parthition," said Tim Honigan.

Mr. Harlow smiled, and fixed his gaze sharply
upon Mrs. Crocker, who looked more like the
culprit than any one present.

"This way, jintlcmen," added Tim. "I'll
show ye where Misther Harlow an' mcself
makes a hape iv money."

The parties were shown into Harlow's labora-
tory, where they looked from one to another
with the most inquiring expressions. The vil-
lage doctor and apothecary having gone with
the crowd (which always gets wind of such
matters), at once recognized the uses and mean-
ing of the various contrivances which they
beheld, and began to realize that the fair accuser
stood in no enviable position.

" This, gentlemen, you perceive, is my labo-
ratory, where I have been engaged at times,
since my residence among 3-011, m making cer-
tain scientific experiments, which, I flatter my-
self, will yet be of service to the world. If
there is a chemist or a physician here, he will
unequivocally bear testimony to the character

THE OCEAN GEM.

215

of this apartment, and the nature of these vari-
ous implements."

Both the personages referred to assured all
present that the character of the place could not
be mistaken. It was one of the most amply pro-
vided and best arranged laboratories they had
seen for years.

The constable darted angry looks at Mrs.
Crocker, who was trembling with affright.

" This is the apartment you saw, I presume,
madam, when you scaled the fence and looked
in at the window1?" said Harlow, sternly,
addressing her.

She cowered into a corner, and faintly articu-
lated « Yes."

"Mrs. Crocker, by your ill-timed curiosity
and foolish meddling, you have laid yourself
liable to an action for libel," added the officer
of the law, angrily; for he felt that she had
been the means of placing him in an awkward
and ludicrous position.

" And I hope, for the good of this commu-
nity, Mr. Harlow will commence a suit, and
prosecute it to the extent of the law," remarked
the doctor.

" I still remember the Maxwell case," said
another ; " but I trust, in this instance, that the
author of so much mischief will not escape
without punishment."

Terrified beyond measure, Mrs. Crocker fell
to sobbing and shrieking, begging them not to
take her to prison. She was conducted home
in a pitiful plight, ready to sink into the earth
with shame, and to go beside herself with fear.

In order to produce a deep and salutary
effect, Mr. Harlow was advised to feign to make
a serious matter of it, and appear fully deter-
mined to seek redress by a legal process ; but
her humiliation and terror were such that he
soon ceased to torment her with the idea.

Mrs. Laning and Mrs. Jarvis did not go to the
aid of their fallen leader, but asserted, with
singular hardihood, " that they never believed a
word about it; but told her, at the time, that
Mr. Harlow was as nice a man as could be
found in the town."

This base ingratitude — for such she con-
sidered it — was not without its effect upon Mrs.
Crocker, and she resolved never to trust them
with her " confidence" again.

Our gossip was subjected to various mortifica-
tions after this signal discomfiture. Not long
after, the affair, treated in a very humorous
manner, found its way into a country journal
to which Mr. Crocker was a subscriber, which
item served to fill up the cup of his wife's
afflictions. Most of her neighbors "cut her

acquaintance," and she learned, ultimately, that
meddling with other people's affairs was not the
best way to secure the respect of the community.
Shunned by those whose friendship she most
desired, Mrs. Crocker was thereafter obliged to
retail her surmises in a very small way, and be
careful whose characters she compromised by
her unwarrantable inferences.

We need not stop to moralize upon this story.
The sensible reader will be sure to do that for
himself, and deprecate, in a becoming manner,
the habit of surmising and propagating rumors
which are as idle as the brains that give them
origin.

THE OCEAN GEM.

Gem of the sea ! what scenes thy shores unfold
To the charmed seaman wandering in that clime !

Green, gorgeous pictures set in frames of gold,
Musical ever with the wild wave's chime.

Oh ! how my heart'has ever longed for thee,

Thou lovely island of the dark blue sea !

Idly thou slumberest on the ocean's breast,

In lifelike beauty like some tropic bird
Which, wandering from its home, has sunk to rest

On the bright wave by perfumed breezes stirred.
Like the caged bird, my soul still pines for thee,
Thou beauteous island of the silvery sea !

In fancy sweet, e'en in my childhood's hours,
I daily wandered on thy blooming shore,

'Mid bright- winged birds, and fruits, and gorgeous
flowers,
Lulled oft to rest by the dull breaker's roar :

E'en since a child, my thoughts have turned to thee,

Thou wave-girt island of the bounding sea !

The seed-pearl sparkles on the snowy beach,
And the red coral gleams beneath the wave ;

While foam-tipped billows, rippling up the reach,
Murmur melodious to the shores they lave.

Bright land of romance, how I sigh for thee,

Thou loveliest island of the tropic sea !

The roseate shells that murmur of the sea,
The citron bowers and groves of spices rare,

The breadfruit and the plantain waving free
Their feathery branches on the perfumed air —

All, all combine to turn my thoughts on thee,

Thou brightest jewel of the flashing sea !

.There halcyon breezes, whispering aye of spring,

Sigh through the foliage of the orient palm,
Fan the bright wave with incense-breathing wing,
And rouse the billows from their peaceful calm :
By day I muse, by night I dream of thee,
Thou peaceful island of the bright blue sea !

There bright-plumed sea-birds flit around the shore;

Through the clear wave the sunny gold-fish glide ;
Far out at sea the breakers wildly roar,

The dreadful guardians of their ocean bride :
Yet, daring all, I fain would fly to thee,
Thou fairy islet of the bright South Sea

GODEY'S COUKSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

LESSON IX.

figure and object drawing (Continued).

The sketch in fig. 28 to be carefully outlined,
and the shading done with care ; the dark parts

Fig. 28.

to be put in last. The sketch in fig. 29 must first
be carefully outlined ; the shading to be begun at
the top, proceeding downward, to keep the marks
from being smeared. In drawing the curie. 1
leaves, the pupil must be careful to give them the

Fte. 29.

necessary relief. An inspection of the sketch
will show how this is done ; where the leaf is
light, the curled part is thrown into shadow,

which brings it forward. In sketching the stem
and flower of the wallflower, given in fig. 30, the
pupil must proceed as ill the last.

godey's course of lessons in drawing.

217

111 drawing the sketch in fig. 31, the pupil
must put in the stumps and stones first, then
the direction of the branches in the tree ; the
outline of trunk must be done next, in a free

manner, carefully avoiding any formality, as
the outlines of a tree give a character to the
whole. The shading should, if possible, be
done at once, avoiding the necessity of having

to go over it again, as this takes away the clear
ness. It will be seen how the stumps are re-
lieved by the mass of shadow behind them.

In the sketch of the old farm-house given in
fig. 32, the light falls on the gable-end and the
grass in front ; the foreground is kept in shadow,

Fig. 32.

so as to bring it forward. This part must be kept
either light or dark according to the character

VOh. XLIX. — 19

of the objects which it is to relieve, but in ill
cases it must be the most forcible part of the
drawing:.

MOIRE ANTIQUE,

Mrs. Beverly Upperten steps from her car-
riage, and treads the carpeted floor of Messrs.
Evans & Co., or Levy's, in Chestnut St. She re-
quests to be shown a moire antique dress ; and
forthwith there is spread out before her a goodly
assemblage of rich silks, not stiffened with gum
or adulterated with cotton, but good, solid, genu-
ine silk, worthy of the best days of Spitalfields
or of Lyons. She selects one, and pays for it a
certain number of dollars, the exact amount of
which we cannot tell the reader, because we do
not know.

Does Mrs. Beverly Upperten know what moire
antique really means 1 She knows what it is :
viz., a rich kind of silk which happens to be in
fashion just at present. But what is moire, and
why is it antique, and why do the ladies prefer
the antique to the modern, supposing these to be
both obtainable 1 Mrs. Beverly Upperten of
course speaks French. She knows that moire is
a fabric to which a watered or wavy appearance
lias been imparted ; that moirage or moire is the
appearance so given ; that moirer denotes the act
of imparting it; and that moireur is the person
who performs the work. Still Mrs. Beverly
Upperten is at a loss to account for two things —
how it is at all produced, and why it is called
antique. Besides, Mrs. Beverly Upperten learns
that there is such a thing as moire metallique.

Any one who is old enough to remember the
time when kaleidoscopes were all the rage will
call to mind that the tubes were frequently cov-
ered externally with a crystalline appearance,
exhibiting a rich play of reflected light. This
enveloping substance was moire metallique. If
we look at the window on the morning of a frosty
day, and see the capricious forms which the deli-
cate little filaments of frozen moisture present,
and if we imagine an effect far more brilliant and
diversified, then shall we be able to form some-
thing like an intelligible notion of the appear-
ance of the white varieties : if, further, we sup-
pose this frozen moisture to be delicately tinted
with transparent pigments, then will it more
nearly resemble the colored varieties of moire
metallique, which is nothing more than a watered
or clouded appearance produced on metals by
the action of acids. We owe the colored foils
thus produced to the French.

Thin leaves of colored metal, receiving their
color after the rolling of the metal into the form
213

of leaves, are used for many ornamental purposes ;
but these are not moire metallique. They are
employed on metallic foils to some kinds of jew-
elry, to brighten the richness of tint, especially
if the gem be of a factitious or imitative charac-
ter. The metal for such purposes is hammered
and rolled, and rolled and rolled again, until its
thickness does not exceed that of very thin paper.
It may be copper, or copper with a very delicate
clothing of silver, or tin, or a mixed metal ; it
may be of various colors provided the sheet or
leaf have the requisite degree of tenuity. The
coloring substance may be Prussian blue, or sul-
phate of indigo, or acetate of copper, or cochineal,
or sandal-wood, or litmus, or carmine; and the
resulting tint may be blue, green, yellow, red,
violet, ruby, or anything else which the artist
may wish to produce. But the metal requires
to be coaxed and humored before it will adapt
itself to the wants of its owner — before it will, in
fact, become a mere creature of circumstances.
It requires a gentle cold bath of the weakest
possible solution of aquafortis, to bring it to a
proper state of purity and cleanliness ; and then
it requires a comfortable neat garment, of isinglass
gum, fitted to it by means of a camel-hair pencil.
Prepared now for the ordeal of color, the pigment
is applied in a liquid state to the surface of the
metal ; and when this is dry, the last stage of
adornment, the last process of beaut ification, is
arrived at : the metal receives a coating of
transparent varnish, which at once secures the
pigment and increases its brilliancy of tint.

All this, however, is not 7noire metallique; it
is simply colored foil. Nevertheless, it is valu-
able to us, since the colored foil really does illus-
trate in some degree the mode in which the moire
metallique is produced. We owe this singular
ornamental material, as we do so many other
articles of ornament and graceful beauty, to the
French. M. Allard invented it thirty or forty
years ago, when Sir David Brewster produced the
kaleidoscope ; and it thus happened that the one
invention became employed as a decorative
covering to the other. This moire metallique is
as remarkable in its production as in its appear-
ance ; for no possible guess could be made at the
mode of its preparation from the optical effect
which it presents — none, at least, except on the
part of a small number of experienced handi-
craftsmen.

LORD MORPETH ON MUSIC.

219

This, then, is moire metallique ; and we see
no reason whatever why, by a due exercise of
ingenuity, a moire effect might not be produced
on other materials. The word moire evidently
sometimes receives the meaning of "clouded,"
rather than " watered ;" but it must, at the same
time, be admitted that, both in the metal and in
the silk goods, the delicate variegated appear-
ance may be likened either to clouding or to
watering, without any very great stretch of appli-
cation. However, be this as it may, we must
now attend to Mrs. Beverly Upperten's dress.

In all ordinary woven goods, as a moment's
examination will show us, the threads cross each
other at right angles ; the long threads forming
the warp, and the short threads the weft. Accord-
ing as the fabric is of high quality, so do these
threads intersect in a regular and equable qual-
ity ; but be it as good as it may, there are always
some irregularities ; they may escape the eye,
but they become apparent in a singular way. If
good silk be wrapped tightly and carelessly round
a roller, it may become moire much against the
inclination of the possessor; it will have acquired
an irregular kind of glossing in some parts rather
than in others ; and this irregular glossing, when
viewed from a little distance, presents somewhat
of the appearance of moire, or watering — who
knows 1 Perhaps an accident to a piece of rolled
silk suggested the first idea of watering as a dis-
tinct mode of adornment to silken goods. Such
accidents have very frequently occurred in the
histo^ of manufactures. However, accident or
no accident, watered silks have long been in use,
both in this country and in France. If a pattern
be engraved upon one cylinder in relief, and a
similar pattern on another cylinder, in sunken
devices ; and if one of these be heated from with-
in; and if a piece of silk or velvet be drawn be-
tween the cylinders — then will the silk or velvet
acquire an embossed pattern, because some parts
of the surface are more pressed, and are conse-
quently rendered more glossy than the rest.
Numerous varieties of this process are employed
in the preparation of fancy goods. But this is
not exactly watering. For this process two lay-
ers of silk are laid face to face, and are pressed
tightly between two rollers. What follows ?
However close the threads may be, there are still
interstices between them: they follow each other
in ridge-and-hollow fashion throughout the
length and breadth of the piece. Now, if the
slightest irregularity exists in the weaving or in
the pressure, some of the threads become pressed
in particular parts more than others ; and the
over-pressed portions present a greater gloss, a
greater power of reflecting light, than the rest.

The more capriciously these portions distribute
themselves, the more undulatory and cloudy will
be the result. We do not say that the actual
process is nothing more than this, but that this
is the basis on which the whole is founded. The
goods may be sprinkled with water previously,
or not ; the rollers may be both heated or both
cold, or one heated and one cold; the rollers
may be plain or may be variously indented ; they
may move smoothly over each other or may have
a slight lateral movement — how these variations
of method would produce variations of effect,
every one will easily see. The adjective " an-
tique" is most likely given to the silks thus pro-
duced from their resemblance to the tabby silk
dresses which Mrs. Beverly Upperten's grand-
mother used to wear when she attended Mrs.
Washington's receptions. It is chiefly produced
in France; but Spitalfields, its weavers and
moireurs combined, has lately copied the art so
cleverly as actually to excel the French. But
Spitalfields guards its secret as sedulously as the
magician in a fairy tale always guards the cap-
tive princess in his castle, and will not let the
world have a peep at their doings. Be it so.
The world has no right to break in ruthlessly
upon them. Let us be satisfied with knowing
that Mrs. Beverly Upperten's moire antique dress
is simply a watered silk, only having a very
superior kind of watering.

LORD MORPETH ON MUSIC.

I consider music to be the most graceful
accomplishment and delightful recreation that
adorns this hard-working world, and renovates
our busy, overcharged existence. Its negative
importance is great. It provides an amusement
for our people, and keeps many from the ale-
house and midnight brawl. Its positive import-
ance and value are inestimable, for the combining
chords that regulate our whole being are so inter-
woven, sense with principle, that the very cha-
racter assumes a clothing from external circum-
stances. I am aware that, from every altar,
however pure and sacred, fire might be stolen
and desecrated ; but we should emulate the flame
which, while it enlivens all around, points to the
skies. I would not confine music to any walk in
life. Not alone in the sacred cathedral, not alone
in the costly theatre, not in gilded saloons, nor
confine it to six-guinea stalls, but I would hear
our nightingales warble in every grove and trill
on every bough. I would have the happy art
enliven the domestic tea-table, add variety to the
village-school, and linger in the sanctuarv

ALICE WARD; OR, HE'S COMING

Y PAULINE FORSYTH

(See Hate.)

At twenty-one, George Mowbray found him-
self not only " lord of himself," but of a hand-
some fortune, which, by the early death of his
parents, had been accumulating for several
years. Some business connected with his pro-
perty called him to a small town in the south-
west of England, and detained him there for
two or three months. Finding but little conge-
nial society in the place, and being fond of an
outdoor life, he spent most of his time in
rambling about the picturesque country around.
There was one spot in particular to which he
frequently turned his steps, attracted by its wild
beauty and perfect solitude. By the side of a
stream, overhung with willows and other trees,
and from whose banks on either side the ground
rose in abrupt and rugged, though not lofty,
precipices, there was a large rock, in which a
couch as comfortable as a bed of stone could be,
had been scooped out by some fantastic freak of
nature. The upper part of the rock projected,
so that the occupant of the couch was not only
protected from the rays of the sun, but effectu-
ally concealed from the curiosity of those on
the bank above.

Here George Mowbray would come, with his
fishing-rod and line, and with a volume of poe-
try in his pocket, and while away a long sum-
mer's day ; reading aloud, when he was tired
of his sport, and making the air vocal with
thoughts or feelings, soft, lofty, or impassioned,
as the fancy of the moment demanded. Some-
times a few sandwiches, that he brought with
him, sufficed for his noonday meal; but oftener
his appetite demanded the more substantial
refreshment he could obtain at a country inn,
some two miles off.

Occasionally, he would compose verses him-
self, for he was in the very heyday of life and
feeling ; and he loved to lie and chant them to
the soft summer breezes, secure from all un-
sympathetic listeners. He had a peculiar turn
for improvising, and would sometimes amuse
himself for hours with his attempts at im-
promptu versification, turning into rhyme not
only his own feelings and thoughts, but inci-
dents and stories that had made any impression
upon him. The burden of most of his songs
220

was love, and the object of theni a certain Mar-
garet, who figured in various ballads, sonnets,
lyrical pieces, and even acrostics ; for so low
did Mr. Mowbray stoop, under a variety of
names, from the stately Margaret through the
simple Maggie and frolicsome Madge, down to
the pet name of Daisy, which seemed to be his
favorite.

By the confidential and touching revelations
thus made to the regardless earth, air, and
water around, it appeared that, true as Mr.
Mowbray asserted his love to be, it had so far
run very smoothly along its course. Margaret
had smiled upon him, friends had been propi-
tious, and, if no disaster intervened, which he
implored fate in a most pathetic manner to avert,
a few months would witness the fulfilment of
his wishes. The thought struck him one day
that a poem somewhat after the style of " The
King's Quhair" might be made, describing his
first meeting and subsequent love for his " elect-
ed one." He was engaged upon this for several
days, and was reading it for about the twentieth
and last time, when he was interrupted by a
stifled shriek. At the same time, something
fell from the rock over his head into the swiftly
flowing stream beneath him.

He involuntarily stretched out his hand to
grasp the object, and succeeded in breaking ite
fall somewhat. He pulled it quickly from the
water, and a little girl, pale and trembling, with
curls dripping and matted around her face, stood
before him, gazing upon him with widely open
blue eyes, from which all expression but that
of terror had fled.

" Please don't tell," said she at last, in a tone
of the most urgent entreaty.

"Are you hurt?" asked Mr. Mowbray, tak-
ing no notice of her request.

" No ; but don't tell any one."

" Why, whom should I tell 1 What is your
name?"

" Kitty Jones."

"Well, Kitty, how did you happen to fall
into the water in such a surprising way '."

The child began to cry ; but Mr. Mowbray
had a gentle, encouraging manner, and ho gra-
dually soothed her and induced her to answer

ALICE WARD; OR, HE 'S COMING.

221

his questions. Her replies were given timidly
and reluctantly ; but from them he gathered that
she had been in the habit for some time of
watching for him. and, as soon as she heard his
voice in reading or recitation, of creeping close
to the edge of the overhanging rock, where,
sheltered by the bushes and brakes around, she
could hear him while herself perfectly concealed.
She had been so much interested by the story he
was telling about the pretty lady, she said, that
she leaned far over the rock to watch him while
,ie told it, and so lost her balance.

Mr. Mowbray felt a great many twinges on
hearing that his wild nights of fancy had had
such an unwearied auditor. He was glad that
she was a simple, ignorant child, as yet incapa-
ble of ridicule or criticism; on the contrary,
Kitty evidently looked upon him as a superior
being. Her reiterated entreaties that he would
not tell led to other inquiries, during which Mr.
Mowbray learned that she lived in a lonely
place about half a mile from there, with a
man and woman whom she called uncle and
aunt_a Mr. Davis and his wife. Mr. Mowbray
had met Mr. Davis, or "old Andrew," as he
was generally called, in his fishing excursions,
and had learned that he was a person of doubt-
ful character, who had moved into the country
within the last five years ; and, as he was rarely
known to work, and had no ostensible means
of support, he was generally suspected of main-
taining himself by unlawful means. Most of
the petty robberies and thefts of the country
around were ascribed to him, and he was a
general object of terror to all the children about.
Mr. Mowbray did not wonder that the slen-
der, delicate little girl who stood trembling before
him should dread that old Andrew or his surly
wife should know of her adventure, especially
as she told him that they had forbidden her to
go beyond certain limits, or to hold converse in
any way with any person. If she were ever
addressed, she was not to reply, but to hasten
home under the penalty of a severe beating.
And, by her shrinking terror as she told this, it
was evident, that a beating was not an unknown
horror to her.

He promised her that he would not reveal her
involuntary visit to him, but urged her to run
home and change her wet frock. She turned
away with meek acquiescence ; and, unable to
continue his poem just then, Mr. Mowbray took
up his fishing-rod. Two hours after, on his
way home, turning suddenly round a projection
of the bank, Mr. Mowbray came again upon
Kitty. She was sitting in the sun, trying evi-
dently to remove all traces of her late adventure
' J 19*

from her clothes. His compassion was aroused
by her uncomplaining patience and suffering.

He extorted from her the further confession
that she was afraid to go home till night ; that
her aunt often beat her for nothing, and would
certainly not allow a wet frock to go unpunished ;
that she had had no dinner; that she often had
none. She ended by saying that she was not at
all hungry, which was contradicted by the evi-
dent satisfaction with which she received the
few sandwiches Mr. Mowbray had to give her.
" You say you like to hear mc read, Kitty ?"
asked he.

« Very much. Better than anything in the

world."

" Then you can come every morning while I
am here and listen to me. You look like a very
quiet little girl," said Mr. Mowbray, for his
pity was of an active, not a passive kind.

Kitty's eye brightened.

« But if Aunt Phebe should find it out !" said
she, with a sudden misgiving.

" Oh, I '11 take care of your aunt Phebe. She
shall not be angry with you. I have a charm in
my pocket that will make her quite amiable. I
have never known it fail with any aunt Phebe

yet."

Kitty evidently did not understand him.

« If I can come, I will," said she ; "but you

will not tell V

« Oh no, of course not." And Mr. Mowbray
j went lightly on his way.

\ For the next three weeks, Mr. Mowbray went
| regularly to the same spot, where he was sure to
\ find the child watching for him. There was
something painfully touching in the sad, wistful
little face, over which a smile seldom flitted.
She had a staid, quiet, old-womanish way that
amused Mr. Mowbray, and he was especially
pleased by a certain supervision that, with all
her shyness, she assumed over him, watching
that he did not go too near the water, or wet his
feet, or allow the sun to shine upon his unco-
vered head, or leave his books and papers
behind him, and especially that he should take
his full share of the substantial lunch he was
careful to bring with him. On all these points
she had a positive, decided way of expressing
herself that admitted of no debate.

Often Mr. Mowbray would leave his little
companion for a solitary ramble; but, on h
return, he never failed to see her straining hi
blue eyes to catch the first glimpse of him.
This went on for three weeks; then, suddenly,
she disappeared, and Mr. Mowbray looked for
her in vain. The idea occurred to him that she
might be ill, and he resolved to make some m

090

godey's magazine and lady's book.

o varies after her, for she had interested him
exceedingly. He soon found Mrs. Davis's dwell-
ing, a dilapidated cottage, and, when the woman
herself came to the door in answer to his knock,
he did not wonder that Kitty stood in such
mortal dread of her, for he had seldom seen a
person with a more repulsive countenance. Her
manners, too, were very forbidding; and, when
she discovered the object of his visit, she almost
< losed the door in his face, saying, as she walked
abruptly away, that "the girl was very well,
and that she needed no assistance in taking care
of her." As Mr. Mowbray turned to depart,
after this repulse, the woman thrust her head
out of an open window to say that "the idle
good-for-nothing was playing somewhere among
the trees near."

That this was not true, Mr. Mowbray con-
vinced himself by a close search. Besides, he
was morally certain that, if Kitty had been at
liberty, she would not have left him so uncere-
moniously. Before this, he had had some vague
plane for making the child's position a plea-
.santer one, by proposing to send her, at his own
expense, to the village school or something of
that sort; but now, stimulated by this opposi-
tion, he determined not to leave the village in
which he was until he had penetrated the mys-
tery with regard to Kitty's movements.

Not having seen anything of her for a week,
he again sought old Andrew's cottage. Receiv-
ing no answer to his knock for admission, he
pushed open the door which stood a little ajar,
and entered the kitchen ; there was no person
to be seen. He called loudly for Kitty, and at
last distinguished a faint sound in replying.
Guided by this, he found his way to the cellar,
which was bolted on the outside. He opened
the door, and the little pale face of Kitty was
lifted up towards his out of the darkness.

Mr. Mowbray could not induce her to venture
out of her dungeon. She was in too great terror
of Aunt Phebe to take such a step. But he
learned that their meetings had been discovered ;
that for ten days Kitty had been confined in that
miserable place, from which she was not to be
released until his departure. Many other things
the little girl told him of the severity with which
•he was treated, begging him all the while to go
Hway, for they had threatened to kill her if she
>■ poke with him again.

At last he yielded to her request, and, draw-
ing the bolt and closing the outer door, so that
Mrs. Davis might not suspect his visit, he
upturned to the village. But it was only to con-
sult the proper authorities about the legal means
Of rescuing the child from the hands of such

miscreants. He had great difficulty in doing
this, for Andrew Davis and his wife resisted
with the most unaccountable obstinacy the
attempts that were made to relieve them from
the charge of the little girl, to whom they acted
so barbarously. First they claimed a right to
her as their niece. But it was proved that Mrs.
Davis had several times denied the relationship
with the utmost bitterness. Then they brought
forward an indenture by which Kitty Jones was
legally bound to them until she was eighteen.
It was decided that, by their cruelty, they had
forfeited all claim upon her in that way ; and at
last Mr. Mowbray, having justice, mercy, and a
heavy purse on his side, gained his point, and
the little girl was given up to his charge, as, in
order to hasten the course of justice, he had
promised that he would be answerable that she
should not come upon the parish.

He was not quite in such a dilemma at this
stage of the proceedings as the man who won the
elephant in a raffle ; but he was very much per-
plexed to know what he should do with the child.
His own wishes would have prompted him to
have her brought up as a lady, for which sphere
he could not help fancying she had a natural
adaptation ; but he recalled a sage maxim that
he had heard often repeated by some whom he
respected as older and wiser than himself, to the
effect that " it was a very unwise thing to raise
any one above the position to which they were
by their birth entitled." He had often been
accused of being enthusiastic and injudicious
when his feelings weie interested. He detex-
mined now to show himself very discreet, indeed.
She had been evidently indentured as a servant ;
she should be trained for one. So Mr. Mow-
bray placed her under the care of a respectable
but poor widow, who promised to be very kind
to her, and bring her up carefully for her
destined position ; a small yearly allowance
from Mr. Mowbray more than repaying hci for
her trouble.

Pleased with having settled matters so well,
lie took leave of Kitty, resisting with great diffi-
culty her earnest pleading to be allowed to go
with him. Apart from her love for him, which
had become very strong, she had a constant
dread of falling again into the hands of old
Andrew and his wife, and no arguments could
convince her of the folly of her fears. It was
with the submission of despair that she at last
unclasped her slender fingers from his arm and
allowed him to depart.

Four months had passed away, and Mr. Mow-
bray's wedding-day was now but six weeks off'.
He was in the midst of preparations for that

ALICE WARD; OR, HE 's COMING.

223

event, and for the long tour that was to follow
it, when he received the intelligence that Kitty
had disappeared. As Mr. Davis and his wife
had left the country at the same time, there was
little doubt but that the child was again in their
possession. For a few days, Mr. Mowbray con-
tented himself with writing letters and offering
a large reward for Kitty's recovery ; but, these
producing no effect, he resolved to carry on the
search himself. For he was a man of a most
persevering nature. He had seldom been known
to give up or to fail in an undertaking.

Mr. Mowbray was then in London, where
Margaret Ward, the lady to whom he was
engaged, resided. After a consultation with
her, in which she promised to find a home for
Kitty, if he should recover her, he set out upon
his search. On arriving at the village where he
had left Kitty, he found the people generally
interested in recovering the child, but quite at a
loss as to the course he should pursue. Each
one had a suggestion to make or a plan to pro-
pose, but none could give him the least clue that
would be of any real assistance to him. He was
obliged to rely entirely on his own sagacity, and
the indications by which he was guided were so
faint and doubtful, that he hardly knew himself
whether they were not the creations of his wishes
and imagination rather than the work of reality.

After wandering a day or two among the
hills and valleys of Wales, he came upon the
little girl suddenly, more by chance it seemed
than by his own good judgment. He did not
recognize her at first, for her curls had been cut
off, her fair skin stained brown, and her dress
changed. But her delight, almost painful in its
silent intensity, and her large blue eyes, soon
convinced him that she was the child for whom
he was seeking. Within an hour they were on
their way to London. As soon as they arrived
there, before going to his own residence, Mr.
Mowbray sought Miss Ward and placed Kitty
in her charge. It was well he did this; for,
rapidly as they had come to London, old Andrew
was there before them, and Mr. Mowbray, as he
alighted at his own door, saw the old man
loitering near, trying to conceal himself from
observation as he watched eagerly, evidently
expecting to see another person follow Mr.
Mowbray.

Feeling sure that such conduct could only be
prompted by some reason as strong as it was
mysterious, Mr. Mowbray resolved to proceed
with the utmost caution. His prudent resolve
to bring Kitty up for service was laid aside ; he
decided, and Margaret agreed with him, that she
was too gentle and delicate for such a life.

There was something exquisitely winning and
confiding in her manner, a singular degree of
natural refinement about her that interested
every one, while the sad dejection that was evi-
dent in her countenance awoke pity. Miss
Ward adopted her at once as a sister, changed
her name to Alice Ward, and was at great pains
to find a boarding-school where she would be
safe and happy and well-trained.

One comprising all these advantages was at
last discovered. It was in the country, at some
distance from London ; and there Alice was
sent, under the charge of a lawyer, a relation of
Margaret's, as Mr. Mowbray, perceiving that he
was closely watched, thought it better not to
appear in the matter. It would have been hard
even for old Andrew to recognize in the well-
dressed little girl, who called Mr. Ward uncle,
and whom he called Alice, the ragged and half
starved Kitty Jones.

Immediately after his marriage, Mr. Mowbray
left for Italy, intending to spend the winter
there on account of his wife's health, which had
long been delicate. He remained there for eight
years, all his intercourse with his protegee being
carried on by letters, which were regularly ex-
changed four times a year. During the second
year of his residence in Italy, his wife died.
His grief for her loss was very great. He could
not resolve to leave a spot endeared to him by
so many associations. Besides, a real and strong
love for art rendered Italy full of interest to
him. Although his wealth precluded all neces-
sity for exertion, he had a studio where he
worked as earnestly as though his livelihood
depended upon it. This occupation, which he
had first taken up as one means of preventing
his mind from dwelling with morbid intensity
upon his loss, became at last a source of great
intellectual enjoyment to him, and he was
thought to display no mean genius in the art he
had chosen.

At the end of eight years, he was recalled to
England by the loss of nearly all his fortune.
The same mail that brought the intelligence of
that disaster also brought to him a letter from
Alice. She reminded him that she was now
nearly nineteen, and, thanking him for all thai
he had done for her, said that she needed no
longer to be a burden upon him, and only waited
his permission to accept the proposal that had
been made to her of becoming a teacher in the
school in which she had passed so long a time.
She did not allude to his pecuniary misfortune,
though she was evidently aware of it. Mr.
Mowbray was pleased by her letter, but delayotl
answering it until he saw her in person.

224

godey's magazine and lady's book.

His first visit, after an interview with his

lawyer immediately on his arrival in London,
was to the secluded village in which Alice had
been placed. He could hardly realize that the
pretty graceful girl, with manners at once sim-
ple yet agreeable, was the poor child who had
formerly awakened his compassion. The tie
that united them was a strong and peculiar one.
He was the only living being on whom Alice
could feel that she had the slightest claim, and
consequently her affection for him had in it a
kind of devotion and of intensity that made it
akin to love. On his side he was almost equally
alone. He had no near relatives, and the inte-
rest of his more distant connections had been
cooled by his long absence. He found his
friends scattered, and all his social ties loosed or
broken. It wTas refreshing to have one to turn
to whose trust in him almost amounted to reve-
rence, and who gave him the sympathy and
affection which are so necessary to the happi-
ness of most persons.

The result was what might have been antici-
pated, when an unfettered gentleman of twenty-
nine and a lady some ten years younger are
thus brought together. Six months after his
arrival in England, Mr. Mowbray and Alice
Ward were married. One of the few things that
still remained from his former large fortune was
a cottage, with a few acres of ground around it,
in a town in the north of England. There he
carried his wife and established himself, intend-
ing to add to their very small income by the
practice of the only profession for which his
previous life fitted him, that of an artist.

He succeeded in this beyond his expectations,
owing, in a great measure, to his unremitting
industry. After painting all the morning, he
would spend the afternoon in rambling over the
adjoining country, sketching whatever struck
his eye or his fancy. On his return from these
excursions, he was always sure to find his wife
awaiting him, either at the window or in the
porch, or, when the weather would permit, by
the cottage door or gate, her sweet, thoughtful
face lighted up by the smile of welcome as she
perceived him in the distance. After a while,
an infant came to cheer the lonely hours of her
husband's absence; and Alice, as she watched
its daily growth in strength and beauty, won-
dered if in all England a woman could be found
happier than herself.

There was an old mansion, somewhat dilapi-
dated, but still grand and picturesque, about five
miles from Mr. Mowbray's home, towards which
tie often directed his steps. The peculiar beauty
of the building and of the grounds surrounding

it, in which neither woods, hills, streams, nor
waterfalls wrere wanting, afforded an infinite
and always pleasing variety of landscape. He
learned that the property had long been held by
a family of the name of Lenthal, but that, by
the marriage of the heiress, it had passed into
the possession of a Colonel Fairchild, who, on
being left a widower, went to London, where
for many years he was known as one of the
most fashionable and dissipated men about town.
Mr. Mowbray remembered distinctly having
met him during his own short stay in London,
and being struck with his great personal beauty,
and fascinated by his peculiar charm of man-
ner. About five years after that meeting, a
severe and incurable illness had put a sudden
stop to Colonel Fairchild's gayety, and he had
retreated to the country, where, weakened in
body and mind, he was said to be under the
entire control of his housekeeper, a Mrs. Daniels.
She had dismissed all the other servants but
one, and often, for weeks together, would allow
no one but herself or her son, not even the phy-
sician, to approach the sick man.

Mr. Mowbray had been informed that, in the
picture-gallery of the old mansion, there were
some fine paintings, undoubted originals from
the best masters, and he had a great desire to
see them. By all that he had heard, he knew
that it was in vain to apply to Mrs. Daniels for
permission to examine them ; but he was cer-
tain, from the slight acquaintance he had had
with Colonel Fairchild, that his great courtesy
would induce him to grant so slight a requc t,
if it could be conveyed to him. After waiting
for some months for an opportunity to prefer
his petition in the absence of the female Cerbe-
tus, Mr. Mowbray had the satisfaction of catch-
ing a glimpse of Mrs. Daniels seated in a chaise
driven by her son in the direction of the village.
He was at that time sketching a waterfall ni •
the road, but hidden from it by a grove of trees.
He lost no time in approaching the house.

A stupid country girl answered his summons,
who at first refused positively to allow him to
enter, but softened somewhat when a crown was
slipped into her hand, and at last consented to
take his card up to her master. The bit of paper
could do no harm, she said, but she jealously shut
the door in his face when she left him. She soon
returned and asked him to follow her, saying —

" The master be in a terrible way ;" and before
Mr. Mowbray had time to question her as to her
meaning, she ushered him into the present
the invalid.

Mr. Mowbray saw before him a pale, emacifl
shrunken man, with no trace about him i :

ALICE WARD; OR, HE 's COMING.

225

once splendidly handsome Colonel Fairchild, but
two brilliant eyes, which flashed and rolled with
something of the uncertain glare of insanity.

" Ec seated, sir," said he abruptly, yet with a
little of his old grace, while his fingers played
nervously with the card that had just been sent
up. " Excuse me, but I have no time for cere-
mony. I have long been desiring a personal
interview with you 5 but your letters have never
given me a hope of seeing you here. If I were
not the miserable, helpless wretch you see, I
should have sought you myself long ago."

" I beg your pardon, but I have received no
letters from you."

" Your name is George Mowbray?"

" Yes."

" You are the gentleman who once passed a
summer in the south of England, and obtained
possession of a little girl named Kitty Jones, are
you not?"

« Yes."

" You have since resided principally in Rome?"

Mr. Mowbray bowed.

" Within the last four years, I have written
no less than twenty letters to you there," con-
tinued Colonel Fairchild, " to most of which I
have received answers. Here they are ;" and
he drew from a writing-desk near him a bundle
of letters, which he handed to Mr. Mowbray.

" These were not written by me," said Mr.
Mowbray, examining them. "Some of them, I
see, are dated, within the last two years, from
Rome, but since that time I have been living in
this country."

" I suspected as much," said Colonel Fairchild.

" Will you tell me if Kitty Jones is still living ?
These letters assert and offer to prove her death."

" That is as untrue as their signature. Kitty
Jones is now my wife, Alice Mowbray ;" and
Mr. Mowbray related to his agitated listener the
history of the child, from the time he had re-
covered possession of her, until then. During
the narration, Colonel Fairchild gradually re-
covered his composure. When it was finished,
he drew from the desk a number of papers care-
fully arranged and tied together. These he gave
to Mr. Mowbray.

" I have been guilty of a great crime," said
he ; " for the last four years I have been trying
in vain to expiate it. I thank God that I am
enabled to succeed in doing justice at last. Those
papers will explain everything to you. I am glad
you have come to relieve me of them, for I have
dreaded every day that Mrs. Daniels would find
them and destroy them. But yet she seemed so
kind and devoted that I felt as though I were
doing wrong to suspect her," continued he,

mournfully. " She is the one whom you know
as Mrs. Davis."

"Is there anything to be done about these
papers ?" asked 'Mr. Mowbray, seeing that Co-
lonel Fairchild was sunk in a gloomy reverie.

" Yes," said he, arousing himself; " read them
to-night; you will then understand matters, and
come here to-morrow at this time, with a lawyer
and any friend of yours as a witness. Insist on
being shown to my room, and the rest I can at-
tend to myself."

Mr. Mowbray found his wife sitting in the
bright moonlight, with her child asleep on her
lap, looking anxiously for him. He was later
than usual, and she had begun to feel a little
anxiety at his delay.

" I have been hearing something that interested
me very much, about a little Kitty Jones that I
knew a long time ago," said Mr. Mowbray in
answer to her questionings, and he related the
incident of the afternoon.

When tea was over, they turned with eager
curiosity to the examination of the papers. The
first one they opened was written by Colonel
Fairchild, and dated a few months before. It
gave an account of his marriage with Mrs. Gra-
ham, the heiress of the Lenthal property, who
was then a widow with one child, a girl of two
years old named Catharine ; of Mrs. Fairchild's
death a few months afterwards, leaving, by a will
made just before her second marriage, a large
annuity to her husband, but the bulk of her
property to her child. In case of Catharine's
death, it was all to revert to Colonel Fairchild.
There wTas a later will found, but as it was in-
complete, it was thrown aside. By this she had
reversed the decisions of the former, giving the
estate to her husband and the annuity to her
child.

Colonel Fairchild persuaded himself that, as
this was his wife's real wish, he could not be
acting very wrong if he carried it out. Mrs.
Graham's wealth had been her chief attraction
in his eyes, and to have it taken from him when
it was almost in his grasp, was a bitter disap-
pointment. He was ambitious in his own way,
fond of pleasure and distinction. To have the
means of gratifying himself in these aims with-
held from him by a little child incapable of
appreciating them, was more than he could
patiently endure. After contending with these
unlawful hopes and wishes for two years, he
at last yielded to the temptation when it came.
accompanied by a favorable opportunity.

A little girl, daughter of Andrew and Phebe
Daniels, was a favorite playmate of Catharine's.
One day, when they were both together near the

226

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

river, Annie Daniels fell in and was drowned.
Colonel Fairchild came by as Mr. Daniels and
his wife were trying in vain to recover their
child. He knew them both well, and, as soon as
they would listen to him, he promised them a
sum which seemed immense to them, if they
would only testify to the death of Catharine at
the same time. He knew that Ihcy were people
to whom money was all_ powerful as a motive,
and he did not judge them hardly. They con-
sented. Catharine was hurried off to their cot-
tage, and kept concealed until they could leave
the country. Colonel Fairchild detailed minutely
all the steps he took to avert suspicion, and said
that he succeeded beyond his expectations. The
yearly allowance he made to Andrew and his
wife was ample to enable them to bring up
Catharine in comfort ; but he feared, from some
circumstances that had lately come to his know-
ledge, that his wishes in that respect had been
disregarded. He told about his efforts to recover
the child after Mr. Mowbray had taken posses-
sion of her, and said that for four years Mr. and
Mrs. Daniels never lost sight for a week at a
time of that gentleman, but in vain.

Then this sudden and prostrating illness had
fallen upon him. He retired to the country, where
he was soon followed by Mrs. Daniels, who, being
left a widow, installed herself as his housekeeper
and nurse. At the time she did this, Colonel
Fairchild wrote that he was too much weakened
in mind and body to make any opposition, and
she soon gained great control over him, so much
so that, having assured him that Catharine was
dead, and letters from Mr. Mowbray having con-
firmed this fact, he had several times been on the
point of making a will in favor of Mrs. Daniels
and her son. Within the last six months, his
mind had recovered somewhat of its former vigor.
He recalled various circumstances that made him
think that he was about to be made the dupe and
victim of the same base love of gold through
which he had been led into a similar crime. He
wrote this paper, he said, in hopes that if he died
without having been able to verify Catharine's
death, or to do justice to her if she were still
alive, some other person might undertake the
office.

"I always knew I should turn out a fortune
to you at last," said Alice joyously, when they
had finished reading Colonel Fairchild's revela-
tions. " I had dim reminiscences of my early
life, so very dim that I did not like to speak of
them ; but I see now that they were real."

Mrs. Daniels's impotent anger and dismay
when she found her plans foiled would be difficult
to describe. But Colonel Fairchild's conscience,

though late in its awakening, was too thorough
in its work to leave her any hope of being able
to accomplish her desires. The next day he
made, in the presence of Mr. Mowbray and the
friend and lawyer who accompanied him, not
only a full confession, but an entire restitution
of all the property to its legal mistress.

At Alice's earnest request, the real facts in the
case were kept secret as far as possible from the
world. Colonel Fairchild was left in possession
of the Lenthal mansion until his death, which
occurred within the year; Mr. Mowbray and
Alice meanwhile showing him the kindness and
attention of attached children. Mrs. Daniels
disappeared with her son from the country,
taking with her a large sum of money which she
had gradually amassed in her long and wicked
service. It was discovered before her departure
that she had early recognized Mr. Mowbray as
the one whom she had met under such peculiar
circumstances long before, and in his wife her
former victim, and therefore had jealously avoided
being seen by them. Even after so many years,
and under such different circumstances, Alice
could not meet her without a shudder, and was
greatly relieved at her departure. And though
Mrs. Mowbray's subsequent life was a highly
prosperous and quiet one, she always said her
happiest years were the two she spent in the
little cottage as the wife of an artist, as yet
unknow* i to fame.

I PRAY FOR THE LOVED AT HOME.

I pray for them when sunset

Is gilding every hill,
And darkness steals the twilight,

And all around is still :
When I am tired and weary,

And all my work is o?er,
'Tis sweet to pray at close of day

For those I see no more.

I pray for thee, my father,

When night is stealing on,
And the last ray of daylight

Without a sigh has gone :
I pray for thee, 0 mother,

My dearest friend on earth :
'Tis sweet to pray at close of day

Away from joy and mirth.

I see my little sister,

With dark eyes full of tears,
And pray that brightest angels

Will guard her future years ■
When I am tired and weary,

And all my work is o'eij
;Tis sweet to pray at close of day

For those I see no more.

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND
HER "DEAR, DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY HORACE MAYHEW,

THE NINTH LETTER LEFT.

(Dated May the 16th.)

SHOWING WHO WAS THE THIEF.

In my last letter, Nelly, I alluded to a tea
party. As you can have no idea what such an
entertainment can be like, I will describe one
for you.

The seniors only are admitted. One must
have numbered fifteen blushing summers, and
have attained the altitude of the first degree,
before being entitled to this great honor. One
by one we are announced, and received, intro-
duced, and seated as at a formal party. Each
young lady plays in her turn the hostess, and
tries her best to entertain her guests. She is the
goddess of the tea-tray, and has absolute control
over the thin bread and butter (what a shadowy
mockery to hungry school-girls, each of whom
could devour an entire loaf!) But we would
not mind being put on short commons, if we
were not compelled to talk. That is the greatest
cruelty. Every young lady is expected to bring
a new idea. You may laugh at this, Miss Nelly,
and fancy we are not so cruelly treated after all ;
but let me tell you that new ideas are not so
easily caught as a cold. I have known poor girls
lie awake for nights, and yet not succeed in find-
ing one. Just you try to get a new idea every
day of yoar life, and see how soon you '11 break
down !

Our new ideas are ushered into conversation
in the following manner : —

Lizzy Spree. " It is remarkable that balloons
were invented in the year 1755 — the same year
that George the Second reigned on the throne of
England."

(A dead silence, and another cup of tea handed
round.)

Susan Carney. " If we could only see our-
selves with the eyes of other people, we should
examine the faults of ourselves more, and the
« faults of others less !"

(A long pause to recover from this withering
sarcasm.)

Meggy Sharpe. " It is a most curious fact, but
at the same time no less true, that the tortoise,

which provides us with the beautiful shell for
our combs, has no back-hair itself."

Emilia Suctt. "The introduction of pine-
apples from the West Indies took place in the
year 1845, and since then have become so plen-
tiful that they are not unfrequently sold in the
streets for a penny a slice."

I forgot to tell you that Miss Priscilla Hextra
(Mrs. Rodwell's maiden sister) is the queen who
receives us, every evening, on these state occa-
sions. After each new idea, she delivers a short
lecture, made doubly wise by being delivered
through a pair of green spectacles. She corrects
us when wrong, compliments us when we are
right, and in every case says " a few words rele-
vant to the subject in question." For instance,
with regard to pine-apples, she told us about the
culture of them, informed us of their former
price, inveighed against the alarming increase of
luxuries, compared the extravagance of modern
London with the abstinence of ancient Sparta,
and so arrived at the conclusion that black broth
was infinitely better for the health, both phy-
sical and moral, of a nation, than turtle-soup !

At last the half-hour strikes, we take a cere-
monious leave, and escape down stairs to coax
Susan for the remains of the thick bread and
butter.

Now, Nelly, I dare say these invitations are
meant kindly enough, but what possible good do
they do us 1 We are too frightened to talk, and
as for enjoying ourselves, we are sitting all the
while upon pins and needles thinking of our
" new idea." The notion, moreover, that it
teaches us how to receive company, is absurd !
Goodness forbid that I should ever play the part
of hostess to my friends in the same chilly, cere-
monious manner my nervousness makes me dis-
play on these solemn occasions ! Besides, it 's
rather cruel to school us, when school is over,
under the pretence of hospitality !

We have had such a merry time of A, lately !
such lots of half-holidays. Last week, too, was
the Race Week. You should have seen how
well our school turned out. We were all dressed
in our Sunday best, and mistresses, half-boarders,
the Lady Principal, and even her sister Priscilla.

22*

228

Gfc)DEY's magazine and lady's book,

all joined in the ranks to make the procession
look longer. It was quite a grand sight. The
tall girls were placed first — and they gradually
grew less and less in size till the shortest came
last — something like the shape of the Pandean
pipes. Mrs. Spankitt's school passed us in the
High Street. They looked a mere apron-string
by the side of our long line, and they wisely dis-
appeared down the first street. The best thing
after a defeat is to run away. No wonder the
gentlemen, returning home from the races, took
such notice of us ! l*hey kissed their hands,
threw bouquets, and pelted us with nuts, pin-
cushions, and motto bonbons. My pocket was
as full of kisses as a baby's face. I caught a
pear, with a set of wooden tea-things inside,
notwithstanding Snapp's rage, who thought it
was meant for her. I never knew such conceit !
But this fun was too good to last. After a time,
Mrs. Rodwell got very indignant, and took us
home by the back lanes.

There was such a to-do when we returned to
the Princesses' College. The whole school was
assembled, and, after a severe lecture, ten of the
eldest girls were condemned to " Silenzia."
This is a dreadful punishment, Nelly — the sever-
est we have — and is a million times worse than
solitary confinement. You are struck dumb all
at once. You are not allowed to say a word —
not even to talk to yourself— and if any girl
speaks to you, or you are seen speaking to any
girl, she is silenced also ; and so, in self-defence,
no one will let you say a word.

Once the whole college was silenced in this
way for a fortnight. It was so curious ! A
stranger, coming in, would have fancied it were
a deaf and dumb asylum, or that he was visit-
ing by mistake a seminary for young Quaker-
esses. You imagine, perhaps, we were very
miserable. Not a bit of it ! We never had more
fun, for somehow a school-girl will extract fun
out of almost everything. We talked with our
fingers — we kept up conversations on our slates—
we expressed our opinions by means of panto-
mime (how you would have laughed to see
Lucy Wilde play the balcony scene in Romeo and
Juliet without saying a word !), we corresponded
on slips of paper, until there was so much noise,
such continued tittering, such loud explosions $
of laughter, that the Lady Principal was glad to
give us the use of our tongues again. The loss \
of it makes a woman desperate. I must say I j
never felt so truly wicked as when I was sen- j
tenced to this unnatural dumbness. Speech j
relieves the heart of many an evil thought.
Besides, this silent system encourages sulking, \
and only see how bad sulky people generally are. <

Then, again, I want to know, if it is made a crime
to speak, how are we to say our prayers?

I was looking out for you, Nelly, all the after-
noon on the Horticultural Fete Day. We had
another half-holiday. We were allowed as a
great favor to walk in the front garden ; but, only
after we had put on our dancing dresses. Mary
Owen was excluded ; her bonnet was not " good
enough." All the windows were thrown open,
by chance, of course, and not done purposely to
show the rows of white dimity beds, and the
drawings, maps, and large globes ; and, doubt-
less, it was by accident also that Annie Flower
was kept playing all day in the drawing-room
with the loud-pedal down (she is one of our best
players, only the noise she makes gives you the
headache sometimes). It is very wrong to notice
these things, but school-girls have got nothing
else to do. In the same way, we couldn't help
noticing that the Lady Principal was seated near
the window all the time the carriages were rat-
tling by, dressed in the most elegant deshabille,
and with a most elegant book and cambric hand-
kerchief in her hand. She doesn't read so much
on other days! However, we had plenty of
amusement, though those tiresome boys next door
nearly frightened us out of our lives by throwing
over detonating balls, and by firing off* little can-
nons every other minute.

Oh ! such a dreadful thing has occurred. For
a whole week nothing else has been talked of.
You must know, dearest Nelly, that for some
time past a number of things have been disappear-
ing. Crochet-needles, pencil-cases, scissors,
pen-knives, all vanished, and no one could tell
how, or when, or where. The number of hand-
kerchiefs that were missing would suffice a whole
theatre any night Mrs. Charles Kean was play-
ing. Nothing was safe, and one evening when
I went up to bed I found that my night-gown
had gone also. I was so put out, you oan't tell.
Well, the servants were accused the first, and
they were dismissed ; but as the same mysterious
disappearance went on just as mysteriously as
before, it was clear it couldn't be them. No
girl liked to accuse another ; but it was perfectly
evident, as Snapp said, that the things couldn't
walk off without hands. I never saw the Lady
Principal so upset, and well she might, for if the
objects had only kept flying away with the same
miraculous rapidity, there wouldn't have been
by this time a single thing left in the school.
She didn't know whom to accuse. However, as
"an example" was wanted, poor Mary Owen
was punished each time for the thief, although
we all knew Mary would not take a lamp of
sugar that wasn't her owl.

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK 8.

229

Well, last Tuesday, Noble's guardian came
with his grand phaeton, and gave her a sovereign.
Out of pride, she stuck it on her desk, that every
one might sec it. In a little time it was gone !
No one could tell how, or had noticed any one
take it ; but it was gone 1 ,

What a fuss ensued ! The room was swept ;
the desk and drawers were turned inside out;
all our pockets were searched : but no sovereign
could be found. It was very singular. The Lady
Principal appealed to us, and spoke beautifully
about the sin of stealing. She entreated the cul-
prit to confess — promised forgiveness — and gave
us each a piece of paper of the same size, on
which we were to write, " / am" or " J am not
the thief," that she alone might know the sinner.

The papers were handed in, opened, and, as
you may guess, were all alike. Every girl had
written down, " I am not the thief."

Then, amidst a silence such as I have never
heard before, and with all our cheeks burning,
the Lady Principal gav» us a long lecture ; and
concluded by saying that in her mind she had
not the slightest doubt Mary Owen was the cul-
prit— she was the only vicious, evil-minded girl
in the college — too hardened in crime even to
acknowledge her fault.

Poor Mary protested, with her tears and her
blushes, that she was innocent of the base charge ;
but the more she protested, the louder grew the
reproaches upon her wickedness. She was locked
up in the cloak-cupboard, where you can hardly
tell whether it is night or day, and allowed no-
thing but bread and water. Day after day, for
neatly a week, she was visited by Mrs. Rod well,
who tried every persuasion and every threat to
induce her to confess; but all in vain. Mary
simply said, " I have nothing to confess."

Amy Darling cried herself ill over her friend's
disgrace, and scarcely slept for watching, in order
to discover who was the real thief.

Now listen, dear Nelly, with all your eyes and
ears, to the story how Amy's sisterly vigilance
was rewarded. Last Friday a large hamper came
for the two Suetts : it contained Indian preserves
and pickles, and cakes, and fruit, and all sorts
of good things. As we had to go out walking,
the hamper was only just peeped into, and left,
with the lid open, in the school-room. Amy,
who really had made herself unwell, was allowed
to stop at home and lie on the sofa ; but I believe
her object more particularly was to visit Mary
Owen on the sly, and comfort her in her dreary
place of confinement.

When we returned home, the school-room was
locked, and the key removed. The servants
were sent for; they knew nothing about it.

VOL. XLIX.—2Q

Amy was summoned, and, taking the key from
her pocket, opened the door, saying, " There,
Mrs. Rodwell, there is the thief."

True enough, there was Carney lying on the
ground, with jars, half-empty, strewed about her,
and the hamper upset, and its delicious contents
littered about the room. She was crying, and
seemed to be very miserable and ill. She rose,
however, and, moaning most piteously, fell upon
her knees, looking so conscience-stricken, that,
guilty as she was, I half pitied her.

Amy, upon being questioned, explained how.
lying upon the sofa, she had heard the school-
room door open. Knowing no one was in the
house but herself and the servants, she crept
cautiously down stairs to spy and to reconnoitre.
To her astonishment, she discovered the sneaking
Carney, who had returned home from the walk
upon some slight excuse, helping herself most
liberally to the rich things in the Suetts' hamper.
She was eating away as if it was her last meal,
and filling her pockets at the same time to lay
in a good store for the next. Amy said nothing,
but, gently closing the door, turned the key upon
her.

Oh, Nelly ! what a scene followed ! Carney,
seeing there was no hope of mercy, flung herself
upon the floor, and crawled and writhed like a
serpent. Some kind friend had rushed out in-
stantly, and liberated poor Mary Owen. She
came into the room, looking as pale as death,
and her whole frame trembling. Instinctively,
as it were, she ran to Amy, for her heart seemed
to lead her to her as naturally as a child goes to
its mother, and she must have fallen if the dear
angel (for she is an angel, truly) had not caught
her in her arms. Then the Lady Principal went,
up to her with a gentleness I had never seen in
her before, and taking hold of Mary's hand,
raised it to her lips. She spoke, but her tones
were so full of kindness that I should not have
known it for the same voice. " My dear Miss
Owen," she said, " I have been harsh and unjust.
I have come to ask you to have the grace to for-
give me. I am painfully sorry for what I have
done." Mary summoned all her strength, and
rose from her chair. She attempted to speak,
but tears flowed instead of words, and, sobbing
as if her heart must break, she threw herself
round her mistress's neck and kissed h er. I don't
recollect anything more.

The same evening Mary found a parcel under
her pillow. It was a beautiful edition of the
Bible, with a dear inscription in the Lady Prin-
cipal's own hand-writing. You 've no idea hovr
proud the poor girl is of it.

Good -by, my dear pet Nelly. I have written

230

godey's magazine and lady's book.

till I am quite unhappy,
close this stupid letter.

Kiss inc. and let me

Kitty.

P. S. It is Mrs. RodwelPs birthday next
Monday week. It is usual to give her a present
on that occasion. Every girl contributes what
she can afford, and sometimes more than she
can afford, in order to curry favor. It is not
generally an offering of the heart, Nelly. Most
girls give because they daren't refuse ; but this
year every purse has been emptied, and I doubt
if there is a penny left in the school to give to a
beggar. This is only the first collection $ but

it's very strange, the Lady Principal has suddenly
become quite popular.

P. S. Oh ! I had nearly forgotten to tell you
that, half an hour after the above discovery, a fly
came round to the door. Carney's boxes were
placed in it, and, after restoring to each girl what
she had taken, and humbly begging their pardon,
she was sent home with Snapp, disgraced and
expelled.

Do you know my night-gown was found in
her box? I wasn't so angry with her as I ex-
pected I should be ; but told her " she might keep
it if she wished." She looked at me so strangely
and sorrowfully : but good-by.

SOMETHING MOEE ABOUT FANS.

BY MRS. WHITE.

" What a subject to write upon !" exclaims
perhaps some fair reader. Granted, gentle lady ;
but, however trifling you may consider a few stray
thoughts on so homely a theme, there is never-
theless more importance in it than you may pro-
bably imagine. Besides, trifles make up the pith
and marrow of all that is useful and interesting
in the world's history. It was an accident that
made Corneille the Shakspeare of France, and
Moliere the great master of comedy. It was the
same fortunate hazard that originated some of the
most wonderful discoveries of Newton, Flam-
stead, and Franklin. Indeed, it would be tedious
to mention the results produced by a close atten-
tion to what are frequently misnamed trifles ; but
we will enter at once upon our theme.

Chapters have been written, and a whole vol-
ume might be, upon the history and associations
connected with this little instrument. In the
orient, Nature herself appears to have taken the
initiative, and in the spreading branches and
undulating motion of the fan palm-tree, to have
whispered its origin to the Indian girl beneath
its shade.

Nay, Eve herself, in the bright sunshine of an
Eden noon, might have used such leafy screen
between it and her beauty; for we know by im-
plication that even in the temperature of Para-
dise there must have been a counterpoise to the
cool of the day.

In a word, its origin appears to us to date from
the beginning — to be as old as man's ingenuity
and the necessity for shade in a tropical climate,
and therefore as proper to the islands of the
Pacific as to the south of the celestial Empire ;
though, in the first, we find it in the primitive

shape of a bird's wing or*a bunch of feathers, and
in the other, adorned with the most curious and
elaborate workmanship.

Scripture, by repeated references to the use of
the fan as an instrument for winnowing corn,
proves that the Hebrews were intimate with it;
while the portraitures on the walls of the Egypt-
ian Saloon of the British Museum, descriptive
of the domestic life of this ancient people, a?
well as the inscriptions on some of the sepulchral
tablets, bear witness to its common use amongst
them. It was from this nation that the Greeks
and Romans borrowed the fan ; and from Italy,
centuries afterwards, Catherine de Medicis intro-
duced it in its present form at the court of France.

Previous to this period, it resembled the flabel-
lum of the ancients, or the fans at present in use
amongst the Chinese ladies, being composed
cither of feathers mounted on a handle, or of
painted silk or tiffany, like handscreens in the
present day.

With us the fan is said to have made its ap-
pearance in the time of Henry VIII., whose
daughter, Elizabeth, seldom or ever appeared
without one ; and the fine gentlemen of her days,
like the macaronis in the south of Italy, in Sel-
den's time, were remarkably fond of appearing
with them ; Shakspeare, in " Love's Labor Lost/*
alludes to this prevailing foppery, when he makes
Costard exclaim of the courtier Boyot : —

" Oh, a most dainty man !

To see him walk before a lady, and to bear a fan."

Talking of Shakspeare reminds us that lie has
introduced a fan in the hand of Margaret of An-
jou, between 1445 and 1455, which is cither an

SOMETHING MOKE ABOUT FANS.

231

anachronism, or the supposition hazarded by-
some writers that it was originally introduced
from the east, in the time of Richard II., must
be correct ; but in the absence of any other proof
of its use, we must hold to our former data.

If I am not mistaken, a fan is mentioned in
the inventory of Henry VIII.'s wardrobe; but
their use was not general till about 1572. The
handle of the fan in Elizabeth's time appears to
have been the most costly part of it, and Roland
White, in describing to his friend, Sir P. Sidney,
the Earl of Leicester's reception of Her Majesty
at the Dairie-house, at Kew, in the year 1594,
informs him that, on her first alighting, a fine
fanne, with a "handle garnisht with diamonds,"
was presented to her.

During the succeeding reign, and in the days
of Henrietta Maria, the feather fan assumed a
more graceful, but not less expensive form than
those of the Elizabethan period ; and instead of
being stiffened by a band of gold around each
stem, fell naturally and-flowingly above a handle
of gold or a silver filagree, and shaped like our
present bouquet-holders, and occasionally en-
riched with jewels.

Folding fans, of painted silk or paper, had also
come into vogue ; and it was possibly with one
of these that Frances, Countess of Somerset, hid
the conscious guilt in her face during the reading
of the indictment charging her with the murder
of Sir Thomas Overbury, at the bar of the House
of Lords.

" Whilst it was reading," says Amos, in his
account of this celebrated trial, to witness which
£50 were given for a corner of Westminster
Hall, that would hardly contain a dozen, " the
Countess stood looking pale ; alas ! what wonder,
when the axe of the gentleman jailer, though
with its edge turned from her, gleamed in front !
She trembled and shed tears, and at that part of
the indictment where the name of Weston, the
actual perpetrator of the murder, was first men-
tioned, she put her fan before her face, and there
held it covering her face till the reading of the
indictment was concluded." This is not the only
instance, as we shall see, in which the exhibition
of the passions, in the bosoms of great ladies,
has taken sanctuary behind this little screen.

Catherine of Braganza, and her suite of swarthy
ladies, first introduced the use of the sun fan into
England ; those huge green shades that served
the purpose of a parasol, and which were not
wholly exploded from the promenade till the lat-
ter part of George III.'s reign.

The dress fans of the merry monarch's period
appear to have been as expensively ornamented
as any of those which had preceded them, and

Grammont has informed us of the value attached
to French fans by the ladies of the court.

By this time the painting of these elegant
trinkets had become a branch of art, which the
first-rate artists of those days, as now, were not
above exhibiting their skill in. Generally, the
subjects chosen for their adornment were of an
Arcadian character, but sometimes love was
mythologically treated, and the fan shone re-
splendent with all the pretty devices which have
rendered eloquent the valentine-letters of later
days. At others, caricatures appeared on them ;
and in the reign of "George II., we find Loggan,
the ex-dwarf to the Prince and Princess of Wales,
who had established himself as a fan-painter, at
the south end of the Parade, at Tonbridge Wells,
sketching on his wares with such fidelity (Rich-
ardson tells us) that they were immediately
recognized as the most remarkable characters
that from season to season appeared on the walk.

Imagine the lively, sweet-tempered Miss Chud-
leigh, as the author of " Clarissa Harlowe" calls
her — the after famous Duchess of Kingston — in
high-heeled shoes, court hoop, and powdered
hair, making a group on one of them, with Gar-
rick, and Mrs. Frasi, the singer, and the witty
Duke of Wharton, and pretty Miss Peggy Banks,
and old Colley Cibber, in laced hat and flowing
peruke, dying at seventy-seven for a smile from
the fair and faulty maid of honor. Why, even
those exquisite fans painted by Poggi, and de-
signed by Reynolds, Angelica, Kauffman West,
and Cipriani (fine names these for our subject),
which Sir Joshua took Miss Burney to see one
day in March, 1781, lose by comparison in inter-
est.

One of the latter, by the way, this diarist tells
us, was bespoke by the celebrated Duchess of
Devonshire, for a present to some Frenchwoman
of rank, and was to cost £30 !

Marston, in his satires, tells us that the feather
fans of the sixteenth century sometimes cost £40 ;
but modern extravagance in this article has far
exceeded these prices; and Mr. Duvelleroy,
whose beautiful specimens of our subject have
attained an almost universal celebrity, has re-
cently executed one for the Emperor of Morocco,
of which the jewels alone cost more than £1,000.

The period when Watteau painted them and
Addison wrote his " Discipline of the Fan" ap-
pears to have been the meridian of its fashion,
and of the perfection of its use in England.
Under no circumstances was a lady dressed with-
out it. It was as essential to her as to a China-
man, whether he be an itinerant shoemaker, or
one of the 7,300 ambulatory barbers of Canton,
and its constant use familiarizing its fair owners

232

godey's magazine and lady's book.

with all the graceful evolutions of which it is
capable, rendering it scarcely less attractive in
the hands of an English belle than in those of
a Spanish donna.

It must have been like another hand in that
of a well-trained practitioner, commanding, re-
calling, directing, caressing, and, from the pretty
monitory shake or mischievous lap of some local
roquetilla, to the flutter expressive of so many
emotions — of tenderest agitation, or indignant
anger — a certain delicacy appertained to all its
movements, full of piquant and graceful power.

We have seen it screening fear and guilt in
the pale face of the Countess of Somerset; a little
later, and the following anecdote of Queen Mary,
so illustrative of her want of good taste and good
feeling, exhibits another occasion on which (to
use Madame Genii's phrase), the fan afforded a
"veil and a countenance" to the royal offender.

The only dramatic representation witnessed by
Queen Mary, who encouraged every demonstra-
tion of public opinion which her father had dis-
countenanced, was the play of the "Spanish
Friar," which he had forbidden ; but the repartees
in the drama happening to be such as the spec-
tators, hearing them with preoccupied minds,
could readily apply to the queen, Mary was
abashed, and forced to hold up her fan to hide
her confusion, all the while turning round to ask
for her palatine, her hood, or any article of dress
she could recollect*

But to come down to yet more modern times
for a final association in connection with our
subject, methinks Miss Burney's " Sweet Queen,"
throughout the long course of that loyal lady's
letters, never looks so natural and womanly as
on that one occasion when, during the congratu-
latory address of the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford,
on her royal husband's escape from assassination,
.she softened, and shed tears ; " which," adds
Her Majesty's biographer, " she would not, how-
ever, encourage, but smiling through them, dis-
persed them with her fan, with which she was
repeatedly obliged to stop their coursing down
her cheek."

But enough, we think, has been said upon our
theme to show how much more might be added
to invest with fresh interest for some of our
readers this graceful trifle, which has so often
induced mischief and hidden pain, masked scorn,
and covered blushes, and behind which reputa-
tions have been whispered away and the tenderest
confessions have been uttered.

MARRIED AND SINGLE LIFE.

We extract the subjoined from a speech de-
livered by Mr. Alexander Frizell, in reply to
the toast of " The Ladies," at the recent banquet
of the Quarter Sessions Grand Jury : —

Mr. Frizell, after some introductory remarks,
said : I remember reading an anecdote which I
cannot forbear mentioning, it so beautifully illus-
trates the force of female affection. When the
Emperor Conrad besieged Hensburg, the women
of the city found it was impossible the place
could hold out. They, therefore, unanimously
petitioned the Emperor to allow them to leave the
city with only as much as each could carry with
her. The Emperor, believing that the burden
of each would necessarily be light, conceded their
request. A flag of truce was hoisted, and silence
prevailed, when one of the city gates flew open.
The women marched out, rank and file — and
what do you think they were carrying 1 Peace
be to their ashes, and honor to their memory !
Every one of them had her husband on her back.
(Cheers.) The Emperor was so stricken by their
conjugal fidelity that he restored the wives back
to their husbands, and the city to all its former
privileges.

Now, Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, I ask you,
could all the bachelors in the wide world this day
produce an action comparable to that? Oh, that I
had the reasoning power of Socrates, that I might
induce these young men whom I see around me
to consult their own happiness by renouncing
what is falsely called " single blessedness !"
(Great cheering.) Socrates, once, on delivering
a lecture to the Athenians on love and matri-
mony, pressed home his subject so powerfully
and convincingly on the hearts of his audience,
by showing them the comforts and advantages
the married man possessed over the bachelor,
that, at the conclusion of his speech, the young
men rose up in a body and solemnly declared
that they would marry on the first available
opportunity. Of course, ladies will not be the
first to declare their love. No ! they would
rather let concealment, " like a worm i' the bud,
feed on their damask cheek." They are like
the golden nuggets in auriferous regions — they
will not come to you unsought. But, do you seek
the inestimable treasure of a wife, and you will
be rewarded by a bliss, the adequate description
of which would alike defy the pen of poet or the
pencil of artist. (Great cheering.)

Memoirs of the Duchess of Marlborough."

LYDIA'S WAGES.

BY ALICE

"My good girl," said the physician, "you
must go to the country, if you want to live, and
rest six weeks or two months at least. You
need good wholesome country food, pure air,
and rest. You work too hard. You must not
do so. I can't give you anything that will help
that pain in your side so long as you go on in
this way."

It was nothing new to the doctor's patient ;
he had said, when the warm weather first com-
menced, that she must go to the country, and
that she needed rest. Her aching limbs and
failing eyes had told her so long before. But
fc-he still hoped it was only a cold that she had
taken, and the doctor would give her something
to relieve the pain in her side ; and, now that
the hurry of shop-work was over, she should
not have to sit up so late, or rise at daylight, as
she had done for three months past.

She had been waiting in the basement office
fox some time, while the doctor ate his break-
fast and smoked his cigar at leisure ; for, though
he still advised the poor gratuitously, and tried
new discoveries in medicine and surgery upon
them, they had to bide their time. He had com-
menced his practice, a struggling medical student,
in a much more obscure part of the town, and
this was one of his old patients, in whom he had
always taken as much interest as a man so
wrapped up in his own success could be expect-
ed to take.

" I 'm very busy now — very much occupied
this morning." And he bustled about among
the gallipots on the mantle. " Sent for before I
was up to a lady in Waverley Place, and have
.to go to the country at twelve, the country-seat
of another patient. So, you see, I haven't a
minute to spare. Take these powders every
night — three, you see — and go to the country
not a day later than Saturday."

So they left the office together. The doctor
to drive to the lady in Waverley Place, and tell
her to go to Europe, and then to order his
country patient to the sea-shore, which was all
they had called him in for, two obdurate hus-
bands requiring the spur of medical advice
before they would consent to either plan.
" Delicate health" is a very powerful operative
agency with wives so circumstanced of late.

20*

He might as well have advised Lydia Gray (o
go abroad as to leave the city at all. She had
but her earnings to depend upon, the wages of
a dressmaker's journeywoman ; and, when she
could not sew, she could not live. There was
no father or brother to assist; her mother, a
widow from the country, had brought up her
two daughters one scarcely knew how, toiling
from morning till night as a tailoress to give
them this lighter, and, as she thought, more
genteel trade. Poor^ soul ! this one point of
"gentility," as she called it, had been her weak-
ness, and the oldest daughter, Anna, inherited
it, together with the blue eyes and curling hair
that had been the charm of Mrs. Gray's girl-
hood. Now the mother was dead, all the rela-
tives they could claim, and none were very
near, lived in a far-off country village ; so the
two girls occupied the room as Mrs. Gray left
it, except that the single bed on which she died
had long ago been sold in exchange for a much
worn sofa, that had seen the interior of more
than one second-hand wareroom.

So far, Anna had ruled in all things. It
seemed to her perfectly right that Lydia should
go for the work and take it home, particularly
if the day was wet or stormy. It was in this
way that the first cold, ending in the dull pain
in her side, had been taken, so that now, though
the weather was settled, it came on at times and
took her breath away as she bent over her work.
Then, again, there would be days marked only
by excessive languor — this was one of those,
when the air was oppressive — and every step
and every stitch was felt so burdensome that she
scarcely cared what became of her.

Anna had little patience with this mood —
she called it laziness — for she herself was one
of those notable workers who pride themselves
on finishing off things in a hurry, and so can
always command work in comparatively dull
seasons. When an engagement is to be met
with an impatient woman of fashion, the fore-
woman does not look too carefully at the quality
of the sewing, so that the work is forthcoming
at the appointed time. So Anna hurried her
sister from morning till night: "They would
lose their engagement, and then what was to
become of them, with room-rent, and grocer's

233

234

godey's magazine and lady's book.

bills, and clothes to pay for ? They were always
behindhand to the landlord !" And this was no
wonder, for Anna Gray spent every dollar she
conld command as fast as it was earned, without
a thought for the future.

But for this improvidence, a type of their
class, they were scarcely to be blamed. All the
girls knew of pleasure or recreation was to be
gayly dressed, and walk where there was a
crowd to see and be noticed by, in Broadway on
Saturday and Sunday afternoons, or to go to the
theatre now and then ; for the Grays were belles
in their circle of acquaintances. A dangerous
distinction to girls so young and unprotected as
they were.

Lydia had cared much less about these things
since this debility had stolen through her frame,
and began, even before the doctor spoke of it, to
long for the country, which she could remember
as a child, and to go away from all sight or
hearing of the noise and bustle of the city, to
green fields and running streams, and woods
thick and dark and solemn. But she had no
means. Not a dollar that she could clearly
appropriate in this way ; and she did not know
where to go, even if she could have afforded it.

She drew her green veil over her eyes as she
came from the doctor's office, for the tears were
forcing their way. She could scarcely keep
them back while she waited for the physician,
and there was a choking tightness in her throat
when she tried to talk to him. The street
seemed in such a glare, the sun striking back
from the pavement, and every one was crowd-
ing and jostling past in the hurry of morning
business. She almost felt as if she could beg or
steal the means to get away from the tumult to
a place where she might grow strong again, and
fit for the unending work that was always hang-
ing over her. Wickedly envious feelings, and
rebellion at her own lot in life, which she had
never felt before, came into her mind as she
ww women and girls of her own age rolling by
her in carriages easier than any bed she had ever
rested on. They were dressed so delicately in
their bright summer robes, and sat with hands
crossed idly before them. What did they know
of care, or pain, or want ? And by what right
were they exempt from that knowledge ?

There was a God who ruled all things, and
apportioned every lot ; so her mother had taught
her, and she heard it on those rare occasions in
which she entered a church. Her only holiday
was not often shortened by a long weary service
of which she heard little, and for which she
fared still less. So she could not sec the justice
cf this wide separation, and doubt hid from her

the only all-powerful friend whose aid the poor
can claim.

The hot June sun beat down upon the thronged
thoroughfare with its fluttering, flaunting crowd,
and on the cross street leading to still more
stifling localities, where the alanthus-trecs, with
their poor and dusty foliage, threw but little
shade on the weary way. It was trodden hour
after hour by steps as faint and lagging as her
own, or the poor woman before her dragging on
a half clad child, with matted hair and bare,
bruised feet. They were still more miserable
than she, for the woman, in her squalor, had
forgotten her youth, and the child had never
seen kine or clover, and knew of all God's crea-
tions only the dusty city trees, and the rain that
sometimes freshens them.

The old town was thickly settled here before
the Bowery lost its significance, and became a
field of toil and uproar. Good honest citizens
kept their little shops, and looked after their
families at the same time. Now their children
have in turn reared the line of palaces that
stretch away over the then empty fields beyond
the city's limits, and their descendants would
blush to see the spot where their father's father
laid the foundation of their house and its for-
tunes. The poor and miserable of other coun-
tries crowd into the low rooms and swarm upon
the pavement, or lounge in doors and windows,
waiting for they know not what, and gradually
settling into the mass of poverty, and disease,
and crime that taints the atmosphere of this city
of refuge.

The sight of this misery was not new to Lydia
Gray. She passed it always on her way to the
shop for which they worked, drunken women
and quarrelsome men often filling up the side-
walk. It sickened her more this morning than
it had ever done before. She would not have
to encounter it if she could only get away from
the city, she thought, hurrying on faster to
leave the square behind.

" If you could jest stop a minute," she heard
a rough, hearty voice behind her say. The tone
startled her from her gloomy mood, though she
did not think herself addressed until a great
brown hand was laid on her shoulder.

" Don't jump as if I meant to hurt you, young
woman," the man said, with an apology of
manner rather than of speech, for it was a mid-
dle-aged, farmer-looking person who had joined
her. " You see, I only cum to town this morn-
ing for my old woman, who wanted some help
this summer, and I set out to look for an intel-
ligence office somewhere round here ; and the
Btreeta is BO crooked, and so roundabout some-

LYDIA'S WAGES.

235

how, I 've kinder missed my way, that 's all. I
s'pose you can't tell me which way I want to
go, kin )7e?"

" If I knew the place you wanted to find,
perhaps I could," she said, her face lighting up
more than it had done all that disheartening
morning, for there was such a respectable,
fatherly air about the countryman that she did
not draw back when he continued to walk along
by her side.

" True enough, I hain't told you, have 1 ?
Well, you see, mother there, up to White Plains,
is got kinder worked out this spring, and yister-
day I see what a time she had gitten dinner for
the men folks. So, sez I, right off— that 's my
way, I never stop to consider a year on what 's
got to be s-ettled right off the handle — sez I,
' See here now, you ain't goin' round no longer
in this kind o' style, so long as I kin keep a
half a dozen men to work. You 've got to have
a girl.' So, sez she, ' Where '11 I git one ? All
the neighbors' girls is as busy as we be.' ' Well,
that 's true as preachin' ; but there 's York,' sez
I. ' There's girls enough ; and, hayin' goin' on
or not, you're goin' to have one.' That's it.
So I cum right down on the railroad this morn-
in', and I ain't goin' back without one, or the
promise of one, any how."

" There is an intelligence office in Division
Street, I believe, sir. I suppose that 's the one
you mean." The young seamstress could not
help being interested in this straightforward
explanation of the good farmer's proceedings.

" Well, if you 're goin' that way, s'pose I
jest walk along, coz I might get out of the way
ag'in, and twice in one day would be a leetle too
much for a man of my years. Everybody splits
along so, down here in York, that I get kinder
bewildered. My ! the way they do drive bisness
down on them wharves now, it makes us coun-
try people stare, an' no mistake. I s'pose you
don't know any gal t' wants a place, do ye ?"

"No," answered Lydia; and then a sudden
thought crossed her mind. Why could not she
go ? It was true the doctor said she must have
rest, but she knew very well he meant rest from
her sewing, and from the incessant hurry and care
of the work, that was wearing on every nerve.
But then she knew so little of housework, and
she was not strong. That was only too true.
She hesitated a moment.

"Mother there is one o' the particularest
bodies you ever did see, and, never mind who
was in the house, she'd do half the work her-
self. She kin hardly set still Sundays. I tell
her sometimes she's more nice 'n wise."

The voluntary escort had stuck a hand in

each pocket, and was proceeding along the pave-
ment very much to his own satisfaction, coming
to a dead halt now and then, when anything
attracted his notice particularly. Just at this
moment he had taken his stand before a gay
milliner's window, where showy finery flaunted
with the most invitingly cheap prices placarded
on each article in large black letters.

" Jess look a here now," he proceeded, " at
all them bonnets, enough to set our womenfolks
crazy. Du tell if it's true that they works the
girls that makes 'em up into consumptions,
havin' to set so stiddy ? The paper 's got some-
thin' to say about it every now and then. I
tell mother, I say what fools they must be to
stay and be worked so hard, when there 's plenty
of good places in the country, and help can't be
got for love nor money. You look kind o'
peaked now. What do you foller?"

" I make dresses, not bonnets," she answered,
frankly ; " and we do have to work very hard
in the busy season. How far is White Plains,
sir?"

" Not more 'n a hundred miles. You know
Williams's Bridge'? Not know Williams's
Bridge ? Well, it 's out on the Harlem a piece.
Some folks comes in to York every day — some
o' the village folks, I mean. My farm is five or
six miles from the depot ; an' twice a year 's as
much as I want to be bothered with sich goin's
on as this. Talk about your barn-yards ! Why,
the wust one that ever was kept ain't so bad as
that street we jest cum through j an' I'd rulher
have good respectable critters around me than
them sort o' cattle. That's why mother hates
to have a girl round the house so. These immi-
grants puts her out so ; they 're so dumtxf"

" I wonder — if I would suit her," Lydia said,
hesitating, yet desperately ; for she felt that she
should die pent up any longer as she had been
for the last three years ; and yet there was the
conventional pride of her class — indeed, of every
American girl in a city — to be overcome, and
she knew what a storm of opposition Anna
would raise. Besides, was it right to leave her
sister alone? There had been a hard struggle
going on in her mind the last five minutes.

" You ! 'Tain't possible you 'd go now fM
And the old farmer stopped short in the ex-
tremity of his astonishment, looking at her from
head to foot. " You ain't jokin', are ye now ?
Come, I hain't got no time to waste ; but, if you
want to cum, sartin sure, I '11 engage you on the
spot. I sorter liked your looks the first minute
I see you. Then, you know, we don't give our
gals but a dollar a week. That, fair and square,
beforehand."

236

godey's magazine and lady's book.

She knew the wages would be low. This
was even less than she expected. However,
that did not matter, anything to get to the coun-
try; and no one would know her, it was no
matter how she dressed. So the bargain was
literally made on the spot, and she had parted
from her new acquaintance, promising to be at
the White Plains depot the next day at twelve,
before she had time to draw back.

There was more of dogged resolution, growing
out of an indifference to everything, than quiet
determination in what she had just done ; and
it was this that she relied on to carry her
through with Anna's opposition.

She had come now to a better class of tene-
ments, higher as less stifling apparently, but
still without shade or air, save that which came
faintly up from the wharves, gathering noise
and heat, and the foul stench of rotting garbage
on its way. Every door stood open, displaying
bare halls, carpetless, unpainted stairs, with
dirty children sliding down the dilapidated ban-
isters. Slovenly, tattered-looking women came
out new and then, splashing pails of slops into
(he already overflowing gutter, and standing to
stare with a look of vacant curiosity at the
passers by. In these houses, every room had
its family, its struggles with life, desires, plans,
failures, and despair.

She thought of the miles of these houses, that
stretched away through the very heart of the
city ; of the labor and weariness, the pain and
want, the ebb and flow of hope ; of young chil-
dren born to this sole inheritance ; of the worn
out hearts and bodies lying down here to die ;
and the wasting sickness, worse than death to
those who suffer, and those who watch with no
means of relief. She had lived among them so
long, that she almost wondered that she had
any other thought or hope than to struggle on
as they did, and die " as the beasts that perish."
Yet she could remember dimly their little coun-
try home ; the front yard, with its sweet syringa
and lilac bushes, and tufts of heartsease and
star of Bethlehem ; the wood walks, and wading
in the brook, and gathering flag flowers and
blackberries, fresh and sweet in the fields. It
was this recollection perhaps that kept her life
apart from theirs, and from sinking altogether
in the slough of despond that held them fast.

" Good gracious, Lydia, where have you been
the whole morning?" was the salutation she re-
ceived from her sister, as she mounted the last
stair with difficulty, and opened the door of their
room. " Miss Hart has sent here twice about
that basque, and Biddy says she gave you the
trimming at breakfast-time this morning."

" Walking down Grand Street, I guess, past
Root's store," said a coarse, bold-looking girl,
who was lolling on the sofa.

Lydia's eyes flashed, tired as she was with her
exhausting walk ; but she only answered her
sister by throwing a piece of gimp into her lap.

"It can't be that; it doesn't match at all,"
Anna said, fretfully. "I don't see what's got
into you lately, you drag around so. For good-
ness sake, stitch up the backs of this waist.
You leave everything for me."

" People in love can be allowed to be a little
absent-minded," the girl on the sofa said.
" Well, I guess I won't stay any longer now,
Anna. I '11 be 'round to-night with my trunk.
Mind you, don't let on to Jim Strieker what I
told you about him and Sarah Brady. He 'd be
as mad as hops."

" What does she mean about her trunk?" said
Lydia, quickly, scarcely waiting until the door
slammed to after the careless exit of their
acquaintance. " She isn't coming here to stay ?"

" Yes, she is ; and you needn't try to make
any fuss, for it won't do a bit of good. Amanda
Barker 's as good as you are any day; and, if I
choose to let her come, I shall."

Lydia kept down the angry retort that was
rising to her lips. It could make no difference bo
her if she was going away. She would feel easier
about leaving some one with Anna, too ; but
she could not help wishing it was any one else.
She stitched away at the side-seam in silence,
not knowing how to come at her disclosure, and
dreading Anna's opposition to her plan. Nor
was she mistaken in the reception it met with.
The elder sister had little of the natural refine-
ment that Lydia had inherited from her father,
though all their mother's mistaken fancies of
gentility, and this was especially shocked by the
idea of her sister going out to housework.

That was the great point to which she came
back in all her vituperations. That she was
going away at all — Anna knew perfectly well
she should never be able to get the same amount
of work out of any one else — that she should
move in the matter without her advice and con-
sent, were bad enough ; but housework ! that
was the crowning point of her offence, the
shame that would be indelible. She could not
have been able to explain what was the degra-
dation involved in it; and, as to the wages,
when their room-rent and little grocery bill were
paid at the end of the week, there was very
little even with what they now earned over the
dollar Lydia would receive when divided be-
tween them. She imagined herself sick ; it was
all fancy from beginning to end, and laziness.

THE COLORED LIGHT OF THE STARS.

237

If they had not been brought up so entirely
dependent on each other for society and inte-
rest, Lydia would have felt that night that they
were going to be separated forever. It was
hard, sick as she was — for the heat of the sun
on her long walk, added to the fine stitches she
had set in the black silk waist, had brought on
a weary headache — to go about picking up her
elothes and packing her trunk in this cold
silence. She was thankful their new inmate
did not come, as was expected, that evening, her
coarse taunts and innuendoes would have been
too much. As it was, she moved about, by the
light of their one candle, long after Anna was
sound asleep, so weak, and hopeless, and mise-
rable, that she felt it would be a relief to stretch
herself on the bed beside her sister and never
rise again. She was tempted to give up her pro-
ject, it seemed so wild and unnatural even to
herself, now that she came to look back upon it.

A short and uneasy sleep was the price of
her fatiguing day. That was nothing new to
her; it was one of the most distressing symp-
toms of her illness that she rested so little at
night. There was always the weight of an un-
finished piece of work, or an engagement to be
kept up to, or a debt falling due, to rob sleep of
its unconsciousness. So her dreams were wild
repetitions of the events of the past day, or
broken glimpses of trouble yet to come. No
wonder that her strength had given way.

"Won't you part friends, Anna?" she said,
after she had washed the last dish used in their
unsocial morning meal. " I can't bear to leave
you, anyhow; but I know, just as the doctor
says, it 's killing me to stay here."

Anna looked up sulkily enough, and her con-
science smote her for an instant when she saw
that wan, haggard face, so young, and yet so
careworn.

" You '11 come back in a week sick enough,"
she said, " and thankful to go to work again.
Why ain't I sick, I 'd like to know 1 I sew as
much as you do. Well, if people will be obsti-
nate, they must take what comes ; but you '11
repent it as long as you live; you see if you
don't. I never expected to live to see the day
that a sister of mine would demean herself by
going out to housework."

" What else can I do 1 Only tell me, Anna."

But Anna, completely outraged again, had
returned to her sewing and her sulks.

Lydia tied on her bonnet with a trembling
hand and heavy heart, to follow the porter who
had come for her trunk. Her little silk purse
she held so tightly contained enough to pay her
fare, and one shilling over. It was all she had

in the world. Her trunk contained all that she
had saved of her earnings, in the showy finery
so fascinating to girls of her class. They too
have an inexorable public opinion to cater for,
quite as exacting as that which rules and ruins
higher circles. It is this tyrant that shuts up so
many in the prison of a work-room, with
cramped limbs and sluggish pulse, and sends
them back at night to localities more crowded,
and rooms more badly ventilated still ; to cheap,
unhealthy food and feverish sleep, when they
might go singing about in healthy exercise, par-
taking of the abundance of a rich man's table,
or the coarse plenty of a farm-house, but for the
strange sentence that has condemned the honest
respectability of domestic service.

It seemed like a dream in which she was act-
ing, when she found the cars moving from the
dark depot, and bearing her for the last time, in
months at least, through the thick crowd of the
city. The train crawled on its way through the
busy streets, the straggling suburbs, the smoky
tunnel, and then the fresh air came to her face
with their more rapid motion, and she saw the
fields and the fences, the woods and dripping
water, fallen trees and moss-stained rocks, that
she remembered so long ago. Half painful, half
pleasurable thoughts sent the moisture to her
eyes, for she had parted from the only being she
could claim as kindred in anger, and she was
going among utter strangers, and it might be to
hardship and disappointment.

(Conclusion next month.)

THE COLORED LIGHT OF THE STARS,

Some observations made at the Collegia Jio-
mano show that the phenomenon of colored
light is not confined to the double stars, but is
frequently exhibited by many of the single fixed
stars ; of these, it would seem that about one-
half emit a yellowish light, shaded with varying
proportions of white light, orange, and other
colors. The colored stars are principally met
with in a zone lying between 30° north and 30°
south declination ; in the northern portion of
which the bluish and violet-tinted stars for the
most part occur, whilst red and orange ones pre-
vail in the southern division. In the vicinity
of the constellation Hercules, the greatest num-
ber of the blue and violet-colored stars is found ;
a circumstance which has been pressed into the
support of the hypothesis of the motion of our
planetary system towards that constellation held
by Herschel and Argelander. Change of colour
is also exhibited by some of the single fixed
stars ; as, for instance, Sirius.

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK,

" Did you get the ' Lady's Book' this evening,
Cousin Robert?"

" Yes. And it is" —

" Well, Godey is the prince of clever fellows.
He not only prepares a rich treat every month,
but anticipates the month some twelve or fifteen
days ; so that we have the treat in advance of
time. Give it to me, cousin ; do. Please give
it to me. I am so anxious to see the fashions for
January. Now, dear cousin, for this one time,
please, don't plague me. I am so impatient to
see it."

"Cousin Clara, it is a super superb number;
and it would be dangerous to your excitable
nerves to have it all at one time. You must
look at it by degrees. And, to begin with, here
are the fashions."

" Oh, how beautiful !"

"Which, cos, the features or the costume?
If you mean the former, I grant you that this
lady to our left is handsome, yea, very beautiful.
See how regular the outline of the profile !"

"Did anybody ever! What nonsense ! You
knew I had no allusion whatever to the fea-
tures. Now, ain't this dress exquisite ? La !
how rich ! How beautiful ! Did you ever see
anything prettier than the stomacher?"

"Which one, cousin?"

" This one to our right. Oh, it is so pretty !
Cousin, do look at it."

" To my taste the other is much the prettier ;
being more modest and" —

" Cousin Robert, you certainly have got a
stereotyped edition of that word modest and its
compounds. I have heard them so often that
they have become trite."

" Why, my dear cousin, I learned in my gram-
mar, when a little boy, that" —

"Hush! Don't say it. I have heard it so
often that I can say it for you : c Modesty is a
quality that highly adorns a woman.' Now, cos,
promise me never to allude to it again ; for you
sec I have got it by heart."

" Well, cousin mine, I promise. Clara, Cousin
Clara, I would say, I expect that you will say
that these large flounces, signed and streaked
with so many ribbons, are pretty."

" Yes, they are beautiful, very beautiful.
Don't you say they are ?"

" Not near so pretty as the other more mod —
no, plainer dress."
238

"I believe you pride yourself on being con-
trary. This velvet band for the neck I know
is beautiful. And I don't intend to ask 3'cur
opinion about it. And I intend to get one."

" Why, my pretty little cousin, I am so far
from having objections to your wearing one, that
the next time I go to town I will buy you one ;
and the finest pearl clasp that I can find."

"Now, for once, you begin to talk rationally.
And I will call you my rational cousin. And
for once you agree with me that it is pretty and
becoming?"

" Not I. I like simplicity in female manners
and dress."

" Then, Cousin Robert, Miss Susan Blake will
just suit you : she is exceeding simplicity, both
in manners and dress."

" Cousin Clara, that is too severe. And, seri-
ously, I hope you will never again make use of
her name in connection with mine. For, if there
is anything that I detest more than another, it is
slovenliness in females. And if there is anything
that I admire above anything else, it is an unaf-
fected simplicity of manners, and an elegant neat-
ness of dress : the material fine, very fine if you
wish, but made plain and neat ; no ruffles, no
flounces, no gaudy stomachers, no velvet ribbon
with pearl clasp, no jewels or ornaments save a
natural rose just plucked, or some other simple
flower, indicative of love, innocency, modesty,
or fidelity."

" Stop — stop— do stop, Cousin Robert ; you are
crazy, surely."

" Not I, my fair cousin. And to convince you
that I am not, get your ' Lady's Books' for last
year. You have them. Find the December
number."

"Here it is. What now?"

" Turn to the plate, < The Dress-Maker.' "

"Here it is. What of it?"

"What of it? Why, Cousin Clara, you
astonish me by asking such a question. Don't
you see the simple elegance and ladylike ap-
pearance of her whole dress? And the cuffs
and the collar, so white, so simple, so neat" —

"I see it all. Go on in your description,
cousin."

" And the hair is ( done up' in such mod — ele-
gance, and the whole costume is indicative of a
serene and good mind, save and except the red
apron and . Now, Cousin Clara, seriously,

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.

239

are you not ready to admit that the simplicity
and elegance of the whole costume denote a
strong and serene mind, a good judgment, and
fine taste ?"

"I am almost ready to admit that you are
crazy, sure enough ; and if I did not know you
as well as I do, I believe I should be wholly
ready to admit it."

"Fortunately then for me, you know me.
But a truce, fair cousin, to fashions."

" A truce I say, too. Hand the January num-
ber to me, if you please, and let us look at the
other plates. We shall perhaps agree better in
an examination of them."

" Excuse me for the present, fair cos ; I must
visit the farm ; but when I return, I will join
you in examining and admiring the truly mag-
nificent embellishments of the present number,
and in a general reading of the contents, which,
from the names of the contributors, and from
Mr. Godey's long experience and skill in cater-
ing to delight the fancy, please the taste, and to
elevate and refine the minds and morals of his
numerous readers, I will warrant to equal its
predecessors, and that is warranting a great
deal."

" Why, Cousin Robert, I began a while ago
to think that you were unfriendly to the ' Lady's
Book.' You do not know how pleased I am to

hear you speak my sentiments, in regard to it,
so well."

" Began to think that I was not friendly to the
1 Lady's Book !' You surprise me. Why, I am
such an admirer of the ' Lady's Book,' that I am
as impatient to receive its monthly visits as you
are. I have such a high opinion of its elevating
and refining influence upon the minds and cha-
racters of its patrons, that every lady, and gentle-
man too, who has any pretensions to gentility
and refinement, should not be without it. Why,
sweet cos, I am proud of it as an American pro-
duction. It is ours. It is a * Home Magazine,'
not foreign. The superb embellishments that
so much enrich each number are by our own
artists, and the literary contents are from the
graphic pens of our own writers. It is all ours ;
none of it foreign. And in it I find another bright
little link in the chain that binds us to this
* Glorious Union.' "

" Come, cousin, no politics, for you know that
I am a fire-eater !"

" Only in word, cousin mine, for in sentiment
and feeling you are for union, or, at least —
don't blush so — good-by until I return from the
farm, and then I '11 read the ' Apple Bee' for
you."

Cousin Robebt.

Euharlee, Cass County, Ga.

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.— SEPTEMBEE

BY D. W.

THE DOLPHIN.— This beautiful little clus-
ter of stars is situated fourteen degrees north-
east of the Eagle. It consists of eighteen small
stars of inferior magnitude ; but four of them
are so clearly defined that the constellation can-
not be mistaken for any other. These four are
usually termed Job's Coffin, a singular name,
and its origin is unknown.

The Greek mythologists assert that this is the
Dolphin which preserved the poet Arian when
he. was thrown into the sea by the sailors, in
order to obtain his gold. The inhabitants of
Tarento preserved the memory of this event
upon their coins, and looked upon the Dolphin
as endowed with reasoning faculties.

CYGNUS. — This remarkable constellation is
situated in the* Milky Way, east of Lyra, and
on the same meridian as the Dolphin. The
principal stars which mark the wings, the body,

and the bill of Cygnus are so arranged as to form
a large regular cross, the upright piece lying
along the Milky Way from north-east to south-
west, while the cross piece crosses the other at
right angles from south-east to north-west.
Deneb Cygni, a most brilliant star, is the largest
in the constellation. It is in the top of the
cross, and comes to the meridian on the 16th of
September.

There have been three variable stars discovered
in this group. Chi, situated in. the neck, was
discovered to vary its brightness in 1686. Its
periodical changes of light occur every four
hundred and five days. Sad is also changeable,
varying from a star of the third to a star of the
sixth magnitude. These changes occur in the
period of ten years. Another star was seen in
the head in June, 1670. The following October
it had entirely disappeared, but was again visi-
ble in the beginning of April, and rather brighter

240

godey's magazine and lady's book.

than at first. In March, it had again disap-
peared, since which time it has not been seen.
These remarkable facts indicate that there is a
vast planetary system beyond, which, in some
of its revolutions, is visible to us.

Mythologists give various accounts of the
origin of this constellation. The Greeks assert
that it is Cicnus, a son of Neptune, who was so
invulnerable that the blows of Achilles could
make no impression on him.

" Headlong he leaps from off his lofty car,
And, in close fight, on foot renews the war ;
But on his flesh nor wound nor blood is seen
The sword itself is blunted on the skin."
i
But when Achilles saw his darts fall harmlessly,
he threw him on the ground and smothered him.

" With eager haste he went to strip the dead,
The vanished body from his arms was fled ;
His sea-god sire, to immortalize his fame,
Had turned it to a bird that bears his name."

CAPRICORNUS.— This constellation is com-
posed of small stars, none of which are very
conspicuous. It comes to the meridian on the
18th of September. At the period of the winter
solstice, the sun is vertical to the tropic of
Capricorn, and the southern hemisphere enjoys
the same amount of light and heat which the
northern hemisphere does on the 21st of June,
when the sun is vertical to the tropic of Cancer.
At this period, it is mid-day at the south pole,
and midnight at the north pole.

Capricornus is said, by some mythologists, to
be Pan or Bacchus, who, with some other dei-
ties, were feasting on the banks of the Nile,
when suddenly Typhon, the giant monster,
came upon them and compelled them to assume
a different shape, in order to escape his fury.
Pan was the god of plenty, and presided over
rural seenery, shepherds, and huntsmen. Virgil
thus invokes him : —

" And thou, the shepherd's tutelary god,
Leave for awhile, O Pan! thy loved abode."

THE SUN.— This vast globe is the centre of
the solar system, dispensing light and heat to
all the planets,,and governing all their motions.
It is the parent of vegetable life, giving color to
the landscape and warmth to the seasons.
Various vicissitudes on the surface of tho earth
and in the air are caused by its rays. The
winds arc produced by its agency, and also the
waters of the sea to circulate in vapor through
the air, thus invigorating the land and produc-
ing springs and rivers. The diameter of this
vast orb is eight hundred and eighty-seven

b thousand miles, containing matter equal t(

< fourteen hundred thousand globes of the size of
\ the earth. The sun, when viewed through a

< telescope, has the appearance of a vast globe of
; fire, sometimes in a state of violent ebullition.
\ At other times, dark spots pass over it from

east to west. Several of these spots have been
observed to unite, forming a larger one of irre-
gular shape, and then become stationary for
several months. What the physical organiza-
tion of the sun may be, is a question which
astronomy, in its present state, cannot solve.
Speculation has started many theories in regard
to it, which, after flourishing their brief hour,
have been given up as untenable.

TURKEY.— CHOICE OF A WIFE.

The following list of Turkish feminine ac-
complishments, on the occasion of a lady going
to seek a wife for her son, is given by a recent
traveller : —

The large saloon into which the company was
ushered by the hostess was empty ; but presently
the nine unmarried daughters of the house came
running in, one after the other, as if in a race.
Once within the room, they became as meek and
decorous as need be; and approached, like whirl-
ing dervishes about to begin their waltz, with
slow and measured steps, and with their arm<
crossed on their bosoms, to kiss the hand of the
visitor who came to choose a daughter-in-law
among them. "They are," said the mother,
" all to be married !" And then, as they passed
before the low divan, one by one dropping their
lips on the hand of her who had brought a hus-
band for one of them into the world, she repeated
the name and quality of each. There was cer-
tainly a variety — from girlish thirteen to mature
nine-and-twenty; and the variety was marked
in other things than age. One possessed, in an
eminent degree, the accomplishment of em-
broidering tobacco pouches; another was dis-
tinguished as a cook, and a maker of sweet-
meats; another made sherbets equal to any that
were ever drunk in the seraglio ; one was a pat-
tern of economy, or she could supply a house a
whole day for a rubieh less than anybody else ;
and another was a pattern of taste, for she could
paint doves and roses on Kclcmkiars, and sing
psalms and Turkish songs to the accompaniment
of some old Armenian pipers, who were very
great performers, and the attraction of the
Tekke, at Peru.

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

FOR GODEY'S YOUNG READERS.

BY JOHN B. BTIFFEY,

(Continued from page 142.)

CHAPTER VIII.

Columbus in Portugal — His arrival at Palos — His
reception in Spain — Preparations for a second voyage.

A s soon as he had cast anchor in the Tagus,
Columbus hurried off a messenger to the King
of Spain with tidings of his arrival. To the
King of Portugal he also sent a courier, asking
leave to sail up to Lisbon, as there were pirates
about, who might be tempted to seize his vessel.

While the admiral was waiting an answer to
this request, the captain of a Portuguese war-
ship lying near sent word to Columbus that he
must come to him and give an account of him-
self, and of where he had been voyaging. " I
am an admiral of the King of Spain," replied
the discoverer, " and, as such, am accountable
to no Portuguese captain." When he heard
this, and learned that Columbus was indeed an
admiral, the captain went aboard the Nina in
great state, with a loud sounding of trumpets,
and fifes, and drums, and with abundant con-
gratulations and offers of assistance.

On the following day, which was Wednesday,
the river began to be thronged with boats from
Lisbon, where the arrival of Columbus had been
noised about. From morning till night the
caraval was crowded with the multitudes who
came to look at the strange people and wonder-
ful objects which the discoverer had brought
with him from the New World.

Meanwhile, different feelings were stirring
the hearts of the counsellors of the Portuguese
monarch. Some good men among them gave
sincere thanks to God for having led Columbus
to make a discovery so wonderful, and so certain
to be of profit to mankind. Others, envying
the happy fortune of Spain, stormed loudly
among themselves at the unbelievingness of
their sovereign, through which the vast regions
of the newly-discovered world had been lost to
Portugal. And it has been said that some,
including those learned gentlemen who had
laughed at Columbus as a visionary madman,
became so angry — probably because the admiral
had lived to show their foolishness to the world
vol. xlix. — 21

— that they tried to persuade the king to have
him put to death.

But the king was wise this time, though he
did secretly hate Columbus, and feel envy of
him gnawing at his heart. Instead of following
counsel so wicked and cowardly, he put a good
face on the matter, and invited the admiral to
come and see him at Valparaiso, a few leagues
distant from Lisbon. This invitation Columbus
accepted. The king received him with a smiling
countenance, " doing him great honor," says the
son of the discoverer, " bidding him put on his
cap, and sit down, and offering him all he stood
in need of."

Columbus, however, had no faith in this show
of good-will, and made all haste to get away.
Attended by a crowd of the great folks of the
Portuguese court, he returned to his ship, and,
on Wednesday, the 13th of March, set sail for
the coast of Spain. About noon of the follow-
ing Friday, he reached the little port of Palos,
from which he had taken his departure seven
months and a half before.

Joyful, indeed, was the welcome which greet-
ed the admiral and his companions, when they
were once more with their kindred and friends.
The whole population of Palos kept holiday.
Bells were rung and cannon fired, and all the
people thronged to the beach to receive the
weather-beaten mariners as they reached the
shore. A procession was then formed, at the
head of which walked Columbus, followed by
his crew and all the assembled multitude.
Marching solemnly, yet with cheerful hearts, to
the church of Saint George, they there gave
thanks to God for having so wonderfully con-
ducted, and crowned with such success, a voyage
which it was hoped would carry the truths and
blessings of Christianity to the farthest bounds
of the earth.

That same evening, the ship of Martin Pinzon,
which Columbus had given up for lost, sailed
into the harbor, after a voyage most fearfully
stormy. I will not dwell upon the mortification
of Pinzon at thus beholding the ship of his
injured commander. So great was that mortiti-

241

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godey's magazine and lady s book,

cation, however, that he landed privately, and
concealed himself from the sight of all. In this
retirement, he received a cold and contemptuous
letter from the king and queen, in answer to
one which he had written them. In acting con-
trary to the orders of Columbus, he had, indeed,
done a great wrong ; but for that fault, there is
some excuse in the fact that he felt that the
expedition could hardly have been fitted out had
he not engaged in it with all his means and
with all his heart. And his soul, I think, must
have been a generous and a feeling one, though
the error he committed appears to have sprung
from a mean wish to rob his leader of the re-
wards and honors of discovery. For, when he
received the letter to which I have already
alluded, Pinzon sank right down, and, in a few
days, died broken-hearted with shame and
remorse.

Meanwhile, learning that Ferdinand and his
queen were at Barcelona, Columbus determined
to depart to Seville, and there await their orders.
Writing from the former place, the sovereigns
of Spain told the admiral that they would like
him to come and see them. Accordingly, he
went. His journey to court, was one of splendid
triumph. All the people from the towns lying
near his route ran out to meet, and admire, and
applaud him. His entrance into Barcelona was
like that of a king returning from some great
victory. First walked the Indians, whose singu-
lar color, and strange dress and appearance,
drew the eyes of the multitude upon them.
Next came cars bearing many live parrots,
stuffed birds, and beasts of wonderful beauty,
and a rich display of golden ornaments. Co-
lumbus himself, riding on horseback, closed the
procession, at the head of a glittering troop of
cavaliers, and attracted the gaze of all.

In the grand saloon of the palace was erected
a great canopy of cloth of gold, under which
Ferdinand and Isabella, clad in their royal robes,
and seated upon the throne, waited to receive
the discoverer. As Columbus approached, they
and all the court rose up. The admiral threw
himself upon his knees before the king and
queen ; but, giving him. their hands to kiss, they
bade him to rise and take his seat upon a chair
which had been made ready for him.

Being thus seated in the presence of his sove-
reigns, which at that time none could be unless
they were of high rank, or had done some
glorious deed, Columbus, at the request of the
king and queen, proceeded to give an account
of his adventures and discoveries. He told his
tale with that dignified but modest simplicity
which he was wont to use in his discourse, and

ended his brief narrative without having once
shown any desire to win praise by a vain dis-
play of the services he had performed. When
he had finished, Ferdinand and Isabella, struck
with the vastness of his discoveries, knelt down
and gave thanks to Heaven. In this they were
followed by all present, who joined in the hymn,
" Te Deum laudamus" — " We praise Thee, O
God !" — which was at that moment pealed forth
by the choir.

Mightily pleased at the success of the grand
undertaking to which he had given so little
encouragement, Ferdinand willingly agreed to
confirm Columbus in all the privileges promised
to him. His family was made noble ; but how,
I cannot well explain. A coat of arms was also
granted to him, representing a cluster of islands
surrounded by waves, above which were the
words, " For Castile and for Leon, Columbus
found a New World." But what gave the
admiral the greatest pleasure was an order to
get ready at once a large fleet, to go and make
more discoveries.

Now that he had arisen so high in the favor
of the king and queen, Columbus did not want
for so-called friends, willing to yield him all
honor and assistance ; for, as I have often re-
marked, it is only such as need help that the
wrorld leaves to help themselves. Costly din-
ners were got up on his account, and he was
pressed to attend them by people who, a few
months before, had looked down upon him
scornfully as a baseborn visionary.

At one of these dinners, a pert nobleman of
the court, whose name none have thought it
worth while to remember, declared to the admi-
ral that he did not see anything wonderful in
his discovery, inasmuch as there were many
men who could have done the same thing.

To this Columbus made no direct answer.
But, with his usual gravity of countenance,
taking up an egg, he asked the nobleman to set
it up on its end. This feat his lordship was
unable to perform. The egg was then passed
round from hand to hand, but none in the com-
pany could do what Columbus had asked to be
done.

Smiling gently, as he was wont to smile, the
admiral finally took the egg in his hand, and,
breaking its end upon the table, there left it
standing on the broken part.

I have not heard what were the exact words
of Columbus when he did this. Yet what lie
meant must have been plain, even to the shal-
low courtiers whom the action so cuttingly
rebuked. " Most noble and learned dons and
cavaliers" — we may imagine the admiral to have

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

243

said — " behold how easy it is to do seemingly
impossible things, 'when somebody has first
shown us the way in which they can be done."
Meanwhile, the fame of the voyage which
Columbus had performed was spreading all over
Europe. To the mass of the people, it seemed
to place mines of wealth almost within reach.
Men of science heard of it with tears of joy, and
thanked God for having permitted them to live
in an age when, by so wonderful an exploit, the
limits of their knowledge with regard to the
shape and extent of the habitable world had
been so vastly enlarged. Thus, through the
ambition of the Spanish court, the desire of the
learned for more knowledge, and the thirst of
the multitude for gold, Columbus soon found
himself in command of a large fleet of seventeen
good sized vessels, having on board full fifteen
hundred persons, and furnished with all kinds
of European domestic animals, as well as with
such seeds and plants as seemed likely to flourish
in the soil of the New World.

CHAPTER IX.

Second voyage of Columbus — Sad fate of the settlers at
La Navidad — Founding of the city of Isabella —
Journey of the admiral to Cibao — Columbus departs
on a new voyage of discovery.

The morning of the 25th of September, 1493,
was perhaps the most happy that ever dawned
upon Columbus. An hour before sunrise, his
fleet was gliding out of the Bay of Cadiz, wafted
by a gentle wind, and accompanied by the joy-
ful and applauding shouts of a vast multitude,
who were gathered together to behold him
depart upon his second voyage. When he first
sailed with three miserable vessels, manned by
down-hearted crews, many tearful eyes had
followed his vanishing fleet, never expecting to
see it again. Now, all looked upon his depart-
ure as a second entrance upon the pathway of
glory, honor, and riches. Thousands upon the
shore were sighing to be with him.

Steering a south-west course, Columbus
reached Gomera, one of the Canary Isles, on
the 5th of October, where his fleet was supplied
with such articles as it stood in need of. Again
getting sail, he went on with a fair wind till the
evening of October the 25th. The heavens then
grew black with an approaching tempest. That
night seven lights were seen gleaming about the
round tops of the ships. Declaring that these
were placed around the body of Saint Elmo, the
superstitious seamen sung prayers and litanies
to that saint, "looking upon it as certain that,

in those storms where he appeared, there could
be no danger." Sure enough, there was a terri-
ble tempest ; but, as if to make the sailors hold
more strongly to their superstitious notion, it
blew over without doing any harm. The lights
they then saw, however, are now known to be
nothing else than electric sparks, which, before
storms, are sometimes noticed darting about the
masts and rigging of ships. This strange appear-
ance is said to be oftener witnessed by the sail-
ors on our great lakes than by those who voyage
the Atlantic.

A»t daybreak of the 3d of November, a high
and mountainous island rose from the sea to
cheer the watchful and anxious seamen of the
fleet. Columbus gave to it the name of Do-
minica, because it was discovered upon Sunday.
But, finding no good place to anchor on the
eastern end of this island, he sailed to another,
which, after the name of his ship, he called
Mariegalante. Here landing, he unfurled the
royal standard, and, with all solemnity, a se-
cond time took possession of " the islands and
continent of the West Indies for their majesties
of Spain."

Sailing thence, the fleot presently reached the
island of Guadaloupe, where a very high rock
was seen, "from which gushed out a stream of
water, that fell with so loud a noise that, though
six miles off, it could be heard on board the
ships." The more peaceful inhabitants of Hayti
had previously described the people of this and
the neighboring islands as a fierce and warlike
race of cannibals, who feasted upon the bodies
of their enemies. Columbus found them such,
indeed. Almost every time his boats tried to
land, the natives met them with a stern and
daring spirit, or refused, at least, to have any-
thing to do with the Spaniards. In their houses,
too, the legs and arms of slaughtered captives
were found ; some hanging up to dry, and others
roasting before the fire preparatory to a feast.

Sailing from Guadaloupe on the 10th of
November, the fleet discovered many islands,
among which was that large and beautiful one
now known as Porto Rico. But Columbus
would not stop long at any of these, being
greatly desirous of seeing again those compa-
nions whom he had left to be the first colonists
of the New World.

On reaching that part of Hayti where the
fortress of the Nativity had been built, every
one on board the fleet began to look for the glad
cries of welcome which they expected the set-
tlers to greet them with. But, instead of these,
there was a dreary silence all along the shore.
At length, about midnight, a single canoe was

244:

godey's magazine and lady's book.

puddled alongside the admiral's ship. In it were
a number of the natives, who brought two
carved masks of wood to Columbus, with the
compliments of the Prince Guacanahari. Being
asked as to the fate of the Christians left there,
the Indian answered that " some of them had
died of distempers, some parted from their com-
pany, and some gone into other countries in
search of gold."

When Columbus heard this story, he was sad
at heart, indeed, and waited anxiously for morn-
ing to dawn, as the Prince Guacanahari was
then to visit him. But the sun rose, and» the
day wore on till noon, yet not a canoe had come
from the shore. A boat was then ordered to
land- The admiral's worst fears were well
founded. The fort and houses of the colonists
were discovered in ruins, and the ground was
.strewn with their tattered garments and frag-
ments of their household utensils. The village
of Guacanahari was found in the same desolate
condition ; but of Christians, or Indians, none,
either living or dead, were at first seen.

At length, after some search, eleven bodies
of white men were found in graves, wide apart,
and, from some Indians whom Columbus met
with, and who could speak a little Spanish, he
was told the sad story of what had happened to
the colony he had expected to find so prosperous.

No sooner was the admiral's ship out of sight —
such was the tale of the Indians — than, forgetful
of the good advice Columbus had given them,
they quarrelled with the natives, and let loose
their most brutal passions. Then they fell out
among themselves, threw off all authority, and
wandered over the island in small parties, search-
ing eagerly for gold, and treating the simple-
minded natives most cruelly. The punishment
they deserved soon overtook them. Caonabo,
a warlike chief, who lived among the golden
mountains of Cibao, toward the middle part of
the island, becoming angry at the conduct of the
Christians, suddenly marched down to the coast,
surprised the colonista, slew them, and burned
the fortress of the Nativity. The prince Guaca-
nahari, who still loved the Spaniards, took up
arms to save them, and had been wounded.

This story some of the admiral's companions
did not believe, and they tried to get him to
make a closer inquiry into the facts, and even
to put Guacanahari to death. But, as we have
already seen, it was not the nature of Columbus
to brood over past wrongs or past misfortunes.
He received his old friend, the Indian prince,
with the utmost kindness. Upon the ship, how-
ever, were several Carib women, among whom
was one named by the crew Catalina. She was

of great beauty, and carried herself like a prin-
cess. Guacanahari saw and loved her. She re-
turned his love, and he resolved to free her from
captivity. The night after his visit, a bright fire
was seen to burn on the beach. This was doubt- •
less a signal to Catalina. She and her compa-
nions immediately sprang into the sea, and began
to swim boldly toward the shore, which was full
three miles off. A boat was sent in pursuit ; but
most of the women, Catalina included, made
good their escape. The next morning, when the
Spaniards went to look for Guacanahari, the vil-
lage was found destitute of inhabitants.

After this occurrence, reflecting upon what
misfortunes had already befallen him here, and
considering that not " far off there were better
places to plant a colony," the admiral sailed with
all his fleet to a harbor more than thirty miles
to the eastward, where there was a vast plain,
from which the gold mines of Cibao were said
to be but a short distance. Here presently rose
the city of Isabella, the first in the new world,
and so called after that queen who had offered
to sell her jewels in order that Columbus might
go on with his momentous enterprise.

But, notwithstanding all his precautions, Co-
lumbus was fated to meet here with new troubles
and sorrows. Many of his followers seem to
have thought of their enterprise as nothing but
an easy gold-hunt, in which they were to pick
up that precious metal in great lumps, wherever
they went. To ask such persons to labor in
founding a city, or even for their bread and salt,
was an insult to their high dignity as Spanish
gentlemen. When they perceived that they must
either work or starve, they turned revolutionists,
as lazy gentlemen are apt to do. Taking advan-
tage of a time when Columbus was sick abed,
they plotted to seize the five remaining ships —
twelve having already been sent home — and
make the best of their way to Spain. But the
conspiracy was found out, and put a stop to, and
the plotters of it punished.

Soon after this occurrence, on Wednesday the
12th of March, 1494, the admiral started on an
exploring expedition to the golden mountains of
Cibao. In order to give the natives a great notion
of his power, he took with him a hundred men,
all armed, and clad in shining steel. When he
marched, it was as if he were going to battle ;
with flags flying, drums rattling, and the clang
of trumpet?.

Passing through a rocky defile, the next morn-
ing the Spaniards swept down upon a vast plain,
stretching out as far as their eyes could see. dot-
ted with populous villages, and beautiful with
verdure. As they crossed this, they met with

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

245

many natives. By some they were treated with
the kindest hospitality ; others barred their doors
against Ihc strangers, and would have nothing to
do with them. All looked with mingled wonder
and fear upon the horses, of which there were a
few in the train of Columbus. Never having
seen such animals before, they supposed the
horse and his rider to be one creature ; and their
astonishment was great indeed when they saw
the latter dismount, thus seeming to divide him-
self, as it were, in two.

Having passed through the beautiful country I
have spoken of, the Spaniards came to a place
where the mountains were stony and more bar-
ren than any they had seen. But in every stream,
and on the tops of the rocky hills, they beheld
glittering grains and dust of gold. They were in
the rich region, or province, as they called it,
of Cibao.

Being now more than fifty miles from Isabella,
and finding the country all the Indians had de-
clared it to be, Columbus sought a suitable place,
and built a strong fortress, which he called St.
Thomas. In giving the fortress this name, says
Herrera, the admiral meant to make a little harm-
less sport of some of his followers, who would
not believe that the island contained gold before
they had seen it with their own eyes, and touched
it with their own hands.

Leaving fifty-six men in charge of the castle
of St. Thomas, Columbus presently returned to
Isabella. There he found the people in very
poor spirits, and grumbling a great deal. Many
were sick, many were dead, and all feared that
the provisions they had brought from Spain
would soon be gone. In that case, they would
have to live wholly on the productions of the
island, which did not well agree with their
health.

Having, with much trouble, restored the colo-
nists to tolerably good humor, Columbus deter-
mined to set out on a voyage along the coast of
Cuba, hoping to make himself certain whether
it were an island or not. Accordingly, on the
24th of April, he set sail with three ships, leav-
ing his youngest brother James in command at
Isabella.

CHAPTER X.

Discovery of Jamaica — Columbus supposes Cuba to be
a cont inent — His curious way of settling that point —
He returns to Isabella — Affairs during his absence —
Capture of King Caonabo.

Five days after leaving Isabella, Columbus
reached Point Maysi, at the eastern end of Cuba.

21*

Steering along the southern coast of that island,
he met many canoes full of natives, who brought
him bread, water, and fish, for which they asked
nothing. When he inquired about gold, they
made signs that there was plenty of it in a coun-
try to the south.

Immediately sailing in the direction pointed
out, the fleet soon caught sight of the blue peaks
of Jamaica rising from the sea. Columbus cast
anchor in the bay now called St. Anne's, where
he had some intercourse with the natives. After
that, he coasted the island till he reached a large
harbor at its western end. Here a swarm of
hideously-painted savages covered the beach,
and darted showers of spears against the boats
that tried to land. A few arrows from the cross-
bows of the Spaniards soon drove them to the
woods ; but, presently reappearing, they grew
quite friendly, and came off to the fleet in their
canoes. These were very finely carved and
painted ; and some of them, hollowed out of a
single tree, measured nearly a hundred feet in
length.

Sailing again for Cuba on the 13th of May,
Columbus proceeded westward along its shores
until Friday the 13th of June. Though the
scenery he passed by was lovely to look upon,
he found no comfort in it, for it was a difficult
thing to navigate among the many islands which
studded the coast. More than once he had been
in danger of being shipwrecked ; and now, worn
out with toil and anxiety, and "perceiving that
the land of Cuba still ran westward as far as the
eye could see," he resolved to make his way back
to Isabella.

But, before he would do this, the admiral went
through a most curious ceremony. Fully believ-
ing that he had been sailing along the coast of
the continent of Asia, he obliged all on board
the fleet to declare that they believed as he him-
self did, and to sign a paper to that effect. Sin-
gularly enough, at this very time he was almost
at the western end of Cuba. Had he sailed on
but a few days longer, he would have seen that
he was wrong, and the whole course of his future
life would undoubtedly have been happier, and,
if that were possible, more glorious.

Sailing on the return voyage, the fleet passed
through parts of the sea which were of 'a most
singular color. In one place, it was patched
with green and white ; in another, it was like
milk, and " dazzled the eyes of all that beheld
it;" still further on, it became black as ink.

On Sunday, the 7th of July, being then near
the eastern end of Cuba, the admiral landed at
the mouth of a river, to hear mass. Many
Indians flocked around to witness the ceremony.

246

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Among them was an old gray-haired chieftain,
who, when the mass was finished, went up to
Columbus and took him by the hand. "It is
•Fell done." he said, "to give thanks to God;
because the soul which is good doth go to a place
ol* happiness, while that which is wicked jour-
ney eth to an abode of darkness and misery. If,
therefore, thou dost wish to join the souls of the
happy when thou shalt die, disturb not now the
pcacefulness of our country, through a wicked
thirst after conquests."

On being assured by Columbus that the Span-
iards came as friends, the old chief was equally
glad and astonished. When afterwards told of
the wonderful things that were to be seen in
Spain, he was still more moved, and eagerly
asked to be taken to that distant country, and
would have gone on board the ship at once, had
it not been for the tears and entreaties of his wife
and children.

Sailing from this place, Columbus, after a peril-
ous voyage of nearly a month longer, reached
the infant city of Isabella on the 4th of Septem-
ber. Fatigue and anxiety, and the troubles he
had passed through, had brought him so near to
death, that none expected him to get well. When
the fleet anchored, he knew nobody, being wholly
insensible to all that was going on.

Presently awaking, however, he was raised to
new health and strength by the sight of his oldest
brother, Bartholomew, whom he had parted from
thirteen years before.

During the absence of Columbus, affairs at
Isabella had put on a bad appearance. As at the
fortress of the Nativity, so here, no sooner had
the admiral left them than the colonists began
to insult and ill use the natives, who at length
rose upon their oppressors. Caonabo, the brave
and haughty king of Cibao, assembled ten thou-
sand of his warriors, and attacked the fortress
of St. Thomas. Alonzo de Ojeda, a youthful
but daring Spaniard, with a few courageous fol-
lowers, put the savages to flight with great
slaughter. But, though thus defeated, the In-
dians were not vanquished. Their blood was
up. Tribe after tribe was maddened by the inso-
lence of the colonists, whom they burned to
sweep from their island.

Thus it was when Columbus returned to Isa-
bella. At such a time, he could have found no
one more welcome than his brother. Of a bold
and active spirit, Bartholomew had talents of a
high order, yet suited to the doings of everyday
life. He had a rough outside, but a good heart
within, and almost worshipped his elder brother,
whom, though himself a sailor of great skill, he
had not the least thought of envying. Feeling

the need of such a friend at his right hand, the
admiral chose him to be his adelantando, or lieu-
tenant, and then set about bringing the natives
to peaceful terms.

Columbus was yet sick abed, when a faithful
friend visited him. This was the Cacique Gua-
canahari. He told the admiral that the Indian
tribes of the country had united almost as one
man in a plot to destroy the Spaniards. As for
himself, he said, he desired nothing more than
to lead his own warriors, and fight by the side
of Columbus.

It must have been a happy thing for the admi-
ral to behold the love of this poor Indian, who
could not but feel the wrongs that the Spaniards
had done his race, yet was ever faithful to their
leader. I cannot but think him an everlasting
witness as to the kind heart and peaceful wishes
of Columbus ; who, though obliged, in conse-
quence of the wickedness of some of his follow-
ers, which brought danger upon all, to use the
natives of Hayti harshly, had himself always
desired to treat them with the utmost gentleness.

Trusting in what Guacanahari had told him,
the admiral determined to put down the Indian
conspiracy at once. Of the three great kings
who had joined against the Spaniards, there was
only one he thought really dangerous. This was
Caonabo. If he were taken, Columbus did not
doubt that peace would soon be restored, and
that with little bloodshed.

Knowing Alonzo de Ojeda to be as cunning as
he was fearless, the admiral sent him, in com-
pany with ten well-mounted and fully-armed
troopers, to capture Caonabo alive. The young
Spaniard set off in high spirits and confident of
success. Being received with much politeness
by the Indian monarch, Ojeda invited him to
visit Columbus and make peace, promising, at
the same time, to give him the bell of the chapel
in the new city. Seeing that the Spaniards
always thronged to church when it was rung,
the natives looked upon this bell with deep won-
der, as a kind of a god, who, speaking in an un-
known language, called the Christians to wor-
ship.

In the expectation of becoming the owner of
this mysterious thing, Caonabo at last consented
to visit Columbus in company with Ojeda, pro-
vided that ten thousand of his warriors were
allowed to go along with him.

Though the young Spaniard had designed to
use cunning alone in making a captive of th^
king, he still hoped to carry him off, even from
the midst of his immense army. A daring stra-
tagem won for him success. While on their
journey to Isabella, the train came to a clear and

AUTUMN AND ITS MEMORIES.

247

sparkling river, in which Caonabo was persuaded
to bathe. Ojeda then brought out a pair of hand-
cuffs of steel, polished to the brightness of silver.
Having made the Indian prince believe that they
were ornaments worn by the kings of Spain, it
was easy to induce him to put them on. When
he was thus manacled, Ojeda asked him if he
would not like to take a ride. Answering joy-
fully that he would, the simple savage was
mounted behind Ojeda, and there, proudly shak-
ing the glittering chains that shackled his

wrists, he was carried about in great triumph to
be seen by the admiring eyes of his warriors.
All of a sudden, the Spaniards swept from the
road into a thick wood. Hidden for a moment
from the gaze of the savages, they seized Caonabo
and bound him tight behind Ojeda. Then draw-
ing their swords, and shouting a bold cheer of
defiance, they put spurs to their horses, and
before his startled warriors had time to recover
their wits, the captive Caonabo was far on the
way to Isabella.

(To be continued.)

AUTUMN" AND ITS MEMORIES.- SEPTEMBER,

BY w. jaspe:

The stated changes of the seasons serve as
monitors to remind man of the flight of time, and
on such occasions we are wont to pause and re-
flect on the past, in a mood calm and serious, if
not "serene."

And reflection, like honest confession, is good
for the soul ; for I hold that there is deep-seated
in man a germ of purity, superior to the power
of sin, and beyond the reach of evil temptations,
which, under the influence of solitary medita-
tion, will ever strive to gleam out in mild rays
of gentle peace, to light up and make pleasant
the way of those who choose to travel on to the
goal of happiness and perfection.

" For Virtue, though obscured on earth, not less
Survives all mortal change in lasting loveliness."

The memory is peopled with many images of
interest and beauty that have faded from earth
forever, just as the verdure which now lingers
upon the parent stem is all soon to be gathered
to the tomb of Autumn, to be followed by a man-
tle of more grim and solemn hue. The north
wind's blast, like the cold breath of Death to the
blooming cheek of the fair and lovely, will soon
clothe nature in robes of solitude and gray
mourning, and cause the soul to look with an eye
of faith on and up to the final triumph of the
principle of life over all decay, when guard-
ians of beauty and pleasure shall be decked and
festooned with habiliments that no frost can
wither or cause to fade ; when " truth, love, and
mercy" shall descend from God in triumph, and
cause those loved ones who have long slept in
death to arise from the tomb with " beauty im-
mortal," bearing upon their checks the stamp of
eternal life, blended with " smiles and roses."

BLACKBURN.

" See Truth, Love, and Mercy in triumph descending,
And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ;
On the cold cheek of Death, smiles and roses are
blending,
And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."

Fair woman ! what scenes of gladness and of
sorrow are associated with thee and Autumn's
memories ; gladness for the smiles of thy beauty
and the welcome of thy voice, and sorrow that the
glad spell should ever be broken — and so soon !
The velvet echo of thy anxious step, the soft
pressure of the silken finger, the silvery tones
of the glad and happy voice, flit through the
portals of the memory, and create in the heart a
melody that chimes, with sweet cadences, in the
strange music of the autumnal breeze that fans
the brow at nightfall, when fairies and unseen
visitants hold their jubilees.

" 'Tis the deep music of the rolling world,
Kindling within the strings of the waved air
jEolian modulations."

But the return of Autumn does more than ex-
cite the tinsel sweets of memory's fancy and feed
the imagination with fairy scenes; it awakes in
the ideality of the soul living emblems of all
that is great, good, and useful on earth, and sug-
gests to the appetites and affections legitimate
pursuits and proper bounds; for this is the sea-
son that stands as a pause between Life and
Death, holding in its lap the consummate fruits
of Time, and culling with the hand of judgment,
guided and directed by the eye of Nature, such
yicldings as are worthy to be garnered in the
treasury of useful objects, allowing others to re-
turn promiscuously to their primitive elements,
some as abortions of that which naturally should

248

godey's magazine and lady's book.

have been good, and some as naturally inferior,
and designed for inferior but none the less essen-
tial ends. Thus may the scenes and fruits pf
Autumn not only call up memories of the past
that seem to connect the soul by ties of silken
beauty and cords of immortal sympathy with the
future, but all surrounding materiality is made
to assume and exhibit a more palpable and pleas-
ing adaptation to the combined uses and pur-
poses of physical and spiritual life. 'Tis the
season of perfection, yet witnessing decay ; con-
centrating all memories of the past, and inviting
a scope without bounds for the flights of Fancy,
and the soarings of the Imagination.

Indian Summer measures its legendary course
along the walks of Autumn, and the hazy sweet-
ness of the air seems fain to tell of more than

language knows or flesh can comprehend, and
every distant echo essays to wail some glad, yet
melancholy note, which faintly lingers for a
moment, and is then wafted away upon the chill
breath of incense-wind, as

" Music dies along a shivering lyre."

And then, gleams of Memory and Hope vie,
and images of beauty and perfection fill the soul ;
forms of heavenly grace, clothed in the charms
of virtuous woman, arise in resplendent
beauty, and point the way along the golden steps
that lead up " to glory and to God," and bid man
follow ! and as the happy throng thus pass, up
and on, Autumn smiles, and, reaching over
Winter, strikes glad hands with Spring.

OURS, LOVED, AND "GONE BEFORE."

Y ANNIE B. CLARE.

The light of her young life went out,

As sinks behind the hill
The glory of a setting star ;

Clear, suddenly, and still.— Whittier.

You ask me to tell you of her, the sweet friend
we have loved and lost. You impose on me a
difficult task ; I find it so harrowing to my feel-
ings, and I also find that my pen is inadequate
to the tribute my heart would pay.

I would that the privilege of knowing and
loving her had been yours, for to know her was
to love her.

In former letters, I told you something of her;
how she came to us a lovely bride of just nine-
teen summers ; how anxiously we looked for her
first appearance in church, for they arrived late
Saturday evening, and no one had seen her. I
told you how my heart went out to her as I
looked on her sweet, bright, yet somewhat timid
face ; there was a perfect witchery in her eyes.
I felt that I could gaze into them forever; there
was about them a spell, a fascination that I have
never seen in others ; they laughed as they looked
at you, and yet they were not merely laughing
eyes; perhaps the long, drooping lashes some-
what modified the expression, and helped to give
the peculiarity so strikingly their own.

Her dress and whole appearance were capti-
vating ; the simple light straw hat, with the little
illusion veil, and the pure white dress fitting so
prettily the slender form. I could hardly wait

for the next day, so anxious was I to see and
speak with her, for I loved her already.

I had been prepared to love her, for our young
pastor had told us much of his future bride.
You know our house was one of his homes, and
to us he had spoken often and enthusiastically
of his Mary. It seemed to me, that first Sabbath,
that his prayers were particularly impressive, and
his thanks to the Author and Girer of every per-
fect gift unusually appropriate ; he seemed over-
powered by a weight of gratitude and love.

How I admired the two as I glanced from one
to the other! And I know that many prayers
went up from that assembled congregation for
long life and blessings on them.

It was a beautiful home that had been prepared
for her. Her furniture had been sent on previous
to their marriage, and our little band had vied with
each other in arranging with a view both to taste
and comfort. How we did wish for a peep into
her own home, to get a hint with regard to
arranging her things, so as to be home-like!

You know there is often so much in associa-
tion, and we would have loved the new strange
place to have a familiar look to her at first sight.
Oh ! what visions we «onjured up as we arranged
the room which was to serve both as parlor and
dining-room ; for Jhe house was small, and lUr.
B.'s study must be on the first floor. There was
the best place for the piano between the windows,
which looked into the garden ; we heard in anti-

OURS, LOVED, AND "GONE BEFOKE."

249

cipation the sweet voice which was to fill the lit-
tle room with melody, as the roses and flowers
of June now filled the garden with fragrance.
The pretty fire-screen must stand in a conspi-
cuous corner, for that spoke particularly of home,
and of the hours delightfully passed in the dear
family circle while tracing it stitch by stitch ; and
I fancied that into each bright flower which stood
out so life-like from the canvas some emotion
of her heart had been indelibly wrought. How
many lovely home-associations will the pretty
fire-screen bring up !

How we arranged, and disarranged, and re-
arranged, before all was to our minds ; and how
we hoped, when all was finished, that it would
look as charming to her as it did to us ! And we
were not disappointed; for, on the following
Monday, when we called to see her, nothing
could exceed the enthusiasm of her expression
and gratitude; everything was lovely, perfect;
she saw all en couleur de rose.

She had left indulgent parents, and a home of
refinement and luxury, and we feared for her the
untried duties of her new position ; but an inti-
mate acquaintance proved her eminently quali-
fied for the responsibility she had assumed. She
adapted herself with charming grace and readi-
ness to her present circumstances. She was a
most delightful acquisition to our limited circle ;
a favorite with all; and she blended so beauti-
fully the graces of religion with those of her
natural temperament that she became our idol.

The "parsonage" seemed to me a paradise,
surrounded by none but bright and holy influ-
ences. There the poor always found a welcome,
a willing heart, a ready hand, and listening ear;
however sad and desponding on entering, they
invariably came out cheerful and hopeful. There
seemed a magic spell cast around every one who
sought the presence of our dearly loved pastor
and his wife.

With what pleasure I used to watch for their
steps as they took their morning walks together
that bright first year of their married life ! They
seemed to have the life and vivacity of children.
She always accompanied him in his walks, in
his visits to the poor, in relief to the sick, by the
bedside of the dying ; she was like his shadow,
and always haunted him for good. It might be
said most emphatically of both : " When the ear
heard them it blessed them, and when the eye
saw them it gave witness to them, because they
delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless,
and him that had none to help him ; the bless-
ing of him that was ready to perish camo upon
them, and they caused the widow's heart to sing
for joy."

Thus several years passed away; new cares
and new duties devolved on them ; but all were
cheerfully met and delightfully performed; and
they basked in the sunshine of God's love.
Beautiful children sprang up around them, and
wo felt that " earth never owned a happier nest"
than that which was placed in our midst.

How proud Mr. B. was of his family, and with
what reason too, for we all felt it with him ; his
wife so beautiful, so good, so in all respects fitted
to make home happy, with her never-failing sun-
shine and light-heartedness; his two little girls,
our impersonation of cherubs ; and the youngest
a noble boy so dear to his mother's heart. Oh !
how many attractions within that charmed cir-
cle !

I shall never forget an evening I passed in the
nursery with that dear one surrounded by her
happy little band. Willie, " the baby," as she
called him, although more than two years old,
was sitting in her lap twirling one of her long,
beautiful ringlets round his tiny fingers.

" Sing, mamma," he said.

" Oh ! do," joined in Effie and Minnie, putting
their bright innocent faces and soft brown curls
close to hers ; " sing the dove, mamma, please."

She laughingly asked me to excuse her, saying
she always devoted the twilight hour to amusing
and instructing the little ones. I begged her to
allow my presence to be no restraint upon her
usual custom. She then commenced, and I
thought no seraph's voice could be sweeter, as
she sang one of Mary Howitt's beautiful trans-
lations : —

" There sitteth a dove so white and fair

All on the lily spray,
And she listeneth how to Jesus Christ

The little children pray ;
Lightly she spreads her friendly wings,

And to Heaven's gate hath fled,
And to the Father in Heaven she bears

The prayers which the children have said.

And back she comes from Heaven's gate,

And brings, that dove so mild,
From the Father in Heaven who hears her speak

A blessing for every child.
The children lift up a pious prayer —

It hears whatever you say,
That heavenly dove so white and fair,

All on the lily spray."

I joined heartily in the thanks and admiration
the children expressed when she had finished.

As she laid them in their little beds, and kissed
their rosy lips and dimpled cheeks, she said, " I
can never thank God enough for these sweet
children." She then added: "Oh! what an
affliction it must be to lose a child ; I think if
one of mino should die, I should die too; but,'

250

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Fhc added, " I should not say so ; could I not
trust them with Him who doeth all things well ?"
She little realized how soon she was to be put to
the test. I called there a few days after. She
was in the garden raising and tying up some
drooping carnations which the rain of the pre-
ceding day had injured.

"Willie is not well," said she. "I have
just sung him to sleep, and Mr. B. said I must
take a little fresh air, for I was fatigued with
holding him, and I thought I would confine
myself to the garden, to be near if he should
wake."

Soon a cry from the nursery was heard ; she
sprang up the steps in nervous haste, while I
quite chided her anxiety. I followed her into
the room, and was surprised and shocked to find
the dear boy in a high fever ; his little arms
tossing restlessly, and his lips dry and parched.
Mr. B. sent immediately for the physician ; we
waited anxiously his arrival, hoping secretly that
we were unnecessarily alarmed ; but his coming
did not reassure us ; he saw dangerous symptoms ;
but still, he said, he hoped for the best. I went
home, as Mr. and Mrs. B. both declined my
services for the night, saying they would rather
attend him alone. The next day I was pained
to hear that his symptoms were more unfavor-
able ; that the medicine had had no effect, and
the physician was becoming discouraged. I flew
over to the "parsonage;" the wildly anxious
look of the mother distressed me. I begged her
to lie down a little while, and allow me to take
her place by the baby.

"Oh! no," she said, "I cannot leave him;
who but his mother should be by his side?"

It seemed to me that I had never seen greater
distress on any countenance. Mr. B. endeavored
to soothe her, though his anguish was apparently
as keen as her own.

" If our Saviour would remove this little flower
to his own garden, shall we refuse to give it up ?
Shall we not rather bless and thank him for
allowing us to keep it so long?"

" Oh ! yes," she said, " He doeth all things
well ; I know that he does not willingly afflict
nor grieve the children of men. I know that
whom He loveth he chasteneth, and I caii saj
1 Thy will be done.' Nature is power nl, but
my Saviour feels for me, and will forgive the
inward struggle."

All that night they watched his little life fast
ebbing away. Towards morning his sufferings
seemed to cease ; he smiled upon his parents.
Hope for a moment revived in their hearts, but
coon to be displaced by bitter anguish. Daylight
showed the marked change in his features and

complexion that told too plainly the messenger
was very near.

" Speak to me, Willie," she exclaimed, bend-
ing over him in an agony of grief.

"Mamma," he said, and, with the effort, his
little spirit took its flight.

Much has been said and written upon the
death of infants, but when we see so much of
wickedness in the world, so much of sin to
blight, so much sorrow to fade, can we wonder
that the Lord of Paradise loves to transplant to
a fairer clime these frail buds of earth, there to
have a beautiful and unfading development?

We saw no more of our precious friends till the
day of the funeral. This was their first affliction,
and none liked to intrude on the sanctity of their
grief, though many tears were shed, and hearts
went out to them ; but we felt that they knew
whom they had trusted, and that under the sha-
dow of His wings they could rest securely till
the storm was past.

A neighboring clergyman was to perform the
last sad office for the dead. Most lovely did
little Willie look in his coffin. The child-like,
beautiful expression still lingered. Rare flow-
ers, the smallest and whitest, had been placed in
the tiny hand, and shed their fragrance through-
out the room.

Oh ! how sad and sick appeared the mother
as she bent to take the last look at the little
form she had loved and cherished so tenderly.
Her nights of anxiety and watching had left
their traces upon her face ; her usually light and
elastic step was feeble and slow, and she rested
heavily upon the arm of her husband. His form
also was bowed, and his countenance bore traces
of the deepest grief.

One of those sudden changes which we so
often experience in this our most changeful cli-
mate, took place that day. At noon it was very
warm and bright, but before we returned from
the funeral it was cloudy and cold.

The next day, Mrs. B. was quite sick with
severe cold and the effects of the past excite-
ment and grief. We flattered ourselves that
rest and quiet, with good nursing, would soon
restore her; and you may judge of our dismay
upon learning, the day after, that she was dan-
gerously ill.

" Oh ! no," we thought and said a hundred
times, " it cannot be so ; she will surely be better
to-morrow."

We could not have it otherwise. We could
not for an instant admit the idea that she would
not recover. The bare supposition was agony.
Oh ! how harrowing to me is the remembrance
of those long summer days, and those wakeful

OURS, LOVED, AND "GONE BEFORE.

251

moonlight nights, in which, prostrated by dis-
ease, lay that young and lovely being so idolized
by us all, but whom, indeed, we were destined
to see no more on earth.

The Divine fiat had gone forth, and hearts
were agonized, and looks grew sadder and sad-
der, as day after day sounded like a knell in our
ears the fearful words, " Not materially better."
But we could not give her up ; hope would
linger. No one was permitted to see her but
the family and nurses, for the doctor said all
excitement must be carefully avoided. We said,
" She will not die ; God will raise her up." In
our weakness and blindness, we could see no
mercy nor wisdom in this terrible bereavement,
this scorching desolation of the already heavily
stricken servant of the Most High. He was
naturally of a most hopeful disposition, and this,
notwithstanding the discouraging words of the
physician, buoyed up his soul, and he with us
hoped against hope. They could not persuade
him to leave her for a moment. "Whole nights
he watched by the side of her he loved best on
earth, anticipating every word and look, and
administering to her comfort.

How you would have felt for us, dear Anna,
had you been here ! We would walk by the
house, and look up at the windows or door, not
daring to knock for fear of disturbing her, but
hoping to sec one of the physicians or some one
of the family, of whom to make inquiries. Oh,
the nervousness of those days! the restless,
weary nights we passed, till our fears and appre-
hensions became a racking torment, and we felt
almost that we must die ourselves or be out of
suspense; but when, on the evening of the
tenth day after her illness, a messenger came
with pallid face and almost wild look to say that
she was dead, we were stunned. I really think
we were almost as much shocked as though we
had not heard of her illness ; for we felt that, at
the eleventh hour, some favorable turn must
take place. I think we expected a miracle to be
performed, so certain were we, or wished and
tried to be, that she would recover.

But God's ways are not as our ways ; truly,
they are past finding out. We felt like putting
our hands on our mouths, for fear of rebelling
against His most righteous decrees. " Be still,
and know that I am God," was all that we could
say. It was hard to realize that the sun was
still shining behind the cloud, for this was a
darkness that might be felt. There seemed a
pall over the earth and sky. Oh, how unsatis-
factory seemed all on earth ! how dark and
strange ! how mysterious and unreal ! We
eould not weep, we were stunned, and it seemed

at the time that we could never come back to
earth without her. But when the touching
relation of her last hours was made to us, the
fountains of grief were unsealed, and we wept,
as it were, rivers of tears.

I can give you no idea on paper of the beauty
and sublimity of that death-scene as it was
painted to me. We imagined that the heart
must shrink, or at least draw back before the
entrance into the dark valley. But all was
peace ; it flowed in upon her like a river, and
she felt that underneath were the everlasting
arms. Her husband and two remaining chil-
dren stood by the bed. Oh, the bitterness of the
cup he was called upon to drink ! He shrank
from it. As he bent over her, she said —

" Do not weep, love. How good God has
been to give us so many bright, happy years
together ! Surely the lines have fallen to us in
pleasant places, and I" — raising her beautiful
eyes to heaven — " have a goodly heritage. I
go to my Saviour. How should I feel at this
moment had I not a hope in him ? Oh, I am
going home ! I see Willie beckoning me to
hasten. I will bear him in my arms to the
Saviour's feet, and together we shall sing the
1 new song.' I do not love you nor these sweet
darlings less; but I love the Saviour more. I
wish you could look in my heart and see the
love I bear you. Thank you for all your in-
dulgence, for all your kindness in bearing with
my many infirmities. If I am permitted, I will
be ever your guardian angel. Remember me
with much and undying love to all the dear
friends who have been so kind to me."

She appeared buoyed up with unnatural
strength, though her end was so near. She
broke into a sweet hymn, and it was, they said,
as though the angel's voice had anticipated the
few short moments before she should sing the
" new song." She lay quiet for a little time,
holding the hand of her husband in her own ;
then, opening her eyes and seeing the last rays
of the departing sun, " I shall never look upon
that bright orb again ; but there is no need of
the sun there. 1 draw near to heavenly habita-
tions, and I would not retreat for what the world
can give. Dearest, be faithful to your trust."
And, imprinting a kiss upon his lips, her pure
spirit went peacefully home.

We draw a veil upon the feelings of that
bereaved one ; too sacred are they to be looked
upon ; his house was left unto him desolate.
That form, which had been to his eye like the
well in the desert or the bow in the sky, was
now cold in death.

Oh ! thought we, why needed this affliction

252

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

to bo sent upon one so near perfection ? Surely
he, of all others, needed not this discipline ; and
then came to our minds, soft, sweet, and sooth-
ing, the words, " Every branch in me that bear-
eth fruit, he purgcth it that it may bring forth
more fruit."

Wc felt that it was hard to lay in the grave
the form of our dear friend ; it was hard to part
with the casket which had enshrined the pre-
cious jewel. Beautiful in life, she was so in
death. The departing spirit had left a ray of
brightness on its earthly house, and, in looking
at the calm brow and peaceful smile, death
seemed divested of its terror. Wc had twined
the pure white flowers she loved around and
amongst the rich dark masses of wavy hair, and
she looked like a beautiful bride more than a
tenant for the grave. The memory of that day
will live ever in our minds. It was the last day
of summer, and there seemed a beautiful appro-
priateness in the season ; it seemed to us that
the summer of our hearts had gone with her.

A sad and mournful procession, we followed
her remains to the church so dear to her in life.
It was but a few days since she entered it in her
loveliness and bloom, and for the last time on
earth commemorated a Saviour's dying love.
She will partake with us here no more. May
we be counted worthy to sit down with her at
our Father's board in heaven. Mournful was
the sight of the black pall which covered the
coffin ; mournful the drapery which shrouded
her accustomed seat and enveloped the chancel ;
mournful the badges which all, as by consent,
had adapted as expressive of their feelings on
the occasion ; but oh ! most mournful and heart-
rending was the sight of that husband and father
leading by the hand on either side all that re-
mained to him of his beautiful family. It was
difficult to recognize in him the man of two
short weeks before ; twenty years seemed added
to his life; the eyes, usually beaming with light,
now cast down and swollen with weeping — the
countenance, index of a heart full of peace and
joy, now so sorrow-stricken. Truly, he seemed
" smitten of God and afflicted." We turned
our eyes away as he stood by the grave which
contained almost his earthly all.

It was a beautiful spot where they laid her to
rest by the side of her baby. The sun was just
going down in a golden flood of light, betoken-
ing a glorious morrow (beautiful emblem of the
resurrection, when this perishing body should
be raised in glory), and the shadows of the trees
were lengthening on the grass. Every sound
was in sweet accordance with the scene ; the
soft twittering of the birds as they sought their

resting-places for the night, the quiet hum of
the insects, and the sweet murmuring of the
brook which flowed at a little distance.

A holy calm pervaded our minds as we wended
our way between the trees and down the slope
which bounded this lovely spot, and, as we left
the gate, we involuntarily paused and looked
back long and earnestly on the sweet view.
Every object was bathed in that golden haze so
peculiar to the last days of summer and the
beginning of autumn ; but at this time it seemed
to us that the flood of soft light had escaped
from the gate of heaven which we imagined had
opened to receive the form lost to our sight.

Oh, we miss her more and more, everywhere,
in our walks and visits ; in the missionary cir-
cle, of which she was so ready and active a
member ; in the Sunday school ; in her accus-
tomed seat in church ; and we miss the soft
tones of her voice in prayer, and the rich out-
pourings of her melody in praise.

The poor of the parish have, indeed, lost
a friend, as their tears and remembrance amply
testify when they recount her kindnesses, her
gentle words, her deeds of charity and love.
" Flowers grew under the feet of her," said one
wretchedly poor, yet, I thought, quite poetical
old woman, whose declining days she had
lightened of much of their weariness. A track
of glory seems that which she has left behind,
and there was so much that was beautiful and
consoling in her last hours that it were selfish-
ness to wish her back. She is with the Saviour
she loved ; she folds again to her heart the little
one whose loss she had not time to realize on
earth ; together they have entered on their
" long age of Hiss in heaven."

Does not that death-scene speak volumes in
attestation of the religion she professed, of the
Saviour she adored? That young fair being,
surrounded by all that makes life happy, friends
who loved, a husband who 'idolized, children
who clung to her — with a heart full of love and
sympathy for all, rejoicing with those who re-
joiced, and weeping with those who wept — of
rare beauty and rarer accomplishments, a sun-
beam on the face of the earth — yet she willingly
left all when her Father called her. Is not her
faith worth striving after ?

We have reason (blessed be God !) to see
already some good effects from the contempla-
tion of her life and death. The young have
received a warning, thoughtlessness a check.
We have realized that neither youth nor beauty
is a security against the ravages of the spoiler.

God grant that our dear pastor may experi-
ence the truth of the words of the psalmist :

SUMMER SPORTING.

" Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy."
He feels that his treasure is laid up in heaven,
and we know that his heart is there. To see
his dear one happy had ever been his chief
desire, and he would not call her back, for he
knows that she is now in the enjoyment of a
bliss that the world cannot give.

Though cast down, he is not destroyed ; he
has come unscathed from this furnace of afflic-
tion, because one like the Son of God was with
him. With eyes turned heavenward, he waits
his appointed time. The religion of the cross
glistens like a gem on his dark-robed fortunes,
and points him to fairer worlds, where the love
that grew here amidst clouds will be made per-
fect in a light that knows no shadow, where he
and his departed ones will again have one home,
one altar, and one resting-place.

Like his Divine Master, he goes about doing

good. Oftener than ever is he found amongst
the sons and daughters of affliction ; more than
ever are they objects of his special care; his
precept is blessed by his example, and thus
many a prodigal son has he recalled from his
wanderings, many an outcast gathered into the
fold, many a wayworn pilgrim pointed to his
true rest, many a mourner comforted. They
saw that the resignation he preached to others
he practised himself; they saw that the hand of
the Lord was heavy upon him, but that yet he
turned not backward ; they saw that he went
his way as a pilgrim pressing forward to a better
country. Most brilliant will be the diadem
which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give
him in the last day, for are not these words of
Holy Writ, " They who turn many to right-
eousness shall shine like the stars forever and
ever" ?

SUMMES SPOBTING.

Y AN AMAIEU:

As I was leisurely sauntering up Chestnut
Street one evening last summer, towards the
latter part of June, I accidentally caught sight
of my friend, Charles Fletcher.

"Halloo, Charley! How are you to-night?
Hav'n't we had a most atrociously hot day1?"

" Hot, Dick, hot ! Don't aggravate my fancy
by speaking of it. Why, the crater of Vesuvius,
in full blaze, is a perfect ice-house compared to
this city."

" Indeed, Charley, I cannot say that I visited
that locality while in Europe, and must leave it
to. your judgment to determine ; but let me ask
you where you are going to this summer? Bet-
ter accompany me to Northern New York.
We will go fishing in the great north woods ;
bears on every stump ; deer plenty as squirrels ;
trout crowd one another ashore ; mosquitos
intercept the sun ; to say nothing of bounding
rivulets, foaming mountain torrents, beautiful,
placid lakes, and mountains that vie in romantic
grandeur with the highlands of Scotland."

''Hold on, Mr. Poet, or your animation will
gather a street audience ! You have a grand
idea, however, and I am half inclined to enlist
under your banner; indeed, I have been think-
ing seriously of turning savage and trying a bar-
barous life, far off from the conventionalities of
depraved civilization."

But to trouble you no longer, gentle reader,
vol. xltx. — 22

with a street colloquial, let me inform you that
our interview resulted in a promise on the part
of my friend to come up during July and test
the felicities of forest life. So we parted, and a
few days afterwards I made my escape from the
tumultuous bustle of town, leaving Charley to
solace himself midst the heat and dust a little
| while longer, on hope and claret-punch. True
to his word, about the time appointed, he ap-
( peared at my summer home ; a quiet little
^ village, high up amongst the hills of Herkimer
I County ; a pefect rural paradise of shady cool-
| ness. In the mean time, I had not been idle,
$ but had mustered quite a formidable troop of
enthusiastic crusaders, all eager for the proposed
expedition. First was my friend Smith, the
student, a junior from Cambridge, not one of
your fast college men, but a plodding scholar.
full of classic lore and mathematics ; who formed
his opinions of terrestrial things not from the
vulgar habit of observation, but from the philo-
sophic and transcendental theories of men of
genius. Next was Spencer, a New Yorker, and
a perfect specimen of Young America; willing
to hazard life, limbs, and fortune in pursuit of
adventure. • -*—

The rest of our party were of the bone and
sinew order. Franklin, who acted as Jehu for
Smith and my metropolitan friend, was an inn-
keeper ; a tall, lank figure, " six feet, three,'* full

254

godey's magazine and lady's book,

of jokes and anecdote, a man who might have
made, had he received a collegiate education, a
rival of Thackaray's.

Ike, the individual who officiated as driver for
Fletcher and myself, was likewise a somewhat
striking personage. He was a big, burly, brandy-
faced, red-haired fellow, without any particular
occupation ; he was constable of the town,
butcher once a week, occasionally peddled iee-
cream, and I truly believe he made encroach-
ments on the calling of every man in the village
except the parson.

It was six o'clock in the morning when we
assembled at our rendezvous. The day was a
joyously bright one, and the spirits of the party
ran high, notwithstanding the predictions of dis-
aster uttered by the crowd of countrymen who
had gathered to see us off. One remarked that
we would find the " mosquitos, in them parts, as
big as tea-kettles," and reckoned we wouldn't
be able to open our eyes after we had been
there two days. Another calculated that " the
painters would be rather apt to lay hold on us,
if we camped out in the woods." After rather
boisterously assuring the rabble that they should
see us return a-foot in the course of a fortnight,
with our wagons creaking under the weight of
speckled trout, fresh venison, and bear-skins,
we whipped up our steeds, who started off on a
brisk trot.

For the first ten miles our road lay through a
most beautiful country. Herkimer County, in
which we were travelling, is peculiarly adapted
to delight the lover of picturesque scenery ; its
hills, thrown together in fantastic shapes, present
even during the heat of mid-summer all the
verdure and loveliness of Spring-time ; while its
shady and sequestered ravines, with their dark-
gray rocks and bounding streamlets, possess an
air of rural romance quite delightful to the pale
citizen, just liberated from his sad prison-house,
tiic dusty, unquiet town.

As we advanced further, the road became in-
different, and the land on either side appeared
to be under little or no cultivation ; here and
there were to be seen rough log-houses peeping
forth from among burnt stumps and blackberry
bushes. At length, on gaining the top of a tire-
some hill, all the grandeur of forest scenery burst
on our view. Beneath us, far as the eye could
reach, the rich woodland foliage darkened hill
and dale, and the rush of the wind through the
myriad leaves came to our ears like the wail of
a mighty ocean. Far off in the distance there
were majestic mountains, which might almost
appear to the excited imagination to be mad sea
billows, upheaving to the sky. There was a

solemnity about the scene which was touching,
and, indeed, I felt for a moment awed by the
intensity of the wild solitude that surrounded
us.

There was, however, little time for reflection,
since the view was cut off as we advanced by tho
leafy canopy, and the asperities of the road soon
dispelled all poetic reverie ; indeed, no civilized
creature would call it a road, a mere path as it
was, well strewn with big stones and fallen trees,
the removal of which, from time to time, we
found to be no little relief to the tedium of our
course.

Occasionally a squirrel would chatter at us
from the neighboring boughs, or a partridge start
up from the bushes beneath ; but we were too
intent on larger game to waste any powder at
their expense.

Late in the afternoon we arrived at the place
where we intended passing the night. It was a
rough log-house, standing on a slightly elevated
rise of ground, which overlooked a morass
covered with coarse grass of most luxurious
growth.

A large stream wound its placid way along the
outer margin of this little prairie, from who^e
banks the hills arose most precipitately; and
still beyond were to be seen the well-wooded
mountains, casting their dark shadows over the
valley beneath. We were all delighted at the
beauty of the landscape. Smith, student-like,
burst out in hexameters —

" This is the forest primeval, the murmuring
pines, and the hemlocks."

Ike, who did not take in the idea, interrupted
this honeyed flow of verse, by urging the necessity
of taking supper before there was any psalm-
singing, upon which Smith jumped out of the
wagon, exclaiming, rather spitefully —

u Odi profanum vulgus et arceo."

But we had scarcely unharnessed our horses
before his scholar mind was again excited ; and
on turning around to discover what was calling
forth such a flood of Latin invectives, we found
him apparently taking boxing lessons with the
atmosphere. There was no occasion, however,
of inquiry into the nature of the attacks he was
so vigorously repelling, for a sense of extreme
cutaneous irritation immediately suggested the
idea of mosquitos.

Just at this moment, the good woman of the
'house came out, and made the preliminary ar-
rangements for milking her cow, by lighting a
number of little piles of pine chips, which had
been so arranged as to form a circle around the
creature. These, when ignited, sent forth vol-

SUMMER SPORTING.

umes of smoke, and the wan visage of our hostess,
just visible amidst the cloud, forcibly reminded
me of a picture I had once seen of the Witch of
Endor.

Franklin, in his usual pithy way, now set to
work, enlightening our understandings on Ihe
customs of the country into which we had come.

" You have no idea yet, boys," said he, " of
the sovereign sway of mosquitos and punkies in
these parts of our free republic. These abori-
gines here live in smoke from morning to night,
and they all look, you see, something like the
preserved mummies Barnum has down at his
museum, at New York ; and as for this poor cow,
you will only have to kill and cut her up to
have a nice lot of smoked dried beef."

We had by this time entered into the house,
and at once began to unpack our provisions, of
which we had laid in a good store. Supper was
soon ready, and notwithstanding the smoky
atmosphere, which was all Franklin had pre-
dicted, we soon forgot our troubles in discussing
the merits of bread, butter, ham, eggs, and hot
coffee. When we had concluded this repast,
which the sharpness of our appetites made per-
fectly epicurean, Smith suggested the propriety
of inquiring into the locality of the dormitories,
at the same time remarking that the room in
which we were, appeared to be the only one in
the house. Spencer somewhat facetiously ob-
served in reply, that Smith, although away from
college, would probably have an opportunity
during the night of studying attic peculiarities.
Ike, meantime, had lighted a candle, and on
mounting a ladder at the other side of the room,
disappeared through a small aperture in the ceil-
ing, or, at least, where the ceiling ought to have
been. The whole party simultaneously followed
his example, and in a moment had the pleasure
of finding themselves in what appeared to be an
empty hay-loft. Two or three small cots were
arranged on each side under the eaves, the covers
of which had a most suspiciously streaked ap-
pearance. We were all too weary, however, to
be extremely fastidious, and merely taking the
precaution of laying a superstratum of over-
coats and buffalo skins upon the couches, threw
ourselves down with the delusive fancy that

" Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Bleep,"

was about to bestow on us its most benign
favors ; but, alas, how vain are all human hopes !
The apartment was alive with voracious insects.
We were deafened by the gentle melody of mos-
quitos, and our faces and hands, as a natural
consequence, soon smarted under their sad inflic-
tions. Far worse than these precious tormentors

were the insignificant gnat-, familiarly known
among woodsmen as "punkies ;" a name neither
scientific nor euphonious, yet very expressive to
all sportsmen who have taken a trip to Northern
New York.

In the course of half an hour, the annoyance
became intolerable; shrieks, groans, and impre-
cations resounded from every side; all solemnly
asseverating that, when morning dawned, they
would take the most direct route for civilization.

Our host, aroused by the clamor, now ap-
peared, armed with the tin pans, whose fumi-
gation came nearer suffocating us than the
mosquitos. We panted, we gasped for breath,
as the musky vapor filled our lungs, until at
length, overcome by its somniferous influences,
we sank into lethargic insensibility.

" Rosy-fingered Aurora" at length opened the
golden portals of day, while one by one wc
became aware that we had survived the night.
The dim light stealing through the small win-
dow, and the atmosphere still reeking with the
smoke of the pine-knots, confirmed the idea
that " incense-breathing morn" had come. Since
we had all retired in full dress, our toilets did
not consume much time, and it was with thank-
ful hearts we once more found our way into the
open air. The morning was a beautiful one,
and there was a freshness and purity about the
appearance of mountain and forest that soon
dispelled all recollections of the horrors of the
preceding night. In less than an hour, we were
again in our wagon on our way for Lake Piseco.
The ride was tedious, for the forest was so dense
that the eye could not penetrate on either side
more than a few yards into the tangled boughs.
At one point, we passed through a ravine of
some considerable breadth, which contained,
besides the underbrush, only a few trees of im-
mense growth. It was a gloomy-looking place,
and, as we had just before observed a bear's
track on the road, every rustling leaf cf the
copsewood was observed with strictest attention.
But the monster was nowhere visible, much to
our disappointment ; so we laid down our rifles
and jogged on, wondering whether we were
" almost there."

About noon, we arrived at the outlet of the
lake ; but the mountains shut off the main body
of the water frorn^our view. There was a large
saw-mill on the stream, around which were
clustered half a dozen houses— quite a scttle-
ment in such a forest solitude.

The man in charge of the mill assured us that
the fishing was good at the head of the lake, and
that deer were plenty in the vicinity, which
announcement had a strangely exhilarating effect

2o6

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

on the whole party. The road from this point
was much better, thus enabling our horses to
accelerate their pace so that we were on a brisk
trot, when a sudden turn in the road brought us
to the shore of the lake. I shall never forget
the astonishment and delight with which I
gazed on the miracle of natural scenery that met
my eyes ; the deep tranquil lake, which slum-
bered at my feet in crystal-like transparency,
was apparently seven or eight miles long and
about three miles wide. On the opposite side,
magnificent palisades rose from the water's edge
bold and precipitous, while far above in the
background stood the mountains, darkened by
the luxuriousness of forest foliage. The road
again diverged from the lake, bringing us, how-
ever, successively in view of several smaller
sheets of water, all of which were most impres-
sively beautiful. It was still early in the after-
noon when we arrived at the head of the lake,
where there were half a dozen well-built hotels,
put up by some unlucky speculators, who
anticipated getting an act of legislature, making
Piseco a seaport with direct steamship commu-
nication with Europe.

We came to a halt in front of the largest of
these buildings (the others were inhabited by
bats and owls), the tavern kept by a gray-
headed old man named Enoch. Dinner was
soon prepared, and the table spread in the bar-
room, whose walls were adorned with a vast
variety of fishing-baskets, long poles, and snow-
shoes, together with a countless assortment of
empty whiskey and gin bottles.

Old Enoch informed us, after we had finished
this repast, of which fresh venison furnished
the chief ingredient, that the two young men
who were the best sportsmen in the vicinity
were residing in a small log-house at the other
end of the lake, and advised us to leave our
teams with him, and then take a row across.
This counsel was speedily adopted. Fletcher,
Smith, and myself took one boat, and the rest of
the party embarked in another. We soon found
it was hard work to keep up with them, for
neither of us was a good rower. Black and
threatening clouds had for some time darkened
the sky, and now the wind began to sweep in a
perfect gale across the water. Presently, the
rain descended in torrents, and the waves ran
so high that we apprehended^ very moment our
little shallop would be swapped ; not a very
pleasing idea, when we reflected we were at
least a mile from shore. To add to our per-
plexity, the mists thickened around us bo densely
that we lost sight of everything but water, and

were unable to determine which direction the
other boat had taken.

After being under this cold-water treatment
for about three hours, the rain suddenly ceased,
and, to our great delight, we discovered our
comrades lying to on a narrow strip of land that
projected into the lake. It was nearly dark
when we landed at a little pier, built out in
front of a log structure, in which the guides we
were in quest of resided. " Soaked to the skin"
would not at all illustrate our condition as we
entered the house ; it was rather soaked to the
marrow. We sat down by the fire, the water
for a time streaming from our clothes as if we
had been entirely liquefied, and then, as the
heat took effect, the vapor arose from our
habiliments, giving us the appearance of young
volcanoes. At length the mists were in some
degree dispersed, and I commenced making
observations on our quarters.

The owner of the premises was a young man
of about middle height ; his frame appeared as
frail and delicate as that of a boy ; but yet there
was a nervous energy in all his movements,
which indicated a strength and a power of en-
durance not always found in men of greater
physical proportions. His companion was evi-
dently an older man than himself; he was of
much the same figure, though rather taller,
swarthy, and weather-beaten, with keen pene-
trating eyes, deep set in his head. He was a fit
type of the tireless forest ranger. Our host had
been of the opinion that it was not good for
men to be alone, and had therefore provided
himself with a wife, a pretty young creature,
who resembled the picture of the rose that shed
its perfume on the desert air, spoken of by the
poet. A small child and a couple of hounds
made up the scene. Supper put an end to my
observations ; and, to tell the truth, we were so
tired that we made quick work of it, shovelling
down the food in the true American style.

We then retired to the loft above, a clean
apartment, almost entirely free from mosqui-
tos ; that is to say, you could walk across th«
floor without treading on them. Sleep soon
spread its dreamy canopy over us, and so uncon-
scious were we of the flight of time, that the
call of our host to get up seemed to be simulta-
neous with the first hug of Morpheus. I im-
mediately tumbled into my clothes, and then
tumbled down stairs to catch a glimpse of the
scenery by sunrise.

The clouds had fled away, and the morning
sun was flooding the whole landscape with its
golden light. The waters were slumbering at

MENTAL AND CORPOREAL SUFFERING.

257

my feet deep and placid, and above were the
mountains in their beauty and grandeur. As I
turned to enter the house, I found that my stu-
dent friend had been standing by my side. He
was a sad picture of dejection, and I soon dis-
covered that no rhetorical flourishes could
awaken in his mind an appreciation of the
scene ; the labors of the way had been too much
for him.

The whole party were by this time up, and a
debate as to the best method of passing the day
immediately ensued. It was soon decided that
we should make an onslaught on the deer ; but
the result proved the greatest threats are not
always the ones most to be apprehended.

The method of capturing these animals in
summer is somewhat as follows : The sportsmen
are first stationed in boats at different points, so
as to command between them a full view of one
side of the lake; one of the party, with a dog,
then strikes into the forest. Soon the hound
comes on the scent of the game, and away he
dashes "in full yell." The deer, hearing his
approaching cry, takes flight. On, on they go,
through break and bush, over the tall mount-
ain and down into the quiet valley, until at
length, wearied out, the poor panting stag starts
for the lake, hoping to elude further pursuit.
He plunges into the quiet waters, and soon is
beyond reach of the hound. The boats now
push out, and make with all possible haste to-
wards the swimmer. As they get within shot,
the sharp ring of the rifle reverberates over the
water, and the struggling stag sinks beneath the
rippled surface. Again he rises — the boats are
close upon him, and presently a loud hurrah
announces his capture.

Such was the description we had of deer-
hunting. Feverish with excitement, we jumped
into the skiffs and plied our oars most energeti-
cally to reach the several points to be garrisoned.
The man and hound went ashore, and the cry
of the dog soon echoed high up among the
mountains. But the deer came not. " Hope
deferred maketh the heart sick," saith the in-
spired writer, and so we found it to be. After
Smith and myself had sat about an hour in our
boat, fighting with the mosquitos, it began to
look cloudy overhead, and soon a slight sprin-
kling of rain gave us a premonition of what we
might anticipate. " Ye elements of heaven,
pour not your direful wrath upon us," ex-
claimed Smith, in a most tragic manner, on
ob-erving these most unequivocal tokens of the
coining storm. I could say nothing to comfort
my friend, except to quote the appropriate lines '
of the poet —

22*

" The quality of mercy is not strained ;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath."

I can assure you, gentle reader, the water was
not strained ; there was not a particle of the
shower-bath about it; but, like a regular douche,
or rather an inland u. tcr-spout, it poured down
its fury. For five mortal hours did Smith ex-
patiate on the wonders of hydrostatics, and I
(whenever I could dry my eyes sufficiently to
see) kept a lookout tor the evpected deer. But,
vain hope ! no deer came. Poor creature ! I
doubt not that he was drowned before he got to
the lake.

To make a long story t-hort, let me say that,
about dark, we got back to our quarters as tho-
roughly water-soaked as any poor wretches in
the last stages of dropsy could possibly have
been. The rest of our friends we found com-
fortably seated around the fire, where they had
been since the early part of the afternoon, amus-
ing themselves in conjectures as to the amount
of venison we would return with. It rained the
rest of the week. We fished and hunted every
day ; our host caught us a few salmon, and his
dog started up some deer, which never came
within sight or shot. Saturday morning arrived.
Smith said if we did not return we would have
to bury him there ; Ike remembered he had a
writ to serve on Monday ; Fletcher suddenly
recalled to mind a promise he had made some-
body to be at Saratoga the next week ; so we all
voted to go.

How we got back to our rendezvous, and how
we accounted to the worthy people of the village
for our want of game, I will leave to the imagi-
nation of my readers to determine. If any of
thern, however, want hydropathic treatment
gratis, let me advise them to go to Lake Piseco.

MENTAL AND CORPOREAL SUFFERING.

There is a very pretty Persian apologue on
the difference between mental and corporeal
suffering. A king and his ministerwere discuss-
ing the subject, and differed in opinion. The
minister maintained the first to be more severe,
and, to convince his sovereign of it, he took a
lamb, broke his leg, shut it up, and put food
before it. He took another, shut it up with a
tiger, which was bound by a strong chain, so
that the bea^t could spring near, but not seize
the lamb, and put food also before him. In tin;
morning he carried the king to see the effect of
the experiment. The lamb with the broken leg
had eaten up ail the food placed before him —
the other was found dead from fright.

VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY.

BY HARLAND COULTAS, PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN PENN MEDICAL UNIVERSITY, PHILADELPHIA.

The hybridizing of Plants. — If pollen is
conveyed by means of the atmosphere and in-
Bccts, it must happen that plants will occasion-
ally hybridize, or the pollen of one species will
sometimes fertilize the ovules of another species
of the same genus. The seeds thus produced
give rise to individuals of an intermediate cha-
racter, but which are unable to perpetuate them-
selves, or, if they have that power, lose it in the
second or third generation.

Nearly allied plants of the same genus can
alone be made to hybridize. Thus the different
species of the lily, strawberry, and the gerani-
ums intermix freely with individuals of the
same genus ; but the lily and strawberry, two
different genera, cannot be made to fertilize
each other.

It is the constant practice of gardeners to pro-
duce the numerous varieties that now adorn our
greenhouses, by conveying the pollen from one
plant with a corolla of a certain color to the
pistils of another plant with a corolla of a differ-
ent hue. The seed thus generated will develop
a plant of an intermediate shade of color. To
the facility with which the species of some
genera hybridize are we indebted for our splen-
did varieties of the geraniums, roses, and dah-
lias. These can only be perpetuated by cuttings,
or by offsets or portions of the root. This
principle of cultivating and propagating new
varieties has been carried to such an extent by
llorists among certain genera that are in their
power, that the original species can now scarce-
ly be distinguished. Unfortunately for science,
if a slight variety of any popular flower is deve-
loped by this hybridizing process, it is imme-
diately sought after, and will bring the florist a
higher premium than some newly introduced
and perhaps beautiful exotic species. This is
certainly very bad taste. If the cultivators of
plants would only be as eager to encourage the
introduction and cultivation of gome of the
many thousand lovely species described in
botanical works, as they are to cultivate and
obtain new varieties of the present popular
flowers, it would be of great advantage to sci-
ence and a great improvement on the present
system. We should become better acquainted
258

with the floral wealth of distant lands, and
many undiscovered and valuable properties
would doubtless be brought to light in numerous
exotic species, by that watchful and studious
attention of them which would be requisite to
their successful cultivation. The numerous vil-
las and beautiful homes of wealthy American
citizens would no longer be surrounded by gar-
dens filled with common flowers, but we should
find within them what is more becoming, more
select and choice collections of foreign plants.

Among the native plants of North America,
hybrids are not. however, produced to that ex-
tent which we would be led to suppose. They
are much more common among cultivated and
domesticated plants. The numerous pollen
grains of different species borne on the wander-
ing winds from the male flowTers sf any particu-
lar species of plant, are so exactly adapted to
the female flowers of the same species that they
become abortive on the pistil of any other plant.
Hybrids are therefore very rarely produced by
wild plants, as the stigma of any particular
species of plant is more likely to attract the
pollen of its own stamens than that of other
plants. The species of the genus Verbascum,
or shepherd's flannel, a tall plant very common
along road-sides, with a leaf not unlike a piece
of flannel, and a spike of yellow flowers, show
a greater tendency to hybridize than almost any
other species.

This subject is important as connected with
the origin and limitation of species. If, as some
authors believe, there were only a few species
originally formed, and all the rest are the result
of hybridization, then there is no limit to spe-
cies, and no permanence whatever in their cha-
racters. This, however, is not borne out by
facts. Hybrids are very seldom the spontaneous
productions of nature. There is too delicate an
organic adaptation of the pollen of the male
plants to the pistils or female flowers of the
same plants. There is a surprising analogy in
this respect between the reproductive functions
of animals and plants, and a continued preva-
lence of the same specific iorms in both king-
doms' arising from similar causes, indicating it
to be but the same expression of one uuiver al
law.

WELCOME NEWS.

259

TIME IN SEARCH OF CUPID.

DY MARY NEAL,

(See Plate in January number.

Old Time set forth one cold dark night,
The moon and the stars had hid their light,
That the surly old man should not see the wight,

Their pet, young Love, the rover :
He had mocked so long at the old man's power,
He had fluttered so long from flower to flower,
And laughed at his scythe and each fleeting hour

That he passed in his journey over,
That Time, with lantern in one hand
Kud scythe in the other, swept over the lann,
And thought to crush, with resistless wand,

This sprite, which o'er earth would hover.

But Time was old — his eyes were dim,
And the lamp lit up but few feet for him,
While Love could see his features grim,

As he fluttered in glee around him ;
He danced around the old man in play,
And called aloud quite saucy and gay,
For he knew, ere the light of another day,

The cords that so long had bound him
To earth would break — that from his bier
Would spring a youthful, bright new year,
And he knew that him he need not fear

While the birds and flowers were round, him.

Good-by, good-by ! Old Father Time !

The flowers were bright in thy manhood's prime,

Yet glad am I that thine own death-chime

Will sound ere the light of morning ;
For wert thou permitted to stay when old,
Should spring be banished from wood and wold,
Sure hearts would then grow dark and cold,

And love might then take warning :
But while new-born years keep Time still young,
While "wood-notes wild" from the trees are sung,
While the spring in the heart leaps up to the tongue,

Love's flowers will be earth adoring.

Then seek me not ! but fare thee well ;
For I in yon maiden's breast must dwell,
While her heart in my glowing light shall swell,

As she gives me a kindly greeting,
Till thy last hour 's gone ; then I '11 hasten on
To greet with joy thy youthful son,
Who will deem me by far the loveliest one

Who has given him yet a meeting ;
And thus I shall live, still in my prime,
And while passing years give thy warning chime,
I '11 fear not Death, Decay, nor Time,

Nor aught that is so fleeting !"

LITTLE BROTHER.

BY MARY A. L A D D .

I once had a little brother,

Whose eyes were as darkly blue
As the violet blossoms that sprinkle

The meadows, and bright as the dew,
When it glistens so clear in the starlight,

So lovely, so transient to view.
As the pure and pearly dewdrop

la a faithful, though miniature, view

Of the radiance glimmering downward

From the starry gems on high,
Thus the glory of Heaven seemed mirrored

In the pure light of his eye.

Yet viewless to us erring mortals

Is the source whence this glory spring?,
For opened are Heaven's bright portals.

While the soul gazes upwards and sings ;
Sings adieu to sorrow and sighing,

A welcome to joys evermore,
That flow in their glory undying

O'er the blest of that radiant shore.
When we see but the glory beaming

From the waiting and longing eyes,
We think that the lips move in dreaming

That are holding converse with the skits.

'Twas thus with my little brother,

When — oh, well I remember the day ! —
Softly he called us around him

As we came from our joyous play;
A smile of ineffable beauty

O'er his lovely features came.
As in tones as sweet as a cherub's

He softly repeated each name.
On his lips the last name trembled

As he raised his beaming eyes,
And sweetly murmuring " Father,"

His spirit soared away to the skies.

When the autumn sun was shining

Bright on the golden hills,
We laid him to sleep till the dawning,

Beside one of New England's rills.
When the autumn sun is glimmering

Bright on the waving grain,
I love by these streamlets to wander,

And live o'er my childhood again.

Dimly I see in my visions

The form of the darling one ;
The curls on his brow are shining

As the beams of the golden sun.
Clasped in those tiny fingers

Is a harp of heavenly tone,
And I know 'tis my little brother,

And sigh when the vision has flown ;
Yet pray that I may be found worthy,

When Life's wearisome journey is o*er,
To meet with my little brother

Where Death cannot reign any more.

WELCOME NEWS.

BY BLANCHE BENNAIRDE.

With what untold delight the letter glows !

And yet the trembling hands refuse their part;
The answer comes — it may bring joys or woes —

Be still, be calm, my trembling, throbbing heart !
Ah ! — welcome news ! — I felt that here was blisp ;
My heart but fluttered— hoping happiness.

Now I shall never give to thoughts of care,
Or grief, or sadness, in my soul a place ;

On wings of joy I soar in balmy air,
And see bright, blessed visions in each face ;

A spirit joyful mine shall ever be,

For here I read that I 'm beloved by thee.

21)0

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ODE TO EUTERPE.

When erst thy classic lyre was strung,
And sweetly tuned in early Greece —
lire yet divine Apollo sung

His master-piece —

Thy eloquence was heard and felt,

Thy softly thrilling euphony,

And hoary sages meekly knelt

To worship thee.

And long didst thou enchant the hearts

Of votaries rapt who sought thee there,
in that bright home of science, art,
And beauty rare.

But now to other lands thou 'rt come,

And singest on Columbia's shore
Sweetly as in thy classic home
In days of yore.

Thou 'rt not alone in gilded halls,

Where wealth and learning most abouna ;
But where the lonely cascade falls

Thou 'rt sometimes found.

Thou 'rt found where thundering cataracts dash

Headlong adown the dizzy steep,
Or where the lightning's fiery flash
Is seen to sweep.

And where the placid lakelet sleeps

In beautiful serenity,
Or where the wild tornado sweeps
Resistlessly,

Full many an artless child of song,

Though far removed from wealth and lame,
Feels thy sweet influence, strange and strong,
And loves thy name.

And humbly now before thy shrine,

With worship in my heart for thee,
I ask a boon most like divine —
'Tis melody !

Come, sweet Euterpe, from on high

Breathe softly o'er my tuneless lyre,
And let the music of the sky

Vibrate each wire !

Thus, touch it thus ! now through each vein

Sweet melody harmonious flies ;
?jot Orpheus breathed so sweet a strain
For Eurydice.

rhus let the strain forever roll ;

My heart inflates with holy love;
Sweet music overwhelms my soul
Like that above.

THE OAK-TREE.

BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND,

Just beyond our garden wall,
Grayly mossed, the " oak-tree" tall
Standeth like a high priest there,
With its great arms crossed in prayer j

And its shadow creeps the while
Darkly through the sunshine's smile ;
And its cowl of summer green
Bendeth to the sky serene ;
And the breeze of that old tree
Hath an aerie sound to me.

Ten times hath that " oak-tree" down
Laid its stole at autumn's frown,
Ten times Spring its branches hoar
Hath with green leaves ruffled o'er,
Since we stood there ; and I now
See the shadows cross her brow ;
And her eyes droop to her feet,
Buried in the gray moss deep ;
While her changeful cheek adown
Ripple curls of twilight brown.

Just beyond our garden wall,
Underneath that " oak-tree" tall,
I to draw those curls aside
With my trembling fingers tried :
And to her I softly spoke
Words from pallid lips that broke,
And she bowed, with girlish shame,
Cheeks, where blushes went and came,
While the words I murmured o'er,
Ending with a " nevermore."

And as then, in green and gray
Standeth that old oak to-day ;
But the moss is climbing round
Marble shaft and maiden's mound,
And she sweetly lies at rest,
With the white bands on her breast ;
And to-day her anthem strikes
Sweetly up the jasper heights;
While, the ten years brightly through,
Shines to me that scene anew.

THE LETTER.

BY JAMES A. BAKTLEY.

Within a flower-strown cottage room

A lady sat at even,
Beneath the peerless evening star,

Just stepping out in heaven ;
And in her hand, like lily white,

She held a billet-doux,
Which round upon the tranquil air

A grateful fragrance threw.

And now she bows her beauteous head

To read the glowing lines ;
Her white hand trembles, and a tear

Upon the paper shines ;
Uvc startled bosom gently heaves,

Like sea-waves capped with snow,
And swiftly o'er her lovely face

Her blushes come and go.

Those written words have waked within

Her breast the flame of love,
Which blends her woman's nature witn

The natures of above ;
A fire, whose rays will change to light

Her lover's darkest gloom,
Until he sees them burst again

O'er Heaven's gay holds in bloom.

EURICA.

261

THE LAST NIGHT OF CAULAINCOURT.

VERSIFIED FROM ALISON'S "HISTORY OF
EUROPE."

BY. LUCY BRANDON.

The Emperor slept within his tent,

, While on its floor there lay

Young Caulaincourt, who mused upon

His new bride far away.
He kissed a picture which he held

His yearning eyes before,
And through the dreary Russian night

Perused its features o'er.

That face the ivory surface held

He deemed surpassing fair,
And prized its sweet original

Than life itself more dear :
Then marvel not that his brave heart,

Inured to war and strife,
Should prompt his eyes to gaze upon

This semblance of his wife.

He heeded not opposing foes,

Nor heard the sentry's tread;
For all save her he fondly loved

Had from remembrance fled.
His desire was for her alone,

To win an honored name ;
And when the great Napoleon led,

He chased the bubble — fame.

He courted not kind sleep's repose,

Though weary and oppressed ;
For love's devotion had purloined

His brief allotted rest.
Perchance his ravished fancy thought

Of future joys in store,
But Fate that night decreed that he

Should sip their sweets no more.

With early morn again began

The battle's deadly fray —
And many gallant ones, at noon,

Pale bleeding corpses lay :
And, too, among the sods of France,

Now numbered with the slain,
Poor Caulaincourt his doom fulfilled

On Borodino's plain.

THE BURIED FLOWER.

BY W. S. GAFFNEY.

Away in the western wild-wood,

In a close, secluded spot,
There blooms an humble flower,

Which mortal knoweth not !
It hath no gilded title

To tell of modest worth,
But 'neath the arch of heaven

It flourisheth on earth.

From out the thorny stubble
Is raised its head on high,

Caulaincourt, a young officer of Napoleon's Guard.

To smile o'er nature's bosom
Ere its charm shall fade and die !

And casts its simple fragrance
Upon the silent air,

Yet naught on earth of mortal
Would ever seek it there !

The storm-winds hover round it,

That humble flower mild ;
And it bows in meek submission,

That tender fragile child !
Its life seems pure, though lowly,

A shadow of its race !
Yet round its glowing petals

The marks of earth I trace !

I love this fragile flower —

And who my love can blame1? —
For as to man existence.

To me is it the same!
And as its life is lowly,

As lowly let it die,
Nor mortal ever seek the spot

Where buried it may lie.

For soon its life must wither

And droop into decay,
And all its gifted fragrance

As music pass away!
Nor ask me of its symbol,

Lest conscience should misgive ;
But this I say in candor —

That, buried, it doth live!

EURIC A.

BY WILLIE EDGAR FAB OR.

"Sweet Eurica! art thou living yet? Or hast tboa
passed away to that silent land where the good sleep
and the beautiful?" — Reverie of a Bachelor.

I call thee, Eurica ! by all the past

That memory holds most dear ;
The trueness and fondness that aye will last,

Sealed by a sigh and a tear.
Eurica ! Oh, maid of the nut-brown hair,

And maid of the laughing eyes,
Oh ! what shall I do for this dark despair

That over the present lies !

Hast left me alone, Eurica? Art gone

To the holy land and fair ?
Left me to wander in shade-land alone,

And inhale it3 poison air?
Hast gone to the silent land, lady? Ne'er

To meet in our grove again ?
Shall I list in vain for thy accents rare,

And thy soft melodious strain ?

Eurica ! the past has its memory—

The present its bitter cup ;
The future is big with the mystery

Of life that it filleth up.
But if thou wert with me, oh, lady fair,

All clouds would be silver lined.
And Hope would gleam out of the dim despair,

And Love in our hearts be shrined.

262

godey's magazine and lady's book.

A MOTHER TO HER DEAD BOY.

B \ M. H . FORTUNE.

My son. my son, my eldest born,

My noblest and my best!
Whom oft in infancy I soothed

To slumber on my breast ;
Whose little tongue those words have lisped

That still in mem'ry dwell,
Whose arms in manly pride entwined

The mother loved so well.

My son, my son, where art thou now?
Oh, sea, give up thy dead !

Thy cold, thy heartless, fearful waves
Are sweeping o'er his head ;

His form is cold, the sea-weed twines
Amid his silken hair;

His head is pillowed on the sand-
No mother's breast is there.

Oh ! once my arms were nightly clasped

Around that manly form ;
And on my cheek, each happy night,

His balmy breath was warm :
Calm as a child's his breathings fell

Upon his mother's ear;
No sweeter music save his voice,

She e'er could wish to hear.

Bnt now, my son, where art thou now?

Oh, sea, give up thy dead !
Place his cold form but once again

Upon his mother's bed.
Let me but gaze, e'en though in death,

Upon that broad, deep chest;
Then lay me down to breathe my last

Long sigh upon his breast.

Within the sight of thousands lay

A gallant merchant fleet ;
And glittered in the sunny air

Each loosely hanging sheet.
A cheer for home was in each heart,

On every lip a smile !
And raised was many a hopeful eye

To heaven's own blue the while.

A moment more, and all grew dark ;

Death shrieked amid the gale ;
Torn from its bolts each straining rope,

And rent was every sail.
High dashed the surging waves, and whelmed

Close to the peaceful shore,
Full many a bark, and with them sank

The noble Serampore !

My son ! my son ! was it for this

I cherished all thy hours 1
Too harsh I deemed the very breeze

Wafted o'er Summer flowers ;
To kiss that soft, rose-tinted cheek,

Or fan that noble brow.
But oh, my son, my darling son,

Where is it pillowed nowt

Oh, would to God thy mother's form

Had first sought native clay ;
That, by my side, thy tear-dimmed eye

Had seen me pass away !

I could have oorne it better thus,

My heart's life and my joy,
Hadst thou been near thy mother's breast,

My lost, my first-born boy I

A MEMORY OF A PICTURE.

BY MARY C. NEELY.

" The memory of that picture haunts me. I never flaw
so perfect an impersonation of despair as in that girlisk
figure, so rarely beautiful, yet crouched in such utter
abandonment of woe in the shadow of the sombre cedars.
The picture has a fascination, a haunting spell that fills
the mind with a vague and undefinable woe."

The low voice of the plaintive breeze

Hath sorrow in its sound ;
The shadow of the cedar trees

Lies moveless on the ground.
All slowly ride the night hours on,

And darkness shrouds the sky,
Where, 'neath the cedar trees, alone

And desolate, sit I.

The dusk face of the mournful night

Broods darkly o'er me now ;
The clouds have veiled her eyes of light

In trailing o'er her brow ;
The horned moon, like an elfish thing,

Peers through the misty fold ;
The sullen clouds, for curtaining,

Have dimly round her rolled.

Aweary of this bitter life,

And my own sore distress,
Of all the sin, and wrong, and strife,

And utter wretchedness ;
Aweary of contempt and scorn,

It is not strange that I
Should wish I never had been born,

Or that I now could die.

Oh ! once the wind, that sings so free,

Had not a gayer song
Than my young heart's, in its wild glee

And innocence of wrong ;
And once the fairest flower I know

Was not more pure than I ;
But now I bow my head in woe,

And wish that I might die.

I am too young, too young in years,

Too young the heart within,
To be thus old in grief and tears,

In wretchedness and sin.
I should be glad, and gay, and free,

And full of frolic wild ;
In all truth and simplicity,

A pure and happy child.

I thought not when my mother dieil,

And left her child to roam
Unguided through the world so wide,

A time like this would come ;
When daring not to speak her name,

Or lift my eyes on high,
I could but hide my face in shame,

And pray for sin ngth to die !

CHEMISETTES AND SLEEVES.

Fig. 1. Fig. 2.

Fig. 1 is literally a chemisette, intended for a
very open corsage, low in the neck. It is com-
posed of alternate puffs of muslin and insertion.
Many ladies wear chemisettes of this descrip-
tion beneath the light lace, or very delicate im-

ported muslin, that would otherwise disclose too
much of the neck or under-clothing. It is a
very pretty style for mourning, the insertion
being of a plainer description.
Fig. 2. Sleeve to correspond.

Fig. 3 gives us an inside spencer, or chemi-
sette and sleeves united. The body is plain
cambric. The frills of the sleeves and the work
on the front are cambric flouncing, embroidered
in points. The front just meets without over-

lapping, and is fastened by a bow of satin or
Mantua ribbon, to correspond with the drcs>
worn with it.

Fig. 4. An outside spencer, intended to be
worn with a silk or muslin skirt, Citable to

263

264

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

small evening parties, or for home wear. It is
made of dotted muslin, the sleeves and front
edged with needlework points. When worn in
the evening, the inner sleeves are laid aside, or
they may be discarded altogether. Bows of
some pretty shade of ribbon add much to its
effect.
Basques made in this style (except that the

front is plain where this is gathered) of Mar-
seilles, are worn veiy much with silk, trimmed,
barege, and muslin skirts, the present month.
They are not lined, and no starch is used in
doing them up. The fancy buttons, blue, green,
or gilt, are taken from the rings when the
basque is washed.

FLORAL LAMP OE VASE -MAT

Materials. — Half an ounce of scarlet crystal wool ;
half an ounce of stone ditto ; half an ounce of black
wool ; three skeins of white ditto ; six yards of rather
fine cotton cord.

With the black wool cover the end of the
••-ord, and form it into the smallest round you
can. Do two more rounds with the black,
increasing them sufficiently to keep the round
flat

3d round. — Scarlet and black, * 1 scarlet, 3
black, * 10 times in the round, the last black
coming over the last but one of the previous
round, and one scarlet over the last.

4th. — * 1 black over scarlet, 1 scarlet over the
same, 3 black, 1 scarlet all 4 over 3 black, * 10
limes.

5th. — * 2 black over 1 black, 1 scarlet over
scarlet, 3 black over 3 black, 1 scarlet over
ftcarlct, * 10 times.

6th. — * 3 black over 2, 5 scarlet over 2 scar-
let and the 3 black between, * 10 times.

7th. — Join on the white, * 3 black over 3
black, 1 scarlet, 1 white, 2 scarlet, over 1 scar-
let, 1 white, 1 scarlet, * 10 times.

8th. — * 3 black over 3 black, 7 scarlet over
the scarlet and white, * 10 times.

9th.— * 3 black over 3 black, 3 scarlet. 2
white over 1 scarlet, 3 scarlet, * 10 times.

IQth. — * 4 black over 3 black, 9 scarlet ovei
scarlet and white, * 10 times. -

lltk. — * 5 black over 4 black, 3 scarlet, 4
white over 3 scarlet, 3 scarlet, * 10 times.

12th. — * 6 black over 5, 10 scarlet over scarlet
and white, * 10 times.

13th. — * 6 black over 6, 2 scarlet over 2, 7
black over 6 scarlet, 2 scarlet, * 10 times.

Cover one round completely with black, in-
creasing sufficiently to cover the cord, and Let -\

CHILD S SOCKS AND STOCKINGS.

265

the work flat. Then do two rounds of scarlet
and stone, by working each alternately over one
pattern, or a tenth part of the round. In the
second round, scarlet comes over scarlet, and
stone over stone, the number of stitches being
increased enough to cover the cord, which you
now cut off.

Now with the white wool and a very fine
hook, do a round of open square crochet. A
second and third must be done, increasing
enough in the round to keep it flat, by making
3 chain instead of 2 about 12 times in the 2d
round, and 24 times in the 3d.

Four rounds of fringe must now be worked,
in scarlet and stone, each coming over the same
color in the last round over the cord. The way
of working this fringe being quite new, we must
try to describe it. Take a rather large darning-
needle, and thread it with scarlet. Also take a
mesh two-thirds of an inch wide. Hold the
mat with the edge on which you are about to
work over the finger. Make a knot in the end
of the wool, and slip the needle upwards,
through the last stitch of a stone stripe, then
down through the first scarlet.

Pass the wool round, the mesh; then slip the
needle up the next scarlet-stitch, and pass it
under the thread of wool from the stone to the
scarlet-stitch. Slip the needle down in the
same stitch, let the wool go over the mesh, and
up the next scarlet, then under the threads of
the last stitch, down through the same and so
on, until you have fringed all the scarlet stripe ;
when you get opposite the stone color, use a
needleful of stone wool; and repeat these colors
five times in the round.

The 2d, 3d, and 4th rounds of fringe are to be
worked on the 3 rounds of white wool.
vol. xlix. — 23

CHILD'S SOCKS AND STOCKINGS.

A fine open-worked Stocking of a middle size.

Explanations. — k, knit; t, take two together;
a, take three together ; o, bring forward.

This is to be worked with No. 30 cotton.
Cast on 74 stitches on each of three pins, and
knit plainly round until there are eleven inches
in depth, always pearling one stitch to form a
seam down the back of the leg. Then take two
together on each side of the seam every third
round, until the number of stitches is de-
creased to 180; take two together on each side
of the seam every fifth round, until there are 151
stitches on the pins. Commence the pattern as
follows, always considering the pearled stitch as
the beginning of the round.

1st round. — Knit 11 from the seam, o, t, * o,
t, k, 2, o, t, k, 1, t, o, k, 2, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat from
* until within 11 stitches from the seam; knit
them plainly.

2d. — Plain knitting excepting the seam.

3d. — Knit 11, o, t, *, k, 1, o, t, k, 1, o, t, t, o,
k, 3, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat from * until within 11 of
the seam ; knit them plainly.

4th. — Same as second.

5th.— Knit 11, o, t, *, k, 2, o, t, o, a, o, k, 4,
o, t, k, 1 ; repeat from * until within 11 of the
seam ; knit them plainly.

6th. — Same as second.

Repeat these six rounds 27 times more, making
28 patterns from the commencement.

Form the heel by dividing half the number of
stitches on to one pin (leaving the rest on an-
other), and keeping the pearled stitch in the
centre; knit and pearl plainly, backwards and
forwards, for 48 rows; then take two together
on each side of the seam every other row, until

godey's magazine and lady's book.

..) stitches left; cast off and sew the
(together along the hottom : this finishes the
heel.

There will now be 75 stitches on one pin along
the front of the foot ; take up 48 on each of two
pins along the sides of the heel, and work round
for the foot in the same pattern as the leg on the
front pin ; knit the other two pins plainly, pearl-
ing the centre stitch along the bottom of the foot.
Take two together on each side of the seam every
fourth round, until there are 151 stitches on the
pins; continue the pattern round without de-
creasing, until there are 22 patterns from the
commencement of the foot. Knit plainly except-
ing the seam for 16 rounds, then decrease for the
toe as follows ; knit 36 from the seam, take two

together twice ; knit 72 ; take two together
twice, plain to the seam ; knit two plain rounds ;
continue decreasing in the same place by taking
two together twice on each side of the toe every
third round until there are 60 left. Cast off and
sew the ends of the toe together.

N. B. The plain part of the heel and toe
should be knitted with No. 24 cotton.

The above receipt forms a whole stocking ;
but if so much plain knitting at the top should
be found tedious, a sock only may be knitted by
casting on 161 and gradually decreasing on each
side of the seam until there are 151 ; knit plainly
for the depth of an inch, and commence the pat-
tern as before. The top of a woven stocking
may be substituted for the upper part.

PATTERNS FOE EMBROIDERY.

BEAD AND BUGLE WORK.

267

BEAD AND BUGLE WORK.

Very pretty flowers or sprays may be made
of bugles for the decoration of ball-dresses, or
for wearing in the hair. Black, white, gray,
green, purple, and pink bugles, well adapted for
this purpose, may be obtained at any of the bead
and bugle-makers, or rather retailers; for the
greater part of those we use are imported from
abroad. For flowers we use two sizes, the one
about an eighth of an inch in length, or rather
better, and the other one-third of an inch long.
A bright, even-looking bugle, large in the tube,
should be chosen — an ounce of each kind will
make a fair-sized spray. Besides, we shall re-
quire beads rather larger than a mustard-seed —
this size is usually solid, and sold in bunches ;
a bunch will be sufficient. The solid or grain-
like beads are preferable to the hollow, pearl-

BUGLE SPRAT.

like bead for these sprays, not being so fragile,
and the new style of canvas work in beads has
created a supply of the size and sort needed.
The other requisites are wire and floss-silk, the

wire, as before said, being chosen to match the
color of the bugles. These covered wires are to
be obtained at artificial flower-makers, and are
sold on reels ; the green can be bought in knots
at wax-flower makers. The floss-silk at. any
Berlin wool repository. The leaves are made
of small bugles. About nine leaves will make a
small spray. There are, however, various pat-
terns of bugle leaves, many of which will suggest
themselves to any one practising the work. We
will, however, give a cut of another by way of
illustration.

This one is made exactly on the same princi-
ple as the other, but the larger bugles and beads
are employed in it. Thus in the top loop or

BUGLE LEAF.

point of the leaf, we thread a long bugle, a bead,
a long bugle, a bead, a long bugle, a bead, and
then another long bugle, and bringing them to
the centre of the wire, twist it immediately below
them for a quarter of an inch. The two next
loops are made each on their separate wire in
like manner, and then the two wires are again
twisted together for a third of an inch. The
second pair of loops, or base of the leaf, are made
by threading first a long bugle, and then a bead,
then three bugles, and a bead twice, and then a
long bugle on each wire, and fixing the loops by
a twist to each, and then twisting the two wires
together as a stem. When complete, each leaf
will require putting into shape.

The bugle flowers are of two kinds, double and
single, and are composed of bugles of both sizes,
and beads, and look all the handsomer if finished
off with a larger bead, one the size of a pea in
the centre.

Take about three-quarters of a yard of wire,
thread on it a bead, a long bugle, seven short
bugles, and a long bugle ; push these to within
two inches of one end of the wire, and then pass
the longer end of the wire again through the

268

GOPEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

bead from the outside, inwards, or towards the
bugles; draw it up gently and closely, and the
first loop or petal of the flower is formed. Thir-
teen loops are required, and each one is made in
the same way, the wire being always put a second
time through the bead, entering it from the side
of the loop last made, and being drawn closely
up. These loops or petals stand up, and overlay
each other; when all are completed, the two
ends of the wire are twisted together to form the
stem, and the circular, cup-shape of the flower
is thus finished up.

When the flower is to be double, a second cup,
or circle of up-standing loops must be made ; but
this inner portion contains eleven instead of
thirteen petals, and there are but five small
bugles instead of seven in each ; in all other re-
spects it is exactly similar. The stem is passed
down through the centre of the outer cup, and a
large bead being threaded on a couple of inches
of wire, and maintained in its place by a twist
of the ends of the wire, is passed through the
centre of the two cups, and the three twisted
wires are wound together into one neat stem
with floss-silk.

Single flowers look best small ; therefore the
inner cup, with the central large bead, should be
used for them. Various fantastic groupings of
beads and bugles may be combined to form other
flowers, 01 to simulate buds. We give a cut of
one of them, which is made of long bugles, short
bugles, and beads, threaded on four wires, and

arranged in diamonds. About four flowers, two
single and two double, a couple of buds, and nine

or ten leaves, make a very pretty spray if taste-
fully grouped and neatly bound together with
floss-silk. The size we make them of cours'e
depends upon the purpose for which they are
required ; for looping a dress, five leaves, a bud,
and two flowers will be sufficient.

For mourning, black, white, or gray bugles
make up very prettily. Green bugles, too, have
a very brilliant effect, and elegant sets of sprays
or wreaths may be made by following our direc-
tions, at a merely nominal price compared with
the cost of them if we were to order them to be
made. Besides, the work itself is a graceful and
pretty employment for the fingers, and calls for
a certain degree of taste and imagination, and is
very suggestive. We therefore recommend it to
our readers in full confidence that it will amuse
and interest them.

EMBEOIDEEY WITH COED.

INITIALS.

269

PATTERN FOR SILK PATCHWORK.

The pattern given is suitable either for a bed
quilt or basinett cover, and is of a proper size for
working. In doing patchwork, care must be
taken to cut all your papers of the exact size ;
after which, baste your silk (or whatever mate-
rial you are using) over the papers ; and, when
you have a quantity so covered, choose your
colors to harmonize; after which, connect the

edges by sewing very closely and even, leaving
the papers in until the whole is put together ;
after which, undo the basting-stitches, pick out
the papers, line the work with glazed calico, and
quilt it in any pattern you please, so as to keep
the lining and cover tight together; or it may
be knotted in the centre of each star, with any
bright-colored floss-silk or Berlin wool.

INITIALS

23*

270

godey's magazine and lady's book.

BOYS' COSTUME.

Furnished from Madame DemorcsVs Emporium
of Fashions and Pattern Establishment, 375
Broadway, New York.

It is comparatively only a few years since that
children's clothing has occupied and commanded
a respectful attention from the fashionable world.
But when we arc accustomed to see large amounts
expended in the embroidery of a single garment,
and a great number of elegant and costly esta-
blishments, fitted up for, and devoted almost
exclusively to this branch of trade, we are
no longer at a loss to account for the great and
increasing interest that is manifested in this de-
partment of our monthly fashions. As our faci-
lities and arrangements are now beyond compe-
tition, our fair readers may rely on finding our
pages illustrated with every novelty in this line
as soon as it appears either in Paris or London.

The above elegant design, furnished by Ma-
dame Dcmorcst, is one of the latest and most
unique styles for a boy's costume offered this
season, and allied more particularly to the pecu-
liar cut of thS jacket.

The peculiarity of this jacket consists in the
manner of putting in the sleeve, which is fit in

with the top running up to a point on the shoul-
der. The sleeves are fall and slashed, and the
opening laced with silk cord or fancy galloon
over fancy buttons. The undersleeves arc full,
and gathered in at the wrist to a band. The
upper part of this jacket is fitted to the form and
closed in front with a row of nine buttons.

The bottom is gathered in a slight fulness to
a band, upon which buttons are placed to sus-
pend the pants, which arc gathered in at the
waist.

BRODERIE VANDYKE, FOR COLLAR,

SLEEVE, &cc.

{See Blue Plate in front of Book.)

The whole of this pattern is to be worked in
the way already described, with the exception of
the edge, which is to be worked in radiated but •
tonhole-stitch, and the circular holes within
each scallop to be filled with the English rosette,
described in the directions for point-lace. The
holes being filled in the way described, gives the
edge a soft appearance, besides giving the open
parts a more full and rich look.

SCALLOP EDGING.

{See Bine Plate in front of Book.)

To be worked in satin stitch with embroidery
cotton in the direction of the lines in the engrav-
ing, the centres of the large flowers and leaves
to be cut out and worked round in buttonhole-
stitch. The round spots in the same flower, and
the small spots near the edge, to be worked
crosswise. The centres of the smaller flowers
to be filled with Mechlin wheels.

SONNET. — SH A KSPE ARE.

BY W M . ALEXANDER.

No marble monument can grace thy dust,
Unrivalled Shakspeare ! Tragic works sublime,
Wrought by thy magic skill, till the end of time,

Present, thy likeness better far than bust

Of sculptor. Albion may be proud of thee ;
A dramatist, tragedian thou art, such
As neither gods nor men can praise too much,

So far hast thou transcended destiny.

The wand of Ariel is thy magic rod,
Thyself an Ariel when thy Ariel sings ;
Thy Hamlet's majesty from thee, too, springs;

Thy language like the language of a god.

Yea, Cloud-capped towers shall pass as smoke away,

Thy works and thou inherit shall a never-ending day.

BROIjERIE VANDYKE FOE, COLLAR, SLEEVE, ETC.

o a i, i : d a i n a

E&ITORS' TABLE

" Death is the crown of life," when those who die
are prepared for the crown. Few pass away whose life
and whose death gi^ brighter hope of their fitness for
the mansion which awaits the Saviour's friends than
did the late Mrs. Emily C. Judson. She was a bright
star in the literary glory of her sex, and, though the
prominent events of her life are generally known, a
short sketch, giving the order to the end, will, we are
sure, be welcomed by our readers.

Emily C. Chubbtjck was born in Eaton, a town ad-
joining Hamilton, N. Y., in 1818. " Her parents," says
a writer who knew her earliest history, " were pious
and respectable, but destitute of wealth, and hence had
no means for doing much for their children ; yet they
enjoyed a pious example, shared an interest in their
prayers at a throne of grace, and received a good moral
and religious training. Emily was early impressed
with the truths of the Bible, and, at the tender age of
seven years, gave her heart to God. She was baptized
at fourteen by Dr. Dean, Missionary to China, now in
this country, honored and esteemed by all who know
him. The truth, as it is in Jesus, at once took full pos-
session of her mind and heart, and thus she abounded
in all the graces of the Spirit. As a subdued, earnest
Christian, she was beloved in the circle of her pious
friends, and was an ornament to the church. Her
strong sympathies with the cause of Christ, her desire
for the salvation of sinners, her anxiety for the most
usefulness, led her, soon after joining the church, to
think of the heathen world, and to inquire of herself if
it was not her duty to go out as a missionary. After
much serious reflection and earnest prayer, she wrote
to Dr. Kendrick, her pastor, on the subject, and after-
wards had a personal interview with him. But, being
single and youthful, he advised her to wait for a sea-
son, and till Providence might open the way in a more
marked manner. She yielded to his counsel of age and
wisdom, but always cherished the deepest interest in
the missionary enterprise, and the desire yet to be
identified with it on heathen ground, and there live and
die."

After the usual school advantages enjoyed by young
girls in the country, Miss Chubbuck had the good sense
to seek the higher advantage of training others, in order
to perfect her own education. She was for some years
a teacher in the Female Seminary at Utica. New York.
Here she commenced her literary life, by contributing
several poems to the " Knickerbocker Magazine ;" she
also wrote for the American Baptist Publication So-
ciety, and her little works, illustrative of practical reli-
gion, were well approved. She then began to write for
several periodicals, and, among others, for the " Mir-
ror," published in New York city, and then edited by
.Morris and Willis. Miss Chubbuck, in her first com-
munication to the " New York Mirror," had assumed
the name of " Fanny Forester;" the article pleased the
editors ; Mr. Willis was liberal in praises, and this
encouragement decided the writer to devote herself to
literary pursuits.

She had a higher motive than fame, a nobler desire
than that of personal independence; she sought the

means of aiding her parents, and she had the great
pleasure of sweetening their life of labor and car';. A
large share of all she earned by writing before her mar-
riage was devoted to their comfort.

But her constitution was delicate, and, after two or
three years of close and successful application to her
pen, " Fanny Forester," as she was usually called,
found her health failing, and came to Philadelphia to
pass the winter of 1845-6, in the family of the Rev. A.
D. Gillette, a Baptist clergyman of high standing in the
city. The Rev. Dr. Judson, American Missionary to
the heathen world of the East, returned about this time
for a short visit to his native land. He was for the
second time a widower, and much older than Miss
Chubbuck ; but his noble deeds, and the true glory of
his character rendered him attractive to one who sym-
pathized with the warm Christian benevolence that had
made him, indeed, a hero of the cross.

It is said that the genius of " Fanny Forester" first
drew the attention of Dr. Judson. He happened to
meet with one of her publications ; his taste in litera-
ture was exquisite, and he felt the delicate beauty of
the mind from which such fancies emanated. He sought
her at once. To quote the language of her friend : —

" Many were surprised at the marriage ; but it was
because they did not know the real charter of Mrs.
Judson. Her writings were chaste literary productions,
and the lessons they inculcated strictly moral and
entirely safe in their influence everywhere. But the
words that she employed in the popular magazines, and
for which only she could be paid to meet her necessities,
were but faint expressions of the hidden fires of diviue
love that had long been pent up in her heart. She all
the time had been the meek, devoted Christian; and
the self-denying, self-sacrificing spirit of the most heroic
missionary had a being within, and was ready for
action at any time and anywhere, as the Providence of
God opened the way. The proposition to go to Burmah,
and there live, labor, suffer, and die, as the wife of Dr.
Judson, was no sooner made than accepted.

" The day had at last arrived for which she had been
longing from her early youth, and the late Dr. Kendrick
encouraged her to wait for. She was the third wife of
Dr. Judson, and both her predecessors in that relation
sustained before the Christian public the highest charac-
ter for intelligence, piety, and usefulness, and that pub-
lic looked with a jealous eye on their successor, lest she
might prove unworthy of the sacred place she had dared
to occupy. But from the time she became the wife of
Dr. Judson, June 1, 1846, at Hamilton, till she died at
the same place and under the same roof, June 1, IS5-J,
precisely eight years after, not a word or deed has pro-
ceeded from her that lias been even exceptionable, lief
devotion to the noble missionary, ftnd her zeal in 11 e
cause of missions without abatement all this time, h>\ e
commanded from all the friends of missions admiraii; a
and esteem."

Immediately after the marriage, Dr. Judson and hia
wife sailed for India. They safely reached their hoi i
at Maulmain, in the Barman empire, where they con-
tinued to reside, the reverend Missionary devoting him-

271

979

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

self to his studies, earnestly striving to complete his
great work on the Barman language, while his wife was
the guiding angel of his young children. Towards the
close of the year 1817, Mrs. Judson gave birth to a
daughter, and her newly-awakened maternal tender-
ness is beautifully expressed in her poem, " My Bird."
Her domestic happiness was not to endure. Dr. Jud-
son's health failed; he embarked on a voyage to Cal-
cutta, hoping benefit from the change ; but his hour of
release had arrived. He died at sea, April 12, 1850,
when about nine days from Maulmain.

Though he was gone, yet his wife, whose heart was
in her missionary duties, would gladly have remained
and made her grave on heathen soil, if she had had
strength to struggle on in the conflict. But disease was
already fastened upon her frame, and alarming symp-
toms made her return tovher friends and home in this
country necessary. She yielded to the advice of physi-
cians, and arrived here some two years ago. Multi-
tudes have sought her society, and have been delighted
with her presence and words. She has visited different
cities, and occasionally written for the press, exciting
the fond hope that her useful life might yet be spared.
Her family and friends clung to her so earnestly that it
seemed the endearing ties could not be broken.

She was engaged, too, in important literary labors,
assisting Dr. Wayland in preparing the memoir of her
husband ; and, as the life of Dr. Judson was, as we
may say, the history of Baptist Missions in the East,
the work was necessarily large, too large for popular use.
Mrs. Judson was preparing an abridgment of the large
work at the time of her decease. Her pen lies on a leaf
of this book, and will not be resumed. To the living it
may seem an unfinished work, but not to her now. " It
is committed to other hands, and she takes the harp of
goLl to sweep the praises of God forever. Her last days,
while at her rural home, and with her parents and
friends, were peaceful and happy. The sands of life
wasted slowly away, and her departure seemed like the
setting sun, sinking out of sight, but leaving behind a
track of glorious effulgence and beauty."

She had remarked, in March, when her disease seemed
to be making rapid progress, that she should live till
June, as all the important events of her life had fallen
in that month. And she did live till the evening of the
first day of that beautiful month, the anniversary of
her wedding day. " She was buried in the village ceme-
tery at Hamilton, in a spot previously selected and pre-
pared by herself; and by her side stands a marble
monument, erected to the memory of Dr. Judson. Her
aged parents still live to mourn the loss of a child and
daughter, who has loved, honored, and sustained them
as but few ever do. She has amply provided for their
support, and the support of all the children of Dr. Judson.
Her only child, a daughter six years of age, is taken
home to remain with the Misses Anable, of this city,
where she will receive all the sympathy, care, and train-
ing for a useful life that can be given. The heart of
Mrs. Judson was in missions to the last. What may be
;ieft of her property, and profits of the Memoir, after
yielding this support to her children and parents, is an
unreserved and permanent appropriation to the Burman
Missions."

In one of the many tributary notices her death has
called forth, is an estimate of her genius and her works
that we think just and happy : —

" Had she been merely Mrs. Judson, holding a place
in public regard by virtue only of her relation to the
-eminent dead, beloved for his sake and because he

loved her, it would not have been possible for her to
pass away ' without observation.' But Emily Judson
had more than that reflected light to attract the public
eye. She was more than a satellite. She had a mind,
a soul, a genius, vital and original ; and her powers
and affections were consecrated, and in the act of devo-
s tion were heightened as they were purified. We have

> been assured that she had more influence and efficiency
\ as a missionary than most have probably supposed.
? She was no merely nominal member of a mission, but
I gained an influence for good over those of her own sex
£ in Burmah, which is gratefully remembered and testi-
fied."

< Mrs. Emily C. Judson's published works are, " Alder-

> brook : a Collection of Fanny Forester's Village Sketches
{ and Poems," in two volumes, issued in Boston, 1846.
/ These sketches are lively and interesting, without any
\ thrilling incident or deep passion ; but the moral senti-
i ment is always elevated, and this is ever the index of

improvement. Accordingly, we find an onward and
upward progress in all that Mrs. Judson has writ-
ten since her marriage. The poems she sent to her
friends in America are beautiful in their simplicity of
style, breathing, as they do, the holiest and sweetest
feelings of humanity. She has also made a rich contri-
bution to the Missionary cause in her " Biographical
Sketch of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson," second wife of Rev.
Dr. Judson. This work was sent from India, and pub-
lished in New York in 1849. It is the tribute of love
from the true heart of a Christian woman on earth to
the true merits of a sister Christian who has passed to
her reward in heaven.

She has also published, since her return, two small
volumes of poems. All this work was done, and her
mission of life finished, at the age of thirty-six. Truly
should her memory be honored, and her example held
up for imitation to the youthful of her own sex.

Parodies. — "A hundred and sixty pages of parodies!
This is, indeed, attempting to ' make a flash of powder
burn all day,' " said a friend of ours, turning over a
volume of these same flashes.

In truth, a parody is an extremely slight performance,
requiring about as great an effort of ingenuity and
patience for its accomplishment as that demanded for
the erection of a card-house. Both are amusements to
which the very young are addicted, and even in mature
age an idle moment is sometimes wasted in seeing how
we can manage them — the cards or rhymes. A little
harmless interest is aroused ; we are rewarded by a
laugh, too, and there the matter ends. But would any
reasonable being expect to give solidity or permanency
to the toy of an hour 1 If a parody be very clever, very
apropos to some great event or great person, it may gain
a week's, even a month's life, in the newspapers ; it is
useless for its ambition to ask for more than this.

A bad tendency of many would-be witlings is want
of reverence. Nothing is too sacred for banter, nothing
too high for mockery.

"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." What
utter ruin is this habit to the heart, the taste, the feel-
ings! The veneration a mind with any responsive
chords bears to the beautiful, the poetical, the lofty
sentiment of genius elevates the character for the time,
and, carrying us beyond the " low thoughts and cares"
of everyday life, makes us feel the dignity of immortal
beings. Miserable must be the person who can look
upon the poet's holiest breathings but as objects of de-
rision, who can desecrate the lofty structure of divine

editors' table.

273

poesy to the vulgar thoughts and mean images that
raise a laugh in the coarse circles of vulgarity.

What shall we say when a woman — a young woman
— sends out a volume containing one hundred and sixty
pages of such parodies? We will not breathe her
name, but point her to the lovely examples of such wo-
men as Mrs. Remans and Mrs. Judson, and earnestly
hone she will strive to imitate their purity of thought,
their elevation of sentiment.

we answer by one sentence, which comprehends our
programme of the education of girls: Women must be

TAUGHT WHAT THEY WILL AFTERWARDS HAVE TO
TEACH THEIR CHILDREN.

In other words, girls and boys born in the same
condition of life should have the same instruction, so
that, when the girls become mothers, they may accom-
plish what is half done at the university at a monstrous
expense.

Woman's Influence in France. — Extracts from a
work by Monsieur Emile Girardin, entitled " De In-
struction Publique en France, Guide des Families:" —

There is no instance of a mother who can read and
write, whose children are not likewise able to read and
write. If it is impossible for the mother to send them
to school, she always finds time, however laborious her
occupation, to teach them herself. This is not the case
with the fathers, who, whether educated themselves or
not, are utterly indifferent to the education of their chil-
dren, and very rarely take the trouble of instructing
them themselves, or even of ascertaining what progress
they make in the schools. To give instruction to girls
is to open a school in the bosom of every family. Open,
then, a school, or at least a class of them, in every
parish (commune).

*******

In the education of woman, we are to consider not
so much the pleasures of her life as the usefulness of
her mission. In all descriptions and dissertations, wo-
man never appears but in the second order ; thence the
imperfection of the instruction she receives, however
poetic it may sound to call her " gentle co7npanion of
man." Looking at her in that point of view, more ro-
mantic than social, it is easy to comprehend the super-
ficial education of women. It is not necessary, indeed,
that their knowledge should be very deep, if their
destiny is limited to this passive state of an appendage.
But, if to the ideal of the poet you substitute the con-
siderations of the legislator, if you regard the future,
and, instead of the wife, see only the mother, imme-
diately the parts are changed — to the woman will be-
long the first, to the man the second ; for your eyes
will contemplate the son educated by his mother. It is
then that the acquirements of woman will appear to
you incomplete and superficial, entirely contrary to
what ought to be the object of her education ; then your
mind will be compelled to see the nonsense of such com-
monplaces as, " Woman is made to please and to love,"
" Woman, fair ornament of the creation," " Gentle com-
panion of life," &c. &c. Then your mind will fully
recognize that, of the two offices of the woman, that
of mother is the first, that of wife but the second ;
maternity is her vocation, it elevates woman above
man ; marriage, on the contrary, is but a function which
places woman under the dependence of man. To form
mothers worthy of this name, capable of exercising with
discernment this first of social functions, ought to be
the object of the education of girls ; to form wives who
will be amiable, agreeable, and faithful companions,
will be the necessary and inevitable result of the good
education here proposed. This education will become
better as it becomes more common, as it will be founded
upon examples as well as precepts. Be assured, a girl
will always be a good wife whose education has been
conducted by a good mother, herself the pattern. Con-
sidered under this point of view, entirely maternal,
what acquirements is it right to offer girls '.' What sort
of knowledge must we teach them 1 To all questions,

THE LAST.

TO MRS. JULIA D. LYMAN, ON THE DEATH OF HER
ONLY CHILD, MISS EMILY D. LYMAN.

They laid her to rest in the green earth's breast,

Pier white hands filled with flowers ;
As a dream at dawn, a rainbow of morn,

She passed in life's rosy hours.

Mother, thou art lonely ; gone is the only

Blossom of love for thee ;
The buds have been reft, till but this was left

To grace the parent tree.

The last ! the last ! and Hope hath passed

With her to the crystal gates ;
In their opening light she is lost to sight —

But there an angel waits :

An angel in form, yet his cheek is warm

With the flush of pity's tear,
As he points to earth where Hope had birth,

And Hope returned here.

Mother, so lonely, mourn not thy only;

Hope brings a message of love ;
Take her to thy bosom, she '11 whisper thy blossom

Is set in the garden above.

Oh, glory for woman, who tendeth her human

Buds for the better land !
The sweetest, the fairest, the purest, the rarest,

Most meet for the Saviour's hand ;

To plant by His river of life, flowing ever,

Where He will make the day ;
There partings are never, and joy is forever,

'Tis Heaven, and Heaven alway.

Sarah J. Hale.
Philadelphia, July 5, 1854.

Postmistress. — We are glad to find that women are
now frequently appointed to take charge of post-offices.
In country towns, small towns, and villages especially,
the emoluments are not sufficient to induce a reliable,
respectable man to undertake such office, unless en-
gaged in some other business harmonizing with bis
duties as postmaster. But, to a single woman who
must provide for herself, a widow who has her children
to support, the income of an extra hundred dollars even
is an important matter; and, as the business is all
managed within doors, a woman can fill up the office
hours, when not needed in office duties, by some female
employment. We believe the public will be better
served in this way, when the office is not an important
one, than if men were the officials, and that very few
defaulters will be found among the postmistresses.
There is now about one hundred and twenty-eight women
thus officiating in the United States ; they are appoint-
ed, give bonds, are commissioned, and receive the same
compensation as the postmasters.

274

godey's magazine and lady's book.

To Correspondents. — These articles are accepted :
'• Keep Bearer to thy Youth," " Midnight Musings,"
" Philology, No. 4," " My Mother," " My Husband,"
'• My lit tie Sister Isabel," "To my Friend far away,"
" A Lock of Hair," " The Honey-Bee," " Love at First
Sight ; or, an Incident in Life," " A Winter Scene,"
and " Summer."

The following are not needed : " To A.," " Scenes
from Life in Ancient Times," " My Dream of Wallace,"
" Lines to Wallace," " To Sallie," " Lines to Helen,"
" Flowers," u The Gray Eagle," " Running the Race,"
" Autumn," " Hope," " Never Revenge," " Anna Ler-
mont," " Going to Law," "Sweet Sixteen," and other
articles from the same author.

fitter am fflo it tts.

Books by Mail. — Now that the postage on printed
matter is so low, we offer our services to procure for our
subscribers or others any of the books that we notice.
Information touching books will be cheerfully given by
inclosing a stamp to pay return postage.

From Lippincott, Grambo, & Co., No. 14 North
Fourth Street-, Philadelphia : —

AN HISTORICAL TEXT-BOOK AND ATLAS OF
BIBLICAL GEOGRAPHY. By Lyman Coleman.
The importance of this work to those who would un-
derstand the Scriptures can hardly be overrated. In
schools and families, it will be a mo3t excellent aid in
the education of the young. In the higher Seminaries,
Colleges, and Schools of Divinity, we think it will soon
be adopted as an indispensable work. In schools for
young ladies, it should be introduced everywhere. The
author truly says that " History without Geography is
incomplete and unsatisfactory." They are " insepara-
bly associated together, and should ever be studied
in connection. Each, by association, lends new interest
to the other, and both are learned with more ease than
either when studied alone."

Rev. Dr. Coleman, the author, a teacher of youth, as
well as preacher of the Gospel, well understands the need
of giving such a thorough knowledge of the Bible as will
imprint the scenes described in its history indelibly on
the mind. For this purpose, a knowledge of the locali-
ties where the great events transpired is indispensable.
His work was undertaken for this purpose, and all who
know his habits of patient research and untiring mental
labor will feel sure of finding a finished performance.
It is, indeed, a most perfect work. The maps, eight in
number, are engraved on steel plates, beautifully co-
lored, and, for precision and distinctness, unequalled.
The text gives a rapid, but clear summary of the events
of Scripture history. The Chronological Tables and the
General Index make the work valuable as a Gazetteer
for reference, as well as a manual in the study of the
Bible. The book is beautifully printed, and got up in
the usual good style of the publishers.

From R. H. See &. Co., Philadelphia :—
FASHIONABLE DISSIPATION. By Metta V. Ful-
ler, author of " The Senator's Son," " Poems of Senti-
ment," etc. There is but little entertainment to be
found in the records of vice and intemperance, and but
little instruction to be drawn from the details of dissi-
pation, whether it be fashionable or unfashionable.
Considerate persons, who think in this wise, are there-
fore not a little surprised that some of our female writers

— women of literary reputations, of refined sentiments
and delicate nerves— are employing their talents in
describing minutely the scenes of drunkenness which
are said to occur at public hotels, and in bringing to
light the secret sins of individuals, which, for all the
good that can be anticipated from their exposure, might
well be left in the darkness and privacy in which they
were committed. The object which these good and
gifted ladies have in view, as understood, is to teach
morality. But would it be safe, think you, for a prudent
mother, in order to impress upon the still pure heart of
her daughter a warmer regard for the beauty and dig-
nity of virtue, to introduce her fo the companionship of
the vulgar, the obscene, and the vicious, even admit-
ting that she kept her guarded by the presentation or.
the most vivid contrasts 1 Would not. the experiment
be dangerous, we ask, and the good effect doubtful, to
say the least]

From D. Appleton & Co., No. 200 Broadway, New
York, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : —

AFRICA AND THE AMERICAN FLAG. By Com-
mander Andrew B. Foote, U. S. N., Lieut. Command-
ing U. S. Brig Perry on the Coast of Africa, 1850, 1851.
The writer of this valuable and interesting work wa3
the commander of a brig in the American squadron on
the coast of Africa ; a squadron stationed there to sup-
press that most dreadful of all traffics, the slave trade.
The purpose of the book is best told in the writer's own
words. He says : " To illustrate the importance of this
squadron; the relations which its operations bear to
American interests, and to the rights of the American
flag ; its effects upon the condition of Africa in checking
crime, and preparing the way for the introduction of
peace, prosperity, and civilization, is the primary object
of this work."

But, though this was the inciting motive to the task,
and it has been well and thoroughly carried out, yet the
book has a wider scope than the author seems to indi-
cate. We have never had so vivid an idea of Africa or
of the Africans, as they are now, and probably have
been for centuries, as we have gained from a perusal
of this work. The manner in which a man of sound
judgment and calm practical good sense, as Captain
Foote evidently is, speaks of Liberia, the one spot of
brightness in that dark land, and of its position and its
influence, so great and so rapidly extending, must be
cheering to every person who is anxious to see one of the
gloomiest problems this age has to solve carried out to a
triumphant conclusion. We hope it will give a new
incitement to all who are interested in that great move-
ment. The cruise of the Perry was successful in the
highest degree, owing, no doubt, to the vigorous and
energetic manner in which it was carried on. We
wish a constant supply of such vessels, with such com-
manders, could be kept on that sad and desolated coast.

The style of the writer is easy and direct, giving the im-
pressions of the author with singular fidelity and felicity.
There is not any attempt at fine writing, or any effort
after the sentimental or the startling, yet the dark
tragedies narrated are the more thrilling from this quiet
tone of the book. The deep sympathies of a Christian
heart with the woes and wants of Africa, and the firm
faith in Divine Providence to bring about the desired
uplifting of the poor, ignorant race of Ham, will be very
effective in awakening the public mind. We want
everybody to read tins book.

RUSSIA. Translated from the French of the Marquis dc
Custine. This ably written narrative of a visit to Rus-

LITERARY NOTICES.

275

sia attracted very general attention several years since.
In the present state of that empire, the work will be
read with additional interest. The author thinks and
writes like a true Frenchman, and professes to be a
true Catholic ; yet he takes but little pains to apologize
for the political mistakes of the supreme head of that
church, especially in relation to the fate of Poland.

LECTURES ON THE TRUE, THE BEAUTIFUL,
AND THE GOOD. By M. V. Cousin. Increased by
an Appendix on French Art. Translated, with the
approbation of M. Cousin, by D. W. Wight, translator
of Cousin's " Course of the History of Modern Philoso-
phy," American Editor of the " Philosophy of Sir Wil-
liam Hamilton, Bart.," author of the " Romance of
Abelard," etc. etc. This is a work of deep philosophi-
cal and metaphysical investigation, predicated upon
the ancient and sublime doctrine of spiritualism, which,
as the author affirms, began with Socrates and Plato.
This doctrine, he says, " teaches the spirituality of the
soul, the liberty and responsibility of human actions,
moral obligations, disinterested virtue, the dignity of
justice, the beauty of charity, and, beyond the limits of
this world, it shows a God, author and type of humanity,
who, after having evidently made man for an excellent
end, will not abandon him in the mysterious develop-
ment of his destiny. This philosophy is the natural
ally of all good causes. It sustains religious sentiment ;
it seconds true art, poesy worthy of the name, and a
great literature ; it is the support of right ; it equally
repels the craft of the demagogue and tyranny ; it
teaches all men to respect and value themselves, and,
little by little, it conducts human societies to the true
republic, that dream of all generous souls, which, in
our times, can be realized in Europe only by constitu-
tional monarchy"

We copy these sentences from the author's preface, in
order to give the reader some idea of the philosophic
and spiritual character of the work which follows.
This latter character, however, will be found to differ
very widely from the spiritualism with which certain
young ladies and their disciples have been amusing the
searchers after truth. We say this respectfully, though
we cannot for a moment imagine that any of the intelli-
gent readers of the " Lady's Book" would confound the
philosophy of the great spiritualist, Cousin, with the
amusements of the table-turners.

THE IRON COUSIN ; or Mutual Influence. By Mary
Cowden Clarke, author of " The Childhood of Shak-
speare's Heroines," " The Complete Concordance," etc.
This is one of the few works we occasionally meet with
— we mean in the range of fiction — which bears the im-
press of truth, sound reasoning, and evidences some-
thing like philosophical inquiry into the springs of
human action. The incidents are not all forced upon
us by unnatural agencies ; neither are the characters
drawn in such extravagant and flaunting colors, and
with passions and sentiments so wonderfully refined
that we might not expect to meet with their counter-
parts in everyday life.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through
Parry &, M'Millan, Philadelphia : —

UTAH AND THE MORMONS. The History, Go-
vernment, Doctrines, Customs, and Prospects of the Latter
Bay Saints. From Personal Observation during a Six
Months' Residence at Great Salt lake Ctly. By Benjamin
G. Ferris, late Secretary of Utah Territory. The author
of this volume has presented us with many interesting,
if not astonishing facts relating to the rise, progress, and

present moral and political condition of the Mormon
religionists, which we do not recollect to have observed
in any preceding work. As this happens, very fortu-
nately for those who live in it, and who can profit by it,
to be the enlightened nineteenth century, it might not
be an out-of-the-way duty for philosophical inquirers
into the vagaries of the human mind to institute com-
parisons between the delusions and superstitions exhi-
bited in our midst, and to contrast them with similar
delusions and superstitions of the Dark Ages. If we
gained no more, we might at least learn to entertain
greater respect and deeper charity for our predecessors
than we do now, and be induced to take more pains in
propping up human reason on the sure basis of truth
than appears yet to have entered into our wise and
benevolent consideration.

A POPULAR ACCOUNT OF THE ANCIENT
EGYPTIANS. Revised and abridged from the larger
work, by Sir J. Gardner Wilkinson, D. C. L., F. R. 3.,
&.C. In two volumes. Illustrated with five hundred
wood-cuts. This is a most valuable, entertaining, and
reliable work, into which the author has been careful
not to introduce anything of a questionable or doubtful
nature respecting the customs of the Egyptians. As a
traveller, he has established a reputation for truthful-
ness which we believe has never been reproached, and.
as a writer and delineator of events and national pecu-
liarities, he is plain, comprehensive, and intelligible.

TWENTY YEARS IN THE PHILIPPINES. Trans-
lated from the French of Paul P. de la Gironiere, Che-
valier of the Order of the Legion of Honor. Revised
and extended by the author expressly for this edition.
This volume records many wild and startling adven-
tures in the life of the author, which seem to be well
authenticated by respectable testimonials. It is hand-
somely illustrated, and, independent of the personal
narrative, contains a great deal of practical informa-
tion which will probably be new to the generality of
readers.

FOOTPRINTS OF FAMOUS MEN. Designed as
Incitements to Intellectual Industry. By John G. Edgar,
author of the " Boyhood of Great Men." With illustra-
tions. A very proper book to be placed in the hands of
young readers.

LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK; or, Hunter
John Myers and his Times. A Story of the Valley of
Virginia. The author of this volume, with whose
name we have not been made acquainted, has succeeded
in producing agreeable and amusing sketches of South-
ern life and character. The style is without pretension,
and apparently without effort, yet. it is of sufficient
force and attractiveness not only to claim the attention
of the reader, but to impart warm and generous feelings.

THE ORATOR'S TOUCHSTONE; or, Eloquence
Simplified. Embracing a comprehensive System of In-
vestigation for the Improvement of the Voice, and for
Advancement in the General Art of Public Speaking. By
Hugh McQueen. Those who have not time to study the
art of oratory professionally, will find such directions in
this work as will, with proper attention, enable them to
deliver their sentiments in public and in conversation
with ease and fluency.

From Phillips, Sampson, &- Co., Boston, through C.
G. Henderson & Co., Philadelphia :—

THOUGHTS AND THINGS AT HOME AND
ABROAD. By Elihu Burritt, author of "Sparks from
the Anvil," etc. With a Memoir, by Mary Howitt.
We do certainly entertain the most sincere regard for

276

godey's magazine and lady's book.

the personal character, as well as for the high literary
imentsot' Mr. Burritt We admire the energy and
Industry by which he has reached his present standing
among men of letters, as well in the Old as in the New
"\\ orld. We also admire a great deal of that which he
has written, and take pleasure in following him from
his humble labors at the anvil through his persevering
and successful efforts in authorship. But Mr. Burritt,
in our opinion, is an enthusiast ; and, although he is a
kind-hearted and benevolent man, who would gladly
set all the world right according to his own peculiar
theories of justice and humanity, yet we apprehend that
most of his ideas, and most of his schemes for the ame-
lioration and confraternity of mankind, will forever
remain impracticable and impossible.

From A. Tompkins and B. B. Mussey & Co., Bos-
ton, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : —

RECORDS OF THE BUBBLETON PARISH; or,
Paper; from the Experience of an American Minister.
With illustrations by Billings. We are truly of opinion
that the perusal of this volume is capable of working a
great deal of good in a great number of parishes. We
therefore recommend it to the study of all such pious
persons as may feel a desire to compromise their own
deviations from discipline and religious duty by at-
tempts to control the consciences and to dictate terms
of concession and adjustment to their pastors. There
is one feature in the book, however, which will add
nothing to its usefulness or popularity. We wish it
had been omitted, for the sake of the author, whom we
t.aice to be a very agreeable sketcher of character, and
whom we feel bound to respect in a high degree, on ac-
count of the incidental notice which he has taken of the
" Lady's Book."

From Bunce & Brother, New York : —
FASHION AND FAMINE. By Mrs. Ann S. Ste-
phens. The scene of this novel is laid in New York.
In a notice of the work, which preceded its publication,
it is said that most of the characters and incidents have
been drawn from real life — a very probable, but lament-
able fact. We could wish it were otherwise. But if
such be really the origin of " Fashion and Famine,"
then Mrs. Stephens, an able and popular writer, dis-
plays an intimate knowledge of the social condition of
the great metropolis, the vices of which, as well as the
extremes of wealth and poverty, she has portrayed in
thrilling language, and, as we hope, with beneficial
effect.

From Charles Scott, Trenton, N. J., and Lippin-
cott, Grambo, & Co., Philadelphia :—

TALES OF OLD TIMES. Translated from the Ger-
man of Gustav Nieritz, by Edwin and Mary L. Emerson.
This is a very beautiful volume, the contents of which
will prove highly instructive and amusing for young
readers. Let them have it, by all means.

From Garrett &, Co., New York, through Lifpin-
cott, Grambo, & Co., Philadelphia :—

THE PILGRIMS OF WALSINGH AM; or, Tales of
the Middle Ages. An Historical Romance. By Agnes
Strickland. The great reputation which the author of
this romance enjoys as a biographer and historian, pre-
cludes the necessity of a particular reference to the
elegance of her style, or to her intimate acquaintance
with the important characters and peculiar customs and
religious feelings of the age represented. Historical

romances, in general, are not worthy of much reliance,
and arc more frequently written to foster ancient pre-
judices, and to misrepresent characters and facts, than
to impress us with the real " form and pressure of the
times" to which they profess to have reference. Miss
Strickland has never been charged with any such mo-
tives, and, whatever we may think of her views, we
have the consolation of believing that they are founded
upon the incidents and truths of history.

REPORT OF THE SUPERINTENDENT OF THE
COAST SURVEY, SHOWING THE PROGRESS OF
THE SURVEY DURING THE YEAR 1852. We have
received a copy of this valuable work, "with the com-
pliments of Prof. A. D. Bache," Superintendent. It is
creditable to the national character, as well as to the
individuals comprising the scientific corps engaged in
the survey.

From H. Long &, Brothers, New York, through T.
B. Peterson, Philadelphia: —

THE RAPPERS; or, the Mysteries, Fallacies, and
Ahsurdiiics of Spirit- Rapping, Table-Turning, and Ex-
citement. By a Searcher after Truth. The author of
this volume, after a pretty thorough investigation of the
subject, and everything connected with it, comes to the
conclusion that the religion of the rappers is blasphemy,
and all its manifestations delusions. Some common-
sense people have arrived at the same conclusion by a
much shorter road than that which was laboriously
travelled by our industrious searcher after truth.

From TiCKNon, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through
W. P. Hazard, Philadelphia :—

ATHERTON, AND OTHER TAfcES. By Mary
Russell Mitford, author of" Our Village." This hand-
some volume presents us with the latest work of the
amiable author. It was written under severe afflictions,
and, though the most elaborate of her productions, is
certainly one of her best and most interesting. The
reader will be pleased, instructed, and encouraged by
the gentle thoughts and pure moral tone of these pages.

From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : —
SOL SMITH'S ANECDOTICAL RECOLLECTIONS
AND THEATRICAL APPRENTICESHIP. With
eight engravings, from original designs by Darley. This
amusing volume is uniform with Peterson's " Library
of Humorous American Works." Price 50 cents.

NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, ETC.

From Harper &. Brothers, New York, through Parry &,
McMillan, Philadelphia: "Harper's Descriptive and
Statistical Gazetteer of the World." This is No. 1 of a
valuable work, to be completed in ten numbers, at 50
cents each. — " Aubrey." By the author of " Castle
Avon," " The Wilmingtons," etc. No. 190 of " Har-
per's Library of Select Novels." — " Sir Gasper Carew,
Knt. : His Life and Experiences, with some account of
his Ovcr-reachings and Short-comings, now first given
to the World by Himself." By Charles Lever, author
of "The Dodd Family Abroad," etc. There is less
humor, perhaps, but. more philosophy in this volume
than we usually find in the works of this author.

From Phillips, Sampson, iV Co.. Boston, and James C.
Derby, New York, through See, Peters, 6i Co., Philadel-
phia :" Martin Merrivale. His X Mark."' By Paul
Creyton. Nos. 5 and 6. Every new number of this

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

277

work increases our interest in the fortunes of Martin
and Alice, and our confidence in the abilities of the
author.

From H. B. Pearson, Cincinnati : " The Spanish
Heroine : a Tale of Cuban Patriotism." The incidents
in this book are connected with the late war with
Mexico. There is a good deal of swearing and fighting

in this volume. Price 25 cents. — " Ashleigh : a Tale of
the Olden Time." By Miss E. A. Dupay, author of
" The Conspirator," etc. This is a spirited narrative,
drawn from events in the war of the Revolution. —
" Life in the Far West ; or, the Comical, Quizzical, and
Theatrical Adventures of a Hoosier." Price 23 cents.

(Sofrn]'s $rnt-C|jair.

Our Fashion Plate. — We must take the liberty of
calling attention to the fashion plate in this number.
Nothing equal to it has ever appeared in a magazine.
The engraving is equal to that put on the finest steel
plate, and the coloring is truly Parisian. The press
seems to think as we do upon the subject of our fash-
ions, the following papers testifying to their worth.

The Greencastle " Intelligencer" says : " We con-
sider his fashion plates alone worth the price of the
' Book.' " The Erie " Observer" says : " Ladies, if you
wish to get the latest fashions, you can't do better than
to get ' Godey.' " The Newcastle " Gazette :" " Every
lady who desires to keep up with the fashions should
subscribe for ' Godey.' " The Norwalk " Gazette :"
" The plates alone, as patterns and models of clothing,
needlework, &c, are worth twice the amount of the
subscription." " Union," Pittsfield : " Without doubt,
Godey excels all others in the matter of correct and full
fashion plates."

" Ten Nights in a Bar-Room." — It is wonderful
what a sale there is for every work emanating from the
pen of this gifted author. The sale of this last of his
productions has far exceeded the most sanguine hopes
of the publisher.

Books that we wile send by Mail, Postage
Paid. — On receipt of the money, we will send by mail,
post-paid, any of the following books written by T. S.
Arthur :—

Price
Ten Nights in a Bar-Room, and What I saw

There, 75

Sketches of Life and Character — illustrated, $2 00

Lights and Shadows of Real Life, do. 2 00

Leaves from the Book of Human Life — 30 illustra-
tions, t 1 00
Golden Grains from Life's Harvest Field, 75
True Riches ; or, Wealth Without Wings, 60
The Way to Prosper, 50
The Home Mission, 50
Finger Posts on the Way of Life, 50
Shadows and Sunbeams, 60
The Fireside Angel, 25
Tales of Married Life, 1 00
Three Eras in Woman's Life, 1 00
Library for the Household, 12 vols., 4 50
New Juvenile Library, 12 vols., 60 illustrations, 4 50
The Angel of the Household, 60

" How to Make a Dress." — We can now send this
work to all who have ordered it, our new edition being
ready.

vol. xltx.— 24

Mrs. Suplee. — We are happy to state that, although
this lady was burnt out at the recent fire in Chestnut
Street, she has, with that energy which is peculiar to
her, resumed business again, and is able to furnish any
of her inimitable patterns that may be ordered. Those
ordering may be certain of one thing, that the patterns
are of the latest style, as the old ones have all been
destroyed. Our Fashion Editor will furnish patterns
from the manufactory of Mrs. Suplee of any of the
dresses we publish.

Mrs. Hale's "Cook Book" we will furnish at $1,
and pay the postage. Mrs. Hale's " Household Book"
on the same terms. Every one of our lady subscribers
ought to have both these books, and they would, if they
knew their value.

The following compliment to the gifted young author
of " Life of Columbus," we copy from the Burlington
(N. J.) " Gazette," a paper most ably edited by John
Rodgers, Esq. : —

" We desire especially to call the attention of our
readers to the article entitled, ' Life of Columbus ; for
Godey's Young Readers,' by our talented young towns-
man, John B. Duffey. Mr. D.'s style is clear, smooth,
and pleasant, and in this article he has shown peculiar
facility in writing for the young. The history will be
continued from month to month, and those who desire
to obtain for their children a pleasing and interesting
sketch of the great discoverer, will do well to subscribe
immediately."

The Schuylkill.— During the present hot weather,
nothing can be more beautiful than to see the steam-
boats that ply on this river crowded with parents and
children, seeking that breeze and delightful view which
they in vain look for in the city. The trip is so delight-
ful, the fare so reasonable, the boats so commodious,
and the captains so obliging, that we do not wonder
that they are so well patronized.

Infancy. — As the infant begins to discriminate be-
tween the objects around, it soon discovers one counte-
nance that ever smiles upon it with peculiar benignity.
When it wakes from its sleep, there is one watchful
form ever bent over its cradle. If started by some un-
happy dream, a guardian angel seems ever ready to
soothe its fears. If cold, that ministering spirit brings
it warmth ; if hungry, she feeds it ; if happy, she
caresses it. In joy or sorrow, in weal or woe, she is the
first object of its thoughts. Her presence is heaven;
the mother is the Deity of infancy.

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Boardman & Cray's Pianos.— We again call at-
tention to the advertisement of these gentlemen on our
cover. The pianos are finished in an elegant and supe-
rior manner, and possess a purity, power, and perfec-
fection of tone that we have never heard excelled.
Besides possessing all the high qualities of the best
piano-fortes manufactured in any city of the Union, as
has been abundantly attested by the numerous awards
of gold medals, extra medals, and high premiums, and
other honors in the principal cities, they have a peculiar
merit, and one not found in any other instrument — this
is the Dolce Campana Attachment, which the most
eminent musical professors have pronounced capable
of imparting a distinct quality of tone heretofore un-
known. Without at all interfering with the usual
qualities of pianos, the Attachment imparts an entirely
new and unique power. The expression of tone is
changed instantly and entirely, at the simple will of the
player, producing, at pleasure, a tone like that of distant
bells, with a surpassing softness, brilliancy, and beauty
that will be appreciated by a refined and cultivated
taste.

" Godey's Gallery of Splendid Engravings,
embracing seme thirty magnificent steel-plate engrav-
ings, that have formerly appeared in the ' Lady's Book,'
bound in a stanch manner, and for sale, comes about
as near what everybody would like to have as anything
out. Many people take magazines for the engravings,
and many others don't take the books, but would dearly
like the plates; so here 's the chance— the plates of an
entire year, in a collected form, and nicely bound, for
fifty cents. The prettiest present for a young lady, ' Oh,
my !' — or ' our,'' we should say. Address Godey."

The above is from the Nashville " Monitor," and we
are obliged to him. There is only one error : we give as
many plates as are contained in the numbers for two
years, for the small price of fifty cents.

Punch, in allusion to the prevalent custom among
the lower classes in England to beat their wives, says :
" Whether much love prevails on both sides between
husband and wife among the inferior classes, properly
so called, of this country, may be questioned, but there
is no doubt that the wives, at least, are much smitten."

Brodie, 51 Canal Street, New York, as far surpasses
all others in his line as the " Lady's Book" does its
contemporaries. Look at the patterns from his esta-
blishment in this number. From the increase of his
business, we presume Mr. B. will have to enlarge his
establishment, now one of the largest in the city. It is
crowded every day with purchasers.

Beautifully Expressed. — As the harmony of no
domestic circle can be perfect without the dulcet prattle
of childhood, so may it be said that no lady's reading-
table is completely furnished that does not contain the
" Lady's Book." — Amherst Express.

Summer Beverages. Price 25 cents. Contains
twenty receipts for summer temperance drinks. The
very thing for the season.

Our friend Bartlette, an attach'e of ours, desires thus
publicly to return his thanks to Mrs. S. G. McGuire, of
McGuire's store, Geo., for her kind attention to him
during his illness at her house — attentions that Mr.
Bartlette, one of the most mild and gentlemanly persons
we ever knew, will never forget.

What excuse can a subscriber make to a person who
borrows his " Lady's Book," supposing that we had
stopped that subscriber for the reason that he had not
paid up his arrears'? There is a question that will
do to think about until we issue the October number.

Swimming by Favor. — "You see that the boat in
which we sit," said one of the Emperors of China to his
son, " is supported by the water, which at the same
time may rise and overwhelm it ; remember, the water
represents the people, while the emperor is only the boat
swimming by its favor." Our own case exactly.

" Woman's Rights." — Don't be alarmed, good
r, we are not going into this vexed question. We
>'ily about to give the opinion of the Morisania
" Journal" upon the subject. He says : " Being an
advocate for woman's rights, we certainly do think that
one of the most important is, that every head of a fami-
ly should furnish his wife or daughters with a copy of
this magazine."

The Brooklyn (N..Y.) " Journal," a very influential
paper, says of the "Lady's Book:" "This magazine
increases in interest with every number, and is far
superior to any of its Philadelphia contemporaries. It
contains a little of everything interesting to ladies ; and
the department devoted to fashions is of itself worth
twice the subscription price of the work."

A Squint at Royalty-. — An English publication
gives the following as the expenditure of the Lord Stew-
ard, or head cook of Queen Victoria's royal household,
for one year. It is worth looking at : —

Bread,

$10,000

Butter, Bacon, Cheese, and Eggs,

25,000

Milk and Cream,

7,100

Butcher's Meat,

47,200

Poultry,

18,000

Fish,

10,000

Groceries,

23,150

Oil,

8,650

Fruit and Confectionery,

8,350

Vegetables,

2,i00

Wine,

24,000

Liquors, &c,

9.000

Ale and Beer.

14.050

Wax Candles,

9,400

Tallow Candles,

3,300

Lamps,

23.350

Fuel,

34,100

Stationery,

4,100

Turnery,

1,700

Braziery,

4,400

China, Glass, &c,

6,550

Linen,

4,450

Washing table-linen,

15.500

Plate,

1,750

$316,500

Rapp's Gold Pens.— Their celebrity is increasing,

and wo do not wonder at it, for they are the best
article of the kind ever offered. We wilt guarantee
them. Prices as follows: Condor Bize, with a holder.
$6 ; in a silver case, $7 ; swan-quill size, with double
extension silver cases, $4; goose-quill size, suitable for
ladies, with holders as above, $3.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

279

A Just Man. — " Inclosed please find ten dollars. I
do not know how much I am in arrears. If I am, this
will pay it ; if not, so much the better. It is a small
amount to each individual ; but, in the end, if every-
body would pay in advance, it would be of great mo-
ment to yourself. I have taken your magazine almost
every year since it has been published, and intend keep-
ing my name on your books until it is stopped.

" Y'r ob't s'v't, S. G."

We will add that it pays his subscription to June,
1359. Why will not others of our subscribers be equally
thoughtful 1 What is a mere trifle to thern is, in the
aggregate, an immense sum to us.

Read this, ye bachelor editors, and mend your condi-
tion as soon as you possibly can : " What a lonely life
a man leads without wife or children ! He seems to
hang, as it were, a loose, disjointed member upon
society, disconnected from the rest of his fellow-beings
by all those household ties which seem to form the con-
necting links of lite."

Here is another hit at you : " A sour-minded bachelor
is like small-pox — he will pick holes in the prettiest
face."

We have always insisted upon what the Newburg
" Courier" says : " With the aid of this ' Book' and a
little ingenuity, every lady may be her own milliner
and dressmaker. She may do her own embroidery,
and, with the help of a little leather, she may ornament
her furniture equal to the most beautiful carving."

We are not so certain about that. — A kind
word from an old friend, such as he of the Chicago
" Daily Courant," is almost — mind, we qualify it — as
good as a return smile from the ladies.

Our friend Andrews, of the Macon "Citizen," is
very much pleased with his " head" — we mean the
head of his paper — and, truly, it is the very handsomest
one we receive, and we rejoice in 1,900 and odd ex-
changes. He says : " Well, reader, what do you think
of our frontispiece 1 The work was executed in Phila-
delphia, under the direction of Louis A. Godey, Esq.,
and executed by Louderback & Hoffman, two of the
best artists of that city. In our own judgment, we have
never seen a newspaper heading which was equal to it,
in point of skill of design and finish of engraving, and
we here take occasion to recommend said artists to the
favorable consideration of those who have work to be
done in their line of business."

Our friend of the New Brunswick " Times" says :
" We often extract from ' Godey,' and always give him
or the author credit." We know that -you would not
do otherwise ; but there are hundreds of papers that
never dream of giving us credit. The Boston weeklies
are rather famous for this. We should like to have a
little of that " cooling breeze" you speak of, good
" Times."

" The Book of the Toilet." — We are now on our
tenth thousand of this very useful work for the ladies.
The sale of this ladies' indispensable has been very
large. It contains receipts for almost everything that
can interest a lady. Price 50 cents.

Back numbers of the " Lady's Book" can be supplied
from January, as the work is stereotyped.

We are pleased to hear of the very great success of
the Cosmopolitan Art and Literary Association of San-
dusky, O. It will be seen that a great chance is offered
to our poets, which no doubt they will avail themselves
of. One hundred dollars is offered for the best ode to
Powers's statue of the Greek Slave. The following
notice is from the Burlington " Sentinel," edited by that
wit and poet, John G. Saxe : —

" The reader who is a lover of literature or art will
consult his interest by looking at the advertisement of
the ' Cosmopolitan Art and Literary Association.' We
venture to say that no similar or equally useful project
for the distribution of the products of literature and art
was ever devised in this country. The difference be-
tween this and every other plan that we have yet seen
is this : The subscriber gets the full value of his money at
the start, with a chance for a high premium besides.
One word more. We personally know Mr. Derby, the
Actuary, and can assure the public that he is a man of
integrity and enterprise, is associated with men of
honor, and will see that the promises of the Association
are most rigidly fulfilled."

The Tuskegee " Republican" says : " Godey himself
— the man Godey — must be well stricken in years, for it
seems to us that we have heard of him ever since we
were knee-high to a humming-bird; but the only way
that age is marked upon his magazine is by the constant
improvement he makes upon it. Vive L. A. Godey .'"

To which our friend Slade, of the Tuscaloosa " Moni-
tor," adds : " We fondly remember a personal acquaint-
ance with Mr. Godey more than twenty years ago ; he
was then young, tidy, and fine-looking, and of small
stature : we have recently seen him, through the medium
of art, by which he is represented with a growth propor-
tionate to the popularity and improvement of his maga-
zine."

To which we add : Tidy and fine-looking yet, and of
small stature ; but to the want of youth we plead guilty.

On the road to Greenwood Cemetery, Brooklyn, N. Y.,
may be seen the following sign : " ORANG CON MiLK
DEPO," which, being interpreted, means Orange Co.
Milk Depot.

Our Patterns. — Ladies do not seem to be aware
that these patterns are facsimiles of the originals in
color, trimming, &c. At a distance, they would be
taken for the garment itself. They could be worn in a
tableau without being detected.

Epitaph on a Locomotive. By the sole survivor
of a deplorable accident (no blame attached to the serv-
ants of the company) : —

Collisions four
Or five she bore,
The signals were in vain ;

Grown old and rusted,
Her biler busted,
And smashed the excursion tram.
Her end was pieces. — Hal. Gaz.

An Excellent Reason. — The editor of the Norwalk
"Gazette," after praising our " Book," fashions, &c.,
says : " There is but one single reason why his fashion
plates for children's clothing have not been worth at
least ten dollars a year to us, and that is, we have had
no children to clothe."

280

godey's magazine and lady's book,

Etiquette for Widows.— The following humorous
hit is from a late novel by Alphonse Karr. We will
not answer for its truth ; but we will for its humor :—

" Those who shall scrupulously observe certain simple
and easy practices shall be considered to experience a
sufficient degree of grief. Thus it is proper for a widow
to mourn her husband a year and six weeks (a man
only mourns his wife six months) ; that is to say, the
widow, on the morning of the four hundred and seventy-
first day, and the widower on the dawn of the one hun-
dred and eighty-first, awakes in a gay and cheerful
mood.

" Grief divides itself into several periods in the case
of widows.

" 1st period — Despair, six weeks. — This period is
known by a black paramatta dress, crape collar and
cuffs, and the disappearance of the hair beneath the
widow's cap.

" 2d period — Profound grief. Despondency, six weeks.
Profound grief is recognized by the dress, which still
continues to be of paramatta, and the despondency
which succeeds to despair is symbolized by the white
crape collar and cuffs.

"3d period — Grief softened by the consolation of
friends, and the hope soon to join the regretted object
of her affections in a better world. These melancholy
sentiments last six months; they are expressed by a
black silk dress ; the widow's cap is still worn.

" 4th period — Time heals the wounds of the heart.
Providence tempers the east wind to the shorn lamb.
Violent attacks of grief only come on at rare intervals.
Sometimes the widow seems as though she had forgotten
her loss ; but all at once a circumstance, apparently
indifferent, recalls it, and falls back into grief. Yet she
dwells from time to time upon the faults of the beloved;
but it is only to contrast them with his dazzling virtues.
This period would be tiresome enough for the world at
large ; therefore it has been decided to express it simply
by half mourning.

" 5th period. — There is now only a softened melan-
choly, which will last all her life — i. e. six weeks. This
touching and graceful sentiment shows itself by a quiet
gray silk dress ; the sufferer less feels the loss than the
actual deprivation of a husband.

" When the lady loses her husband, it is requisite
either to pay her a visit of condolence, or address a let-
ter to her. It is customary in these cases to make use
of such language as admits the probability of the great-
est possible grief — that of Artemisia, for example.
Fontenelle, however, thought proper to send a blank
letter to a young friend of his who had lost an old hus-
band, saying he would fill it up three months after-
wards. When he did so, he began, ' Madam, I con-
gratulate you.' But this is quite contrary to custom.
Therefore, when a widow loses an old, avaricious
husband, from whom she inherits a large fortune, you
ought not the less to entreat her not to give herself up
to despair; and take care to look as though you be-
lieved it was law and custom alone which prevented
her from burying herself with him."

DIRECTIONS FOR WINDOW PLANTS FOR
SEPTEMBER.

(From Mrs. HaWs New Household Receipt-Book. Tills
book will be sent to any person on receipt of $1.)

The geraniums cut down in July will now be pushing
forth a number of young shoots ; these must be encou-
raged as much as possible, by keeping the plants in a
sheltered place, and duly supplying them with moisture.
When the shoots have grown two or three joints, they
should be stopped by picking out the points, in order to
render them bushy. The cuttings made at the same
period will now be fit for potting ; put each one sepa-
rately into a small pot, and treat them as the older plants.
Young plants of myrtles, and indeed all others that are
properly rooted, should receive similar treatment. Cine-
rarias are among the most useful of spring-flowering
plants, and if a few seedlings can be obtained now, they
will make nice plants, with the treatment recommended
for geraniums. Cyclamen, Guernsey, or Belladonna
lilies, and Lachenalias should be repotted ; the first and
last are very handsome spring-flowering plants, and the
lilies are exceedingly beautiful through October and
November ; all of them are of reasonable price, and well
worth adding to the usual stock of window plants. Fill
a few pots with fibrous loam, and sprinkle them over
with mignonette, nemophilla insignis, and intermediate
stocks ; leave the pots in the open air, and thin the plants
to about three or four of the strongest, as soon as they
can be handled. Pot off china primroses, putting one
plant into each three-inch pot. Encourage the chrysan-
themums in pots with alternate applications of manure
water, repot the strongest, and allow them all plenty of
room, or the leave s are liable to injury. Set all plants
as they grow out of flower in the sun, to ripen their wood,
but do not let them suffer from drought.

Every male biped must have noticed how awkwardly
ladies carry their umbrellas and parasols, never lifting
them to prevent collision, but going ahead either hang-
ing them over their shoulders or carrying them before,
no regard being paid to eyes or hats of the other sex.
We thought at one time we were alone in our observa-
tion, but, by the following, we see that the thought has
struck some other person :—

" We believe it is true that the fairer and better por-
tion of humanity cause more trouble with their umbrel-
las than the males; but they are not to be blamed, for,
independent of the legitimate immunities of the sex,
they are entitled to a liberal allowance on account of
the high state of excitement they must naturally be in,
when their delicate figures are opposed to the peltings
of the pitiless storm ; and besides, they spread a great
deal more canvas than men do, and have to keep guard
over that with one hand. Under these circumstances,
you shouldn't swear if the umbrella of lovely woman
knocks your eye out, or damages your hat. You should
bless her for the eye you have left, raise your beaver
politely, keep to the right, and pass on."

Some ill-bred bard makes the following desperate
attempt to epigrammatize his mistress : —

ON MRS. ANNA BREAD.
While toasts their lovely graces spread,

And fops around them flutter,
I '11 be content with Anna Bread,

And won't have any but her.

Very Pretty. — A fashion has been lately intro-
duced of placing necklaces and diamond ornaments on
a ground of dark rich-colored velvet, which adds much
to their brilliancy. At the recent drawing-room, Ihe
Baroness Goldsmid had a magnificent diamond laid on
black velvet. The Countess of Shaftesbury adopted
dark blue velvet as a ground for her jewels throughout
her whole costume, and another lady scarlet velvet.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

231

MAGNETIC AMUSEMENTS.

The magnet is merely a piece of iron ore mixed with
stony particles, which is found in various parts of the
world. There is a legend connected with its discovery.
The ancient Greeks relate that one Magnes, a shepherd,
while tending his flocks near Mount Ida, stretched him-
self upon the g-reensward to take repose, and left his
crook, the upper part of which was made of iron, leaning
against a large stone. When he awoke and rose to de-
part, he attempted to take up his crook, but the iron
adhered to the stone. He told this to some philosophers
of the time, and they are reported to have called the
stone after the name of the shepherd, Magnes, the mag-
net.

•The magnet has the peculiar properties of attracting
iron, pointing to the poles of the world, and of commu-
nicating its virtues upon iron by touch without losing
any of its own qualities. The discovery of the magnetic
inclination to the poles of the earth has been of immense
advantage to navigators. It is not positively known,
however, who was the inventor of the mariner's compass.
It was known in Europe as a scientific curiosity early
in the twelfth century, but it does not appear to have
attracted general notice among the mariners of Europe
until the beginning of the fourteenth century, when one
Flavia Gioja, a Neapolitan sailor, used it on the seas,
and was thus erroneously styled the inventor of it. The
mariner's compass is a brass box, with a circular paper
card at the bottom of it, on which the thirty-two points
of direction, called "the points of the compass," are
marked. Above these is poised a small bar of steel
magnetized, called the " magnetic needle," which inva-
riably turns to the north, except in a few instances, at
certain parts of the world, where a slight variation has
been discovered; but it is always sufficiently true to
enable the mariner, by a single glance at it, to discover
if his vessel be pursuing her proper path across the
waters. The compass is also often used as a guide by
travellers in crossing immense deserts which have
neither landmark nor beaten pathway to direct their
steps.

To make an Artificial Magnet. — Take a poker
and tongs, the larger and older the better, and fixing
the poker upright, fasten to the upper part with a silk
thread a piece of soft steel, having its marked end down-
wards ; then grasping the tongs with the right hand a
little below their middle, and keeping them nearly in a
vertical line, rub the steel with the lower end of the tongs
from the marked end to its upper end about ten times on
each side of it. By this means the steel will receive as
much magnetism as will enable it to lift a small key at
the marked end, and the bar being suspended by its
middle, or made to rest on a point, the marked end will
turn to the north, and is called the North Pole, the un-
marked end being the South Pole. Hard iron or steel
becomes permanently magnetic almost instantaneously,
if it be rubbed in the direction of its length several times,
not downward and upward, but only upward. However,
ae natural magnets may be purchased for a trifling sum,
it is merely a matter of curiosity forming artificial ones.

When a north pole is presented to another north
pole, they repel each other as is shown in the experiment
of the wonderful swan. Cut in cork the figure of a swan,
and cover it with a coat of white wax, making the eyes
of glass beads ; conceal within its body a piece of mag-
netized steel, and set it afloat upon a basin of water.
Round the edge of the basin may be placed various de-
vices, and among others a swan-house, such as is seen

24*

upon a river, may hang over and touch the water; here
the swan may take shelter occasionally, and in it he
may be made to turn round in order to increase the
astonishment of the spectators. By means of the i
netic bar placed within the swan, and of the magnetic
wand, the figure may be made to approach or recede by
presenting to the edge of the basin the north and south
poles alternately.

" Ladies' Winter Book of Crochet Patterns."
By Miss Anne T. Wilbur. — We have a few copies of
this work for sale at 25 cents per copy.

A Unique Notice. — The Montpelier "State Ga-
zette" is responsible for the following : —

" ' Godey's Lady's Book,' for July, like the
' Last rose of summer,'

' Left blooming alone ;'
— and the next two lines. —
" Terms $3. Two copies $5. Address L. A. Godey,
113 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia."

" Woman and her Master," published by Garrett
&. Co., New York, we understand has had a large sale,
and the demand still continues. We do not wonder at
this, as it is a very pleasant and well-written work.

Friend " Clipper," of Brownsville, yours is a first-
rate notice ; but have you not done away with its most
admired quality by the admission that you got asleep
over the "Lady's Book"] Oh fie! However, we for-
give you, for the rest of the notice.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies
them.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a
post-office stamp.

" Alpha C. K." — For $2 50, which will cover postage
on our side.

" Mrs. E. R. C."— Sent chart by Adams & Co. 21st.

" S. L. H."— Sent by Kinsley's Express. 22d.

" Mrs. N. E. M." — Sent patterns and " Book" by mail'
24th.

" Mrs. A. E. S." — Sent patterns by mail on 24th.

" Mrs. J. E. P." — Sent ear-rings by mail 27th.

" C. F. W."— Sent patterns by mail 27th.

" Mrs. F. M. B."— Sent braid by mail 27th.

" Mrs. W. G." — Sent Talma by Harnden's Express
27th.

" O. C. R." — Sent book about " Birds," and can pro-
cure a goldfinch for $5.

" A. M. P." — A gas stove can be had for $8.

" Wilomine.'V-Toil Cire is the material; a sort of
oil-cloth, that is put under the muslin to work on.

" Miss C. A." — Price of dress chart $1.

We are under the impression that we sent a letter
acknowledging the receipt of a club without paying the
postage on it; if we did so, we apologize for the neglect.

" Mrs. W. D. L."— Sent patterns by mail 5th.

" Mrs. R. B. H." — Sent patterns by mail on 6th.

" M. F. Eaton."— -We have an order from this name,
and the letter is dated " Hope," and post-marked
" Hope." Now, what State is it in ] There are several
post-offices by the name of " Hope." When will per-
sons learn to give the name of town, county, and State,
and save a world of trouble? Post-marks are but of
little use.

2S2

godey's magazine and lady's book

The letter from Eagle Falls has been received, and
we return our sincere thanks to the writer.

" Mrs. W. M. D-" — Sent " Book" and pattern by
Kinsley's Express on 8th.

" Frosting Grasses."— We are endeavoring to get the
i ; but the lady is at present out of town. Shall
probably have it before the October number is issued.

" Miss M. E. W."— Sent patterns by mail 10th.

" Mrs. S. C. K." — Sent patterns by mail 10th.

" Mrs. H. M. L." — Will endeavor to attend to your
request.

"J. P. J." — Sent your letter to Wm. E. Tucker, en-
graver.

" L. V. P."— You will find it in Mrs. Hale's " House-
keeper's Book." If you have not a copy, send us $1,
and we will send you one.

ull)e Borrower's ^Department.

" The wicked borroweth and payeth not again."

The following, from an editor's wife in North Caro-
lina, shows a most disgraceful state of things as regards
the borrowing system. We hope the lady alluded to
will recognize her portrait : —

" Mr. Godey, dear Sir : I know from personal
observation that, when an editor receives a letter, he
either expects to find funds inclosed or an order for his
publication, job work, or something of the kind ; so, in
the first place, let me assure you that there is neither
contained in this. It is only a very commonplace let-
ter, an indifferent one at that ; but I am so well pleased
with your June number, which I have just finished
reading, that I cannot resist the desire of having a little
confab with you. Wish the conversation could be a
verbal one. You visit the ladies so often, and in such
a pleasant manner, that I am sure all who are sub-
scribers must feel as I do — as if personally acquainted.
There are very many, too, who are not subscribers who
have the benefit of the ' Book.' They get possession of
it by a species of theft, I call it, viz., borrowing. Mr.

is absent, and I am again very imperfectly filling

the chair editorial. When the ' Book' arrived this
week, I had many applications for it before I could
have an opportunity of writing a notice of it, or glean-
ing the contents. When refused — it 's an insult, too.
It is not only an imposition upon the publishers, but
upon the lender, and I do hope you will find some
method of preventing it. I have several acquaintances
who live high, dress fine, make quite a show, and wish
to be considered not only ' big bugs,' but great literary
characters, who depend entirely upon their neighbors to
gratify their mental appetite.

" One literary lady will readily recognize her own
picture; but I shall not care much.* She is counted
among my friends, and considers herself an aristocrat.
I am a poor editor's wife ; and she tells other friends of
hers that she 'visits me only to get something to read.'
As a matter of course, I place much value upon such
friendship, and appreciate her visits accordingly.

" It is always expected that an editor keeps a full
library, and consequently there is no bound to the im-
positions imposed upon him by the public. Query, Is
an editor public properly or not 1"

Here is another rather humorous complaint upon
the subject of borrowing ; but the moral is well told :—

" Godey, whose ' Book' the ladies have been accus-
tomed to swear by for the last twenty years, has

adopted a rule, which he expects the Press to live up to,
but which places us in a very awkward position some-
times ; and still, we like the rule, and intend to try to
live up to it, because we consider it just and right. So,
when we announce to our lady friends that the ' Lady's
Book' for June is crammed full of good things from title-
page to 'finis,' we are not to be understood tLat we
have that book on hand, ready to be lent to the first pair
of bright wishful eyes that lights upon it. Godey says
we mustn't ; and we shall abide by his decision, although
it places us somewhat in the delicate position of the
gentleman 'from the rural districts,' who took his lady-
love to see the elephants, which are announced in the
bills of the gay metropolis. While promenading the
streets with Sallie on his arm, and the warm sultry
noonday sun beating full down upon his broad-brimmed
Panama, melting the collar of his clean ' dicky' and
hanging it over his stock to dry, he passed a soda fount,
whose bubbling coolness seemed to draw him with irre-
sistible cords. ' Here, Sal,' said he, 'just wait a mi-
nute.' And, stepping up to the man who turns the key,
asked for a tumbler ' right from the north corner.'

" The glass had scarcely touched his lips, ere the con-
tents were lodged in his capacious maw ; when, with a
look of peculiar gratification, he turned round to hi3
still sweltering companion, smacked his lips, and ex-
claimed, in ecstasy, ' That was darned good, Sal ! Why
don't you buy some!' We beg of our lady friends not
to think of making the application." — Niagara River
Pilot, Tonawanda, N. Y.

Keretptsr, &t.

Currant Wine. — Gather the currants when dry;
extract the juice either by mashing, pressing, or putting
them in ajar placed in boiling water. Strain the juice,
and for every gallon allow one gallon of water and three
pounds of sugar. Dissolve the sugar in the water, and
take off the scum ; let it cool, add to it the currant juice,
and put the mixture in a keg, but do not close it tightly
until it has ceased fermenting, which will not be under
a week. In three or four weeks it may be bottled. The
white of an egg beaten, mixed with a teaspoonful of
cream of tartar, and stirred into the liquid, makes the
wine look clear and bright.

Worcester, Mass.

Tomato Ketchup. — Take one bushel of tomatoes,
and boil them until they are soft. Squeeze them through
a fine wire sieve, and add — half a gallon of vinegar ; one
pint and a half of salt; tAvo ounces of cloves; quarter
of a pound of allspice ; two ounces of Cayenne pepper ;
three tablespoonfuls of black pepper; five heads of
garlic, skinned and separated. Mix together, and boil
about three hours, or until reduced to about one-half.
Then bottle, without straining.

Green Gooseberry Wine. — To every pound of
fruit, one quart of cold water; let it stand three day.*.
To every gallon of juice, when strained, add thref
pounds of common loaf-sugar. To every twenty quarts
of liquor, one bottle of brandy. Hang some isinglass in
a bag in the cask. When it has stood half a year, plug
it, and, if the sweetness is gone off sufficiently, bottle i< .
The gooseberries should be quite green, though full
grown.

To Remove Wine Stain out of Handkerchiefs.
— If it is of long standing, rub the part on each side
with yellow soap; then lay on a mixture of starch in

RECEIPTS.

283

cold water very thick; rub it well in, and expose to the
sun and air till the stain is removed. If this is not the
case in two or three days, rub that off and repeat the
process. When dry, sprinkle with a little water.

To take out Grease Spots from Paper.— Scrape
some French chalk very fine ; place the greased paper
on the powder, and scrape more chalk upon its surface.
Place another piece of paper upon the whole, and then
pass a hot iron over it, when the grease will be absorbed
by the chalk.

To take Iron Stains out of Marble. — Well mix
spirit of vitriol and lemon-juice in equal parts. Wet
the stains, and, when the mixture has remained for a
few minutes, rub with a soft rag till they disappear.

China Cement. — Grind some lime into the finest
powder; tie some in a piece of thin muslin; then wet
the edges of the broken china with white of egg, dust
some lime over it, and join immediately.

Seal-Engravers' Cement is common brickdust and
rosin melted together in an earthen pipkin. With this,
the handles of loose knives and forks may be fastened.

To Restore Ivory. — To bleach a card-case, expose
it to the sun in a close glass shade, previously washing
it in spirits of wine and water, with a small quantity
of soda in it. Allow it to dry very slowly in a cool
place before exposure to the sun. But, under any cir-
cumstances, carving in ivory is apt to split, and become
unglued. For an ink spot, try a little salt of sorrel.

A Hint for Housekeepers. — A few drops of car-
bonate of ammonia, in a small quantity of warm rain
water, will prove a safe and easy antacid, &c, and will
change, if carefully applied, discolored spots upon car-
pets, and indeed all spots, whether produced by acids
or alkalies. If one has the misfortune to have a carpet
injured by whitewash, this will immediately restore it.

DOMESTIC RECEIPTS.

A FEW WORDS ON CONFECTIONEEY.

{Third article.)

Raspberry Sponge. — Dissolve three-quarters of an
ounce of isinglass in a very little water. Add a pint and
a half of mixed new milk and cream, half a pint of rasp-
berry jelly, and the juice of a lemon; whisk the whole
one way until it looks like sponge ; then put it into an
earthen mould, and turn it out next day.

Macaroons. — Take fourteen ounces of (sweet) al-
monds and two ounces of bitter almonds, one pound of
sugar, and the whites of seven eggs. Blanch the al-
monds and pound them very finely with part of the
whites of the eggs ; and then add the sugar and the
remainder of the whites. Stir it until it is sufficiently
light and of a proper consistence. Drop it on wafer
paper, and bake it in a slow oven until of a light-brown,
as they merely require drying, and may be ornamented
according to fancy.

Meringues. — Take eight whites of eggs and whisk
them up to a very strong froth ; then stir in half a pound
of fine sifted loaf-sugar, as lightly as possible. Flavor
them with any essence you please ; sift fine powdered
loaf-sugar on them, and blow off all that does not stick.
Bake them on a board in a very slow oven ; when of a
pale brown, they are done. Take them off the paper,
and beat them in the under part with a spoon, to form
a hollow, and dry them ; fill them with cream or any

preserved fruit, and stick two together, which will form
an egg shape.

Almond Icing. — One pound of sweet almonds and
one pound of loaf-sugar. Beat them in a mortar until
they are well mixed and very fine. Put them in a pan
with the whites of ten eggs that have been previously
well beaten with a whisk. Beat them well together
with a wooden spoon, and lay smoothly on the cake,
about an inch thick, half an hour before it is baked.
For pink icing, add cochineal syrup; blue, indigo; yel-
low, saffron; green, spinach syrup; and brown, add
chocolate.

Icing for Wedding Cakes, &c. — Put the whites of
three or four eggs into a deep glazed pan which is quite
free from grease. Mix in one pound of the best loaf-
sugar which has been previously pounded and sifted
through a fine lawn sieve. Stir the sugar and whites of
eggs together until the substance becomes quite thick.
Add the juice of a lemon, and beat the mixture with a
wooden spoon till it hangs to it. Lay some on the cake
with the spoon, and spread it all over, about a quarter
of an inch thick, with a clean knife. Set the cake in a
dry warm place, and it will become hard in two or three
hours. The icing may be thicker on the top of the cake
if desired. Ornaments must be put on while the icing
is wet.

A FEW CHAPTERS ON PUDDINGS.
(Third article.)

Baked Flour Pudding. — Boil one quart of milk;
when entirely cold, add it gradually to eight tablespoon-
fuls of flour ; eight eggs, yolks and whites beaten sepa-
rately ; a little salt. Bake one hour.

Sunderland Pudding. — Nine eggs; nine gills of
milk; nine large spoonfuls of flour; a little salt. Bake
or boil it.

Sunderland Pudding. — One pint of milk; six
spoonfuls of flour ; six eggs ; a little salt. Bake or boil
it.

Sunderland Pudding. — One quart of cream; ten
tablespoonfuls of flour ; ten eggs Bake or boil it.

Either of these last receipts can be baked in one dish
an hour, or in small cups one-half hour.

Bread Pudding. — One brick loaf; five eggs; one
and a half gill of fine suet; two tablespoonfuls of
sugar ; one quart of milk ; salt and spice. Baked one
hour.

Boiled Ground Rice Pudding. — Four large spoon-
fuls of ground rice ; four eggs ; one quart of milk ; one
gill of cream ; some raisins or currants. Boil it in a tin
boiler.

Boiled Ground Rice. — Boil one quart of milk, and
stir in as much ground rice as possible; then mix in
nine eggs, well beaten, and add a small piece of butter.
Tie in a bag very tightly, and boil two hours.

Ground Rice Pudding. — One gill of ground rice;
three-fourths of a pound of sugar; one-quarter of a
pound of butter ; nine eggs ; one nutmeg ; one glass of
wine ; one spoonful of rose-water. Put the rice, wet
with cold milk, into the boiling milk. Boil it a few
minutes, and, when cold, put in the eggs and other in-
gredients.

Ground Rice Pudding. — Stir four tablespoonfuls
of rice into one quart of boiling milk; add one-half pint
of cream, six eggs, the peel and juice of one lemon, sugar

234

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

to your taste, and one-quarter of a pound of butter.
;i!i puff paste around the dish.

Sago Pudding. — Wash half a pound of sago in three
or tour waters ; put it into one quart of milk. Boil these
together until thick, stirring it carefully. Stir in, when
hot, one-half pound of butter. When cold, add eight
eggs, beaten well ; four spoonfuls of wine, and two of
rose-water. Sweeten to your taste. Bake this in paste
or not, as you like.

Sago Pudding. — Boil one and a half pint of new
milk with four spoonfuls of pearl sago; lemon-peel,
cinnamon, and nutmeg; sweeten to your taste. Add,
when cold, four eggs.

Sago Pudding. — One gill of sago to one quart of
milk; boil together. Adda little butter, four eggs, and
two tablespoonfuls of sugar.

Sago Pudding, with Water. — Boil eight table-
spoonfuls of sago in one quart of water, with a stick of
cinnamon. When it is thick, add a little butter, a glass
of wine, and sugar to your taste. When cold, add four
well-beaten eggs. Bake it half an hour.

SICK-ROOM AND NURSERY.

Cure for Stammering. — Where there is no mal-
formation of the organs of articulation, stammering may
be remedied by reading aloud with the teeth closed.
This should bs practised for two hours a day, for three
or four months. The recommender of this simple reme-
dy says, " I can speak with certainty of its utility."

To Purify the Air of a Sick Chamber. — Take
six drachms of powdered nitre, and the same quantity
of oil of vitriol ; mix them together, by adding to the
nitre one drachm of the vitriol at a time, placing the
vessel in which you are mixing it on a hot hearth or
plate of heated iron ; stirring it with a tobacco-pipe or
glas3-rod. Then place the vessel in the contaminated
room, moving it about to different parts of the room.
Dr. J. C. Smith obtained £5000 from the English Parlia-
ment for this receipt.

To Cure a Cold. — Put a large teacupful of linseed,
with one-quarter pound of sun raisins and two ounces
of stick liquorice, into two quarts of soft water, and let
it simmer over a slow fire till reduced to one quart ; add
to it one-quarter pound of pounded sugar-candy, a
tablespoonful of old rum, and a tablespoonful of the
best white wine vinegar, or lemon-juice. The rum and
vinegar should be added as the decoction is taken ; for,
if they are put in at first, the whole soon becomes
flat, and less efficacious. The dose is half a pint, made
warm, on going to bed ; and a little maybe taken when-
ever the cough is troublesome. The worst cold is gene-
rally cured by this remedy in two or three days ; and,
if taken in time, is considered infallible.

Coffee Milk for the Sick-Room. — Boil a dessert-
spoonful of ground coffee in nearly a pint of milk a quarter
of an hour ; then put into it a shaving or two of isinglass,
and clear it ; let it boil a few minute3, and set it by the
side of the fire to clarify.

Cautions in visiting Sick-Rooms. — Never venture
into a sick-room if you are in a violent perspiration (if
circumstances require your continuance there), for, the
moment your body becomes cold, it is in a state likely
to absorb the infection, and give you the disease. Nor
visit a sick person (especially if the complaint be of a
contagious nature) with an empty stomach ; as this dis-

poses the system more readily to receive the contagion.
In attending a sick person, place yourself where the air
passes from the door or window to the bed of the dis-
eased, not betwixt the diseased person and any fire that
is in the room, as the heat of the fire will draw the in-
fectious vapor in that direction, and you would run
much danger from breathing in it.

Palpitation of the Heart. — Where palpitation
occurs as symptomatic of indigestion, the treatment
must be directed to remedy that,disorder. When it is
consequent on a plethoric state, purgatives will be
effectual. In this case, the patient should abstain from
every kind of diet likely to produce a plethoric condition
of body. Animal food and fermented liquor must be
particularly avoided. Too much indulgence in sleep
will also prove injurious. When the attacks arise from
nervous irritability, the excitement must be allayed by
change of air and a tonic diet. Should the palpitation '
originate from organic derangement, it must be, of
course, beyond domestic management. Luxurious liv-
ing, indolence, and tight lacing often produce this
affection ; such cases are to be conquered with a little
resolution.

<E I) e toilet.

To Whiten the Hands.— Take a wineglassful of
eau de Cologne, and another of lemon-juice ; then scrape
two cakes of brown Windsor soap, or the same quantity
of pure white soap, to a powder, and mix well in a
mould. When hard, it will be excellent for whitening
the hands.

Another. — Any of the milder kinds of soaps will be
found to answer the purpose of keeping the hands clean,
soft, and as white as nature will permit.

Camphor Cerate for Chapped Hands. — The fol-
lowing receipt was given to the contributor by a maid
of honor to Queen Victoria. It is an excellent one.
Scrape into an earthen vessel one ounce and a half of
spermaceti and half an ounce of white wax; add six
drachms of pounded camphor, and four tablespoonfuls
of the best olive oil. Let it stand near the fire till it
dissolves, stirring it well when liquid. Before the hands
are washed, rub them thoroughly with a little of the
cerate, then wash them as usual. Putting the cerate on
before retiring, answers very well. This quantity costs
about twenty-five cents, and will last three winters.
The vessel it is kept in should be covered, to prevent
evaporation.

Paste for Chapped Hands. — Mix a quarter of a
pound of unsalted lard, which has been washed in soft
water, and then in rose-water, with the yolks of two
new-laid eggs, and a large spoonful of honey. Add as
much fine oatmeal or almond paste as will work into a
paste.

Or: — Blanch one pound of bitter almonds, and pound
them smooth in a marble mortar ; add half an ounce of
camphor, one ounce of honey, quarter of a pound of
spermaceti, pounded and mixed with the almonds, till it
becomes a smooth paste. Put it into jars, and tie it
down till wanted.

To prevent Inconvenience from Perspiration
of the Hands. — Ladies who work lace or embroidery
sometimes suffer inconvenience from the perspiration on
their hands; which may be remedied, by rubbing the
hands frequently with a little dry wheaten bran.

Crnfn-CiibU (Soaj&tp,

CITY COUSINS.

AN EPISTOLATORY REMONSTRANCE.

Dear Miss, or Mrs. Editress, of " Godey's Centre-
Table,"

I write to you because I know to aid me you are able :

I 've had a subject on my mind since early in the spring,

When trees began to blossom and birds began to sing ;

When the gardener, with his dibble, his rake, and
spade, and hoe,

Began to plant the beans and corn and turnips in a row ;

Since we took up all our carpets, and put the matting
down,

Preparing for the visitors who always came from town.

Now, it 's these very visitors — who come alone, together,

The moment we begin to have our first bright sunny
weather —

I wish you to remonstrate with : I speak for all our
neighbors,

Who, like myself, are worn to death with all our sum-
mer labors.

We like to see our friends, it 's true,

And are no grudging givers
Indeed, our family are called

Remarkably "free livers."
Pa built two spare rooms in the wing,

Furnished with all completeness ;
Our linen 's famed for spotlessness,

Our cook for skill and neatness ;
And though, to make all things go right,

We have an extra woman,
Servants are only flesh and blood,

And coachmen only human.

They write us they 're coming, " by express train so

and so,"
And wish for us to meet them at Centreville depot.
"They long to see us all again" (that's not the only

reason ;
They know that strawberries and cream are coming

just in season).

And so it is from early spring

Until the season closes,
They eat our earliest raspberries,

They pick our finest roses ;
Order the horses when they please,

Plan picnics, sails, and fishing,
And eat as if fresh meat and eggs

Came to us for the wishing.

Now, peas and beans don't pick themselves,

Or hens mind furnished orders ;
And, as for washing, let those tell

Who have some twenty boarders.
A run from town " to pass the night,

And see our honest faces,"
Costs us a napkin, pair of sheets,

Towels, and pillow-cases.

The dog-days come, the garden 's baked,
The hens are moped and moulting,

The horse is lame, the carriage broke,
The coachman thinks of bolting ;

The waiter 's sick, the chambermaid
Goes fretting all the morning,

The cook, our main dependence now,
Must suddenly give warning.

Yet still they come, and still they stay —

" Don't make me any stranger!"
Strangers would hear the naked truth,

But friendship makes the danger.
The worst is — when we go to town,

They never seem to know it ;
Or, if they call, they think us bores,

And don't mind if they show it.

" They 're so engaged — they 'd really like
To show us some attention ;
But every moment 's occupied
With more than they could mention."
" Fair play 's a jewel" Tiffany
Don't set in rings or brooches,
And so " the free horse" still they ride,
In spite of our reproaches.

NEW MUSIC FOR THE CENTRE- TABLE.

Among the new English publications that will no
doubt soon find their way this side of the water, we
find a new waltz by D'Albert, the "Georgette," and a
polka by the same favorite composer, " L'Innocence."

" Maid of the Mist Quadrille," and the " Euphrosyne
Waltz," the first by Rosambert, the waltz by Godwin,
are also among the arrangements for the piano-forte.

A new song of Lover's, adapted to the voice and style
of gentlemen amateurs, and called forth by the times, is
entitled " Jack and the Bearskin." In this connection,
we also find the songs of Russel's new musical enter-
tainment, " The Emigrant's Progress j" they are " Cheer,
Boys, Cheer," " Far o'er the Lea," " Long parted have
we been," " To the West," and " Land, Land, Land !"
The titles bespeak the style of these spirited ballads.

A new song by the author of " Will you love me
then as now"?" will find a welcome with all ballad
singers. " The Merry little Sprite" is the title. There
are three new sacred songs, " Peace," " Nearer to
Thee," and " What Bells are those so soft and clear 1"
The second is especially suited to Sunday evenings at
home. How much of the weariness and ennui that so
many complain of, when debarred from ordinary books
and amusements, would be dissipated, if graceful and
truly devotional sacred melodies were more frequently
practised ! The piano is closed in most families for the
reason that so few who have received this beautiful
talent consecrate it to its highest use — to refine, to sofien,
and to elevate our

" Hopes of earth,
And yearning thoughts of Heaven."

Hall & Son have published recently a new song by
Wallace, with a simple and effective accompaniment,
" The Mother's Smile." " First Love Schottish" is also

285

236

GODEY7S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK

by him, and a new and very striking descriptive piece,
" The Anglers' Polka." The introduction is an an-
dante, the anglers rowing to the fishing ground; then
their prayers for success ; next you hear them reeling
od* the line ; a lew nibbles of the small fry come in ;
and then a bold plunge through four or five octaves
describes the struggles of the captured. A very joyous
and brilliant polka follows.

" The Dashing Polka," well named, is by Strakosch ;
" Cupid Polka," by Charles Grobe.

In less different arrangements are " Spring Morning,"
and "Jirelda Waltz," by Dressier; " The Black-Bud
Quadrille," by Linton.

There is, also, Gottschalk's " Tournament Gallop," a
dashing, brilliant compos ition ; " Fairy-Land Schottish, "
a good study, by Van Der Wyede; and many more
clever things we could name, if we had not already
filled our musical portfolio to overflowing

A NEVER-ENDING THEME.

Certainly, in this country, the topic of "female
authorship" is never exhausted.

We have had our say on the subject before now, and
more than once ; but, within the past month, we have
found reason to reconsider the matter. Every few
weeks we are especially consulted by some young lady,
or even by those with long experience of life, as to the
expediency of making authorship a profession. As a
resource of amusement and self-improvement, we al-
ways encourage our applicant, to write. In a pecuniary
point of view, there is little to hope, unless there is
decided talent and a certain vein of popularity. Even
then, much depends on the publisher, and the amount
of energy displayed by him in " pushing the sale of the
book."

The point we have especially in mind at present is the
late rapid growth of a remarkably light literature, whose
volumes might well take the almost forgotten name of
" annuals," so fleeting will be their popularity, so tran-
sient their place in public favor. It is sketchy, discursive,
sentimental in the extreme, and, above all, especially
egotistical. These writers make nothing of giving us
whole pages of their opinions; nothing more. They are
neither garnished with fact, fancy, romance, nor de-
scription ; and, by and by, these pages are collected and
bound up in a showy volume, with very large print,
and so hawked through rail-cars and steamboats ; the
newspapers, meanwhile, being very busily engaged in
making a mystery out of nothing, and serving up tidbits
of personal gossip and anecdote to whet the appetite of
the reader.

As far as our advice is worth anything, we pray our
young authoresses not to be led away by this showy,
superficial school. If they have an author's best ambi-
tion, to be ranked honorably among those who " love
their fellow-men," and use a true talent for the best
good of the reader, study of human nature, practice in
the delineation of character, the cultivation of high
thuughts and noble principles in themselves, is neces-
sary to its accomplishment.

We do not mean by this that everyday life and every-
day readers are to be put aside. It requires as much
talent to sketch a farm-house and its inmates graphi-
cally as to tell of chivalry and tournaments— perhaps
more— or to give correctly a conversation among plain
peopie, as a debate among princes in council.

" The trivial round, the common task," brightened, is
as worthy of ambition as high-wrought romance, and

\ more naturally suited to a woman's taste and ability.
< Only let it be well done, with a worthy motive, and
I leave " self" out of the question.

A PRESENTATION,

Not of silver, but at court, would seem to be rather
an uncomfortable ordeal, as much as the honor is cove j-
ed. It is conducted in this wise in the imperial circle
of the present Napoleon.

Before the throne, at the further extremity of a spa-
cious hall, stand the emperor and empress. Grouped
around them are the members of the imperial family,
the foreign ambassadors and ministers with their ladies,
the grand officers of state, and ministers of the crown.
Every individual of this imposing assemblage, silent,
motionless, has his eye fixed on the lady who is to
be presented; and whose name, after having been
transmitted by the ordinary chamberlains to the grand
chamberlain, is announced by him to their majesties.

On being introduced into the Salle du Trone, the lady
makes three courtesies, and then advances alone along
the whole length of the hall, the observed of all ob-
servers. However difficult it may be to perform the
three courtesies with faultless grace, the movement
through the hall is a still greater trial. The lady must
advance with a measured, but not a slow pace, her air
must be graceful without coquetry, self-possessed, yet
modest. She must move not as though she were walk-
ing in a procession, but as if entering an ordinary ball-
room.

We are sure that most of our sprightly young lady
friends will agree that

" 'Tis better to range with humble livers with content,

than to be perked up," after this difficult fashion, for
the honor of a stare from court dignitaries, and a mi-
nute's audience of their imperial majesties.

TO CORRESPONDENTS

"Mary H. S."— We recommend Mrs. Tuthill's
"Nursery Book." Above all, do not get into the way
of " dosing" children for every little ailment. Attention
to clothing and diet will ward off many a threatened
illness. A change of food is often sufficient to check
the tendency to irregularity brought on by cold or teeth-
ing. Arrow-root boiled in the milk, or boiled flour —
that is, a half pound of flour tied up and boiled stea-
dily four or five hours — is recommended. In using the
boiled flour, a crust will be found on the outside of the
hard lump or ball; this should be peeled like a potato,
the hard flour grated, and about a tablespoonful sifted
into a pint or little more of boiling milk. All milk given
to children should be boiled, until they are through
teething, at least.

"Eaton Book Club." — Have forwarded Mary
Cowden Clark's new novel, " The Iron Cousin."'
Would also recommend a new book by Miss Sewell,
whose tales are always pure, natural, and exert, a good
family influence. Both the above are published by
Messrs. Appleton. " Farmingdale" is one of the
stories of its class — better sustained as regards the inte-
rest than the "Wide, Wide World;" it has also a
more direct point, an endeavor to show that a 1
natural beauty and a cultivated taste advance rather
than retard the interest of an agricultural community,
and that whatever exertion is put forth to gather Up
riches, lime should be found to make home bright and

FASHIONS.

287

cheerful to the young, and a resting-place to the mind
and body of those entered on the toil of life.

"N. L." — For list of new music, see " Centre-Table
Gossip."

" A Student of Music."— The best city instructors
charge variously from $40 to $100 for twenty-four les-
sons, considered a quarter. Good instruction on the
piano-forte can be had five or ten dollars less ; but we
understand our correspondent to refer to a fashionable
teacher, celebrated for style and finish. A few of the
vocal maestros charge $5 a lesson.

''Annette" evidently does not live in awe of

" An uncle with many queer notions,
Who never butters his bread,
And says that Buhvcr's novels
Are things not Jit to be read."

The only description of the personal appearance of her
favorite author that we can now call to mind appeared
in the Edinburgh Guardian, on the occasion of his de-
livering an address in that city the past year : —

" Sir Edward would be sure to command attention in
any company . He is tall, somewhat slight, but well-
proportioned, and altogether elegantly made. At a lit-
tle distance, save for a scarcely perceptible stoop, the
natural result of study, you might set him down as a
cavalry officer. He has rich brown hair, curling freely
into wave-like masses, full whiskers, a moustache and
imperial. His face is oval, forehead high, brows finely
arched, eyes large and luminous, a grandly aquiline
nose, a mouth of more seiisibility than passion, but, in
the curve and cutting of the upper lip, showing both
delicacy and strength."

" Thomas the Rhymer" has chosen an ancient
and honorable norn de plume. See notes to Scott's poeti-
cal works for the information desired.

" Aline." — Scalloped skirts are by no means fash-
ionable, the style having been carried to excess.

jFaaljtons.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase
of jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance,
the Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter
execute commissions for any who may desire it, with
the charge of a small percentage for the time and re-
search required. Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn
bonnets, dresses, jewelry, bridal cards, cake-boxes,
envelopes, etc. etc., will be chosen with a view to eco-
nomy, as well as taste; and boxes or packages for-
warded by express to any part of the country. For the
last, distinct directions must be given.

Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expendi-
ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., who
will be responsible for the amount, and the early execution
of commissions.

No order will be attended to unless the money is first
received.

Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompa-
nied by a note'of the height, complexion, and general
style of the person, on which much depends in choice.
Dress goods from Levy's or Stewart's ; cloaks, mantil-
las, or talmas, from Brodie's, 61 Canal Street, New
York; bonnets from Miss Wharton's; jewelry from
Bailey's or Warden's, Philadelphia, or Tiffany's, New
York, if requested.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR
SEPTEMBER.

Fig. 1st. — Dress for a young lady of twelve or four-
teen. Skirt of white cross-barred Organdy muslin in
large cheques, made very full and plain. In length, it
should reach the tops of the gaiter boots. The bfisque is
of plain green silk, close and high. It is ornamented by
three rows of fanciful buttons, the same shade as the
silk. The sleeves are full, and close at the wrist. A
narrow cambric ruffle, edged with lace, encircles the
neck and hands. Parasol of pagoda shape, lined with
white silk, and ornamented with narrow fringe. This
is a very simple and neat dress for a school-girl.

Fig. 2d is a very pretty dinner or sociable evening-
dress, for a young lady two years or so older, though not
yet out. The skirt touches the ground, and is trimmed
by graduated groups of very narrow black velvet rib-
bon, contrasting well with the delicate shade of the silk,
and more suitable than flounces. The basque is open
to the waist in front, and secured cross bands of vel-
vet. The flat velvet embossing on each side suits the
ribbon trimming of the skirt. The open space is filled
by a simple tucker of muslin puff; undersleeves three
full rows of muslin flouncing. The front hair in two
Watteau ringlets on each side ; back hair in a heavy
Grecian braid.

Fig. 3d. — Child's dress, graceful, but rather too elabo-
rate for ordinary occasions.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILA-
DELPHIA FASHIONS FOR SEPTEMBER.

So many requests for information on this subject have
reached us from different quarters, that we devote our
chat this month to mourning, and more especially the
transient shades of style with regard to it.

There is no point in dress for which so many general
rules may be laid down, applicable from year to year,
and, though we have given them casually from time to
time, they will bear repetition, especially as this year
our circle of readers has been greatly enlarged by many
who never met with these general remarks. Black is
the shade considered, by most nations who adopt a
general fashion, the best suited to the sombre tone of
the spirits when one has met with a recent loss. Until
quite lately, it has been considered of indispensable
adoption, except among a few peculiar sects rigidly
opposed to " the fashion of this world." It has, how-
ever, become the subject of so much conventional for-
mality and abuse that many refrain from assuming it,
their sorrow being of the heart, and their mourning not
meant for the eyes of the world.

Others, again, especially for the death of little chil-
dren, substitute quiet shades of color, as grays, or fawns,
or even black of some material not known in deep
mourning. For instance, we have seen a young mo-
ther, after the death of an infant, dress in white, with
dark ribbons, or in black silk, with a white crape or
straw bonnet. If a change of dress is a token of sorrow-
ful regret, this seem? to us more suited than funeral
black to express the sadness with which we see a child
taken from us, yet from the cares and anxieties of lite
as well.

Too often mourning is adopted as a custom, in com-
pliance with the established rules of society, something
like the following did am: " Mourning is to be worn a
year for a parent, husband, brother, sister, or child.
Six months for grandparents, uncles, or aunts. Three

238

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

months or six weeks as a token of respect to the memory
of a cousin, friend, or remote relative, or any one who
leaves the wearer a legacy."

This code of fashion, which many families follow in
our more stylish city circles, would seem to indicate the
d:\yand hour when grief terminates, and the dead are
forgotten.

It is for them that what is called by some " half
mourning," and, by more plain-spoken people, " dressy
mourning," has been introduced. The delicate shades
of lavender silk, the cheques, bars, and stripes of laven-
der and black, black and white, etc., black bordered
handkerchiefs, bugles, chenille rings for the hair, white
and black crape artificial flowers — a mockery in them-
selves, for, in nature, the few flowers that approach that
tint are monsters of horticultural art — bonnets tricked
out with streamers and glistening bouquets, with a
thousand other " mockeries of grief," which a fashion-
able maison de deuil, or "mourning store," presents.

For close plain mourning, bombazine and English
crape are still the favorite materials for fall and winter
wear, It is usual to have the dress bonnet and mantle
from the same piece. The dress may be trimmed with
deep folds of the crape, as also the bonnet and mantle.
An unostentatious, but ladylike mourning suit may be
made of black mousseline de laine, cashmere, or any of
those plain worsted fabrics. The plainest mourning is
always the most ladylike, and the most truly fashionable.
When it becomes a study or an ornament, it loses its
significance.

When shawls are worn, black Thibet, with silk fringe
or fringe of the same, is most suitable for close mourn-
ing, or, in summer, mousseline or barege. For lighter
mourning, raw silk shawls, with borders of lavender,
are suitable. These also come in cashmere and me-
rino. Mantles of barege, trimmed with crape, are suit-
able to the closest mourning in the summer season.
The time has gone by when people must suffocate
under heavy woollen stuffs, because they have lost a
relative. Veils are considered suitable for those who
wish to hide their grief from the world. This was pro-
bably their first intention, though ostentation has again
interfered, and in the double English crape worn by
widows in inconsolably fashionable circles, hang out a
banner often interpreted to a contrary meaning. We
do not commend the necessity of a veil, unless for a
short time, when it is really a protection to one at first
going out.

Jet and hair ornaments are considered perfectly allow-
able, though a full set of either does not look to us like
the abandonment of woe. Open dresses and sleeves
require, of course, some peculiar style of chemisette
and undersleeves. In close mourning, dresses are now
made up to the throat, so that only a collar is needed.
Collars and undersleeves complete the set. Black crape
is the material for close mourning; the collars are now
large, and fluted from the centre. The sleeves have a
band almost six inches from the wrist, with a double
ruffle, also fluted, which makes it set quite close to the
hand. This is the shade of fashion which has distin-
guished the present season. Tarleton, crape, or Swiss
muslin undersleeves and collars, made in the same
manner, are used in lighter mourning. The collars are
round, deepening to a round point behind. Very fine
Swiss muslin, with plain footing (narrow bobinet lace),
insertion and edging on the ruffles, are considered
very neat. Very pretty collars and cuffs are made by
rows of fine linen bobbin set together with an open

fagot stitch. This is an old style revived. Plain
linen collars and cuffs, large, and with the rounded
point on the back, have a simple hem turned on the out-
side, stitched neatly, or a plain scallop of buttonhole-
stitch.

White straw bonnets, trimmed with black ribbon,
and black silk dresses and mantles, are much the fash-
ion for children and young people, though we much
question the propriety of children wearing mourning at
all, since they cannot understand its meaning, and its
sombre hue is not a type of childhood.

Drawn bonnets of black lawn and crape are still in
season ; by another month, however, heavy fabrics only
will be used Fashion.

(Jntgmas.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN AUGUST NUMBER.

27. A letter. 28. Corn.

29. A pin. 30. One's portrait.

ENIGMAS.
31.

I'm a minister of vengeance, and a minister of peace.
And oft in death my awful voice alone is heard to cease :
In honor, too, of liberty I frequently rejoice,
And echo fervent loyalty in my stentorian voice.
But then in sacred chant of praise my voice is also heard
In reverential strains to raise the Scripture's holy word :
As individuals, 'tis clear we two are not the same,
Yet both are known the sea to serve, and own one com-
mon name.

32.

As brilliant and pure as the famed koh-i-noor,

Of the very first water am I ;
More perfect in form and in value, be sure,

Such a gem I may fairly outvie.
Of creation's bright sphere a true type I appear,

Aerial my birth and my death ;
Embodied by Him whom all mortals revere,

And extinguished at once by His breath !

33.

My first 's indispensable always to you,

Though what you will ever aspire to renew ;

Yet aspirate rendered my literal aid,

A possession of yours is ostensibly made,

Which you '11 own is a birthright you foster with pride,

And esteem your head-quarters where'er you reside.

An additional letter prefix, and you '11 greet

A companion you 're often delighted to meet :

One disposed to uphold you, support your estate,

And, whate'er may oppress you, your burden abate.

34.

In England, I 'm honored, upheld, and revered ;
In Russia, I 'm constantly courted, but feared ;
In France ('tis with pain I confess), I 'm contemned,
And, indeed, to unmerited exile condemned.
With the monarehs of earth a companion am I ;
And 'tis said (but mythology you may decry)
That I dignified Jove on Olympus as well :
Now, perhaps, my right name you may readily spell.
The positions then change of my P and my C,
And at once, metamorphosed, a phantom I '11 be.

Ijiurt!) n f ^initj).

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PART OF AN" EMBROIDERED COLLAR.

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PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER, 1854.

EVERYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XXIV.

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER.

THE DIAMOND AND ITS USES.

Diamonds are the purest form of carbon,
and are found in the range of the Ghauts in
India ; but chiefly at Golconda, in Borneo, and
also in Brazil. All the largest diamonds yet dis-
covered have been obtained in Golconda. The
Brazilian mines are said to furnish from 10 to 13
lbs. weight of diamonds every year, of which not
more than 800 or 900 carats are fit for jewelry.
The term carat used to designate the value of
precious metals, or stones, is derived from kuara,
a bean, the fruit of an Abyssinian tree. It varies
very little in weight from the time of its being
gathered, and is used as a weight for gold in
Africa, and for diamonds in India. The carat
consists of four nominal grains, a little lighter
than four grains troy weight : seventy-four and
one-sixteenth carat grains are equal to seventy-
two troy grains. It is divided into halves, quar-
ters, or carat grains, eighth, sixteenth, and
thirty-second parts.

On removing the crust which covers the dia-
monds, their exceeding brilliancy becomes appa-
rent; they refract light powerfully, and are
generally perfectly transparent, although dia-
monds have b*een found of a black, blue, green,
and of a beautiful rose-color. Those which are
colorless are most esteemed : those
which are slightly brown or tinged
only with the other colors, are least
valuable. Black diamonds are ex-
tremely rare. The primitive form
of diamond is the regular octahe-
dron, or two four-sided pyramids,
of which the faces are equilateral triangles, ap-
plied base to base, Fig. 1. It is also found in

HINCKLEY.

figures bounded by forty-eight curved triangular
faces.

The diamond is the hardest of the gems. It is
a non-conductor of electricity ; is not acted on by
any solvent, nor is it affected by heat only, for
it may be heated to whiteness in a covered cru-
cible without injury : it burns in the open air at
and about the melting point of silver, charcoal
sometimes appearing on its surface, and it is
entirely converted into carbonic acid gas. At-
tempts have been made to fuse or crystallize
some pure form of carbon, or in other words to
manufacture diamonds, but they have all failed.
According to a recent experiment, when exposed
to the very high temperature produced by a
Bunsen's battery of one hundred plates, or by a
condensed mixture of carbonic oxide and oxygen
gas, the diamond fuses, and is converted into a
mass resembling coke.

The combustibility of the diamond was ascer-
tained by the Tuscan philosophers and the Hon.
Mr. Boyle, who, by exposing a diamond in the
focus of a large lens, consumed and dissipated it.
It was also burnt by means of melted nitre in a
gold tube, and it was completely volatilized in
the brilliant arch of flame evolved between char-
coal points in the galvanic battery of the Royal
Institution. Lavoisier proved that carbonic acid
was evolved as a product in the combustion of
the diamond and that of charcoal, a result abun-
dantly confirmed by Messrs. Allen and Pepys
and others. Sir George Mackenzie converted
iron into steel by means of powdered charcoal.
Sir Humphry Davy, when at Florence, made some
experiments with the Grand Duke's burning lens
on the combustion of the diamond. 1.84 grains
of small diamonds were placed in a platinum

297

298

capsule, in a glass globe of the capacity of 14.9
cubical inches, and supplied with oxygen gas,
Fig. 2. " Soon after the capsule was placed in

Fig. 2.

two sticks, supported on the edges of a small,
strong, mahogany box, Fig. 3, about four inches
long, three inches wide, and three inches deep.

Fig. 3.

the focus in bright sunshine, the diamonds burnt
with great brilliancy, and continued to burn
until they had considerably diminished in bulk;
but their splendor of combustion gradually be-
came less, and before they had apparently lost
half of their volume, the process ceased. By
placing them a second time in the focus, after
agitating the globe so as to change their places,
the combustion was again produced; but the
light was much less vivid than before, and the
combustion continued for a much shorter time.
They were exposed to the concentrated rays a
third and a fourth time, but after the fourth time
they seemed incapable of burning." The frag-
ments which remained weighed 52 of a grain ;
they were not black, but were deprived of lustre.
Sir H. Davy also ignited a small diamond weigh-
ing .45 of a grain, in a vessel of chlorine gas,
and kept it in a state of intense ignition by
directing on it the solar focus by means of the
great lens of the Florentine Museum for more
than half an hour : but the gas suffered no
change, and the diamond had undergone no
diminution of weight, and was not altered in
appearance.

The art of cutting and polishing diamonds is
supposed to have originated in Asia at some
unknown period. It was accidentally discovered
in 1456 by Louis Berquen, of Bruges, that by
rubbing two diamonds together a new facet was
produced. Diamond powder obtained by this
rubbing is used for polishing the diamond. For
the purposes of jewelry, the diamond is prepared
by splitting, cutting, and polishing. Th e portions
not required in shaping the stone are split off by
fixing the stone in a ball of cement about the
size of a walnut ; the line of division is then
drawn a little way with a pointed diamond, fixed
in another ball of cement ; the stone is then split
with the blunted edge of a razor, struck with a
hammer. The small fragments removed, when
too small for jewelry, are called bort. Diamonds
are cut by the operation of one stone upon an-
other. The stones are cemented in the ends of

The sides are half an inch m thickness, which
gives it considerable strength. The upper sur-
faces of the four sides of the box are each covered
by a rim of steel, and in the centre of each of the
longest sides a pin of steel is firmly fixed ; these
pins are used as fulcra, against which the han-
dles or sticks holding the stones are to be firmly
pressed when in operation. The stones are then
forcibly rubbed against each other, by which
means they abrade each other in nearly flat
planes, and remove a fine dust (diamond powder),
which falls through the fine holes in the bottom
of the box, and is there collected. By means of
this powder diamonds are polished. An iron lap
or skive being charged with diamond powder, the
stone is guided by mechanical means : it is fixed
by soft solder in a copper cup or dop, attached
by a stout copper wire to the end of the pincers —
a flat board, terminating at the other extremity
in two feet, which rest upon a fixed support;
the whole forming a long and very shallow tri-
angular stool, loaded at the end near the stone.
The stone is readjusted for producing every
separate facet.

Diamonds are cut into various forms, called
the Brilliant, the Rose, and the Table. The first
form shows the gem to the best advantage, and
is always set with the table upwards. In the
rose the entire surface is covered with equilateral
triangles terminating in a sharp point at the sum-
mit. This form is used when the spread of sur-
face is too great for its depth, and it could not
be cut into the brilliant form without great loss.
The table is applied to such diamonds as may be
regarded as plates, laminae, or slabs, of small
depth compared to their superficial extent. The
brilliant and the rose lose in cutting and polish-
ing somewhat less than half their weight, so that
the value of a cut stone is double that of an uncut

THE DIAMOND AND ITS USES.

299

one, without reckoning the expense of the pro-
cess. Small diamonds are sometimes set on black
or colored foil, but a well-proportioned brilliant
of extreme purity is best displayed when entirely
exposed. The rose diamond is flat underneath,
and its upper surface, raised in the form of a
dome, is cut into facets. It has commonly six
facets in the centre, triangular in shape, and
converging to a point at their summit. The bases
of these abut on another range of triangles in a
reversed order, their bases being above, and con-
joined with the bases of the higher facets, their
points forming what are calledfeuillets or leaves.
These last triangles have spaces between them,
each of which is cut into two facets. The rose
diamond is thus cut into twenty-four facets, and
the surface of the gem is divided into two parts,
of which the higher part is called the crown, and
the lower part the teeth.

That part of the brilliant which rises in relief
is always thinner than the rose diamond, and the
entire thickness of the stone is divided into two
unequal parts; one-third is reserved for the
upper surface of the gem, and two-thirds for the
lower portion : this part, which is imbedded and
so far concealed, is called the culasse. Jeffries
calls the lower part the culet ; the superior one
the table ; the central line of the entire diamond
the girdle, and the facets skil and steel facets.
In a perfectly formed, well-proportioned stone,
the lower table should be one-fifth of the upper
table. The table has eight panes, and the cir-
cumference is cut into facets called pavilions.
These should be placed in the same order as the
upper facets, so that all false play of light may
be avoided. The beauty of the brilliant depends
on the sparkling splendor of its light, resulting
from the high powers of refraction which distin-
guish this gem. The rose diamond darts a great
splendor of light in proportion as it is more spread
than the brilliant. The latter was an improve-
ment on the table diamond introduced in the
seventeenth century, and the advantage is caused
by the difference in cutting it. It is formed into
thirty-two facets of different figures, and inclined
at different angles around the table upon the
superior surface of the stone. The culasse is cut
into twenty-four facets round a small table,
which converts the culasse into a truncated py-
ramid. These twenty-four facets below, as well
as the thirty-two above, are differently inclined,
and exhibit different figures. The facets above
and below must correspond perfectly, and the
proportions be so exact as to multiply their re-
flections and refractions, so that the prismatic
rays may be seen to the best advantage.

Fig. 4, No. 1, represents a regular octahedral

diamond ; No. 2, the top and bottom reduced, to
form the table and collet ; No. 3, the same, sin-
gle-cut. No. 4 is a profile of a full-sized bril-
liant, in which a is the table, b the collet, c the
girdle, d the bizet, and e the collet side. No. 5

is the table and bizet of No. 4 : No. 6 the collet
and collet side of the same. (Nos. 1 to 6 repre-
sent the sizes of brilliants of from one to six
carats, cut in exact proportion.) No. 7 represents
another brilliant. Nos. 1 1 and 12 are two views
of a rose diamond : No. 8 table and bizet ; No.
9 collet and collet side. Nos. 11, 12, 8, and 9
represent the size of a well-proportioned ten-
carat diamond. Nos. 10 and 15 a table diamond ;
No. 13 a lasque; No. 14 the same, with one
bevel.

a, Fig. 5, is an instrument called by diamond-
cutters the compass. It is formed of a piece of

Fig. 5.

plain brass for the base, with a movable arm in
the centre, which in the figure is at 45°, mea-
suring the inclination of the collet side to the
girdle, and of the bizet to the table, at the sup-
plement of the same angle.

The following are copies of some of the largest
known diamonds. Fig. 6 is the Pitt or Regent
diamond ; the dotted line being the outline of
the rough gem. This diamond is said to have
been found in Malacca: it was purchased by
Thomas Pitt, Esq. (grandfather of the first Earl

300

godey's magazine and lady's book.

of Chatham), when governor of St. George, in
the East Indies, in the reign of Queen Anne, for
$102,000; it weighed when raw 410 carats, and
when cut 136* carats. It was brought to Lon-

Pig. 6.

don, cut as a brilliant, and sold to the Duke of
Orleans for the king of France, in 1717, for
$675,000 ; $20,000 was spent in the negotiation,
&c. The cutting occupied two years, and is said
to have cost $15,000 : the fragments were worth
several thousands, and the diamond has since
been valued at $2,000,000. Napoleon placed it
in the hilt of his sword. It is still preserved
among the jewels of France.

Fig. 7.

The Pigot diamond, Fig. 7, weighs forty-nine
carats, and is valued at $200,000. Some years
ago, it was disposed of by lottery, and became
the property of a young man who sold it at a low
price. It is said to have been ultimately pur-
chased by the Pacha of Egypt for $150,000.

Fig. 8.

The Austrian diamond, Fig. 8, weighs above
139} carats. It belongs to the Emperor of Aus-
tria, and was formerly in the possession of the
Grand Duke of Tuscany.

The Nassuc diamond weighs seventy-nine
carats two grains. It was among the spoils taken
during the Mahratta war, and is valued at
$150,000. It is of great purity, but of bad form.

The grand Russian diamond is said to have
been the eye of an Indian idol, and to have

been stolen from thence by a French — some say
an Irish — soldier, who sold it to the captain of a
ship for $10,000, and the captain disposed of it
in Europe for $100,000. At length it fell into
the hands of a merchant, who sold it to Prince
Orloff for Catharine, Empress of Russia, for
$450,000 in cash, an annuity of $20,000, and a
patent of nobility. It weighs scarcely 200 carats.

The Koh-i-noor, or "Mountain of Light,"
the largest known diamond in the world, except-
ing the Brazilian stone among the crown jewels
of Portugal, has lately been added to the trophies
of the British government. It was in the year
1550, before the Mogul dynasty had been esta-
blished by the prowess of the great Akbar, that
this marvellous stone was discovered in the
mines of Golconda. It passed in the train of
conquest, and as the emblem of dominion, from
Golconda to Delhi, from Delhi to Mushed, from
Mushed to Cabul, and from Cabul to Lahore.

When first given to Shah Jehaun, it was still
uncut, weighing, it is said, in the rough state,
nearly 800 carats, which were reduced by the
unskilfulness of the artist to 279, its present
weight. It was cut by Hortensio Borgia, a
Venetian, who, instead of receiving any remu-
neration for his labor, was fined 10,000 rupees
by the enraged Mogul. It is rose- cut; and a
general idea may be formed of its shape and size,
by conceiving it to be the pointed half of a small
hen's egg, though it is said not to have risen
more than half an inch from the gold setting in
which it was worn by Runjeet. Its value is
scarcely computable ; though two millions ster-
ling has beqn mentioned as a justifiable price, if
calculated by the scale employed in the trade.

Small diamonds and fragments made up in
small sealed bags are sold in the east by the
diamond merchants. According to Jeffries,
the value of diamonds is in the duplicate ratio
of their weights. Thus, if an uncut diamond
of one carat be worth $10, that of one cut
and polished would be valued at $40 in the
brilliant. A carat weighs four nominal grains,
or 3.166 grains troy. The rose diamond is of
inferior value, but it has been rated at $20 the
carat when polished. For the purpose of esti-
mating diamonds of inconsiderable size, the jew-
eller employs a gauge, in the handle of which
are imbedded small crystals of various relative
sizes, from one-sixty-fourth to one-fourth of a
carat, and a comparison is therewith made when
there are numbers of various minute sizes. The
rough diamond is called bort, and points are those
small fragments which are set in glazier's cutting
diamonds.

The chief application of the diamond is for

THE DIAMOND AND ITS USES.

301

ornamental jewelry, but there are other interest-
ing applications of this gem in the useful arts.
It has been employed in common with the sap-
phire and ruby in some descriptions of wire-
drawing. Its superiority in this respect over a
steel plate depends upon its superior hardness,
so that a wire of invariable diameter can always
be obtained. The diamond is employed as end-
pieces in chronometers, to close the socket in
which the pivot moves, and against which it
abuts.' It has been successfully employed for
forming small deep lenses for single microscopes,
possessing high refractive power with inferior
dispersive power, and very little longitudinal
aberration. Mr. Pritchard has formed a very
thin double convex lens of the diamond of equal
radii, and about one -twenty -fifth inch focus,
from a very perfect stone of the first water. A
diamond and a piece of plate-glass ground in a
similar form, and with the same radius, are in
their comparative magnifying powers as 8 : 3 ;
so that if the power of the glass lens be twenty-
four, that of the diamond would be sixty-four.
Mr. Wilson Lowry applied the diamond instead
of the steel point in etching on copper ; a great
improvement, as the steel point soon gives way.
For these and similar useful purposes diamond
bort is employed ; an article of extensive appli-
cation in the hands of glass-cutters and glaziers,
seal-engravers, dentists, copper-plate engravers,
lapidaries, china-menders, engravers for calico-
printers, hard steel turners, and engravers on
that metal in every state of hardness and tem-
per; also for dividing on hard steel and glass
for micrometers, &c. Diamond powder is used
in conjunction with the ordinary tools of the
seal-engraver, and also in other arts. No other
material has been found adequate to take the
place of this costly substance, unless, indeed, a
late discovery in England can be made available.
It was found that coke is possessed of one of the
most remarkable properties of the diamond, in
so far as it has the property of cutting glass ; not
merely scratching it, for this property is possessed
by all bodies that are harder than glass. The
eut produced by coke is a perfect, clear, diamond-
like cut, so clean and perfect as to exhibit the
most beautiful prismatic colors, owing to the per-
fection of the incision. Coke has hitherto been
considered as a soft substance from the ease with
which a mass of it can be crushed and pulverized ;
but it will be found that the minute plate-like
crystals of which a mass of coke is composed,
are very hard. This discovery is likely to prove
of value in many processes in the arts.

The glazier's diamond has been made the sub-
ject of investigation by Dr. Wollaston, who
vol. xlix. — 26

draws a clear distinction between scratching and
cutting. "In the former the surface is irregu-
larly torn into a rough furrow ; in the latter a
smooth fissure or superficial crack is made, which
should be continued without interruption from
one end to the other of the line in which the
glass is intended to be cut. The skilful work-
man then applies a small force solely at one
extremity of this line, and the crack which he
forms is led by the fissure almost with certainty
to the other." Persons who set diamonds for
the use of the glazier always select natural dia-
monds distinctly crystallized, which they term
sparks. The reason why those which are cut
by art will not answer the purpose, is thus ex-
plained by Dr. Wollaston: "When a diamond
is formed and polished by the lapidary, all the
surfaces are plain surfaces, as far as it is in his
power to make them so, and consequently the
edge or line in which they meet is straight. Bui
in the natural diamond, there is this peculiarity
in those modifications of its crystals that are
chosen for this purpose, that the surfaces are in
general all curved, and consequently the meeting
of any two of them presents a curvilinear edge.
If the diamond be so placed that the line of the
intended cut is a tangent to this edge near to its
extremity, and if the two surfaces of the diamond
laterally adjacent be equally inclined to the
surface of the glass, then the conditions neces-
sary for effecting the cut are complied with.
The curvature, however, of the edge is not con-
siderable, and consequently the limits of incli-
nation are very confined ; for, if the handle be
either too much or too little elevated, then one
or other extremity of the curve will be made to
bear angularly upon the glass, and will plough
a ragged groove by pressure of its point. But,
on the contrary, when the contact is duly formed,
a simple fissure is effected as if by lateral pres-
sure of the adjacent surfaces of the diamond
directed equally to each side. By that means,
adjacent portions at the surfaco of the glass are
forced asunder further than the mere elasticity
of the parts beneath will allow, and a partial
separation or superficial crack is produced. The
effects of inequality in the lateral inclination of
the faces of the diamond to the surface of the
glass are different, according to the degree
of inequality. If the difference be very small,
the cut may still be clean ; but as the fissure is
then not at right angles to the surface, the sub-
sequent fracture is found inclined accordingly.
But when an attempt is mado to cut with an
inclination that deviates still more from the
perpendicular, the glass is found superficially
flawed out on that side to which the greater

302

godey's magazine and lady's book.

pressure was directed, and the cut completely
fails." The depth to which the fissure made by
the diamond penetrates need not be greater than
ouc-two-hundredth of an inch. As tho form of
the cutting edge appeared to be the chief circum-
stance on which the property of cutting depends,
Dr. Wollaston succeeded in giving this form to
other hard stones, such as sapphire, ruby, spinellc
ruby, rock crystal, &c, each of which had the
power of cutting glass for a short time with a
clear fissure. Although the ruby is very hard,
yet the edge thus produced was not durable,
arising probably from " the grain or position of
its lamina? having been unluckily oblique. And
it seems highly probable that the singular dura-
bility of the edge of the cutting diamond is owing
in some measure to this circumstance, that its
hardness in the direction of the natural angle of
its crystal, is greater than in any other direction,
as we find to be the case in other crystals of
which the various degrees of hardness in different
directions can be more easily examined."

Dr. Wollaston's remarks on the superior hard-
ness of the external laminae or skin of the dia-
mond in its natural crystallized state are borne
out by experience. Diamond-cutters are so well

aware of this that they never begin to polish a
diamond, however favorable the plane of a crys-
tal may be, without abrading that plane against
another diamond, in order to remove the external
surface. It is this extreme degree of hardness
that makes the natural diamond so peculiarly
fit for cutting glass, and also for indenting ex-
tremely fine lines on the surface of glass where
microscopic divisions are required.

Mr. Turrell remarks that in all cases the dia-
mond that cuts glass most successfully has the
cutting edges of the crystal placed exactly at light
angles to each other, and passing exactly through
a point of intersection made by the crossing of
the edges. In this case it appears to be that
portion of one of the edges which is very near
the point of intersection that cuts, and scarcely
any other. Figs. 9, 10, are an end and side ele-
vation, and Fig. 11 a plan, of a diamond, drawn
on a large scale, a b represents the leading
curved part of the cutting edge, and d, Fig. 10,
and c d, the line of intersection, crossing the
line a b at right angles ; e being the following
part of the cutting edge. The general figure of
the stone is indicated in all the figures by the
dotted lines ; and its position in a hole formed

Fig. 12.

Fig. 13.

Fig. 9.

Fig. 10.

Co*

p~~

Fig. 11.

Fig. 14.

in the metal block f, in which it is first adjusted
and afterwards secured by hard solder, is also
shown.

Fig. 12 is a side view, Fig. 13 a front view, and
Fig. 14 an end view, of a glazier's diamond,
mounted with a swivel adjustment for the block

when connected with the handle, by means of
the screw entering into a gap filed half-way
through and across the metal stem. By this
means the cut of the diamond is more easily
obtained than when the diamond is mounted
firmly into its stem ; the swivel permitting the

THE DIAMOND AND ITS USES.

303

block to ply freely, and keeping the cutting edge
of the diamond parallel with the edge of the
straight rule, or other shaped pattern it is carried
along, and thus removing the difficulty of finding
its true position, and leaving the workman the
task of merely attending to the proper inclina-
tion of the handle, as to whether it is carried
more or less upright, or leaning to the one or
the other side, to suit the cut, and which a very
little practice will soon ascertain.

Mr. Turrell thinks that the diamond, in cut-
ting,glass, simply acts at first as a burnisher,
which compresses a few particles of glass, and
then immediately produces the effect of a num-
ber of infinitely small wedges, as it were, driven
into the glass ; the consequence being that the
glass naturally separates in the direction of the
line in which the diamond was carried. If
minute divisions for microscopic purposes be
attempted to be made upon glass with the edge
of a cut and polished diamond, however perfect
it may be, it instantly splinters up the surface
of the glass, even with the slightest pressure,
proving it to be unfit for the purpose, owing to
the roughness of the edge. But with the natural
diamond, the most beautiful lines are produced,
and their surfaces so finely burnished, that, when
ruled sufficiently close together, they will decom-
pose light, and afford the most beautiful prismatic
appearances.

It must not be supposed that, because the
ordinary glazier makes one diamond last him his
lifetime, that the diamond does not wear out.
It is usual to reset the diamond, to expose an-
other angle when one is worn down ; and in
some glass-works, where enormous quantities of
glass are cut up, one or two dozen diamonds are
used every week.

The following are specimens of diamond tools.
The fragments of diamonds (diamond bort) are
fixed in annealed brass wires, by first drilling a
shallow hole for the insertion of the stone, which
is imbedded slightly below its largest part, and
the metal is pinched around it. Shell-lac is also
used for cementing in these fragments, and
spelter or tin solders may be fused around them
with the blowpipe. A turning tool formed of a
fragment or splinter of a diamond fixed in a brass
wire is shown (magnified two or three times) in
Fig. 15, a, which is the flat view, b being the
edge view. Such a tool may be employed for
turning the concave and convex surfaces of
rubies and sapphires, used for the jewelled holes
of chronometers, &c. Such a tool is formed of
an egg-shaped diamond split in two, the circular
end being used, with the flat surface upwards.
With such a tool Sir John Barton engraved the

surfaces of hard steel dies in lines as fine as 2,000
in the inch, arranged in hexagons, 8cc. The
gold buttons and iris ornaments struck from
these dies displayed the brilliant play of iridescent
colors of the originals. By means of such an
egg-shaped diamond tool, Sir John undertook to

Fig. 15.

-t?J4J V Y ^

turn off from a cylindrical surface a quan tity equal
to the 12,000th of an inch : this he accomplished
for his friend Mr. Edward Troughton. In drill-
ing rubies, should the diamond drill be too
conical, the back part is turned away with a
diamond tool, to reduce it to the shape of c.
For producing very small or very deep holes, a
fine steel wire drill, d, is used, with diamond
powder applied to the end of it. In drilling
larger holes in China and glass, triangular frag-
ments of diamond are fixed in the cleft extremity
of a steel wire, as e. and/. The china and glass-
menders also select a tolerably square stone, and
mount it as is shown at g, in the end of a taper
tin tube, which wears away against the side of the
hole, so as to become very thin, and by the pres-
sure to hold the stone by the portions interme-
diate between its angles. A similar diamond
drill, mounted in brass, has been used with the
ordinary drill-bow and breastplate for drilling
out the hardened steel nipple of a gun, w^ich
had been broken short off in the barrel.

For drilling large holes, metal tubes, such as
h, are used : they are fed with diamond powder,
and grind out an annular recess, and remove a
solid core.

Some of the lower figures, I, ?n, o, &c, show
the conical diamond used by engravers for ruling
medals and other works, and also for etching
either by hand or with the assistance of machines
used for ruling etching grounds. Conical dia-
monds are turned in a lathe by a fragment of
another diamond, the outside skin or an angle
being used; but the tool undergoes almost as
much abrasion as the conical point.

304

godey's magazine and lady's book.

For cutting fine lines and divisions on mathe-
matical instruments, a splinter is used, similar
to the glazier's diamond ; but a fine acute edge
is selected instead of the natural angle, which
would be too obtuse : k and I show the side and
cud views of such a tool.

The Price of Diamonds. — Rough diamonds,
fit for cutting, arc sold at $5 to $10 the carat. A
carat is rather more than three grains, and 156
carats equal to one ounce troy. But if the stones
are above one carat, the square of the weight is
multiplied by the price of a single carat ; so that,
for example, a rough stone of three carats costs
3x3x $10. or $90. It is similar with cut dia-
monds, and at present (1850) the purest bril-
liants of one carat fetch more than $40, a
brilliant of two carats, 2x2x $40 or $ 160. When
stones are over eight or ten carats, however, this
is altered — so that they are often valued still
more highly. Diamonds of a quarter of an
ounce weight are extraordinarily costly, but
still larger are met with ; and one of the largest
known is that of the Rajah of Mattun, in Borneo,
which weighs nearly two ounces and a half;
that of the Sultan of Turkey weighs two ounces ;
one in the Russian sceptre more than an ounce
and a quarter. The greatest diameter of the last
is one inch, the thickness ten lines. The Em-
press Catharine II. purchased it in the year 1772,
from Amsterdam, and for it was paid $375,000
and an annuity of $3,250.

Diamonds weighing an ounce exist also in
the French and Austrian regalia. One of the
most perfect is the French, known as the Pitt or
Regent diamond. It was bought for Louis XV.,
from an Englishman named Pitt, for the sum of
$650,000 ; but it has been valued at two millions
and a half. One of the stones most renowned
in the east is the Koh-i-noor, or Mountain of
Light, now in possession of the Queen of
England. It came from Golconda to Persia, and
while uncut weighed more than five ounces ;
but now, polished, only about two ounces. It
is valued at more than $10,000,000. If we look
only to the common mode of estimating the
value, a perfect brilliant weighing half a pound
would be worth $ 100,000,000. Some have stated
that such a diamond exists among the royal
treasures of Portugal, as large as a hen's egg',
according to others, this is only a topaz.

Observations on the Cavities and their
Contents in Diamonds and other Gems. —
" Sir David Brewster has had his attention re-
directed to this subject, from the examination of
the Koh-i-noor diamond, made by the order of
Prince Albert, before it was submitted to the
somewhat hazardous operation of recutting and

rendering it an ornamental gem, previously to
which operation it was far inferior in play of
color to its glass model. Whilst in its former
state, it was submitted to polarized light, when,
instead of exerting no influence on this kind of
light, which would have been the case had it
been perfectly homogeneous in structure, it ex-
hibited colored streaks of light generally parallel
to one another — these tinted streaks being pre-
cisely similar to those observed in many other
diamonds described many years since. By
microscopic examination, the Koh-i-noor, as
well as the two smaller accompanying stones,
exhibited several minute and irregular cavities,
surrounded with sectors of polarized light, only
producible by the expansive action of a com-
pressed gas or liquid, which had existed in the
cavities of the diamond before it had finally
hardened. In an external cavity there appeared
to exist a yellow solid substance — an observation
which led to an examination of several speci-
mens of diamond, in order, if possible, to eluci-
date the source and nature of this yellow solid.
A tabular, colorless specimen was found in the
British Museum, on which lay a small, yellow
crystalline diamond, which Sir David believes,
from careful examination, to have emerged in a
liquid state from a cavity observable in the color-
less table, with which one extremity of the yel-
low crystal is connected, and which crystallized
instantly on its emersion.

To add weight to this opinion, this physicist
alludes to some of his previous observations on
the liquid contents of some cavities in quartz,
one portion of which crystallized on the surface,
another portion being dissipated in the gaseous
state ; and also to some analogous phenomena
observable in topazes containing cavities. These
cavities are far more frequent in diamonds than
has heretofore been suspected, and in one or two
cases they are so numerous as to render the
stones actually black. Tavernier has described
a black diamond which for a long time was un-
salable, until a Dutchman speculated in it and
cut it in two — by which he obtained two very
fine stones, having divided a large cavity, con-
taining eight or nine carats of what this author
terms "black vegetable mud." Dr. Clarke
rendered an amber-colored diamond colorless and
transparent by heating it before the blowpipe.
New sources of this gem will probably soon be
opened up, since diamonds have been reported to
exist among the other mineral treasures of Cali-
fornia, and are certainly to be met with in Aus-
tralia. The diamond fields of Borneo may well
be anticipated to become far more productive than
they have been hitherto. This island is gene-

THE DIAMOND AND ITS USES.

305

rally believed to have yielded the largest diamond
on record : it is described as being of an egg
shape, indented at one end, of the finest water,
and to weigh 367 carats. It appears still to be
in the possession of one of the Malay rajahs.

Like the diamond, its congener amber — for
they arc both of organic origin — is very liable to
inclose similar cavities containing both gases and
liquids; and these have again attracted the
attention of Brewster. The cavities in amber
are for the most part perfectly spherical, and the
surrounding polarizing structure is extremely
perfect and beautiful ; minute microscopic cavi-
ties, resembling those of the diamond in their
irregular forms, are also frequent. The larger
and spherical cavities often contain a liquid.
One of these, in a specimen of amber including
no less than eight of these cavities, was opened ;
the liquor exuded was of a dark yellow-brown
tint, sooty smell, and of the consistence of white
of egg : on exposure to air, it gradually dried,
leaving a transparent substance resembling am-
ber, turning orange-red under the blowpipe, then
black, and disappeared, but without igniting, as
true amber would have done.

The liquid contained in another specimen was
very viscid at low temperatures, became more
mobile by warmth, and, although not very ex-
pansible by heat, readily assumed the vapor state.

Sir Davis has also described a very singular
cavity in a specimen of topaz, containing a vis-
cid and slightly opalescent liquid, of low refrac-
tive power, in which some dark flocculi are
disseminated ; several perfectly formed trans-
parent and brilliant crystals, all loose and mova-
ble in the liquid by inverting the specimen of
topaz, occur in the cavity : circumstances which
distinguish this from other specimens hitherto
noticed — these cavities being of frequent occur-
rence in topaz, and indeed in many other crys-
tallized minerals, although rock-crystal, the
diamond, amber, and the topaz present the most
frequent instances of these cavities.

Jewelling of Watches. — The frame-plates
and other parts of watches are perforated by the
watch-finisher, or escapement-maker, for the
watch-jeweller, whose business it is to fit into
the holes thus made certain hard stones, such as
rubies, sapphires, chrysolites, and in some cases
diamonds, so perforated that the pivots of the
watch movement may work in them. Diamonds
are chiefly prepared in Holland, but all other
hard stones are ground, polished, turned, drilled,
and set by the watch-jeweller. Diamond powder
(bort), imbedded in small copper disks or mills,
is the material used for grinding and polishing ;
and a fragment of bort set in a handle (as ex-

26*

plained under Diamonds, where different fonns
of diamond tools are figured) is used for turning
and drilling. A steel tool with diamond powder
and oil is also used for drilling. Rapid motion
is given by a lathe, with a large foot-wheel, so
as to give the mandril from 6,000 or 7,000 up to
20,000 revolutions per minute, the latter speed
being given for polishing only. The stone is
ground by taking it on the end of one of the fin-
gers of the right hand, and applying it to the
surface of the bort mill, which is kept constantly
wet with water applied by the fingers of the left
hand : in a few seconds a flat surface is produced
on a stone of the most irregular form ; the flat
surface is then placed next the finger, and a
simliar surface is produced parallel to the for-
mer, until the stone is of the thickness required :
it is then placed, by means of cement, on a small
chuck in a lathe, and turned with a bort tool
into the proper shape for setting : the hole is
then drilled, first, about half way through, when
the stone is reversed, and the drilling completed
from the opposite side ; a precaution necessary
to prevent fracture. The hole is also turned
with a countersink, to receive the oil required
for the lubrication of the pivot. The polishing
is performed by hollowing out one end of a piece
of brass, so as to fit the hollow of the stone, and
with diamond powder therein, working it about
in every possible direction, by pressing the finger
against the other end of the brass. The stone is
then detached from the lathe, and its flat surfaces
polished by the rapid motion of the hand on a
piece of plate-glass charged with diamond pow-
der and oil.

Stones may be perforated so that the shoulder
of the axis be supported by them ; or in such a
way, that the axis may pass completely through
them, in which case an end-piece is required for
supporting the end of the pivot. The latter
method is adopted where the pivot is in rapid
motion, and has a considerable weight to sustain,
as in the case of the pivots at each end of the
axis of the balance.

Fig. 16 is a section, on an enlarged scale, of
the jewelled pivot-hole for the axis of the bal-

Fig. 16.

ancc of a chronometer: a is the hardened steel
pivot, which is turned with a fine cylindrical
neck, and made convex at the end b is the

306

godey's magazine and lady's book,

drilled jewel, and above it, the end-piece; b is
turned convex above, and concave beneath, of
two different sweeps, to make it very thin at the
point where it is drilled, and it is made a little
smaller in the middle, to lessen the surface bear-
ing. The end-stone is in the form of a plano-
convex lens : it is generally a ruby, but in some
cases a diamond cut into facets. The very small
distance between the two stones allows the oil
to be retained by capillary attraction. Each
stone is burnished into a brass or steel ring, in a
manner similar to that in which glasses are set
in telescopes, by turning a place to receive the
stone, and leaving a fine edge of brass, which is
rubbed over the edge of the stone with a bur-

nisher. A diamond end-piece is usually set in
steel, into which it is brazed ; after which, the
steel is turned into shape, polished, and blued.
The stones are inlaid in a counter sunk recess,
c d, in the side plate, or other part of the watch,
and retained therein by two side screws, as shown
in the figure.

The jewelling of watches is very minute and
delicate work, as will be understood from the
statement of the dimensions of the parts of Fig.
16 : the side plate e e is one-tenth inch in thick-
ness : the rings from c to d one-sixth inch in
diameter, and the pivot one-one-hundredth inch
in diameter. In some of the flat Geneva watches
these dimensions are greatly reduced.

LOYE'S VEKTUEE.

Y PAULINE FORSYTH.

It was a cold, wet evening in the early part of
October. A chilling and heavy rain had been
falling steadily all day, and nothing could have
been more suggestive of ideas of discomfort than
a look out into the pitchy darkness of the night,
while the penetrating coldness of the air was
enough to freeze the life-blood in its source.

A matronly, pleasant-looking woman was
moving restlessly about a clean, well-arranged
kitchen, lit up by a bright wood fire, imperfectly
aided by a tallow candle on a stand.

"I wonder where Leonard can be," thought
she, as the clock over the mantle-piece struck
nine; "he has been out in the rain ever since
four, and he has not quite got over that fever
yet."

Just then the outer door was thrown open,
and a cheerful voice exclaimed —

"Where is the milk-pail, mother? I have
found that pesky cow at last."

"Where was she?" asked the mother.

" Why, she was shut up in the pound all the
time; and I went down to the swamp, and over
to Eltham woods, and through Squire Jones's
lane, and up to Huckleberry hill, and I was just
ready to give up and come home, when I met
little Daniel Brewer, who told me that he saw
old Mr. Davis shut our cow up there, because
she had strayed into his orchard. I was real
angry for a few minutes to think that he had
given me so much trouble for nothing, for he
might just as well have driven her home; but
he's such a crooked stick that I don't know that
we need expect anything better from him."

" Well, come in and take off your wet things,"
said Mrs. Lane.

" Oh, no, I '11 milk first ; it will take me but
a minute, and if I once come in to the fire it
will be dreadful hard to get away from it."

In a short time the milk-pail, with its foaming
contents, was placed on the kitchen-table, and
Leonard, with his wet clothes changed for dry
ones, sat warming himself by the fire, and fol-
lowing with his keen, bright, cordial eyes his
mother's movements, as, throwing her work off
the stand, she moved it by him, and placed on it
materials for a hearty supper.

" Where is Nancy?" he asked at last.

" Her father was taken suddenly ill, and her
brother came for her this afternoon ; she pro-
mised me that she would return as soon as possi-
ble. I hope she will, for I could not easily find
another girl that would suit me as well."

" Then you have all the work to do now?"

"Yes, with your help, Leonard. You are
worth a dozen girls to me."

Leonard smiled, but his countenance wore a
slight look of anxiety notwithstanding.

"Do you think Nancy will come back soon?"
he asked.

"I hope so."

No more was said for some time, for Leonard
fell into deep thought, and ate his supper in un-
broken silence, while Mrs. Lane busied herself
with several little household avocations.

Leonard was not a handsome boy. " Clumsy,"
would be perhaps the first epithet that critical
observers would apply to him, with his broad

LOVE'S VENTURE.

307

shoulders, his large hands and feet, and his
massive head set a little forward. "Good,"
would be the next idea suggested as they went
on to examine the calm benevolent expression of
nis face. " Resolute and perhaps a little dogged,"
would be the result of a closer scrutiny into the
mysteries unfolded by the brow, lip, and eye;
and the conclusion that everybody came to was
that Leonard deserved the praise his little sisters
gave him, when they called him " a dreadful
good boy."

" Where is father?" he asked at length.

"He is busy in his study. He is preparing
his sermon for next Sunday, and has been so
interrupted all day, that he begged me not to
disturb him on any account this evening."

" Then Jhere is no use in my trying to study,"
said Leonard ; "for I have come to a part of the
algebra that I cannot understand at all, and I
have been through my Virgil twice ; father has
been promising me an Ovid, but I suppose he
cannot afford it."

" I am afraid not," said Mrs. Lane, sadly.

There was another long silence, broken at last
by Leonard, who said, with a shade of doubt
and apprehension in his tone —

"Mother, I would like very much to go to
college."

" I wish you could go," said his mother, with
earnest sympathy. "I have thought a great
deal about it lately, but I don't see how we can
manage it. You know your father has but three
hundred dollars a year and the little farm, and it
is as much as we can do to live upon it."

"I know that, mother; I would not think of
taking the least thing from father. I can make
my own way through college, I know. But I
don't know how you can get along without me.
You know I have attended to the farm for the
last two or three years myself, so that it has
been all clear gain to us ; but if I go awajr, you
will have to hire people to work it, and to cut
your wood, and to do a great many other things,
and I don't think father is able to afford it."

" How did you think of supporting yourself?"
asked Mrs. Lane.

" By teaching school, just as Ben Davis and
George Adams did."

" Do you think you could get a school ? You
are but little over sixteen."

"I look a good deal older, though," said
Leonard, with a little pride ; " and I am sure I
could get the school in West Eltham village. It
was offered me to-day by one of the committee,
and he said he knew all the others would agree
to it."

It is a pleasant thing for a mother to know

that others besides herself appreciate the merits
of her children ; and Mrs. Lane, proud and
fond as she was of Leonard, was gratified by
this mark of confidence shown to one so young.
She hesitated but a few minutes before saying —

" I think you ought to accept the offer,
Leonard; I can manage to get along very well,
I have no doubt."

" I wish I could think so," said Leonard, with
a wistful glance at his mother ; " but I cannot
see how you will be able to afford to have a good
many things done for you that I have been
accustomed to do, and if I were not quite sure
that it would be the best in the end, I would not
leave you. But if I should stay here, though I
might work ever so hard, I should not be im-
proving myself at all, except perhaps in cutting
wood or milking cows, and that would be a very
" poor dependence for a living ; father thinks he
is teaching me, I know, but he doesn't hear my
lessons once a month. But if I can contrive to
go through college and get a profession, then I
am sure I shall be able to help father in taking
care of my little sisters ; you will need assist-
ance more when they are a few years older than
you do now."

" Yes, we shall certainly ; and at any rate you
must begin now in earnest to attend to your
education. I wish your father was able to help
you about it. I suppose you will have to be
examined by the committee, before the school is
given to you. When does it meet?"

" To-morrow, in West Eltham. I shall have
to get up very early to be there in time ; so good-
night."

Before daylight the next morning Leonard was
up. He made the fires, attended to the cow,
brought in wood enough to last his mother during
the day, and had eaten a hasty breakfast and was
off, before the first rays of the sun had lifted
from the earth and air the chilling dews and
dampness left by the rain of the day before.

When Mr. Lane came down to prayers in the
morning, he saw only four little brown-haired
girls, sitting with their hands demurely folded,
trying to look as intent and solemn as their
mother.

"Where is Leonard?" asked he; " hasn't he
found the cow yet?"

" Oh yes, sir," said the oldest child, a little
girl of seven, " he went to Eltham this morning."

Mrs. Lane explained the cause of his absence.*
Mr. Lane was an inert-looking man, calm and
meditative.

"Ah, yes," he said, after a few moments' con
sidcration, " I am glad Leonard thought of it.
It will be a very good thing, I have no doubt."

303

godey's magazine and lady's book.

" Leonard was very much afraid that ma
couldn't get along without him,'- said Emily ;
" he made us promise we would do all we could
to help her."

"Ah, yes; well, perhaps you will miss him;
perhaps he had better not go. I can continue
teaching him at home," said Mr. Lane, with a
questioning glance at his wife.

" Oh, I can manage very well, I know," said
Mrs. Lane, in her bright, hopefil way.

Mr. Lane seemed sunk in deep thought for
several minutes, and would have remained so
some time longer, if his wife, who had long ago
discovered that these deep fits of abstraction
never led to any practical result, had not recalled
him to a sense of the present duty, by finding
for him the chapter he was to read.

Late that evening Leonard came home, tired,
for he had walked twenty miles that day; but'
happy, for he had been successful in his pur-
pose, and was to enter upon his duties the next
week.

For six years he continued the arduous life of
teacher and student. By the end of that time
he received a diploma, which for the first two
or three days he felt inclined to show to every-
body, and which he afterwards put away and
forgot entirely.

'•'Now, mother," said Leonard, "I have only
to get a profession, and then I hope to be making
something. It troubles me to see you working
so hard, and to see my little sisters growing up
with so few opportunities for improvement. I
hope to help you effectually in a few years. I
can do a little for you now, for I have a very
good situation offered me in an academy at Mil-
ford, and I shall be able to spare you one or two
hundred dollars a year out of my salary."

e.e I suppose you still intend to be a lawyer?"

" Yes, I think I shall like the profession very
much. I intend to become quite distinguished.
I may be a judge yet — who knows?" and Leon-
ard's face was so radiant with hope and joy, and
a happy feeling of self-reliance, that he looked
almost handsome.

Six months after his departure for Milford, he
wrote to his mother, saying that, though it was
his vacation, he had decided not to come home,
but to devote his holyday to hard study. He
told her, also, that the trustees wished him to
take the entire charge of the school, and had
offered to double his salary if he would ; but
that he had decided to decline the offer, as, if he
accepted it, he would have to give up his whole
time to the school, and abandon the study of law.
He did not think the present advantage would
compensate for the loss of time it would involve ;

besides, he disliked teaching exceedingly, and was
looking forward with delight to the time when
he would be released from the necessity for it.

The answer to this letter was written by his
sister Emily. It contained the announcement
of the sudden death of their father, and ended
by saying that " ma would have written herself,
but was not able to do so."

Leonard hastened home, and found his mother,
for the first time in her life, on a sick bed.
This heavy blow coming suddenly upon a spirit,
and frame alike weakened and worn by long
years of unshared toil and care, had been more
than she was able to endure.

" If mother is spared," thought Leonard, " and
my life and strength continue, I will make the
last years of her life as happy as I can."

" Did mother see the last letter I wrote home?"
asked he of Emily.

" No," replied Emily, " she was not even able
to hear it read."

" I am very glad ; don't tell her what was in
it, but find it and bring it. to me."

Leonard threw it into the fire, and with the
last flicker of its flame died all the ambitious
hopes he had cherished so long.

" Now, mother," said he, when Mrs. Lane
was again able to listen to him, " I have a plan
to propose to you. I have been offered a salary
of a thousand dollars if I will take charge of the
school at Milford, and I have written to accept
the offer. There is a pretty little cottage there,
not far from the academy, that I would like to
rent, and I wish you would come, and bring the
girls, and keep house for me. It would make it
a great deal pleasanter for me; and you would
like it, I know. Milford is a very pretty place,
and there is very good society there."

Mrs. Lane was distressed to feel that she must
be an entire burden upon her son ; but there was
no choice left her but to submit to his wishes.

"You will have a heavy charge upon your
hands, Leonard," said she, " with an invalid
mother and four little sisters. I cannot bear to
think of it."

" Well, mother dear, don't trouble yourself to
think about it. What do you suppose my
shoulders were made so broad for ? When you
see how easily we shall all get on, you will be
quite relieved. • It will be a great advantage to
my sisters, going to Milford."

In less than six weeks, Mrs. Lane and her
daughters were settled in a better house and
surrounded with more comforts than had ever
fallen to their lot before. In seeing her daugh-
ters grow up to womanhood with so many
advantages for improvement and society, Mrs.

LOVE'S VENTURE.

309

Lane almost forgot to sympathize with Leonard's
blighted prospects. Indeed, when she saw how
he was respected and beloved by the whole
country around, she did not realize that he had
not rather gained than lost by this change in
his vocation. She did not know for how many
years his heart had panted for distinction in a
wider sphere ; how, unsatisfied with directing
boys, he had longed to try the power he felt he
had within him, in the lists with men.

All his conflicts with himself, his times of
depression and dissatisfaction, Leonard had kept
to himself; and it was not the least of his merits
that he had done so. Many years had passed
away in the quiet but laborious discharge of the
duties of his profession. The academy had long
been, in point of fact as well as name, his own ;
he had enlarged it, added a female department
to it, and it had become very profitable in every
sense. With his worldly condition Leonard was
perfectly contented ; but a feeling of loneliness,
of an unfilled heart and unsatisfied affections,
oppressed him more and more. His sisters had
married one by one as they grew up, until the
mother and son were left alone together. Mrs.
Lane had begun to urge upon her son the neces-
sity for selecting a wife soon, if he wished to
take one at all. But at thirty-five Leonard felt
like a confirmed old bachelor.

Ten years before, while still struggling to bear
up under the heavy charge he had undertaken,
he had loved, with the ardent and steady affec-
tion common to such natures as his, a lovely
young girl of Milford ; but, as he was then in
no position to declare his attachment, he was
obliged to contend with his feelings as he could,
when she, in perfect unconsciousness of the
anguish she was exciting, gave her hand to
another. Since then, thinking it impossible
that he should ever find one worthy to be the
successor of his first love, he had tried to subdue
his feelings to the realities of life, and satisfy
" the mighty hunger of his heart" with the husks
of popular liking and approval.

His mother saw more clearly than he did
himself how great the void was in his daily
happiness and life, and did her best, by her
warm and ready sympathy, to fill it.

They were sitting on the rose-covered porch
of their pleasant house one warm summer eve-
ning— Mrs. Lane in an easy-chair with her knit-
ting in her hands, that she might occasionally
beguile herself into the idea that she was accom-
plishing something, and Leonard, now a grave
dignified man, stretched upon a settee smoking
a cigar — when through the trees and intervening
Ehrubs they saw a group of young girls go by the

gate. One of them seemed to be in high glee,
running, laughing, and talking with an entire
forgetfulness of all rules of propriety and de-
corum.

" Sophy Chisholm is as great a romp as ever,
I see," said Mrs. Lane.

"Yes," said Leonard; "I do not think that
anything but time and trouble will ever subdue
her. I have tried these eight years in vain.
During the whole time that she has been in
school, I do not believe there has been a week
that she has not done something to call down
on herself a public reproof. She seems possessed
by the very spirit of mischief. But she is so
warmhearted and affectionate that every one
loves her notwithstanding. I believe she puts
Monsieur Lacompte, the French professor, into
a perfect frenzy of passion every other day, and
yet he seems on the whole to like her better than
any one in school. The other day she happened
to be sitting behind him in the class, and took
advantage of the opportunity to arrange her
collar and hair into a most ludicrous imitation
of his, and then mimicked with the greatest
gravity every one of his gesticulations. He saw
the girls laughing, and turned round suddenly
and caught Sophy in the midst of her sport. He
jumped up, took her arm in his, and marched
with her with the most vindictive earnestness
through every school-room in the academy, and
at last he brought her to me.

" ' Dis young lady, sare, she wear out my pa-
tience ; I am not Shobe ; I take my leave of her
for always ; she never enter my class no more.'
And he made me a low bow and went away. But
the very next morning I saw Sophy in her usual
seat in his room. I gave her along lecture, and
she promised me that, if possible, she would
behave during the short remainder of her school
life with the utmost propriety. But I doubt
whether she will succeed."

" Does she leave school soon ?"

"Yes, in two days more; at the end of this
term. She will then be seventeen, and she con-
siders herself already a young lady. She has
several admirers, I believe; but I pity her hus-
band. Robin Goodfellow could not have been
a more tantalizing companion than she will be.
I pity her husband."

The day after this conversation, Mr. Lane
was making his usual tour of the school-rooms.
When he reached Sophy Chisholm's desk, he
found that she had been attempting a very
difficult sum in arithmetic, a study which,
though a favorite one to him, he knew to be to
her distasteful and bewildering in the highest
degree. To his surprise, the answer was right,

310

godey's magazine and lady's book.

but when he came to examine the sum, he tried
in vain to penetrate through the confusion and
intricacy in which its operations were involved.
Clear-headed as he was, he could not make it
out, and he seated himself to examine it at his
leisure.

AVhile he was knitting his brows over the
slate, Sophy glanced from time to time at him.
She did not observe the gray hairs that had be-
gun to mingle with the light brown curls that
still covered thickly his nobly formed head, his
only beauty; nor did she notice the marks of
mature life and long-continued care on his face,
but she saw the lines that kindness, unselfish-
ness, and lofty thought had left there, and her
reverence and admiration swelled in her breast
with an almost painful intensity. She had loved
him ever since she had first been brought to his
school, a little girl of nine, and yet her con-
science whispered to her that she had never
been to him a source of anything but trouble
and annoyance. Remorse and affection were
both busy in her heart, and, with a sudden im-
pulse, she leaned forward and kissed Mr. Lane's
cheek.

He rose slowly and quietly, and, with an ex-
pression of offended dignity, calculated to strike
awe into the most audacious offender, he gazed
fixedly upon her. For once Sophy was discreet.
She would not raise her eyes to his, but sat with
her white lids resolutely dropped, her bright
color flushing and fading, and a curious smile,
half mirth, half anxiety, playing around her lips.

When Mr. Lane first rose up, he was indig-
nant, but, looking upon the pretty offender, such
are the advantages of beauty, notwithstanding
all the " wise saws and modern instances" to its
depreciation, that the stern purpose of his heart
was forgotten, and he was obliged to make a
hasty retreat to his desk to prevent some treache-
rous smile from declaring to the curious and
breathless school how little reality there was in
the angry look he had called up.

Sophy left school the next day, feeling very
much as though she had been dismissed in dis-
grace. But before she had taken many steps,
Mr. Lane joined her, a most unheard-of pro-
ceeding on his part, as far as any lady was
concerned.

And now I am almost afraid to tell how it all
ended, for fear I should be thought to advocate a
most extraordinary system of propriety, a com-
plete upsetting of the order that has beon estab-
lished since the foundation of the world, among
savage as well as civilized nations. But it is
true, nevertheless, that in less than a year Mr.
Lane and Miss Chisholm were married, and that

they lived very happily ever after. And, fur-
thermore, that Mr. Lane said that, but for that
most fortunate kiss, he should never have looked
upon Miss Chisholm in any other light than as
the most mischievous girl the sun ever shone
upon. What that kiss had to do with his dis-
covery and appreciation of her many good quali-
ties, I leave to metaphysicians to discover.

THE DYING WIFE.

BY BESSIE STUART.

In a chamber dim and high, 'mid the sweet perfume of

flowers,
When eve, with balmy sigh, ushered in the silent hours,
Upon an airy couch there lay a lady wan and pale ;
She sickened weeks ago, but to-day so fast did fail,
That tearful eyes around her saw this was the last of

life

For that gentle dying wife.

How she had longed for life ! " Only life I" had been her

prayer ;
However purchased, " only life,'" her passionate desire ;
Not that life here, for itself, kept her heart from Heaven

Nor from any fear of death came her longing still to
stay;

For she had been so guileless, death would bring im-
mortal life

To that pure dying wife.

But her heart would cling to him who had wooed her
maiden love ;

Through sunshine and through shadow unwavering he
.had strove

To win her for his wife — and he had won at last :

Ah ! how bitter if their sky had smiled but to be over-
cast!

Had she made the vow to love him with her warmest
love through life

But to be his dying wife ?

She could not rest for thinking of the charmed years of

bliss
Which had followed on the linking of her joyous life

with hi3 :
How warmly she had loved him when her heart was

light and young !
But now in pain and weakness, and the weary days so

long,
She felt that never had he been so really her life
As now — and she a dying wife !

Her father and her mother dwelt in a distant land ;
But though dearly she would love a soothing from their

hand,
Yet they were aged now, and soon would follow her
To the shining courts of Heaven, to be forever there :
Oh ! surely not for them could the longing after life
So agonize the dying wife.

And she had faltered long ere her sorrowing heart could

bear
To leave two precious babes without a mother's care :

THE DYING WIFE.

311

But now her heart was lightened, the burden rolled ;

away;
She would leave them with her Father, and before an- 2

other day S

She knew that kindly hands would have the guidance i

of their life,

For she was now a dying wife.

But her heart still yearned for him who had won her

maiden love,
And with heartache all this day on her weary couch

she strove :
The husband saw her soul was wrung with pain he

must not know,
And all day, as he tended her, his voice was choked

and low ;
Far each hour he felt more keenly that the brightest

part of life

Was dying with his dying wife.

In that chamber sad and dim, 'mid the sweet perfume
of flowers,

Silent, and yet alone with him, she passed the evening
hours,

Till the radiant clouds of sunset and her feeble laboring
breath

Aroused her to a view of quick approaching death :

They had said the sun would rise on her, ah! never-
more in life ;

Alas ! poor dying wife !

And sweetly she has beckoned, with a smile that
breathes of Heaven —

The husband stands beside her, and his trembling hand
is given ;

And though his heart is breaking, and his brain is reel-
ing now,

This is her time of strength ; for, with peace upon her
brow,

She speaks to him, while slowly pass the few last sands
of life

To that faithful dying wife : —

" I know thou wilt be lonely, dear, when I have passed

away,
But the time will soon be over — thou 'It not have long to

stay;
We shall be reunited in our home beyond the sky,
There never, nevermore to part, and nevermore to die :
And there, from all my weaknesses and stains of mortal

life
Cleansed in His blood who loveth us, thou 'It clasp an

angel wife.

" But ere I go I' 11 tell thee of the love I 've borne to

thee ;
Places and forms, like things of life, spoko ceaselessly

of thee :
Each joy of thine has met a smile— a sigh had every

pain;
A tear at every parting, and a thrill to meet again.
And, oh ! how sweet the mem'ry that, in all our wedded

life,
No chill distrust, no thought unshared, had I, thy

blessed wife !

'*Ia the depth of my devotion, I almost could desire
That thou mightst take some other wife thy future lot
to share ;

But I know thee far too well to think thy ear to gain ;
Weep not — I trust thee — second love comes but to heart'

less men :
It would trouble me in Heaven, if I saw new ties in life
Were blotting out the mem'ry of thy faithful dying wife.

" How well do I remember, in this room in bygone time,
Standing just there, thou took'st my hand, my shrinking

hand in thine,
And placed upon my finger the symbol of that faith
Which publicly we just had pledged, which made us one

till death ;
And then, with softest whisperings, thou madest vows

for life,
And, kneeling, first addressed me by the sacred name

of wife I

" With thy kiss warm upon my cheek, I 've watched thy

fading form,
For even lux'ry, without thee, made but a lonely home ;
And, 'mid my tears, I wondered if the noble knights of old
Could wave a scarf as gracefully, or rein their steed3

as bold :
And the bright days of thy return were gala-days in life;
Thou ne'er failedst of a greeting, a warm greeting, from

thy wife.

" At the closing of those days to memory so bright,

I sank to rest upon thy breast, with a gently breathed

'good-night!'
And if starting at some fancied harm, from sleep and

dreams of thee,
One gaze upon thy noble face, and terror fled from me :
And strong in thy protection — oh, from all the ills of life
How tenderly thou shieldedst me, thy second-self, thy

wife!

" But those bright days will be no more ; those days of
which the bliss

Can be compared to nothing save but the pain of this,

The day when I must leave thee ; oh ! how much I have
to tell !

But have only breath to say — oh, I cannot say— how
well!

Yet awhile I leave thee here alone, but in all thy com-
ing life

Be tender of the mem'ry of thy loving dying wife.w

Her strength has failed forever — soon she will be in

Heaven ;
She breathes a childlike prayer that her sins may be

forgiven :
Then turns on him her loving eyes, so soft with spirit

light,
And sinks her weary head to rest, and breathes her last

"good-night I"

And so she passed away: she died as a Christian ought,
With one hand reaching toward the Heav'n that Jesus'

blood hath bought;
The other clasped in earthly love. Well that husband

through hi3 life
May hoard as holy treasure the thoughts of such a wife !

♦ «****

A bird upon a waving bough beside the window saDg,

And clear within that hallowed room its liquid musk)
rang:

The moonlight glimmering threw the boughs like phan-
toms through the door —

Though she was dead, the moonlight came and danced
upon the floor.

LETTEKS LEFT AT THE PASTKY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND
HER "DEAR, DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY HORACE MAYHEW.

THE TENTH LETTER LEFT.

(Dated June the 2d.)

SHOWING VERY PLAINLY WHAT A TAX FOR-
FEITS ARE, AND HOW THEY ARE LEVIED J
BESIDES SHOWING HOW YOUNG LADIES ARE
TAUGHT THE PROPRIETY OF HAVING A GOOD
CARRIAGE.

On my word, these forfeits are no joke !
They are not merely bad marks, or long lessons,
or so many hundred lines to be copied out, or
learnt by heart ; but they are actual fines in hard,
very hard, money. Each forfeit is a halfpenny
apiece. You will say, Nelly, that that is little
enough ; but when they fall down upon you five,
or six, or as many as twelve strong at a time, I
can tell you that the blow is rather a heavy one
for a delicate purse to stand. Mine has received
so many blows of the kind that it is perfectly
exhausted. Every penny has been fairly knocked
out of it. All my pocket-money has been con-
sumed— all my cakes swallowed — all my sweet-
meats melted, one by one, by this devouring sys-
tem of forfeits j and I believe they would gobble
up my clothes, bonnets, boots, everything I have,
if they only had a chance.

The system, I mean to say, Nelly, is altogether
a bad one. To begin, all punishments that are
payable by money are bad — at least so I have
heard papa say when he has been reading the
police reports. Then, it teaches us to run into
debt, for if a girl has no more money, she is
obliged to borrow some, as no one is allowed to
go home until all her forfeits are paid. What
her debts to her school-fellows may be is quite
another thing ! Then, again, I maintain it is a
oruel robbery, almost worse than an income tax,
upon us poor girls, for our parents surely never
intended, when they gave us our pocket-money,
that it should find its way, every penny of it,
into the school-mistress's pocket; and, lastly, it
makes us suspect all manner of wicked things of
our Lady Principal, as we imagine that the money
forfeited all goes to her private use, and the girls
really believe that one-half of her beautiful
drawing-room has been furnished in this way.
Whenever a new bonnet comes home, it is
ourious to hear the buzz of insinuations that
312

instantly, like a swarm of gnats, go flying round
the school. Every girl believes in her heart that
she has been taxed for the payment of that bon-
net. A system, Nelly, which reduces a school-
mistress, in the estimation of her pupils, to the
level of very little better than a thief, cannot be
a good one !

What makes these suppositions still stronger
is, that the forfeits are levied for the smallest
possible fault. If one of your books is lying
about ; if your hands are slightly dirty ; if your
dress is a little untidy ; if you yawn, or gape, or
smile, or are guilty of any violation of the five
hundred rules that are stuck up in the school-
room, the forfeits immediately rain down upon
you in a heavy shower, and there is no place of
shelter that can save you. I have been bankrupt
two or three times, and am deeply in debt now,
so, when you come to see me, Nelly, mind you
bring plenty of money (ten shillings at least) to
help me out of my scrape, and I '11 owe it to you.

Then, to increase our distress, there are
" charities" also, but I am afraid to touch upon
this serious subject, lest you should shake your
pretty head, and declare that, since I have been
at school, I have grown positively hard-hearted.
No, dearest Nelly, I hope I am as charitable as
most girls. I know I feel always ready to cry
over any case of distress, and long with all my
heart to relieve it. I give what little I can to
the poor, and am pained when I refuse a beggar,
for fear he should not be the impostor I have
condemned him in my own mind to be ; but I
do not understand the kind of "charity" that is
practised here. We have such numbers of
"Distressed Widows" and "Destitute Orphans.*'
that we cannot help doubting the reality of a few
of them. Scarcely a week passes without our
having a "Broken Leg," or the school being
cleaned out with a " Disastrous Fire." Now, if
we only could see a " Widow," and give her tlw
money ourselves, or take two or three of the
"Orphans" by the hand, and kiss the little
dears, I am sure we should feel much greater
sympathy with the cases in question, and should
be charitable from real feeling, instead of being.
as we arc now, charitable only from compulsion.
We arc always relieving, but never see any of

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S.

313

the objects we relieve, not even a "Broken
Leg ;" and so the impression has become rooted
in all the girls' minds that these are all imaginary-
cases, got up expressly to teach us charity, in the
same way that unknown Quantities are taken in
equations to teach us algebra. Now if a real
" Widow" was to come in some day, and thank
us in person for what we had done for her, what
a difference it would make ! what is now a task
would be instantly converted into a pleasure!

But I must tell you about Captain March.
He is our drilling-master. He is not a real
captain, you know, but is only called so out of
compliment. (Noble protests he 's only a ser-
geant; but then that's just like Noble, she'd
make out Count D'Orsay to have been no better
than a barber's apprentice.) He has a beautiful
black moustache, and is more than six feet high,
but as stiff as a back-board. His chest perhaps
is a little too large. It looks too much like a
carpet-bag when it's as full as it can hold — and
Meggy Sharpe doesn't scruple to say it is exactly
in that predicament — but then she is such a
satirical thing! His coat is scarlet, and it fits,
dear, without a crease, and as tight as a pin-
cushion. Of course he is married, or else he
wouldn't be admitted into the college. His wife,
they say, is only three feet high.

We have to wear a peculiar costume for drill-
ing, not unlike a Bloomer's. It is a short brown-
holland blouse, with a red belt. Our trousers
are of the same material, but rather short, dis-
playing our feet and ankles. We look so funny
in it, and you would laugh to see us. We are
placed in rows, and made to go through all
imaginary steps and exercises, like so many
militiamen. We should make a famous regi-
ment, I can tell you, Nelly, and if the French
should ever invade us, we are ready to turn out
to a man — I mean a woman — and defend our
good little queen, and all her colonies and
dominions.

Captain' March has a voice like a cannon.
I'm sure it must be heard sometimes at Hyde
Park Corner. He makes the window-panes rat-
tle as he bawls out : " Up — up with your heads,
young ladies. Throw your chests well out —
more — more, I say — in with the waist — bu-u-
ulge your chests, ladies !" And he swells his
own out to that extent, that you would imagine
it would burst all the buttons!

Then we have to march quick and slow, the
captain walking by our side, marking the time
with a small bamboo-cane, and crying out,
" Right, left — right, left — keep time, pray keep
time, young ladies," (and then he shrieks out,
as if he was going mad) " Where are your
vol. xltx. — 27

chests, ladies? Yes ; that's better, now. Right,
left — mark the cadence properly — right, left,"
and so on for an entire hour.

It is glorious fun, Nelly ; only I don't like the
captain to pull me about, for we have no stays
on. It tickles me so that I cannot help laughing,
and the consequence is I get fined. There are
more forfeits during our drilling-lesson than any
other class. The captain pretends to be very
angry, but I fancy at times I see him smiling
behind his thick moustache. With all his black
looks, he is very good-natured, and often per-
suades Blight (who remains in the room all the
while) to remit us one-half our fines.

But I must haste with my letter, dear, or else
Madame Duhauton will be here directly.
She is our " Maitresse de Maintien" and has on
her cards, " Brevetee de toutes les Cours de V Eu-
rope." She is as thin as continental-letter-paper,
but excessively elegant, with a waist scarcely
larger than a wedding-ring. Few mistresses in
our school are respected so much, or followed
with so much attention as Madame Palmyre
Duhauton. Her lessons are most amusing, in-
structing us how to balance the body, walk,
courtesy, sit, lounge, meet a friend, enter a car-
riage, mount on horseback, get over a style, and
be presented at court. Her attitudes alone are
a perfect study of deportment. She sits as if an
artist was in the room ; she walks as though she
were performing before an audience. Every
movement is studied. She hands you the poker
like a Tragedy Queen, and if she brings you a
cup of tea, it is done with the air of an injured
rival offering you a goblet of poison. But, in
spite of all these affectations, there is an abandon
(it's her own word), an elegant freedom about
her that wins your admiration at once. I believe,
if she were to meet a mad bull, she would do it
so gracefully that the animal would immediately
draw in his horns, and politely run away in an
another direction.

As for "the high walks of society," which
she is always boasting of having moved in, none
of us believe them any more than that she is a
Frenchwoman. The rumor is that she is the
widow of an English officer who lived for a long
time on the Continent. Meggy Sharpe insists
that her real name is D. (Diana) Haughton,
which, with the aid of a little French polish,
she has brightened gradually up into De Horton,
De Hauton, Duhauton.

I will try to give you a notion of one of her
lessons.

She enters the room with a swimming, undu-
lating movement, murmurs softly a " Bon jour,
mes enfants" and begins at once : " Now, my

314

godey's magazine and lady's book,

dear girls, your whole fate hangs upon paying
attention. How often am I to repeat you are to
move vos hanches — your haunches — and non vos
genoux — I mean your kneeses? Mademoiselle
Ploddor — ecoutez-moi — was your papa a canard,
or a Greenwich pensioner with two wooden legs,
that you will bolter and waddle in that impossi-
ble frightful maniere? Maintenant suivez-moi,
walk like me," and Madame crosses the room
backwards and forwards, in the most wavy,
dance-like style, to show us how a lady should
walk. " La I Faites comme ga, and you will
have no reason to rougir, not even amongst la
creme de la crime, at the very top of society.
0 ciel ! dear me ! Miss Flower — arretez — what
a meeting ! Did you wish to offer the Monsieur
your foot, or your hand? Great Heavens,
ladies ! what do you do with your heads ? The
gentlemen do not run comme des lapins, or like
cats and dogs, upon the floor. Allans, my dear
children, les epaules en arriere — la tete Men haute
— Men haute. A young lady will never get a
husband, now-a-days, unless she holds her head
up. Les mariages, you know, are written in
heaven, and so you must look up there, and not
on the carpet — il n'y a pas de maris d present sur
le tapis." (Here Madame indulged in a hearty
laugh over her own wit — nothing boisterous —
but a fashionable titter that wouldn't wake a
baby.) " Ah ! ca — e'est beaucoup mieux. Now,
in one minute, it will commence to rain very
hard, and you will have to run, for not one of
you, mind, has got a parapluie, or a parasol.
There !^ je vous V avals Men dit. Run, my dears,
run — vlte, plus vite — but stop, Miss Clover" (and
she caught hold of me) ; " you must not pull up
your dress so high, comme si vous alliez prendre
un bain de pieds."

We hurried through the shower again, and
Madame was pleased to say that I ran that time,
" d merveille." We then went through our sit-
ting lesson, and you would have been amused,
dear, at the numberless directions that were
given how we were to sit on a chair, on a sofa,
on a music-stool, at the head of the table, in an
open carriage, at the opera, and a thousand other
places. I always thought there was only one
way of sitting; but I never was more mistaken
in all my life. Courtesies followed. " Merci,
Miss Noble, merci'''' (exclaimed our little French-
Englishwoman), " that courtesy was perfection.
It would have been an honor to the Court du
Grand Monarque. It was digne d'une Reine.
Continuez comme ca, ma chcre, and your success
is certain. Je vous predis un settlement in the
highest ranks. Mademoiselle Wylde !" (she
continued,) " what do you go for up and down

in that way ? that is churning — not courtesying.
Doucement, my dear ; I do not ask you to mako
butter }" and she made us all laugh by imitating
Lucy's quick movements.

The carriage (an old sofa put upon wheels)
was next driven into the middle of the room, and
we were taught how to step into it in the most
elegant manner, /made a sad mess of it, Nelly ;
and Madame Palmyre was so angry that she
went so far as to declare that " no man of taste
or pretensions would ever think of uniting his
destinies to one so shamefully uneducated in the
first steps — (did she mean the carriage-steps?) —
of high life." After this harangue, in which
the French accent had been accidentally omitted,
I was dismissed in disgrace.

The crowning part of the lesson was the
presentation at court. Madame seated herself
on a raised ottoman, which did duty for a throne.
The girls retired to a little closet in the corner,
from which they emerged in their full court cos-
tume. This consisted of an old window-curtain
for the train, and a beautiful group of cut silver-
paper feathers for the plumes ; and I thought to
myself what a capital dress it will make when
we play at " acting charades."

" Bien gracieusement et modestement rendu,
Miss Peacock," exclaimed Madame, in a half-
majestic tone, from her royal ottoman. " Ma
charmante jeune Miss, votre beaute d'un ange et
votre tournure d'une Duchesse seront un de ces
jours bien appreciees. Ah ! Miss Smiffel !" —
(and here her Majesty rose in the greatest
indignation) — " Are you mad, or only foolish ?
Never dare to kiss my hand again until after you
have wiped your mouth. I don't know what
you have been eating, but it looks uncommonly
like gooseberry jam ! ! !" (True enough, there
was a large jar, belonging to the Suetts, in the
closet, and Smiffel had helped herself rather
liberally — robing and robbing at the same time.)
"Learn, ladies, that only a very slight pressure
of the lips is permitted. Now, Ada Steele, what
are you afraid of? Her Majesty is not going to
slap your face that you should look so alarmed
to kiss her hand. Well, Miss St. Ledger, am I
to repeat again and again that I will not have
you come rolling up to the steps of my throne
like a cricket-ball ? Pray, learn to moderate
your bounding enthusiasm. But, good heavens !
girl, your feather has touched my face. Ill-bred
creature! Would you presume to tickle her
Majesty's nose with your court plume? But I
absolve myself from all responsibility of your
future destinies. With such innate vulgarity,
it's preposterous to suppose you ever can 01

WILL BE MARKIED ! !"

THE FALL OF THE LEAF.

315

With this extraordinary speech from the
throne, Madame descended the footstools which
had been arranged as a flight of steps. What
struck me most during the delivery was, the
perfect Queen's English — for une native de Paris,
especially — in which it was spoken ; but, as it
was the Queen, and not P*tadame in her own
person, who was speaking, it may, perhaps,
account for the extraordinary phenomenon and
the fidelity of the representation. Nature only
sacrificed herself to truth. However, with the
loss of her foreign royalty, she soon recovered
the use of her native tongue, and, smiling a
Frenchwoman's smile, she said to Noble, " Ayez
la bonte, ma chere, de prendre ma place." She
then showed us how the Queen was to be re-
spectfully approached, how her hand was to be
gently kissed, and how the debutante was to
carefully withdraw, without being incommoded
with, or falling over her train. With this last
performance, which, I must say, Nelly, was
admirably done, the Levee was at an end.

I had nearly forgotten to tell you that, during
the above ceremony, Noble and Peacock wore
their own feathers and their own trains. Their
pride couldn't think of being dragged about the
floor in connection with an old window-curtain.

Good-bye, Nelly ; and don't forget to bring
the money, if you wish to save from bankruptcy
and shame,

Your devoted, but penniless friend,

Kitty.

P. S. Last night was the first Friday in the
month, and a full moon I so we resolved upon
trying our luck when we went to bed. Accord-
ingly, we made all haste in undressing, and put
the candles out very quickly. We then placed

ourselves in a row, with the moon-beams full in
our faces ; after which, upon a given signal from
Wyldc, we repeated slowly the following words:

" Upon this month's lucky Friday,
Beneath the moon-beam's magic ray,
Stepping backwards into my bed,
I pray, benevolent St. John,
To show in nightly vision,
The husband I on earth shall wed."

These were delivered as solemnly as possible :
as soon as they were over, without uttering
another sound, we walked backwards into bed,
keeping our faces turned all the time to the
moon, and so dropped off to sleep.

If any one speaks, they say the charm is
broken. It is confidently reported (Susan told
us so, and she had it from a gipsy) that it is
sure to succeed if repeated precisely as the clock
strikes twelve, finishing the last word with the
last stroke ; but we were afraid of oversleeping
ourselves, or that some of the younger girls
might grow frightened, or that the moon-beams
might not shine, so we wisely preferred saying
it beforehand. If you tell your dream, you will
never be married ; but as I never dreamt of any
one (not even of Sidney, much to my disappoint-
ment), there is no great fear of my dying an old
maid on that score at least. It is a thousand
pities, Nelly, that the chances are so many
against the above charm succeeding. It has
often been tried here, but some girl has always
spoken, or shrieked by falling against something,
and hurting herself in walking backwards. The
greatest difficulty, however, is in preventing the
girls talking; but we two will try it some night,
dear Nell, only we must promise not to tell each
other our dreams! The penalty would be too
awful ! !

THE FALL OF THE LEAF

Y W. S. GAFF KEY.

What a study is here ! What a lesson for the
gay, giddy, and thoughtless ! And yet it needs
not the philosophy of a Bacon, the rhetoric of a
Blair, nor the wisdom of a Socrates to expound
and make clear the history of these few words.
Nay ! it is the teaching of Nature herself. The
fall of the leaf! and coupled therewith is the
budding thereof.

When Spring with smiling joy comes bounding
o'er the earth, the eye is charmed with sights
not less strange than beautiful. She breathes
o'er the ice-bound rivulet, and its waters flow
anew. Frost and snow retreat from her ad-

vancing footsteps. Earth puts on her verdant
mantle in token of her coming. And little birds
that silent were before, breathe forth their notes
of welcome. The things of earth appear and
germinate, and with mingled joy and wonder we
behold the budding of the leaf.

Again — a few short months, and where is all
the beautiful? The precious flowers of earth
that reared their heads in rich magnificence —
where are they? The trees but lately robed in
verdant splendor — where are they? They stand,
firm as before, yet shaken by the rude blast, and
yielding to the faintest breeze a portion of their

316

godey's magazine and lady's book.

once green foliage. What a wonderful change !
'Tis the falling of the leaf.

Withered leaves are round us falling;

To the autumn's blast they bend,
Whispering, in accents mournful, y

All that 's beautiful must end.

Nature, robbed of all her glory,

Bends unwillingly her head,
Like a broken-hearted mother

Weeping o'er her cherished dead !

Ah ! those leaves, once green and lovely,
Oft I hailed them as my friends ;

Now no pleasing thoughts they bring me,
To my heart no beauty lends.

Yes ! they bring a sweet remembrance

Of the happy, happy past;
They are types to me, and shadows

Of eternal life at last !

Withered leaves are round us falling ;

To the faintest breeze they bend ;
Yet their falling is a token

That this life is not our end.

Yes ! on every leaf is written,

In my mind, a holy thought :
Yes ! the hope of life upspringing

From the grave, by them is brought.

Though they 're withered now, and falling
Down to earth, their native tomb ;

Yet the parent stock will flourish,
And with fresh leaves bud and bloom.

So our mortal frames will perish,
Like the falling leaves and sere ;

Yet again will bloom and flourish
In a bright eternal sphere !

To the thoughtful mind this annual change
of nature speaks a fruitful lesson. We behold
the bright flowers of earth ope their rich petals,
cast their sweet fragrance to the breeze, and then
droop and perish — emblematic of the instability
of earthly things.

We behold the child in its guileless beauty, a
gem glowing with health, innocence, and joy,
folded in the arms of her who bore it in all the
overwhelming fondness of a mother's love. Like
the sportive lamb decked with a flowery gar-
land, so beautiful it seems, but, alas! it breathes
but to smile. Thou weepest, childless mother —
ah ! well thou mayst, 'tis thy first-born. Spring
gave thee a toy of peerless beauty, but never
more shall it raise its rosy lips to thine in all
the fondness of childhood's warm affection —
that cherub of immortality ! Memory tells thee
thou art desolate ; it tells, too, of playful smiles,
of a thousand soft and winning ways that twine
around the mother's bosom, and of the sweet
wild throbbings of unspeakable bliss that were
thine when softly soothing it to slumber and
repose. Now the nursery will no more resound

with its gladsome mirth ; the cradle in which it
so often reposed in quiet is now desolate. Thou
weepest, childless mother — thou hast beheld the
falling of the leaf.

Sound the depths of thy heart, kind reader,
and tell me — is there not one chord that speaks
a void which earth cannot replace? Knowest
thou one sacred spot above all others, whereon
thou hast shed the bitter tear, or gazed with sore
affliction1? One star be there which thy fond
heart has marked as her pure spirit roaming the
azure vault of heaven? Thou, too, hast seen the
fallen leaf

And what is life — and what is man, that he
should seek the fleeting shadow ? "Earth is not
man's abiding place." We are but travelers on
this terraqueous ball — but servants of probation.
Why then this love of gain, this burning for
distinction? Let us approach yon wide reposi-
tory of the dead, and seek there for distinction.
We behold tablets, cold, marble tablets, cold as
the clay that slumbers beneath them; their va-
ried inscriptions telling of youth, beauty, age,
ambition, pride and vanity, brought to one com-
mon level. Like the leaves of the forest, a
withered, mouldering mass, nor one pre-eminent
over another.

Fallen leaves from the tree of life, torn from
the parent stem by the rude blast of time !

Crave not the vanities of earth that gild but
to perish, but seek rather to fill the immortal
mind with that incorruptible fruit which death
cannot destroy, and which will prove a source
of supernal felicity beyond ages.

Behold the fallen leaf, the type of all that is
earthly, and learn to prepare for another and
happier state of being. Drink not at the fount
of deception. For know that, be thou ever so
fair — be thou blest with the choicest and rarest
of this world's gifts — yet must thou, like the sim-
ple leaf, droop and wither ere thou canst cross
the dark waters and land upon the flowery coast
of that world of fadeless flowers, there to put on
fresh beauty and bloom for eternity.

TO FORGIVENESS.

BY BLANCHE BENNAIRDE.

Thou art a goddess, beautiful and fair,
With " ivory sceptre," on a throne of pearl ;
And when thou smilest on us, we are filled
With gratitude and deep humility.

What should we do on earth without thy smile,
When we so often give to others pain,
And wander in forbidden ways, and lose
The light of love, finding ourselves in gloom!

LYDIA'S WAGES.

BY ALICE B. NEAL,

(Concluded from page 237.)

The hoarse voice of the conductor called the
next stopping-place, " White Plains !" through
the dusty cars. The little Mack trunk was
standing on the platform already, when the
young seamstress stepped out upon it, remem-
bering suddenly that if the farmer should not
keep his appointment she had not the means to
return to New York again. But among the
little crowd of vehicles drawn up to the depot,
she saw a comfortable brown wagon, with a
buffalo, warm as was the day, spread on the
seat, and reining in the startled horse, which
pricked up his ears as the engine hurried past
him, was her new friend, apparently on the look-
out for her.

"Oh, here you be, be you?" he said, good-
naturedly, as she presented herself before him.
" I should hav bin put out enough, ef you hadn't
come, for taint so easy to spare people and
horses off the place in hayin' time ; whoa, Billy;
here, come round this side, and give me that 'ere
basket ; whoa, whoa, sir ; you see he wants to
start right off on and try to pass that engine.
Here, you, jest lend a hand and put that trunk
in behind here, Zebedia, Zekiel — what 3s your
name! Stiddy, Bill. Now we're off !"

And away trotted the ambitious animal, whose
rusty harness and shaggy sides gave little out-
ward evidence of spirit.

Lydia had kept her veil over her face all the
morning, the dust of the cars had been so dis-
agreeable. But now she threw it back and
looked about her with the eagerness of a child.
They soon passed through the long straight
village street, with its intensely white houses
and vivid green shutters, the lawyer's offices,
and the doctor's, and the stores, standing in close
neighborhood, and then the houses were more
scattered, and chiefly unpaintcd, the brown
weather-beaten boards looking, through the fo-
liage of locust-trees and lilac bushes, so refresh-
ing in their natural tint to eyes accustomed to
the glare of brick and stone. The very vines
and brambles of the roadside were beautiful to
her, the snow-white blackberry blossoms lying
among them, and the singing of the birds in the
orchards, where the sunshine was tempered by
the thick foliage, or, best of all, passing in the
shadow of such a wood as she had dreamed of,

27*

or fancied she could remember, with the hush
and grave quietness of a country landscape, con-
trasted with the roar and tumult she had left
behind. But Billy's master gave little time for
the indulgence of reveries, had they been ever
so pleasant. He seemed to think himself in
duty bound to be entertaining, and pointed out
the localities with evident satisfaction to himself,
and pride in the neighborhood.

" This here buildin' 's the school-house, where
my boys got all they know of readin' and 'ritin' —
quite enough I tell mother for good plain coun-
try folks. Mother was goin' to send one of 'em
down for you this mornin', but I calculated you'd
feel better to see somebody you know'd. You
hain't told me your name yet. Liddy? Well,
that 's a good name. I had an aunt Liddy when
I was a boy. I do believe you don't know what
my name is neither. Now if that ain't a joke.
You wouldn't have know'd who to ask for if I
hadn't been on the spot, would you? Well, if
you'd jest told 'em you wanted to go to Elijah
Purdy's, any body 'd a know'd. There 's a con-
siderable number o' Purdy's around in West-
chester county. Some on 'em ain't no relation,
though. There 's the widder Purdy, she's a sis-
ter of mine, Elnathan's wife that was. She's
got a handsome place a little mite off the road
from the meetin'-house. Oh, there's the meet-
in' -house now, up among them apple-trees on
the hill. You see that long row o' sheds? well,
right up above there. We hain't got more 'n a
mile to go now, Liddy. You see that fur stone
fence? well, right over that hill, an' you kin
see our new barn."

It was with no little interest, then, that Lydia
watched for the first glimpse of her new home,
Billy having consented to walk up the last hill
at a very even pace, probably not recognizing
the near vicinity of the barn aforesaid. Once
on the top of the declivity, however, he needed
no touch of the whip, but whirled them over the
last half mile, giving the new-comer very little
time to see the brown farm-house with the tidy-
looking out-houses, and neat stone walls and
fences, indicative of thriving plenty.

A sun-burnt little urchin, bare-headed, and
guiltless of shoes, swung open the large gate, and
the wagon, scattering geese and hens in every di-

317

318

godey's magazine and lady's book.

rection, drew up at once by the " back stoop," as
Mr. Purdy denominated the kitchen door. The
elation of the rapid drive, through the fine fresh
air, passed away in a moment, as it recalled to
Lydia why she was there, and that here she was
to labor with her little strength at a new voca-
tion, and under the vigilant eye of a mistress.
She felt the glow fade from her cheek, and the
light from her eye, as she was helped out of the
wagon, and saw the farmer's wife coming to-
wards her, with a pitcher in one hand and a but-
ter plate in the other; the very personification
of neatness and good order; tall, straight, and
as prim as her husband was careless and good-
natured. She had somehow expected to find his
counterpart, instead of opposite, in the "mother"
he had so constantly referred to, and when she
felt herself measured from head to foot over the
tops of those spectacles, she wished herself back
again to the bondage she had just escaped from.

"Won't you set down?" Mrs. Purdy said,
bluntly. "You can lay your bonnet on the
bureau, dinner 's just ready ; come, father, let
Nate take Billy round ; you hain't got no time
to spare, for the men's all come." And so they
had, and filed into the room in their clumsy
boots, rolling down their shirt sleeves, and sleek-
ing their hair, dripping from their late ablutions
at the well, as they came.

The plentifully spread table was a new sight
to the city girl. The huge pieces of meat, and
platters of potatoes in their jackets, the fresh,
yellow butter and thick slices of home-made
bread, and the cold, sparkling water from the
well, were all dainties, in their way, to one who
had lived till now on the stale provisions from
the grocers at the corner, where tainted meats
and wilted vegetables waited for straggling pur-
chasers in the noonday sun. These good things
disappeared with incredible rapidity before the
nearty appetites of the farm laborers, who sat side
by side with the family, and joined the conver-
sation as freely as they helped themselves with
their own knives and spoons to the dishes before
them.

Such an appetite as seemed to animate them
she had never known. Meat they had seldom
purchased, bread and tea being the principal
food, so easily prepared and renewed. With the
smell of the meats her daily headache had re-
turned, and she felt the fatigue of her journey,
with the restraint of her position, almost insup-
portably. The farmer's wife piled her plate with
eatables, and he did his best to make her talk;
but she was thankful when the meal concluded
by the distribution of huge wedges of cheese and
dried-apple pic, which the men took in their

hands and returned without any ceremony to
their field work.

" I guess you 'd better take your things up
stairs to the end room — that little one you '11
find off the garret," was Mrs. Purdy's first
direction, as Lydia began to set the chairs back
from the table.

She was glad enough to go, and be, if only five
minutes, by herself; and when she found " the
end room," it was to sit down and wonder how
she ever came to think of doing as she had done,
and how it was all going to end. She would not
have felt very much encouraged if she had over-
heard Mrs. Purdy's first address to her husband :

" What on earth did you bring that girl here
for? Why, she looks as if she was in the last
stages ; I don't believe she could peel a potato."

" Well, if she's in the last stages, she's come
to a good place to be taken care of," the farmer
said stoutly ; for he considered Lydia his protegie,
and, as he said, had taken a fancy to her from
the first. "But I don't believe it's nothin' but
sewing stiddy ; and goin' round the house '11 bring
her up again. If she can't do nothin' but what
she chooses, she'll be some help."

And here the conversation was interrupted by
the reappearance of the " new help," with a black
silk apron tied over her neatly-fitting barege de
laine. Mrs. Purdy looked at it, and at her cam-
bric undersleeves and linen collar, then back to
her husband in silent despair ; and he, good man,
considering discretion the better part of valor,
betook himself to the hay field, and left them to
get along as well as they could together.

It was Wednesday, and the washing and iron-
ing being out of the way, baking not recurring
until Thursday in the firmament of Mrs. Purdy's
domestic arrangements, there was comparatively
little to be done after the dishes were washed and
the kitchen was swept up. Mrs. Purdy rolled
down the sleeves of her calico dress, and tied her
cap-strings under her chin, in token of a half-
holyday; then disappearing into an adjoining
bedroom, she brought to light an immense basket
of mending, to which she applied herself with
characteristic vigor.

Lydia was not slow in perceiving that she had
not stepped at once into the good graces of the
farmer's wife, who sat as stiff and erect as ever
by the window opening into the side yard. The
kitchen was as neat as hands could make it ; not
a crumb upon the floor, nor a stain upon the
well-scoured sink. The sunshine came in at
the open door, and the bushes in the yard, the
grass plat, and the fields beyond were rippled by
a light, sweet-scented wind.

" I guess you 'd better go out to the barn and

lydia's wages.

319

see if there 's any eggs," Mrs. Purdy vouchsafed,
in answer to her second inquiry, " What shall I do
now?" ;; To-morrow's bakin'-day, and there'll
be enough to do then without huntin' eggs' nests."

She could not have chanced upon a pleasanter
errand, for the girl was longing to be out in the
free air, and see for herself how her new home
was situated.

Perhaps Mrs. Purdy had thought of this, for
she was not unkind at heart, and Lydia's willing-
ness and quickness of comprehension, in place
of the obtuse clumsiness she usually had to com-
bat with in a new domestic, apologized, if not
made up, for the strength and endurance she
lacked.

" She's a handy, clever-spoken girl," thought
the good woman, looking after Lydia's light
figure as she went towards the barn. " But
when 1 want help, I want help. She is not going
to earn her salt. I can't bear to order such a
delicate-looking piece around, as much of a lady
now as our minister's wife. What could have
possessed her to go out to work, I don't see, or
'Lijah to bring her 'long. Actilly afraid of a
dog, too ; how '11 she stand milkin' ? Here, you
Bose; come here this minute, sir. He won't
hurt you," she called out from the window.
" Barkin' dogs never bite ;" for Lydia stood at
bay, the old house dog snuffing, and whining,
and barking round her. " Well, I s'pose now
she's come, I must make the best of it;" and
with this consoling and philosophic reflection,
the busy dame relapsed to her stocking darning
and her calculations on the products of her
dairy.

Baking-day unfolded new wonders to Lydia.
Such a profusion of milk and eggs, and sugar
and butter, she had never beheld before except
at the grocer's, and she won Mrs. Purdy's first
approving smile by her unfeigned admiration of
the milk-room, so delicately clean and cool.
The bright morning air was of itself an elixir to
her exhausted frame, and the exercise, fatiguing
at first to one so unaccustomed to housework,
brought a clear glow to her cheeks that made
her almost beautiful. They had a busy morning
*of it, with heating the huge brick oven, and pre-
paring the bread, and pies, and puddings, that
filled its gaping mouth ; and then there were the
vegetables to prepare for dinner, and Lydia
proved that she could peel a potato and shell
early peas, and do a variety of household tasks,
where quickness atoned for inexperience. There
were the boys' beds to make after dinner ; they
had been airing all the morning, and Lydia found
herself taking especially good care of the side
of the room occupied by Caleb, the eldest son of

the house, who had already shown himself
friendly by picking the peas before breakfast,
and giving her a first lesson in milking.

Milking, it must be confessed, was a terror to
the city girl for many a day. She did not like
to go into the barnyard in her thin shoes ; she
had never worn anything thicker than a double-
soled morocco buskin. Then she could not
overcome her terror of the horned oxen — gentle,
honest creatures as they were — nor of the cows
themselves, particularly when she found herself
within the range of a raised hoof, or the sweep
of a long tail. But Caleb generally managed to
be around the barn at milking time, and fixed
her stool for her, and stood by to see that the
pail was standing quite straight. It was the
business of one of the men to help milk ; but
Caleb took it upon himself, when he found Lydia
did not grow any more courageous with time,
and by his good management all the rest were
milked by the time she was through with Brin-
dle, the most gentle one among them.

Lydia found that she was expected to go with
the family to meeting on Sunday morning, and
shocked Mrs. Purdy's notions of propriety when
she presented herself in a changeable silk dress,
lace-trimmed mantilla, and a bonnet gay with
ribbons and flowers. The good dame was arrayed
in a Scotch gingham, and her "dunstable" had
known neither bleaching nor trimming since its
purchase, two summers before. Lydia had yet
to learn that fine dress was not the end of exist-
ence, a knowledge that would go far towards
making many a poor family comfortable in our
cities, where dry-goods blow in the place of
flower-gardens every spring, and the butcher is
defrauded to give the milliner a customer.

The men, young and old, who were lounging
about the steps, country fashion, all stared at the
gay damsel. Caleb Purdy handed her out of his
father's double wagon, and there was such a
nodding and whispering among the women-folks
seated in the pews, that even the entrance of the
minister himself made less stir. Mrs. Purdy
felt it all, to her great vexation ; and turned over
the leaves of the hymn-book very steadily while
the minister was finding his chapter, biting the
tips of her Lisle thread gloves, instead of the
sprigs of thyme and " old man," which she car-
ried by way of a vinaigrette.

Considering how closely Caleb kept watch of
the family pew from the singing seats that morn-
ing, we cannot wonder that Mrs. Purdy under-
took to set things straight that week, with regard
to the "new help." To begin with, she pre-
sented Lydia with two yards of blue check, to
make herself " a decent apron," in place of the

320

godey's magazine and lady's book,

black silk, which always roused her ire; at the
same time hinting: very strongly at undersleeves
and neck ribbons. Lydia, willing to accommo-
date herself to circumstances, appeared in short
sleeves the next day, and never was blue check
apron more becoming to a slender waist. " Mrs.
P.," as her husband usually styled her, consoled
herself by telling " Mr. P." that somehow it was
no use to try and make a hired girl out of Liddy ;
it went against the grain ; and she calculated she
must take the heft of the work herself.

And so she did, good motherly soul, having
her reward by seeing Lydia, who had made a
silent conquest of the real head of the family,
grow stronger and blither every day, until she
sang about the house and the garden, doing all
that now devolved upon her as quickly and
neatly as even Mrs. Purdy herself.

Caleb had some rather unfilial reflections, we
fear, when he saw his father, one of those privi-
leged people who joke with all the pretty girls
in a neighborhood, pinch Lydia's glowing cheek,
and slap her on the shoulder, with the encou-
raging remark, that "she'd be worth her salt
yet."

Caleb considered that she was already, and
her sugar to boot, when he noticed how pleasant
she had managed to make the home seem since
she had been there, and what a beautiful cap she
had manufactured for his mother out of the
scraps of lace and ribbon she had found in the
cap-box; and that his father's neckerchiefs were
tied so handsomely every Sunday morning. He
wondered how Lydia did manage to make that
knot : he had tried and tried a whole hour, so
that he came near being late to church. He
blushingly hinted his desire for instruction after
a similar ineffectual session, which was half-
jokingly accorded — but we are running ahead of
our story, or would be if we told in what the
lesson resulted.

So the summer wore on, and how much Lydia
had lived of true life and activity ! Busy and
cheerful from morning till night, sleeping as
soundly on her low bed in the end room as if it had
been the most luxurious couch ever fashioned !
And what a change had been wrought in the
chamber itself, from time immemorial the abid-
ing-place of Mrs. Purdy's summer help ! There
was a white curtain at the window, and a seat
had been fashioned out of the black trunk, with
a chintz dress skirt for a cover. An empty box
had been transformed into a table, the sides
neatly covered with wall paper, and the top by
what was left of the sheeting Mrs. Purdy had
given Lydia for the curtain, edged with a narrow
cotton fringe. • The vase, which, as long as the

June roses and monthly honeysuckles lasted,
was never without its simple bouquet, was a nose-
less pitcher, rescued from a gathering of maimed
household utensils, discovered in that great
store room, the garret. Mrs. Purdy could not
refrain from calling " Mr. P." to look, the day
she discovered the new arrangements, and
Caleb, being within hearing, took the privilege
of a peep over his mother's shoulder, and
declared it was "handsomer than the spare
chamber." Lydia would have been very much
disconcerted if she had known of this invasion
of her premises ; but she did not — at least until
some time after it had taken place.

Very gradually, like the restoration of her
health, no one exactly knew how, she came to
be regarded more like a relative than a stranger,
not to say domestic, in the family. It cost Mr.
Purdy more thought than anything which had
happened for a long time, when he offered her
the first instalment of her wages. "It didn't
'pear right to him, no how;" and finally he
deposited the amount in hard dollars on the
dresser, when she was out of the kitchen.
Lydia blushed when she discovered it was for
her, though she was all alone. " It 'peared" to
her very much in the same light as it did to Mr.
Purdy.

She had written twice to Anna, once inviting
her to come out and pass Sunday, by Mrs. Pur-
dy's kind suggestion. The farmer's wife under-
stood, by this time, Lydia's reasons for under-
taking her new vocation, and her anxiety about
her sister's loneliness and displeasure. Twice a
week, Caleb drove to the White Plains post-office,
and always promised to bring her a letter, but
each time his good, honest face began to look
discouragingly as he turned into the lane, and
saw her on the watch by the great cherry-tree.
However, he never objected to letting Billy take
his cross way to the bars, while he walked by
Lydia's side, trying to console her no doubt, and
long after any reasonable person would have
given up any hope of an answer from so obsti-
nately silent a correspondent. The white sun-
bonnet was looked for and found at the trysting-
place.

The three months for which the original
agreement between Mr. Purdy and his "help"
was made came to an end with wonderful rapid-
ity. If it had been called a visit instead of ser-
vice, she could not have enjoyed it more. As
she regained her strength, the household tasks,
at first irksome and strange, became really plea-
sant. Even in the washing, which at first
seemed very discouraging, she could give Mrs,
P. great assistance, and saved her time by taking

lydia's wages.

321

for that day all the other household duties.
Through the rest of the week they were shared
between them; and when the work was done,
Mrs. Purdy never objected to the wood walks,
and berryings, and even fishing excursions which
Caleb projected ; generally taking some of the
younger children with them to play propriety.
As for the two boys (" Mrs. P." never had had a
daughter), Lydia was their prime favorite. She
helped them to pieces of string, and paper, and
needles, and linen thread for their various manu-
factures, in the pop-gun and fishing-tackle line,
when their mother had forbidden them her work-
basket. She encouraged them to fasten their
collars nicely, and roll down their shirt sleeves
when they came to their meals. Elnathan, or
" Nate," as he was generally called, told his
particular crony, John Williams, that "Liddy
could beat his sister Susan all holler a singing,
whether it was ' Old Hundred,' Sunday nights,
or ' Carry me 'long,' when they was out in the
woods." This was intended to be very resentful,
for Susan Williams, having particularly fancied
Caleb Purdy, their fathers' farms adjoining, was
known to have said, " He ought to be ashamed
of himself, paying so much attention to a hired
girl."

" Next Monday's the first Monday in Septem-
ber, mother," Mr. Purdy said one night, after a
diligent study of the " Farmer's Almanac," in
counting up the wages of certain hands about to
be discharged.

"The land! so it is," ejaculated Mrs. P.;
"-I'm generally so beat out when September
comes, that I always find it out myself."

" I guess Liddy 's e'enemost arnt her salt.
Hey, Mrs. P. 1 For my part, I don't see what
you 're goin' to do without her."

" Well, 'tis surprisin' how she 's picked up
and worked round, ain't it now?" Mrs. Purdy
said, looking out to the grass plat where Lydia
had taken her chair, and was diligently finish-
ing off some household sewing. " She's made
them boys' jackets jest as nice as a tailor-
ess could ; and this dress I 've got on fits jest
like an old glove, it 's so easy, besides looking
so genteel. Miss Williams asked me if I had it
made in York."

" I don't see no use in doin' without her,"
Caleb said, sturdily, over the top of the " West-
chester News."

Mr. P. shot a sidelong look at his wife, but
shook his head negatively to Caleb, when he
saw no signs of encouragement.

So it came about that the little trunk was
packed once more, and Lydia, with a heart full
and a very unsteady voice, bid good-by to the

boys and Mrs. P., and looked around at the old
garden, and the barn and brindle, for the last
time. Mrs. Purdy had urged her to " stay a
spell longer ;" but her health was fully esta-
blished again, and, besides her anxiety on
Anna's account, Lydia had most urgent reasons
for thinking it was not best to accept the ofier.
Still her eyes were deeidedly red, and her
pocket-handkerchief in frequent request all that
last morning.

It was Caleb who drove her to the cars on
this occasion, Mr. Purdy going as far as the
gate, and squeezing her hand very heartily as
he gave her the mysterious direction, " Do jest
as Caleb sez, Liddy ; it's all right. If 'taint all
right, I '11 make it so with Mrs. P."

However, she did not wonder over it long, for
she was thinking of her return to city life, and
its drudgery and confinement, after the freedom
she had enjoyed. It seemed more irksome than
ever, and she felt so lonely and unprotected,
after the fatherly kindness of Mr. Purdy and
the friendship of the boys.

"Don't sigh so, Liddy, don't; I can't bear to
hear you," Caleb said, when walking Billy up
the hill past the meeting-house.

That, too, recalled so many happy recollec-
tions, the plain practical sermons and sweet
old-fashioned hymns, which had given her the
first faint conception of the beauty and happi-
ness of a life recognizing the blessing and pro-
tection of a Father's love overruling every
event. She blessed God in her heart for this
new life and light, and the glimpse, however
brief it had been, of a truer earthly existence
than she had ever known before.

" I can't help feeling bad, Caleb. Every-
body 's been so good to me, you and the boys,
and your father especially. So has your mo-
ther, too. I wanted to tell her how much I
thought of her when I came away, but I didn't
know how."

" She sets jest as much by you, Liddy, as if
you were her own daughter, only she don't
know it ; it 's her way," responded Caleb, giv-
ing Billy a very unnecessary cut with the whip.

" It 's so dreadful to me to have to start off
alone again, after being here so long, and not
knowing whether I shall ever see any of you
again."

" Liddy !"

« Well, Caleb."

" Nothing. I s'pose there's somebody to see
after your baggage when you get to York V

" There would be, if there was anybody to
look after me."

For the remaining half mile Caleb was en-

322

godey's magazine and lady's book.

gaged in attending to Billy's comfort alone ; that
is, snapping the whip-lash at every insect that
seemed disposed to alight on him. Lydia put
up her veil on one side to let the wind reach her
swollen eyes : " The people in the cars would
think 'twas so strange," she said to herself.

Caleb must have driven very slowly ; for,
though they started in good season, the cars
were in sight when they arrived at the depot.
There was a hurried farewell on Lydia's part as I
Caleb handed her to the conductor, and started $
off to see about the trunk, and then she found \
herself alone in the crowd, and dust, and clatter I
of the way-car. She did not care " what the
people thought" now, but put her head down
and cried like a baby, even after some one came \
and took the empty seat beside her, for the car
was crowded. She felt so utterly forlorn, and
she had not said to Caleb what she intended all
along, to thank him for his brotherly care all
summer ; and, " Oh dear, dear !" what a flood ^
of miserable thoughts the unuttered exclama-
tion. bridged over !

Then, too, her neighbor was evidently a rude,
disagreeable man ; for, though she shrank into i
the smallest space when she heard him coining, <
he seemed determined to attract her attention,
putting his arm across the back of the seat, and <
— yes — actually attempting to pass it around her
waist. |

That was too much. She started, indignantly,
to claim the protection of the lady and gentle-
man in front, but a well-known voice said,
quite low enough to be heard only by her in the
noise of the train — \

" Don't cast me off so, Liddy !"

And the rude stranger was Caleb, on his way
to York to attend to some business for his father, j
So he said, at least, though he did not explain >
very clearly his disposition of Billy, or why he >
had not spoken of his intention before. How .
she brightened up directly, and looked around j
the car, and seemed so happy in the protection \
which the presence of the sturdy young farmer \
gave her !

Caleb being slow of speech, as our readers
may have observed, they had almost reached
New York before he had explained his errand \
to Lydia's comprehension — nothing less than to
be her escort, and to bring her back again that \
same day as his wife, in which plan he was
aided and abetted by his father, as now flashed >
on Lydia's recollection.

" I ain't a going back again without you, if I >
have to stay a week," was Caleb's final conclu- !
sien ; " and you know how obstinate mother
Bays I am." \

They had just entered the long tunnel as he
made this declaration ; and, when the train
lumbered into daylight again, the offending arm
held her very closely, and one hand was a pri-
soner into the bargain.

It was very heedless in them, but they walked
off from the depot without once thinking of
Lydia's trunk, the hand on his arm now, and
Caleb endeavoring to do away with the fear of
Mrs. Purdy's displeasure, which was the great
drawback on her happiness. However, the
check was safe in his pocket, and it proved all
the more convenient in the end. Every church
that they passed was suggestive to Caleb of an
officiating clergyman ; but Lydia pleaded seeing
Anna, and asking her consent, as she was the
elder, before she would give him a decided
answer.

However, Anna was not to be found, at least
at their old room; and, when finally traced,
they found her settled, in all the glory of bride-
hood, in a sixteenth-rate boarding-house, having
married a clerk in a retail dry-goods store,
whose small salary scarcely compensated for
what she expressly pointed out to them, the
gentility of his occupation. From the shabby
finery of her present lodgings she was destined
to retrace step by step her way to the miserable
quarter she had escaped from, save as a care-
worn wife and mother she would be doubly
needy.

Considering the prospects opening before her,
Mrs. Tibbets overlooked the disgrace Lydia had
brought on her family — Mr. Tibbets and her-
self— by going out to housework. She invited
them to take some cake and wine ; but, as she
said nothing of offering Lydia a lodging, Caleb's
determined suit won the day. Mrs. Tibbets
gave them the sanction of her presence, and
offered to do any shopping for " wedding
clothes," which Lydia's good sense declined, as
her wardrobe was now more than sufficient for
a farmer's wife, at least so far as "outward
show" was concerned."

The black trunk was re-checked to White
Plains, and so was the bridal party, arriving at
the depot at dusk, where Billy and Mr. Purdy
impatiently awaited them. Mrs. Caleb received
his warm paternal embrace and welcome, feel-
ing in an altogether indescribable state of hap-
piness, uncertainty, and bashfulness, which was
by no means abated by the incessant jokes,
questions, and comments of her delighted father-
in-law during their ride home, and her doubts
as to their reception at head-quarters.

It was very characteristic, however. If Mrs.
Purdy was taken by surprise, or felt injured

godey's course of lessons in drawing.

323

when her husband called out to her that he 'd
" brought home a new help — Caleb's wife," as
he drew up to the door, she also felt it was too
late to offer any objections. It was all summed
up in —

"Land sake ! Liddy, you 're jest in time to
set the tea-table ; I 've had a pretty hard day's
work, and feel stiff."

It was probably owin^g to this stiffness that
she tendered them no other congratulation, and
Lydia began for the first time to realize her
great happiness, and the wonderful change the
day had made in her life and prospects.

Somebody says, " There never was a house

large enough for a mother and daughter-in-law."
Mr. Elijah Purdy's homestead is an exception,
judging from the harmony of the household.
There is no necessity for Mrs. Purdy to be
"bothered with Irish" any more; and Caleb's
having no occasion to " train after that Susan
Williams," is another addition to her enjoy-
ment.

However, we grieve to add to so happy a
termination that the friendship between Elna-
than and Susan's brother John is at an end,
John having thrown out a taunt of " Caleb's
marrying a kitchen-girl," which was settled on
the spot by a sound drubbing from Elnathan.

GODEY'S COUKSE OF LESSONS IN DKAWING.

Fig. 33.

LESSON X.

figure and object drawing (Continued).

In the sketch of an old oak, given in fig. 33,
the weeds and small patch of foliage are kept in

shadow, so as to support the tree. If these were
kept light, the whole effect would be lost.

The moss-rose in fig. 34 must be drawn in tjie
same manner as the other flowers.

Fig. 35 is a scroll from the antique. In the

324

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Fig. 35.

Fig. 36.

first place, the outline must be carefully put in ;
the shading of the ground next done as flat and
as even as possible; next, the details of the
leaves; and, lastly, the shadows and the broken
part round the whole.

The sketch in fig. 36 is treated under a broad
effect of light, the upper part relieved by the

foliage in the background, the old fence on either
side being kept dark. The pupil will do well
to look out for an object in the fields similar to
this, and sketch it from various points of view.
The mule sketched in fig. 37 must be carefully
outlined, then pencilled in a vigorous manner,
so as to give the rough effect.

THE MATCH-MAKING MOTHER.

There are different grades of match -makers.
The first we shall notice would think it doing
them great injustice to hint that they belong
to this denomination ; and it matters not how
unhappy their daughters are made by unconge-
nial marriages, they never dream that they are
blamable.

The daughter is brought out before she is
capable of guarding her heart against the danger
of loving unworthily, and, ere the parents are
aware, she is engaged. If there is wealth or
distinguished ancestry, or both, on the lover's
side, no objection is made, and the tender plant,
that should have been carefully nurtured for
several years, is given up to assume responsi-
bilities that her young imagination never dreamed
of; responsibilities that, five years hence, she
should enter upon with fear and trembling.
Scarcely a thought is given whether or not this
man will render her happy; she has, as the
world says, done well ; this is sufficient. A few
years prove it to be an unhappy union. Who is
to blame?

Another class, though not so numerous as the
first, possess all the faults, and many more. The
daughter is trained that the ultimate end of
every accomplishment is to please the opposite
sex. To win for herself a handsome settlement,
is the lesson. She is taught all the feminine arts
that woman is capable of teaching and learning,
and every thought is concentrated in this all-
important event, every act done with an eye
single to its advancement. It matters not how
the poor fellow is secured, so he is safely bound
with the hymeneal halter. While there are
many other causes for broken hearts and blighted
hopes, a careful observation tells us that the
chief cause is maternal influence. Do not start,
mother ! Look around you, and say, are we too
severe ? How many interesting girls can you
call to mind, capable of filling the highest pro-
vinces of woman, ruined by a wrong education !
Woman, as a mother, has never been fully
aroused to her duty. To her are committed the
daughters of our land, and she is responsible for
their safety. As she educates them, they will
educate another generation. Then how import-
ant that she should train them to piety and use-
fulness, with a higher, a holiei motive than that
v«)jl. xlix. — 28

of securing wealthy husbands? In fact, they
should not be taught to secure them at all. If
at a proper age their happiness will be advanced
by marriage with worthy men, then, with prayers
for their safety, let them marry. But do not
teach that there is no other sphere in which
woman can be happy and useful than that of
the wife and mother. Fit them for any station
of life, and in any station they will find a mis-
sion to execute, and a field for its execution.

Perhaps no one ever professed greater qualifi-
cations for match-making than did Mrs. Osgood.
She was not a weak-minded woman, like many
of this class ; therefore, she was better calculated
to accomplish her purpose. She knew how to
deal with the refined and unrefined, having too
much sense to go so far as to disgust the former,
and just enough to lead the latter at will. She
was an ambitious, proud, and self-willed woman.
The establishment of her six daughters had been
her constant study ever since Jane, the eldest.
had approached womanhood.

Mr. Osgood had suffered his wife to hold the
sceptre until he dared not reach forth his hand
to take it. He had never seen his error fully
until Jane grew up, and he was informed by the
mother that she was engaged, without ever ask-
ing his approval, to a man utterly unworthy the
notice of a woman of refinement. Yet he was
immensely wealthy, and with Mrs. Osgood every
other consideration sank into insignificance.
Jane did not love this man ; she had only pas-
sively yielded to her mother's wishes. She was
timid, and could not summon courage to speak
to her father on such a subject.

A few days after his wife had informed him
of the engagement, Mr.. Osgood received a visit
at his office from Mr. Howard, soliciting the
hand of his daughter. He was decidedly refused.
This enraged Howard's impetuous temper, and
he determined to marry her at all events. Mrs.
Osgood scolded and persuaded, but all to no
effect. To her surprise, her husband was not to
be moved. He was fully aroused to his duty in
this case, and with what seemed almost unnatu-
ral firmness, opposed the union. He used every
argument in his power to convince his wife of
the unworthiness of Howard, yet she persisted:

Mr. Osgood knew that nothing he could sr.y

o25

326

godey's magazine and lady's book.

would have any effect, and resolved to act. So
he bade Jane be ready to start by the next stage

to S , a well-known female institution. Mrs.

Osgood was, for once, thwarted, yet she deter-
mined not to yield, though it took years to ac-
complish her design.

Magdalene, the second daughter, possessed her
mother's firmness, but her father's kind heart.
She had ever been a favorite child, and though
bHt eighteen, Mr. Osgood was not displeased
when, in confidence, she told him her love for Dr.
Williamson, and asked his advice in regard to
so early an engagement. He did not approve of
early marriages, yet in this case he hesitated not
to give his consent. He knew Dr. Williamson
to be a man of true worth. Feeling, too, that
his own health was rapidly declining from a
consumption that had long preyed on his .sys-
tem, he was pleased at the prospect of seeing his
daughter united to such a man before his death.

Six months after Jane's departure to school,
she was permitted to come home to her sister's
wedding, on condition that she should return
immediately after. Mr. Osgood was too much
indisposed to go with her back to school directly
after this event, so it was postponed another
week. During this time he had frequent con-
versations with his daughter, in which she con-
fessed her indifference to Mr. Howard, promising
not to marry him. The next week he grew
rapidly worse, and nothing more was said of her
leaving. In one more week his death put an
end to her school-days. Mr. Howard returned,
renewed his suit, and Jane was persuaded, or
rather forced, to marry him.

Virginia and Laura were married as soon as
they were old enough. Thus, in four years after
Mr. Osgood's death, three of his daughters were
married. Jane to one utterly void of principle ;
Virginia to a man of fifty ; and Laura to a con-
firmed drunkard, all to satisfy a mother's ambi-
tion for wealth.

Eleanor and Emma were the last ; one twelve,
the other fourteen, at the time of introducing
them to our readers. Eleanor was her mother's
idol. Handsome and intelligent, Mrs. Osgood
saw plainly that she was to do honor to herself
and family ; that she was destined for a great
man. In short, she was all that her mother
could wish, and on her she concentrated her
whole heart. It is not strange that, under such
influence, she should soon become a spoiled
beauty. Her vanity and pride at this early age
could only be equalled by her mother's. Poverty
in her eyes was only allied to ignorance and
vice; wealth to everything that was desirable.

Fortunately for Emma, she was not a beauty,

but plain, very plain; yet she had a heart of
priceless value. Mrs. Osgood thought her far
inferior to Eleanor in every respect. Her treat-
ment towards them had rendered Emma timid
and awkward, and she had been so often told
that she would "never be anybody" that she was
perfectly satisfied not to be. To a superficial
observer, she appeared to be an ordinary child;
but to one who can read well the human heart,
there was much tc win admiration.

One day, about this time, these little girls
were called up and addressed thus-: " My daugh-
ters, your aunt J has just written to me

that I may expect her next Week, and that she
intends spending some time with us. Now do
try to appear well. She is wealthy, the wife of
a distinguished man, and I shall be deeply
mortified if you do not behave very genteelly.
Emma, do try, for once, to lay aside your awk-
ward ways. Be careful not to soil your clothes,
or neglect your hair. You are now twelve years
old ; it is time you were trying to become what
I so much desire, an accomplished young lady.
Will you promise to do your best?"

" Yes, ma, my very best," said the gentle girl,
with tears in her eyes.

Mrs. J arrived; the little girls were in

ecstasies. They had never before seen their aunt

or little cousin, Louisa, of whom Mrs. J

so often spoke in her letters to Mrs. Osgood, who
was a sweet girl about Emma's age. They soon
became acquainted, and all went well, even with
Emma, for several days. She had never spent
so long in her life without receiving a reproof,
unless when staying with her sisters, Magdalene
and Jane ; they and Dr. Williamson being the
only persons who seemed to have any interest in
her. Oh, how her little heart beat with joy to
think she had been so long without receiving
even an angry look ! " I will be like sis Elly,"
said she ; " then ma will love me too."

Poor child ! her fond anticipations were not
to be realized so soon. The little girls were
neatly dressed and had taken a walk, when they
overtook little Jane Jones, with a large basket of
turnips, almost sinking under their weight, cry-
ing bitterly. Jane was an orphan, whom Emma
had ever loved and pitied. She had been taken
when very young by Mrs. Green, a hard-hearted
woman, with no higher motive than her own
selfish views. To use her own words : " To take
the drudgery off of my hands when she gets big
enough." And it was not long before Mrs. Green
thought her large enough to do a great deal.

" Why, Jane, where are you going with such
a load? What makes you car*] " said

Emma, in tones of sympathy.

THE MATCH-MAKING MOTHER.

327

" Mrs. Green said she would whip me well if
I did not bring the basket full. I am nearly
dead ; I wish I were. Then I could rest !"

Emma flew to her, and taking one side of the
basket, assisted her to carry it to Mrs. Green's
gate. The consequence was that her apron was
soiled, and her nice pink dress suffered greatly
from the flowing sleeve coming in contact with
the unwashed turnips.

Eleanor was indignant.

" You are a nice sight," said she j " what will
ma say to you?"

Emma burst into tears.

" Don't cry, cousin ; aunt will not be angry
when she knows all," said Louisa.

Emma knew her mother too well to believe
that.

The mothers were sitting in the porch awaiting
their return. As soon as they came in, Mrs.
Osgood, in a tone of surprise, exclaimed —

" Emma, what is the matter? Where did you
get all that dirt on your dress and apron?"

Eleanor, without waiting for Emma to speak,
commenced —

" Ma, only think, after all you have said to
her about noticing that Jane Jones, she overtook
her and assisted her to carry a basket of dirty
turnips full half a mile."

" Is it possible?" said the mother.

Here Emma again commenced crying.

" Oh, aunt, cousin did right ; don't be angry,"
said Louisa. And the sweet little girl, with
artless simplicity, related the incident.

(i She is a noble girl, my sister, and deserves
your highest commendation," said Mrs. J .

Eleanor now blushed with shame for her for-
wardness. It was the first time she had ever
heard her sister praised for anything. Then
there was something in her aunt's tone that
seemed to reprove her.

Mrs. J had long wished for a companion

for Louisa, but feared to take one, so careful
lest she might get one whose disposition might
not have a salutary effect on her own daughter.
Every day something occurred to strengthen hei
attachment to Emma, and confirm her in the
opinion that she was treated with injustice.
After writing, and obtaining the consent of

Judge J , Mrs. J informed her sister of

a plan in view of adopting Emma, provided she
was willing.

Mrs. Osgood gladly assented. She knew it
would enhance the pecuniary interest of both,
for this was all she desired. By getting Emma
off, she thought she could spend her all on Elea-
nor, for her limited income would not permit
her to educate and dress both as she desired,

and still keep up her expensive style of living.
Thus the sisters were parted.

We pass over the next several years. Eleanor
grew up, and was the belle wherever she went.
Her beauty and vivacity attracted many ad-
mirers, but not lovers. It was easy to see
through the flimsy veil that covered her design.
She was a heartless coquette, who encouraged
all, with the view of at last accepting the one
that offered the most flattering prospect of that
affluence that she and her mother so much
desired.

At eighteen, Emma Osgood, though much
improved, was not yet a beauty. Under the

fostering hand of Mrs. J , and having the

advantage of the best instructors in the country,
her noble qualities were fully developed, her
mind well stored with useful knowledge, while
the ornamental was not neglected. This is not
all, nor half, for she had sought and found the
"pearl of great price." She was truly pious.
Her sensitive heart had not been wounded by
an angry word since she became an inmate of

Judge J 's happy home. If she desired to

assist an unfortunate one, she had encourage-
ment to act. Jane Jones was taken by Mrs.

J socm after the incident related in another

part^of our story, and has ever since found a
pleasant home in this excellent family as seam-
stress.

Judge J loved Emma almost equal to

Louisa, and amply was he repaid for his lovo
by the affectionate goodness of his niece. She
and Louisa were everything to each other. They
had no secrets apart, and never were two girls
more deserving of each other's confidence. Mrs.

J had been in delicate health for some time,

but no one thought her dangerous until the win-
ter, when she declined so rapidly that the family
became seriously alarmed. Louisa was engaged ;
the time set apart for the wedding was in De-
cember. All were anxious to postpone the

marriage until spring, thinking Mrs. J 's

health would improve ; but she urged them not

to do so. As it was intended by Judge J

that his only child should remain with them as
long as they lived, there was no real necessity
for a postponement, and they were married.

Mrs. Osgood and Eleanor came to the wedding,
and stayed several weeks after. .The mother
was not a little flattered at the sensation her
daughters created. Eleanor had now a prospect
of realizing her most sanguine expectations in
regard to wealth, and Emma's society was much
courted by a man whom, above all others, Mrs.
Osgood would prefer for her son-in-law. To
have a daughter married to a son of the must

328

godey's magazine and lady's book.

distinguished man in the State, and wealth
in abundance, what more could she desire?

She had never heard her sister mention this
young man in connection with Emma, and was
extremely anxious to know her opinion.

" Governor 's son seems to be attached

to Emma," said she to her sister, the day before
she left. " Do you think the attachment is
reciprocated?"

" I do not. Emma has already rejected him
once, but he seems disposed to renew his suit."

"Rejected him !" said Mrs. Osgood, with sur-
prise. "And why? She certainly does not
expect to do better."

" Perhaps I do not understand what you
mean by doing better," said Mrs. J .

" I mean he is handsome, intelligent, wealthy,
and the son of the first man in the State. What
more could she desire?"

" These are desirable prerequisites ; but my
niece requires more, at the risk of losing these.
Are not moral qualifications of some weight?
And suppose she does not love him, must she
not consult her own heart in regard to this im-
portant matter? No, my sister, Emma will

never marry Edward . Her pure nature

would shrink from such a union. If the world
judge not too severely, he is not all that he
should be. His father was a man of true worth,
and my husband's early friend ; for his sake
alone his son is treated with respect in our
house. But not even this will have the least
weight in a matter of such vital importance."

Mrs. Osgood saw that prudence forbade her
saying more ; yet she had said enough to show
that her old propensity for match-making was
fully aroused.

This conversation had a serious impression

on Mrs. J . She knew she could not live

long, and she shuddered to think of the conse-
quences if Emma should be placed under her
mother's influence at this time.

Before leaving, Mrs. Osgood drew Emma into
a conversation on the subject, and was still
more surprised and chagrined when told that
she was already engaged to another, and that
her aunt and uncle approved her choice. Mrs.
Osgood was greatly perplexed, yet had too much
discretion, if we may give it the name, to act
hastily. Bejng informed by Emma that she
had never intended marrying without consult-
ing her, and not at all until she was twenty, she
saw that there was sufficient time for thought,
and wisely determined to say but little.

Henry Sherrard was the son of the pastor of
the church to which Judge J 's family be-
longed ', he resided in the same village, conse-

quently a close intimacy subsisted between the
two families. Mr. Sherrard was a man of ex-
emplary piety, highly educated, and eminently
qualified to train his son not only as a Christian,
but to move in the highest sphere of life. Hen-
ry had been nursed in the lap of refinement.
His mother possessed rare endowments, and had
used them successfully in the education of her
only son. He had chosen teaching as his avo-
cation, and promised to stand among the first in
his profession. Already his high morality and
deep-toned piety had won for him the admira-
tion and love of all who knew him ; while his
discipline and capacity for imparting knowledge
would have done credit to one double his years.

Henry and Emma had loved each other from
their first acquaintance. Two beings could not
be more admirably suited for each other.

Four months from Louisa's marriage, Judge

J was taken suddenly ill, and in two short

days closed his eyes to this world. None who
knew him doubted his acceptance with his
Maker. Few men lived a better life, few died
a happier death. Like a wise man, he was
ready to live or die, as his Master willed.

Emma was amply endowed. Better perhaps
for her had she been forgotten in her uncle's
will ; but we will not anticipate.

Mrs. J bore her sorrow as a Christian

should every dispensation of Providence, yet the
shock was too great for her debilitated system.
A few more weeks, and the family were sum-
moned to her bedside to receive her parting
blessing. To each one she delivered an affec-
tionate, though short address. To Emma she
said —

" But for you, my niece, all would be well.
Louisa has a kind husband ; for her I have no
fears as regards her temporal happiness, and I
hope I need have none for her eternal. Your
sister Eleanor will soon marry and leave home.
It will then be your duty to go to your mother.

If Edward should strive to renew his

attentions to you, I fear the result. " Obey your
parents," is a Divine command ; but God does
not require obedience to an earthly parent when
by it you must sacrifice your duty to Him. Look
at your sisters, and take warning. Never, like
them, be persuaded into a situation that pro-
mises nothing but misery. I look upon it as
one of the greatest sins of which woman can be
guilty, to take upon herself the solemn vow
that she is required to take at the altar, " to
love, honor, and obey" a man for whom she has
not even a feeling of regard. There is no situa-
tion in which she could be placed that would
justify such a thing in the sight of God. I hope

THE MATCH-MAKING MOTHER.

329

you may not be subjected to the trials I allude
to ; yet I cannot help fearing."

The next day she tranquilly breathed her
last. Not a cloud darkened her way. All was
calm and serene. To picture this distressed
family would require a more graphic pen than
the humble writer of this story can command.
Earnestly did Emma and Louisa pray for
strength to follow the advice, and wisdom to
imitate the example, of one whose life had been
a sermon.

Perhaps no one, except Louisa and Emma, felt
the loss more deeply than did Henry Sherrard;
much of his success in life he owed to Judge

T , and much happiness to his inestimable

wife. He heard with deep regret that Emma
would soon leave. He knew he could not visit
her -often, owing to his professional duties.
This was all that caused his sorrow, for he
dreamed not of the trials that awaited them.
Emma knew her mother's disposition, and had
but little hope of gaining her consent, yet she
resolved not to trouble him with her gloomy
apprehensions while there was any hope.

As we are not writing a love-story, we will
not recapitulate the scene at their parting.
Eleanor was married, and shortly after accompa-
nied her husband to his home in Louisiana.
But a few months after Emma's arrival home,
Edward visited her. Does our reader suppose

that love prompted him ? Edward was

not capable of loving. His heart was too much
filled with his idol, self, to admit another occu-
pant. He knew from the first that Judge J

was wealthy, and intended making Emma equal
in fortune to his own child. This alone prompt-
ed him. His father died when he was young,
and left him in the possession of a handsome
estate ; but, so soon as it came into his posses-
sion, he wasted it greatly by gambling. The
world still believed him wealthy; none but a
few intimate friends, his indorsers, knew that
his property was worth but few thousands more
than would pay his debts. This accounts for
his love, if it does not desecrate the name.

As soon as he left, after his first visit, Mrs.
Osgood commenced —

" Well, Emma, have you rejected Edward
again?"

" Yes, ma, and I hope for the last time. I
am fully determined to listen to him no more.
I have told him to-day that I can never love
him, and he must not mention the subject to
me again."

" Have you n j regard to my wishes ? I have
repeatedly told you how much I desire to see

you the wife of Governor 's son. There

2S*

is no girl in the State but would feel honored to
be united to that family. Again, he is wealthy,
handsome, and one of the most intelligent young
men I ever saw."

Emma made no reply, and Mrs. Osgood con-
tinued—

" Were your dear father alive, it would re-
ceive his warmest approval."

" Not unless it was agreeable to me, ma.
Pa could not wish me to marry a man I do not
even esteem," said she, earnestly.

"It is all foolishness for you to act thus,"
paid Mrs. Osgood, not heeding her reply. " You
cannot expect to remain single always. My
health is feeble, and I wish to see you married
before I die. This is the only eligible offer you
have ever had, and I must insist that you
accept it."

"Ma, I cannot. It is useless to urge it any
further. Besides, he will not return again, after
all I said to him. Surely, he would not accept
the hand, when he has been told the heart is not
his."

" The heart is not his !" repeated Mrs. Os-
good, with bitter irony. " I suppose you have
given that to Henry Sherrard ; but, rest assured,
you shall never marry him if I can prevent it 1
Neither shall he ever visit my house."

" I never will marry him without your con-
sent ; and, if you desire it, I will write to him
to-night, and tell him all j but never, never can
I marry another !"

Mrs. Osgood was surprised at Emma's calm-
ness. She expected tears ; but she forgot that
Emma had been preparing for this for seve-
ral months. She had not said before that
she should never marry Henry ; now she had,
Emma deemed it her duty to tell him all, par-
ticularly as she had said he should not visit her,
and his vacation was near at hand. A short
paragraph from her letter to him will show
her feelings : " Yes, Henry, our long-cherished
hopes must be abandoned. I cannot, neither do
I believe you would desire it — marry you when
my mother has positively forbidden it. Should
I ever gain her consent, you shall know it im-
mediately ; if I never do, rest assured, my first,
my only love, I shall ever remain Emma Os-
good !"

Henry was wounded deeply, yet he was a
Christian, and knew that Emma was right.
Except that a shade of seriousness was on his
countenance, none would have guessed that any-
thing had occurred. He loved her better for her
self-sacrificing spirit, and, in reply, wrote her a
long letter, in which he promised to wait pa-
tiently. " Perhaps," wrote he, " my Emma,

330

godey's magazine and lady's book.

we need this trial. Let. us, then, bear it, hop-
ing a happier day will dawn ere long."

Edward intended to return, yet he rather
feared to do so. He therefore wrote to Emma,
expressing his lore in the most eloquent lan-
guage, entreating to see her once more, closing
by telling her he should be there on a certain
day not far distant, unless she forbade it. Em-
ma had taken a walk when the letters arrived.
Mrs. Osgood knew by the postmark that one

was from Edward or Henry Sherrard ;

fearing the latter, and wishing to break up the
correspondence, she intercepted the letter. Find-
ing it from the former, she thought it best to
say nothing about it, but let him come, trusting
to her own judgment to arrange matters before
his arrival. A short time after, Emma came in,
and Mrs. Osgood commenced —

" Emma, if Edward should return, are

you still determined to persist in disobeying
me? Are you determined not to marry him ?"

" Ma, you have my answer. I had hoped the
matter was settled, and that we should never
again have our feelings wounded by another
conversation on the subject. If he has the least
delicacy or refinement, he will never enter this
house again."

" You are mistaken ; he will be here next
Thursday, and I wish you to make up your
mind to answer him according to my wishes."

" Next Thursday !" said Emma, in astonish-
ment. " How did you"

" It matters not ; he will be here. Will you
do as I desire? Will you promise me, at least,
to treat him politely, and postpone giving him
another answer yet a while?"

" That would encourage a false hope."

" Emma, listen to me ; you are my child, I
have a right to expect obedience, and I now

require it. You must marry Edward ,

and hear my reasons. I am in debt ; if my
matters were arranged, all, all would have to
go to satisfy my creditors. Edward has pro-
mised that I shall not be disturbed about these
things, if he marries my daughter. Will you
*ee your mother's home and everything taken
from her now when age is coming on ?"

" Never ! never ! My uncle has left me
enough — more than enough ; you shall have
all."

" Listen to me, I say. The whole property,
at the death of your father, was valued at
$50,000. One-third of this was mine during my
lifetime, and can only be sold during my life. I
owe $5,000. This is more than I could get for
it in this way, were I to sell it. As for your?,
your uncle left it in the hands of a guardian

until you are twenty-five, unless you marry.
So you can only draw your annual allowance. "

" If these are your reasons, ma, I will marry
Henry Sherrard, if you will agree to it. I will
tell him all, and"

" Not another word ! I have said it, and it
shall never be ! Never call his name to me
again."

" Then I can do no more. I will never marry
another."

w You will not? You have said it at last.
As you please, then. I have borne much ; I
cannot bear much more. The day you discard

Edward again, you will be an «rphan.

I cannot, I will not live to witness such mgrati-
tude !"

" My mother, dearest mother, how are you
talking? You will not live? What do you
mean? You are excited. Let us say no more
about this matter until you are more calm."

" Calm ! calm ! I was never more elm in
my life, and again repeat"

" Oh, do not, do not repeat ! Y"ou know not
what you are saying."

" I do repeat, I will not live to know myself a
beggar, when my child could have prevented it."

" I can, and will prevent it. I will go to Dr.
Williamson. He will arrange it. I can pay all
in five years, if you will not allow me sooner.''

" You shall not go to any one. You know
my determination, decide for yourself. Life
has but few charms for me. I would as soon
die as live ; and, when I am gone, remember
you have been my murderer."

" Oh, God, spare me ! Oh, my mother, pity
me ! On my knees let me beg for mercy ! Oh,
take back those awful words ! I will"

" Will do what?" was the quick reply.

"Anything but marry that man. Oh, do not
urge it ! Look at my poor sisters. Laura, you
thought, married well ; but how sadly disap-
pointed have you been. But a few weeks ag<>,
her husband ordered you to leave his house, and
tauntingly accused you of marrying your child
to him through mercenary motives."

" Ho never would have done this had he not
been under the influence ol wine."

" And did you not tell me. ma, that you knew
of his intemperate habits before his marriage
with my sister?"

"That, has nothing to do with the present CO] -
vcrsation," said Mrs. Osgood, abruptly. " This
fault you cannot allege of Edward."

" Neither can it be alleged of Virginia's hus-
band ; and is she happy? There is my sweet
sister Jane ; well do I remember when on hei
knees she intreatcd you, in the name of oui

THE MATCH-MAKING MOTHER.

331

departed parent, not to urge her to marry a man
whom she had promised that parent to cease to
notice. Yet you urged, and what a life she
leads with a husband who deserves not the
name of man. Oh, mother, spare me, I beg
you ! Let my sisters warn you to save me."

" Ungrateful child ! and do you make me the
author of all your sisters' misfortunes?"

" I am not ungrateful, dearest mother, but I
cannot marry that man."

Mrs. Osgood was determined to hear no more,
and abruptly left the room, leaving Emma in
despair.

"What shall I do? Oh, my father! my
uncle ! my aunt ! would that I were in heaven
with you ! My God ! my God ! why hast thou
forsaken me?" Here she fell again on her
knees, and never in all her life had she prayed
a more fervent prayer. Yet she was not com-
forted, all was dark and gloomy.

Mrs. Osgood was not so utterly void of feel-
ing as not to pity her child ; but her better feel-
ings were too weak to overcome her inordinate
desire for fame. She was determined to carry
her point, if she sacrificed everything to its
accomplishment. Since she had become com-
posed, she saw the impropriety of her conduct.
She thought she was calm, but she had mistaken
the intense excitement, that made every nerve
motionless, for calmness. Her rash words were
now bitterly repented, yet she was not the less
determined to persevere.

It was Monday ; Jane Howard sent over early
requesting Emma to spend the day with her, as
Mr. Howard expected to be from home all day.
Mrs. Osgood made no objections, and Emma
was soon seated by her sister, and little Lucy,
Jane's only child, fondling on her. During the
day, she unburdened her sorrows to this sister.

" I cannot tell you," said Jane, sorrowfully,
" how to act. I dare not advise you to marry
him. My own sorrows forbid it. For nine
years I have known nothing but misery, misery,
that I have never divulged even to our mother.
Misery rendered fourfold worse by knowing it
has been dealt by a hand that I never loved. I
will not pain you with a recital of my troubles,
you have enough. But for my little girl, glad-
ly would I go to rest. She needs my care ; for
her sake, I can suffer on. Nothing else on
earth could induce me to continue the slave of
Louis Howard. Long since I should have left
him, though to seek an asylum among the
poorest and humblest on earth. I could bear

his cruel temper, but Oh, Emma, I cannot,

I will not tell you all."

Mr. Howard returned early. Jane knew that

her swollen eyes would betray her. Naturally
suspicious, he was fully persuaded, as soon as
he saw her, that she had related a scene enacted
that morning that he was particularly anxious
should not be known. At Jane's earnest soli-
citations} Emma sent her little niece and a
servant to her mother, to inform her that she
would not be at home until early in the morn-
ing, but that she, little Lucy, would remain
with her that night. After all had retired to
their rooms, Mr. Howard said to his wife, in a
sarcastic tone —

" I hope you have spent a pleasant day in
relating your grievances."

Jane was silent, and he continued —

" Have I and my faults afforded you a topic ?
I repeat, have I been the subject of remark I
If so, you shall rue it. Speak ! I demand an
answer."

" You have," was the faint reply.

Without a moment's reflection, his impetuous
temper giving strength to his arm, he dealt a
heavy blow upon the head of his delicate wife,
which threw her against the grate and inflicted
a deep wound on the side of her head. One
loud shriek, and she fainted. Emma, alarmed,
flew to her sister's chamber. Oh, what a sight '.
The blood flowed freely from the wound, and
she lay as one dead. The angry husband sat
quietly looking on his work, without power to
move. He looked the very picture of despair.
As Emma entered, he gazed wildly at her, as
one roused from a dream, and exclaimed —

" I have done it at last ! O God, forgive me !"

"What have you done?" was all Emma could
say. The servants, having been alarmed also,
were flocking in. Emma tried to compose her-
self, and, with their assistance, laid her on a
bed, and did all their skill could suggest to re-
store her. Dr. Williamson and her mother were
sent for in haste.

While all this was going on, Mr. Howard sat
motionless. " I have done it at last ! 0 God,
forgive me !" were the only words he had uttered
since he struck the fatal blow. Dr. Williamson
soon came in. Knowing the character of How-
ard, and having heard of his cruel treatment to
his wife, at a glance he saw into the cause of
this scene. He was a man of forethought, and
never acted without reflection. The first thing
he did he pointed to the door, signifying to
the servants to leave. They did so with heavy
hearts, for they loved their mistress affection-
ately. They believed she had fallen and hurt
herself in some way, but did not think of Mr.
Howard's guilt, knowing Emma to be there, and
that he was always remarkably kind to his wifo

832

godey's magazine and lady's book,

in company- While examining the wound,
the unfortunate woman roused up, and faintly-
said, "Emma! mother!" At this moment Mrs.
Osgood walked in. Dr. Williamson motioned
her to be silent. " Mother," said she again,
" oh, that I could see you once more !"

" My child, I am here," said the unhappy
mother.

" I am dying, mother, come nearer. I am
willing to go ; but promise me"

" I promise anything, my child, that you ask."

" Then I ask you, as a last and dying request,
not to urge Emma to marry Edward ."

" It shall be as you desire. And oh, dear,
injured child, forgive, forgive your erring mo-
ther !"

" I have nothing to forgive, my dear mother.
Take care of my little Lucy. Tell Louis I for-
give him."

Mr. Howard heard this, ran to the bedside,
and, on his knees, in the most piteous accents,
implored pardon of his injured wife.

" I forgive ! I forgive !" were her last words ;
a few moments after, she died.

After her cold and lifeless form was laid out,
Mrs. Osgood requested to be left alone with the
corpse. Falling on her knees by the side of it,
with her eyes uplifted to Heaven, she exclaimed,
in a plaintive tone —

" Oh, miserable woman that I am, I have
murdered one child, and almost another ! Two
more I have rendered miserable ! And for what ?
Great God ! can I ever be forgiven ?"

For some time she remained kneeling in that
chamber of death. When she arose, she was an
humble woman ; ambition was satiated, avarice
was satisfied. She said truly that she had mur-
dered her child. Howard dealt the last blow,
but she was equally guilty of the murder ; for
over the dead body of her husband she had
walked to accomplish her purpose. And what
had she gained but anguish, heart-rending an-
guish, misery of the direst kind ! Mothers,
beware of what you are doing. You, too, may
be paving the way, almost unconsciously, to a
similar wretched end. Say not this is an exag-
gerated story. Look around you, and can you
not call to mind at least a few miserable wives ?
Ask the cause, and not unfrequently you may
trace it to a mother's ambition. Then take
warning, and shield your child from the worst
fates, an unloved and unloving wife. You are
responsible to a great degree ; then beware how
you trifle with such a responsibility.

Have you a little prattler now fondling on
your bosom, to whom your heart's best affec-
tions are given ? What are your views in

regard to her? Docs your imagination wander
far into the vista of the future, and picture for
her visions of wealth and earthly glory ? or are
you praying God to enable you to raise her for
usefulness here, and Heaven and immortal hap-
piness in eternity? Have you a daughter just
on the verge of womanhood? She needs your
watchful eye and prayerful attention more than
ever before. Lay no schemes for the future but
such as you can ask God's blessing upon. Have
you one just about to enter into an engagement
that must render her happy or miserable for life,
and perhaps tend to the promotion or overthrow
of her happiness in another world? Oh, mo
ther, look well before you decide ! What are
that man's qualifications ? Is he all that a
praying mother could desire ? Can you commit
that precious one to his care, believing that he
is fitted to guard such one here, and go hand and
hand with her to everlasting joys there ? If so,
give her to him. He may be a son of poverty,
no matter. God will bless them. But if, on
the contrary, his recommendations are nothing
more than such as Mrs. Osgood required, let us
entreat you, in the name of the holy office of
mother, be warned before the unchained fury of
God is visited on you. Do not sell that price-
less treasure for gold. If you do, your punish-
ment will come. Take our word for it, it must
come. God may not even allow you a respite
until he calls you to judgment. He may punish
you here in a way too plain to be misunderstood.
But to our story.

Mr. Howard was a sincere penitent, and, for
his child's sake, he was permitted to pass un-
punished, at least at an earthly tribunal. No
one except the family knew of his guilt. He
seemed anxious to do all in his power to repair
his deed, settled his vast estate on his little
Lucy, and, with about four thousand dollars,
left the country. Emma and Henry were mar-
ried in about twelve months from Mrs. How-
ard's death, and went to reside in his native

village.

******

Years are gone. Henry Sherrard's name
ranks high as a learned, a great, and, better
still, a good man. Emma, his loving wife, has
blessed him with a large family of children. It
is needless to say this is a happy home. With
two such beings as representatives, it could
hardly be otherwise. We do not say it was
exempt from the trials that fall to the lot of
almost every home, yet it was just such a circle
as angels might delight to gaze on. Old 3Vfre.
Osgood lives with them, a pious, humblo
Christian. Emma's children are as dear to her

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.

as her own ever were ; but she indulges none
of those ideal dreams of wealth and fame in
regard to them that constantly dwelt in her
bosom in regard to her own offspring. Little
Lucy Howard has grown up a beautiful and
accomplished woman, and is married to Dr.
Williamson's nephew. They live at the resi-
dence of Mr. Howard, who has become a better
man. His daughter is happy in the thought that
she possesses the best of fathers, little dreaming
what he once was, and that by his hand she was
deprived of a mother.

A letter from Eleanor, a few days since, in-
formed her mother of her intention to visit her
native State. She said little of herself, the ob-

ject that once occupied her whole thoughts ; yet
the tone of her letter showed plainly that she
had found the happiness procured by wealth at
best but precarious and transient.

Laura's husband has reformed, and her pros-
pects for happiness are brighter than formerly.
Virginia is a widow, as much distinguished for
humility as she once was for pride and ostenta-
tion. Thus the mother and sisters have become,
by sad experience, wiser and better women. Yet
this experience has been dearly bought — with a
daughter's blood and a sister's wrongs. Mo-
thers, will you be warned, or must yo\' pass
through a similar ordeal to show you yom
duty ?

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.— -OCTOBER

PEGASUS. — This constellation occupies a
large space in the heavens, between the Northern
Fish and Andromedia on the east, and the Swan,
Dolphin, and Eagle on the west. It is readily
distinguished by means of four remarkable stars,
about fifteen degrees apart, forming a square,
which is known as the " Square of Pegasus."
Scheat, the most northern of these four stars, as
well as the brightest, comes to the meridian the
20th of October. Markab, Alpheratz, and Al-
genib complete the figure, and are brilliant stars
of the second magnitude.

This, according to fable, is the horse celebrated
as having sprung from the blood of Medusa, after
Perseus had cut off her head. According to
Ovid, he lived near Mount Helicon, where, by
striking the earth with his foot, he raised the
fabled mountain of Hippocrene. Pegasus was
the favorite of the muses, and having been tamed
by Minerva, he was given to Bellerophon, king
of Ephyre, to assist him in conquering the
Chimera, a monster that continually vomited
flames. This was accomplished, when Bellero-
phon, trusting to the prowess of his charger,
attempted to fly up to heaven on the back of
Pegasus. Jupiter saw, and was displeased at
this presumption, and causing the beast to be I
stung by an insect, he reared, and his rider was
thrown back to earth ; but Pegasus continued j
his flight and reached the skies. j

11 Now heaven his further wand'ring flight confines,
Where, splendid with his numerous stars, he shines." j

AQUARIUS. — This group of stars embraces \

one hundred and eight of " the starry host,'* antf
comes to the meridian the 15th of October.

M His head, his shoulders, and his lucid breast
Glisten with stars ; and where his arm inclines,
Rivers of light brighten his watery track."

Aquarius may be readily distinguished by four
stars eighteen degrees south-southwest of Mar-
kab, in the form of the letter Y.

This constellation is the famous Ganymede, a
beautiful youth, and son of Tros, king of Troy.
He was taken up to heaven by Jupiter, and made
cup-bearer to the gods in place of Hebe. Egypt-
ian mythologists claim it to be Deucalion who
was placed among the stars after the deluge in
Thessaly, 1500 years before the birth of Christ ;
while others contend it was designed to com-
memorate the arrival of Cerops into Greece.

SOUTHERN FISH.— This cluster of stars is
situated south of Aquarius, and comes to the me-
ridian the 15th of October. It contains twenty-
four visible stars, of Avhich one, Fomalhaut, is
the most beautiful in this part of the heavens,
The position of this brilliant star has been de-
termined with the greatest possible accuracy, to
enable navigators to find their longitude at sea
Fomalhaut is fourteen degrees south of Scheat.

This constellation is supposed to have take*
its name from the transformation of Venus whei
she fled from Typhon, and escaped by throwing
herself into the sea.

THE MOON.— There is no object within th«
scope of astronomical observation which aflbrda

33-4

more interesting studies than this orb, when
viewed in all its phases. From these the form
of the earth is ascertained ; the vicissitudes of the
tides ; the causes of the eclipses and occultations ;
the distance of the sun, and magnitude of the
solar system. When the moon, after having
been in conjunction with the sun, emerges from
his rays, she appears, a little after sunset, like a
fine luminous crescent, with its convex side to-
wards the sun. On the next evening she appears
13° east of her first position, with her crescent of
light considerably augmented. Nightly she de-
parts from the sun until she arrives at the first
quarter, and comes to the meridian at sunset.
Thus she progresses until her full, when she
wanes as she comes into view. The moon is a
satellite of the earth, about which she revolves
in twenty-nine days, twelve hours, forty-tour
minutes and three seconds. This orb, wnich
appears so large to us, is in reality the smallest
of the heavenly bodies which are visible to the

naked eye. She appears much larger to us,
because she is much nearer to us. When viewed
through a powerful telescope, the moon presents
a most curious and interesting appearance ; its
whole surface becoming resolved into mountains,
valleys, and broad, smooth surfaces like our own
oceans. Her mountain scenery bears a great
resemblance to the towering sublimity and terri-
fic grandeur of the Alps, after which some of her
ranges have been named. Huge masses of rock
sometimes rise precipitously from the plains, and
lift their summits to an immense height in the
air, while craggy masses hang over their project-
ing sides, and look as if in momentary danger
of being precipitated below. Speculation has
been rife as to this orb being inhabited by mor-
tals like ourselves, but without demonstrating
any one fact in regard to it. Certainly appear-
ances favor the conjecture, but further than that,
it is destined long to remain one of the questions
that many would like, but are unable, to solve.

AUTUMNAL VEGETATION

BY HARLAND COULTAS, PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN PENN MEDICAL UNIVERSITY, PHILADELPHIA.

Perhaps at no season of the year are plants
more interesting and instructive than on the
approach of the winter months. There is a
beauty in the fading flowers and falling leaves
which escapes the eye of thousands who see
nothing in such appearances but indications of
gloom and desolation. Let us see if we cannot
lead the reader into a more pleasing course of
thought on these phenomena.

When we look at a forest tree at this season
of the year spontaneously throwing off those
leaves which are no longer of any service to it,
and consider that each leaf, as it falls from Ihe
branches, is returning to its final home, having
accomplished the purposes of nature in its crea-
tion, we cannot but be struck with the beauty
of these arrangements. But what is it that
renders the leaf useless? We shall endeavor to
reply to this question in clear, simple, truthful
language.

The Organization of the Leaf and
the Nature of its connection with the
Stem. — A fully developed leaf consists of a
petiole or stalk, and a broad expanded portion
termed the lamina or blade. The petiole is
formed by the protrusion from the side of the
ibhoot of distinct and separate fasciculi, or bun-
dles of its woody fibre. These bundles at first

continue parallel among themselves, forming (he
petiole ; they then take a horizontal spread,
and, at the same time, vessels are produced at
their sides which repeatedly ramify, forming
veins, veinlets, and capillaries, until finally they
anastomose amongst themselves, producing a
delicate and beautiful network. This part of
the leaf evidently constitutes its framework or
skeleton. But the woody fibre, in issuing from
the side of the shoot, still continues associated
with the green cellular bark on its exterior ;
therefore, when it spreads horizontally, its
green cellular investment of bark-cells takes a
rapid development and produces the flat dilated
organ termed the leaf. It will be seen from this
that the wood and bark retain the same relative
situation in the leaf as in the shoot, and remain
in direct communication with it by means oft) e
petiole. The points of the stem from which tL«
bundles of woody fibre to form the petiole are
apparent on the leaf scars left on the stem after
the leaves have fallen from it. We must not
omit to mention that the epidermis of the shoot
preserves on the leaf the same relative situatio i,
covering its upper and under surface entirely,
and admitting nutritious gases from the atmo-
sphere through its pores.
The Physiology of the Leaf.— Fon:t

COME UNTO ME, ETC.

335

trees, from the first period of germination, have
a' tendency to develop in two opposite directions,
upwards into the atmosphere and downwards
into the earth, the two grand sources of all
vegetable nutrition. A vegetable axis is thus
produced, the two extremities of which ramify,
and are most wonderfully adapted to the two
media into which they develop. The lower
ramifications become covered with a quantity
wf fibrous appendages, which act as absorbents
ef the nutritious matter in the soil ; the upper
ramifications, on the contrary, put forth during
the season of vegetable activity flat dilated
organs called leaves, which are contrivances by
which the green absorbent surface of the plant
is enlarged. These leaves take in moisture and
nutritious gases from the atmosphere, evaporate
the superfluous water, and in them the sap un-
dergoes those important changes which render it
subservient to the further development of the
stem, branches, and other organs of the plant.
But the water which enters by the roots con-
tains a small portion of earthy matter in solu-
tion, which it obtains from the soil through
which it percolates. This is partly deposited in
the fibrous tissues of the stem, but principally
in the cellular tissue of the leaves, owing to the
evaporation which is continually taking place
from their surface, just as earthy matter accu-
mulates at the bottom of a tea-kettle which has
been long used for culinary purposes. In this
manner, the interior walls of the leaf-cells be-
come thickened by deposits of mineral matter,
and ultimately the cells are so filled with it that
the sap can no longer circulate through them,
and the leaf is thus rendered finally unfit for the
performance of its functions. The leaf now
changes its color, and, as it is no longer of any
service, it is spontaneously thrown off by the
tree, and descends from its branches to the
ground.

" We all do fade as a leaf." This is philo-
sophically as well as scripturally true. Recent
microscopic researches have established the
interesting fact that growth in the animal and
yege table takes place according to similar laws.
The human body, like the leaf, is composed of
cells which contain the blood or nutrient fluid
analogous to the sap in plants. These cells ex-
pand and enlarge until the child becomes the
man. Peculiar secretions are carried on in
them, which ?.*£ restricted, as in plants, to cer-
tain parts of the organism. Manhood is the
most active and energetic period of human life.
All the cells of the human body are then fully
developed, and there is very little earthy matter
accumulated in them. Earthy matter is not

deposited on the parietes or walls of the cells
until they have obtained their maximum en-
largement; they then become rigid and unyield-
ing, in consequence of its interior deposition and
the general thickening of their walls. Ossifi-
cation in animals exactly corresponds to lignifi-
cation in plants. In old age, the limbs lose
their elasticity and vigor, the blood ceases to
circulate freely through its accustomed chan-
nels, the extremities grow cold, all the beauty
of the human form vanishes, life rapidly ad-
vances to the period of its close, and finally the
useless member is removed, by the dispensa-
tions of a wise Providence, frcm the social tree,
and carried by weeping friends to his last
resting-place.

COME UNTO ME, ALL YE THAT LAEOR AND
ARE HEAVY LADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU
REST."— Matt. xi. xxviii.

BY S. 1*. E.

Yes, dearest Saviour, I will come —

I long to rest in Heaven, my home ;

This heart, unholy and impure,

Is sick of earth and this world's lure.

Baubles that burst shall find no place

In me, to hide, O God of grace,

That condescending, matchless love,

Shining through Jesus from above,

Richer, far richer, than the glare

Of gold and gems. Naught can compare

In beauty with this love, whose breadth,

Whose length, whose height, whose greatest depth

Unfathomed, no man measureth — no :

While a sojourner here below,

Grov'ling and wedded to the dust,

So filled with envy, pride, and lust,

I cannot comprehend the story

Of the incarnate Lord of Glory.

O God, when from these clogs set free,

May I find rest, sweet rest in thee :

Then shall I fully understand

The grace that saved me, and the hand

That gently drew and fixed my feet

Securely on the mercy-seat,

When Satan sought my heart to share,

And thought he 'd reign triumphant there.

Thy hand, O Christ, shall guide me still,

If I but trust and do thy will ;

This aching head shall soon find rest

Pillowed upon its Saviour's breast —

Rest from the cares and ills of life,

From turmoil, pain, and every strife ;

From mental agony and fears,

Which have bedewed my couch with tears :

Rest from the conflicts sin has wrought ;

Rest that thy precious life has bought.

Lord, draw my heart from earth away—

Thy sov'reign call may I obey,

My burden at thy feet lay down,

And take thy yoke, and wear the cruwn.

OCTAGONAL COUNTRY-SEAT OF 0. S. FOWLER,

ON THE HUDSON

The accompanying engravings furnish an
accurate representation of the residence of 0. S.
Fowler, the distinguished phrenologist, by whom
it was both planned and erected, he being his
own architect. Devised in 1846, and com-
menced in 1848, it is the first important applica-

turn of the octagonal form to domestic architec-
ture, on which he published a work in 1348.
entitled " Home for All," and which he b ts
just revised. The accompanying engravings
show at a glance the exterior view, and (lie ar-
rangement of rooms on the main story. On the

OCTAGONAL COUNTRY-SEAT OF O. S. FOWLER.

337

main floor there are four large octagonal rooms,
namely, parlor, sitting, dining, and amusement
rooms, connected together by folding doors ;
and four other side rooms, one adjoining each
for dormitory purposes, with a closet to each.
Each of the large rooms incloses about 80 yards
square, the side rooms 35 a piece ; while in the
upper stories, which are alike, all the rooms, of
which there are 20 per story, are square, the
angles being cut off for closets.
The appearance is noble, massive, grand, and

imposing, especially as seen from a distance.
Its position, on an eminence in the basin of the
Hudson formed by the Highlands, renders it
"the observed of all observers," from all th<
regions round about. Its scenery, as viewed
from the top of the cupola, is surpassingly grand,
far-reaching, and picturesque. It has piazza -
all around at each story, which make delightful
promenades. Its main, or through entry, is in
the ground or first story, devoted to work and
storage; and its store-way is in the centre, which

PLAN OF THE FIRST STORY

greatly facilitates ready access from each room
to all the others, and saves steps, and which is
righted from the cupola, in the centre of which
is a glass dome, which also lights its stairway
and the right centre rooms.

But its greatest curiosity, and that which most
of all distinguishes it from all other buildings,
is the material out of which its walls are com-
vol. xlix. — 29

posed, which is simply lime, coarse sand or
gravel, and broken stones, large and small, and
of all possible shapes and sizes, just as thev
came from the slate stone quarry in digging it:
foundation. Nineteen-twentieths of all its ma-
terial were dug out of its cellar, shovelled < ■
wheeled right into the mortar bed, mixed will;
lime, and wheeled and shovollcd directly ml*

338

godey's magazine and lady's book.

the wall, thus costing almost nothing for mate-
rial or even cap^age. Its builder claims that
its walls are four times cheaper than wood,
and Bin times cheaper than brick! If this is
really so, this plan of building deserves atten-
tion ; especially since its walls are remarkably
solid, have now stood perfectly well four sea-
sons, and grow harder with age, besides being
remarkably free from moisture, and quite warm
iu winter, and cool in summer. Its bond prin-
ciple is the same as in all brick and stone
houses, namely, lime and sand mixed with
stone ; and, what is most remarkable, is the
small quantity of lime required, which was only
.some $20 worth for the two upper stories, each
of which contains wall material enough for a
house twenty by forty, and two stories and a
half high — or only about $10 worth of lime for
such a house.

These walls are formed by erecting and brac-
ing standards where the wall is to run — they
being placed within the walls, on which boards
are nailed, between which this lime, gravel, and
stone admixture, or concrete, is shovelled, which
hardens in a day, when these boards are taken

off and nailed on higher for the next tier or
working. A better plan, however, is to have
two tiers of boards, so that after the second is
filled, the first is taken off and nailed on to form
the third. But for details we refer our readers
to Mr. Fowler's work, " Home for All," de-
voted to the explanation of this style of building.

Outside, it is finished with a coat of plaster,
and done ofT to resemble granite. Thus far,
this finish does not show the first sign of peel-
ing or cracking, and looks splendidly.

It is very large, being 32 feet sides, or 256 in
circumference, and 79 in diameter, covering
6,000 feet of ground, and contains in all some
60 rooms and 40 closets. Indeed, one of the
greatest excellences claimed for this octagonal
style is its great number of closets and small
rooms, the practical value of which every house-
keeper will doubtless appreciate.

Altogether, it is a real curiosity, worth going
quite a journey to see, and as practically useful
as unique j and its enterprising founder deserves
our good wishes, and even thanks, for setting
an example, on so large a scale, of both the
gravel wall and octagonal style of building.

MRS. DAFFODIL AT THE THEATRE.

BY VIRGINIA DE FORREST.

A winter or two ago, I went to see Mr.
Brooke in the " Corsican Brothers." As I had
sees the play several times before, I had more
amusement from the following rencontre than I
should have had had I wished to direct my
attention wholly to the stage.

As the theatre was somewhat crowded, my
friend Mr. K., who accompanied me, was only
able to procure two seats on the third bench for
our accommodation. Just as the curtain rose,
two women and a little boy entered and took
the vacant seats next us. One of the women,
an elderly dame, who seated herself next me,
was attired in an old brown silk dress, a flaming
red shawl, with bright yellow and green flowers
sprinkled over it, and a cap with a broad border
and profusely trimmed with green ribbons ; in
her hand she held a black silk bonnet, which
she covered with a handkerchief as soon as she
was seated. After comfortably placing herself
on the scat, she gave me an emphatic poke,
saying —

" Are wc come too late V*

"The curtain has just risen, madam," I re-
plied.

" What?" said she, evidently not understand-
ing me.

" The performance has just commenced," I
said, as politely as I could.

" Oh, you mean the play 's just begun. Ninny,
the play 's just begun," continued she, speaking
to her companion. "Pete, don't you crowd
so."

Pete, the little boy I have mentioned, made
the fifth on a seat intended for four. Presently
I felt another poke —

"Who's the chap in the velvet jacket !•'
asked the old lady.

" That is Mr. Brooke," I replied.

"What is his make-believe name?"

" Fabien."

"Queer name, ain't it? Won't you let me
look through your big specfacles?"

My big spectacles ! Now, I am rather near-
sighted, and at the theatre I generally wear
spectacles ; although at that time I was a mere
child, still I had them on. I looked at Mr. K.
with an inquiring glance.

"She means the lorgnette, Annie." Then,
seeing the old lady's astonished look, he politely

MRS. DAFFODIL AT THE THEATRE.

handed her the opera-glass, saying, " Do you
wish to use the lorgnette, madam'?"

" A hornet ! Well, it 's a queer-looking
thing ; but it don't look much like a hornet."

Her endeavors to adjust the glass to her eye
were truly ludicrous. First shutting her right
eye, she applied one barrel to the left ; then she
reversed it, using the right and shutting the left
eye ; then she tried both. Then, taking off her
own green spectacles, she used the opera-glass
alone ; and then, in utter despair, she turned
again to me —

" How on earth do you fix it ?"

I showed her how to adjust the glass to her
eye, and she tried again ; but, after several
fruitless efforts, gave it up.

" Won't you let me see the paper ?" was the
next request.

I handed her the play-bill, and was beginning
to feel rather annoyed ; but Mr. K. whispered —

" They are somebody's country cousins, An-
nie, and this is their first visit to the theatre.
You have got to be victimized ; so bear it good-
naturedly, as I do." And a saucy look of mock
resignation completed the sentence.

"Suppose we change seats'?" suggested I,
rather maliciously.

" Thank you ! I am very comfortable here."

Another poke recalled me to my sense of
martyrdom.

" How do you find the names on this 1" asked
my tormentor.

I explained, and she continued —

" Well, after you 've found them, how do you
know the fellers apart?"

" I know the cast of the play, madam," I
replied.

" Oh, you do ? Know them all by heart, do
you? Well, I had sights rather have you tell
me about them than find them myself," said she,
returning the play-bill.

Here was a prospect ! and the satisfaction
evident on the old lady's face showed she meant
to act upon the idea; and she did. Another
poke, and —

" Who 's that woman in black pretending to
be?" aroused me again.

" That is Fabien's mother," I replied.

" Looks rather young, don't she ! What a
sight of talking they all do ! Pete, do sit still !"

At length the ghost arose through the floor,
and the old lady seized my arm and trembled
like a leaf.

" That old lady won't sleep a wink to-night,"
whispered Mr. K. to me.

A long sigh of relief from my neighbor an-
nounced the fall of the curtain.

" I don't exactly understand it; do you?" said
she, turning to me.

"Oh, yes; I have seen it before; and you
will understand it better after you have seen the
next act," said I.

" My ! you 've seen it all before, have you ?
Well, do tell us something about it. This," she
continued, pointing to the young girl, her com-
panion, " is my daughter Euphrosyne ; but I
always call her ' Ninny' for short ; and this boy
is Jupiter, but I call him Pete. They are my
two children. I'm a widow woman, and my
name's Mrs. Daffodil. But do tell us some-
thing about the part that 's coming."

" It will be much more interesting if you let
the plot work itself out, madam," said my friend
Mr. K., who wanted to release me for a spell.

" Well, who wants to hinder it ? I only want
the little gal to tell me something about it."

" You had much better watch the actors when
the curtain rises again," said Mr. K.

" Well, I suppose I must, if you won't let her
tell me. You're her dad, I s'pose?"

Now, Mr. K. is a bachelor, about thirty-two
years old, who prides himself on his youthful
appearance ; and to be taken for the father of a
girl of thirteen or fourteen years old was a ter-
rible cut to his vanity. He was silent.

" You see," said Mrs. Daffodil, " my brother,
the major, was at our house last night, and he
asked me if I 'd ever been to the theatre ; and,
when I said * No,' he said ' Sakes alive ! well,
I '11 pay for your seats, if you will go with Pete
to-morrow.' Well, Ninny and I, we talked it
over; and, as we don't get such an offer every
day, we concluded to come. 'Ninny,' says I,
' if your uncle will pay for seats, we should be
foolish not to come.' ' Yes, mother,' says she ;
' for, you know' "

Here the rising of the curtain for the second
act interrupted the narrative, which, however,
she graciously promised to finish in the next
interval. You are probably aware that, in this
drama, Mr. Brooke sustains two characters,
Louis and Fabien, who are supposed to be twin
brothers. My neighbor evidently did not know
this, and I was presently assailed with —

" What's that feller's make-believe name ?"

" That's Louis, the ghost we saw in the fir.-t
act."

" Sakes alive ! come to life again ! Well, L
declare to gracious ! but ain't he wonderful like
t'other feller, Fabbin ?"

" They are twin brothers," I answered.

" What, really ?"

" Oh, no ; only make-believe."

" I guess they 're some relation though," said

540

godey's magazine and lady's book.

^hc, sagaciously ; " they 're powerful alike.
Who 's the tall feller talking to the woman in
pink l"

" That 's Mr. Richings, or Monsieur de Cha-
teau Reneau."

" Who V9 inquired Miss Ninny.

" He 's got a powerful long name, Ninny."

There was a cessation of questions until the
duel scene.

" Why, they did this all before !" exclaimed
.Mrs. Daffodil.

When the curtain fell, I felt a nudge in the
side, and, turning round, saw Mrs. Daffodil
offering me an enormous chunk (it can be called
by no other name) of gingerbread.

" No, I thank you," said I.

"Now, do take it," urged the old lady;
" there 's plenty more in the basket, and I know
you '11 like it. It 's my own baking."

Again I declined as politely as I could for
laughing, and the cake was handed on to Mr.
K., who also declined.

" I wonder if one could get a cup of tea or
anything to drink here 1" was her next inquiry.
" Gingerbread's wonderful dry when there ain't
nothing to wash it down with. Pete, go see if
you can't find something to drink."

" No, no," said I, alarmed ; " you cannot pro-
cure anything of the kind here."

There was a pause, passed by the old lady in
eating and cogitating.

"Acting's all a kind of lying, ain't it?" said
she, suddenly.

"There is no intention to deceive, madam,"
said I.

" Why, I'da been certain them two men were
brothers. They were powerful alike. I never
shall believe but what they're related, though.
You Pete, quit scrouging !"

When Fabien appeared in the third act, I
heard Ninny inquire —

"Who is that now, ma?"

"That 's Louis," said Mrs. Daffodil, in a
positive way.

" No it ain't," exclaimed Pete ; " it 's Fabien.
He says so."

" Hold your tongue, Pete !" cried his mother.
" I '11 ask the little gal. Who is that man,
Miss?" she continued, turning to me.

" That is Fabien," replied I, delighted with
her evident mystification.

" Sakes alive ! My, but they are powerful
alike ! I can't see, for the life of me, how you
know them apart. He's going to kill the tall
feller with the long name, ain't he?"

" Yes ; he has come to avenge his brothers
death."

Her astonishment increased when the ghost
appeared again. She evidently did not under-
stand a single word of the plot.

" You stay to the farce, I suppose ?" said I,
as the curtain fell.

" Oh, yes ! we want our money's worth.
Why don't you stay ? Well, if you are going,
good-by. They be powerful alike though, to be

THE SERVANT QUESTION

A group of fair dames and gayly-dressed spin-
sters leave the gentlemen to their dessert and
politics, and troop into the .drawing-room. We
gather round the fire, and examine each other's
dress a little more narrowly than we had done
before, but rather sleepily ; we find it dull being
'eft to our own resources for this hour before
tea. However, the examination awakens a lit-
tle enthusiasm, for some of the ladies have to
tell of certain shops they have discovered, where
"jewels of things" can alone be got; and once
having received the impulse in that direction,
they fly off to " exquisite patterns of jackets,"
and " lovely lace," and the " fashionable shapes
of mantles," from which they return no more,
and the gentlemen appear. Two very loving
friends have withdrawn to a sofa, and sit talking,
hand in hand ; and there is no getting near them,
sweet looking as they are, though I should like

it well enough ; so for the present I enjoy, to my
heart's content, the charming easy-chair, and the
fire, and silence. Presently I observe Mrs. A. op-
posite to me, talking in a low but energetic voic-e
to Miss C. next her: both look grave, and ex-
change sympathetic glances, and lift their hands
occasionally. Murmurs of "cook" — "mar-
ried woman" — " house stores go too quickly" —
" man and little boy" — " back door" — reach
me. " Ah !" thinks I, " now we shall have the
great subject for woman's eloquence brought
under discussion ! here it comes — the ever-fertile
servant question !" And I was right in my sur-
mises, for Mrs. A.'s murmurs caught other ears
besides mine, and it was soon found that she
would very gladly tell over again to a larger
audience the story she had just related to Miss
C. about her cook — her troubles with her, anil
suspicions about her. The ladies were of course

THE SERVANT QUESTION

341

sympathetic; and from all the housekeepers in
the room arose a chorus of, " Ah, what plagues
servants are !" The trouble of mistresses became
the general theme of comment and commisera-
tion. Condolence was wholesale; and, to say
the truth, abuse was not dealt very sparingly.
Each comely dame had a story to tell, illustrative
of the manners, customs, and vices of the ser-
vant race. Miss C. complained " that her house-
maid had really been foolish enough to fall in
love; and how she could think of leaving such
a comfortable place as hers for the cottage of a
mere laborer, she could not imagine ! It really
was a great nuisance to have girls falling in love !
they never did their work properly afterwards ;
they were always either writing letters, or want-
ing to go out."

Upon this, Mrs. B., with becoming pride,
declared that " her treasure of a cook took care
to prevent all such sources of trouble in her
establishment ; very crabbed she was, to be sure,
but then people were never perfect; and she
looked so sharply after the young girls under
her, that she flattered herself there was no more
strictly decorous a household in all the neighbor-
hood than hers. She had parted with a house-
maid the other day, to be sure, but that was for
an unusual reason ; the girl had taken it into
her head to attend service at a distant church,
at a time when she knew it would be some in-
convenience to the family, and persisted in going,
saying, ' it was hard when mistresses could not
make it convenient to let their servants pray
where they chose.' Such impertinence ! she
never could endure to be answered by a servant."

One quiet old lady by the fire said " she could
not think what had come to the servants. In
her younger days they were honest, hard-work-
ing creatures, who wore neat caps, and their
sleeves tucked up to the elbow. She thought
the new-fangled notions about education had
helped to spoil them nowadays — there was
scarcely a good one to bo had. They wasted
their earnings on fine ribbons and lace sleeves —
had grown squeamish about work, and were
ready to leave their places on the slightest pre-
text. If modern education had taught them to
loll over the fire with a book in their hands,
instead of doing their work, as she used to see it
done, it certainly had not made them more con-
scientious, or patient of reproof."

"Patient of reproof!" struck in Miss C. ;
" why one has to but -mention a fault to them to
get in return, ' I am very sorry I don't suit you,
ma'am. I had better leave you this day month.' "

" We mistresses are a little unreasonable
sometimes, I think," said a gentle-looking lady

29*

in dove-colored silk ; " we are apt to expect
perfection from our servants, never remembering
we are very far from being perfect ourselves."

This was spoken so gently that it did not get
the attention I thought it deserved. The stronger
current of different feeling swept by it heedlessly.
The ladies had grown animated, and stories of
the untruthfulness, deceit, and general low mo-
rale of servants were related on all sides.

" A great deal of truth is in all this, no doubt,"
thought I, "and very sad it is. We mistresses,
like all other employers of labor, have to lament
the want of anything like true education among
the people. There is no doubt that servants, as
a class, are exceedingly ill prepared for the
offices of responsibility and trust they are re-
quired to hold. If they are fitted by their skill
to take part in the coarser machinery of our
homes, they want the judgment and high tone
of morale to work in unison with its finer direct-
ing impulses. To those of our housekeepers
who aspire to harmony throughout all parts of
their menage, the servant question offers inmi-
merable difficulties ; while those who regard their
domestics as so many automatons, are even more
full of trouble about it. Human beings never
can be treated as machines, without the wrong
recoiling upon those who commit it. And this
is just the wrong we ladies are so prone to fall
into. There is no immediate remedy for the
great want. For some time, probably, we shall
have to accept into our homes persons sharing in
the great national deficiencies of education ; but,
meanwhile, some remedies, and great ones, lie
in our power. We must disabuse ourselves of
the idea that our duty is discharged towards the
human beings we hire into our houses, with the
payment of their wages. We must not content
ourselves with recognizing alone their legal
rights. By admitting them to the intimacy of
household life, we take upon ourselves, I believe,
other and higher responsibilities. We should
remember the conditions necessary to good and
happy human life, and cease to act as though our
domestics were of a different constitution from
ourselves. They might too often retort upon
us Shylock's questions to the Christian scorner.
We expect from them obedience, and patience,
and untiring zeal, and the sympathy of gentle
and extra service in all kinds of emergencies ;
and yet their hopes, anxieties, and wants are
unreckoned by us. They are as so many skilful
machines, necessary to our comfort, and that of
those dear to us ; and while they work regularly
and healthily, we are content. Were we to
repudiate this machine-idea, we should serve
worthily, and get better served. One or two

312

godey's magazine and lady's book,

leading principles should guide us mistresses in
• >ur relation with them. For their sakes and
our own, we should give them interest in their
labor; imbue them with the spirit of our house-
hold government; and make them clearly see
how the details of their service become an import-
ant contribution to the general order, beauty,
and happiness. Were this done in a wise, a
loving manner, there would be far less need for
Jjault-findi-ng, far more willing and happy ser-
vice, and a real education going on ; the servants
would be elevated by the trust reposed in them,
and become daily more fit for it. Scolding is a
bad incitement to improvement — 'tis strange it
should retain any traditional value in our house-
holds ; were it not a relief to the irritated feel-
ings of disturbed housekeepers, they would have
banished it as useless long ago. Those who
have seen the magical effects of affection and
praise joined to strict discipline, never conde-
scend to use it, I presume. We should never
make them feel their position as one of inferior-
ity— we should treat them with respect. Com-
mands are ungracious things, and should never
be heard from the lips of gentle man or loving
lady ; service may be cheerfully rendered for
requests, rarely if ever in obedience to orders ;
and yet some of our gentlest housewives fail to
recognize the grace of this truth.

" In recognizing the conditions of a happy life
for them, we should provide a certain period of
leisure for them : we are too apt to take it for
granted their time is (or should be) always at
our disposal ; and yet we know well, in our own
case, rest and recreation are needful to all im-
provement, and even the continuance of earnest
work. It may be, too, that many good servants
who come to us are very ignorant in all book-
knowledge, very often even of the means to get
at it. We should never allow this to continue.
Can we not afford time or money to remedy the
misfortune ? It would be surely better to forego
something else in our household economy, than
t© be content so large a range of pleasure and
good should be shut up from them. How much
happiness might be secured in some families, if
the servants, after their day's work was over,
could look forward to the enjoyment of books,
or some pleasant mode of instruction. How
would the dull routine of labor be lightened !

" I am convinced our servants are often
tempted to indulge in illicit and improper recre-
ation, because we do not provide interests of a
healthy kind for them. Society we almost deny
them, because, forsooth ! lovers under the guise
of 'brothers' may gain admittance to our kitchen
sanctuaries ! I am quite aware of the difficulties

of this matter while the morale of the class is as
low as it is ; but I. believe we should guard from
danger, if we recognized the needs, of our domes-
tics, and set about finding out the wisest way of
meeting them. Did we show our sympathy with
them, and gain their affection and confidence.,
much good and little danger would result from
allowing them freer communication with the
external world. By boldness we should disarm
risk.

" I am often astonished at the little heed many
of us pay to the physical health and comfort of
our servants. Refined, sometimes almost to
fastidiousness in other household matters, we
pay little attention to their ignorance of the laws
of health, and seldom care to impress them with
the necessity of our bathings, and habits of per-
sonal nicety. Were we to use our influence in
this particular, we should be doing good service 5
the world is lamentably ignorant in this import-
ant matter, and great consequences d-epend upon
its observance or neglect.

" With the increase of mutual confidence, we
might influence them for good with regard t©
habits of economy without in the least trench-
ing upon their independence. A wise mistress
may do much in teaching them the relative
value of things, and in encouraging them to
choose real in place of only seeming good. But
let it be once admitted that mistresses take cer-
tain serious responsibilities in accepting the help
of aliens in their families ; let them once per-
ceive the power of loving, personal influence —
the beauty and holiness of raising others with
themselves towards some higher and nobler plat-
form of life — and means and encouragement will
not be wanting to them. I by no means wish
to insinuate that servants are an unfortunate
and badly-used set of people, or that mistresses
forget all the Christian charities in their relation
to them ; the former are, in many respects, a most
well-to-do and fortunate class in the commK-
nity ; ' but evil is wrought from want of thwght
as well as want of heart;' and it is for this cause
that we women are most likely to fail in our
duties to our dependents. But let us think of it
well ; we have glorious privileges with our re-
sponsibilities, and, secure in the sanctuaries of
our homes, possess the holiest fulcrum for the
emanation and extension of good and happiness
mortal life can afford."

Something in the strain of all this did I find
myself moved to say to the assembled ladies ; but
for the sake of my social credit, I must assert, it
did not fall into the shape of a sermon ; nor did
the gentlemen, when tea was announced, find
me haranguing to listeners who voted me a ln>re.

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

FOR GODEY'S YOUNG READERS.

BY JOHN B. DUl'FET,

(Continued from page 247.)

CHAPTER XI.

Columbus conquers the Indians of Hayti — Some account
of their religion, manners, and customs.

To revenge the capture of their prince, the
subjects of Caonabo, to the number of seven
thousand warriors, again assaulted the fort of
St. Thomas. Again, however, they were driven
back, with great slaughter, by the valorous
Ojeda and a handful of Spanish troopers.

Soon after this affair, the people of Isabella
began again to suffer from the want of European
provisions. But, before their complaints had
become loud, they were comforted by the arrival
of four ships from Spain, bringing a large store
of food, together with a physician, an apothe-
cary, and many mechanics, farmers, fishermen,
and laborers. Columbus himself was gratified
by a kind letter from the king and queen, who
complimented him highly, and said they were
well pleased with all that he had done.

Biat scarcely had the admiral recovered his
health and strength, and the colonists become
hopeful and cheerful again, when the faithful
Guacanahari brought them alarming tidings.
Burning for revenge, and hurrying to sweep the
colonists into the sea, one hundred thousand
savages, led by the brother of Caonabo, were
already within two days' march of the settle-
ment. To oppose this mighty mass, Columbus
had only two hundred foot soldiers, twenty
horsemen, and as many bloodhounds. Yet he
boldly resolved to go out and meet the foe in
the open field, not fearing but that he would
drive them back to the mountains again.

Accordingly, on the 24th of March, 1495, the
admiral set out from Isabella at the head of his
little army. Twe days afterward, he came in
eight of the immense host of the savages. He
then gave the command of the troops to his
brother Bartholomew, who knew more about
leading an army to battle than he did. As
directed by Bartholomew, the foot soldiers,
separating into numerous small parties, fell
furiously upon the Indians from all sides, with
a great noise of drums and trumpets and deadly

volleys from their firearms. Thinking them
selves surrounded by a vast army, the savages
were struck with terror ; and, when the steel-
clad horsemen, led by the fiery Ojeda, and fol-
lowed by the fierce bloodhounds, rushed upon
them, they fled, shrieking and howling, to every
place where they might hope for safety. The
victory of the Spaniards was complete. Hun-
dreds of the Indians were slain, and hundreds
taken captive ; while those that outlived the
fight and escaped had no longer any heart to
take up arms.

Following up this success, Columbus spent
nearly a year in marching over the island and
compelling the natives to submit themselves
wholly to his authority. He found it necessary
to use the sword but little ; for the wretched
savages could not get rid of the terror which the
result of the late battle had filled them with.
Having completely conquered the island, Co-
lumbus laid a tax upon its inhabitants, the pro-
ceeds of which were to go to the king and queen
of Spain. All over the age of fourteen, living
in the golden region of Cibao, were " to pay a
large hawk's-bell full of gold dust" four times
in a year. In those parts of the island whe*e
gold was scarce, each Indian was required to
bring in one hundred pounds of cotton every
year. " And, that it might be known who had
paid this tribute, there was a sort of medal cast,
of brass and tin ; one of these each Indian who
had paid was to wear about his neck. Who-
ever should be found without it was to b*
punished for not paying his tribute."

It was now for the first time found out, from
frequent conversations with the natives, that
they had a kind of religious creed. They be-
lieved in one Great Spirit, who was never to
die, and who, dwelling in the heavens, could
not be seen, and had power ovei" all things.
Their worship, however, was not offered direct-
ly to this ruling spirit, but to a lower order of
beings, called Cemics, whose images, carved o\rt
of wood or stone, were to be found in every
household. These Cemies — such was the belief
of the Indians — took care of almost everything

343

godey's magazine and lady's book.

in the world, as rivers, springs, trees, and the
like. Two were especially honored as guardians
of the fields and of the weather, and to them the
natives made frequent offerings of incense and
cakes.

Very naturally, the inhabitants of Hayti be-
lieved their beautiful island to have been made
before any other part of the world. The sun
and moon, they said, had gone forth from a hole
in the roof of a certain cavern, which is yet to
be seen in the north-eastern part of the island.
From a second cavern — so their traditions ran —
the race of mankind came forth ; the small men
from a little hole, and the large men from a
great one.

Of the deluge, or great flood, they had a sin-
gular tradition. There once lived, said they, a
mighty cacique, or prince, named Giaia, who
had a wicked son, whom he was obliged to kill
in order to save his own life. Placing the bones
of this son in a gourd, or calabash, Giaia hung
k on the top of his house. One day, he said to
his wife, " I have a mind to see our son ;" and,
" taking down the calabash, he turned it over to
see his son's bones, and there came out of it an
abundance of large and small fishes." " Upon
this the discreet cacique" — I quote here from
Irving — " closed the gourd, boasting that he had
the sea shut up within it, and could have fish
whenever he pleased. Four brothers, however,
children of the same birth, and curious inter-
meddlers, hearing of this gourd, came, during
the absence of the cacique, to peep into it. In
their carelessness, they let it fall upon the
ground, where it was dashed to pieces ; when
lo ! to their astonishment and dismay, there
issued forth a mighty flood, with dolphins, and
sharks, and tumbling porpoises, and great spout-
ing whales ; and the water spread until it over-
flowed the earth, and formed the ocean, leaving
only the tops of the mountains uncovered, which
are the present islands."

It was commonly believed by the Haytiens
that the soul of man would never perish. Their
ways of disposing of the dying and the dead were
singular. When caciques were thought to be
approaching the end of their days, they were
strangled, that they might not die like the com-
mon people, who were generally left in their
hammocks, or beds, with bread and water by their
side, to undergo their last agonies alone. Some,
when dangerously ill, were carried to the ca-
*riques,who would kindly allow them the honor
of being choked to death. After death, the
caciques were opened and dried. Of the rest of
the people, the heads of some were opened and
dried ; others were burned in the houses where

they died ; but most were buried "in a grot or
den," with a calabash of water and a piece of
bread on their heads. " I have taken great
pains," writes Columbus, " to find out whether
they know what becomes of them after they are
dead. I especially inquired of Caonabo, a man
in years, knowing, and of the sharpest under-
standing. He and the rest answered that they
go to a certain valley, where they find their
parents, and all that went before them." In
this paradise, which was supposed to be a valley
forever green, and bordered by beautiful lakes,
they passed their time in pleasure and sports
(coming forth at night only, however)", and in
eating a certain sweet fruit, which was said to
grow abundantly in the happy region of spirits.

Such a happy region their own island seemed
to be, when the Spaniards first came to it.
Now, however, there commenced hard times for
the poor Haytiens. Having had few wants,
which the wild fruits around them almost wholly
supplied, they had never known what it was to
work. But the tribute of gold and cotton,
which their conquerors now required from them,
forced them into a life of wearisome labor. For
a time, they toiled on in sullen patience. That
patience gave way, however, at length, and,
leaving their fields and gardens to go to waste,
they all at once fled to the mountains of the
middle part of the island.

Their plan was to starve the Spaniards out,
by neglecting to raise food for them. But the
misery they hoped to bring upon their oppressors
fell first upon themselves. The region they had
fled to in their despair was barren and desolate.
They began themselves to die of hunger. Then
a dreadful sickness broke out, and swept them
into the grave by thousands. For a while, they
bore these miseries with singular fortitude ; but
at length, looking more like shadows than liv-
ing men, they crept down one by one to the
dear valleys they had forsaken, and gave them-
selves up to be the willing slaves of their con-
querors. So completely were their spirits broken
that a single unarmed Spaniard could range the
whole island without being disturbed ; " and the
Indians themselves would carry him about on
their shoulders."

CHAPTER XII.

Columbus is slandered by his enemies — Ingratitude of
the officer sent to inquire into his nonduet — His return
to Spain — He is favorably received by the king and
queen.

I havk just told how Columbus was forced.

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

345

in consequence of the evil-doings of a portion
of his companions, to act towards the natives of
Hayti with a harshness that was really not na-
tural to his character. Yet this was not all the
harm they did him. While he was laboring to
restore that peace which their misconduct had
broken, some of them, having fled back to
Spain, were pouring lies about him into the cars
of the king and queen. Though they did not,
perhaps, fully believe all these, Ferdinand and
Isabella yet thought it necessary to send an
officer to Hayti, to find out how much truth
was in them. The person chosen for this duty
was John Aguado, a man for whom the kind-
ness of Columbus had procured the good-will
and esteem of his sovereigns.

Arriving at Isabella in October, 1495, Aguado
found the admiral's brother in command there,
Columbus himself being away on a visit to a
distant Indian town. Aguado proved himself
to be at once insolent and ungrateful. Hoping
to force the high-spirited admiral into some rash
show of anger, which might bring upon him the
serious displeasure of the king and queen, he
slighted the authority of Bartholomew Colum-
bus, and began to act as if he himself were the
governor of the colony. But, greatly to the
wonder of all, and to the vexation of Aguado,
Columbus, when he came back to Isabella and
learned what had taken place, gave no sign of
the just anger that he must have felt in his
heart. And this was, indeed, a triumph. For
he thought the world and all of the dignity he
had so hardly earned, and which had been so
basely insulted by Aguado's seizure of the
authority he had left with his brother.

But the admiral was to be still more severely
tried. Many of the colonists hated him ; some,
because he had punished them for their mis-
deeds ; others, because he had tried to cure
them of their laziness. Bundling together all
the lying stories he could get out of these men,
Aguado presently prepared to return to Spain,
almost sure of being able to cause the ruin of
his noble benefactor. Yet he was not to go
alone. Though mortified at being compelled to
do so, Columbus also resolved to return, that he
might be on hand to meet his accusers face to
face before the throne.

Just as the light was breaking on the morning
of Thursday, the 10th of March, 1496, two
caravels, one commanded by Columbus, the
other by Aguado, set sail from the harbor of
Isabella. A large quantity of gold, with other
things of value, was on board, as were also
twenty-two Indian captives, among whom the
*alorous Caonabo was conspicuous.

After nearly a month's tiresome struggling
against constant head winds, Columbus found
his provisions growing short. Yielding to the
entreaties of his crew, he at length turned his
prow southward, and, on Saturday, the 9th of
April, cast anchor off the Island of Margilante.
Though it was his pious custom not to leave a
port on Sunday, he yet set sail the next morn-
ing, " because his men murmured, saying that,
when they were to seek their bread, they needed
not so strictly observe days."

Stopping once more at Guadaloupc, the ad-
miral remained there more than a week, in
order to procure a supply of provisions and
wood and water. Meanwhile, a party of forty
men was sent out to explore the island. Dur-
ing their ramble, they were attacked by a band
of women, armed with bows and arrows, and
decorated with feathers. They were tall and
well-shaped, and so strong and swift that ten of
them were captured with difficulty. One of
these was a cacique's wife, who might have
escaped with ease ; " but, seeing her pursuer
alone, she thought to take him, and, grappling
him, she threw him to the ground, and would
have choked his life out had not others hurried
to his assistance." When, being at length ready
to depart, Columbus ordered these women to be
set free again, the cacique's wife refused to go.
She had fallen in love with the captive Caonabo,
and could not be persuaded to leave him.

Sailing from Guadaloupe on the 20th of April,
the admiral slowly pursued his voyage, either
with light winds or against contrary ones. Week
after week passed over, and still no land was
seen. Provisions again fell short, and starva-
tion stared the wretched mariners in the face.
To make the little food they had left last as
long as possible, some were for throwing the
Indians into the sea. " This they would have
done," writes the son of Columbus, >' had not
the admiral used all his authority to prevent it,
declaring that the captives were human beings,
and ought not to be treated worse than the rest.
The next morning," continues the pious nar-
rator, " it pleased God to reward him with the
sight of land," and, on the 11th of June, after a
wearisome voyage of three months, anchor was
cast in the beautiful Bay of Cadiz.

Learning that the court was at Burgos, Co-
lumbus immediately set out thither, bearing
with him, as presents for the king and queen,
many curious plants and fruits, and a great store
of heavy girdles, chains, and coronets of gold.

From Ferdinand and Isabella the admiral
received a kind and pleasant welcome. The
treasures he laid before them at once proved the

godey's magazine and lady's book.

nl.-ity Of the charge made against him, that lie
hud represented the newly-found lands to he
much richer than they really were. It was not
hard for him, after that, to show that most of
the other charges were quite as unworthy of
belief. Of those that remained, some he denied
boldly. Frankly confessing to the truth of
others, he rendered them harmless by his expla-
nations of them. Thus disproving, denying,
and explaining, he soon drove his slanderers
from the open field, and seemingly won back
again the full confidence of his sovereigns.

CHAPTER XIII.

Columbus proposes a third voyage— It is delayed for
nearly two vears — His departure — Discovery of La
Trinidad.

Being always ready to hope the best, Colum-
bus took good heart from the kindness with
which he had been welcomed back to Spain, and
told the king and queen that he was willing to
set out on a new and greater voyage of discovery.
All that he wanted was six ships, well manned
and provisioned. As promises are cheap, their
majesties of Spain very willingly gave their
word that he should have the vessels he wanted.
They forgot, however, that they had already
laid out to do many things which it would drain
their treasury dry to go on with. Consequently
many months went by before they could find
money to fit out the new fleet they had pro-
mised to furnish.

In the mean time, the admiral's enemies,
though once beaten, were not at all idle. They
were still able to do him injury ; for at their
head was the cold-hearted and malignant Fon-
seca, Bishop of Bajadoz, who hated Columbus
with no common hatred. Having charge over
the affairs of the Indies, and being in favor with
Ferdinand, who had always regarded the admiral
with a jealous eye, he was enabled to throw
many things in the way of the great discoverer,
who was so much worried by them that he was
more than once on the point of giving up the
enterprise forever. But, reflecting that this was
what his enemies wanted him to do, he did not
quit his design ; and at length, on the 30th of
May, 1498, he found himself in command of a
fleet of six vessels, ready to set sail again for
the New World.

I think it but just to say that Columbus had
some favor shown him in the new arrangement
which was now made by him with the sove-
reigns of Spain. So far, his expeditions had

been a loss to the treasury of the kingdom. As
he had engaged to pay an eighth part of the
expenses, money was, of course, due from him
to the crown. From this debt he was now set
free, however, while, for the next three years,
he was to have an eighth part of the whole pro-
ceeds, together with a tenth of the clear profits.
Departing from the Bay of Saint Lucar de
Barrameda, Columbus steered a south-west
course, intending to follow it until the equator
was reached, when he designed sailing straight
to the westward. Reaching the Island of Ferro
on the 21st of June, he thence dispatched three
of his ships, laden with provisions and colonists,
to Hayti. With the remainder he sailed on to
the Cape de Verde Islands. Fogo, one of the
most westerly of these, and " the last country
of Christians," was lost to sight in the evening
of July the 7th.

Holding his south-west course, Columbus at
length arrived within five degrees of the equa-
tor. Here, for the period of eight days, there
was scarcely a breath of air. So fierce was the
heat that Columbus was almost led to believe
the old stories about the torrid zone being a
region of continual fire, where no one could
live. The men would not go under deck, for
fear of being suffocated with the heat. The
wine and water casks bursted, and the wheat
and other provisions were scorched as if by fire.
"Had not God miraculously relieved them with
rain and fog" — so writes the admiral's son —
" they would have been burned to death with
their ships."

Favored at length with a cool breeze, Colum-
bus, altering his course a little to the north-
west, sailed onward prosperously for seventeen
days. Out of thanks to God for his deliverance,
he determined to call the first land he might
discover La Trinidad, or the Trinity, in honor
of the three divine persons of the Creator.

Suddenly, about noon, on the last day of
July, the tops of three mountains were seen
dimly at a great distance to the westward.
Sailing nearer, Columbus was no less surprised
than pleased to find that these mountains were
joined together at the base. It was therefore
with a feeling as if God had accepted his vow
of thanksgiving, that the great discoverer con-
ferred upon the newly-found island the fitting
name of La Trinidad — three in one.

Sailing along the green and beautiful shores
of La Trinidad, the admiral at length came to
anchor at a point which he called " La Galcra.',
or " the Galley," " because of a rock that lay
near, and, at a distance, looked like a galley
under sail."

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

347

CHAPTER XIV.

Columbus discovers the continent of South America —
He imagines himself to be in the neighborhood of the
Garden of Eden — His return to Hayti.

Leaving Point La Galcra on the morning of
Wednesday, the 1st of August, Columbus sailed
westward along the southern coast of La Trini-
dad. He saw no good harbor, but noticed that
the country was " very pleasant, with trees
down to the edge of the sea, and an abundance
of towns." A swift current was likewise ob-
served bearing the ships towards the setting sun.
That same day, too, land was seen far, very far
to the southward. It was the main land of
South America, being that part of Venezuela
which is watered by the numerous mouths of the
Orinoco River. Having once mistaken an isl-
and for a continent, Columbus now mistook a
continent for an island, and gave to South Ame-
rica the name of Isla Santa, or Holy Island.

The next day, the fleet came to anchor near
the westernmost point of La Trinidad, and just
within the southern entrance to the Gulf of
Paria. Here the swift currents of the sea ran
continually to the northward. While the ves-
sels were still anchored, a stronger stream of
water than usual came rushing in, lifting up
huge waves that, roaring and tumbling fright-
fully, seemed to dash their foam against the
sky. All the sailors gave themselves up for
lost. But, happily, the ships rode lightly over
the first billows, and then the sea began to grow
smooth again.

Considering the danger he was in at this place,
Columbus made all haste to get. away. On the
fifth of August, he anchored near the southern
shore of the peninsula of Paria. Here a boat's
crew was sent on land, and for the first time
the firm earth of South America was pressed by
the feet of Christian men.

Nine more days were spent by the admiral in
exploring the shores of the Gulf of Paria. Dur-
ing that time, he had many peaceful meetings
with the natives, who appeared to be more in-
telligent and industrious than any Indians he
had as yet seen. They were rich, too, in the
possession of golden ornaments and strings of
rare pearls, large quantities of which Columbus
procured from them. Their country and their
climate seemed the most delightful of any in the
world. The air was soft and balmy, and the
unclouded sun shone down upon tall forests
and verdant hills that, threaded with silvery
streams, swept back from the coast as far as the
eye could reach. Here and there over the quiet
landscape little villages of the yet happy owners

of so lovely a country rested peacefully under
the shadow of the olden trees.

Before leaving this beautiful region, Colum-
bus came to certain conclusions, the mention of
which will show how quick he was at times to
find out the truth, and how, on other occasions,
his warm and excitable fancy led him into
strange, but still ingeniously supported errors.

Seeing the constant northward flow of the
current I have already alluded to, and finding
that the waters of it were fresher than those of
the open sea, the admiral rightly concluded that
it came from some mighty river that rolled into
the ocean somewhere further to the south. That
river, as we now know, was the Orinoco, a
stream fifteen hundred miles in length. So vast
a flood could not come from an island. There-
fore, Columbus next concluded that he had been
wrong in taking for an island what was, in
truth, that continent which he had so long and
so untiringly sought for.

After having thus simply reasoned himself
into believing the pleasing truth that he had at
last discovered a continent, the admiral, aided
by his wonderfully rich and ingenious fancy,
began to build up a singular and most curious
theory. On the opposite shore of the Atlantic,
in Africa, he had found the country parched
with the heat of the sun. Where he now was
the verdure seemed as fresh and bright as that
of spring in Spain ; and, though still hot, the
beams of the sun were not distressingly so. In
Africa, the natives were black as ebony, with
short, woolly hair ; while those of the country
he now delightedly explored were even fairer-
complexioned than the Haytiens, and their hair
hung down in smooth and flowing locks. How
to account for this difference in the appearance,
climate, and inhabitants of regions lying in the
same latitude, was the task Columbus now set
about performing.

In the first place, then, he came to the co
elusion that the world, after all, was not round,
but shaped like a pear, on the tapered or small
end of which he had now arrived, directly be-
neath the sun. This was the highest point on
the globe, and therefore, though the sun shone
immediately down upon it, it was still blessed
with a temperate climate. For, as was as well
known to the admiral as to ourselves, the far-
ther one goes into high regions the cooler it
becomes.

Giving loose wings to his fancy, Columbus
next supposed that on the peak of this pear-
shaped world the deserted gardens of Paradise —
the first home of man — might still be found.
The mighty current upon which his ships now

513

godey's magazine and lady's book,

floated calne, he was pleased to think, from the
fountain of life that bubbled forth beneath the
shadow of the tree whose fruit our first parents
had been forbidden to eat.

At length, entertaining these delightful delu-
sions, Columbus, on the 14th of August, once
more set sail, steering his course for the Island
of Hayti. As he passed out the northern en-
trance of the Gulf of Paria, he saw many small
islands, between which the sea rushed with a
great noise and foaming, as if over rocks and
shoals. While voyaging among these dangerous
currents, the wind failed him, and more than
once he gave up his fleet for lost. But, finally
sweeping out into the open sea, he commemo-
rated the perils he had escaped by naming this
entrance to the Gulf of Paria " La Boca del
Drago," or " The Mouth of the Dragon."

After leaving this dangerous strait, Columbus
continued his explorations some distance to the
westward, discovering many islands of extreme

beauty. Among these was one which he called
Margarita, which name it still bears.

The admiral, though very sure that the coast,
now southward of him was that of a continent,
would have voyaged along it still further, had
not a disease attacked his eyes and almost
blinded him. His observations of the land he
passed by could not, of course, be satisfactory,
and he was also anxious to learn the fate of his
brother and of those under his charge. There-
fore, he made all sail, and at length reached the
shores of Hayti almost sightless, and worn well-
nigh to a skeleton by the trials and troubles he
had undergone.

While in Spain, the admiral had sent orders
to his brother to break up the settlement at
Isabella, and lay the foundation of a new town
on the River Ozema, which enters the sea from
the southern side of the island. Here he was
happy to find Bartholomew busily engaged id
building up the infant city of San Domingo.
(To be continued.)

AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF A PHYSICIAN.

BY A SON OF HAHNEMANN

" Ah, pleasures are like poppies shed —
You touch the flower, the bloom has fled :
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point its place ;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form,
Evanishing amid the storm ;
Or like the snow-flake in the river,
One moment seen, then gone forever." — Burns.

Love at first sight was once a marvel to our
unsusceptible forefathers; but we, their suc-
cessors in this spiritual age, love even before
that period — we love upon first hearing. But, as
I am neither metaphysician nor theologian, I do
not propose to entertain the reader with a dis-
course upon the nature of this phenomenon, but
simply, like Othello, to " run through my ad-
ventures."

Of Kate I had heard a longtime before

my eyes rested upon the beautiful girl, or angel,
as she then appeared to me. The description of
her personal appearance, manners, and charac-
ter interested me exceedingly; and, for a reason
I was unable to assign, the most minute trifle I
had heard concerning her never left my me-
mory. Yet this escaped my observation at the
time, and might have done so forever, had not
an event then taken place which overwhelmed
me with sorrow. She whom I had hoped soon

to claim at the marriage altar sickened, and
finally passed to the bridal of death. I knew
that she would die, and yet, paradoxical as it
may seem, I believed it not until the moment of
her dissolution. When her eyes closed for the
last time, I felt that the light of my life was
extinguished. From the morning bright with
hope my soul passed to the rayless gloom of
midnight. A sorrow such as few can ever
know pervaded my whole being, and my soul
seemed left without oar or canvas upon the
dark river which divides the spheres of exist-
ence. I was powerless to move towards the
eternal shore from which the beacon shone, or
to return to this land of lights and shadows;
and in this darkness for hours, weeks, and days
my barge of life drifted.

As I now look back upon the days and nights
that succeeded the burial of my heart's idol, the
chaos and darkness which envelop them make
their memory indistinct. So oppressive was my
deep and overpowering grief that, though I
lived and moved, I felt myself no part of the
joyous creation around me. Men looked at mo
and wondered at the sorrow which they could
not understand ; for mine was not a nature like
their own. A warmer sun had shone upon wr

AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF A PHYSICIAN.

349

infancy, and the fiery blood of the south fevered
in my veins, and rushed to my brain like molten
lava.

" The cold in clime are cold in blood,

Their love can scarce deserve the name;
Eut mine was like the lava flood
In Etna's boiling breast of llame."

I could not stay where all reminded me so
bitterly of the dead — of the hopes that were
buried forever. With characteristic impetuosity,
I resolved that distance and change of scene
should be my auxiliaries in banishing the grief
which so wildly distracted me. I bade adieu to
the young and beautiful city I had called home,
when Hope and Love were the angels of my
footsteps. The iron horse bore me rapidly from
its shady environs, and I looked not back to see
what death had made a desolation. I embarked
for the Crescent city upon the bosom of the
great " Father of Waters," and wended my way
to the " sunny South." Sometimes, for an
instant, I became insensible of the gloomy, bit-
ter current of my thoughts, as I looked upon the
placid volume of that magnificent river, and
again inhaled the fragrance of the orange groves
and breathed the tropical air 1 had so loved in
my boyhood. «^

Arrived at length in t£e Lone Star State, I
found myself the same sad, restless, and deso-
late being who had left the shore of the Wabash.
But the darkest night has a dawn, and the star
of promise arose in my horizon. It was the
memory of her to whom I at first alluded.
Gradually, she became the guardian angel of my
hopes, and I felt the tempest of my soul abate.
I grew calm. I could now think of the present,
past, and future rationally. The spirit of the
dead seemed to be blended with her in some
unaccountable manner ; perhaps because the one
had gone to the unknown land, and the other
was unknown and distant from me. Every
detail I had ever heard of her came distinctly
before me, and I dwelt upon her memory with
inexpressible pleasure. As she ever)' day occu-
pied more and more of my thoughts, the desire
to see her became irresistible, and I left Austin
within ten days after my arrival there, and
returned to Indiana. I located in the village
where my unknown inamorata resided, and
within one hundred miles of the place I had so
recently left, as I thought, to return no more.
Here, with a contentment that I feared had fled
me forever, I resumed the duties of my profes-
sion. For some time, I saw nothing of Kale;
but it was very pleasant to know that I was
near her, that both breathed the same atmo-
sphere, and to think we should meet in due

VOL. XLIX. — 30

time, and she would become my temporal bride,
as she was already my spiritual bride.

One evening, while passing her father's resi-
dence, I beheld her seated at the window. She
raised her large blue eyes, and for an instant
they met my own. None told me it was her,
but I knew it by the unmistakable thrill which
passed through every nerve in my system. I
hesitated, stepped a little back, and the word
"wife" trembled upon my lips as I proceeded'
with my companion ; but the vision of the
beautiful girl at the window was the beginning
and end of my meditations for many, many sub-
sequent days. After this period, I had the
pleasure of meeting the fair girl occasionally in
her promenades and at church ; fair, I say, for
she was fairer even than my fancy had pic-
tured. She was not above the medium height,
wore her soft brown hair put back smoothly
from her broad pure forehead, and the contour
of her face and figure was beautifully rounded
by health and happiness. Her features were
regular and classical ; she had one of those
mouths whose varying expression was true to
every thought which arose to her lips for utter-
ance. Her eyes " Golconda's purest gems out-
shone ;" but 1 can no more describe them than
I could the spirit which looked forth from their
depths.

In the mean time, I had formed an acquaint-
ance with several members of her father's family,
and secured, as I trusted, their confidence and
esteem. I was called to attend a married sister
during her last and fatal illness, which extended,
my acquaintance with the family, and increased
also the respect and interest with which I had
hitherto regarded them. How deeply I sympa-
thized with my beautiful Kate in this bereave-
ment ! although I had never yet spoken to her.
nor had any tokens of recognition been ex-
changed. That sorrow should overshadow one
so sacredly enshrined in the sanctuary of my
heart, wounded me deeply, and I would gladly
have suffered in her stead. But a spectacle so
afflictive in itself would have saddened a more
indifferent and unsympathizing beholder.. Death
everywhere is fearful ; but when the messenger
takes the fond mother from the little cherub band
that God has given her, and from the wedded
lover, it is — oh, it is bitter! I had stood beside
scores when the spirit left the form inanimate,
but seldom had I been so moved. The weeping
group of loved ones had encircled the couch,
watching for the fatal moment when those eyes
should be closed and the litis sealed, to open on
earth no more. The farewells had been spoken ;
but a little girl, whose life numbered only a few

350

godey's magazine and lady's book.

bright summers, clung with convulsive sobs to
the dying, with the touching inquiry upon her
lips : " Oh, mamma ! mamma ! who will take
bare of the baby if you die ?" The faith of the
young mother was unfaltering, and never shall
1 forget the look and tone, or the lesson of trust
she taught as she answered : " God will take
care of the babe, and of you all." That faith
was her passport to Heaven. No cloud passed
over the face of the saint as her breath became
less and less perceptible, and she passed to the
unknown world/

In due time, the solemnities of the funeral
were over, and the days of mourning grew less
afflictive, being alleviated by Time, the great
soother of all sorrows. My introduction, nomi-
nally, to the heroine of my little sketch, trans-
pired at the residence of a mutual friend. How
great was my desire to hear the tones of that
voice whose memory yet thrills my heart! It
is related of Orpheus that his voice had the
power of arresting rivers in their courses, and
that wild beasts gathered around him in silent
admiration, attracted by his wonderful min-
strelsy. Though none- of those unusual tributes
were tendered to the melodious tones of my fair
one, yet no syllable escaped those beautiful lips
which found not an echo in my own heart ; ah !
and was treasured there as remembered music.

But to the meeting. Never shall I forget the
embarrassment with which I first entered her
presence. I cannot recall the ceremony of in-
troduction distinctly, but the daguerreotype of
her as she looked in her mourning dress was
before me for weeks, sleeping or waking. As
she was seated there, it seemed to me that I
must call her by the endearing names by which
I had known her who had gone to the spirit
laud ; and, though I looked and looked again, I
could not convince myself that the spirit of my
loved and lost one had not come back to me in
another guise. When she departed, I escorted
her to her father's residence, and we parted at
the door of the mansion. Such, reader, was our
first meeting and our first parting. Truly,
thought I, as I turned homeward, the morning
star has arisen to presage the day of which I
have so long dreamed. It was a fine balmy
evening in early spring, and the full moon
flooded the village with her silvery light. How
beautiful the landscape looked as I now recall
it '. The still bosom of the river reflected the
trees upon its opposite bank, and the moon and
stars were mirrored upon its tide. A soft, fairy
light was in my own heart, and the brilliant
stars of hope gemmed the sky of my future. My
whole being was in unison with the scene

around me. I vms happy. The sun has a
meridian altitude ; the moon climbs to the
zenith and wanes ; every light but the one that
shines from the eternal shore culminates and
disappears. Yes, every one.

From this period I saw my paragon much
more frequently, as I called at her residence
sometimes socially, and sometimes profession-
ally. Not a few of my long, cold, muddy rides
in the country were cheered by the prospect of
meeting her on my return, in my attendance
upon the family. At that time, I thought that
the practice of medicine had a, thousand charm-
ing little episodes, after all. One day, whether
inspired by my good or evil genius, I know not,
I conceived the project of inviting my fair one
to accept a seat in my carriage for an excursion
to the country. The first birds of spring were
already singing in the branches, and the breezes
that swayed the willows were no longer chilly,
but genial and refreshing. I had taken the pre-
caution to send an invitation to one of her lady
friends to accompany us, which was accepted ;
but with what anxiety did I await an answer to
my message addressed to her. At last it came ;
the very affirmation I had so much desired. I
was in attendance at the earliest moment I had
named ; for the ride, and. that ride only, was in
my thoughts all the morning. Our road lay
through a fine section of country, the ladies
were in good spirits, and the weather favorable,
and all betokened a pleasant adventure.

At first, the conversation seemed embarrassed,
and the pauses were long ; but this state of
things was transient, for Kate — my Kate — soon
commenced an animated discourse, full of non-
sense and "small talk," of flirtations, lovers,
&c. &c., assuming, at the same time, that non-
chalant air which said so plainly that she
placed me on a par with her " dear five hundred
friends" and cousins. Occasionally, she was
reinforced by the other lady, who seemed in-
tensely interested in these subjects ; and, during
the whole time we were together, they scarcely
ceased. Reader, were you ever listening to a
serenade and absorbed in the soft melody borne
upon the night wind, when the barking of doga
and cackling of hens suddenly saluted your ears ?
If so, you can have some conception at least of
my feelings on that occasion. I attempted a
few compliments, but met a repulse. " Love is
blind," truly, truly.

I felt that the spell was weakening : but I
could not, would not endure the thought. I felt
that she was— that she must be min<\ and that I
must hear it confirmed from her own lips. Uow
insupportable was the thought that " a change

AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF A PHYSICIAN.

351

must come o'er the spirit of my dream !" Yet
distrust had already left her breath upon the
mirror where my hopes had so long been re-
flected without a cloud. My heart was like an
April day, an alternation of clouds and sun-
shine. Towards evening, my steps turned un-
consciously towards the white cottage which
inclosed the subject of my thoughts. I entered,
determined to dispel at least a part of the uncer-
tainty that had become so painful. Kate entered
the parlor with a smile peculiarly her own. It
was a sweet, sunny smile, like that with which
angels welcome us to a brighter clime. Never
had I seen her look so lovely as at that moment.
Her elegant mourning dress contrasted finely
with her pure white complexion and the chang-
ing rose upon her cheek. I was embarrassed by
the consciousness that she could never conde-
scend to regard with respect and affection one
whose excessive love for her had deprived him
of self-possession and dignity, and I almost
despised myself that I was unable to appear as
well in her presence as in that of those whose
pleasure or displeasure was the same to me.
We entered into conversation, however, and the
time passed " in social converse sweet." She
remarked that she had a previous engagement
to attend a lecture that evening ; and, before I
had withdrawn, the favored gallant entered. In
him I recognized not an old and hated rival;
not the young lawyer over the way, whose first
speech was the wonder of the village ; not a
cadet from West Point ; not even a village beau;
but — shall I tell ? — a young man from the coun-
try, whom I had seen ejected from my hotel for
his drunkenness and boisterous conduct !

"Was I jealous ? No, indeed ! I would have
disdained, scorned such a rival. I was thunder-
struck ! I spoke of the inclemency of the wea-
ther— for it was raining slightly — and even
requested her not to go by a note, doubting
whether she could have made such an engage-
ment in her right frame of mind. She decided
to go, however, and I bade her a hurried good-
night. She followed me into the hall, apolo-
gized somewhat, and smiled one of her own
sweet smiles, and — and the bandage went down
over Love's cijcs again, and she was my paragon
of perfection, as before. Yes, I certainly was
insane, for any rational man would have bade
her adieu forever. The tumult of my feelings,
which succeeded this event, may better be im-
agined than described.

That day had passed painfully, and the night
I cannot describe ; " it wore away somehow."
No sleep visited my pillow, but fever nerved up

my system ; and it was at an early hour on the
following morning that I called at her residence.
The suspense that threatened so painful a termi-
nation had aroused me to desperation, and I
determined to risk all upon a single die. I
wrould hear my fate from her own lips. The
timidity with which I had hitherto approached
her vanished, and I freely unbosomed the love
that had been so long pent up in the inner tem-
ple of my heart. I offered her a wealth of
affection she will never comprehend, my hand, my
name, and fortune. And what think you, gentle
reader, was the denouement of all this little
romance 1 What ? Why, she hesitated a little,
and was slightly embarrassed ; but told me I
had been quite too hasty in the matter — my
haste had disgusted her. She might perhaps
change, if I would treat her more distantly, and
then she should have no hesitancy in apprising
me of the fact.

******

They tell us the setting of the sun is like the
setting of a great hope ; but mine had no twi-
light, and I felt bewildered by the darkness that
surrounded me, as one who passes from the
brilliantly lighted hall to the starless midnight.
I need not tell of the days and nights that fol-
lowed, or say that I suffered. I had thought,
when my heart's idol was buried, that the bit-
terest dreg in life's cup had been drained ; but I
had yet to learn how much the human heart
can bear — yet to learn that my cup was not
filled. But of this I will not speak, as none
will understand me whom experience has not
taught, and these will scarcely like a review so
bitter. %

Time passed ; an unusual round of duties
among the sick and dying served, in some mea-
sure, to divert me from thought or reflection.
Once more I grew calm, and once more felt my
blood flow tranquilly through my veins. The
dream is passed. But, clear reader, one item yet
remains. It is mysterious, unaccountably mys-
terious ; but she has summoned me to her side
again ; again she smiles upon me as in the days
of which I have told you. But does not wisdom
counsel me to steel my heart with the memory
of the past, and say with the poet —

" Who that feels what love is here,
All its falsehood, all its pain,
Would, for e'en Elysian's sphere,
Risk the fatal dream again]

" Who that, 'mid the desert's heat,
Sees the waters fade away,
Would not rather die than meet
Streams again as false as they 1"

THE LADY DOCTOR

CHAPTER I.

" Fred, have you heard that my old school-
fellow, Lucy Manners, is in town ?"

"Yes, and I've heard something else; she
intends to set up as a physician — a female doc-
tor ! What an insane idea !"

" Insane ! I do not think so at all. I think
that woman is best qualified as a physician for
her own sex, and as for you men, you can phy-
sic yourselves."

" Many thanks to you for your kind allow-
ance ; by and by we poor fellows shall have no
liberty at all."

"But really now, talking seriously, what do
you think of woman as a physician?"

"What do I think? / think it is all hum-
bug."

" Well, let me read you an article I saw seve-
ral months ago in ' Godey's Book ;' " and Mrs.
Hanton got up and fetched the book.

"Now let 's hear; I '11 be bound it 's some
nonsense or other."

"Judge after I have read it. It is headed:
' Woman the true Physician.' I will just read
one or two paragraphs : —

" ' Woman is well qualified by nature to be the
sweetener of the joys, and the assuager of the
sorrows of our race. The soft hand of a, com-
panion, a wife, a sister, or a daughter can more
effectually adjust the pillow, administer the cor-
dial, wipe off the cold dew of death, and close
the extinguished eye than any other human
being. In the chamber of sickness and distress,
she is more persevering in her efforts, more true
in her love to the last, and less easily disheart-
ened than the other sex. For these things she
is proverbial in the hour of trial. She never
gives up till the last ray of hope vanishes.

" * Now, this property of her nature, which ren-
ders her the best of nurses, with proper instruc-
tion, equally qualifies her to be the best of physi-
cians. All know, and every candid man must
acknowledge, that a great portion of that reserve
on the part of a female patient must be taken
away, when the inquirer or attending physician
is one of her own sex. Especially docs every
practising physician who has known the difficulty
with which the symptoms of disease are elicited
from a delicate, suffering female patient, undcr-
S52

stand the truth, nature, and philosophy of this
declaration. Then, as to the condition of chil-
dren, woman can better understand their symp-
toms and the condition of their health than a
man can. In civilized life, who would expect a
woman to use the sword, the plough, the axe, as
dexterously as a man ? Equally absurd is it to
expect a man to understand all that is indicated
by the cries and sobs, the laughs and scowls, and
the various symptoms of disease in the child.
The woman is ever with them, the man seldom.
Nothing, however, is to be inferred from this
statement to prove that a man physician cannot,
by much more study than would be required by a
woman, bring himself to know something about
the diseases of children. But it is meant to be
implied that women have much advantage over
men in coming to the knowledge of the diseases
of children. We wish to be understood that we
advocate no partial medical education, but a
thorough one, in all branches pertaining to the
medical profession.'

"Now, what do you think of that?"
" I suppose it was some old woman that wrote
it."

" It was not a woman at all ; it was Dr. Cor-
nell, a ' Professor of Physiology and Medical
Jurisprudence.' "

"I wonder at any man writing such things."
"Well, it's time to retire; but I hope that,
before the year is over, you will see proof of
the truth of Dr. Cornell's declaration."

CHAPTER II.

Little did Clara Hanton know that, she was
to be the first who proved the doctor's declara-
tion. Frederick Hanton was the lawyer of the
town in which he lived. With an extensive
practice, an estate left him by his father, winning
manners, and, above all, an agreeable exterior,
he was for some time a mark for all the young
ladies in the town. But Fred Hanton, in look-
ing out for a wife, saw none so fit to be his part-
ner as Clara Justin. She was not pretty, but
there was a grace about her which charmed all
who knew her. Two years before the opening
of our story, Fred had led Clara to the hymeneal
altar.

THE LADY DOCTOR.

353

The da}r after the conversation related in the
preceding chapter took place, Clara had a visit
from Lucy Manners, or "Miss Doctor Man-
ners."

" Oh, Lucy, how glad I am to see you ! How
are you?"

" I am quite well," said Lucy ; " how long it
is since I saw you !"

" Yes, indeed. I have not heard of you since
we left school. Where have you been?"

"Oh!" said Lucy, "I have been studying at
the medical college."

"Have you?" said Clara, laughing; "and
how did the young men treat you?"

" Very politely, I assure you. But it is really
a shameful thing that there is no Female Medi-
cal College, where we could go without being
insulted."

"It is, indeed; but Fred and I were talking
about you only last night."

"Of me.r

" Yes., of you, and female practitioners in
general ; and I can tell you Fred bears them no
good-will."

" I am sorry to hear that ; but it is such a new
idea, that people will pay no attention to it until
they see its utility, and they will soon see that."

" I hope they will. Come, take off your bon-
net and stay to tea."

Lucy consented, and the two friends spent a
very happy afternoon. At tea, Fred was intro-
duced to Miss Manners, and she was so intel-
ligent in her conversation that he was quite
charmed with her. After tea she left, to attend
a patient at the other end of the town. After
she was gone, Fred expressed his admiration of
her in no measured terms.

"Rut," said he, "what a pity that she is so
infatuated. She is good as a woman, if not a
physician."

A few days after this, in returning from a
soiree, Clara caught cold. Notwithstanding this,
she went out for a drive the next day, and whilst
returning, a storm of rain came on, and before
she reached home she was wet through. That
night a burning fever set in, and Clara was roll-
ing and tossing on a sick couch. She begged
Fred to send for Lucy, but he would not do so.
Dr. Garrett was called in. He was a middle-
aged man, and Was celebrated for his medical
skill; but he was exceedingly rough, and did not
know how to draw replies from his patients
kindly and in an agreeable manner. From the
extent of his practice, he was obliged to devote
only a small time to each patient, and though
he attended Clara, and prescribed for her, he
had no time to regulate the temperature of the

30*

room, to give directions how, and what was the
best way to administer medicine. Poor Clara
was always in a fever of anxiety whenever he
entered the room, and as quietness and com-
posedncss were most necessary, his actual pre-
sence seldom did her any good. On' account of
the high excitement under whifh she labored,
the least thing was sufficient to increase her
fever. She grew worse, and two nights after-
wards was delirious. Fred always attended her,
stayed wholly away from his business, and was
by her bedside day and night. Every want, as
he thought, was anticipated ; but he was much
mistaken. The gentle hand of a woman was
wanting ; the hand to adjust the pillow, adminis-
ter the medicines as tenderly as possible ; there
was wanting the noiseless step and breathless
silence. No ! man was not made for the sick
room ! It is woman's sphere, and there she has
a right to be. Who that ho,s been ill, ■ and
attended by a gentle sister, a confiding mother,
an attentive wife, or even a good nurse, has not
felt easier in her presence than in that of a
father, a brother, a husband, or a doctor?

CHAPTER III.

Frequently had CHra begged her husband
to send for Lucy Manners, and place her wholly
under the female doctor's directions.

" No, no !" Frederick Hanton would say ; " if
you were to die under her treatment, I should
never forgive myself."

But when he saw " his Clara" getting worse ;
when he noticed the delirious gleam of her eye,
the burning cheek, he thought he was going to
lose her.

" This doctor seems to do her no good," said
he to himself, "and Lucy can do her no harm,
now that she is out of the reach of human aid.
I '11 send for Lucy."

Well was it for him that he did so immedi-
ately, for soon it would have been too late.

When Lucy came, he put everything into her
hands, telling her to do whatever she thought
proper. The first thing she did was to dismiss the
officious sick-nurse that Dr. Garrett had recom-
mended Fred to procure. She then had Mrs.
Hanton removed on a settee to another room,
which had been warmed for the purpose, so ten-
derly and quietly, that she did not wake even.
In the mean time, the bed was changed and the
apartment well aired ; for, on entering, Lucy had
been almost suffocated by the closeness and heat.
This she knew was aot the thing for a feverish

354

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

patient. When the room was heated mode-
rately, Mrs. Hanton was again removed; and
Fred was delighted at the slight change for the
r which even this salutary precaution had
uccd. Alter doing this and other little
things which Dr. Garrett would have thought
infinitely below him, Lucy prescribed a cooling
medicine, and took her departure. She left Clara
in a deep sleep, and charged Frederick not to
allow her to be awakened, as her life depended
on it. She promised to return in an hour, but
she had another patient to visit. While she was
away, Dr. Garrett called, and as Mr. Hanton had
told the servants to allow no one to enter, he
was- refused admittance. Fred heard the alter-
cation in the hall, and immediately went down
to explain.

" You impudent scoundrel," said the doctor to
the footman, " how dare you refuse me admit-
tance? I'll—"

But here Mr. Hanton appeared on the scene,
and the doctor, turning to him in some excite-
ment, said —

" I must request you to dismiss this cur. He
had the impertinence to say he had your orders
for not allowing me to enter."

" It was by my order, Dr. Garrett; my wife's
now attended by Miss Lucy Manners, who has
recently arrived in town, and who has given
directions that on no account is Mrs. Hanton to
be disturbed."

" Give your wife to the care of a female doc-
tor ! — a quack ! — a cheat !"

" Dr. Garrett," said Frederick, unable to re-
strain himself, " I will not hear my wife's friend
insulted in my presence, or in my house. John,
(turning to the footman), show this gentleman
the door." And he turned on his heel and
went up to his wife's chamber, fearful lest the
noise had awakened her. Happily, she was still
sleeping.

When she awoke, Clara was so much better
that Fred's hopes revived, and he prayed that
she might recover. Thanks to Lucy, she did

recover.

********

Clara was now able to come down stairs and
sit in the easy-chair by the fire. One night Lucy
Manners, Clara, and her husband were sitting
cosily by the fire after tea. Fred looked lov-
ingly on his wife, raised as it were from the
grave, and thoughts of thankfulness to God for
sending Lucy Manners to the town arose. The
same subject had come up with which we began
our tale.

" Do you think now that the female doctors
are humbugs?" said Clara.

" No, indeed ; I shall do all I can to further
their good efforts*, and the only way to do that is
to employ them. I have paid dearly for my infi-
delity, and never more will Fred Hanton forget
who, by God's help, restored his wife to him;"
and he leaned over and kissed Clara.

" Fred, for shame. Don't you see how Lucy 's
laughing at you?" said she, trying to look very
demure and unlaughable.

"Oh ! Mr. Hanton, I beg you not to regard
my presence as a balk to your enjoyment."

Fred, on this leave, stole another kiss.

CHAPTER IV.

About a year after Clara Hanton's illness, an
event occurred which shook the little town of

T ville to its very centre. For some days

Dr. Garrett's house had been in a state of great
uproar. Carpenters, glaziers, and painters, up-
holsterers, and what not, had been seen going to
the rich bachelor's house; indeed, there were
some ready to affirm that they had seen a mil-
liner slyly entering by the back door. These
proceedings astonished the natives exceedingly,
and still more were they astonished at hearing
that the bachelor-like, staid, prime-looking Dr.
Garrett had actually gone to the only jeweller
in the place, and purchased a necklace of pearls
and other jewelry.

" Wal, I declar, if that ain't signs o' the times,
I doesn't know what is," said Mrs. Peabody to
Mrs. Crinkle, who had just told her the above.

" It do look queerish-like, but I think he 's
going to be married."

But people talked and talked, all to no pur-
pose ; until one day the following appeared in
the public paper : —

" Married, on Tuesday, the 18th, Dr. Garrett
of this town, to Miss Dr. Lucy Manners, who
has been practising here with great success."

Editor's Remarks. — " It has been whispered,
we know not with what degree of truth, that the
cause of the doctor's marriage is that the doc-
toress has of late increased her practice so, the
doctor found himself entirely eclipsed. We may
now venture to say that we have the best corps
of doctors in the State, and can boast of what
no other town possesses; namely, its doctors
united."

A few da3'S after the marriage, the December
number of " Godey" came in. Dr. and Mrs.
Garrett were spending the evening at Mr. Dan-
ton's when it arrived, and in looking over it

DO YOU REMEMBER, MARY/

355

closely, Clara discovered the following para-
graph :—

" Female Medical Education is steadily pro-
gressing in our land. Two regular Medical
Colleges for women, viz., one at Boston and one
at Philadelphia, are now in session, and several
male colleges receive female students in separate
classes. We do not know the exact number of
these students ; probably about one hundred in
all are now in attendance on medical lectures,
with the intention of becoming physicians of
their own sex and children. Who will not wish
them God speed ?"

" I will," interrupted Dr. Garrett, " I will, with
all mjr heart, especially if all the students are as
sweet as Lucy;'3 and then he added, musingly,
" I wonder it" they wear caps and gowns."

THE MUSIC OF FOOTSTEPS.

Say, dreamer of the pensive brow,

Pause 'midst thy thoughts to-day;
There 's music in the Little foot

Of thy young child at play.
It seems to mock thy sober peace

With its echoing tone of joy;
Forgotten is thy vaunted lore

'Mid the sports of thy guileless boy.

A loving circle gathers round

The old familiar hearth ;
There are bright eyes and gentle words,

And tones of gleesome mirth.
Yet oft they listen for a sound,

The dearest of them all ;
There 's music on the threshold stone,

A father's footsteps fall.

Within the darkly curtained room

The pale and stricken lies,
Shut out. from nature's lovely things,

And all her harmonies ;
But there is music in the place,

There 's comfort round that bed ;
The sick one loves to watch the form

That comes with muffled tread.

The music of a martial song

May lofty thoughts inspire,
And Light the brave and ardent breast

With patriotic fire ;
But when the slow and measured tread

Of well-armed men is nigh,
There 'a desp'rate courage in the soul

To conquer or to die.

And when, in the long evening hours,

I sit and muse alone,
Lost in a dream too dear to break,

A rev'rie all my own,
Most honored is the sacred place,

Prouder than lighted hall :
Oh ! there is untold music where

Celestial footsteps fall.

DO YOU REMEMBER, MARY?

C Y VIRGINIA F . TO W NSENU.

On ! brave is burning, Mary,

Our driftwood fire to-..
And round your sweet face, Mary,
Flow waves of ruddy light.
I hear the gliding of the sleet

Adowfi our cottage pane,
And winter weaves its bridal sheet

About the earth again.
My hand is on your curls of brown —

And while the hills grow white,
My thoughts life's waves wind calmly down
To reach that fairer night.

Do you remember, Mary,

(It is two years ago,
For twice our sickles, Mary,
Have laid the harvest lew,)
When I walked slowly down the lane,

And you were by my side?
Ah, dearest, I can see again

The shadows drifting wide :
The shadows of the manle-troes,
The calm sky looking tlmmgh ;
And I can hear the faint, faint breeze
Come up the meadows too.

Do you remember, Mary,

What words I spoke the while 1
The stars were watching, Mary,
With such a pleasant smile.
And while those words I tried to speak,

My arm your waist around,
I thought your tears were all too sweet

To fall upon the ground.
At last you lifted up your eyes,
And laid your hand in mine,
And softer than the night- wind sighs,
You murmured, " It is thine!"

Do you remember, Mary,

Beside what green, green grave,
On that late evening, Mary,
Our plighted troth we gave ?
You told me of the white, white hair,
That crowned your mother's head :
Alas ! she could not turn her there

To hear the words we said.
The moonlight on the tangled grass

All cold and white did lie,
While seemed with silver loops to pass
The clouds across the sky.

Our God hath blessed us, Mary;

His peace is on our hearth :
Is there a brighter, Mary,
In all the wide, wide earth?
The wind goes mutt'ring down the pane,

And moaning past the door ;
But you are by my side again,

As in that night of yore ;
And we have raised our altar here,
And while the storm gains might,
With hearts whose " love casts out all fear,"
We shall lie down to-night.

356

S U M M E R .

BY CIIAHLES E . C A 1) Y .

As o'er some melancholy lyre
Stray the fond fingers of the thrummer,

Thrill thy sweet melodies, O Summer!
Along my heart's wild chords of fire.

And thou art vanishing- away
Like some sweet memory of old,

So sweet it never seemed of clay,

So bright with an ethereal ray

That scarce its lingering decay
Can prove the heart 'tis growing cold.
O Summer, pause ! and tell this heart so true,
Thou whose fresh altars its first incense knew,
Thou in whose heaven youth's first wild fancies grew,
Thou whose sad path regrets of manhood strew,
That on its love thou smilest, and sigh'st to say " adieu."

Spirit of happiness,

Spirit of light,
Sweet in thy tenderness, love is thy might.
From the far regions that never knew night,
Regions wierd, solemn, that lie out of sight

Of our eyes,

In the skies — ■
Gay as the morning of deathless delight,
Throned on the white-plumed and sunlighted clouds,
Sailing the seas where the star-army crowds —
Thou, in thy glory, didst dazzle our vision,
Coming in pride from the kingdom Elysian.
Bright was the bridal at which thou wast wed,
Though the wild blossoms which circled thy head,
From the wide chambers, where slumbered the dead,
Came to bedeck thee, when first thou wast wed —
Smiling and happy when first thou wast wed.

Spirit of power,

Spirit of death,
Hushed on thy bosom 'a the hurricane's breath.
From the wild west, with its ebony arms,
Where, by the lightnings, the deep {hinder warms.
Bear'st thou in terror the spirit of storms.
Over the mountains, so lofty and cold,
Where, while the sun in. his mantle is stoled,
Morning and evening forever have rolled,"
Watching him counting his miserly gold;
Over the meadows, and over the deep,
Where the wild fairies their monarchy keep,
Where the storm-petrels with gloomy wing sweep,
Thou the dusk hordes of the tempest hast led,
Thou the dark pestilent vapor hast led,
Blasting the living, and blighting the dead;
Yet to my heart, in the depth of its fear,
Summer, thy clouds and thy tempests are dear.

Spirit of sorrow,
Spirit of woe,
Stern to thy duty, yet decently slow,
Down to the grave of sweet Spring let us go,
Tears on thy cheek, and step carefully low.
Mournful the streams in their loneliness flow.
Tearful the eyes of the roses that bloom —
Dewy and still in the pride of that bloom-
Weary, poor orphans, in weeping the doom
Of a mother, the only, the best they may know.
Summer ! be chary, and sprinkle the bed
With blossoms, that pillows the brows of the dead.

Summer! be happy, hut gaze from the skies

Oft, where thy srster in solitude lies ;

Where the sweet sleeper, with languishing eyes,

Blue as the heaven when the storm legion dies,

Wrapt in the shroud of her loveliness lies.

Come when the slumber of silence supreme

Teaches the mountain and meadow to dream —

Come when the carols of morning are still,

Evening beshro^ding th6 sentinel hill:

Here, when the hopes of thy bosom are yroung,

Healthfully sad in the dirge that is sung;

Here, when the locks of thy spirit are gray,

Watch the slow shadows that herald the day;

Brood in thy vigils, thy vigils of love,

Over the grave of that sleeper above ;

All the few days, from thy birth'to thy wane,

Smile with the flow 'ret, and weep with the rain.

THE FALLING LEAVES OF AUTUMN.

EV E. S. W.

The dying dolphin's changing shades
Alike each leaflet now invades ;
Those varying colors, so divine,
In lovely tints expiring shine ;
That foliage, once so green and gay,
Is whirling with each wind away :
We saw it bud, and bloom, and wane —
Anon, 'twas scattered o'er the pane.

How changed the scene ! How lovely then !
How blighted now its hopes ! But when,
Ah, when shall vernal suns again
In beauty clothe that desert plain?
Will e'er its flowers in fair array
Bespeak a coming brighter day?
Their sweets again perfume the air,
With petals blooming no less fair ?

Yes, winter's storms will pass away,
And summer's sun, with smiling ray,
Those branches bare and desolate
With life will soon reanimate—
Their tints of green and gold display,
The harbinger of smiling May:
They '11 bud and bloom, again renewed,
By God's own hand with life endued.

SONNET. — PROVIDENCE.

B V W M . ALEXANDER.

Great Fount of Intellect, ALMIGHTY God!

Thy wondrous wisdom writ is on the sky ;
Earth's velvet carpet which our feet have trod,

Is painted, too, with thy embroidery.
Thy goodness sparkles in the silver rill ;

Thy smile is seen in Sol's refulgent ray;
The wintry tempests but thy word fulfil,

To bring to man a still more healthful day.
Benevolence is seen on every hand,

Since various pleasures thou dost still bestow;
With plenty crown'st thou our most happy land,

And mak'st the corn into our granaries flow.
We praise thee for thy treasure in reserve,
Which, by thy grace, may we at last deserve.

TO THE RIO BRASSOS.

357

MY BLIGHTED ROSE-EUD.

BY MARY N E A L .

I had a little rose-bud

That grew upon my breast,
The loveliest one the winds of heaven

E'er wantonly caressed.
Its roots struck deep, and softly twined

Their fibres round my heart,
So close that of my very life

It seemed to form a part.

Oh ! how I loved my rose-bud,

And watched as, day by day,
Her opening beauties burst to view,

Nor thought they could decay !
And yet, sometimes the fear would come

That she was all too dear,
And caused too much of happiness

To linger with me here.

Thus, grew my gentle rose-bud,

And flourished sweetly there,
Shielded on my maternal breast

From every blighting air :
I deemed not that she there could feel

Dark Winter's chilling breath,
Nor that there could ever reach her

The icy shaft of Death.

But soon, alas ! my rose-bud

Slowly began to fade —
Yet still I thought the canker-worm

Of sickness could be stayed.
Oh ! how I 'd list to catch each word

Her cherished lips might speak !
How c'nsely watch each fitful glow

Of fever on her cheek !

But God hath claimed my rose-bud,

And all my anxious care,
A mother's yearning tenderness,

A mother's fervent prayer,
Could bind her here no longer,

E'en my love's enduring chain —
Yet it soothes my heart to know in Heaven

It will be linked again.

But though my bud has withered

My love for her 's as deep
As when upon my breast she lay

In healthy, tranquil sleep;
For though my little darling boys

My warm affections share,
" I ne'er can to another give

The love I gave to her."

And now, though I am lonely,

And for my lost one sigh,
I would not that she had not lived,

E en though she had to die.*
For her sweet memory i3 a stream

To life's parched desert given ;
Her love, a bright and golden chain

That binds my soul to Heaven.

I feel it when I sorrow most

'T13 better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all." — Tennyson.

Ah ! none may know how deeply

Sank the wound within my breast,
When that sweet bud was torn away

Which so long I had caressed.
My heart is lone without her smiles,

Her prat tie, 'and her play,
Her murmured love in breathings soft

As on my breast she lay.

Her gentle, winning tenderness,

That every bosom moved —
Her love for all, e'en for the flowera —

Her love of being loved ;
For ever still when near her

We forgot each care and pain ;
But our light of love 's extinguished,

Ne'er on earth to bloom again.

And yet, perhaps, 'twere better thus

Than she had lived to twine
A wreath of cypress round her brow —

Her heart left lone, like mine !
Yes, love ! thou wert too sensitive

To bear earth's cankering woes ;
There rest thee, darling ! rest thee,

In thy haven of repose !

And when the spring-time cometh

I will deck thy little bed
With such sweet flowers as last spring-time

For thee their fragrance shed.
And as they bloom above thy tomb,

Beneath thou 'It sweetly sleep,
While the dews that wet the violet

Will for its playmate weep.

TO THE RIO BRASSOS.

As I gaze on thy course, thou quiet, lone river,
Still pouring thy floods on the pirate's dark wave,

I think on the stream that is urging me ever
Onward to the long quiet sleep of the grave.

I think of the years that are gone, and forever,
With time's restless tide, to oblivion's shore;

Of ties and affections which fate bade me sever,
Of parents and kindred who meet me no more.

I think of the follies that marked my career
In life's blooming morn, when from virtue I strayed;

Of a mother, whose voice I shall nevermore hear,
To soothe my lone bosom in sorrow's dull shade.

I think of the friends in my youth I have known,
Of the scenes of my childhood, to memory dear ;

With the waning of years, they have faded and gone,
And the wanderer's gaze is dimmed by a tear.

I think of the bright path that once lay before me,
Ambition's high promise, that pointed to fame ;

And wildly the maniac thought rushes o'er me,
That years may but add to my grief or my blame.

Then flow on, thou cold stream, to thy destiny's bourne,
Drift onward thy waves to oblivion's sea;

Whilst I weep— for a few fleeting years may have worn
From the mem'ry of all, the 'ist vestige of me.

The Stranger.

MUSLINS AND EMBROIDERIES.

We give more than our usual variety in this j consists of sleeves, pelerine, chemisette, and

department the present month, and particularly ! basque, united in one. The material is white

commend to our young lady friends the first j Swiss rnuslin, puffed ; the puffs divided by bands

article on our list. j of insertion. On the sleeves each puff has a fall

Fig. 1 is a muslin jacket intended for full dress, > of embroidered muslin flouncing, corresponding

to be worn with a low, short-sleeved corsa°re. It ! to the double flounce which falls over the

Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

358

FLORAL HEADDRESSES.

;59

shoulders and also forms the basque. A bow of
pink; blue, or straw-colored ribbon fastens each
puff of the sleeves, and the point of the pelerine.
These jackets, of several different styles, arc
very much worn at present for evening dress.

Fig. 2 is an embroidered chemisette and
sleeves, ornamented by flat bows of satin ribbon.
This will show what is meant by a " set"' of lace
or muslin, the sleeves and chemisette coming
together in one box. " A set" of lace or cm-
broidery is now considered a very appropriate
birthday or holiday present.

Fig. 3. Embroidered buff vest for a riding-
habit, a close and elegant shape.

Fig. 4.

it M{

a ^~

:^s/>

-J

Fig. 4. A light dress cap of Maltese lace and
gauze ribbon, the lappets of ribbon being placed
quite at the back instead of the side, as formerly.

FLORAL HEADDRESSES.

(See Cuts on page 296.)

One of the favorite amusements of infancy
(observes Lachaume, in his elegant treatise on
the "Art of Composing Crowns, Garlands, and
Bouquets*') is to plait wreaths with the wild
flowers of the woods and fields: the admiring
lover expresses his passion by the homage or a
bouquet: and the young belle naively abandons
to her favorite the flowers which decked her
brow, or withered on her bosom.

Crowns and garlands may be traced to the
most remote antiquity. Among the Greeks and
Romans, the crown was the ordinary headdress
of the great philosophers. Socrates had always
his head encircled with flowers. AlcibiadeS
changed his crown three times a day. At eighty
j ears Anacreon mixed roses with his while hairs.
Caesar, who was bald at thirty years, was indebted

for a long time to the crown of flowers to conceal
this defect from the beauties of Rome. At
Athens, as at Rome, no one could present him-
self in public without his crown.

At the present day there is an evident incli-
nation to return to the better customs of Greece
and Rome, and no fashionable lady can present
herself respectably at a ball or an evening party
without having a Rose or a Camellia in her
breast. But to render floral horticulture directly
realizable, we shall proceed to three descriptions
of headdress which have been in fashion at
different periods, and which will afford charming
illustrations of the floriculture of the toilet.

1. Headdress or Fruit. {Coiffure a la
Pomone.) — The crown is large, formed of fruits
and leaves of the most select sorts. The top of
the corset is also furnished with a garland formed
in a similar manner. This style of ornament
has many resources, which are much ignored by
artistes. The pretty red berries of Ardisia cre-
nulata have a fine effect, resembling bunches of
coral beads, and which may be obtained during
the whole winter in our stoves. The short-
fruited spikes of Chamserops humilis are equally
desirable, and may be as readily obtained. Many
of the Common Thorn, or Crataegus, also furnish
abundant resources. The white berries of the
Mistletoe (Viscum album), with their leathery
leaves, which do not soon fade, are excellent for
this purpose, as well as the pearly berries of
Rhipsalis. Besides many varieties of natural
fruits, imitations in glass, especially small
bunches of grapes, are very effective.

2. Headdress of Flo wees. (Coiffure a la
Flore.) — This headdress is worn with the hair
arranged in graceful wavy locks, the back being
tied in a bunch, merely with a. narrow band, and
the ends floating down. The crown of flowers
does not in this case form a diadem, but is tied
in a knot behind, and at the lowest part of the
head, from which point it gradually enlarges till
it reaches the front, or the point immediately
above the brow. This form of crown is composed
of high-colored flowers, as the Rose, Narcissus,
Hyacinth, Camellia, Carnation, and sometimes
an Orchid, and it is bordered with Ericas and
distichous Cypress, terminating in leaves, with
the more slender or fine parts of branches of
flowers which take an upright, and, at the same
time, a nodding form. The ancient car :
and the string of pearls round tlie neck", harmo-
nize admirably with this headdress, which, in-
vented more than a thousand years, is not the
less handsome and in keeping with good taste.
The figure; (2) represents this form of headdress
taken from the Flore de Canove.

360

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

3. Headdress or Cereals. {Coiffure d la
l ' s.) — This kind of headdress displays a grace-
ful simplicity j but is the best suited for those
ladies who have well-proportioned heads. It is
best funned of the small flowers, of Hoses, or
Camellias, mixed with violets, pinks, &c.

. Irica, or any very light foliage, is indis-
pensable. Nothing can be more graceful or
appropriate than one or two spikes of Hordeum
Zeocriton, H. hexastichon, Triticum monococ-
cu:;i. and other ornamental grains. They are
used dry for this purpose, and decorated by
means of gum with gold or silver in leaf.
Ladies make elegant bouquets of these cereals,
which last throughout the winter. Cereals for
headdresses should be sown in spring, and the
golden-yellow spikes, when matured, have a
charming effect among the flowrers which have
been already named. In winter the forced flow-
ers of Pyrus japonica, as well as the Coelestina,
will be found to be very serviceable.

BEAD AND BUGLE WORK.

The patterns we are now about to give,
although exceedingly useful, will require very
little explanation, for they are worked chiefly
by the eye; and any one with ordinary taste will
find no difficulty in doing these, and in designing
innumerable others for trimmings of all kinds,
when once they have received a few hints as to
the method of proceeding.

Bugles of various sizes, but chiefly the short-
est, and the one-third inch bugle, grain, and
small cut beads ; sewing silk ; net, or crape, or
ribbon, or velvet; one of our bead needles, and
a fine steel needle (No. 10), comprise all the
materials needed for making narrow trimmings
for dresses, bonnets, collars, sleeves, &c.

When working upon net, our bead-needle
may be used, as it will pass through the meshes
without difficulty: but patterns on any other
fabric must be worked with a fine straw or sew-
ing needle, threaded with double silk of the same
color as the bugles. Each bugle requires a stit< h
to itself, and should, when threaded on the silk,
be laid down in its place before the needle is

passed through the fabric ; otherwise the work
runs the risk of being puckered, or else the

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stitches are left too long, and show themselves.
Where two or three beads come together, they
may be strung at once, and held in place by one
stitch; but they, too, should be laid down and
arranged before being fastened.

The needle is to be threaded with double silk
and knotted. It should then be fastened on the
wrong side, and brought through to the right.
In the pattern that we have given, a bead, a one-

third inch bugle, and then a second bead, is
threaded, pushed down, and laid in its place,
when the needle is passed through the fabric to
the wrong side, brought back again close to one
side of the bottom of the bugle, and a quarter-
inch bugle and a bead is threaded on it. After-
wards place it where it must form the pattern :
the needle must be passed back through the
fabric, and then brought out again on the other

When the trimming is to be made on velvet,
or ribbon, or galloon, the material to be worked
must be bought of the requisite width ; when it
is intended to be worked upon crape, or net, or
muslin, an even fold of three thicknesses of the
fabric must be made, the right way of the stuff,
and in its length, and tacked to keep it in place.
This manipulation requires care. Crape or
muslin should be cut by the thread, and net by
the mesh; the folding, too, must be perfectly
even, for any difference in the width of various
\M'.iii will spoil the look of the whole.

side of the central bugle, and a second quarter-
inch bugle and ahead threaded and fixed in their
places in like maimer. The needle should then
be looped through one of the stitches at the back,
in order to fasten off, and render each sprig or
separate bit independently firm, and then passed
on to the near star or sprig. The eye must be
our guide; for it is endless work to trace pat-
terns for narrow trimmings. Much care is re-

CHILD S SOCKS AND STOCKINGS.

161

quisite, as the work must neither be tightened
nor left loose ; the one would give it a puckered

appearance, the other allow the bugles to droop
and catch in everything, and show the stitches.
In crape or net work it does not do to slip the
silk from one leaf, or star, or sprig, to the next,
as it shows through, and thus gives a slovenly,
unsightly appearance to the whole, and mars the
clearness of the design.
After a little practice, it will often be found

•asier and lighter to work upon the dress itself,
and by stretching it on a frame, the front breadth
may be very handsomely embroidered in elabo-
rate patterns. Then, however, it will be requi-
site to prepare the fabric, if silk, cashmere, or
velvet, by tracing the design on it in the same
way as we should for braiding.

The stamped velvet, which is so frequently
u&ed for trimming dresses, &c, forms an excel-
lent foundation for bugles and beads ; most
effective patterns may be made by working these
into the interstices of the velvet.

Gimps, too, may be similarly ornamented with
good effect, by a slight exercise of taste.

CHILD'S SOCKS AND STOCKINGS.

A fine open-worked Stocking of a middle size.

Explanations. — k, knit; t, take two together;
a, take three together ; o, bring forward.

No. 2.

Commence either for a stocking or sock, in
the same manner as the one given last month,
and begin the pattern when there are 151 on the
pins : the following pattern will be found to form
a pretty open border before the pattern of the
stocking.

1st round. — Knit 20 from the seam, *, o, t, k,
16; repeat from * until within 4 of the seam;
knit them plainly.
Vol. xlix.— 31

2d.— Knit 18, *, t, o, k, 1, o, t, k, 13; repeat
from * until 6 from the seam.

3d.— Knit 17, *3 t, o, k, 3, o, t, k, 11; repeat
from * until 7 from the seam.

4th. — Knit 16, *, t, o, k, 5, o, t, k, 9 ; repeat
from * until 8 from the seam.

5th.— Knit 15, *, t, o, k, 7, o, t, k, 7 ; repeat
from * until 9 from the seam.

6th.— Knit 17, *, o, t, k, 3, t, o, k, 11 ; repeat
from * until 7 from the seam.

7th.— Knit 18, *, o, t, k, 1, t, o, k, 13 ; repeat
from * until 6 from the seam.

8th. — Knit 19, *, o, a, o, k, 15 ; repeat from *
until 5 from the seam.

9th.— Knit 17, *, t, o, k, 3, o, t, k, 11 ; repeat
from * until 7 from the seam.

KM.— Knit 16, *, t, o, k, 5, o, t, k, 9 ; repeat
from * until 8 from the seam.

11th.— Knit 15, *, t, o, k, 7, o, t, k, 7; repeat
from * until 9 from the seam.

12th.— Knit 14, *, t, o, k, 9, o, t, k, 5; repeat
from * until 10 from the seam.

13^.— Knit 16, *, o, t, k, 5, t, o, 9; repeat
from * until 8 from the seam.

14^.— Knit 17, *, o, t, k, 3, t, o, k, 11 ; repeat
from * until 7 from the seam.

loth. — Knit 18, *, o, t, k, 1, t, o, k, 13 ; repeat
from * until 6 from the seam.

16th. — Knit 19, *, o, a, o, k, 15; repeat from

* until 5 from the seam.

17th. — Knit 17, *, t, o, k, 3, o, t, k, 11 ; repeat
from * until 7 from the seam.

18th. — Knit 16, *, t, o, k, 5, o, t, k, 9 ; repeat
from * until 8 from the seam.

19th. — Knit 15, *, t, o, k, 7, o, t, k, 7; repeat
from * until 9 from the seam.

20th. — Knit 14, *, t, o, k, 9, o, t, k, 5 ; repeat
from * until 10 from the seam.

2 1st.— Knit 13, *, t, o, k, 11, o, t, k, 3 ; repeat
from * until 1 1 from the seam.

22d.— Knit 15, *, o, t, k, 7, t,«o, k, 7; repeat
from * until 9 from the seam.

23d.— Knit 16, *, o, t, k, 5, t, o, k, 9; repeat
from * until 8 from the seam.

24//*.— Knit 17, *, o, t, k, 3, t, o, k, 11 ; repeat
from * until 7 from the seam.

25//i.— Knit 18, *, o, t, k, 1, t, o, k, 13 ; repeat
from * until 6 from the scam.

26th. — Knit 19, *, o, a, o, k, 15 ; repeat from

* until 5 from the seam.

Knit four plain rounds and commence the fol-
lowing pattern : —

1st round. — Knit 8, * from the scam, o, -t, o, t,
o, t, k, 3, o, t, o, t, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat from * 7
times more, then o, t, o, t, o, t, k, 8.

2d. — Plain knitting excepting the scam.
I 3d.— Knit 8, *, o, t, o, t, o, t, k, 1, t, o, t, o,

362

godey's magazine and lady's book

t, o, k, 3 ; repeat from * and finish as in the first
round.

Ath. — Same as second.

5th. — Knit 8, *, o, t, o, t, o, t, t, o, t, o, t, o,
k, 4 ; repeat from * and finish as before.

6th. — Same as second.

7th. — Knit 8, *, o, t, o, t, o, t, k, 2, o, t, o, t,

0, t, k, 2 ; repeat from * and finish as before.
8th. — Same as second.

Repeat these 8 rounds 16 times more, and
divide the stitches for the heel as before ; work
the heel, and take up the stitches for the foot;
knit the foot in the same pattern as the leg, until
there are 17 patterns from the commencement
of the foot ; knit 16 plain rounds, and decrease
for the toe as before.

No. 3.

Commence as before, and knit for the pattern
round the top as follows : —

1st round. — Knit 15, *, from the seam, o, t, k,
8; repeat from * until 5 from the seam; knit
them plainly.

2d— Knit 13, *, t, o, k, 1, o, t, k, 5; repeat
from * until 7 from the seam.

3d— Knit 12, *, t, o, k, 3, o, t, k, 3 ; repeat
from * until 8 from the seam.

Ath. — Knit 11, *, t, o, k, 5, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat
from * until 9 from the seam.

5th. — Knit 10, t, *. o, k, 7, o, a; repeat from
* until 8 from the seam ; in the last pattern t, k,

1, instead of a.

Repeat these 5 rounds twice more ; knit 4 plain
rounds, and commence the following pattern : —

1st round. — Knit 10 from the seam *, o, t, t, o,
k, 1, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat from * until 4 from the
seam.

2d. — Plain knitting, excepting the seam.

3d— Knit 8, *, t, o, k, 1, o, t, t, o, k, 1 ; repeat
from * until 6 from the seam.

Ath. — Same as- second.

5th.— Knit 7, *, t, o, k, 3, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat
from * until 7 from the seam.

6th. — Same as second.

7th. — Knit 6, t, *, o, k, 2, o, t, k, 1, o, a ; repeat,
from * until 6 from the seam, in the last pattern
t, k, 1 ; instead of a.

8th. — Same as second.

9th.— Knit 5, *, t, o, k, 1, t, o, k, 1, o, t ; repeat
from * until 9 from the seam.

10th. — Same as second.

Uth.— Knit 7, *, o, t, t, o, k, 1, t, o, k, 1 ;
repeat from * until 7 from the seam.

12th. — Same as second.

13^.— Knit 8, *, o, t, k, 1, t, o, k, 3; repeat
from * until 6 from the scam.

\Ath. — Same as second.

15th. — Knit 9, *, o, a, o, k, 2, o, t, k, 1 ; repeat
from * until 5 from the seam.

16th. — Same as second.

Repeat these 16 rounds 8 times more, and
divide the stitches as before, for the heel; knit
that, and take up the stitches for the foot; knit
the pattern 8 times ; knit 16 plain rounds, and
decrease for the toe as before.

BRIDAL GLOVE-BOX.

Materials. — A card-board frame, four ivory feet, white
satin, silk wadding-cord, ribbon, and fringe ; and for the
embroidery ombre lilac, pink and green silks, white ditto,
a small quantity of three shades of orange, small bugle
pearls, a little white embroidery chenille, gold thread
and bullion.

So many of our correspondents have requested
us to supply them with designs for articles
especially adapted for wedding presents, that we
have taken some pains to gratify them by giving
designs for articles for the toilet-table of a bride.

The first of the scries is a glove-box, beauti-
fully embroidered at the top, with a bouquet of
narcissus, lilacs, and cars of barley. The nar-
cissus is embroidered in white Dacca silk, veined
with the faintest possible green ; the centre of
the flower in orange, with a little scarlet for the
edge of the cup. The pearl-bugles are used for
the barley ears, each one being surrounded with
white chenille, and with the beard represented
by morsels of gold bullion, about one-half an
inch long, at the point of each pearl. The bunch
of lilacs is, as a matter of course, worked in lilac
silk, with a small pearl, surrounded by bullion.
in the centre of each . The veinings of the leaves
are in gold thread and bullion.

The frame of this box is in strong card-board,
with a lining of flannel, both inside and out.
between it and the satin. The seams inside are
covered with white cord; the same material
covers the outer seams and runs along the edge.
The outside of the lid is stuffed to a considerable
thickness with fine wadding, over which the
embroidered satin is placed. The border is of
quilled ribbon, with white fringe round the sides,
headed with a handsome cord.

SHOES FOR LADIES AXD CHILDREN.

!68

SHOES FOE LADIES AND CHILDREN.

DRAWN FROM ARTICLES SELECTED FROM THE ESTABLISHMENT OF E. A. BROOK, 675 BROAD-
WAY, AND 150 FULTON STREET, NEW YORK, EXPRESSLY FOR OUR PAGES.

October requires our friends to look to their
foot-gear; we, therefore, present a very beau-
tiful style of gaiters, intended for full-dress
promenades during the pleasant portions of the
season, and before the dampness or coldness of
the walk renders thicker soles desirable.

These beautiful articles, called Opera Gaiters,
are made of prunella, and the finest quality
of French glazed calfskin. Though apparently
confined with a neat clasp upon the strap, which
is quite a novel fashion for ladies' gaiters, they
really close with a lace. We were shown seve-
ral varieties of these gaiters at Mr. Brook's
fashionable boudoir in Broadway. The pair
above shown was of dove-colored prunella, but
all shades in demand are to be seen. Lacing may
not be, with some, considered so convenient as
when they are simply confined by elastic gores,

in the manner of the gaiter behind the pair just
described. This is a matter of taste, as both are
equally popular.

In the last-named gaiter, it will be perceived
that the heel is not so tapering, nor altogether
so high as that of the other, and is a trifle
larger. This gaiter is adapted for rougher
weather and for the cold ground, the soles being
stouter. We need not remark upon the wisdom
of selecting this, as prudent ladies (and we
trust that our habitual readers are all so) will
not require admonition upon this subject. Alas !
how many that were among the most prize.:
lovely have, by thoughtlessness or vanity, sunk
into a premature grave from that apparently
trifling cause, a thin-soled shoe !

In the next illustration we ha^e a pair of
ladies' pumps, an article as much in favor, and

as rapidly gaining in popularity, as they arc
new in style, and comfortable; combining, in
an eminent degree, utility and beauty.

It will be seen that they are ornamented wifet
a clasp similar to the gaiters above ; but, if pre-
ferred, bows or rosettes may be worn instead.

364

They are heeled, and are constructed of patent
leather: they are for ordinary indoor wear, or
for promenade in agreeable weather.

We would here remark that, considering our-
selves, in some sense, responsible for the effect
of our reports of fashions, we do not give impos-
sible shapes, or idealized patterns in our illustra-
tions. The figures of the several articles of attire
are not compressed into dimensions such as no
human being could wear, and which, if the thing

were possible, would be as far removed from true
beauty of proportion as the artificial malforma-
tions of barbarous nations from the Venus de
Medicis ; but they are given from elegantly pro-
portioned models, fully adapted to the actual
use and comfort of well-formed individuals. No
such things as French fashionable waists, Chi-
nese shoes fit for monstrous deformities only, or
any other barbarism, therefore, will be admitted
within our pages.

DOYLEY

Cotton No. 16. No. 4 Penelope Hook.

1st round. — 13 chain, unite, * 9 chain, Dc
under the circle, repeat from * 7 times more, in
all, 8 loops of chains ; regulate them, and fasten
off. (Each round must be commenced afresh.)

2d. — 5 L under the 9 chain, 1 chain, repeat 7
times more.

3d. — Dc under a 1 chain, 9 chain, Dc under
same, 5 chain, repeat.

■Uh and last round. — Dc under the centre of
the 9 chain, make 52 chain, turn back, 1 L into
8th loop from hook, * 2 chain, 1 L into 3d loop,
repeat from * 14 times more ; then 2 chain, Dc
under the 9 chain where commenced (this forms
vein of leaf), 1 chain, turn round on the finger,
Dc under the opposite 2 chain of the 52 ; 5 chain,
Dc on every L stitch of vein till the last L at

the top, there make 5 chain, Dc into centre loop
of the 7 chain at top, 7 chain, Dc into same loop,
5 chain, Dc on every L stitch till the end ; then
make 5 chain, Dc into the 1 chain, 1 chain, turn
round on the finger; Dc under the first 5 chain,
3 L under every 5 chain, but under the 7 chain
at the top work 11 L ; after the last 3 L at the
termination of leaf, Dc under the 5 chain, and
Dc under the 9 chain where commenced, make
1 chain, turn round on the finger, Dc on the first
Dc stitch previous to the L stitches (a); then
work 15 more Dc on 15 of the L stitches, then
15 L on the L. Then work 18 DbL (or Double
Long) on the L stitches till the 11 at the point,
t then work 2 DbL into every loop of the 11
L, then 18 more DbL, 15 L and 16 Dc down the
side of the leaf, Dc through the 1 chain, and

DESCRIPTION OF MANTILLAS.

865

under the 9 chain where commenced with the
same stitch ; 7 chain, Dc under next 9 chain ;
now repeat at beginning of 4th round until the
letter (a). Then make 9 Dc instead of 15, unite
into 9th loop of outside round of 1st leaf, make
13 chain, Dc into 12th loop of 1st leaf from where
the two leaves were united, turn back, Dc into
each of the 1st two loops of the 13 chain, 2 L, 1
DbL, 2 L, 1 Dc successively in the loops ; then
make 14 chain, Dc into 6th loop of first broad
leaf; then in the 14 chain work 2 Dc, 2 L, 2
DbL, 2 L, 1 Dc successively; now 16 chain, Dc
into next 6th loop of 1st broad leaf; work the
same as last, only making 3 DbL instead of 2.
Now 18 chain, unite into 6th loop of broad leaf;
work the same, only making 4 DbL instead of
3 ; now make 22 chain, unite into 6th loop of
broad leaf; work the same, only making 5 DbL
instead of 4 ; 13 chain, unite into 5th loop from
point of small leaf last made, 2 Dc, 2 L, 2 DbL,

1 L, 1 Dc successively in the loops, 10 chain,
unite into 9th loop from hook, 1 chain, turn
round on the finger, Dc under this circle, and
under the same, work 19 L stitches, after which
Dc under the circle, and Dc into last Dc stitch
of last leaf; make 10 chain, turn back, 2 Dc, 2
L, 2 DbL, 2 Dc, Dc into loop at termination of
East leaf, Dc down the stem to termination of
next leaf on the opposite side ; make 8 chain,
unite into point of last leaf, make 5 more chain,
turn back, work 2 Dc, 2 L, 5 DbL, 2 L, 1 Dc, Dc
into loop where the 8 chain commenced ; Dc
down the stem to the termination of next leaf,
12 chain, turn back, 2 Dc, 2 L, 4 DbL, 2 L, 1
Dc, Dc into loop where commenced, Dc down
the stem to the loop where next leaf was com-
menced ; 10 chain, turn back, 2 Dc, 2 L, 2 DbL,

2 L, 1 Dc, Dc into loop where 10 chain com-
menced, Dc down the stem to the loop where
next leaf was commenced, 9 chain, turn back, 2
Dc, 2 L, 1 DbL, 2 L, 1 Dc, Dc into loop where
9 chain commenced, Dc down the stem to next
leaf, 7 chain, turn back, 2 Dc, 3 L, 1 Dc, Dc
into loop where 7 chain commenced ; Dc down
the stem to the part where the two broad leaves
were joined ; now work 6 Dc more on 6 of the
L stitches cf the 2d broad leaf, then 6 L stitches,
and unite into point of 1st small leaf; now 6
more L stitches, and unite into point of 2d
i mall leaf; now 3 L and 3 DbL, and unite into
point of next small leaf; now 6 more DbL, and
unite into point of next leaf; 6 more DbL, and
unite into point of next leaf (which is the last) ;
now work Dbl, till the 11 L of last round, then
lepeat from f.

31*

NETTING.— COVER FOR THE BACK OF
CHAIR.

(See D<ue Plate in front of Book.)

Materials. — Thread, No. 10 ; knitting cotton, No. 18 :
two flat meshes of the respective widths of one-fourth
and three-fourths of an inch.

Fill the needle with thread, net a foundation
of 70 loops on the small mesh, net 8 rows, net-
ting every loop. 9th row, decrease by netting
two together at beginning and end of row, net 4
rows, then again decrease, 4 rows more again,
decrease, net 6 rows, then decrease, net 6 rows,
decrease, net 12, more rows without decreasing.

Fill the needle with cotton, net 1 in each on
large mesh ; next row, two together on large
mesh ; next row, 2 in 1 on large mesh ; next
row, 2 together on large mesh ; next row, 2 in
each on same mesh. With thread and small
mesh net three rows, which finishes the netting
of the front part. Draw the thread out of foun-
dation row and net 24 rows in this to correspond
with the first 24 rows, and finish with a simi-
lar edge. Work the design as in illustration
with the cotton in darning-stitch. Cut a skein
of cotton into five lengths, take a dozen of these
threads together and loop into every stitch at
the edge ; join the sides of the front and back
together so as to fit upon the back of chair.

DESCRIPTION OF MANTILLAS.

(See Cuts on page 293.)

Fig. 1. The Louise Mantelet. — Among
the mantles for cool weather, to be laid aside
when the cloak openings furnish heavier gar-
ments, the " Louise" will be a decided favorite,
from its simplicity and grace. It is made in
every shade of plain colored silk, fitting the
figure easily, and trimmed with volants ; these
have a narrow chain of rich raised embroidery,
and edged with fringe to correspond in shade.

Fig. 2. The Alice Mantle is intended for
later wear, being in reality a comfortable cloth
cloak, fitted in the style of a vest to the waist,
but having a mantle depending from the shoul-
der-seam. This falls over the arm, making a
double wrap in front. The cloth may be of any
shade; the embroidery plain, but heavy, is in
the same color, making a rich raised pattern.
The heavy twisted fringe may be omitted at
pleasure.

For novelties in cloaks and autumn mantles,
see w Chitchat."

EDITORS' TABLE.

" Goodness is beauty in its best estate." — Marlowe.
" 'Tis only noble to be good."— Tennyson.

This personal goodness, the complement of all the
virtues and acquirements of humanity, should be the
grand aim of life. The object of all true philosophy is
to discover the ways and means by which this aim may
be wrought out in the best manner. Education and ex-
ample train the world; leading Genius to the sweet
fount of Wisdom in early life is the best and surest
means of uniting him with Goodness (or Wisdom, as
Holy Writ expresses it), and thus insuring the perma-
nent progress of humanity. The teachings of wisdom
by example is the province of woman. Men put forth
wise precepts, showing what is good to be done : does
one out of twenty of these follow his own precepts 1 If
we wish to see Christianity illustrated, we must not
look so much to the doctrines and organizations of men
professing to follow Christ, as to the lives, the examples
of Christian women.

In our last number, we gave a beautiful illustration
of this feminine goodness in the life of the late Mrs.
Emily C. Judson. Now we will sketch the career of
one still acting on the world's theatre her glorious part
of philanthropist : we allude to

MRS. CAROLINE CHISHOLM,*

one of the most remarkable women of the age, a native
of Northamptonshire, England. Her maiden name was
Jones ; when about twenty years old, she was married
to Captain Chisholm, of the Madras army, and two
years afterwards went with her husband to India.
Here she soon entered on that noble career of philan-
thropy which has given her a name and praise wherever
the English language is known. Her first efforts were
on behalf of poor, neglected children : " She established
a School of Industry, for the instruction of the soldiers'
female children in reading, writing, needlework, cook-
ing, and generally all domestic management. The girls
were entirely removed from the contaminating influence
of the barracks, and the success of the experiment was
complete, the school still existing on the plan of the
founder. In 1838, the Chisholms removed, for the bene-
fit of Captain Chisholm's health, to Australia ; and
here, again, in the scenes she witnessed in the streets
of Sydney — in the numbers of young girls wandering
friendlessly about, and, of course, soon driven by mere
want into the debauchery of what we believe was one
of the most depraved towns in the world — the practical
oenevolence of Mrs. Chisholm was again roused. After
jombating unnumbered difficulties, she here succeeded
in establishing an Emigrants' Home, and ultimately an
Agency-Office for the procurement of situations. She
then estimated that there were six hundred young wo-
men unprovided for in Sydney. Soon after the opening
of the Home, its founder received in it, from the ships

* This sketch is mainly taken from one we have pre-
pared for the second edition of "Woman's Record,"
revised with additions, now in press, and shortly to be
1'ihiished by the Harpers, New York.
366

in harbor, at one time, sixty-four girls, with a united
capital of 14s. 1 >£d. Twenty-two had no money, seve-
ral twopence, others fourpence. These girls she sent
into the country. The majority are married, and not
one lost her character."

Mrs. Chisholm had strong faith in Providence, and
believed that there must be a fitting place for everybody
in the world. In this faith she labored ; first, she
helped women into situations in Australia, then she
similarly helped men ; next, she fell on the expedient
of bringing wives and families to join husbands who
longed for their society; and lastly, she organized plans
for sending out young women to the colony, with a view
to balance the inequality of the sexes. To execute her
designs in a proper manner, she required to know the
wants and condition of the settlers ; and she set out on
long and painful journeys in a covered spring- van, and
did not desist until she had gathered six hundred bio-
graphies !

The tact, energy, and ready resource of Mrs. Chis-
holm, in these wild and laborious pilgrimages, are
beautiful things to read of. A quick wit and perfect
coolness saved her and her protegees from many a re-
buff, as in the following case : —

On one of her first journeys, she was met by a discon-
tented party of emancipists, shepherds and shearers of
the district, who said, " We believe you are a very good
sort of person, Mrs. Chisholm, and have great respect
for you ; but we cannot allow emigrants here to lower
our wages." Her answer was, " I hear you want
wives; is that truel" The reply was a universal
" Yes." " Then, don't you see, I can't send single girls
into a district where there are only bachelors. Let me
fix a few married families down on the different sta-
tions, and I will send to them decent single lasses that
you can marry."

This settled the question; a government officer, on
the same errand, would have been mobbed.

The consequence of these expeditions was that Mrs.
Chisholm became really the grand agent for labor, male
and female, of the colony. Upon her reports of the
characters of the girls and men she recommended the
most implicit faith was always placed.

" In 1845, Mrs. Chisholm was joined by her husband
from India, and she prepared to return to England.
Five years of earnest and successful endeavor had won-
derfully altered the general opinion respecting her
operations. There was no longer any fault-finding.
Jealousies had been overcome. It was now the fashion
to speak well of plans that were once viewed with
apathy or suspicion. In February, 1846, a public meet-
ing was held at Sydney, for the purpose of taking into
consideration the presenting to Mrs. Chisholm, then on
the eve of her departure for England, a testimonial of
the estimation in which her labors on behalf of the emi-
grant population were viewed by the colonists. Some
idea may be formed of the respect felt for the admirable
lady, and acknowledgment of her public services, when
eight members of the Legislative Council, the mayor of
Sydney, the high sheriff, thirteen magistrates, and many
leading merchants, formed themselves into a committee

editors' table.

867

to carry the wishes of the meeting into effect. The
amount of each subscription was limited." In a short
time, 150 guineas were raised, and presented with a
laudatory address. " Mps. Chisholm accepted the testi-
monial, in order to expend it in further promoting emi-
gration, in restoring wives to husbands, and children to
parents. In the course of her answer, she said : < It ia
my intention, if supported by your co-operation, to at-
tempt more than I have hitherto performed.' She left
Australia, bearing with her the warm prayers of the
working colonists, whose confidence and gratitude, both
bond and free, she had thoroughly secured, charged with
the self-imposed mission of representing in England the
claims of those powerless classes who have neither
honors nor pensions to bestow on their advocates."

In 1846, Mrs. Chisholm returned to England, and
immediately began her work of doing good there. She
formed the plan of sending out " family groups," twelve
persons forming one family, each including several
young women, who would thus have protection till they
could be settled in homes of their own. She was the
chief agent in organizing " The Family Colonization
Loan Society," which is now patronized by the British
Government. The highest dignitaries of the realm
sought counsel of Mrs. Chisholm respecting the best
manner of promoting emigration and securing the im-
provement of the people in that far-off colony. Her
good sense, solid information, and wise philanthropy
gained the confidence of the powerful and the hearts of
the poor. All trust, all honor her. The plans she has
formed are now in active operation, and doing incalcu-
lable good. Caroline Chisholm has undoubtedly done
more to advance the moral improvement of Australia
than was ever done by any person or authority before
her example, and she has immeasurably promoted hu-
man happiness. She began right, aided her own sex,
and her greatest care and sympathy were given to
women, whose well-being is the index of the progress
of humanity. The " Memoirs of Mrs. Chisholm" is a
book worth all the novels of the century in its teachings
of the beauty of virtue, the triumph of goodness.

Rossini and his Wife. — The great composer is now
living at Florence, where he has purchased a very ele-
gant residence for four hundred thousand francs. He
allotted fifty thousand francs to furnish the apartment
of his "poor wife," as he calls her. He married Ma-
demoiselle Olympia Pelissier, whom he surrounds with
every gratification wealth can procure. They mention
an establishment of three men servants and eight wo-
men for Madame who also has three very elegant car-
riages. Rossini himself never rides, but goes every-
where on foot, with an umbrella under his arm. He
passes some time every summer aux eaux de Monte
Caiini — more for his dog, as he says, than for himself.

The Archbishop of Florence, Minucci, an enthusiastio
melomane, is very fond of Rossini, and devotes much
of his time to him. He sings while Rossini accompanies
him on the piano, and gives him instruction on the
management of his voice and the manner of performing
every passage. This interesting pupil has reached the
discreet age of — eighly-seven.

Signs of the Times.— One good omen is the interest
awakening among women of wealth and intelligence
for the better education of their own sex. Girls are
better trained, and there is a desire to aid the movement
both in Europe an I America. Here is the record of a
noble bequest : —

11 Mile. H. de Landerer, who recently died at Berlin,
Prussia, bequeathed all her fortune, to the amount of
$150,000, for the foundation and support of an establish-
ment for aiding and sustaining the poor daughters of
officers in the Prussian army."

Employments for Young Women. — Our drawer
is burdened with letters from young women, seeking an
opportunity for their talents. Some would like to write.
(We are full, and can hardly find room for the choicest
voluntary offerings to the " Book.") Others desire places
as teachers; others again would go into printing-offices,
bookbinderies, become travelling companions, child's
governesses, or any employment by which a girl might
support herself without doing what is called " menial
service." In order to give a clear idea of the kind of
talent thus seeking an opportunity for development and
usefulness, we will here give an extract from a letter
inclosing a poem lately sent us. If any editor wants a
contributor of this efficient character, we will give him
the direction of "Belle Bush." Her poem we shall
publish soon : —

Letter to the Editor. (Extract.)—

" It will be unnecessary to go into details of my his-
tory, or endeavor to elicit your sympathy by a relation
of misfortunes, which are but the common lot. It ia
sufficient to state that I am but a young pilgrim on the
dusty highway of life, to whom fortune has left no lega-
cies except such as are coined in the mint of mind or
the wealth of an earnest heart. But of this I do not
complain, for having faith in the wisdom of Him who
hath ordained all things, I know that He will deny us
nothing we need, if we are willing earnestly to labor.

" From early childhood I have been an ardent worship-
per of the beautiful in Nature, Art, and Science ; and
the love of song hath dwelt with me, a living presence,
giving to life's pleasures a brighter hue, and to my soul
a lofty power to bear its coming ills. This passion has
been for years past the moving spring of all my actions.
From it all my aspirations have arisen, and for it have
I suffered, hoped, and toiled, but not despaired. Too
severely tested has it been by the many sad experiences
which ever attend the pathway of the homeless orphan,
to leave any longer a doubt of its genuineness, or of its
power to sustain. But of my ability to create the beau-
tiful in song, I am not the proper judge. I am like the
needy traveller by the roadside, who sees afar off on an
eminence a beautiful temple, toward which his thoughts
travel fast and make a shining track, but the path to
which is long, and beset with many obstacles ; and the
real speed with which he approaches must be measured
by the ' slow hoof-beats of Time.' It is the Temple of
Labor, not Fame, I seek. On her long-despised altars I
would write one name more, for to be a worker in the
universe of God is sufficient honor for a mortal.

" I assure you I have not chosen this field of labor for
the lightness of the burden it imposes, or the emolument
it brings ; but from a firm conviction that in no other
way can I exert so great an influence for the good, the
true, in which alone is shown the perfection of beauty.
There are many wrongs yet to be righted in the world,
and there can never be one voice too many on the side of
Ti-ulh and Virtue. I am willing to work, if those who
are already in the field will but permit me to enter with
them the arena of strife. >

" Could you aid me in any way, either by retaining
me as a contributor to your publication, or by referring
to other editors, you would confer a great favor upou

168

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK,

one who has ' learned in suffering what she would teach
in song.' "

Culture of Silk.— If this could be once properly
introduced into our country, and encouraged as its
importance demands, it would afford ample and remu-
nerating employment for thousands of women and girls
who are now vainly seeking something to do. We learn
from reliable sources that throughout all Germany the
breeding of silk-worms is attracting attention. The
impression which has hitherto obtained, that silk- worms
will not thrive in a northern temperature, appears to be
erroneous. In the grand Duchy of Baden, the roads and
sides of the railways have been planted with mulberry-
trees, and the breeding of the worms is carried on exten-
sively. Austria is sparing no pains to foster their pro-
duction, the value of which amounted last year to a
million of francs. On the military frontier of Turkey,
a garden of mulberry-trees has been established in every
village, and the military colonists are encouraged to
extend the cultivation. At Paragua, the fosses of the
fortification have been planted with mulberry-trees, and
orders have been given that such trees shall also be
planted by the sides of all the railroads.

Protestant Deaconesses.— If this Bible order could
be restored in all the churches of our land, many a
woman's soul, pining and withering for lack of free air
and the sunshine which good deeds bring to the working
Christian, would arise in strength and beauty, and carry
consolation to the sorrowful, and hope and relief to the
Buffering. To have something to do is an imperative
condition of one's own happiness ; to do something well
is to insure the happiness of others. In Europe, this
order of Deaconesses has been revived. The churches
in Prussia now constitute Deaconesses as an order.
Two young and rich Protestant ladies, of noble families
(Countess de Stolberg and Baroness de Bar), having
determined to devote their lives to attendance on the
eick at the splendid establishment endowed principally
by the king and queen, and called Bethanian Hospital,
have gone through the necessary forms which entitle
them to become deaconesses.

The Female Medical College of Pennsylva-
nia is the star of Hope to many women seeking some
way of usefulness which will give them the means of
support. This college, located in Philadelphia, opens
*>n the 2d of this month, October. There were thirty
ttudents during the last session, and as many more
earnest to enter, who were prevented for lack of means.
Could not the benevolent advance funds to assist such
as are worthy? The call for female physicians comes
to us from almost every State in the Union. Thousands
of women might enter this noble profession with great
advantage to the community, and win an honorable
independence for themselves. Physicians of the south,
of high standing, are soliciting that educated lady doc-
tors may be sent thither. One of these gentlemen, Dr.
J. S. Wilson, of Alabama, has written some excellent
articles on female medical education, and has it in
contemplation to establish a Journal devoted to the
enlightenment of the masses on scientific medicine,
exposing the evils of quackery, and showing the need
that women should be instructed in the laws of health
in order to its preservation. Wo shall refer to this
•ut^bct in our next number.

Hoav to Save Postage. — A letter sent from the
United States to any place in France is invariably
charged with double postage when inclosed in an enve-
lope. The fact should be remembered by those writing
to their friends in that country. In order to save pos-
tage, letters should be written very close on good thin
paper, and directed without an envelope.

Water, Soft and Hard. — A paper was lately read
before the Institute of British Architects, setting forth
that, contrary to the opinion of the London Board of
Health, soft water, instead of hard, is injurious to ani-
mal life. The position is sustained by numerous facts,
showing the low tone of the system, and the glandular
affections induced by the absence of lime, in any form,
in the water, to be as decided as the excessive develop-
ment of the sanguine temperament produced by too great
a proportion of these substances.

THE LITTLE FLOWER GIRL.
BY M . A . RICE.

Chill Autumn winds the leaves were flinging

Upon the frosty earth ;
And the very skies looked chill and solemn

Like visions of coming dearth.

Within my room was seeming darkness ;

There was heaviness on my heart,
And I sought to beguile my dreamy sorrow

With philosophic art.

There was a twitter of leaves beneath my casement

Then a foot-fall at my door ;
When in again came the little maiden,

More radiant than before.

And her smile wore the warm and pure expression

Of a spirit that never grieves ;
And the proffered gift she thought a treasure,

Though but crimson and yellow leaves

She knew not that our tears fall ever

Like the chill autumnal rain,
O'er cherished hopes that fade and wither,

And never come again.

And I told her not that joy was fleeting,

But drew her closer the while ;
Perhaps it might still my own heart's beating

To gaze on that beautiful smile.

Oh, what to us were life's fading flowers,

Its tempests and piercing cold,
If the Jlame of love within burned brightly,

And our hearts were not growing old!

To Correspondents. — The following articles are
accepted : " Song of Life," " Thou canst pray for me,
Theresa," " The Mother's Prayer," " Minnie," " Lint s
to Miss A. A. C.," "Ella's Confession," (Where shall
the book be sent?) " Midnight," " Who is the Happy
Man ?" We have no time to spare for a critical analy-
sis of the articles we decline ; want of room often com-
pels us to return papers which others may be glad to
publish. Of course we do not pay for articles which we
do not want.

The following are declined: "Youth and Age,"
"Acrostic," "Jupiter as a Lover," "July 161
"Enigma," " My Father's Gone," "Fashion Plate,"
"Home," "To my Mother." The sentiments of
last poem are beautiful, but the rhymes are faulty.

LITERAKY NOTICES.

369

Cttcrarg Notices.

Books by Mail. — Now that the postage on printed
matter is so low, we offer our services to procure lor our
subscribers or others any of the books +hat we notice.
Info- nation touching books will be cheerfully given by
inclosing a stamp to pay return postage.

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through
W. P. Hazard, Philadelphia : —

HISTORY OF CUBA ; or, Notes of a Traveller in the
Tropics. Being a Political, Historical, and Statistical
Account of the Island, from its First Discovery to the Pre-
sent Time. By Maturin M. Ballou. Recent discussions
in relation to the future prospects and political destiny
of Cuba have rendered a work of this character highly
important. The author has performed his task with
great ability and impartiality.

From Fowler & Wells, Boston, New York, and

Philadelphia : —
FRUITS AND FARINACEA THE PROPER FOOD

OF MAN : being an attempt to Prove, from History,
Anatomy, Physiology, and Chemistry, that the Original,
Natural, and best Diet of Man is derived from the Vegeta-
ble Kingdom. By John Smith. With notes and illus-
trations, by R. T. Trail, M. D. From the second Lon-
don edition. This volume abounds in facts and argu-
ments, drawn from the highest authorities, and so fully
sustaining the favorite theory of the author as scarcely
to leave a doubt on the mind of the reader in regard to
its beneficial effects on the human constitution. A
single day's abstinence from animal food, at the present
high prices, will furnish a family with the means of
procuring this volume ; and the amount of money and
health they may save thereafter through its agency, we
presume will depend altogether upon their adherence to
its precepts.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through
Parry & M'Millan, Philadelphia : —

SANDWICH ISLAND NOTES. By A. Haole. If
we are to rely upon the statements of this author, we
cannot but come to the conclusion, notwithstanding the
effort which he makes to avoid it, that the influences
of the missionaries have been fatal to the civilization
of the beautiful islands of the Pacific. Some of his
sketches of the moral and social condition of the natives
are horribly disgusting, whilst ecclesiastical and politi-
cal despotism, according to his representation, seem to
have combined to oppress and degrade them into mere
machines and beasts of burden. For their relief, the
author proposes, and warmly advocates their being
annexed to the United States.

TICONDEROGA; or, the Black Eagle. A Romance
of Days not far distant. By G. P. R. James, Esq. The
historical portion of this romance seems to require a
more extended notice than we have at present time to
make; but, like all Mr. James's novels, it is very inte-
resting, and some portions of it very exciting.

HISTORY OF PYRRHUS. By Jacob Abbott. With
engravings. The author does not claim this to be a
true history ; but to know what the story is, whether
true or false, which the ancient narrators recorded, and
which has been read and commented on by every suc-
ceeding generation to the present day, Mr. Abbott con-
siders an essential attainment for every well-informed
man.

From Phillips, Sampson, &. Co., Boston, through C.
G. Henderson &, Co., Philadelphia : —

SUNNY MEMORIES OF FOREIGN LANDS. By
Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of " Uncle Tom's
Cabin," etc. Illustrated from designs by Hammatt
Billings. In two volumes. A portion of this work is
devoted to the speeches made at the public meetings
held in England in compliment to Mrs. Stowe as the
author of " Uncle Tom's Cabin." Apart from her pecu-
liar sentiments on an exciting topic, the author writes
very sensibly and interestingly on the various subjects
that attracted her attention in Great Britain and on the
Continent.

From De Witt &. Davenport, N. Y., through
T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia :—

FLORA LINDSAY ; or, Passages in an Eventful Life.
By Mrs. Moodie, author of " Life in the Clearings," etc.
Mrs. M. is a popular writer. The work before us is one
of her very best, in the estimation of the author's ad-
mirers, and they are numerous throughout the United
States and the adjacent British colonies. Mrs. Moodie
is, in truth, a most entertaining writer, and, as hex
characters are mostly drawn from actual life, there is,
of course, always something practical to be derived
from her portraitures.

FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. By
G. G. Foster, Esq. This will prove a source of amuse-
ment, no doubt, to such as desire an introduction to the'
various scenes that ever-varying New York presents to
the eye of a stranger.

OFF-HAND TAKINGS; or, Crayon Sketches of the
Notable Men of the Age. By George W. Bungay. Em-
bellished with twenty portraits on steel. The portraits
are beautiful specimens of the art of engraving. Some
of the personal sketches, however, are anything but
flattering to the gentlemen represented.

From Evans & Dickerson, New York, through
Parry & McMillan, Philadelphia : —

SCRIPTURAL HISTORIES FOR LITTLE CHIL-
DREN. By the author of " Mamma's Bible Stories."
With sixteen illustrations by John Gilbert.

THE DAY OF A BABY-BOY. By E. Berger. The
illustrations from drawings by John Absolon. These
are handsomely embellished, and altogether very attrac-
tive books for little readers. We have had the pleasure
to witness the interest which these works excited, at
first sight, in the mind of at least one of the class of
readers referred to ; and the attention with which the
" Baby- Boy" was perused, and the delight which the
story evidently afforded the young beginner in literature,
were to us the best evidences that we could require of
its merits. The publishers, while engaged in furnishing
the public with many superb and important works in
the various branches of literature and science, have
done well in carefully providing for the amusemoi.;
instruction of those who are hereafter to become teach-
ers and professors, and the support and glory of the
republic.

From Stringer & Townsend, New York, through
W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia : —

OUR HONEY-MOON, AND OTHER COMICALI-
TIES FROM " PUNCH." With original illustrations
by J. M'Clenan. This is a handsome volume of near
six hundred pages. It furnishes us with selections
from the humorous writings of Hood, Dickens, Thaeka-
rny, Mark Lemon, and Douglass Jen-old. These Mini

370

GODEY^ MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

tions comprise " Our Honey-Moon ;" " Mr. Horace
Fitzjersey's Experience;" "The Physiology of the
Medical Student, and Curiosities of Medical Experi-
ence;" "The London Medical Student, Second Series;"
" The Complete Letter- Writer ;" " Punch's Heathen
Mythology ;" " The Labors of Hercules." These papers
present a fund of wit, humor, and satire which will
not only amuse the reader, but, peradventure, reform
his morals and strengthen his judgment. The work is
illustrated by eight full-page, fine-tinted engravings by
an American artist. It may not be necessary to inform
our readers that the London " Punch," from which the
selections enumerated have been made, is the most
popular work of the kind that has ever been issued.

THE AMERICAN COTTAGE-BUILDER. A Series
of Designs, Plans, and Specifications from $200 to
$20,000, for Homes for the People. By John Bullock,
Architect, Civil Engineer, Mechanician, and Editor of
11 The History and Rudiments of Architecture," " Rudi-
ments of the Art of Building," etc. etc. The readers of
the " Lady's Book" have witnessed for years past the
interest we have taken in fostering a taste for rural
architecture. In truth, we think we may justly claim
to have been the first to give direction to those improve-
ments in cottage buildings which have since become so
generally adopted, and which now beautify so many
favorite river locations, villages, and farms throughout
the entire extent of our country. As to the work before
us, it is altogether worthy of the attention of builders and
architects, and of all such as may propose to engage in
the construction of handsome and convenient rural edi-
fices. The designs presented are numerous, beautifully
engraved, and so fully and artistically explained, that
there need be no disappointment in the complete ar-
rangement of the buildings agreeably to the taste,
requirements, and means of those who are to occupy
them.

From Parry & McMillan (successors to A. Hart,
late Carey & Hart), corner of Fourth and Chestnut
Streets, Philadelphia : —

THE RURAL LIFE OF ENGLAND. By William
Howitt, author of " Visits to Remarkable Places," etc.
etc. From the third London edition, corrected and
revised. In two volumes. This is a philosophical in-
quiry into the past and present of rural life in England.
In the course of the investigation, however, the work
very naturally embraces numerous interesting facts
connected with the political history of the people, their
progress in religion, literature, and commerce; their
relative condition at different periods of time, and under
the lights and shadows of varying influences. The
artistical and classical beauties of the work are, indeed,
unquestionable ; but the conclusions arrived at through
its finished and polished sentences are not always such
as satisfy or convince the judgment as readily as they
may have pleased the ear. The author labors with
great patience and industry to be consistent with him-
self and with modern preferences ; but the truths which
he is compelled to furnish of the former simplicity,
honesty, and happiness of the English masses, will not
always sustain him in his favorable representations,
made per contra, in regard to their present more free,
enlightened, and prosperous condition. And thus, after
all the efforts of the patriotic and ingenious, and really
agreeable author to arrive at what would be a most
gratifying consummation in the history and character
of his countrymen, it is evident to our mind that his
researches are more likely to produce sighs and tears,

in memory of what has been, than heartfelt rejoicings
in gratitude for that which is.

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through
W. P. Hazard, Philadelphia :—

WALDEN; or, Life in the Woods. By Henry D.
Thoreau, author of " A Week on the Concord and Mer-
rimack Rivers." This ought to be a very profound and
excellent book, a character which we think it will pretty
fairly sustain among quiet and thoughtful readers.
When he wrote it, the author says he lived in the woods,
a mile from any neighbor, in a house which he had built
with his own hands, on the shore of Walden Pond, in
Concord, Massachusetts, and earned his living by the
labor of his hands only. He lived there for the space
of two years and two months, and, since his return to
society, has prepared this volume of practical philoso-
phy for the benefit of the world at large. It records his
manner of life in his seclusion, the incidents, charac-
ters, and obstacles he met with, and the interesting
reflections to which they gave birth in a mind disposed
to make the most of every object brought under its
observation.

NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, ETC.

From D. Appleton, New York, through Parry & Mc-
Millan, Philadelphia : " The Chemistry of Common
Life." No. 3. Containing " The Sweets we Extract,"
"The Liquors we Ferment," and "The Narcotics we
Indulge in." Price 25 cents.

From Parry & McMillan, Philadelphia : " Harper's
Gazetteer of the World." Nos. 1 and 2. Price fifty
cents each number. A valuable publication. — "Sir
Jasper Carew, Knt. : His Life and Experiences, with
some account of his Over-reachings and Short-comin?s,
now first given to the World by Himself." By Charles
Lever, author of " The Dodd Family Abroad," etc. No.
1S8 of " Harper's Library of Select Novels." Price 50
cents.

From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : " The Mysteries
of a Convent." By a noted Methodist Preacher. Price
25 cents. — " Woman's Love : a True Story of the Heart."
By Eugene Sue. Price 25 cents. — " A Quarter Race in
Kentucky, and other Tales." Illustrative of Characters
and Incidents in the South and West. With designs by
Darley. Price 50 cents. A very pleasant gossipping
book. — " Russia and England ; their Strength and
Weakness." By John Reynell Morell.

From D. A. Woodworth, New York : " Woodworth's
Youth's Cabinet: an Illustrated Dollar Magazine."
Edited by Francis C. Woodworth. No. 1, for July.

From Garrett & Co., New York, through Lippincott,
Grambo, & Co., Philadelphia : " Kosa Woodville ; or,
the Jailor's Daughter." This is an excellent transla-
tion, by Fayette Robinson, of one of Alexander Du-
mas's best novels. The story is amusing and exciting
throughout, but in no instance deviates from correct
morals.

" The Book of the Toilet."— We are now on our
tenth thousand of this very useful work for the ladies.
The sale of this ladies' indispensable has been very
large. It contains receipts for almost everything that
can interest a lady. Price 50 cents.

" Ladies' Winter Book of Crochet Patterns. m
By Miss Anne T. Wilbur. — We have a few oopiefl of
this work for sale at 25 cents pci copy.

dnbij's Slrm- Cjjnir

Our October number is presented to our readers
without any flourish of trumpets. It does not need it ;
euch plates as " Crossing the Brook" need no illustration
to explain their meaning. Our fashion plate is, as
usual, far more beautiful and truthful than those of our
contemporaries. " We submit the case," as the law-
yers say, '' without argument."

A Point of Honor. — To remit what is due to us for
your subscription to the " Lady's Book." To receive it
without paying for it is not honorable.

Prevalence of Baldness. — From some cause or
other, baldness seems to befall much younger men than
it did thirty or forty years ago. A very observant hatter
informed us, a short time since, that he imagined much
of it was owing to the common use of wearing silk hats,
which, from their impermeability to the air, keep the
head at a much higher temperature than the old beaver
structures which, he also informed us, went out princi-
pally because he had used up all the beavers in the
Hudson's Bay Company's territories. The adoption of
silk hats has, however, given them time, it seems, to
replenish the breed. This fact affords a singular in-
stance of the influence of fashion upon the animals of a
remote continent. It would be more singular still if the
silk-hat theory of baldness has any truth in it, as it
would then turn out that we were sacrificing our own
natural nap, in order that the beaver may recover his.
Without endorsing the speculative opinion of our hat-
ter, we may, we believe, state it as a well ascertained
circumstance, that soldiers in helmeted regiments are
oftener bald than any other of our heroic defenders.

We are happy to inform our male readers that Mr.
Charles Oakford has taken out a patent for a ventilat-
ing hat, to prevent baldness by causing a circulation of
air through the hat. Although this may not do us old
fellows any good as regards the hair, yet it will keep our
heads cool and benefit the hair of the coming generation.

Cape May Boats. — We intended during the season
to say a word of praise of the splendid Thomas Powell
and General McDonald, but unfortunately forgot it;
but a word now may do for next season. The line that
has been running during the past season is the best we
have ever had. The boats are large and commodious,
their commanders obliging, and the meals that one
gets on the trips fully equal hotel fare. The whole ma-
nagement of the line is under the superintendence of
Geo. H. Huddell, Esq., a worthy and efficient manager.
Next season, we shall devote more attention to the sub-
ject of the boats and Cape May.

We call attention to the residence of Mr. Fowler, the
phrenologist publisher, in this number. The shape of
the house is octagonal ; but, for a particular description
of the house, and the gravel wall system, which is a
peculiarity, we recommend the purchase of Mr. Fowler's
work, M A Home for All," published by Fowler & Wells,
of New York. It will richly repay its coat.

Wedding Donations. — There is nothing new in the
remark that fashion tolerates many observances which
prudence and common sense would not hesitate to con-
demn. But, whether old or new, we think it will apply
with peculiar force to the custom, which is becoming
generally adopted, of making presents to parties about
to enter into " the holy bands of matrimony." It is not,
however, of the presents that we feel disposed to com-
plain, for in themselves they are well enough, and if
made with a proper respect for the feelings of others, and
in the true spirit of friendship, will be cherished as per-
petual memorials of the esteem of the donors. It is
rather the mode of presentation that we would condemn,
than the observance of the undoubted right of every one
to dispose of his gifts as he may think most agreeable to
his own views of propriety. Now, the wedding dona-
tions to which we allude are, in many cases, very rich
and costly ; and they are set apart for display, with the
names of the donors attached to them, both before and
after the wedding. In this way a spirit of rivalry is
excited among the friends and acquaintances of the
" happy couple," which leads to extravagant expendi-
tures, oftentimes beyond the honest means of those who,
through vanity, not through friendship, enter into gift-
making competition. Any one, who has taken the trou-
ble to observe how much more likely some are to make
gifts from motives of pride and ostentation than from
those of pure and unselfish charity, can understand the
influences which govern people in such cases. Those
who get up " fairs" and donation parties for ministers,
and sewing-circles, and similar contrivances, under-
stand and use these peculiarities of the human heart,
perhaps justly, and no doubt beneficially. But we do
think that it is carrying the practice too far when it is
introduced at weddings. To our mind, it is establishing
a system of fashionable beggary, which is more worthy
of reprobation than the beggary on our streets, about
which our newspapers so frequently complain. It
deprives the parties who are made the recipients of such
gifts of the liberty of choosing their own intimate asso-
ciates; because those who maybe rich enough to send
valuable presents, with their names and compliment3
attached, however exceptionable they may be otherwise,
will look upon their acceptance as a passport for the
future to the confidence and to the amenities of their
private circle. It virtually places their good and honest
friends in the back-ground, because they have not had
the means of competing with those who have taken
advantage of the custom to push themselves in and to
thrust others out. It creates a sense of dependence
and humiliation, under which no spirit can sustain
itself with courage or propriety in the conflicts which it
is certain to meet with in its passage through the world.
And, finally, because the tendency of it will be to
create fictitious distinctions in society, and to foster
ideal influences of wealth, which, from the very nature
of our institutions and laws, can never be permanent.

Back numbers of the " Lady's Book" can be supplied
from January, as the work is stereotyped.

371

372

godey's magazine and lady's book.

A Batch of Articles from a New Subscriber :
— A young; lady, whose name was Patty, being ad-
dressed by a Mr. Cake, accepted hirn on condition he
would change his name, declaring she would never con-
sent to be called u patty -cake."

Conundrum for the Season. — Why should the
kitchen be a delightful retreat in warm weather 1 Be-
cause it is a cool and airy (culinary) apartment.

A Hungarian, desiring to remark upon the domestic
habits of a young lady, said, " Oh, Miss, how homely
you are !"

" Why, you are throwing stones at your own mo-
ther's cow !"

" I know I is," said a small, ragged urchin ; "but I
means to kill her, 'cause she never gives nothin' but
buttermilk, nohow."

Why is Hunter's "Musical Instructor" like a fish'!
Because it is full of scales.

Virginia Politeness.— An old gentleman in Vir-
ginia, priding himself on his excessive politeness, went
to spend the night with a friend, who was equally polite.
Each being too polite to mention " going to bed," though
their topics of conversation retired, the servant found
them in the morning still sitting over a few coals.

" Why, massa," said he, " it done day, and you isn't
put de company to retire yet !"

At a meeting of the Sons of Temperance, a doctor
urged the necessity of tasting toddy before administering
it to the patient, whereupon another member quietly
asked if the doctor was also in the habit of tasting
castor-oil and other physic.

" Here I have them, Master Boots, and the chocolate
for Missus."

The editor of the " Standard," at Cassville, says :
" We were pledged, some weeks ago, by our senior, to
confirmed old bachelorhood.'1''

Well, one Benedick that Shakspeare wrote about
said : " When I vowed I would die a bachelor, I did
not think I should live to be a married man ;" so our
friend of the " Standard" can get over it in that way.

DIRECTIONS FOR WINDOW PLANTS FOR
OCTOBER.

{From Mrs. HaWs New Household Receipt-Book. This
book will be sent to any person on receipt of $1.)

The principal endeavor among this class of plants
must now be directed towards getting them into a state
of rest ; water very cautiously, giving air whenever the
weather will permit, and at all times let them enjoy
whatever sunshine occurs, and uninterrupted light.
Now that the respiring power of the leaves becomes
lessened, it is most essential that every particle of dust
be carefully removed ; the surface of the soil in which
they grow should be occasionally stirred, to keep it clean
and porous, and even the outside of the pots should be
washed, for the same end. If it be necessary to stand
the pots in saucers, when the plants are watered, the
waste water which runs through should be regularly
emptied away, as much mischief ensues from allowing
the roots to remain in the water.

Our Patterns. — Ladies do not seem to be aware
that these patterns are facsimiles of the originals in
color, trimming, &c. At a distance, they would be
taken for the garment itself. They could be worn in a
tableau without being detected.

The Indiana " Laurel Wreath" says : —
" Fine Steel Engravings. — L. A. Godey, Philadel-
phia, has issued a book of fine steel engravings, thirty
in number, which he will send on receipt of fifty cents.
They are exceedingly pretty, and may be laid upon the
parlor table, or taken apart for adorning scrap-books."

Three numbers have now been published, and they
can all be purchased for $1 50; the cheapest set of
plates ever offered to the public.

These "better halves." What would we be
without them 1 — The Ohio " Trumpet" thinks as we
do upon this subject : " Our better (looking) half has
embroidered a dress collar from the patterns given in
this number, and declares she would not take a year's
subscription for a single number of Godey."

Enemies.— A man who has no enemies is seldom
good for anything. He is made of that kind of material
which is so easily worked that every one tries a hand in
it. A sterling character — one who speaks for himself,
and speaks what he thinks — is always sure to have
enemies. They are as necessary to him as fresh air.
They keep him alive and active. A celebrated person.
who was surrounded by enemies, used to say: " They
are sparks which, if you do not blow them, go out of
themselves." Let this be your feeling, while endeavor-
ing to live down the scandal of those who are bitter
against you. If you stop to dispute, you do but as they
desire, and open the way for more abuse. Let the poor
fellows talk. There will be a reaction, if you do but
perform your duty ; and hundreds, who were once
alienated from you, will flock to you and acknowledge
their error.

We have not grown gray, good " Chronicle," of St.
Clairsville, but are in most excellent condition, and
making strenuous endeavors to outstrip anything we
have ever done before, to make our " Book" worthy oi
the extensive patronage of the ladies of America. Wait
for a few months, and you will see.

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

373

A recent number of the London " Ladies' Compa-
nion" contained two articles of ours — one, " Aspect of
the Northern Year," and the other an " Irish Story."
Of course, the New York " Albion," which only pro-
fesses to take the "cream of the British periodicals,"
copied one of them — the " Irish Story" — and it is now
going the rounds. We observe that the " Weekly
News," of Charleston, S. C, has also copied it, and
credited it to " La Belle Assembled." It will be recol-
lected that it was the New York " Albion" that also
copied from a London magazine, " Marrying through
Prudential Motives," another of our stories. " Har-
per's Magazine" also published one of our stories, "My
Brother Tom," copied from an English Magazine.
Verily, Godey's stories are improved by an Atlantic
voyage.

The following by Hood is a most excellent punning
piece of poetry.- The parties, Mr. Bray and Mr. Clay,
rivals for the affections of Miss Lucy Bell, find it neces-
sary to appeal to arms : —

But first they found a friend apiece

This pleasant thought to give —
That, when they both were dead, they 'd have

Two seconds yet to live.

To measure out the ground not long

The seconds next forbore ;
And, having taken one rash step,

They took a dozen more.

§
They next prepared each pistol pan

Against the deadly strife,

By putting in the prime of death

Against the prime of life.

Inow all was ready for the foes ;

But, when they took their stands,
Fear made them tremble so, they found

They both were shaking hands.

Said Mr. C. to Mr. B.,

" Here one of us may fall,
And, like St. Paul's Cathedral now,

Be doomed to have a ball.

" I do confess I did attach
Misconduct to your name !
If I withdraw the charge, will then
Your ramrod do the samel"

Said Mr. B., " I do agree;

But think of Honor's courts :
If we be off without a shot,

There will be strange reports.

" But look, the morning now is bright,
Though cloudy it begun;
Why can't we aim above, as if
We had called out the sun?"

So up into the harmless air

Their bullets they did send ;
And may all other duels have

That upshot in the end.

One of the best things to resist fatigue is music. Girls
who " couldn't walk a mile to save their lives," will
dance in company with a hoarse clarionet and super-
annuated fiddle from tea-time till sunrise.
VOL. XLIX. — 32

A Delightful Dish. — As we have been luxuriating
on the following for the whole summer, we give it for
the benefit of our readers : —

Tomatoes Cooked in Cream. — Peel the tomatoes,
cut them in half, place them in a frying-pan or kettle,
and add a small lump of butter, and a little soda to
correct their acidity ; pour some pure cream in the ves-
sel, and cook for a few minutes ; pepper and salt to suit
the taste. We have made one convert to tomatoes by
this dish ; one who had never before tasted them, and
he now regrets the manner in which the early part of
his life has been wasted.

Mat is considered an unfortunate marrying month.
A country editor says that a girl was asked, not long
since, to unite herself 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 mo-
ment, hesitated, cast down her eyes, and, with a blush,
said : " Would not April do as well 1"

There was once a man confined in one of our pri-
sons who, when visited by a well-meaning individual,
complained to him as follows : " I thought that the
laws of Pennsylvania did not contemplate in their sen-
tences undue punishment to prisoners." He was as-
sured that they did not, and asked why he made the
remark. The answer was : " I was sentenced here to
five years' solitary confinement, and I see nothing in
that sentence that obliges me to listen to your remarks."
Now, we consider the following as a case in point. It
is undue punishment. The lady might be sentenced so
as not to receive the benefit of the " Lady's Book ;" but
" single blessedness or the wife of an old fogy is rather
too hard." However, the Barnwell " Sentinel" is re-
sponsible for the following, and we wipe our hands of
the business : —

" An exchange, in speaking of the ' Book,' Bays :
' The lady who neither takes nor admires the Lady's
Book deserves to live and die in the dull rounds and
stale pleasures of single blessedness, or be the wife of
an old fogy who would compel her to adopt the anti-
quated fashions of her grandmother.' That 's a fact."

The Mails.— We see in our contemporaries great
complaints of the mismanagement of the mails. The
Galena " Jeffersonian" (a Democratic paper) says:
"There are now in the Chicago post-office more than
two hundred bags of mail matter undistributed ; and they
are daily accumulating J"

Our subscribers and exchanges who depend upon
their numbers through the Chicago post-office, will
please notice the above. ^ We have seen a gentleman
from Chicago who confirms the above statement. Can-
not this be remedied1?

We saw in one of our papers, a few days since, the
name of Bonaparte Shoe. Phoebus, what a connection !
We also knew a Frenchman once, whose name was
Reynard ; but he translated it to Fox when ne came to
this country.

374

godey's magazine and lady's book.

THE GAME OP THE TWO HATS.

The following game for children will, vre think, puzzle
some of ! he older folks : This, which is a Neapolitan game,
from the contradictory nature of its words and actions,
resembles the child's pastime of " the rule of contrary."
The rules are. that if three mistakes he made by the person
re iponding to the inquiries of the player bringing the hats
round — and whom, for distinction's sake, we will call the
questioner — he must pay three forfeits, and be out of the
game. When the questioner desires the respondent to be
sealed, the latter must stand up ; when he begs him to put
his hat on, he must take it off; when he requests him to
stand, he must sit; and in every point the respondent must
do the reverse of what the questioner tells him. The ques-
tioner may sit down, stand up, put his hat on, or take it off,
without desiring the respondent to do so, or giving him the
least intimation of his intention ; the latter must, therefore,
be always on his guard, so as to act instantly on the contrary,
else he incurs a forfeit. These rules being settled, the game
i-. simply this: A player places a hat on his head, takes
another in bis hand, and gives it to one of the company;
he then begins to converse with him, endeavoring bywords
aud actions to puzzle him, and cause him to forget. The
following is a specimen of a dialogue, and the accompanying
movements of the hats, in which A is the questioner; B
the respondent: —

A {taking his hat off). A very beautiful evening, sir.

B (putting his hat on). Yes, indeed, a most lovely one.

A (putting his hat on and sitting down, B instantly talcing
his hat off and getting up). Pray, be seated, sir : I really can-
not, think of sitting while you stand (gets up, and B sits
down). Have you been out of town this year? (takes off his
hat). B (putting 7iis on). I have not yet, but I think
I shall, before (A sits down, B gets up) the beauty of the
season has entirely passed away, venture a few miles out
of town.

A (putting his hat on). I beg ten thousand pardons, you
are standing while I am sitting ; pardon me, your hat is on,
you must pay a forfeit.

It generally happens that before the dialogue has been
carried thus far, the respondent has incurred three forfeits,
and is of course out. The questioner then goes in succes-
sion to the others, and the same scene is repeated by each;
and the conversation, it is almost needless to add, should be
varied as much as possible, and the more absurd the better.

Our friend Matthews, of the Boston " Yankee Blade,"
has made the amende for copying Mrs. Neal's excellent
-Htory of " Any Time" without credit. He does it in
suev a way as only such an editor can do it. Long may
his valuable paper live, and successfully, too !

" 'Any Time.' — By an oversight, which is too com-
mon with editors, we neglected to credit to Godeifs
La&y's Book the excellent story with this title, by Alice
B. Neal, which we copied into the ' Blade' of week
before last. Our friend of ' the Book' will pardon, we
trust, the emission, as we would be the last to forget —
or to think that ' any time,' however late, would do — to
' render unto Godey the things that are Godey's.' The
temptation to crib from such a repository of 'rich and
rare' things, we confess, is irresistible, and on that head
'we may remain incorrigible; but we will at least
acknoioledge the source — have the manners to acknow-
ledge on whose manors we have poached."

" How to Make a Dress." — We can now send this
work to all who have ordered it, our new edition being
ready.

DRESSES OF THE ENGLISH QUEEN AND
EMPRESS OF FRANCE.

The Horticultural Society of Toulouse has composed
a bouquet for the Empress Eugenie of France, containing
10,000 violets and 300 camelias, and of which the dia-
meter is upwards of three-quarters of a yard, and the
height somewhat more than a yard. The centre is a
dome of violets, surrounded by a circle of camelias ; the
whole surmounted by a crown. On the dome appear
the initials of her Imperial Majesty in orange blossom
and white paqueretets.

At the last fite — a concert given at the Tuileries in
honor of the Prince of Saxe-Coburg — the Empress wore
a dress of blue and pink. The petticoat was of watered
silk, old style, sky blue, lined with stiff muslin, which
gave the dress an extraordinary amplitude. Around it
were two wreaths of pale pink flowers — one at the height
of the knee, the other quite at the bottom. The body
was exceedingly low ; and the sleeves, which were very
shallow, were ornamented with flowers similar to those
of the petticoat, mixed with turquoises, stones, and
topazes ; headdress to correspond.

On a late occasion, Her Majesty of England wore a
train of white poplin, brocaded in gold, a running pat-
tern of flowers and leaves, trimmed with white tulle and
gold blonde and bunches of sweet peas. The petticoat
was white satin, trimmed with white tulle, gold blonde,
and sweet peas. Her Majesty's headdress was an opal
and diamond diadem, and feathers.

The general circle was not numerously attended, but
the number of young ladies presented was more than
usually great.

Her Majesty's State Dresses. — At the third levee for the
season, her Majesty wore a train of white and moire
antique silk, brocaded with white flowers, and trimmed
with gold blonde and white satin ribbon. The petticoat
was white satin, trimmed with gold blonde and white
satin ribbon to correspond with the train. The queen's
headdress was a diamond circlet.

The " National Democrat" has dared to print the
following in plain type : —

" My dear, what makes you always yawn?"
A wife exclaimed, her temper gone ;
" Is home so dull and dreary?"
" Not so, my love," he said — " not so —
But man and wife are one, you know,
And when alone, I 'm weary."

Anne of Austria, queen of Louis XIII. , was ex-
tremely delicate in all that concerned the care of her
person ; it was scarcely possible to find lawn or cam-
bric sufficiently fine for her use. Cardinal Mazarin
used to say that her punishment in purgatory would be
her being obliged to sleep in Holland sheets.

A Hit at Long Dresses. — Words! Words! Words!
Long words, like long dresses, frequently hide some-
thing wrong about the understanding.

Rapp's Gold Pens. — Their celebrity is increasing,
and we do nut wonder at it, for they are the best
article of the kind ever offered. We will guarantee
them. Prices as follows: Condor size, with a holder,
$6; in a silver case, $7; BWan-quiU si/.e. with double
extension silver cases, $i ; goose-quill size, suitable for
Ladies, with holders as above, $3.

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

375

Pretty Names for Girls. — Names are getting to
be no names. Let a dozen ladies meet, and the proba-
bility is that four are named Mary, three Ann, three
Elizabeth, one Sarah, and one something else. A cor-
respondent of the " Home Journal" furnishes a list of
two hundred and fifty names. We publish them for the
benefit of young married people : —

Annie,

Euphemia,

Janet,

Natalie,

Adele,

Esther,

Jessie,

Naomi,

Amy,

Elfrida,

Jessica,

Nourmahal,

Adelaide,

Edith,

Juliet,

Nydia,

Ada,

Eugenia,

Joan,

Olive,

Agnes,

Euphrasie,

Josephine,

Olivia,

Agatha,

Eloise,

Jacobea,

Octavia,

Alice,

' Elise,

Judith,

Ophelia,

Angela,

Ethel,

Julie,

Olimpia,

Augusta,

Eulalie,

Jeannie,

Pamela,

Angelica,

Estelle,

Juana,

Portia,

Aurelia,

Endora,

Kate,

Pauline,

Antoinette,

Elfie,

Katrina,

Parthenia,

Annabel,

Elmina,

Keziah,

Penelope,

Abla,

Effie,

Lelia,

Rosalind,

Annette,

Emmeline,

Lilla,

Ruth,

Adelia,

Ernestine,

Lisa,

Rosa,

Adeline,

Esmeralda,

Laura,

Rachel,

Aimee,

Ermengarde

Louise,

Rebecca,

Alicia,

Elizabeth,

Lisette,

Rosalie,

Alida,

Florence,

Lucette,

Rowena,

Albertine,

Flora,

Lavinia,

Roxana,

Athalie,

Frances,

Lucia,

Renee,

Angeline,

Francisca,

Lillian,

Rosabelle,

Annot,

Finette,

Lilly,

Rosamond,

Arabella,

Flavia,

Lucretia,

Rosette,

Bertha,

Fanny,

Lucy,

Sara,

Bianca,

Fidelia,

Lydia,

Sybil,

Blanche,

Florinda,

Leonora,

Selina,

Beatrice,

Floribelle,

Lettice,

Sophia,

Berthalda,

Fenella,

Leah,

Selma,

Berenice,

Gertrude,

Letitia,

Selima,

Constance,

Grace,

Lucille,

Susette,

Clara,

Ginerva,

Minnie,

Sophronia,

Caroline,

Genevieve,

Maude,

Stilla,

Cecilia,

Geraldine,

Magdalena,

Sappho,

Clarice,

Gabrielle,

Marcia,

Thekla,

Cornelia,

Georgianna,

Monica,

Theresa,

Cordelia,

Gulnare,

Meliora,

Thyrza,

Cora,

Hermione,

Mabel,

Therese,

Catharine,

Hortense,

Madelaine,

Ursula,

Coralia,

Hermia,

Mara,

Ulfrida,

Claribel,

Helena,

Marian,

Violet,

Clarina,

Hester,

Margaret,

Victorine,

Charlotte,

Hulda,

Marina,

Victoria,

Camille,

Helen,

Marie,

Violante,

Clotilde,

Harriet,

Mathilde,

Virginia,

Corinne,

Henrietta,

Matilda,

Viola,

Clarinda,

Hinda,

Melicent,

Vashti,

Cioily,

Hope,

Mildred,

Wlm&rBd,

Celeste,

Irene,

Medora,

Wilhelmina,

Dora,

Isabel,

Myrrha,

Xarifa,

Dorothea,

Ida,

May,

Ximena,

Dorcas,

lone,

Metelill,

Yrea,

Diana,

Iola,

Miriam,

Zee,

Delia,

Imogen,

Madge,

Zuleika,

Ella,

Is adore,

Mignon,

Zarina,

Evelyn,

Imildi,

Mira,

Zillah,

Eva,

Ianthe,

Mary,

Zara,

Emilia,

Inez,

Maria,

Zitelle,

Eleanora,

Isaure,

Nina,

Zelica,

Ellinor,

Isora,

Nora,

Zayda.

Emma,

Jeannette,

Ninette,

PARIS GOSSIP.

There must be truth in the assertion that we all
must die— for Madame la Comtesse de Lagny is dead at
last — and certainly if there had been an exception to
the rule, it would have been made in her favor. She
herself was wont to declare, till the very hour of her
death, that she saw no reason, because everybody had
been called away, that everybody should be summoned
— and so went on amusing herself, laughing and mean-
dering to the very end. She was ninety-six, and yet
stood in her shop till within a few hours of her decease
— for Madame la Comtesse de Lagny, after ninety-six
years' experience of the world's bitterness, declared
there was no state like that of a small boutiquier for
insouciance and real enjoyment of liberty and happi-
ness. She loved to tell her story to her customers. It
is one of the most curious ever played out by any of the
poor players summoned to act their part on the world's
stage.

In her youth, she was called la belle marinicre, from
the father's trade — that of salt merchant to the royal
household. You will find her name sung by the very
first poets of the day, and can behold her portrait at
Versailles in the famous picture Etats GfnCraux. Not-
withstanding her beauty, which brought her many lovers,
she remained unwedded until past the usual age. She
loved her independence, and looked forward to the pros-
pect of keeping the salt shop as the greatest happiness
fate had power to bestow.

She was one day standing at the door of the shop,
when a rush of people flying in all directions alarmed
her so much as to cause her to close the shutters imme-
diately, and while she was on the outside, a charge of
cavalry passed by at full gallop, cutting away at the
crowd right and left, without mercy. It was the Prince
de Lambesc, at the head of his regiment of Royal Alle-
mand, pursuing the harmless promenaders. and uncon-
sciously commencing the great French Revolution !

The belle mariniire fled back into the shop, barred and
bolted it within, and then discovered a stranger lying
upon the blocks of salt with which the place was filled,
bleeding in torrents from a wound in his head. It was
a young officer of Lambesc's regiment, who had fallen
from his horse just at the threshold, having been beaten
down by an iron bar from the hand of the blacksmith
next door. The belle marinicre was wise enough not to
seek assistance; she nursed the young man in secrecy,
and hid him through all the storms and threats which
the suspicion of concealment created amongst her neigh-
bors.

She married him some years afterwards, and shone
as the most devoted and high souled amongst the
emigrces at Brunswick. At the Restoration, she was
installed in the estates of the family, and when her hus-
band died, she gave them up to his brother's child. The
civil list of Charles X. was providing for her in comfort,
sufficient for her modest pretensions, which never sought
anything beyond the happiness of others, when the
Revolution of 1830 left her without the means of living;
and old as she was, she obtained no help from those
who had surrounded her in prosperity.

So, finding she was not expected to maintain any
aristocratic rank, she turned once more to her old asso-
ciations, and again returned to her salt-shop, where she
succeeded so well that she lived in affluence for the last
twenty years, and has left a small and comfortable for-
tune to her husband's grand nephew, whose property
has been completely dilapidated by political vicissitude.

376

godey's magazine and lady's book.

A New Device. — A man named Boissonneau was
last week tried, by the Tribunal of Correctional Police,
for a very ingenious, though scarcely credible, species
Of robbery. He one day went to a pastry-cook, and
said, " I shall require to-morrow 400 brioches" (a sort
of bun). " They shall be got ready, sir," replied the
pastry-cook, after having asked him for his name and
address. He then went to a watchmaker opposite, and
selected a watch of 200f. As the tradesman was pack-
ing it up, he said, " I am a wholesale butter-dealer; the
pastry-cook opposite owes me 400f.— he will pay you;
come with me." The watchmaker followed the man to
the pastry-cook's. " I have come to tell you," said the
prisoner, "that I only want 200— and that you must
give the other 200 to this person, your neighbor." On
this, the watchmaker unsuspectingly allowed him to
walk off with the watch, but, to his profound astonish-
ment, there arrived the next day, not 200f., but 200 bri-
oches. The trick was then discovered. Nothing was
seen of the man until some time after, when he was
recognized by the pastry-cook's boy, dressed in grotesque
style, and selling pencils in the midst of a crowd. The
tribunal condemned him to a year's imprisonment.

" Old Masters, indeed !" exclaimed an art amateur,
who for an hour had been vainly endeavoring to ascer-
tain which was top and which bottom of a worn out and
undecipherable daub of brown paint, which it was
claimed had come from the hand of one of the old mas-
ters— " Old masters, indeed ! ke must have been so old
he couldn't see!"

The Bible contains 3,566,480 letters ; 810,697 words ;
31,173 verses ; 1,189 chapters ; 66 books. The word and
occurs 46,227 times ; the word reverend only once, which
is in the 9th verse of the 11th Psalm ; and the word Lord
1,855 times. The middle and least chapter is the 117th
Psalm ; the middle verse the 8th of the 118th Psalm ; and
the 21st verse of the 7th chapter of Ezra contains the
alphabet. The finest chapter to read is the 26th of Acts ;
the 19th chapter of Second Book of Kings and the 37th
chapter of Isaiah are alike. The least verse is the 33d
of the 11th chapter of John; and the 8th, 15th, 21st, and
31st verses of the 107th Psalm are alike. Each verse
of the 136th Psalm ends alike. There are no words or
names in the Bible of more than six syllables.

A Chinese Bride. — The following description of a
Chinese bride is given by a modern traveller : " The
son of our host having been married a few days, we
were honored, according to the usage of the country,
during the honeymoon, with permission to look at his
wife, as she stood at the door of her apartment, while
we were passing out. The lady was surrounded by
several old women, who held tapers and lamps above
and about her, that we might have a more complete view
of her figure and attire. She was a young person, appa-
rently about seventeen years of age, of middling stature,
with very agreeable features and light complexion,
though she seemed to have used paint. She wore a
scarlet robe, superbly trimmed with gold, "which com-
pletely covered her from the shoulders to the ground :
the sleeves were very full, and along the bottom was a
beautiful fringe of small balls. Her headdress sparkled
with jewels, and was elegantly beaded with rows of
pearls, encircling it like a coronet ; from the front ot
which a brilliant angular ornament hung over her fore-
head and between her eyebrows. She stood in a modest
and graceful attitude, having her eyes fixed on the floor,
though she occasionally raised them, with a glance of
timid curiosity, towards the spectators. Her hands,
which were joined together, and folded in her robe, she
lifted several times towards her face, and then lowered
them very slowly. Her attendants, presuming that the
guests would be gratified with a view of what the Chi-
nese consider as the consummation of female beauty,
raised the hem of the mantle from her feet for a moment
or two; they were of the most diminutive kind, and
reduced to a mere point at the toe. The shoes, like the
rest of her bridal apparel, were scarlet, embroidered
with gold. Her demeanor during this exhibition was
natural and becoming, and once or twice, a smile for an
instant showed that she was not unconscious of the
admiration which her appearance excited.

The modest virgin, the prudent wife, or the careful
matron, are much more serviceable in life than petticoat
philosophers, blustering heroines, or virgin queens.
She who makes her husband happy, and reclaims him
from vice, is a much greater character than ladies de-
scribed in romance, whose whole occupation is to mur-
der mankind with shafts from the quiver of their eyes.

" Here our wife came into the office, snatched up the
' Book,' and moved off, breaking our notice of the ' La-
dy's Book' right off in the middle. We shall go after
her — we shall !"

Enough said, dear sir. Your wife will praise it to
her friends (we hope she won't lend it), and we shall
receive all the benefit from it ; besides, you said quite
enough. Praise from the Ogdenburg " Republican" is
appreciated by us.

" No woman ought to be permitted to enter upon the
duties of connubiality without being able to make a
shirt, mend a coat, patch a pair of pantaloons, bake a
loaf of bread, roast a sirloin, broil a steak, make a pud-
ding, and manufacture frocks for little responsibilities."

Note by the Editor. — She can practise the patch-
ing business upon the garments of some of the young
brothers ; if there are none, borrow a pair of pants of a
neighbor.

The woman who neglects her husband's shirt front
is not the wife of his bosom.

The Solar Rays.— Arago's opinion that the rays
from the sun's centre possess a more intense chemical
action than those from its edges has been prettily con-
firmed by means of photography— pictures of the sun's
disk, taken by means of a comparatively insensible
medium, invariably displaying a striking difference of
intensity of tint between the edge and the centre.

Poison.— When you have reason to suppose that you
have accidentally swallowed a poisonous substance,
and proper medical advice is not at hand, take an
emetic. This may be done almost instantaneously by
swallowing a cupful of warm water mixed with a tea-
spoonful of mustard. If you have not dry mustard in
the house, you are almost sure to have a mustard-pot,
and a quantity from that put into the water will very
quickly empty the stomach. As mustard may thus
prove of so much use, it should never be wanting in any
house; but even should there be no mustard at hand,
warm water by itself forms a tolerably efficacious
emetic.

godey's arm-chair.

377

History of the Peruke. — About the close of the
seventeenth century, the peruke was made to represent
the natural curl of the hair ; but in such profusion that
ten heads would not have furnished an equal quantity,
as it flowed down the back, and hung over the shoul-
ders half-way down the arms. By 1721, it had become
fashionable to tie one-half of it on the left side into a
club. Between 1730 and 1740, the bag-wig came into
fashion, and the peruke was docked considerably, and
sometimes plaited behind into a queue, though even
until 1752 the long flowing locks maintained their influ-
ence. After 1770 those were rarely seen, and since that
time persons wearing perukes have generally had sub-
stantial reasons for so doing, from baldness and com-
plaints in the head. At one time, indeed, when the
stern virtues of Brutus were much in vogue, the young
men of Europe wore perukes of black or dark hair,
dressed from his statues. Many particulars on this
subject have been preserved by Mr. Malcolm in his
" Anecdotes of the Manners and Customs of London,"
from which we learn that a young countrywoman ob-
tained j£60 for her head of hair in the year 1700, when
human hair sold at £3 per ounce ; and in 1720 the gray
locks of an aged female sold for .£50, after her decease.
Wigs of peculiar excellence cost as much as £H0 each.
A petition from the master-peruke makers of London
and Westminster, presented to the king in 1763, points
out the great decline of their use to have taken place at
that time. In this memorial, they complain of the pub-
lic wearing their own hair; and say, " That this mode,
pernicious enough in itsetf to their trade, is rendered
excessively more so by swarms of French hairdressers
already established in those cities, and daily increasing. ' '

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies
them.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a
post-office stamp.

"A. H. P." — We cannot tell why the gentlemen are
not as attentive after marriage as before. That is rather
a hard question. Some, we believe, are.

" A. M." — There is no fashion for shirt-bosoms, col-
lars, and wristbands ; everybody uses his own taste.
Make them as you have always been in the habit of
doing, and, if they are agreeable to the wearer, they are
fashionable.

" Miss R. M. A." — There is no machine for embroider-
ing ; that kind of work is still done by hand. Thank
you for your kind compliments.

" Mrs. J. W. K." — Sent edging and trimming by mail
on 1st.

" Mrs. M. F. E."— Sent patterns by mail on 5th.

" Mrs. M. F. B."— Sent pens by mail 5th.

" Miss S. S." — Sent headdresses by Adams & Co.'s
Express on the 7th.

" Mrs. A. L. O."— You will find a full description on
page 171 of Mrs. Hale's " Household Receipt-Book. "

" Mrs. A. M. P." — The crupper is not used here now
in ladies' saddles. The horse is girthed very tight.

" Mrs. H. B."— Sent jewelry by mail 20th.

" Miss M. B." — Sent goods by Adams's Express 20th.

"Mrs. H. B. C." — Sent goods by Adams's Express
20th.

" E. P. B."— Pencil and pen sent by mail 21st.

" Mrs. L. A. C."— Sent patterns and book by mail
21st.

32*

" Mrs. M. E. C."— Sent headdress by mail 21st.

" Mrs. A. L. R." — Sent patterns by mail 22d.

" Mrs. J. B. H." — Sent bonnets and patterns by
Adams's Express 22d.

" N. L. W." — Your beautiful prepared flowers from
Wisconsin received, and we return our thanks.

" Dora N." — Reins in left hand, whip in the right.

" Mrs. J. T. B."— Sent books and letter by mail 28th.

11 R. S. B."— Sent pen by mail 28th.

" F. C."— Sent pen by mail 28th.

" V. N. O." — It is not usual here even for married
persons to walk " arm-in-arm." It is a matter of fancy,
however.

" Miss M. L." — Ladies frequently drive with us. It
has ceased to be a subject of remark. They take the
driver's seat on the right. In England, the left of the
road is right, which custom gave rise to the following : —

" The rule of the road is a paradox quite.
In driving your carriage along,
If you keep to the left, you are sure to go right;
W you keep to the right, you go ivrong."

ffilje Borrower 3 Department.

" The wiclced borroweth and payeth not again."

On the cover of some number during this year, we
shall put something that will mortify borrowers. They
had better keep a good look-out, and stop in time.

Good. — The Lyons " Gazette" says : " We advise
our friends to send in their names at once, as we are
compelled to stop lending our copy."

Another Friend to the Rescue. — The Shelby-
ville " Banner" says : " By the by, we have quit loan-
ing the ' Book,' and reserve it for entertainment at
home."

Two more Friends to the Cause. — The Wabash
"Commercial" and Montecello " Chieftain" both say:
" We do not loan our ' Lady's Book.' " We shall have
all the press by and by. Remember, gentlemen, that
your lending the " Book" makes a difference to us of at
least 10,000 subscribers a year.

We hope our bachelor friends of the press will take
this advice from the editor of the Lima " Argus :" " We
see some of our exchanges complain of the number of
'borrowers' for Godey that they are pestered with, and,
judging them to be bachelors from that fact, we oflVr
them gratis this piece of advice : Sue for immediate an-
nexation to some lovely daughter of mother Eve ; this,
of course, will veto all borrowing; you can then enjoy
it in luxurious ease, and take your own time to read it
in after your wife gets through with it."

Wonderful. — The editor of the Newark (N. Y.)
11 Democrat" says : " If the above is not a display cal-
culated to tantalize the appetites of borrowers, then we
confess we know not what would. They have, how-
ever, grown small in number in this neighborhood, as
we have only had occasion to refuse one single appli-
cant within the last six weeks. Now is just the time to
subscribe, for there are so many good things in it for
family use that there ought to be at least one in every
well-regulated family, 'just for the fun of the thing,' as
somebody has said about babies."

Only think of it — only one application in six weeks !
Newark is entitled to a premium.

" It is too good a number to lend," says the Taunton
" Democrat." Long may you think so !

37S

godey's magazine and lady's book,

Receipts, $tt.

Summer Snowballs. — At a time when flour is so
dear, many are glad to meet with a contrivance by
which some cheaper substitute may be agreeably used,
and such the following will be found: Simmer half a
pound of rice until it is tender, then strain it. Take five
or six apples, of middling size, pare them and take out
the core with a small knife or apple scoop, but do not
out them into sections. Into the hollow made by cutting
out the core, put sugar and a little allspice. Divide the
rice into a portion for each apple, and with the hand lay
each portion equally over an apple, and tie them sepa-
rately in a small cloth, and boil an hour. These dum-
plings or snowballs may be served with sweet sauce ; or
eaten with simple sugar or treacle.

Oatmeal Pudding. — Put two pints of milk to a pint
of oatmeal, and let it soak all night. In the morning
add two well-beaten eggs, and half a teaspoonful of
salt. Pour the mixture into a greased basin, or pud-
ding-mould ; tie it securely in a floured cloth, and boil
an hour and a half. This pudding is very nice eaten
with a bit of cold butter and salt ; or a little melted but-
ter, or hot dripping. Should any be left cold, it will be
found very nice toasted or fried, and rubbed over with a
morsel of butter.

A Charlotte Pudding. — A good pudding for those
who cannot eat pastry. Grease a pie-dish, and put in
it a layer of bread-crumbs, then a layer of apples, peeled
and sliced, with a sprinkling of sugar, and a little all-
spice or nutmeg. Fill the dish with alternate layers,
letting the bread-crumbs be at the top ; pour over all a
sufficient quantity of milk, or melted butter, to moisten
the bread-crumbs, and bake an hour ; or, if very large,
it may require rather longer time to bake.

Mush. — Add half a teaspoonful of salt to half a pint
of Indian corn meal ; gradually mix with a quart of cold
milk or water ; boil for ten or twelve minutes ; eat with
sugar, molasses, or jam.

Another receipt for porridge : Of a spoonful each of
Indian meal and wheat flour, make thin batter; pour it
into a quart of boiling milk and water ; salt to taste ;
boil ten minutes.

Mock Apple Pie. — Soda biscuit and a half; teacup
of water ; teacup of sugar ; a lemon.

Chimneys on Fire may be readily extinguished in
several ways, without having recourse to throwing wa-
ter down them from the top, by which much damage is
frequently done to the furniture in the rooms. One of
the simplest methods is to scatter a handful of flowers
of sulphur over the dullest part of the burning coals,
the mephitic vapors arising from which will not support
combustion, and consequently extinguish the flames.
Another method is to shut the doors and windows, and
to stop up the bottom of the chimney with a piece of wet
carpet or blanket, throwing a little water, or flowers of
sulphur, or salt, on the fire immediately before doing so.
By this means the draught is stopped, and the burning
soot must be extinguished for want of air. If the chim-
ney be stopped at the top instead of the bottom, the
whole of the smoke must, of course, be driven into the
apartment. If every fireplace were provided with a
damper, or shutter of sheet-iron or tin plate, sufficiently
large to choke it thoroughly, fires in chimneys would
become of little consequence, as it would only be neces-
sary to apply this damper to put them out.

To Clean Candlesticks, Snuffers, &c. — Silver,
plated, and japanned candlesticks, snuffers, and snuf-
fer-stands should be cleaned by first removing the drops
of wax or tallow that may have fallen on them, by
washing in boiling water, afterwards wiping them quite
dry and clean with a piece of soft wash-leather. If
made of silver, or copper plated, they may be finished
off with a little plate powder. On no account place
them before the fire to melt the grease off, as much heat
will melt off the solder or japan, or injure the face of
the plate. In placing the candles in the sockets, fit
them in tightly, either by means of a strip of paper
wound round them, or by the ordinary candle-springs ;
they will thus be prevented from falling about and
spilling the melted portion of the tallow or other mate-
rials of which they may be composed.

MARKING INK.
(From Mrs. Hale's New Household Receipt-Book.)

Mix in six drachms of distilled water, two drachms
of sub-nitrate of silver, and two drachms of gum-arabic.
For the mordant, mix with four ounces of water half
an ounce of gum-arabic, and half an ounce of sub-
carbonate of soda. The article to be marked should
first be wetted with the mordant, and pressed smooth,
and should be thoroughly dried before it is written upon.
The mark should be exposed to the light for some time,
to become black.

Permanent Red Ink for marking Linen. — This
useful preparation, which was contrived by Dr. Smellie,
of Edinburgh, who was originally a printer in that city,
may be used either with types, a hair pencil, or even
with a pen : Take half an ounce of vermilion, and a
drachm of salt of steel ; let them be finely levigated with
linseed-oil, to the thickness of limpidity required for the
occasion. This has not only a very good appearance,
but will, it is said, be found perfectly to resist the effects
of acids, as well as of all alkaline lyes. It may be
made of other colors, by substituting the proper articles
instead of vermilion.

An Indelible IN"k for marking Linen. — Pour a
little aquafortis into a cup, and add to it a small piece
of pure silver ; when the effervescence ceases, filter the
solution through a piece of blotting-paper, and put it
into a small phial ; then add to it a little gum-arabic
and a little of the paint called sap-green. After the
whole is perfectly -combined, it is then fit for use.

To take out Writing. — When recently written,
ink may be completely removed by the oxymuriatic acid
(concentrated and in solution). The paper is to be washed
over repeatedly with the acid ; but it will be necessary
afterwards to wash it also with lime-water, for the pur-
pose of neutralizing any acid that may be left on the
paper, and which would considerably weaken it. But,
if the ink have been long written, it will have under-
gone such a change as to prevent the preceding process
from taking effect. It ought therefore to be washed
with liver of sulphur (sulphuret of ammonia), before the
oxymuriatic acid is applied. It may be washed with a
hair pencil.

To make Old Writing legible.— Take six bruised
gall-nuts, and put them to a pint of strong white wine ;
let it stand in the sun forty-eight hours. Dip a brush
in it and wash the writing, and by the color yoo will
discover whether the mixture is strong enough of thu
galls.

RECEIPTS.

379

SICK-ROOM AND NURSERY.

Sprains. — The joint should be kept perfectly at rest,
and, if the ankle or knee, the person should lie in bed,
or on a sofa. Warm, moist flannels should be repeat-
edly applied for some hours, and a bread and water
poultice on going to bed. These should be continued for
a few days, and no attempt made at using the joint.
If the pain be very severe, and continue so for the first
or following days, leeches may be applied and repeated
once or oftener.

.Vinegar is not without reason regarded as possess-
ing some chemical influence in decomposing infectious
and contagious matters ; and, consequently, it is almost
invariably sprinkled over the floor of the rooms of those
suffering under infectious diseases ; or, the vapor of hot
vinegar is diffused through their apartments. It is a
still more powerful disinfectant when it holds camphor
and aromatic oils in solution : hence the great popu-
larity of the preparations called Aromatic Vinegar and
Thieves' Vinegar. The repute of the latter is founded
upon a story that four thieves, who plundered the dead
bodies during the plague at Marseilles with perfect
security, on being questioned respecting the cause of
this impunity, confessed, on the condition of their Uvea
being spared, that they attributed it solely to the use of
this Vinegar. Thieves' Vinegar is less pungent than
Aromatic Vinegar. The following is a convenient way
of preparing it, for overpowering the unpleasant odors of
a sick-room : Take of tops of rosemary, dried, one ounce ;
sage leaves, dried, one ounce ; lavender flowers, dried,
half an ounce ; cloves, bruised, half a drachm ; boiling
water, half a pint ; acetic acid, one pint. Add the acid
after the other ingredients have infused in the water an
hour. In this state of combination, vinegar is extreme-
ly agreeable and refreshing, both to the invalid and the
attendants of the sick-room. The benefit which it
produces depends upon a certain degree of stimulus im-
parted to the sensitive nerves, which are generally in a
low condition in an infectious atmosphere; but, as a
chemical agent, it is feared its powers are too feeble to
be followed by permanent benefit.

Cuts and Wounds. — In a simple cut or wound, all
extraneous matter is to be removed : the bleeding, if it
does not stop spontaneously, is to be checked by cold
water or the use of astringents, such as turpentine,
Friar's balsam, &c, and the edges of the cut surface
brought firmly in contact, and retained by slips of stick-
ing-plaster, and, if necessary, a bandage.

Contusions and Bruises.— To relieve the pain and
local stupor occasioned by slight contusion, it is advisa-
ble to bathe the parts in spirit or brandy and water.
When the injury is somewhat more severe, though still
Blight, and not likely to be followed by inflammation,
tepid water, or a lotion composed of equal parts of
brandy and vinegar, may be applied.

Scalds and Burns.— The part burned or scalded is
to be freely bathed with a piece of linen dipped in heat-
ed vinegar, and then covered with a liniment composed
of one part of oil of turpentine, and two parts of yellow
basilicon. At first, some smarting may be occasioned
by the application ; but, in the course of an hour or two,
it gradually abates, being succeeded by a soothing sen-
sation, and the patient feels comparatively easy ; the
dressing may now be changed to sugar of lead ointment,
or the common liniment, composed of equal parts of
lime-water and oil, known by the name of carron-oil.

If blisters have risen, they may be op ned with a needle :
should the skin have been removed, th treatment is the
same, since equal relief is experienced.

Sprains. — In a recent sprain, the first object is to
prevent inflammation. This is best done by cold lo-
tions, such as are composed of three parts of water, one
part of spirits of wine, and one part of laudanum. The
part also should be supported with a moderately tight
bandage, and perfect rest allowed to the limb, if possi-
ble ; but, if the part be inflamed, then the bandage muet
be withdrawn, and, in place of a cold lotion mentioned
above, warm water should be used. It is always proper
to apply leeches, and, in this case, it is almost impossi-
ble to apply too many.

Foreign Substances in the Eye. — When a foreign
substance lodges on the surface of the eye, the necessary
consequence is pain and acute inflammation ; if neg-
lected, obscurity and even loss of sight. If the sub-
stance lie disengaged on the surface of the eye, it is
easily removed by means of a camel-hair pencil dipped
in oil, or, what is better, a piece of soft paper rolled into
the size of a quill, and softened in the mouth. When
the substance is fixed in the coats of the eye, a surgeon
should be consulted.

(li I) t Sot let.

Adelaide Perfume.— Spirit of wine, one quart;
oil of lavender, half an ounce; oil of neroli, half a
drachm ; oil of santal, fifteen drops ; essence of berga-
mot, half a drachm ; essence of lemon, fifteen drops ;
essence of musk, one drachm; essence of ambergris,
one drachm; vanilla (pods), fifteen grains; oil of cas-
sia, one ounce; rose-water, four ounces; orange-flower
water, two ounces ; oil of orange-peel, fifteen drops.

Hair Cosmetics. — Cosmetics are applied to the hair
to render it smooth, glossy, and disposed to curl, to stain
it, to promote its growth, and sometimes to destroy it.
An excellent pomatum, for rendering the hair smooth
and glossy, is composed of spermaceti dissolved in
almond-oil, sufficient to make it adhesive and thick.
It may be scented to taste. The following is convenient
and succeeds well : Take of purified marrow two ounces ;
yellow wax, two drachms ; spermaceti, one ounce ; ail
of almonds, one pound; essence of bergamot, half an
ounce; otto of roses, ten drops; oil of nutmeg ten drops.
Mix, for a pomade.

Various substances have, at different times, been
recommended for strengthening and promoting the
growth of the hair, but their efficacy is doubtful. As
alopecia or baldness arises from various and different
causes, it is evident that no one agent can, under all
circumstances, prove successful. A solution of some
volatile oil in rectified spirit, used as an embrocation, is
at times very serviceable. This is a good combination :
Take of olive-oil two drachms ; solution of ammonia,
one and a half drachms ; oil of nutmeg, half a drachm ;
rose-water, two and a half ounces ; spirit of rosemary,
one ounce. Mix.

Balsam of Tolu has recently been found an excellent
stimulant. It is best applied in the form of pomade, as
follows : Prepared lard, two ounces ; white wax, three
ounces. Melt together; remove from the fire; and,
when they are beginning to thicken, add, with constant
stirring, balsam of Tolu, two drachms ; essence of berga-
mot, thirty drops. Mix for use.

380

godey's magazine and lady's book.

(Jljcmtstrw for Uoutl).

Powder which Inflames by the contact of an Actd. —
Take five grains of chlorate of potass in powder, and mix it
in a mortar with seven grains of lump sugar; let a drop of
sulphuric acid fall upon this mixture, or merely touch it
with the end of a glass rod dipped in the acid ; it will inflame
and burn rapidly, owing to the carbon and hydrogen of the
BUg&r being subjected to an atmosphere of euchlorine, disen-
gaged from the chlorate by the action of the sulphuric acid.

Simple Decomposition of Water. — Put some
damp ashes upon a hot fire, and a blue flame will be
seen playing upon the top of them, showing that the wa-
ter has been decomposed into its two constituent gases,
oxygen and hydrogen. The oxygen goes to feed the fire ;
the hydrogen is liberated and burns at the top. Hence
we see that, in cases of a house on fire, unless water be
poured on in overwhelming quantities, it tends rather
to increase than diminish the conflagration by becoming
decomposed, and thus affording the very element that
supports combustion.

Combination of Solids.— Rub together in a mortar
two drcahms of sulphur and one of mercury. The yel-
low color of the sulphur and the lustre of the mercury
will both disappear, the whole being converted into a
black powder, which is the black sulphate of mercury.
Vermilion, again, is a bi-sulphuret of mercury, obtained
by heating together mercury and sulphur, and may be
obtained as a black solid, which will turn red on being
touched.

A brilliant Metallic Tree. — Reduce to powder
three-quarters of an ounce of sugar of lead ; on this
pour a decanter of water. Shake the mixture, and allow
it to remain three days; take off the clear solution;
rinse out the decanter, and then return it. Suspend a
piece of zinc in the decanter, by means of thread or
wire, to the stopper, so as just to be covered by the
solution. Place it in a situation where it is not likely
to be disturbed. The zinc will shortly become covered
with a moss-like appearance, and substance of metallic
lead, which will shoot forth in brilliant crystallization,
bearing a resemblance to a tree or shrub. This experi-
ment is much to be admired, producing a pretty room
ornament, if suspended in a large round glass bottle,
which will be much better in appearance than in a
decanter, and will better show the beauty of the crys-
tallization, in consequence of being made with thinner
and more transparent glass.

Heat by the Mixture of two Cold Fluids. —
Sulphuric acid and one-fourth of water. Shake them
together, and the heat will be produced.

Silver Foliage. — Spread on a piece of glass a few
drops of nitrate of silver, previously diluted with soft
water of double its quantity; place at the bottom of it,
flat upon the glass and in contact with the fluid, a cop-
per or brass wire bent to any figure.

Precipitation of Silver in a Crystallized
form. — Immerse phosphorus for a few days in a solu-
tion of nitrate of silver. The metal will be precipitated
on the phosphorus in fine dentritic crystal.

Crystallization by Sublimation.— Put two tea-
spoonfuls of Benzoic acid in a Florence oil cask. Apply
to the bottom of it a gentle heat by placing a lamp under
it. The acid will be volatilized in the form of white
vapors, which again condense in the upper part of the
rask in a beautiful crystalline form.

<£ n't qui as.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN SEPTEMBER
NUMBER.

32. A dew-drop.
34. Sceptre.

31. A cannon (canon).
33. Air, hair, chair.

ENIGMAS.
35.
'Tis my pride to acknowledge I 'm prone to endear
Their lives to the folks who may enter my sphere ;
To those truly felicitous souls that attain
Life's bright golden circle of bliss when they gain
Their legal and sacred possession of me.
But a fetter of bondage I 'm destined to be
For those who would make me a link to enslave,
Who must wear their own shackle still on to the grave.

With me you 're never disconten
Though everything I represent

On so enlarged a scale,
That if one should, in your degree,
Attempt to magnify, like me,

The artifice would fail.

For falsehood you would be despised,
An arch-impostor stigmatized,

Exaggeration's tool :
While I, more visionary still,
The views of man enlarge at will,

Though truth is e'er my rule.

37.
A bright sphere am I seen of diminutive space,
In an orbit of .beauty my form you '11 oft trace ;
Sometimes a relation with bliss I may claim,
Though sympathy, sorrow, and love I must name
As the traits of a character truly mine own ;
To the offspring of weakness I 'm frequently know*.
But better be weak from a sensitive heart,
And a genuine test of kind feeling impart,
Than by selfish seclusion that apathy prove
Which emotions of tenderness never could move.
Ah yes ! let me ever for mercy appeal,
While the light of benevolence still I reveal !

38.

When tempests deform the smooth face of the sky,

All winter neglected and naked I lie;

But as soon as approaches the beautiful May,

When the fields and the meadows and nature look gav,

'Tis then I step forth, d-la-mode, like the fair,

With my long silken train, and all plaited my hair.

When thus I 'm adorned and dressed in my fly,

Oh ! behold, what a beautiful creature am I !

Of an object so striking, ye gazers, beware;

Come not within reach of so fatal a snare.

For with malice prepense, and a desperate will,

I 'm bent to destroy, and determined to kill.

39.
A word there is five syllables contains,
Take one away, no syllable remains.

Before a circle let appear
Twice twenty-five, and five in rear;
One-fifth of eight subjoin, and then
You '11 quickly find what conquers men,

Centre-Cable (Soi'sip

THE NURSERY.

[We are always glad to receive good sensible sug-
gestions, like the following, and shall willingly give
place to any such on practical matters.]

" I know you will not take it as a liberty, if I give you
the result of my experience in one point of household
expenditure — the dress of children. I have come to the
conclusion that I spent twice as much as I needed to
without knowing it, and in very trifling ways.

" When boarding, the family on the floor below us,
with whom we were quite intimate, and, indeed, the
boarders generally, influenced us much more than we
were aware. Mrs. G liked good materials and ex-
pensive ornaments. Though they seemed no richer
than ourselves, she always managed to have them.
When a package of her shopping came home from
Stewart's, I liked to be called in to examine its con-
tents. If she bought extra fine bird's-eye for her chil-
dren's aprons, or all wool cashmeres for her boys'
sacques, I could not be behind. If she used Valenci-
ennes, how could I trim my baby's dresses with plain
thread, or loop his sleeves with plain coral, when she
had ribbons at half a dollar a yard 1 Embroidered flan-
nels were a great point with Mrs. H. ; I came to think
plain hems entirely too old-fashioned. Her baby's
dresses were a yard and a half long ; I thought my
mother's old-fashioned rule, three-quarters, looked
mean and skimping. Then you can have no idea of our
washing-bill; for the children must wear nothing but
white the year round, two dresses, a white petticoat,
and apron a day for each.

" Now that we are in our own house, and the chil-
dren have a good comfortable nursery, so that they are
not always in the halls or on the stairs, at the risk of
their necks, or croup at the least, things have gradually
changed. Having no fear of Mrs. S. or Mrs. H., I find
that plain cross-barred slips, with as little insertion
and edging as possible, look as neat, and keep clean as
long as the most elaborate lawns, tucked and flounced,
and embroidered so that you hate to see them go in
the wash. I have made the discovery that patent-
leather shoes and sash ribbons are not necessary to
their existence, and that a plain hem-stitched handker-
chief will keep the cold from the baby's throat as well
as my best embroidered ones.

" You have no idea what a difference these things
make in my month's expense-book, and I begin to enjoy
my children so much more. I am not afraid of tum-
bling their finery ; and it is such a relief not to be call-
ing out, 'Sit still!' 'Put that down!' 'Don't touch
that !' ' Do keep yourself off the floor !' from morning
till night. Thia winter I shall make Robert's dresses
sufficiently long to protect his poor purple little legs, and
put Henry into sleeve-aprons. If we had remained at
the Burton House, they would have been shivering in
white, I dare say. It is probable you have more than
one young mother on your list, to whom it never occur-
red to think for herself any more than it did to me.
After all, one's children are not born to be puppets,
though we make them so."

There is not a more naturally descriptive verse in
Hood, or a more correct portrait on the walls of an
Academy or Art- Union, than this from a page of " Pris-
matics." We give it for the particular benefit of fond
mammas and papas, just returned from ruralizing, sure
that it will bring them a reminiscence they will thank
us for : —

MY BOY IN THE COUNTRY.

Methinks I see his head's round silky crop,

Like a blown thistle's top !
Or watch him walk, with legs stretched wide apart,

Dragging a small red cart;
Or hear his tiny treble chirp in play

With, " Oh, go way !''
Or, where the crystal eddies swell the sand,

I see him stand,
To plumb the polished pebbles in the brook

With steadfast look,
While his wee, waggling head, with nothing on it

But a sun-bonnet,
Looks like the picture of a capuchin

A round frame in.
Now, with his tender fist, he rubs his eye :

" Plague take that fly !"
Or hovering Bessie claps a sudden veto

On some mosquito,
While he lies sleeping in his shaded crib,

Sans stocking, bib ;
His toes curled up so sweet that I could eat 'em —

How could I beat him?
How lay a finger on that soft brown skin,
With many a blue vein interspersed therein 1

CRANBERRY-SAUCE.

Coming just now in season, we have gathered some
hints both on the cultivation and use of this serviceable
fruit that will not come amiss to the farm-wife and
housekeepers generally.

The cranberry is an easily cultivated fruit, and, by
proper management, may be made the most profitable
of any that engage the attention of the fruit-grower. At
a comparatively small outlay, acres of waste meadow
or bog land, which now yield nothing to the farmer,
might be made serviceable in the production of this
valuable culinary fruit. It is found in abundance in-
its wild state in England and in Russia— in the latter
country growing so luxuriantly in some places, that the
snow is stained crimson by the sledges passing over
and crushing the berries. The American cranberry,
however, is superior to all others in its growth and
flavor. The name is supposed to be derived from the
peduncks being crooked at the top, and, before the ex-
pansion of the flower, resembling the head and neck of
the crane. The berry is round, red, acid, excellent in
many kinds of cooking, and commands, uniformly, a
very high price.

Soil and Situation.— The cranberry will grow well on
sandy bogs, after draining; a moist soil, not liable to
bake, and loamy soils which are moderately dry, and

381

332

contain a mixture of sand, are well adapted for the pur-
pose. A moist soil, however, is generally considered
indispensable ; but, with a mixture of bog earth, or mud,
it is claimed that it will flourish and produce abundant
crops even in a dry soil. These views will be found
elucidated in the following modes of culture : —

General Culture, 8fc. — It may be propagated by cut-
tings taken from the points of the growing shoots, and
planted in sand, or by layers, or division of the plant ;
the roots may be planted either in the spring or the fall,
before the middle of May, or in October or November.

To Keep Cranberries. — Gather them when quite dry,
cork them closely in dry bottles, and place in a cool, dry
cellar. They will also keep in bottles or in casks of
water, the latter being the mode practised in the north
of Europe and in this country, and in which it is sent a
long distance, without injury 5 the fruit is put in a per-
fect state into tight barrels, filled with water, and headed
up.

Cranberry Jelly. — Make a very strong isinglass jelly ;
when cold, mix it with a double quantity of cranberry
juice, pressed and strained ; sweeten and boil it up, and
make it into the desired shape, by straining into the
proper vessels ; use good white sugar, or the jelly will
not be clear.

Cranberry and Rice Jelly. — Boil and press the fruit,
strain the juice, and by degrees mix it with as much
ground rice as will, when boiled, thicken to a jelly;
boil it gently, stirring it, and sweeten to your taste ; put
it into a basin or form, and serve with cream or milk.

BOTH SIDES OF THE CASE.

We have often been called on to defend our position
as a reporter of fashions, at the same time that we
claim a useful, moral, and even religious character for
our magazine, a true household companion. We have
unexpectedly met with an argument in our favor in the
excellent tale published by Messrs. Appleton, " The
Sunshine of Greystone." It is a conversation between
the heroine, Flora, and an over-strict religionist, the
husband of her friend.

" ' Mrs. Lyell tells me that you object to my theory of
plain colors, Miss Grey.'

" ' I object to no one's theory,' said Flora, ' provided
each will allow his neighbor to have his own pet
theory.'

"'But all theories cannot be right,' Baid Mr. Lyell,
smiling. • There is but one right way.'

'"One right foundation,' said Flora, firmly; 'but
there may be many passages and rooms in the house
built on that foundation. I think, if you choose to att ack
my ideas of dress, I can promise you reasons for all I
think and do. It is not unadvisedly done.'

" * Well, but explain to me this passage : " Where
adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of piaiting
of hair, and of putting on of apparel." '

" ' No Christian woman, Mr. Lyell, will deliberately
dress herself out for admiration, or for the mere sake
and love of dress, with plaiting of hair and putting on
of apparel ; neither will she think it necessary to make
herself conspicuous by uncalled-for peculiarities of
dress. No one can judge of another. We shall be j udged
of by motives, not as we appear to man; and'— she
hesitated.

" ' And what1?' he said, smiling.

" 'And,' she answered, firmly, ' if a girl's father and
friends like a x'eculiar style of dress for her, and she
gains an influence for the best things, by an attention to

their fancies in these little things, I think it is her plain
duty to dress for them, and throw the exterior world
overboard. As to color — under any consideration, I
think color is a mere matter of opinion, and is nowhere
spoken of in the Bible in terms of reprobation. I cannot
think it more pleasing to God to wear purple and drab
than blue or pink. The motive for dressing is the great
thing; and I do not think it sinful to be moderately
careful about our appearance; on the contrary, I am
sure it is right.'

" Mr. Lyell was going to speak, when Miss Smythe
quietly remarked, with a decision of manner that would
be heard, though clothed in the gentlest tone —

" ' I quite agree with you, Miss Grey. This utili-
tarian age is greatly inclined to overlook the true use
of beauty, and also the nature and variety of beauty.
God is the maker of beauty, and, in some measure, as
we endeavor to appreciate it in all its truth and good-
ness, we perform part of our duty as Christians.' "

ECONOMY IN WASHING.

Since the disagreeable rite celebrated as " washing-
day" cannot be dispensed with altogether, we remember
to have promised some instructions to young house-
keepers overlooking the ceremony for the first time.

The first grand requisite is plenty of good river or rain
water ; when it is necessary that hard water should be
substituted, some simple chemical process can be used
successfully to lighten the labor. If soda is chosen, the
less quantity that will suffice the better. This should
be dissolved by pouring boiling water over it before it is
put in the tub ; it will not answer so well thrown in in
lumps. The soap should not be too new, or it will
waste. The bars should be cut in pieces as soon as
brought home, and so exposed to the air.

We give a receipt for preparing suds, recommended
by good authority : To every eight gallons of water add
an ounce and a half of yellow soap cut small, one
ounce of soda, and one pint of lime-water. The clothes
should be laid to soak in cold water some hours, then
put on with the " suds" cold ; let them come to boil
slowly, and boil half an hour. Take them out, examine
each article carefully, and rub with soap where neces-
sary. Washing " Peggies" or " Jennies" are very
destructive things, and nothing but rubbing with judg-
ment will clean some clothes.

Those who are not so anxious to save themselves
trouble will find it better to soap wdh good yellow soap
and warm water, and rub them once, twice, or thrice,
as they are more or less soiled. Boil them well for half
an hour, and rinse in blueing water. The best laun
dresses prefer hard water rinsings.

Flannels and colored clothes shall have a separate
consideration.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

"Miss S." — We have several times given useful
advice on the culture of bulbs, but will prepare a move
elaborate article at her request for our next number.

" H. W. W." — A "condiment" is understood as a
flavoring rather than an ingredient of food. The con-
tents of the castor are condiments— soy, catsup, capei-
sauce, etc. etc.

" Marianne." — Vocalization is a practice of notes
without words, or rather substituting a — pronouns '.
ah — for the " do re mi," in learning an exercise or piece
of music. The vocalizes, in an instruction book, an-

FASHIONS.

383

swer to the exercises and lessons intended for instru-
mental practice. They form and harmonize the voice,
giving power and compass to the singer. It is impossible
to accomplish any of the ornaments or graces of vocal
music, such as a trill, cadenza, chromatic scale, or
turn, without a long and careful practice of vocaliza-
tion. All the celebrated singers continue this practice
of scales and exercises throughout their whole profes-
sional career, several hours each day. The best voice
would soon grow unmanageable or rusty without it.
Hence singers are said to be " in" or " out of practice."

" Mrs. Meath," of Geo. — " Roselawn" is certainly
a very desirable name, if her flowers will justify it.
The "Sides" are almost used tip; " Sunnyside,"
" Shadyside," " Hillside," " Lakeside," " Prairieside,"
are on all hands. " Braeside" is one of the prettiest,
and is a favorite Scotch name for a country residence.
Prefixing the article " the" to the particular growth of
trees on a place is now a favorite style, as " The Oaks,"
" The Hollies," " The Locusts." There are " Woods"
and " Lands" without number, as " Lynwood," " Glen-
wood," " Fleetwood," " Wheatland," " Oatland,"
<: Upland," etc. Then the " Springs:" " Clear Spring,"
': Cold Spring," " Wood Spring." " Idlewild" is the
well-known fanciful name of the present residence of
Willis ; but it can never have the pure and gentle asso-
ciations of " Glen Mary." The unfailing coadjutor of
Mr. Willis — General Morris — has appropriately called
his exquisite country home " Undercliff " — a bold, ab-
rupt cliff rising behind the broad belt of table-land on
which it is situated. On the whole, we think our corre-
spondent could not do better than her choice of " Rose-
lawn."

" A Young Wife" will find ease in entertaining
to arise from study and experience. To entertain com-
pany without embarrassment or excitement, without
attracting notice or intruding yourself on the attention
of your guests, is an art only to be acquired by long
usage, and to be practised with great tact. Behavior at
home is one of the best touchstones oi good manners ;
many appear well abroad who are not at ease under
their own roof. Quiet and calmness are necessary; the
entertainer should seem to do nothing while doing
everything. She should move about with composure
and self-possession, so that no one could tell she was
not a guest instead of hostess.

" Mrs. P. L." — Tobacco smoke or water will remove
the insects. A common clay-pipe may be used; or, if
the smell is offensive, camphorated water will answer.

Sa si) tons.

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 re-
search required. Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn
bonnets, dresses, jewelry, bridal cards, cake-boxes,
envelopes, etc. etc., will be chosen with a view to eco-
nomy, as well as taste ; and boxes or packages for-
warded by express to any part of the country. For the
last, distinct directions must be given.

Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expendi-
ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., who
ivill be responsible for the amount, and the early execution
of commissions.

No order will be attended to unless the money I
received.

Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompa-
nied by a note of the height, complexion, and general
style of the person, on which much depends in choice.
Dress goods from Levy's or Stewart's; cloaks, mantil-
las, or talmas, from Brodie's, 61 Canal Street, New
York ; bonnets from Miss Wharton's ; jewelry from
Bailey's or Warden's, Philadelphia, or Tiffany's, New
York, if requested.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR
OCTOBER.

We give our readers in this plate not only new styles,
but a graceful picture — a morning scene on the balcony
of an artist's studio. In the figures, we have walking
or carriage-dresses, suitable for paying calls.

Fig. 1st. — Walking-dress of ash-colored brocaded silk,
a very rich pattern, the cheques or quadrilles being
formed by heavy satin stripes a shade darker than the
groundwork. The trimming is a broad ribbon, corre-
sponding in shade, drawn full and laid on flat. The
sleeves open on the forepart of the arm, and display
flowing sleeves of rich cambric-work. White China
shawl, embroidered in colors. Bonnet of rose-colored
silk, ornamented by a falling spray of leaves on the
outside. The cap is full, but very simple, double bor-
ders of blonde, relieved by a single rosebud and leaves
on the right side.

Fig. 2d. — Walking-dress, also of brocade, in a striped
pattern of vines, woven with flowers. The skirt and
corsage are perfectly plain, the latter short, and finished
with a belt and buckle, a style increasing in favor.
Drawn bonnet of dark-green silk relieved by sprays of
star-flower outside and about the face. The inner
wreath is terminated by short quillings of blonde.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILA-
DELPHIA FASHIONS FOR OCTOBER.

The fashion editor, like the importer, is always at
work in advance of the season ; and in the heat of an
August day, it may be, is poring over the sample-cards
of wholesale silk departments, unrolling the rich dark
ribbons, which are to rival the many-colored tints of
autumn leaves, or perhaps still more unseasonably sur-
rounded by the costly cloaks and mantillas in Brodie's
wholesale department.

The casual purchaser, who has come from the heated
rooms of a fashionable hotel to find a " mantle short
and cool," does not dream that high up the velvet-
covered staircase heavy cloths and velvets, which she
will see in her southern home when the winter months
come round, are piled in wondrous heaps of gorgeous
contrasts in material and coloring. She sees the first
and second saloon filled with lace and gossamer drape-
ries ; but the third floor has gone at least three months
in advance of the present, and the work-rooms higher
still are crowded with embroidery and quilting-frames,
that are fashioning the comfortable wraps of mid-
winter. Of these, we shall have more to say when a
sharper atmosphere will make the mention welcome.
The full mantles present infinite variety in shape, ma-
terial, and trimming. There is the plain circle of cloth
or velvet, much as it has been worn the past two sea-
sons, forming a double cape, the cloth trimmed with
galoons in contrasting colors, the velvet with double
and treble satin cording, or broad box-plaitings of satin

384

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ribbon. We particularly noticed a graceful carriage-
cloak, which Mr. Brodie has now in preparation for the
" Lady's Book," formed of heavy velvet reliefs on a
satin ground of some light shade, a rich fall of lace add-
ing to the graceful effect. The most noticeable shades
are rich dark apple-green, a blue, which is darker and
brighter than the Marie Louise, yet not so deep as the
lately favorite Mazarine. Some of the Paris corre-
spondents describe it as " blue-bottle." Purples, browns,
and the true fawn color are to be, with the first-
mentioned shades, the colors of the season. Black
cloths and velvets are not preparing in large quantities,
and will be mostly individual orders. Rich embroide-
ries, guipure laces, velvet galoons, and a rich velvet lace,
which has somewhat the effect of a flounce of velvet
applique, while much more delicate, are among the
trimmings Mr. Brodie has imported and manufactured
the present season.

The fall openings are just commencing, very few dress
bonnets being yet worn. Summer straws retrimmed
are almost invariably the September and October bon-
nets, even among those who think much of dress. We
give a cut of the favorite style of ribbon and silk trim-
ming, the fanchon, or half-handkerchief, which is sus-
ceptible of many tasteful combinations. Every shade
of silk is used for the fauchon; the lining of the brim
and broad ribbon strings should be of the same. Fancy
straw braids, gauze and satin ribbons, or narrow

blondes, are used in bordering them. The blue we have
spoken of, and the deep, old-fashioned forest green, are

Fig. 1.

the prominent colors. Ribbons are worn of every width,
a medium of five or six inches being considered the
most ladylike. They are very thick and rich in texture ;
some of the handsomest we have seen were raised
cheques and stripes of black satin, alternating with the
principal plain shades, as black and green, black and

Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

purple, etc. More than two or three colors in a ribbon,
however rich it may be, gives it a common, calico
appearance.

We give two examples of the dress bonnets that are
to come, as the best mode of conveying an idea of their
shape and style.

Fig. 2 is of drawn silk, with a short plume low on the
right side ; the cap is of fine blonde and flowers.

Fig. 3 is of delicate gauze ribbon, a shell pattern on a
foundation of silk, the same shade of green.

In dress materials, the silks seem to us richer than
ever ; it may be in contrast with the delicate hues and
fabrics of summer. The heaviest are the taffetas, which
have every variety of style. Many have black grounds,
the flounces bordered by wreaths of flowers in lively
colors, or in small branches, which increase in size

towards the bottom of the volant ; also small patterns
in the Greek classic style, scrolls, etc., in raised satin.
Those that come without flounces, in the piece, are
principally plaid patterns, in large squares of cherry
color, blue, green, or violet, on a contrasting ground,
with large wide bands alternately. The plain silks ar*
varied by patterns which have the flounces in as many
different shades of the same color, as a dark fawn
flounce at the bottom of the skirt, the next lighter, until
the last is the body of the dress. The last is a decided
and elegant novelty.

Thus much for the opening month of the season. Our
next number will have still more varied information,
and especially in the department of caps and emhj
ries, with ample illustrations of the text.

Fashion.

FASHIONABLE BONNETS AND CAPS.

FROM THE CELEBRATED ESTABLISHMENT OF THOMAS WHITE AND CO.,

No. 41 South Second Street, Philadelphia.

No. 1.

No. 2

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No. 3.

No. 4.

VOL. XLIX. — 33

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THE BARCELONA.

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

articles of costume.]

Drawn by L. T. Voigt, from actual

As satin cloaks now usurp a very large place which cloths or velvets almost exclusively occupied, we have
chosen one for this page. It is made of chocolate-colored satin, and appears exceedingly simple in construc-
tion, being a plain saok back, set, with considerable fulness at the bottom of the skirt, upon a cape, the outline
of which is bordered by an exquisitely rich plush galloon, and finished by a fringe. A cape twelve inches deep
at the back, where it is slightly pointed, is continued over the sack back to the front ; it does not meet at the
neck by about five inches — this space being occupied by the breast of the cloak. It is carried in a straight line
to the widest breadth of the chest — about ten inches — the line of the seam being marked by the drop buttons
(which will be observed in the plate) which connect it with the front portion of the cloak. A pelerine thence
falls with a straight edge, forming a covering for the armholes. This is fringed as far as to the point to which
the cape extends. The frontis perfectly smooth. A smooth band, five inches wide, occupies the centre of the
front; this is covered with the same galloon that trims the pelerine. Altogether, it is a most convenient and
dressy-looking garment.
388

THE EMPRESS.

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

articles of costume.]

This illustration is drawn from a rich brown velvet, embroidered with an elaborate design of needle-work,
and lined with taffetas to match, quilted with fine taste. The back is box-plaited upon a half-yoke seven
inches deep ; the front, which runs up to the neck, fits perfectly plain. Flaps, joined at the side-seam to the
cloak and upper edge, are ornamented by the ends of the pelerine, which is about six inches wide, and attached
just above the lower edge of the yoke behind, and, passing over the tips of the shoulders, borders the forepart
of the eide-pieces which cover the armholes, and which do not rench within twelve inches of the bottom of the
garment. The lower portion of this pelerine is wider, being finished by a slight curve, which adds no little
to the graceful effect of this paragon of cloaks.

Although we specify the color and material of the article from which the artist makes the design, yet, in
every instance in which it is possible to do so, the peculiar style illustrated is also fashioned indifferently of
satins, velvets, or cloths, of any fashionable shade of color, and trimmed in galloons, braids, ice., or em-
broidered to suit the taste of the wearer.

33* 389

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S91

GODEY'S

1ABT

PHILADELPHIA, NOVEMBER, 1854.

EYEEYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XXV.

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER.

REARING AND MANAGEMENT OF
SILK-WORMS.

It is supposed that the Chinese were the first
who discovered the use of this important little
creature, the silk-worm. It was introduced into
Europe in the sixth century by two monks who
had resided many years in China as missionaries.
Silk-worms are now kept on an extensive scale
in India, Italy, and the south of France, and to
a very small extent in England. The rearing
of silk-worms is a pretty employment for young
people, and some little girls are very successful
in the management of them.

The eggs should be laid out towards the end
of April in small trays made of thin card- board
or stiff paper, two or three inches square, and
the rim one inch high. These should be neatly
made, and well fastened together at the corners.
The trays should be placed in the warmest and
sunniest window in the house, and must be care-
fully kept from anything touching them. Some
cover the trays with fine gauze. Towards June

5 the eggs will be hatched. They should then be
ij removed by means of a light feather or fine

camel's-hair pencil into fresh trays, made as
before, in which fresh young mulberry leaves
must be first placed. This operation must be
performed with great care, as the worms are so
small and tender that a very little injury kills
them.

At first the worm is of a darkish hue, but
afterwards becomes a delicate cream-color. All
silk-worms appear to be troubled with sickness
from their first appearance until they are fully
grown and begin to spin. Each sickness con-
tinues about three days, during which the worm

8y3

30-i

godey's magazine and lady's book.

becomes thicker and shorter, and casts its skin ;
while this is going on it has no appetite, and
therefore eats nothing.

Before the first sickness, mulberry leaves
should be given once a day; after that, until
the third sickness, they should be fed twice a
day, increasing the quantity according to their
growth. From the third to the fourth they must
be fed thrice a day, and four times if the weather
be very hot. From the fourth crisis they must
be fed very frequently, as they require more than
during all their previous life. Indeed, after so
much sickness, it is not surprising that their
appetites should be pretty keen.

Lettuce leaves are often given to silk-worms
instead of mulberry; but, as the latter is their
natural food, they must have it as soon as possi-
ble. It is said to be fatal to give lettuce after
once being fed with mulberry leaves.

In cleaning out the trays, which should be
attended to once a day at first, and afterwards
oftener, great care must be taken not to injure
the silk-worms. The best plan is to place fresh
leaves in the tray to be cleaned, upon which the
silk-worms will crawl, when they can be lifted
into the clean tray. Until they are full grown,
they must not be taken by the fingers, and then
only with great care and tenderness. The leaves
must be fresh, but free from damp. It is well
to keep them closely packed together, and dried
in a clean cloth before giving them to the silk-
worms.

Before the worms commence spinning, they
change to a pink-color, and become very rest-
less. When they cease eating, which will now
be the case, remove them into little paper bags,
made in the shape of a small cone or funnel,

wide at the mouth, and narrowing to a point at
the other end. These little bags should be about
four inches deep, and may be pinned to a tape,
with the narrow end downwards, and fastened
to the wall of a room. It is in these little bags
that the worm spins its pretty covering, com-
pleMv inclosing itself in a ball of silk. This
is called a cocoon, inside which the worm under-
goes another change, and becomes a dark-brown,
hard, glossy little grub, or " aurclia." "When the
cocoon has become as large as a pigeon's eggy it

may be shaken, and if the aurelia be loose, which
will be known by a slight rattling sound, the
spinning is complete.

Now is the time to wind off the silk : the loose
outside floss must be removed, and the cocoon
placed in lukewarm water. The end of the silk
will then become loose, and several cocoons may
be wound off together in one thread.

When the aurelia comes out of the cocoon, it
should be placed in bran, just under the surface,

AURELIA.

when it will soon turn to a white moth, which
does not eat nor fly, though it has wings — lives
for a very short time, lays its eggs, and dies.

SILK-WORM MOTH.

The eggs, however, must be taken care of if
silk-worms are to be kept another year. Thi3
may be done in two ways : First, by placing the
moths in paper trays, with a piece of clean white
paper at the bottom to receive the eggs. The
other method is to place the moths upon coarse
linen cloth, and when the eggs are laid, and
after they have become an ashy color, the cloth
must be immersed in fresh water. The eggs
may then be dried, and will readily come off the
cloth, and may be kept in a box until spring.

SONNET.— POMPEII.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

Stood I within the city over which,
Erewhile, the furious fire-flood madly swept ;

Lo ! habitations disinterred of rich
And poor, through which hot lava wildly crept,

Mine eyes beheld. There bony skeletons
Of forms that once so lovely, joyous smiled,
Now, are on other in confusion piled —

Fathers and mothers, loving daughters, sons,
Commingled rudely in a last embrace !

And wherefore sol For why, the everlasting God

O'er them in anger and hot vengeance trod,
As, erst, o'er Sodom, when, with rapid pace,

His red feet trampled columned temples down,

Of men who did despite to his immortal crown.

MKS. CATHCAKT'S FEIEND,

Y PAULINE FORSYTH,

There is a class of married ladies who seem
unable to forego the homage and attention they
received before the}" had taken upon themselves
the irrevocable vows of matrimony. They can-
not be satisfied unless they have, besides their
husband, from whom they require the most entire
devotion, one gentleman at least whose occu-
pation it is to feed their vanity with all those
complimentary observances and petits soins, the
receiving which had formed so large a portion
of their happiness during their girlhood. For-
tunately for themselves, they are not generally
the ardent and warm-hearted of their sex, to
whom such an intimacy might be dangerous ;
but cool, exacting, and selfish, demanding this
homage for the sake of their vanity, and not for
the gratification of their affections, they contrive
to pass with unblemished reputations through the
fiery ordeal of critical observation and remark.

But though escaping censure, their conduct is
none the less deserving of reproach. Planting
themselves firmly on their impregnable position
as married women of irreproachable conduct,
they are fond of assuming over the young gen-
tlemen, to whom they profess a sisterly affection,
the control which their interest and influence
give them. If they are separated for a time,
and the lady belongs to the letter-writing genus,
a constant correspondence is kept up. This is
for the purpose of cultivating the mind of the
gentleman, and for keeping in full exercise that
preserving and elevating influence upon him,
which every one knows is the peculiar gift of
woman. If he fall in love, the chances are ten
to one that the self-constituted mentor does not
pronounce the lady as utterly beneath him, un-
worthy in every way the attention of one of his
prculiar and exalted qualifications ; and so
inflate his vanity (and of all engines, the easiest
to move, and the most potent when set in
motion, is masculine vanity) that the deluded
young man, with a satisfied feeling of virtuous
self-denial, officiates as voluntary high-priest to
sacrifice his love upon the altar of his dignity.

The machinations and paltry self-love of a
woman of this class were the means of causing a
degree of grief and anguish, of which she, in
the coldness of her nature, was incapable of con-
cei ving.

Nowhere in the Union are there so man}
pretty school-girls as in Philadelphia. To an
unrivalled delicacy and fairness of complex-
ion, and soft regularity of feature, they add a
look of purity, innocence, and simplicity, which
perhaps is an heritage from their Quaker ances-
tors. They have not the keen bright glance of
sagacious intelligence of the girls of Boston, as
though they were ready to solve any problem,
from those of Euclid to the more intricate ones
of social life. Neither have they the shrewd,
worldly-wise, premature look of a young New
Yorker. But they have a peculiar beauty of
their own — fresh, dewy, and delicate ; and may
it be long ere they exchange it even for the air,
half lawless, half refined, of the graceful Balti-
morean !

There are many love-passages that occur
during this fleeting period of youth and beauty,
that are more romantic and ardent than those
that come in after-life. Many a man recalls, as
one of the most delightful periods of his exist-
ence, the time when, with the light weight of
eighteen years upon him, he hurried through his
breakfast, that he might at least be able to ex-
change a bow with some fair object of his youth-
ful passion. And if he could so far overcome
his boyish bashfulness as to join the young girl,
and, Under the pretence of carrying her books,
accompany her to the door of the school, he
considered himself happy indeed. And many a
young man of riper years has been smitten with
a love equally sudden and violent, by a passing
glance on some of those faces of gentle and dove-
like beauty which go flitting through the bu.sy
streets.

Emily Kirkham was fated to inspire one of
these passions, which colored with its conse-
quences all her youth. She was the daughter
of a retail merchant living in one of the cross
streets of the city. Mr. Kirkham was a man
of great respectability, but of moderate fortune,
and of course, from his occupation, excluded
with his family from the fashionable circles of
the city. But he was resolved that his daugh-
ter should enjoy every advantage in the way
of education that could possibly be obtained.
Emily, besides being attended at home by tho
first masters in music and the languages, waa

395

396

godey's magazine and lady's book.

sent to one of the best schools in the place. It
was while on her morning walk there that she
attracted the attention of Mr. Lawrence Cooper,
a clerk in one of the principal commercial houses
of Philadelphia. She was hardly sixteen at the
time, and was growing up tall, slight, and grace-
ful as a young willow-tree. A gentle, serious,
earnest look was stamped on her young face,
and her eyes, unusually large and soft, generally
wore, as she passed through the crowded streets,
an abstracted, thoughtful expression, as though
her mind was busy with other scenes. Yet if,
by chance, a passer-by caught their glance, he
could not but be struck with their innocence
and confldingness.

For more than a year, the meeting Miss Kirk-
ham had been the one pleasant event of Mr.
Cooper's morning walk to his counting-house,
and when he missed her at last, and discovered,
on inquiry, that her school-life was ended, and
her career as a young lady fairly commenced,
he felt so strong a desire for a nearer acquaint-
ance that he contrived to obtain an introduction
to Mr. Kirkham, and at last an invitation to his
house.

The acquaintance thus commenced ripened
soon into a close intimacy. Mr. Cooper was a
peculiarly attractive man. His personal appear-
ance and manners were remarkably prepossess-
ing; and, what was of more importance to the
father, he bore a high reputation as a good busi-
ness man, of unimpeachable integrity and unu-
sual ability. And Mr. Kirkham was therefore
well pleased when he saw that his daughter, the
only treasure of his house, turned coldly from
all the other suitors for her love, to give to Mr.
Cooper alone her kind words and smile.

Emily had not the slightest taint of coquetry
in her disposition, and so did not hesitate to show
frankly, yet with a due regard to her maidenly
dignity, that she preferred Mr. Cooper to all his
rivals. Nor was she won unsought; for the
gentleman's visits were constant, and his atten-
tions open and undisguised. Indeed, Mr. Cooper
was, for the first and last time in his life, really
in love. All his better feelings were awakened
by his association with one of so loving and lofty
a nature, and he felt, while with Emily, as though
he were breathing a purer air, and expatiating
in a hieher element than he had ever been
accustomed to before.

Emily was essentially a religious being. Her
piety was not of that extrinsic kind that can be
thrown on and off to suit the wearer's purpose,
but was the corner-stone of her character, from
which all her other virtues sprang, and on which
they depended for their constant support. It

was impossible to be much with her and not to
see this, and feel respect for the strength, as well
as love for the gentleness, of her nature.

Daily companionship with such a character for
eighteen months seemed to Lawrence Cooper to
have effected an entire change in his feelings and
aims. He was naturally proud, selfish, ambi-
tious, and worldly ; but lately he had felt that
the true purpose of life would be carried out in
its highest aim if, in some quiet and well-ordered
home, he could shelter his wife and the family
it might please God to give them, and train them
and himself into a fitness for the purity and
blessedness of heaven.

Yet, though he had in a hundred different ways
revealed his thoughts and feelings to Emily, he
had not yet made the final and decisive declara-
tion. He was not in a condition to marry, and
with a single regard to his own convenience, by
no means unusual, he wished to keep his fate in
his own hands as long as possible. But now the
time had nearly come when he felt that he might
at length declare his love, without burdening
himself with a long engagement. The firm in
which he was a clerk were thinking of esta-
blishing a house in Cincinnati, and they had
offered him the control of that branch of their
business on such terms that he foresaw, by faith-
fulness and economy for a few years, he would
soon be in a position to enter the firm as a part-
ner, or to set up in business for himself. Mean-
while, the salary would be ample for the support
of a small household in a simple yet elegant
style.

Late one Sunday evening he sat alone in his
own room, revolving in his mind his position
and prospects. As had been his custom for the
last year, he had been to church with Emily both
morning and afternoon, and had spent the whole
evening with her. Mr. and Mrs. Kirkham, with
all their friends, and all Mr. Cooper's, looked
upon this intimacy as one that was, or would
soon be, sanctioned by an engagement, and the
gossips of the place had long regarded it as a
settled thing. Emily, with no more doubt of
Mr. Cooper's feelings than she had of her own,
satisfied with the blissful certainty of his love,
enjoyed the present without a thought of the
future. Mr. Cooper himself would have been
filled with indignation if any one had dared to
suggest the possibility of his betraying the confi-
dence thus placed in him.

" I meant to have settled everything with
Emily to-day," thought he; "but somebody
seemed to be always in the way. I must ask
her this week if she can make up her mind to
leave all her friends here, and go with mc to

MRS. CATHCART'S FRIEND.

397

Cincinnati." And a smile broke over his hand-
some face, for he felt an inward conviction that
east or west, or north or south were all the same
to Emily if he were with her. "And about
joining the church," he went on, "I know that
Emily is anxious that I should do it, and as it is
a step that I have resolved upon taking, I had
better do it as soon as possible, so as to be able
to begin in Cincinnati a new life in every sense
of the term."

And with these resolutions and a tranquil
conscience, Mr. Cooper retired. Good inten-
tions are almost always tried before they are
allowed to bring forth fruit. With the next day
came the temptation. Mrs. Leavenworth, one
of the most fashionable and dashing ladies in
Philadelphia, was going to give a ball, and
through the kind offices of Mr. Morris, one of
Mr. Cooper's acquaintances, and a close connec-
tion of the lady, Mr. Cooper received an invita-
tion. He was going at once to decline it, but
Mr. Morris opposed this warmly.

" It is to be a most superb affair, the most
splendid ball that has ever been given in the
city. It would be worth going to it for the spec-
tacle alone. And then all the pretty girls and
fashionable ladies will be there ; and you will
be quite a lion among them, for such handsome
fellows as you are not to be found every day.
Besides, you would confer a real obligation by
going, for Mrs. Leavenworth finds that she has
such a surplus of womankind that she is in a
sort of despair. She has charged me to bring all
the unexceptionable gentlemen I know, and I
believe she expects me to come with quite a
reinforcement ; but out of all my mixed crowd
of associates, I have been able to find but three
that the largest charity would consider unex-
ceptionable, and you are first on the list; so fail
me you must not."

With his vanity, his desire to oblige, gratified
pride, and a strong love for novelty and excite-
ment thus dexterously set in motion, Mr. Cooper
yielded at last, and promised to make one of the
gay crowd at Mrs. Leavenworth's.

" I go more to please Morris than anything
else," said he, as he took leave of Emily early
on the evening of the party ; " I am sure, if it
were left to my choice, I had much rather stay
here with you. Large parties are the most irra-
tional and unsatisfying of all modes of social
intercourse."

And Emily thought him a model of friendly
disinterestedness, and looked after him, as he
went away, with a feeling of mingled pride, and
tenderness, and compassion.

Mr. Cooper did make quite an impression,
vol. xlix. — 31

even among the carping and critical assembly
that had crowded into Mrs. Leavenworth's
drawing-rooms. His was not a face or figure to
pass unobserved anywhere. Without feeling
either -awkward or at a loss, which his native
pride and good-breeding forbade, yet he had been
so little accustomed to such gay scenes of late,
and was so entire a stranger to almost every one
there, that he was but little inclined to play the
agreeable to the younger ladies, and was really
thankful to Mr. Morris that he had introduced
him to a married lady, a Mrs. Cathcart.

"She won't expect me to flirt with her,"
thought Mr. Cooper, with a feeling of relief, as
he commenced a formal conversation with a few
of the stereotyped remarks that the customs of
society appropriate to such occasions. He was
particularly pleased with Mrs. Cathcart. Like
Emily, she was tall and slender; but, unlike her,
Mrs. Cathcart bore herself with a stately and
somewhat defiant and haughty manner. Throw-
ing back her small head, she gazed with her
cold, lustrous eyes over the gay throng, occa-
sionally curling her small mouth, with its thin
but exquisitely formed lips, into an expression
of quiet but half-concealed scorn, as some person
passed whom she thought not entitled to a place
among the guests, or some slight thing was done,
or left undone, which she fancied did not accord
with the rules of elegant propriety.

She did not allow herself to take note of the
little transgressions but by a passing look, and
the remark, made in a somewhat contemptuous
tone, that "Mrs. Leavenworth seemed to have
collected a great many peculiar kind of people."
And when she had thus asserted her right to be
considered extremely exclusive and elegant, she
deigned to exert herself to be as agreeable as
possible. And she could be very agreeable when
she chose. There was a gracious courtesy in
her manner, that seemed to make even a trifling
remark from her of some consequence to the
listener, as implying that even she, the proud
Mrs. Cathcart, thought him of sufficient import-
ance to try to please and interest him.

Mr. Cooper admired her beauty, her refine-
ment, and her elegance. She thought him by
far the finest and most distinguished-looking
man in the room. This mutual prepossession
ended in an introduction to Mr. Cathcart. one
of the most patient-looking of men, who stood
in a corner, bending all his energies to keep
himself awake, and an invitation to a very select
party to be given the next evening by Mrs.
Cathcart.

"I am sorry that my engagements will take
me away again to-night," said Mr. Cooper to

898

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Emily on the next evening ; " but Mrs. Cathcart
pressed her invitation with so much earnestness
that I felt as though it would be hardly polite
for me to decline ;" and, with a lingering " Good-
evening," this martyr to his social duties took
his departure.

Mrs. Cathcart was not wealthy, so she could
not vie with many of her associates in the mag-
nificence and richness of her furniture and her
entertainments. Too proud not to be the first
in whatever she attempted, she dropped all com-
petition on those points, contented herself with
sneering quietly at what she was pleased to term
'" the moneyed aristocracy of this country," and
piqued herself on the tasteful elegance of her
dress and household arrangements, and on her
extreme exclusiveness. The latter was her
strong point, and, by dwelling and insisting upon
it, she so contrived to impress her acquaintances
with the truth of her superior claims that, for-
getting her humble origin and small beginnings,
they accepted her at her own valuation, and her
friends as persons of undoubtedly superior quali-
fications ; else how could they be Mrs. Cathcart's
friends ?

Introduced into society under such favorable
circumstances, and from his uncommonly pre-
possessing person and manners, capable of main-
taining his high position with honor, it is no
wonder if Mr. Cooper's debut in fashionable
society was a great success. The homage and
attention he received were enough to have turned
the brain of any man who would have allowed
himself to listen to them. For, when a handsome
young gentleman will stoop to allow himself to
be flattered, there are no bounds to the compli-
ments and pleasant things that he will hear from
the wilful and reckless young girls who lead the
van of fashionable life. But amid all the com-
petitors for his attention, Mrs. Cathcart, with
the exacting petulance of a spoiled child, and
the resolute demands of a haughty woman,
maintained her right as his first friend to a high
degree of observance and devotion. And this
Mr. Cooper was the more willing to grant, as,
by saying to Emily that a married lady of Mrs.
Cathcart's high position was his constant com-
panion, he felt that he in a measure exculpated
himself from the charge of neglecting one to
whom he had given every reason for regarding
him as a lover and future husband.

Through all the scenes of excitement and
dissipation into which this new intimacy led
him, Mr. Cooper for some time preserved his
Sundays free from all encroachment. Then,
when, as had been his habit for months, he
walked with Emily to or from church, or sat in

his old seat in her father's pew, and joined his
voice with hers in the hymn, or listened to the
high teachings of the clergyman, he felt as if
lifted into a different and a purer atmosphere.
Emily never flattered nor admired him. She
simply loved him. She did not seem to know
that he was handsome, and had a peculiarly
noble and graceful air and bearing. He was
only Lawrence Cooper to her, and that was
more than father, mother, or all earthly ties
together. He was conscious of this in some
degree, and every Sabbath day for many weeks
was the occasion for the best resolutions in the
world. As these were regularly broken when
the week-days brought their temptations of
excitement and alluring pleasure, they were of
no earthly use ; but as they were very strong,
perhaps in another region they made good pav-
ing-stones. It is a pity to think that anything
so good should be quite wasted.

One day, on returning from church, they met
Mrs. Cathcart. She honored Mr. Cooper with
a gracious bow and smile, and Emily Kirkham
with a scrutinizing and comprehensive glance.

" Who was that pretty girl you were walking
with so soberly yesterday?" asked Mrs. Cath-
cart when they next met.

"Miss Kirkham."

"A daughter of John Kirkham, who has a
shop in Chestnut Street?"

"Yes," with a little irritation and annoyance
at a concealed sneer he perceived in Mrs. Cath-
cart's tone.

" Why, where did you pick her up ? She is
not one of our set."

" I have known her a long time."

" Ah, a boyish fancy. It seems to me that I
heard once that you were engaged to an Emily
something. Is that the fortunate lady?"

" I don't know to what you allude. I am not

" Compromised then — eh ?"

" Not at all — free as air," said Mr. Cooper,
while his conscience gave him a terrible thump.

" It would be a great pity if you were, to a per-
son so far beneath you. And now, if you will
excuse me for giving you a little advice — you
know I am a married lady, and we claim a right
to a few sisterly privileges towards those whom
we delight to honor — I must tell you that I think
it is not just the thing for a gentleman in the
higher walks of life to be associating with a lady
not entirely his equal. I cannot approve of
taking people out of the sphere for which they
are fitted by birth and education" (Mrs. Cath-
cart's father was a butcher; perhaps an inherited
taste for destroying fitted her peculiarly for

MES.

FRIEXD.

399

nipping the love that she plainly discerned be-
tween "those two"); "and though Miss Kirk-
ham is, I have no doubt, a very nice person"
(and none but a Philadelphian born can give
that epithet its peculiar point and sting ; a blow
could be more calmly borne than to be called in
cold blood a very nice person), "yet she is not
at all your equal, nor fitted to adorn your home."
Where were Mr. Cooper's manliness, his truth,
his candor, and his generosity, that he should sit
silent while that ruthless woman so calmly, and
in such gentle and winning terms, pronounced a
sentence of condemnation and banishment on
the best and truest feelings of his heart"? Like
Iiinaldo in the gardens of Armida, all his better
nature was lulled to a sleep like that of death,
by the syren song of pleasure and false love.

It would be doing injustice to Mrs. Cathcart's
talents as an intriguer — and she was a Machia-
vel in her way — not to say that, from her earliest
acquaintance with Mr. Cooper, she had been
aware of his entanglement, as she was pleased
to call it, and considered it her duty, conscien-
tious woman that she was, to set plainly before
him the disadvantages of so low a connection.

Aided by Mr. Cooper's inflated self-love, she
succeeded. He began to find excuses for omit-
ting his attendance on Sunday. Sometimes he
pleaded a headache, sometimes a previous en-
gagement to accompany Mrs. Cathcart, and at
last, telling Emily that he was quite tired of
listening to the monotonous sermons of her old
pastor, he ceased altogether to attend her to
church.

When Emily first began to realize that she
was indeed dispossessed of her place in his affec-
tions, and it was some time before the thought
was allowed to intrude into her loyal and con-
stant heart, her grief amounted almost to despair.
Can there be any deeper sorrow than that which
springs from the idea that we are deserted, cast
off by the one in whom the greatest strength of
our love has been garnered up 1 In after years,
this was a time of her life to which she could
never bear to revert ; a sealed book which she
put away out of her sight. Other sorrows she
had which she could dwell upon, and, in time,
learn to brood over with a feeling of mingled
sadness and pleasure; friends that she had lost,
whose memory came back like a blessed dream —
or sicknesses under which she had languished,
whose softening influences had fitted her the
better to enjoy the other good gifts that were
showered upon her — or disappointments which
she came in time to consider as her best suc-
cesses. But this fulness of love, thrown back
upon herself as not only worthless, but annoying

to the one who had spared no labor to win it, had
in it a depth and strength of bitterness which it
required all her faith and powers, both of mind
and body, to endure. But she did endure it un-
complainingly; and by endurance she conquered
at last, and came forth from the agony of that
fierce though silent strife with a serene and
conscious strength and self-reliance which arc
given only to those who have struggled and won
the victory.

Meantime, for several reasons, the firm in
which Mr. Cooper was had delayed establishing
the house in Cincinnati of which they had
promised him the control. But the business
arrangements for that purpose were completed
during the second year of his intimacy with
Mrs. Cathcart, and the offer of its management
was formally made to him. He was then in
the height of his success and triumph ; courted,
caressed, and honored in all the highest and
most exclusive circles of the city. His society
was sought, and invitations poured in upon him
until he hardly thought it worth while to read
them. A latent consciousness that this popular-
ity was but one of the caprices of fashion and
of feminine love of rivalship and excitement,
prompted him to make use of this passing sea-
son of sunshine for his own purposes. Wealth,
it seemed to him, was the only ingredient want-
ing for his perfect worldly prosperity, and that
want could be easily supplied, he felt convinced.

Among Mrs. Cathcart's intimates there was an
heiress ; young, lawless, and unrefined, outraging
constantly Mr. Cooper's fastidiousness by her
careless yielding to the wild impulses of her
nature, he yet decided that for the " mickle gold"
grasped in her " little hand," she was worth the
winning. He had but little doubt of his success,
for Miss Lewis had already shown him, in her
frank, unrestrained way, that she liked him, and
from liking to love in so ardent a nature was but
a slight step.

Yet, though she thus, of her own free will,
threw aside her woman's privilege of being
wooed, yet there were other rights she had
of which she would not bate one tittle. Was
she not a queen, and was not every suitor a
tributary subject from whom flowers, and books,
and trinkets were but tokens of their homage ?
And from one who was almost an accepted lover
ought not she to receive a pledge suited to her
to take, and to him to grant? There was a mag-
nificent diamond bracelet in the principal jewel-
ler's shop, on which she had fixed her heart as a
suitable present for her to receive as a Christmas
gift from a favorite suitor. Not because of its
cost, for she was rich enough, and inexperienced

400

godey's magazine and lady's book.

enough to count money but as trash ; but because
it was unique and beautiful. Mr. Cooper was
in the shop one day with Miss Lewis, and she
told him quite plainly that he must send that
bracelet to her on Christmas eve. This was
said in such a way that he might suppose it a
jest if he chose, but he was keen-sighted enough
to perceive that the remark was prompted by a
real wish, and he resolved to gratify it; she
having already promised to give him a decided
answer to the proposal he had made her a few
days before, on the first day of the New Year.

Mrs. Cathcart had been watching, with ill-
concealed petulance and disapprobation, this
falling away of her " friend," as she called him.
The transfer of his attentions and devotion to
Miss Lewis, or to any one but herself, was in the
highest degree displeasing to her. She had suc-
ceeded in breaking off the love-match; but this,
originating in motives of self-interest, proved too
strong for her. Perhaps some credit for this
ought to be given, too, to Miss Lewis, who did
not hesitate to champion her own rights and
wishes in the most open manner. She was too
unscrupulous an antagonist for Mrs. Cathcart
to risk her dignity in an encounter with, so she
retired to brood over the ingratitude of man, and
to keep her husband in a state of perplexed dis-
comfort by her peevish and fretful remarks.

Mr. Cooper was anxious to soothe and pro-
pitiate her vexed feelings as far as possible, and
fully agreeing with Tupper that

" Policy counseleth a gift, given wisely and in season,
And policy afterwards approvet it, for great is the
influence of gifts,"

he resolved to send at the same time to Mrs.
Cathcart an exquisite statuette, which he knew
would just suit her fastidious taste. Both
together would cost about two thousand dollars ;
but where should he, whose income hardly
sufficed for his daily expenses in his present
extravagant life, and who was already deeply
in debt, find the money for this purpose ?

He had declined the liberal offer made him by
his principals, for the sake of remaining in the
city and prosecuting his matrimonial specula-
tions. For speculation it was ; no higher term
would be applicable to such a project. Although
regretting his determination for his own sake,
his employers placed so high a value on his
capacity for business and his integrity, that they
were not sorry to retain him with them, and
large sums of money were often intrusted to
him for various purposes.

Of these, after many scruples and much hesi-
tation, he decided to make use for his own pur-

poses, being satisfied that within a month he
could replace it with some money that was
coming to him from his share of the paternal
estate. It almost seemed to him afterwards tt£
if some evil agency had blinded his eyes, and
turned aside his judgment from perceiving, not
only the wickedness, but the folly of this step.
He could account for his weakness and want of
foresight in no other way.

With his employers'1 money Mr. Cooper
bought the bracelet and statuette, and had the
gratification of hearing and seeing for himself
that they were received with the greatest delight.
Mrs. Cathcart was as gracious as she had ever
been, and Miss Lewis called him the loveliest
man in the world ! He was in a state of feverish
excitement during the whole week, which was
somewhat relieved on New Year's eve by a bil-
let-doux from Miss Lewis, in which, with her
usual frankness, she acknowledged her love for
him. He was preparing to express his delight
at the favorable reply by an immediate visit to
the young lady, when a summons to meet his
employers on a little business matter, the mes-
senger said, drove all thoughts of love and ladies
from his head.

He found, when he arrived at the counting-
house, that his worst fears were realized. The
taste and expensiveness of his Christmas gifts
had caused a little talk in the town, and while
the ladies were extolling his munificence, other
people were wondering wThere he found the
means to squander so lavishly. From wonder-
ing, one of the members of the firm went to
investigating, and thus discovered his defalca-
tion.

The only course left for Mr. Cooper was to
confess, for denial was useless ; to declare earn-
estly his purpose of speedy repayment, and to
leave the rest to their mercy. There were three
partners in the firm, and each held a different
opinion. One wished to give the culprit a
chance of retrieving his lost character by retain-
ing him in their employment as before. Another
was anxious to visit him with the severest pun-
ishment the law would allow, as a warning to
all other persons in the same position. The
third urged a middle course, to dismiss him from
his situation and insist upon his leaving the
city, but, by giving no reason for it, to allow him
the hope of being able in a new place to build
up for himself a new reputation.

This was at last agreed to by the other two,
and to this plan Mr. Cooper was glad to give his
assent. As he returned to his lodgings with the
burden of his disgrace pressing heavily upon
him, he had to pass Mr. Kirkham's house, and

MBS. CATHCART'S FRIEND.

401

could see through the curtained window a fair
head bending over a book ; and as he stood look-
ing through the glass like some lost spirit gazing
upon the tranquil happiness which, in his own
folly, he had flung away, his old love came back
upon him like the rushing of a mighty torrent.
He turned away in haste, lest he should disgrace
his manhood by tears and cries of agony in the
open street.

Some distance further on he passed Mr. Lewis's
stately mansion, lit up from garret to basement
to welcome a gay party assembled to celebrate
the last night of the year, and, as Miss Lewis
had fondly thought, her own betrothal. He saw
her looking wistfully and impatiently from the
window, but there too he dared not enter,, for
Mr. Lewis was a friend of his employers, and
an attempt to win Miss Lewis as his wife would
have been followed by open disgrace.

In an hour he was on his way to New York,
and the next morning was looking, from the deck
of a vessel bound to California, on the shore as
it receded from his sight, and feeling a sensation
of relief as the last trace of its blue outline faded
away.

"The chances and changes of this mortal life"
are various. I have heard of a gentleman who
was particularly polite to boys of all ages and
degrees, for he said he never knew which of
them might not one day be the President. It is
a safe principle, and one to be commended to
the practice of all. Mrs. Cathcart had not fol-
lowed it, and her neglect rebounded on herself.

Mr. Spencer, a millionaire, a man to whom
she had always been exceedingly polite, and to
whom in her secret heart she looked up with an
abject veneration only given by the worldly to
the world's idols, wealth and position, was mar-
ried, and she had received no cards. She was
fretting about it to her husband, who listened
with his usual patient apathy.

" Who has he married, my dear?" asked he.

" Why a little Miss Kirkham, a perfect no-
body ; and all the world seem to have gone into
their dotage about her."

"Yes, my dear, I think myself she is very
pretty. Mr. Spencer has done very well for
himself, I think. But, my dear, wasn't there
something about an engagement between her
and that poor Mr. Cooper who was killed lately
in California, that old friend of yours, you know?
and didn't you persuade him to break it off?"

There was an accuracy about Mr. Cathcart's

34*

memory that made him at times a sort of accus-
ing spirit to his wife.

" I wish you would not call Mr. Cooper my
friend; he was only an ordinary acquaintance,
and I am sure I knew nothing about any engage-
ment of his."

" Well, my dear, I remember hearing some-
thing about it at the time, but perhaps it was all
a mistake. I think, though, that Miss Kirkham
must have somewhat of the same opinion, for I
heard that she told Mr. Spencer very decidedly
that she could not think of receiving you among
her acquaintances."

Mr. Cathcart seemed to take a little malicious
pleasure in repeating these annoying speeches
to his wife; perhaps he thought that it was a
lesson she needed. It was indeed a bitter thought
to her, that the exclusive Mrs. Cathcart should
be herself excluded from one of the most recher-
che and elegant establishments in town. It was
the tragedy of Haman and Mordecai acted in
modern times.

It must not be thought that Emily had at last
sacrificed herself on the altar of mammon.
Since her first bitter revulsion of feeling, her
mind had passed through several phases. First
came a state of despondency and restlessness
that made all places wearisome, and all occupa-
tions or pleasures distasteful. Then came a
calm, when her heart, reviving from its living
death, turned to her parents, to seek in their
affection the support and consolation she could
find in no other earthly objects. At that time
she made a resolution, which has been made by
thousands of young girls in similar situations,
to devote the rest of her life to her parents'
comfort and happiness. For a year or two this
seemed fully to satisfy her. At the end of that
time, Mr. Kirkham retired from business, having
made a very moderate competence, and bought
a house and farm in the country near Philadel-
phia, where he intended to pass his declining
years. Near his little place was a very hand-
some country-seat belonging to Mr. Spencer.
"Propinquity," Miss Edgeworth says, "has
caused more love-matches than any other cir-
cumstance;" and it certainly caused the one
between Mr. Spencer and Miss Kirkham.

In the solitude of the country they each had
leisure to discern and appreciate the good and
excellent qualities of their neighbor; and an ac-
quaintance casually commenced ripened slowly
into esteem and mutual love.

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND
HER "DEAR, DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY HORACE MAYHEW.

THE ELEVENTH LETTER LEFT.

{Dated June the dth.)

SHOWING HOW FOOLISH IT IS TO PLAY
PRACTICAL JOKES.

That Lizzy Spree is as full of tricks as a
Pantomime ! She is quite a spoilt child in the
way of mischief. She has been allowed so many-
indulgences that she imagines she may empty
powder-boxes into bonnets, and place deto-
nating-balls under chairs, just as she pleases.
She 's a sad torment. It 's not safe to leave the
snuffers even with her. She 's sure to fill them
with scraped slate-pencil, or else gunpowder.
It's my belief she always carries a stock of the
latter in her pocket, so as never to lose an
opportunity of making us all jump out of our
skins. It 's like a constant succession of post-
men's knocks to be with her ; you are leaping up
every minute until you hardly know whether
your heart is in your mouth or not. Her last
trick was to fill Professor Drudge's snuff-box
with Cayenne pepper. I 'm sure the old gentle-
man sneezed to that extent that we had to stuff
our pocket-handkerchiefs into our mouths to pre-
vent ourselves dying of laughing ; but that wasn't
so bad as her rubbing a lot of cobbler's wax
inside old Miss Priscilla's ckapeau de dimanche,
so that, when she pulled it off, cap and wig came
off with it, and exposed to view the funniest lit-
tle bald head you ever saw !

However, her love of mischief has brought her
into trouble. I don't suppose Lizzy, with her
kind heart, would intentionally hurt any one,
but she has been terribly punished for her habit
(and I think it's a very silly habit) of practical
joking.

We were all in the garden, trying to knock
down with our skipping-ropes the little, hard,
unripe pears, when up runs Spree to Owen,
quite out of breath, and begins screaming —
" Mary, Mary, dear, there's such a fine military
gentleman asking for you in the parlor. Make
haste ! It is your father ! ! /"

Scarcely were the words uttered, than off
darted Owen with all her speed, looking so wild,
and followed by Darling and a whole string of
402

girls — Spree amongst us vainly trying to call us
back. I got to the parlor-door only just in time
to see Owen fall senseless into the arms of —
what a wicked, wicked shame ! — of Strong, the
shoemaker! who had come to measure us foi
our winter boots.

You cannot imagine the painful scene that
followed. There was Darling screaming over
poor Mary, who was lying apparently lifeless
on the floor. There was Blight rubbing her
temples and hands with eau de Cologne. There
was Spree crying, the Lady Principal scolding;
and the whole college mounted on tables and
chairs, crowding round, all of us moved to tears
by the agonizing result before us of the cruel
joke. We all thought she was killed. No one
(except Mrs. Rodwell) had the courage to re-
proach Spree. Her own suffering was sufficient
punishment. She accused herself of being the
cause of Mary's death ; of having murdered her
by her unfeeling levity; and went and knelt
down by the side of the poor sufferer, begging,
crying piteously, for forgiveness.

Mary, at last, began to revive. She slowly
opened her eyes ; but, oh, Nelly ! there was
such intense despair in the wild, inquiring look
she cast round the room ! there was such anguish
in the groan that escaped from her white lips,
that I almost regretted she had ever recovered
to return to her life of suffering again !

For many days, Mary Owen seemed uncon-
scious, as if the heavy blow had stunned mind
and feeling. She permitted Amy's caresses ;
and at times would play with Lizzy's hair, and
wipe her tears away, when the unhappy girl
came to her bedside, and began reproaching her-
self for having laid her there. She got better
after a time ; but when she came down, it was
like one walking in her sleep. We all moved
away for fear of waking her. Her spirit seemed
gone, as if it had been startled away from her
gentle bosom ''for she never did harm to any-
body), when the only hope that nestled there
had been so cruelly made to fly away. We all
felt that she could not long remain with us. I
imagined that the finger of Death had already
touched those vacant eyes, and left its chill upon

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S.

those bloodless lips. The school grew silent.
It couldn't have been quieter in holiday-time.
Our only amusement seemed to be in paying
attention to poor Mary, and hers was the
greatest pleasure who succeeded in paying her
the most. The Lady Principal even, generally
so stern, was touched by her uncomplaining
agony. She grew kind and considerate, grasp-
ing hold of every little opportunity to soothe
her with a mother's care. Dr. Healy shook his
head. " The case," he said, " was beyond the
skill of medicine." This opinion fell like a
frost upon our hopes, and we watched, with a
sympathy that grew greater every day, the silent
grief that was consuming a fond heart, that
really seemed dying for the want of an object to
love. One Sunday afternoon, the seniors were
allowed to sit in the little drawing-room with
Owen. She was lying on the sofa, wrapt round
with shawls, more dreaming than awake, ex-
hausted by long pain, and perfectly insensible to
our efforts to amuse her. Amy had just been
reading to her some poetry, in a voice that
seemed to speak from Heaven — so sweet and
pure was it, Nelly — when Mrs. Rodwell entered,
looking pale and excited. She drew a seat near
Mary, and, taking her hand, began in a softened
voice to speak about the comforts of religion.
We all bent our heads, and listened. She said,
dear, more beautiful things than I can ever
think of repeating, and said them so impress-
ively that my heart felt being gradually drawn
towards her, as if it would melt into tears* We
scarcely knew the object of this exhortation —
but a cold horror crept over us — could Mary be
dying? Had the Lady Principal come to pre-
pare her for death? to comfort her last thoughts?
and to atone with a few last moments of kind-
ness for the little that Mary had ever received
from her hands? But the words of truth, as
they came forth like light, dispelled all these
dark suspicions. Little by little — and gradually
— like a stubborn heart's repentance — the sense
changed its sadness ; it broke like a beautiful
dawn into peace — peace brightened with a thou-
sand rays into hope ; and hope filled us with a
celestial joy that made us love all things. I was
no longer a school-girl, Nelly, full of pride, and
folly, and vanity; but something much better.
I felt strong enough for anything, and longed to
go forth and do good, and comfort poor creatures,
as our good schoolmistress was then intent upon
doing; and I inwardly resolved I would no
longer think harshly of her, or of any one, as
my soul accused me of having too often done !
We listened and listened, purified and strength-
ened with the supporting words, and, after a

while, the cheering tones of happiness stole,
like the beautiful summer air, over poor Owen's
drooping spirit, and instilled fresh life into it.
A look of gratitude shone from her loving eyes
upon the speaker, and showed how sensible she
yet was to kindness ; but beyond this all efforts
to revive her failed. No tenderness would heal
the mortally- wounded heart ! The love had
come too late — the nourishment had arrived
when there was nothing to nourish !

Mrs. Rodwell ceased speaking. She saw the
power of listening had gone. Rising softly, she
beckoned Amy out of the room, and they left
noiselessly together. After a few moments'
absence, Amy returned, her face flushed, and
full of burning secrets. Quietly motioning us
away, she fell on her knees by the side of the
sofa, and, in a voice that flowed with tears,
began telling Owen one of the simple little tales
that used to be her favorite enjoyment to listen
to. It was all about foreign lands — about a
wanderer far from home — separated from his
only child — longing to embrace his darling
daughter, but still kept in exile by the cruel
necessity of a soldier's life. At last the anxious
father send3 a bosom friend as a messenger of
joy to his darling one ; and then Amy, trembling
with emotion, twining her arms as in a love-
wreath round Owen's neck, and frightened to
death — of which her face was the living picture
— about the result of her intelligence, and,
cautiously as a mother moves her sleeping
infant, told Owen that news had arrived from
her father; "that he lived, and had sent a friend
freighted with the treasures of his love, who
was waiting outside to deliver his trust."

At first we thought Mary had not understood,
and Amy repeated more positively the fact.
Then silently caressing her friend's agitated
face, Owen sorrowfully shook her head, incapa-
ble of belief; but upon Amy's insisting upon
the truth, and assuring her repeatedly (and each
assurance was sealed with a kiss) that "she
would not deceive her for the world," tears
slowly overflowed her pale cheeks, and she
sighed sorrowfully; but not a word escaped her
lips. Amy at last, almost despairing to revive
hopes that had once been so heartlessly cheated,
asked Owen "if she thought she felt strong
enough to see her father's friend?" There was
no reply to this question— not the slightest sign
of intelligence — but a fixed statue-like expres-
sion came over the bewildered girl, and she
remained immovable like the reclining figures
I have seen on the tombs in cathedrals ; all other
efforts failed to reanimate her.

When she had closed her eyes, Amy left the

404

godey's magazine and lady's book.

room. She returned the next moment, leading
by the hand a middle-aged gentleman, with
beautiful silv.er-white hair. Upon his entrance,
Owen seemed convulsed. She fixed her eyes so
upon him that I grew frightened. She then
rubbed them as though to satisfy herself whether
she was dreaming — and stared again, as if she
.ouldn't believe her eyesight. She then pressed
her hands upon her forehead — her mouth opened
widely — her whole frame heaved and trembled
with excess of feeling : and, rising slowly from
her couch, she would have fallen to the ground,
if her father had not been happily by her side to
receive her in his arms.

And there we left them, Nelly, the pale,
corpse-like head resting peacefully on the bosom
so long and hopelessly desired !

They have been together ever since. Mary
was dangerously ill, but her father's tenderness
and the hand of Mercy have lifted her off a bed
of sickness. Each day, happiness (that joyful
artist to whom so few of us sit for our portraits)
colors her cheeks with an additional touch of
beauty, her eyes begin to sparkle and to speak,
and her lips surprise themselves sometimes with
a smile, and, I have no doubt, when sufficiently
tutored, will be advanced into the higher class
of laughter. And this has all been done under
the tuition of Love, the best mistress after all,
Nelly, when we wish to improve by learning
things by heart. So rapid, too, is Mary's pro-
gress under his scholarship, that I shouldn't
wonder if she is the prettiest girl in the school
yet.

Colonel Owen never leaves his daughter's
side. He seems never to tire of patting and
fondling his darling, or of rejoicing with Amy,
or thanking the Lady Principal in terms of
unbounded gratitude "for her motherly care
and tenderness to his lonely child." Poor
father ! if he only knew all — but he never will
be told of his daughter's many years of suffering.
The reward of injury is the luxury of forgive-
ness, and Mary, who has well earned the reward,
seems to revel in the luxury as a thing too sweet
to be parted with. Besides, I doubt if all recol-
lection of former slights has not been completely
rubbed out, like a sum on a slate, of her for-
giving mind. The affectionate tending of the
last few days is alone remembered. She is too
gratefully happy for even a memory of sorrow.
Her affectionate heart, dear, is so replete with
love, it can exclude none from its embrace, much
less its enemies.

As for Amy, she and Mary are like two sister,
(without the jealousy). She has told her father
of her beloved friend's untiring life of kindness

to her and to all who are in want of it. The
colonel loves her almost like a second daughter,
and makes her presents till she doesn't know
how to accept them, or how to refuse them.
The last one was a gold heart, with the name
of " Mary" engraved on it, and inside, a bit of
Mary's hair, that was cut off in the fever during
which Amy nursed her night and days They
are to pass the holidays together.

Oh ! I nearly forgot to tell you that they
went to the Opera on Tuesday night, and took
Lizzy Spree with them. The foolish girl made
her eyes quite red with crying. The colonel
knows nothing about the cause of Mary's illness. .

There, Nelly; the above subject has so en-
grossed all my thoughts and paper, that I have
only just spare time left — (class bell 's ringing)
— --to sign myself

Your dearest, dearest friend,

Kitty.

I WAS NOT FORGOTTEN.

BY GUNNIE SOUTHRON.

Oh, dearly I loved her, the sweet woodland blossom,
So blithesome and joyous, so sparkling and gay,

Whose life was the type of the heart in her bosom,
And that heart free from guile as the lilies of May,
As pure as the dew-burnished lilies of May.

Yes, dearly I loved, but that love was unspoken ;
And when, with a sad heart, I bade her farewell,

Gave one "long, ling'ring look," and a sigh, not a tokeh
I left her my spirit's devotion to tell,
My spirit's sweet wildering passion to tell.

For I knew not if ever the scenes of my birth-spot,
Its sweet orange groves, or its laurel-hedged streams.

The dark green magnolias that shaded the home-cot,
Would be seen by the exile excepting in dreams,
By Adversity's banished one, only in dreams.

And I would not her young life be saddened with pining,
If— only for her the bright ore did I crave —

If I found with my mattock and shovel whilst mining,
Not fortune, but only the stranger's lone grave ;
In the hot Californian sand-banks a grave.

Three years, and once more Carolina's shore greeting,
I sought her, my life's star, with wild throbbing breast,

And in the sweet bliss of that oft-sighed-for meeting,
The hope-deferred hours of absence were blest ;
Each pang of the past in the present was blest.

For I knew, by the flush in her dimpled cheek glowing,
First paled with emotion and sudden surprise,

By the quivering smile to her vermeil lips flowing,
And the low-drooping fringed veil that shaded her eyes,
That curtained the joy in her soft hazel eyes—

I knew by all these, and one other sweet token,
One softly breathed word by the jessamine vine,

That memory's links were still bright and unbroken,
I was not forgotten, she yet would be mine :
Eugenie, sweet forest-bird, mine, only mine.

LABOE

It is part of the arrangements of Providence
that every man should labor in some way or
other; that either with his brain, or by means
of his bone and muscle, he should bring out all
the capabilities that are in him ; that, in short,
he should prove himself a man.

If we needed proof ofthis, we might find it in
the fact that man, when he first comes into the
world, is the most helpless of all animals.
Nothing is done for him ; while for other crea-
tures everything is done. They are more or less
fitted to enter at once on their life. The bird
finds himself clothed with feathers, the sheep
with wool, the dog with hair, without any
thought or exertion on their part. Man, on the
contrary, must provide himself with clothing;
he must, by hunting, fishing, or labor of some
sort, procure food for himself. Whether or no,
we see that he is compelled to labor, if he is to
stay upon the earth at all.

Thus there is no escape from it: we must
work, or accept the alternative — die ! To many
people this appears to be a grievance, or injustice.
Have they ever asked themselves the question,
whether it is really so ? — whether their opinion
is sound or unsound ? Until they have done
that, they have no right to complain. But what
is the fact?- The answer is, that labor is not a
curse, but a blessing; that the necessity under
which we all lie to exert ourselves is a something
for which we have to be thankful. Consider
only: what should we be without labor? Look
at those countries which produce the fruits of
the earth with scarcely any toil or trouble ; the
people are not only indolent, but tbey are inca-
pable of exertion. Their faculties are, as it
were, benumbed. They want manhood; and
not unfrequently have no spirit of greatness or
generosity. The more nature does for them, the
less will they do for themselves. Like the boys
who bribe their more diligent schoolmates to
help them with their tasks, they arc always at
the bottom of the class. Nothing short of an
earthquake will rouse them ; and then they will
rush out into the streets and pray to the saints,
instead of trying to prop the tailing walls. If
they would work as well as pray, it would be all
the better for them. Constant summer is very
pleasant ; but if constant summer makes people

lazy, they might do well to try the effect of a
winter.

On the contrary, look at countries where it is
not always summer, where frost and snow, and
fog and cloud, come at times to alter the face of
nature or the state of the atmosphere. What a
manly, vigorous race the natives are ! Every-
thing is not done to their hands, and they have
to bestir themselves stoutly if they wish to live
with ease or comfort. To what do we owe our
roads, canals, bridges, railways, telegraphs, and
other great constructions? To labor. Labor
provided the means; and hand-labor, directed
by brain-labor, wrought the work. Had labor
not been going on for hundreds of years within
our borders, it is very certain we should not be
in the position that we now are. Labor has been
brought to such a pitch that, though we cannot
have perpetual summer, we can have, of course
as it pleases Providence, perpetual comfort. And
what is more, our faculties are developed, our
abilities are made the most of, and there is no
enterprise too great for us to undertake.

Labor being a good on a great scale, it follows
that it is a good on a small scale. If a whole
people is benefited, so is each individual of the
whole benefited also. What polishing is to the
diamond, such is labor to the man. Labor leads
on from thought to thought, from endeavor to
endeavor, each advance being but the step to-
wards another. Perfection is the object aimed
at; and as far as is permitted to human skill and
ingenuity, many of the results of our labor are
perfect.

It is not to be denied that, in certain cases and
conditions of society, men may have to labor
too much; but this fact does not disprove
the other fact, that a man cannot labor without
being the better for it. Occupation, whether of
body or mind, is, far more than many of us are
willing to believe, a prime means of happiness.
Do you doubt the fact? Look well at the first
person you see who has really nothing to do ;
the chances are a thousand to one that you will
find him to be in some way or other a very
miserable being. Many who read these lines
will remember times when they have risen in
the morning weary and dispirited, when life
seemed to have no relish. But, being obliged to

405

406

godey's magazine and lady's book

work, they have found as the work went on
that the cloud which hung about their minds
disappeared, that cheerfulness and hope came
back again ; and still as they continued, so did
their contentment increase. There is great vir-
tue in labor ; it is a noble means of exercise ;
and Plato, the philosopher, said that exercise
would almost cure a guilty conscience.

"In all labor there is profit," says the wise
man. Of course, he meant honest labor ; and
the man who does his duty honestly and dili-
gently in his vocation, steadily following up the
duty that lies immediately before him, such an
one adds worth to his character and dignity to
his manhood, and, while promoting his own
interests, subserves the welfare of others.

GODEY'S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

Fig. 38.

y^i

LESSON XI.

figure and object DRAWING (Continued).

In a former sketch, we have given a specimen
of the mode of delineating the foliage of an
•oak-tree. We now give another, in which the
tree is the principal object (fig. 38). The fur-
ther branches arc made darker, which brings out
the nearer ones. The pupil will see, from this

sketch, how the effect of water is given with
very little trouble.

In sketching the copy in fig. 39, the circular
part of the bridge should be drawn in first, then
the upper part and outline of the whole ; there-
after the foliage at the top, taking care not to
make it too dark, as it should appear to recede
from the eye. It may be taken as a general rule
that in distances shadows become lighter, on

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.

407

Fig. 39.

account of the atmosphere more so than lights,
the dark parts being the first to lose their dis-
tinctness. The copy here given is treated with
a broad effect of light. The few strongly mark-
ed weeds give an effect to the whole. The re-
flections in the water are indistinct, in conse-
quence of its being a running stream.

Having gone thus far in drawing from objects,
we now conclude this part of our subject. Hav-
ing laid before her the rudiments or basis of the
art, we leave it to the perseverance of the pupil
to make further progress, as pencil-drawing will
form a good foundation for the higher branches
of art, as oil and water-color painting.

CELESTIAL PHE N 0 ME K A.— N 0 YE MB E E.

CASSIOPEIA. — Directly on the meridian,
twenty-five degrees south of the North Star,
may now be seen Cassiopeia, one of the most
beautiful constellations in the northern hemi-
sphere.

" Wide her stars

Dispersed, nor shine with mutual aid improved ;

Nor dazzle brilliant with contiguous flame :

Their number fifty-five."

Five of the brightest stars in this group are
so arranged as to form an inverted chair. Caph,
the most westerly of this cluster, is used, in
connection with the observations on the Polar
Star, for determining the latitude of places, and
for discovering the variations of the magnetic
needle. The north pole of the heavens is one
degree and thirty-five minutes beyond the Polar
Star from Caph, rendering its position import-
ant, as it always determines on which side of
the pole of the heavens the Polar Star is. It
Iso serves to mark the spot in the firmament

BELISLE.

rendered memorable as being the place of a lost
star!

Five degrees north-northeast of Caph, two
hundred and seventy-one years ago, shone a
bright star where now is a dark void ! On the
8th of November, 1572, Brake and Gemma saw
a star in this constellation " which became all
at once so brilliant that it surpassed the splen-
dor of the brightest planets, and might be seen
even at noonday." This brilliancy slowly di-
minished until the 15th of March, 1573, when
it became utterly extinct. " During this time,
it exhibited all the phenomena of a prodigious
flame — being first of a dazzling white, then of a
reddish yellow, and lastly of an ashy paleness,
in which its light expired."

Some astronomers supposed it would re-ap-
pear after a lapse of a hundred and fifty years,
but it has never been seen since. Can it be that
this star contained sentient beings, and that
their world was blotted from its orbit in space ?

408

godey's magazine and lady's book.

that the element of fire reduced it to ashes,
which have been scattered through all immens-
ity? that the Deity has been employed from
the beginning of time in forming new systems
of beings to adore Him, and transplanting others
already formed into higher spheres ? Shall what
has befallen other systems befall our own in
ages to come? It is an extraordinary fact that,
within the last century, thirteen stars in differ-
ent constellations have disappeared, while fifteen
new ones have been discovered. This is proof
that worlds are not only perpetually creating,
but disappearing also.

The mythological history of this constellation
is that Cassiopeia, a woman of matchless beauty,
was queen of Ethiopia. Being as vain as she
was fair, she boasted herself fairer than Juno or
the sea-nymphs — the Nereides. This so angered
the sea beauties that they begged Neptune to
punish her for her presumption. Accordingly,
a sea monster was sent to ravage her coast. But
the anger of the nymphs was not thus appeased.
They demanded that Cassiopeia should chain
her beautiful daughter Andromeda, whom she
tenderly loved, to a rock on the beach, to be
exposed to the fury of this monster. It was so
ordered, but, as the monster approached her, it
was killed by Perseus, the secretly affianced of
the beautiful Andromeda.

" The saviour youth, the royal pair confess,
And with heaved hands their daughter's bridegroom
bless."

CEPHEUS.— The first of this month, directly
overhead, and twenty-five degrees north-west
of Cassiopeia, may be found the constellation
of Cepheus.

" Cepheus illumes
The neighboring heavens, still faithful to his queen,
With thirty-five faint luminaries marked."

The brightest star in this constellation is Al-
deramin, which, with four others of the same
magnitude, form a square, in the centre of which
is a half visible star, appearing like a bright dot
to the naked eye. The most southerly star in
the square, with two others of nearly the same
brightness, form an acute triangle nine degrees
to the right of Alderamin. Two other stars to
the north-east, eight and twelve degrees apart,
form, with Alderamin, a beautiful curved line,
and a little within this curve are the three stars
known as " Cepheus's Girdle." There is no
more exciting, rational, or pleasant pastime than
that of forming different objects by various ar-
rangements of the stars. Select any portion of
the heavens, and squares, angles, curves, crosses,

and diamonds are visible, and no shape could
hardly be conceived that its counterpart might
not be traced in the starry firmament. Those
who have never spent an hour thus pleasantly
employed are not aware of the pleasure to be
experienced in tracing forms among

" The stars, which are the poetry of heaven."

" Seest thou the orbs that numerous roll above?
Those lamps that nightly greet thy visual powers
Are each a bright capacious sun, like ours.
The telescopic tube will still descry
Myriads beyond, that 'scape the naked eye ;
And further on a new discovery trace
Through the deep regions of encompassed space !"

Cepheus was king of Ethiopia, and Cassiopeia
was his queen. They were the parents of the
beautiful Andromeda. Cepheus was one of the
Argonauts that accompanied Jason on his expedi-
tion after the golden fleece. It is supposed that
it was for this reason that he was immortalized
and placed in the heavens.

ANDROMEDA.— Directly overhead, on the
tenth of this month, may be seen the cluster
of stars celebrated in fable under the name of
Andromeda. There are sixty-six stais in this
cluster, three of them being of the second
magnitude, and are the most brilliant and beau-
tiful of any that cross the meridian during the
month. Alpheratz, in the head, is one of the
four stars that form the square of Pagasus.
This star is situated thirty-five degrees from
Caph in Cassiopeia, and may readily be dis-
tinguished from any other, as it glitters alone,
with no other star of the same magnitude or
brilliancy within twelve degrees of it. In the
north-east a graceful curve is seen fifteen de-
grees from Alpheratz. This curve is known as
Andromeda's Girdle, and is composed of three
stars, the first of which is Merach, and is of
great brilliancy. The two others are of less
size, but are very remarkable, as they point out
the spot of a nebula of very minute stars, and
the only one of the kind which is ever visible
to the naked eye. It resembles two cones of
light joined at their base, about two-thirds of a
degree in length, and one-fourth in breadth. By
applying a telescope to this nebula, a few small
stars are visible ; but there are no grounds for
supposing that this nebula is composed of minute
stars. Probably it is composed of a self-lumi-
nous or phosphorescent patch of gaseous vapor,
though it is possible, even in this case, that the
rays of light are so blended together as to pro-
duce a confused luminous appearance. It has
a visible disk of twelve degrees, perfectly de-
fined, luminous, and round.

MOUNTAINS IN THE MOON.

409

There is no eye but His alone

Can thread this dark abyss —
Can tell how many worlds have gone

Before the dawn of this —
Or number all the worlds that yet
Our Maker in the void may set.

Andromeda, a princess of Ethiopia, was pro-
mised by her father, Cephcus, king of that
country, in marriage to Phineus, her uncle,
when Neptune sent the sea monster to ravage
the kingdom to appease the anger of the Ne-
reides. The blood-thirsty Nereides refused to
be thus pacified, and demanded that the beauti-
ful Andromeda should be exposed to the fury of
the monster. She was accordingly chained to a
rock on the coast, where she was rescued by
Perseus, to whom she had been secretly affi-
anced.

" Chained to a rock she stood ; young Perseus stayed
His rapid flight to woo the beauteous maid."

Perseus instantly changed the monster into a
rock by showing it Medusa's head, which was
still reeking in his hand, having just returned
from the conquest of the Gorgons. Cepheus,
overjoyed at the deliverance of his daughter,
willingly bestowed her as a reward to her
deliverer.

PISCES.— The last constellation of this month
is Pisces, the first in order of the twelve con-
stellations of the Zodiac. It occupies a large
triangular space in the heavens, and its outline
is at first hard to be traced. That loose assem-
blage of stars south of Andromeda's girdle con-
stitutes the northern fish, and its ribbon is three
small stars which terminate in the nceud confined
by El Risoha, in the Whale, of which we shall
speak hereafter. From El Rischa, doubling
back across the ecliptic, are three small stars
which form the continuation of the ribbon,
north and westerly along the Zodiac, terminat-
ing at a cluster of small stars which form a
curve in the heavens. There are six of them,
which may be traced with the naked eye. This
constitutes the western fish. When the north-
ern fish is on the meridian, the western one is
two hours past it.

The ancient Greeks' account of the origin of
this constellation is tiiat as Venus and her son,
Cupid, were one day on the banks of the Eu-
phrates, they were greatly alarmed at the
appearance of a terrible giant called Typhon.
Throwing themselves into the river, they were
changed into fishes, and thus escaped danger.
To commemorate this event, Minervra placed
two fishes among the stars,

" Leaders of the celestial hosts."
VOL. XLIX. — 35

" What involution ! what extent ! what swarms
Of worlds, that laugh at earth, immensely great'
Immensely distant from each other's spheres."

" The blue, deep, glorious heavens ! I lift mine eyes
And bless thee, O my God ! that I have met
And owned thy image in the majesty
Of their calm temple still ! that never yet
There hath thy face been shrouded from my sight
By noontide blaze, or weeping storm of night !
J bless thee, 0 my God!"

MOUNTAINS IN THE MOOX.

It is an ascertained fact that there are three
classes of lunar mountains. The first consists
of isolated, separate, distinct mountains of a very
curious character. The distinguishing charac-
teristic of these mountains is this — they start up
from a plain quite suddenly. On the earth it
is well known that mountains generally go in
ranges of groups ; but we find these isolated lu-
nar mountains standing up entirely apart, never
having been connected with any range. The one
named Pico is 9000 feet high ; this mountain has
the form of an immense sugar-loaf; and if our
readers can imagine a fairly proportioned sugar-
loaf 9000 feet in height, and themselves situated
above it, so as to be able to look down upon its
apex, they will have an approximate idea of the
appearance of Pico. There are many other
mountains of a similar description scattered over
the moon's surface, and these mountains not
only stand apart from each other, but, what is
still more remarkable, the plains on which they
stand are but slightly disturbed. How singular,
then, the influence which shot the mountain up
9000 feet, and yet scarcely disturbed the plain in
the immediate neighborhood. The second class
of lunar elevations consists of mountain ranges.
Now, this is the principal feature of the moun-
tains on earth. This phenomenon is also found
in the moon, but there it is the exception ; only
two principal ranges are found, and these appear
to have been originally one range. One is called
the Apennines. It is so well seen that, just as
the line of light is passing through the moon,
you will think it is, generally speaking, a crack
in its surface, but a telescope of ordinary power
will at once manifest it to be a range of moun-
tains. The lunar Apennines may be compared
with the loftiest range of mountains upon earth.
It is 18,000 feet high, and there is another range
still higher, rising 25,000 feet above its base. In
this feature, then, the moon corresponds with
the earth, but with this difference — what is the
rule on the earth is the exception in the moon.

MOTH AND EUST,

Y ALICE B. HEAL,

" I never could understand, Eliza, why you
choose to bury yourself in that little country
town, away from everybody and everything."

" I dare say not," returned Mrs. Mason, good-
naturedly.

"And there you vegetate the year round,"
continued her sister, with the same ill-used ex-
pression of tone and face. " How you live with-
out a summer jaunt at the very least, within
thirty miles of Saratoga too ! I don't believe you
ever see it!"

" We were there three years ago, recollect."

" Yes, I had to tease you into it though, and
write that you would not see me at all if you did
not come where I was. You haven't been in
New York since that winter, and I don't believe
you would have been here now but for Harry's
wedding." B

" I don't think I should have been, Ellen ;
though you ought to know me well enough not
to be affronted at it."

" Oh, it's not that ! But what is the use of
having a decent income and a good position, and
burying yourself where nobody ever sees or hears
of you?"

" But we do have some very pleasant neigh-
bors, and a great many people would miss us if
we should move away. It would make a differ-
ence to several families."

" Oh, your poor people, and work people, and
all that; it's the very thing I complain of.
John says so too. He's provoked whenever he
thinks of it, that you should slave your life out
for people that have no kind of claim on you.
And then you get so behind the times. I believe
you 've had that dress the last five years."

"But, Ellen, it's a nice silk, and it's just as
much in fashion as ever it was. I had it made
plainly, and trimmed with the same, so that it
might last. I could not afford to get a new
walking-dress, and have a pretty evening-dress
and cap for the wedding, too."

" I must say you looked very well at the
wedding ;" and the recollection seemed to soothe
Mrs. Bradford's irritation a little. "A great
many remarked it, Lucy's friends, too, and they
are all such fashionable people. To tell the
truth, I was afraid you would think it your duty
to look like a fright."

No, Mrs. Mason knew her duty better than
410

that, better than to wound her sister's feelings
or pride at the marriage of her only son with a
fashionable woman. She knew the propriety
of time and place too well to appear without
"a wedding garment;" it would not have been
following the only rule of life she walked by —
the golden rule.

It was for this reason she had hesitated a lit-
tle about accepting the invitation. She knew
the unavoidable expense of the journey, and her
dress, would be more than she had been accus-
tomed to allow herself; yet it would give her
sister pleasure, and they had not met for a long
time. The Masons were not poor, in the ordinary
sense of the word. Mr. Mason had retired from
business, to the surprise of every one, just as he
seemed in the very way to realize a large fortune,
satisfied with a comfortable income, large indeed
in the country place to which he removed. Mrs.
Mason gave up her town house and fashionable
acquaintances, gradually laying aside all extra-
vagance in dress and style of living, as if they
really were in straitened means. Mrs. Brad-
ford could not understand it.

The two sisters went on with their morning
occupations until Mrs. Bradford had finished
looking over her list of calls, and shopping, and
general engagements for the week. For a per-
son who had just reproved another for "slav-
ing," it was rather a formidable list, and would
require a great deal of planning, and calculation,
and hard work, to accomplish it.

" You did not say how you liked the new
dinner-set, Eliza," she said, reminded of the
omission by a memorandum, " to call at Haugh-
wout's and match wineglasses and goblets."'
broken at the wedding supper. " Every dessert
plate is different; it's the handsomest set im-
ported this year — the shapes are perfect."

"Yes, I noticed the style, and the painting.
It was very beautiful, and very difficult to match
I suppose."

"Match! why, it can't be matched! That's
the charm of it; it's the only ono in the coun-
try !"

"I should think you would dread to have it
used."

" So I do. I never give a dinner without fear
and trembling — servants are so careless. "What
do you think I discovered this morning? A great

MOTH AND RUST.

411

scratch on my silver teakettle. One of the legs
of the tripod was bent, too ! and I have not had ,
it six months! And there's the large silver
waiter had to go to Tiffany's, it was so dented
and injured the other night. Tired as I was, I
sat up an hour and a half counting spoons and
forks, and hunting up things. We have every-
thing it's possible to have in silver, for I like
family plate, I must say, and it will all go to
Harry, so it 's really a saving, you see."

Mrs. Mason could not see the saving, particu-
larly if it was so liable to loss and injury. She
had already noticed the extensive additions made
to the great plate safe, let into a recess in the
dining-room. Of this, Mrs. Bradford kept the
key, and generally went herself every time it
was required, not daring to trust the waiter.
The ordinary tea-set, spoons, forks, etc., were
carried to her room every night in a plate basket,
and she was usually roused from her morning
nap, to set it outside the door, the waiter choos-
ing to lay the table an hour before it was neces-
sary.

" Your house seems to have everything heart
could wish, certainly," Mrs. Mason said, feeling
admiration was expected of her, and then in an
instant reproached for her commonplace remark,
for she knew that what her heart most desired
was wanting.

" But, then, it's a monstrous deal of trouble to
keep everything in order," sighed Mrs. Bradford,
thinking of the. damask curtains that must be
attended to, having been almost ruined by the
demolition of a tray of creams against them.
"You can have no idea of it. John likes to
have everything just so, and I do myself. It
takes one person's whole time to be looking after
things. I expect they will break one of the
mirrors every time the parlors are cleaned, and
I dust every Parian, and vase, and ornament,
myself; only think of it! But I wouldn't let
them touch that ' Ruth and Naomi' for as much
as it's worth, or the c Cleopatra,' or the ' Eve.' "

Mrs. Mason thought her sister was beginning
to lay down a clear case of " slavery," much as
she had inveighed against it.

" But I must go and see about putting the
French chalk on those curtains," continued
Mrs. Mason, and she darted up suddenly. "I
really wish you would help me, Eliza; I have so
much to do to-day."

Mrs. Mason was at her sister's disposal, and
accompanied her to the dining-room, or rather
tea-room, where the mishap had taken place.
Here appeared the cook for her orders, dinner
company being expected, and Mr. Bradford being
very particular as to the arrangements. A wrong

gravy, or an overdone canvas-back duck, would
spoil the whole pleasure of an entertainment for
him.

" Oh, so the marketing has come. "Well, I'll
be down in a moment, Andrews. No mini for
the lamb ! Send Patrick off for it, instantly !
Mr. Bradford would never forgive my having
lamb served without it. And do, Patrick, be
sure about the castor. When your master is
dressing a salad, every instant is of importance ;
and don't keep him waiting for the egg, or have
it served in a saucer, as it was the last time.
Wine! Isn't the wine given out? It ought to
have been in the ice an hour ago ; what could
your master have been thinking of! There,
Eliza, you see how it is from morning till night !
And I don't believe the silver has been touched.
Where 's Patrick ? The instant you come back,
come to me for the key, and tell cook to garnish
the iish properly to-day. She sent up a delicious
broiled salmon the last time, without so much
as a sprig of parsley or a scrap of an egg ! Only
think of it, Eliza !"

Unpardonable omission !

Mrs. Mason worked away at the curtain, while
her sister made divers journeys to the kitchen,
dining and store-room, interrupted by cook,
waiter, and housemaids, for special instructions
in their several departments ; and then she came
back heated, wearied, and perplexed with fresh
subjects for complaint and lamentation.

" There 's no use in trying to have anything
there ! What do you think I discovered in the
laundry ? Three cambric pillow-cases, with the
deep French work, covered with iron mould !
and one of my best table-cloths, seven yards
long, that one with Diana and the hunt, Mr.
Bradford's father brought himself from Russia.
There they were, rolled up in a heap, and put
away damp, because Maria was too lazy to iron
them yesterday. Next to silver, I must say, I
like home linen, and as it will last for ever and
ever, and do as well for Harry as us, I have the
handsomest I can get. Only think of it ! ruined !
salts of lemon hasn't the least effect. She's
tried it, and taken a piece out of one of the pil-
low-cases."

This seemed very much like a contradiction
to the statement that home linen "lasted for
ever and ever." But to any one who shared in
Mrs. Bradford's taste for thoroughly nice and
handsome napery, her presses were as much to
be admired as her plate safe. She showed them
to her sister with pardonable pride — pardonable
in Mrs. Bradford — in the course of the morning.
There were piles of pillow-slips, plain and
highly ornamented, sheets smelling faintly of

412

godey's magazine and lady's book,

the dried lavender folded between them, an old-
fashioned and delicate bit of housewifery Mrs.
Bradford had retained, blankets as soft and fine
as a lady's shawl, counterpanes of every variety
and tint; yet, not a block from this luxurious
mansion, the poor had died of cold and starvation
the past winter; the aged, and sick, and little
children, shivering with cold, so near this hoard
of " purple and fine linen."

" And now we are here, I might as well show
you my India scarf and shawl. I keep them in
this camphor trunk ; and my fur boxes are here,
too ; so you might as well see my sables at the
same time."

Mrs. Bradford lifted two very handsome
hearth-rugs from the trunk, and knelt to unlock
it. " I 've tried rather an experiment this year.
I dislike the smell of tobacco and all those sort
of things so much, that I concluded to try a way
I saw recommended in an English magazine,
just to have the things beaten out, and aired
well, and pinned up in linen, without anything.
Gunter's foreman told me the tobacco was all
nonsense. Here are my crape shawls, the white
and scarlet ; but you've seen these, and they're
so common nowadays, I never think of wearing
them."

The camphor chest held quite a collection of
foreign boxes and packages, the dull, silken
covers of the Chinese cases being the most pro-
minent. The shawls which had been replaced
in Mrs. Bradford's affections by the still more
costly cashmeres, were folded as smoothly, and
in as excellent a state of preservation as when
they first arrived. Stewart or Beck would have
taken them at very little discount from the first
heavy cost; but Mrs. Bradford would not have
dreamt of selling them, though she probably
would never wear them again, now that they
were "common."

Mrs. Mason could appreciate the rare shade
and delicate texture of the cashmere, proudly
submitted for her inspection. In her fashion-
able days, a cashmere was the desire of her
heart. Hers was just the style it would have
suited ; it would have been much more becoming
to her tall, delicate figure than Mrs. Bradford's
broad shoulders. She could not restrain an
exclamation of pleasure as she gathered the
graceful folds in her hands, and was conscious
of the feminine wish to " try it on" — a linger-
ing vanity she did not suspect herself of before.

" Now, how much do you suppose I gave for
both?" asked Mrs. Bradford. "'Just look at
the border of this scarf, and such a lovely shade,
too ! I happened to be at Stewart's the morn-
ing they were opened, and I consider them

great bargains. Only nine hundred for the
two!"

Mrs. Mason had seen more than the border
when the scarf was held up to the light. She
might be mistaken ; she hoped she was ; but she
thought she discovered the minute traces of
moth-holes! Yes, there were, and the dusty
rolls clinging to the thick woof of the border
were seen in another instant by Mrs. Bradford
herself. The shawl, too, when it came to be
examined, had been attacked by the same in-
sidious enemy. Mrs. Bradford tore open her
fur-boxes, and shook the costly cape and muff
in the sunshine. Alas for experiments ! the
black feathery particles flew out in a shower,
and one of the rich tips came off in her hands.

It was a catastrophe that put all thoughts of
visits and shopping out of the question ; her
chief treasures had sustained irreparable injury,
and a paltry pair of embroidered moccasins,
purchased at Niagara the year before, had been
the cause of all the mischief.

Mrs. Mason felt her lingering love for such
perishable finery rebuked, as her sister lamented
her folly and its consequence, particularly as
she had intended the shawls for Harry's wife at
some future day, and so thought them good in-
vestments of the large sums paid for them. The
suit of sables purchased only the winter before
were, in their way, quite as choice and costly.

As dinner-time approached, Mrs. Bradford
was summoned to the thousand and one pre-
liminary annoyances of a hostess, on whom
every detail devolves, and whose heart was set
on having every arrangement perfect. She
could not trust even the French cook to arrange
the costly dessert of hothouse fruits, and then
the silver could not be given out till the last
moment for fear of thieves. " Thev had such a
fright," she told Mrs. Mason, " at the time the
oyster-boy carried off all the spoons and forks
in his can while the cook's back was turned.
New York thieves were getting so ingenious."

Five o'clock was the dinner-hour, and the
whole laborious day had been passed in looking
over the valuable woollens in the press, bewail-
ing accidents, and making ready for guests that
were almost entire strangers and very uninte-
resting people, their only title to Mr. Bradford's
courtesy a letter of introduction. Mrs. Bradford
was obliged to be polite and entertaining, when
her thoughts were with the careless waiter and
the elegant dessert-set, a sullen, unpunctual
cook, and her fastidious husband. The hos\,
depressed by the losses of the day and the
hazards of the morrow, noticed every delin-
quency with double displeasure, to be poured

MIDNIGHT.

413

out to the much -enduring Mrs. Bradford as soon
as the visitors had departed.

Mrs Mason thought she had never had so
exhausting a day in all her exertions for the
poor and the sick as Mrs. Bradford had under-
gone for people who would never think of her
again. Besides, their claim, notwithstanding
her sister did not allow it, was to her a sacred
and loving bond.

She told her husband of the mishap to the
cashmeres as they retired, weary with the plati-
tudes they had been compelled to listen to
through the evening.

" Well," he said, with very unsympathizing
indifference, " I don't suppose Ellen thinks

' 'Tis better to have had and lost,
Than never to have had at all.'

There 's John been lecturing me this morning
for not coming back and going into business
again. He says there never was a better chance
for people with capital at command. What do
you think about it?"

" Oh, no ! no !" Mrs. Mason said, earnestly.
"Just see how John is swallowed up in busi-
ness and business care from morning till night.
Ellen says herself that he scarcely takes time to
breathe, and fairly talks of it in his sleep. He
looks twice as old as you do, so haggard and
anxious."

" But he says it V neglecting my talents, and
— oh, he 's exceedingly eloquent on the subject
— and how you are shut up from society, and
everything you used to be so fond of."

" You know how I feel about it."

"John must be coining money," mused Mr.
Mason, drawing his neck-handkerchief through
his hands. "I shouldn't be surprised if he
should die a millionaire, if luck doesn't turn
against him."

" But what if it does, Philip ? I 'm sure you
cannot envy him. What is the use of dying
rich ? And there 's Harry and his wife will
spend as fast as John can make. Then just see
what a life Ellen leads ; she is looking after the
servants from morning till night, yet they
break, and injure, and destroy, for all that.
You can't be serious."

" But I am," said Mr. Mason ; *? serious in
my determination to abide by my choice of years
ago. I could not serve two masters any better
now. There 's the moth and rust of body and
soul they forget to watch against. Did you hear
one sensible, clever thing from any one at din-
ner to-day? What did Mrs. Mears discourse
upon?"

35*

" The usual topic here : bad servants and
high markets, and how particular Mr. Mears
was about his table."

" We had the different dishes talked over,
and the difference in English and American
mutton discussed. Then the stocks and prices
current, and, of course, the everlasting subject
of wine, a never-failing, inexhaustible theme !
Longworth's champagne, and that Madeira was
going out, rather, and sherry was in great de-
mand, and so on through the whole list. When
are we going home, Eliza?"

"Day after to-morrow, I think, if Ellen has
made no engagement for us."

Mrs. Mason was very much relieved at the
change in her husband's tone. She was begin-
ning to believe him in earnest about returning
to city life, and was frightened at the prospect
for both of them.

Finding that he could not influence his
brother-in-law to embark capital in his favorite
speculations, Mr. Bradford suffered them to
depart in peace. For himself, he was blind to
the inroads that were daily made on his health,
disposition, and domestic happiness by all this
heaping up treasure. He intended to stop
some time and enjoy himself and his fortune,
but that time never seemed to come. The Ma-
sons watched the gains and losses, the gathering
and scattering abroad, from their country-house,
where plenty and simplicity were united. Their
lives were not fretted by daily recurring annoy-
ances and accidents, or shortened by corroding
care. Their treasures had long been accumu-
lating where neither " moth" nor " rust" could
intrude.

MIDNIGHT.

BY L. GRANGER RIGGS.

Not a breeze, nor e'en the tinkle

Of a leaf the quiet mars ;
Not a motion, save the twinkle

Of the bright and holy stars :
All is silent— yet not deathlike—

But a quiet, strangely deep,
Like the silence, calm and breathlike,

Of an infant's dreamless sleep.

Holy night ! oh, gentle spirit,

Spells of potent charms are thine ;
And from thee our souls inherit

Pledges that we are divine :
Glimpses of a life eternal

Given in a life before;
Star-rays from a land supernal,

Falling on us evermore.

PANTLEBEIDGE'S FIRST LOYE.

BY FRANK H. HICKLING.

" Qui que tu soit voici ton maftre;
II est il fut, ou il doit etre."

Whirr-rr, whirr-rr, whirr-rr, whirr-rr ! The
engine seemed performing an elephantine heel
and toe step away somewhere in the recesses of
the boat.

With one hand holding on to my hat, the other
in my pocket, I sat on the promenade deck of
" The Wanderer ;" and as my legs, thrust be-
tween the rails at the edge, dangled over the
water, I smoked and admired the passing pano-
rama in silence. One cluster of white houses
after another appeared from among the trees, to
be again hidden by them as the boat " opened"
the various points and bays that line the shores
of the beautiful stream we were on.

The inevitable steamboat baby had at last
cried itself to sleep. The man who reads shil-
ling novels was at a "crisis" in the precise
centre of the brown-paper covered inclosure.
The two pretty girls who had chatted so gayly
during the early part of our voyage now had
their bright eyes shrouded with green veils, and
occasionally their heads inclined ceremoniously
and gracefully towards each other. Conversa-
tion had suffered a natural demise.

We were gliding over the fine expanse of
water known as the Tappan Zee, or Bars, and I
was trying to imagine an ancient Dutch crew in
their picturesque costumes, gravely preparing to
take in sail ere they attempted the perilous
transit (as related in the veracious history of
" Diedrich Knickerbocker"), when I was shaken
out of my reverie by a loud " Here he is now!"
and a pair of hands belonging to the owner of
the voice were placed one on each of my shoul-
ders. " How are you ? How are you, old boy ? "
(Alas, reader, I am an old boy, and in the
French sense of the term, too.) And my friend,
Pantlebridge, as I responded to his salutation,
inserted his legs also through the rails, and took
a seat at my side.

I had not seen him for several years, and,
while he lighted his cigar, I had more oppor-
tunity to observe him. He was stouter than he
used to be. His complexion, partly hidden by
heavy black "leg of mutton" whiskers, had
become a tanned brown, and I felt a tremor as I
noticed one or two white hairs just under the
jaw bone. But his voice was as hearty, and his
414

laugh as cheerful as ever. Entering into con-
versation, he told me that he had been survey-
ing down in Texas ; and, business having
relaxed, he had taken the opportunity to come
North and arrange some "affairs requiring his
presence — relative, as I presumed, to a small
property that I knew had lately been left to him.
As old acquaintances are apt to, on meeting
after a long interval of absence, we talked over
every one we had known in former times. This
one had died ; that had married ; a third had
departed for the modern El Dorado to mend his
broken fortunes. We again laughed at the
schoolboy pranks we had played together ; the
capital jokes of setting the clock forward, and
putting snufF in the pepper-box, for which we
suffered a joint martyrdom next day ; and gra-
dually the conversation changed to the river we
were on, and the alterations that time had made
in the. towns on its banks.

We were passing a neat little place, whose
roofs shone at intervals through the deep green
of the summer foliage. The church spire gleamed
brightly in the sunlight, and the number of
pleasure boats moored to the beach indicated
that the village was not a commercial one.

As we came abreast, Pantlebridge ceased
speaking, and, taking a little spyglass from his
pocket, closed one eye, and gazed long and fixedly
at the shore ; so long, that I at length inquired
" If he saw anything remarkable in the place V3
I had to repeat my question before it was an-
swered- Shutting the glass with a sigh, he
replied —

"Ah, Jack! there's a great many painful
memories connected with that place, by George !"

" Indeed !" said I, sympathetically., " I never
should have imagined anything of the sort, to
look at you."

" Ah, my dear boy," continued my friend,
" ( You may break the vase, but the smell of the
flowers will hang round it still,' as that fellow,
' Gray,' says."

Pantlebridge is very fond of poetry, but he
does not always get his quotations correctly ; so
I mildly suggested that it struck me " Moore"
had written something of the kind.

" Very possibly ! very possibly !" he replied.
"So that I get the sentiment straight, I don't
care who wrote it."

pantlebridge's first love.

415

I agreed with him that that was the main
point, and I added a few hints as to a desire to
hear what had occurred that it left such an im-
pression on him. He seemed gratified at my
curiosity, and, proposing to change our seats to
where " the old lady in the green bonnet couldn't
overhear us," he lighted a fresh cigar, and pro-
ceeded to narrate what he termed one of his
heart histories.

" Jack," he prologued, " you are younger
than I am" (I am his junior by two years),
" and it may probably be of use to you. My
dear boy, let me beg of you always to keep clear
of the girls. One-half of the trouble we expe-
rience in this world is owing to them and money
matters. Enchantresses that they are, they raise
storms on the sea of life that cause many a gal-
lant bark to reel and go down, or, escaping a
shattered and dismasted hull, drive full split on
the sands of misanthropy and cynicism. Be-
ware of their bright eyes and dimpled smiles.
Beware of their clustering curls and — and —
coquetish bonnets. For, my dear Jack, ' the
trail of the serpent is over them all.' "

Pantlebridge appeared visibly affected ; he
puffed away at his cigar in silence for some
time, at the close of this adjuration. Presently,
he resumed —

"It's a strange coincidence, but it was just
such a day as this, and on a boat like this, that
I first saw her."

"SawAer/ Saw whom?" I interrupted. "You
haven't told me her name yet."

"Haven't I? True, so I haven't. America
Ann Battledore. Confound her ! Pretty name,

" Yes ; particularly the last one," I answered,
smiling.

" Don't laugh, Jack," said he, mournfully.
" Don't laugh ! Sir, it was a day like this, on
this very river. Just such a clear, transparent
atmosphere, that, on looking towards the hori-
zon, made you think you could see into futurity."

" Into what ? I don't clearly understand that
last."

" Never mind ; don't interrupt me. If every-
body understood all they heard, the age would
be far ahead of where it is. I was sitting on the
lower deck, watching a couple of children eat-
ing molasses-candy, when a lady and gentleman
issued from the saloon to taste the fresh air.
The lady wa3 one of those glorious beings that
float at rare intervals across our path, to show
us there is yet something worth living for.
Melting dark eyes, fringed with raven lashes;
a delicately rounded figure, robed in a green

travelling-dress ; a — and, in fact, it 's no use
trying to describe her, it 's an utter impossibility.
Just imagine three of the most beautiful crea-
tures that you ever saw, and multiply by six,
and you will have a faint idea of -her attractions.
Her companion was very portly, and not very
tall ; a very remarkable face, though — heavy
eyebrows, large aquiline red nose. Quite the
Roman senator, I assure you. Had three gold
seals at his watch-fob. Lord ! I remember it as
if it was yesterday.

" When the lady appeared, I think I must
have stared at her for fifteen minutes, at least,
before I recovered my senses. I was so struck
that I recollect I ran down stairs into the cabin
to conceal my emotion, and did not know any-
thing until I found myself at the bar. Here I
took a little something to steady my spirits, and,
by means of a gratuity to the steward, ascer-
tained the name of my adored. Her father was
Jabez Battledore, Esq. Had retired from the
pork and ham business. You smile, Jack,"
said Pantlebridge, here turning to me with a
severe air. " It wras wholesale, sir; wholesale,
I give you my honor."

I made the amende by stating that I did not
for an instant dream that it was retail, and
begged him to proceed. He resumed in a molli-
fied tone —

" Had retired from the wholesale pork and
ham business, and was enjoying the ' otium
cum dignitate' at his villa, in the little village
we have just passed.

" When I came on deck again, I found old
Mr. Battledore had perched himself on the
guards near the bow of the boat, and was in-
specting a newspaper. The charming America,
deeply engaged over a book, was seated on a
bench at the other side. I took a stool, placed
it close by her, and sat down leaning against a
post that supported the upper deck. I imagined
a thousand ways of making her acquaintance.
I even slyly tipped her parasol off the bench
with a little stick, and then picked it up and
handed it to her wTith a profound bow.

" But she only said, ' Thank you !' and went
on reading. So I sat down again, and, tilting
my stool on its hind legs a VJlmericaine, leaned
against my post and continued to admire her
until I fell into a reverie.

" I never could tell how long I continued lost
in thought ; it was some time though ; and I
was only aroused from it by the boat giving a
violent jar. Something fell heavily against me,
upsetting me and the stool, and causing my head
to strike a trunk with such violence that I saw
a miniature eruption of Mount Vesuvius. I

416

godey's magazine and lady's book.

opened my eyes — I had shut them in order to
think better — and, to my great astonishment,
found the object of my admiration sitting in my
lap, and screaming at the top of her voice.

" Now, I had been imagining some absurd thing
or other, about her offering me her hand, and I
cruelly refusing it ; and my first confused impres-
sion was that she had gone into violent hysterics
in consequence of my barbarous treatment. A
second glance undeceived me. The boat, as it
afterwards appeared, had struck against the
wreck of a sloop sunken in the stream, and the
concussion had thrown my fair friend against me
in the manner I have described.

" Presuming that we were about to fill up and
go down, I put one arm around Miss Battledore,
determined to save her at all hazards. But it
very soon appeared that it was not on her own
account that she was screaming, but for Mr. B.,
who had been sent flying off the guards while
busy over his newspaper. All this did not take
a minute to pass. At the first intimation of the
aquatic excursion of her father, I rushed to the
side and began to unbutton my vest, trying to
screw up my courage to jump in and save him
for his daughter's sake."

Pantlebridge paused here, and knocked the
ashes from his cigar.

"Jack," continued he, thoughtfully, "it is
astonishing what clever people one sometimes
meets with on a journey. Now, no sooner did I
begin to unbutton my vest than a dozen hands
were stretched out to assist me in disrobing, and,
before I knew where I was, my coat and vest
had been torn off by a gentleman with a hook
nose, and with such energy as almost to wrench
my arms out of their sockets. I was also nearly
strangled by two more of my assistants, who,
taking opposite ends of my cravat, pulled differ-
ent ways.

" While this was passing, Mr. Battledore had
drifted with the tide to nearly opposite me, when
he came slowly up to the top of the water. He
looked as much like a buoy as anything I know
of, and on reaching the surface, he commenced a
scries of evolutions such as I have seldom seen
equalled. First on his back, then on his face,
he flung his arms about as though they did not
belong to him, and terminated the performance
by going down a second time. As fancy swim-
ming, it was very beautiful ; but there was not
much utility in it.

" I gave a second glance in the direction of
America, to confirm me in my resolution, but
did not see her, as she had fainted and been car-
ried into the saloon; and, assisted by my hook-
nosed friend, who gave me a tremendous shove

in the small of the back, I jumped overboard
just as Mr. B. was coming up for fhe third time.
You know I never was a great proficient in
swimming; I therefore thought that I would
approach him cautiously. However, he saved
me all further trouble of deliberating how I
should take him, by catching tightly hold of me
by the left leg. Heavens ! I think I can feel
him yet."

" Do you swim?" added P., interrupting him-
self suddenly.

I replied modestly, that I sometimes did a
little at it.

"Well, then," continued he, "just imagine
yourself swimming with a Paixhan gun strapped
to one leg, and you have an idea of how I felt.
I implored him to let go ; I adjured him solemnly,
on my honor, that I would save him at all risks ;
but he made no reply. To be sure though, he
couldn't, for his head was under water. In spite
of the most desperate efforts, I felt myself being
drawn down. I think, even as it was, 1 might
have sustained myself a little longer, possibly
until the boat, that was fast approaching, should
reach us ; but just at this juncture, as we drifted
by the stern of the steamer, the hook-nosed gen-
tleman, in his zeal, flung a stool at me, which,
striking me on the head, settled the matter at
once.

"Partially stunned, I became fairly delirious.
I tried to kick the old gentleman ; I swore like a
trooper. I remember that the insane idea that a
shark, whose mouth was filled with cross-cut
saws, was trying to bite my leg off, floated across
my brain. I was just conscious of grappling
frantically with old B., getting my fingers in his
mouth and extracting a double set of artificial
teeth, and all was over.

"Jack, it is a dreadful sensation — that of
drowning — particularly with an old gentleman
hanging to one leg."

" They told me that, when I was hauled out,
I had the teeth still tightly clenched in my hand.
I believe one of the boat's crew caught mc by
the hair as I went under, and fished me up with
Battledore still hanging on to my leg ; at least,
so they told mc afterwards. / didn't know any-
thing about it. They carried us into the cabin
and administered blankets and brandy with
various other remedies. I came to sooner than
my companion in misfortune, I suppose because
he had taken so much water that it required
more brandy to make a proper mixture. The
first thing that I was conscious of was finding
the pipe of a bellows between my teeth, and
my hook-nosed acquaintance performing on the
valves. He immediately informed me that he

pantlebridge's first love.

417

had my coat and vest safe, and I found, when I
thanked him afterwards for his exertions, that
he was a Hebrew from Chatham Street, which
probably accounted for his interest in the arti-
cles.

" In the course of an hour, we were both
sufficiently recovered to come on deck; and I
assure you, sir, I was in a state of self-satisfac-
tion— that is, after I had got my dry clothes on,
you understand — not easily imagined. I had
saved the life of a fellow-creature. You never
saved the life of a fellow-creature, did you?"

" Never, unfortunately."

" Well, I do assure you, you can have no con-
ception of one's sensations. To feel that you
have rescued a fellow-creature from a violent
I such a death, too ! and that fellow-
nn Battle-
, I felt like oldBattle-
[f knocked into one, I can tell
you. And then the way that America thanked
me ! Why. to be thanked that way by such an
angelic being, I would not only have pulled the
old gentleman out, but I'd have shoved him
overboard again, if necessary. Oh ! I don't
know when I have felt so happy before or since."

Pantlebridge heaved a deep sigh and appeared

lost in a cloud of tender recollections, and for

some time he watched the light wreaths of cigar

smoke, as they floated, in silence. Presently he

, ie(j —

" You may imagine that Mr. Battledore was
delighted with me. He made me tell him over
and over again how I had saved him. He
looked upon me as a second Leander, and you
may suppose that I was only too happy to give
him and his daughter a glowing description of
my exertions in his behalf. I thought it best,
however, to say nothing about my operation in
dentistry. In the course of conversation, he
soon ascertained that I held a respectable posi-
tion in society ; and when he found that I was
only making a summer excursion for pleasure,
he insisted on my spending some time with him
at * The Bower in the Bushes,' as he had christ-
ened his place. His daughter joined her en-
treaties, and, after modestly declining once or
twice, I suffered myself to be persuaded.

'* We had a delightful time until the boat landed
us at , which, you know, is a town of mo-
derate size nearly opposite to Northport. Here
we found a boat, belonging to Mr. B., to take us
across the river. I will mention to you here
that it was rather peculiar in its construction,
having a paddle-wheel at each side, which
wheels were turned by a crank in the centre.
This movement, which is frequently met with

now on small boats for pleasure, was at that
time quite a rarity. There was also a little
cabin at the afterpart, made by the sides being
carried up and roofed over, with a door s« .
as a protection against bad weather. It was
used for excursions on the river, and also to
convey any of the family across when they
desired to take the steamer for New York, which
stopped at .

" The propelling power was a stout negro boy,
who rejoiced in the grandiloquent name of Co-
lumbus. Cole, I think, was his family name ; but
he might as well have had none, as it was
never used. This Columbus acted as engineer,
gardener, footman, and driver, as we Americans
call the coachman — was general factotum, in
short, to the establishment. . He was quite mu-
sical, and constantly performed selections from
camp-meeting airs, in a nasal tone. S
when the tune went higher than his voire, he
followed it up in a squeaking falsetto ; thus, like
Alboni, singing in the registers. I was often
deeply interested when Columbus became in-
volved in the difficulties of an air, and sympa-
thized with him in his ultimate triumph by the
aforesaid falsetto. I think I could sustain a
respectable part at a, camp-meeting now, with
just what I learned from that darkie.

" When we came to the other side, we found
Mr. B.'s carriage waiting for us. It was a neat
little two-horse affair. I handed the lady in,
and, as her father sat on the front seat with Co-
lumbus, I assumed the vacant place alongside of
her. I was supremely happy. Believe me,
Jack, there are few greater pleasures in life than
that of sitting alongside of a charming girl, in a
neat little carriage that carries you over the
ground like a whirlwind. I thought so then, at
all events. She pointed out to me all the lions
of the place : Mr. Trimmin's dry-goods store,
where were retailed gloves, laces, scandal, and
other ladies' wares ; the circulating library,
indispensable in such a place ; and, lastly, she
extended a delicate forefinger in line with the
roof of a cottage that appeared among the trees,
and informed me that it was the ' Bower in the
Bushes.'

" It stands some distance from the village. In
summer it is buried in honeysuckles and roses,
and surrounded with trees, or was then, which
made it so retired that you would not think
there was another house for miles around. A
deep and long porch — that sine qua non to a
country-house, and which, to me, always seems
to speak of pleasant chats, readings, and last,
but not least, delightful flirtations — faced a
smooth lawn, only broken by rose-trees and

418

GODKY's MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

cedars. It was here that we were welcomed by
America's elder lister, Luerctia, who made up
the number of the family, their mother having
been dead some years. I may also mention a
couple of female domestics whom Columbus was
eternally quarrelling with, and from whom he
sought refuge in the stable, I believe, when
worsted in any of the various 'jousts at outrance'
that were daily occurring.

" The circle of gentlemen acquaintance that
visited the ' Bower in the Bushes' was drawn
from the various villages surrounding Northport.
One of these, a young lawyer named Diagram,
was quite intimate. He used to come over on
horseback in the afternoon, and stay to supper
very often. He was a slender, quiet-looking
individual. I never, from the first, saw anything
to admire about him. He was very fond of the
ladies' society, but had not much to say to me.
I set him down as a very average young man ;
if anything, rather below mediocrity than above
it; and I suspected immediately, on his second
or third visit, that Lucretia was the magnet that
drew him over there on horseback so often,
particularly because I had surprised them whis-
pering together once or twice, in a very confi-
dential manner. I never appeared to notice
anything of the kind. I imagined, though, that
he'd have some trouble in getting over papa, for
I was very sure that Mr. Battledore did not fancy
him much — not as much as he did me, at all
events.

" The old gentleman testified his regard for
me by detaining me in the dining-room of an
afternoon, talking or playing checkers — a game
that he was very fond of. He did this more
often, probably, because, like a good courtier, I
let him win after a sharp contest. I must con-
fess this favor shown me was attended with its
inconveniences. Frequently, while my oppo-
nent was hard at work double-cornering my last
king — we generally swept the board — I could
hear, through the open window, Diagram's voice
mingled with the softer tones of the sisters, as
they carried on a most animated conversation
under the long porch that fronted the lawn. At
such times, I was reminded of being ' kept in'
for missing my lessons in schooldays.

" Often have I sat by that window, the sum-
mer air moving the light tendrils that hung
across the sash, and fanning my cheek — now
and then the hum of some great bee sounding
angrily as he whizzed past — all my attention
strained to catch what they could be saying to
make them laugh so, out on the porch ; while
old Mr. B. — with knitted brow and pursed-up
mouth, his whole soul absorbed in the game,

moving, as it seemed to me, at the rate of once
every quarter of an hour, the very picture of
cautiousness — obstinately refused to take the
man that, without letting my intention appear,
I was doing my best to sacrifice. And then, at
last, when the victory was gained, chuckling
triumphantly, with an ' Aha, Pantlebridge, my
boy, I 've got you now ! I 've got you now !
You fought hard, but I out-generalled you !' And
then he would commence explaining to me how
it was that I missed it.

" I consoled myself with the idea that I was
making great headway, at head-quarters at all
events, and, when released, I would fly out of
the dining-room on to the porch. You smile,
Jack, at the idea of my flying, and I know that
Time has made my vest wider at the waist than
the shoulders ; but it was not so then, and when
I had on my green coatee, with gilt buttons, I
was, to speak modestly, not such a bad-looking
fellow. I wore a green coatee in order to look
like Count D'Orsay. I used to be thought to
resemble him somewhat, at least so I have been
told ; and I had seen a print of him as he ap-
peared at the Derby. He had on a green coatee,
with gilt buttons ; so I had one made to resemble
it."

As he finished this explanation, Pantlebridge,
looking a little conscious, settled his collar,
hemmed, and continued —

" Well, when I came to the porch, I usually
found Diagram seated between the two ladies.
I soon saw his game. Before Mr. B. or myself,
he divided his attentions, so as not to raise sus-
picion. Nay, one afternoon he flirted so des-
perately with America, that I really became
jealous. It was on the porch, and having my
penknife open in my hand at the time, I had
liked to whittle one of the chairs to pieces.

" Every time he said anything more than usu-
ally tender, I cut a notch into the chair, wishing
it was his throat, and I became as sulky as a
young bear. But America perceived it, and
running over to me, she asked me to ride with
them that afternoon, and, in spite of the dire
resolution I had been mentally vowing a minute
before, all my ill-humor vanished. There was
no resisting that girl. She always said twice as
much with her eyes as she did with her tongue,
and, when placing a little white hand on each
arm of the chair, and leaning forward, with her
eyes looking so pleadingly into mine, she coax-
ed—

" ' Ah ! pray do join our party, Mr. Pantle-
bridge. I always feel so safe when you are
along.' I jumped up and went right off to get
ready. All the way up stairs I hung my head

PANTLEBRIPGK'S FIRST LOVE.

419

to one side, and with my eyes turned up like a
' duck in a thunder-storm,' I kept murmuring :
' Ah ! pray do come with us. I really sha'n't
feel safe unless you are along !' Turning the
landing, I came suddenly on old Battledore,
who, with a face of anxiety, hastily asked —
* Why ! what has happened ? Where am I to

go tor

" I reddened to my ears as I stammered some-
thing about repeating some lines of poetry, and
I heard the old man chuckling all the way down
stairs.

" I thought, that afternoon, that, if Diagram
had made me feel jealous on the porch, I must
have repaid him, with interest, during the ride.
I was rather a good rider, and he was not. He
did not like going very fast, and both Lucretia
and I did ; and, as very often happened on our
equestrian excursions, Lucretia would leave him,
and cantering up to me, say, ' Come, Mr. Pan-
tlebridge, let us leave these slow ones behind.'
And, at this challenge, excusing myself to my
companion for leaving her in charge of Diagram,
we would gallop forward at the first turn of the
road, loaving the two out of sight.

" I thought I detected a bitter smile on Dia-
gram's face once or twice, and I rather liked the
fun. ' Come, old fellow,' I said to myself, ' let's
see how you like this sort of thing ; and accord-
ingly I showed no great hurry to rejoin them.
It seemed to me that Lucretia did not either.
At first, I said to myself, * Oho ! it appears that
she has some small infidelities to revenge also.'
Then I began to imagine that it was the natural
coquetry inherent in woman — I beg pardon, I
mean some women — and which is only put an
end to by the last carriage that ever stops for
them. At last, however, I began to settle down
into the conviction that my own good looks had
something to do with it ; and with this I mur-
mured to myself, in alarm — 'Merciful Fathers,
if both of these girls should happen to be in love
with me !' I thrust the idea away as an absurd-
ity; still it returned again and again, with such
a complacent smirk, that I gradually found my-
self looking slyly around at it, with an ' I won-
der if it is so?'

" Lucretia found a thousand things for me
too, as we rode along. 'Oh, Mr. Pantlebridge,
do let us turn up that little green lane; it looks
so romantic when the sunlight breaks through
the leaves.' She was so curious to know ' where
it could possibly go to.' The saddle wanted
tightening, and I had to lift her off and on.
Then she knew the check-rein wasn't right,
because Daisy frotted so. And now, ' Would I
get her that spray of blackberries up that hi^

bank?' I muddied my neatly blacked boots,
and tore my coat with the brambles, and, in
getting the blackberries, my foot slipped, and I
slid down a clay bank into a ditch at the road-
side. As I did so, a loud 'Haw! haw! haw !'
sounded high above my head. ' What are you
laughing at?' said I, savagely, looking up, for I
perceived that Lucretia had a difficulty in re-
straining her smiles, also. It was only a crow,
however, whom the rattle of my fall had scared
off a branch above me, and whose cawing, heard
imperfectly — I was a citizen, Jack — I had taken
for laughter at my misfortune.

" We saw nothing more of America and her
escort until we got home, whither they had
arrived before us. They were seated on the
porch, and I fancied that Diagram looked rather
vexed, and America seemed discomposed also.
I took no notice of it, and laughed and rattled
away with a forty conversation power ; and,
after supper, when America sang for us, I was
all attention, while Diagram walked up and
down with his hands in his coat-tail pockets,
and his mouth contracted into an inarticulate
whistle. I pitied him, and even Lucretia took
compassion on him, and asked him to * come, sit
down,' pointing to a chair near us ; but he
wouldn't, and shortly after took his leave.

" I felt amused at what I considered his silly
jealousy.

"'Didn't we,' said I to myself — 'didn't we
make a fair swap, as the Yankees say ? I didn't
hinder you saying what you pleased to America,
and you can't be angry at Lucretia saying what
she pleased to me.' Thus I mentally addressed
him as he paraded the parlor; but, as he couldn't
\ know it, he went away as cross as ever.
\ " I had not been a week at the ' Bower in the
\ Bushes,' before I was struck with the peculiar
{ operations of Columbus in his role of gardener.
\m " My window commanded a i iew of that par-
ticular part of the garden he was busy upon ;
and I was considerably puzzled at seeing him,
after carefully hoeing various hills or rows,
commence to mix one with wood-ashes, another
with lime, and so on through a variety of com-
pounds. When I first noticed this, I sat down
in front of the window with my elbows on the
ledge and my chi* f4 my hands, and speculated
for sometime or Ms apparently ecceniric system
of o-ardening. Columbus himself appeared to
entertain a most unmitigated disgust of the
whole aff"r> Judging f™n> th° peculiar negro
chuckle A contempt tha^o indulged in.

ei \ r/ here, by p,-*enthesis, I may remark
p that ^>oy always reminded me of the Irish-
man who applied for a situation in a gentle-

420

godey's magazine and lady's book.

man's house, where he could do anything
' except work and run errands.' Such a place,
I think, would have suited Columbus to a
nicety. When not overlooked during his agri-
cultural hours, he spent a great part of them in
taking rests ad lib., as the musicians phrase it.
On these occasions, he crossed his hands on the
end of the hoe-handle, and placed his under jaw
on them. Sometimes, while in this attitude, he
closed his eyes, and remained asleep to all in-
tents and purposes, basking in the perpendicu-
lar rays of a meridian sun. As the eyes lazily
opened at the termination of one of these periods
of repose, I was reminded of the same process
in the water turtles as they are often seen on a
log in the sun.

" I ascertained that this style of gardening
was a hobby of Mr. Battledore's, and one that
he was riding pretty hard. It was a course of
experiments for the prevention or cure of the
potatoe blight, and all his agricultural chemistry
was brought into action in the cause. I thought
Columbus's impression of the matter was a
pretty good one.

"'What is Mr. Battledore going to do with
all that wood-ashes and lime, Columbus?' I
inquired of him, one day.

" 'Him 's a tryin' to fine out how to rot de
taters, sah,' he replied, raising himself on the
hoe handle.

" One day, Mr. Battledore explained his ideas
on the subject for my especial gratification.
Standing astride, like a Colossus, and gracefully
waving his hands, or joining them at the tips
of his fingers, he addressed me somewhat in
this style : —

" 'My dear Pantlebridge, there is a possibility
that at some future day the name of Battledore
may descend to posterity coupled with the proud
title of benefactor of the human race. Already
our County Agricultural and Philosophical So-
cieties have recognized my exertions in this
cause by conferring on me an honorary mem-
bership. My grand theory is based upon the
system of Nature, aivd upon the system of Na-
ture alone. Do we not know that in those
countries where the most venomous serpents are
found, plants and roots ilso grow whose juices
neutralize their poison? And can it be sup-
posed that Nature is less V»o\ntiftil in other
regions ? No, Pantlebridge ; w^ the disease
is given the remedy. And the \ure for this
dreadful blight, it we only knew it)^ probably
at this moment lying Unheeded at our \et . an(j
why should not I find it as well as anoher?,

" It seemed to me that a great de&ct > f. is
plan was that Mr. Battledore never seemed

reflect that wood-ashes and lime, etc., however
plentiful about Northport, was not so in proba-
bly the very regions where they would be most
wanted ; but I hastened to say that no doubt it
would be a valuable discovery, and I trusted he
would be successful.

" 'Don't imagine,' continued he, interrupting
me, ' that it is for a pecuniary reward I am
toiling. No ; it is for the benefit of the human
race, and the approbation of the human race.
What are you standing gaping at, Columbus ?
Why don't you go on with your work ?'

" This parenthesis was addressed to the
negro, who, with mouth and eyes wide open,
as though he desired to imbibe the discourse
physically and mentally, leaned on his hoe
handle in his favorite position, and stared his
master out of countenance. At this, however,
he slapped the hoe vigorously into a heap,
chopping a potato in two and spattering the
dirt in all directions.

" ' And the approbation of the human race,'
continued Mr. Battledore, resuming his dis-
course, 'is all I desire; and this, Pantlebridge,
is well worth striving for. I wish for no blood-
stained wreath of laurel, no poetaster's crown
of bays. No ; all I want is the gratitude of my
race for a useful discovery.' And at this con-
clusion, with his heart full, the henefactor of
the human race strode towards the house.

" When he had gone, Columbus stopped work
to ask, ' Wedder dat race what massa was to be
de bally factor ob was a comin' off up hcah or
down on de Long Islan' course?' I told him I
believed the place was not yet fixed, and left
him forming a tripod with the hoe.

" Mr. Battledore was hot content with expe-
rimenting on the potatoes ; he was also seized
with a desire of writing on his theories, and he
accordingly commenced publishing his articles
in the 'Flag of the Free,' the county newspa-
per, issued at the neighboring large town on our
side of the jiver, which place he drove over to
once a week ; and as I didn't laugh when, after
sounding me on the subject, he by degrees
owned up the authorship of the papers in
question, he began to take me into his confidence.
And, on warm afternoons, while sitting on the
piazza smoking, and during such times as the
ladies indulged in their afternoon nap, he took
great delight in reading them to me, and com-
menting on them as he went along.

" It might have been a collection of all the
inscriptions on the milestones between there
and New York, for all I remembered of the
matter ; for I was too often engaged in filling a
vacant chair with a neatly turned figure and

MEMORY'S RETROSPECT.

421

pair of bright eyes, to know much of what he
was saying. But I must have said ' Yes, sir'
and * Exactly' in the proper places, as I never
heard anything to the contrary. Some writer
says * A man is never good for much until he
withdraws his attention from the fair sex, and
lets them take care of themselves ;' and, had old
Mr. Battledore known my thoughts, he would
have agreed with the aforesaid writer most
heartily. As it was, I have no doubt he thought
me a splendid listener.

"'The course of theories never did run
smooth,' to paraphrase Shakspeare; and one
afternoon, on receiving a copy of the tri-weekly
' Flag of the Free,' the theorist made his ap-
pearance on the porch in a state of mental
fusion. The ladies were enjoying their siesta,
and I was alone.

"' Would you believe it> Pan tleb ridge?' he
eried. * Would you believe it ' Here 's some
stupid blockhead has undertaken to write me
down in this paper. And he has the imperti-
nence to allude to me, sir, in the character of
" small potatoes," sir ! Small potatoes, by Jove,
sir, is what the villain does not hesitate to call
me ! And he advocates some absurd idea about
planting turnips instead of potatoes, as if people
could change their tastes and eat turnips instead
of potatoes. The man 's a fool ! Look at it
for yourself, Pantlebridge ; here it is.' And he
slapped the journal with the back of his hand
and flung it at me.

" I picked up the paper and read the article,
which was pretty severe on ' Potato Rot,' Mr.
Battledore's nom de plume. The writer, as Mr.
Battledore had stated, proposed planting turnips
instead of potatoes, on the principle of a change
of crops ; and he quoted Cobbett's prophecy,
' that potatoes would ultimately be the ruin of
Ireland,' and applied it generally to all places
where potatoes were cultivated. The piece to
me did not seem written altogether seriously,
and it certainly was impertinent to call the old
gentleman small potatoes.

" And, Jack, the more I have reflected over
the matter since, I am convinced that the writer
well deserved a horsewhipping for his person-
alities. At the time, I was rather inclined to
laugh, and did not express myself as strongly on
the subject as I have since reflected that I should
have done. Be that as it may, however, my
host asked my assistance in composing a re-
joinder, and we sat up till two o'clock in the
morning in his study writing one. I never was
so sleepy in all my life. We consulted all pos-
sible agricultural authorities living and dead.
I worked like a horse, or an editor. I remember
vol. xlix. — 36

I thought that a little poetry might give a turn
or finish to it, and relieve the dryness of the
subject, and I suggested

* " Poor race of men," said the pitying spirit,
" Dearly ye pay for your primal fall." '

But, as he seemed decidedly opposed to it, 1
yielded the point, as I considered he was much
deeper in the subject than I. We were rather
proud of our performance, and signed ' Potato
Rot' at the end with a flourish.

" Next morning at breakfast, when America
said, pityingly, < Dear me, Mr. Pantlebridge,
how pale you look ! Ain't you well V I blushed
up to the eyes, although I returned a grateful
glance, and replied that 1 never was better. Her
father, the habitual red of whose complexion
never varied, didn't raise his eyes from his toast.

" In due time, came the tri-weekly ' Flag of
the Free,' and containing a broadside that was
worse than before. Our antagonist seemed to
enjoy the fun immensely.

" But Mr. Battledore set to work again, and
made a last desperate effort ; and when he had
finished, it being the period of his weekly visit
to the county town, he ordered Columbus to get
ready the carriage and drive him over, intending
to give his article to the editor in person, and
(as he confided to me) ascertain, if possible, the
name of his antagonist.

(Conclusion next month.)

MEMORY'S RETROSPECT.

BY D. HARDY, JR.

Scenes of halcyon juveniscence

Now before my vision glide,
Like the thickly coming fancies

Of a dream at eventide ;
Voices of the loved are singing

In the summer twilight dim,
And like dream-land's fairy music

Seems that olden vesper hymn.

Faces of the loved and loving,

Of the faithful and the true,
Pass before my mental mirror.

Pass before my mental view ;
Oh, those early friends of childhood,

Tell me, where, oh, where are they!
Underneath the grassy hillocks,

In the churchyard old and gray.

Cherished hopes and fancied pleasure,

Which were mine in childhood's hours,
Have, with throngs of blissful dreamings

Passed away like summer flowers.
Though there 's something sad and mournful

In each scene which I recall,
Yet the glance of retrospection

Is the saddest of them all.

THE GROANS OF A "WEALTHY CITIZEN."

BY ANOTHER "SUFFERER.7

It is now more than a year, Mr. Godey, since
I read, in your entertaining " Lady's Book,"
the " Sorrows of a Wealthy Citizen," with an
interest and a sympathy that must have been
participated in by thousands. I, too, am one
of the " sufferers." My name is down in that
record of " Wealthy Citizen," and stands oppo-
site to a startling array of figures. Your
" seventy thousand" dollar man's case is a
mere bagatelle to mine. Seventy thousand !
Well, perhaps I may be worth that sum, all
told — all fairly realized. But, you know the
old adage, " You can never measure a snake
until he is dead;" and I rather think my execu-
tors will more clearly comprehend its meaning
when they are called to a post-mortem exami-
nation of my affairs. If I really am worth
seventy thousand dollars, very well. It is a
comfortable sum, and I hope I am sufficiently
thankful. But I only wish that I could put my
hands on the money, and feel that I had it, as
the negro said, " Sartin, sure." How quickly
does the mention, in round numbers, of a man's
wealth suggest the idea of a great heap of yellow
Californias. I wonder how large a pile seventy
thousand dollars would make? But I am get-
ting prosy already.

How well do I remember the day on which
that " book" was. announced, and in which I
was recorded as being the happy possessor of
two hundred and fifty thousand dollars ! Yes,
these were the very figures, " $250,000." How
I did stare ! All at once, I became a man of
importance j if not in my own eyes, certainly in
the eyes of many who heretofore manifested no
particular interest in, or deference for, me.
Before the day closed, I had sundry opportuni-
ties for investing portions of this ample fortune,
which people seemed to think was all lying idle
in bank, or piled up in useless ingots in my
cellar. As for the investments, the least said
about them, perhaps, the better. In most of the
cases, to have made them would have been sow-
ing the wind, with a fair prospect of reaping the
whirlwind.

I am a pretty decided sort of a man, and did
not find it very hard to meet the outside pres-
sure occasioned by this unmannerly blazoning
of my wealth to the world. A man's worst
A22

enemies are sometimes those of his own house-
hold. I grieve to say that, so far as I am con-
cerned, this was my case; or, I should have
said, has been my case since the story of my
great wealth went abroad and was believed. As
you cannot possibly make out my identity, no
one need be grieved, or will be harmed by what
I am about to reveal.

I have two sons and two daughters, the
youngest eighteen and the oldest twenty-three.
I started in life with an old Spanish pistareen in
my pocket, which I carried unbroken for months.
I received my board and clothes, such as they
were, for my labor, and so had no cause to
spend my pistareen, the gift of a poor widowed
mother, when she parted with her only son at
the early age of twelve years. I never saw her
afterwards. In two months from the day on
which I parted from her, and was taken away
to a large city, she died, and I was alone in the
world.

Never since then have I been without money
in my pocket ; and this because I saw from the
first its value, and resisted all temptations to
spend uselessly. I remember, even while a boy,
being called mean and stingy, because I would
not waste the little sum I possessed in buying
what I did not need. But such allegations
never disturbed me very deeply. To the habit
then formed, united with industry, persever-
ance, and patience, do I owe my present posi-
tion. How earnestly have I striven to impress
upon my children the value of these social and
mercantile virtues ! but, alas ! how vainly, let
this record tell.

My oldest son, at the time to which I have
referred in the beginning of this sketch, was a
clerk, of one year's experience, in a jobbing
house in Market Street. His ideas of business
were, to my notions, very crude ; yet I hoped
that a few years' familiarity with the actualities
of merchandising would correct false notions
and make him clear-sighted. I was observing,
with carefulness and concern, the slow progress
he was making in his education for trade, and
had frequently pointed out to him the necessity
of a more rigid devotion of himself to the duties
pertaining to his situation. But he talked
loosely and vaguely about merchandising, and,

THE GROANS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN.

423

too evidently, felt that in matters of business he
was a host in himself. His drafts for pocket-
money were large ; so large, that I often remon-
strated, at which he seemed to regard me as
unsympathizing and oppressive. I naturally
felt hurt at this, the more particularly when I
looked back upon my own early life, and the
hardships and privations I had endured to gain
for my children the liberal supply of good things
they enjoyed.

Well, it was somewhere about twelve o'clock
on that memorable day when it became known
to the good citizens of Philadelphia that I pos-
sessed a fortune of two hundred and fifty thou-
sand dollars, and after I had declined some half
dozen generous offers to help me take care of it,
when George, my oldest son, entered my store,
and with a peculiar expression and manner,
which satisfied me that " something was com-
ing," asked to speak a word or two with me
alone. So we retired to my private corner.

"Father," said he, "I am now, you know,
twenty-two years of age?"

" Twenty-two last week," I responded, a lit-
tle coldly; for I had a quick intuition of what
was in his mind.

" And it is quite time that I was beginning to
do something for myself."

I expected this, and yet I was, for a moment
or two after its utterance, too much confounded
to reply. This gave him the opportunity to
speak on, and he said —

" I 've had an offer this morning to go into
business."

" You have?" I am very sure that neither
in tone nor manner did I show any pleasure at
this announcement ; but quite the reverse.

" Yes, sir ; and a very advantageous offer,"
said my son.

" From whom ?" I inquired.

" From Kronk & Liston. Mr. Kronk sent
me a note about an hour ago, and I have been
in close conference with hiin and his partner
ever since."

"You have?"

"Yes, sir."

"And they offer you an interest in their
business?"

" Yes, sir."

" Of course, they expect you to bring in
capital ?"

" Of course, they do."

"How much?" I inquired.

" Only about twenty-five thousand dollars,"
answered George, very confidently, and with an
emphasis on the word " only," that made

twenty-five thousand dollars appear almost an
unconsidered trifle.

" Where do you expect to obtain this sum of
twenty-five thousand dollars ?" I coldly in-
quired.

The countenance of my boy fell.

" I cannot furnish it, even if I felt inclined,
which I certainly do not."

"But think, father, what an opportunity it
is. Another such may not offer in a lifetime,"
said George.

" Capital is rarely in want of good opportuni-
ties," I answered. " But, as it is a fixed fact that
I cannot furnish the sum you now require, the
matter is settled so far as Kronk & Liston are
concerned."

" It won't be necessary for me to produce the
cash," said the foolish boy. " Your notes will
command the money."

" They '11 never command the money for you
to go into business with Kronk & Liston, if they
would take you with a one-third interest for a
thousand dollars," I replied, in a tone meant to
foreclose all argument on this subject.

George was offended. He turned away ab-
ruptly, a sentence of disrespect on his tongue,
which wounded so deeply that I feel even yet
the pain. I did not recall him, and he left the
store.

" So much," sighed I, " for this lying and
impertinent publication. Here are some of the
first bitter fruits. Kronk & Liston have seen
it, and at once sought to get my silly boy into
their insolvent concern, in hopes of saving
themselves through my money and credit. But
they can't play off this game against me. I 'm
too old a fox to be caught in their trap."

At dinner-time I went home, a sharper pain
in my heart than if it had been struck by a
serpent's tooth. George did not make his ap-
pearance. I learned afterwards that he dined
that day with Mr. Kronk at Jones's Hotel.

I did not need to be told that already the
gratifying intelligence of my liberal fortune had
reached the ears of wife and children. My
second boy, Edward, in his twentieth year, just
from college, and just entered, for a mercantile
education, with a particular, valued, and judi-
cious friend, a merchant of the old school, had
come home a couple of hours before with " The
Wealthy Citizens of Philadelphia" in his pocket.
Wife, daughters, and sons believed the record
as fully as they believed the Bible — more en-
tirely, if action is any test of faith. Such a
furbishing up as there had been ! Such a quick
assumption of new importance ! My wife had

424

godey's magazine and lady's book.

on her best cap, anil— must I say it?— her new
brocade ! The gold watch, that she had found
it too much trouble to wind up daily, now pro-
truded from her pocket, while its heavy gold
chain and seals were displayed to the most im-
posing advantage. " Like mother, like daugh-
ters," is all I need say in regard to the girls.

There was a cloud on my brow when I sat
down to the dinner-table. No wonder, you will
say. None in the world ; for the insulting
words of my son were still ringing in my ears
and smarting on my heart. My wife and daugh-
ters tried to be very agreeable ; but I was crusty,
and threw sufficient cold water on their fine
enthusiasm. As we wTere about rising from the
table, Edward said to me, with a cool assurance
that, under the circumstances, fretted me beyond
measure —

" I told Mr. G , this morning, thai he

could supply my place."

"What?" I exclaimed. •

" I '11 never make a merchant," said the fel-
low, with all imaginable composure ; " and I
see no use in wasting my time over dull account-
books, or soiling my hands with dirty coffee-
bags and molasses hogsheads."

I 'm afraid I used rather unseemly words for
the head of a family, in the presence of his
family, and applied to one of his family. My
memory isn't very clear about the matter, and I
don't care to increase its lucidity. I was angry,
without doubt, and spoke under strong excite-
ment ; for my mind had been quite easy about
Edward since his entrance into the counting-
room of G , where I knew his mercantile

education would be thorough.

" Never make a merchant !" " Dirty coffee-
bags and molasses hogsheads !" " Dull account-
books !" This was handsome talk for a young
man whose father was a merchant, and who
had been among account-books and dirty mo-
lasses hogsheads since he was a boy.

" And what do you expect to make ?" I asked,
after I had cooled down a little. " What do you
imagine yourself fit for?"

" I 'm going to study lav/." How self-
possessed the young rascal was ! With what
an air of superiority to common flesh — such as
his father was made of, for instance — did he
erect his effeminate person !

" Law !" There was a bitter sneer in my
voice.

" I don't think this is just in you, Mr. F ,"

now spoke up my wife. " You should be proud
of Edward's ambition to attain a more elevated
position, and encourage rather than oppose
him."

This from my wife, and in the presence of
our young upstart ! How did I contain myself?
A more elevated position ! What a bitter in-
sult to me ! Conscious that I was getting blind
with passion, I arose abruptly from the table
and left the house, vowing in my heart that,
until Edward returned to the store of Mr.
G , I would cut off his supplies.

Vain purpose ! He did not return, and his
supplies were not cut off. His mother was on
his side! In due time, he entered the office of a
legal gentleman of some standing, and pretended
to study law.

"What's that on your upper lip?" said I to
him one morning, not long after he became a
law-student, as we seated ourselves at the break-
fast-table. I spoke in all innocence, for I really
thought his lip had become accidentally soiled.

He colored slightly, smirked a little, glanced
towards his mother and sisters, and then went
on with his breakfast. I looked closer, and the
truth flashed on me. It was an incipient, downy
moustache. I felt a sensation as if cold water
were trickling from my head to my feet. Was
it conceivable that any one with my blood in
his veins could be such a fool !

" Don't let me see you with that dirty hair on
your lip again !" said I to him, sternly. " To

think that a son of George F would hang out

a sign to tell the world of his lack of brains !
Faugh !"

But the downy lip darkened daily, in spite of
all I could say, giving a sickly hue and expres-
sion of silliness to his girlish face, that could
only inspire, in the minds of all sensible persons
who looked upon him, a feeling of contempt.

Oh, how mortified — how disgraced I did feel !
The next step of my young gentleman, whose
sense of personal dignity was hurt at the idea of
becoming a merchant, was to purchase a dog;
not a fine, generous, Newfoundland, or a little
springing greyhound, or a beautiful King Charles
for a house pet. No, none of these, but a con-
temptible rat-terrier ! Rat-killing was now, for
a while, his passion. Just imagine my feelings,
if you can, on reading, one morning, among the
local items in a daily paper, the description of a

rat-killing match, in which Edward F 's dog,

Dick, won a silver collar for killing the largest
number of rats in a given period. I laid aside
the paper, and caught my breath several times
before respiration went on easily again. And

had it come to this, the son of George F

a rat-dog fancier !

Dick never saw the sunshine of another day.
That night, after Edward was asleep — the dog
always slept in his room — I enticed the little

THE GROANS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN.

425

wretch from his snug quarters, knocked him on
the head, and threw him, silver collar and all,
down the sink. My agency in his disappearance
was, I could see, suspected ; but I did not suffer
myself to be questioned on the subject. If he
had lost a human friend, Edward could not have
mourned him with a deeper regret. This angered
me not a little. Another dog was soon procured,
but I had made up my mind to have no more
rat-terriers about my house, so he had to depart.
But he was boarded out, and, almost any day,
could be seen taking an airing with his master
on Chestnut Street.

The downy blemish on Edward's face grew, in
spite of all I could say, and is there still. He
has been studying law ever since, but he has not
yet ventured to apply for admission to the bar ;
it would be of little use. He doesn't know half
as much of law as I do. In fact, to tell the plain
truth, he has become a "nothing." As I am
worth, in his honest belief^ two or three hundred
thousand dollars, and, as I cannot live always, <
he must, sooner or later, come into the posses- c
sion of fifty or sixty thousand dollars in his own \
right; why, then, should he soil his hands with <
labor ? I try to bring him to his senses by with- \
holding money, but his mother supplies him \
liberally. I talk of the disgrace of idleness, the \
meanness of spirit that would consent to be a j
drone in the hive ; I compare his hairy, animal {
face with the unclothed countenances of Wash- S
ington, Lafayette, Bonaparte, Walter Scott,
Wellington, Webster, Clay, and hosts of others j
whose great achievements are a part of the
world's history. He curls his dirty lip in dainty
contempt. Heaven help me ! I fear his case is \
hopeless.

"What more of George?" you ask. Well, 1
his story is soon told. Kronk & Liston in-
veigled him into their concern, in spite of all I
could say. In doing so, however, they mistook

George F , Sen. They fully counted on

my aid, but they were in error. I never loaned <
them a dollar, nor indorsed a slip of their paper. \
The fact of having introduced my son into their >
firm gave their credit a temporary inflation, but
they were hopelessly involved, and six months \
ago, failed. for two hundred thousand dollars, |
and did not pay fifty per cent. George is a clerk
again., with some experience, but deeply morti- j
fied, oppressed, and disheartened by the con- \
sciousncss of commercial obligations he never j
can hope to pay. He gives me little trouble j
now. Edward's foppery and idleness he despises, j
and is not, therefore, in any danger of becoming \
a miserable drone like him, held by all, whose
regard is worth enjoying, in utter contempt.

36*

Ah ! If my troubles went no further, if the
reputation of being a " wealthy citizen" had
entailed no deeper curse upon me ! I have yet
said nothing of my daughters, and I have the
heart to say but little. The moment it became
known that I was possessed of so large an estate,
being yet in business, and likely to double it
before I died, my family, and particularly my
daughters, became objects of new interest. At
once our circle of acquaintances widened. My
wife and daughters received calls from, ladies
who, before, had scarcely known of our exist-
ence. Mothers, with worthless sons to be pro-
vided for, were particularly social and flatter-
ingly attentive.

It was soon a gay round of party going, and
attendance at places of fashionable amusement.
I heard more of operas, fashion, equipage, and
dress in a week, than in my whole life before.

Then there was Mrs. A 's "set," and Mrs.

B 's "receptions," and such things ad

nauseam. Oh, dear ! How I sicken at the con-
templation !

The upshot of all this was the marriage of
Julia, my oldest daughter — too old to have been
caught by such a worthless fellow — to the idle,
fashionable spendthrift son of a bankrupt father !
Ah ! what a mistake was that. They set up in
grand style, flourished six months, and now I
have them both in my house, and both to sup-
port. This is bad enough, but it is worse to see
an unprincipled young man breaking my child's
heart by neglect and unkindness.

It has not been so bad with Anna, my youngest
daughter; and yet I saved her from a worse
fate, by intercepting her flight with a whiskered
and moustached fellow, who had the entree of

Mrs. A 's splendid mansion, and was a

favorite in her " set." It was afterwards proved
that he was a barber in London, and had left a
wife and children there.

Ah ! How pleasantly, and with a good hope
for the future, was everything progressing, when
I had the misfortune to be numbered among our
"wealthy citizens." How all is changed and
blasted now ! The reputation still clings to me,
like the Old Man of the Mountain to the weary
shoulders of Sinbad ; and, if I do not succeed in
getting rid of the false impression, I shall be
ruined. Fifty per cent., and more, have my ex-
penses been increased, and still I am scarcely
treated with common civility at home, because I
will not buy a large and costly house, and fur-
nish it in a style of princely elegance. I am the
bird that can sing and won't sing, and that must
be made to sing. I am a " wealthy citizen,"
depriving my family, through meanness, of the

4:26

godey's magazine and lady's book.

tion they have a right to occupy. George,
the idle puppy, his silly face made more silly by
the frizzled tow on his upper lip, who disgusts
me daily with his presence, has actually fouled
his tongue with the word "governor," as applied
to me. I overheard him use the term while in
conversation with the husband of Julia. Neither
was aware of my proximity. How my blood
did boil ! I wonder that I managed to restrain
myself!

But enough ! I have raised the curtain suffi-
ciently high to enable you to see all I have

mentioned, and a great deal more. And now I
let it fall, with a groan. If there should be a

failure in Street some time during the next

year, of a merchant thought to have been worth
over a quarter of a million, you will hardly err
in assuming that the unfortunate individual is
your present correspondent, " one of the wealthy
citizens of Philadelphia;" for daily I grow more
and more deeply impressed with the fact that to
sustain a reputation of two hundred and fifty
thousand dollars is just the next thing to im-
possible.

BOTANICAL GEOGRAPHY.

BY HARUND COULTAS, PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN PENN MEDICAL UNIVERSITY, PHILADELPHIA.

The science of botanical geography is of very
recent origin, and owes its existence to the phi-
losophical researches of Humboldt, Decandolle,
Robert Brown, Schow, Mirbel, and other emi-
nent naturalists of the present century. It aims
at an exposition of those laws which govern the
distribution and development of plants on the
earth's surface.

Some plants appear to be capable of adapting
themselves to almost any climate. Thus many
ferns and mosses are common to both Europe
and America, and numerous European wreeds
infest the fields and woods throughout the
United States, to the exclusion, in some in-
stances, even of the native denizens of the soil.

Comparatively speaking, these vegetable cos-
mopolites are few in number. The generality
of plants are more exacting in the conditions of
their development; and their foliage, flowers,
and fruit will only mature and ripen when their
seed fall's into a certain soil, and is subjected to
certain definite conditions of temperature, light,
and moisture. A brief review of these influ-
ences, and their effects on vegetation, will per-
haps be acceptable to our readers.

1. The Soil. — It is impossible to examine
the flora of any country without arriving at the
conclusion that the soil exercises a marked in-
fluence on the distribution of species, and that
they are influenced in their localization by cer-
tain peculiar inorganic elements which they
derive from the soils in which they grow. The
barren and rocky sides of hills and mountains,
and the deep and fertile soils of the plains and
valleys, the margin of rivers, and the shores of
the ocean, have all their appropriate vegetable
forms. When the soil is of such a nature as to i

favor the growth of one particular species more
than another, it becomes covered exclusively by
that species of which the individuals form a
true society, and give a peculiar aspect to that
region. This congregating together of numerous
individuals of the same species, constituting
what Humboldt calls social plants, always indi-
cates great uniformity in the nature of the soil.

2. Temperature. — If the earth were
throughout homogeneous — if its surface was not
formed of land and sea, of islands and conti-
nents, of mountains and plains, the temperature
of a determinate point of the globe would be
given by its latitude, and the isothermal lines,
or lines of equal temperature, would be parallel
to themselves and to the equator. But the sur-
face of the earth is not homogeneous. Elevation
has the same effect on temperature as an in-
crease of distance from the equator, even under
the same parallels of latitude. Now, in propor-
tion as countries are elevated, in the same rati©
is their temperature reduced. This remark ap-
plies not only to the mountain chains whose
snowy peaks are seen even in tropical countries,
but also to those plateaus, or elevated table-
lands, which abound in different parts of the
world. The water with which a vast portion
of the earth's surface is overspread greatly
modifies its temperature. Countries situated in
the neighborhood of the ocean arc always cooler
than those which are removed from its influ-
ence. The isothermal lines are not therefore
parallel to the equator, excepting in the neigh-
borhood of the equinoctial line, but form an
irregular curve around the earth's surface.

3. Light. — The influence of light on vegeta-
tion is perhaps not so great as that of tempera-

WASHING UP BREAKFAST AND TEA THINGS.

427

turc, yet it is nevertheless deserving of an
especial notice. In tropical countries, the rays
of the sun fall perpendicularly, and therefore
the light is much more intense there than in
the temperate or polar regions. As we pass from
the equator to the poles, the incidence of the
rays becomes more oblique, and consequently
their brightness and stimulating power on the
vegetable creation must be diminished in the
same ratio. All the effects of light on vegeta-
tion are not yet fully understood. In temperate
climates, in early spring, the temperature de-
pends in a great measure on the prevailing cur-
rents of air. If these currents come to us from
the north, although the sky is cloudless, and the
vernal sun smiles cheerful once more on the
leafless forests and on the flowerless fields, yet
the cold will prevent the development of vege-
table life. But are the plants wholly uninflu-
enced by the light under such circumstances 1
It seems possible that, independently of the

heat, the constantly increasing light may have a
somewhat stimulating effect on vegetation. We
are not aware of any facts which confirm this
suggestion, but the subject is deserving of
attention.

4. Humidity. — Vegetation is greatly pro-
moted by a moist condition of the atmosphere.
Water is as necessary in germination as in all
the other phenomena of vegetable life. It
penetrates into the substance of the seed, softens
its envelopes, and makes the embryo swell. It
therefore places the seed in the conditions which
are the most favorable to its germination. The
quantity of rain which falls varies greatly in
the different countries of the world. In the hot
regions of the globe, a great quantity falls at a
determinate epoch, and this, in connection with
the high temperature which succeeds the rainy
season, is amongst the causes which contribute
to the luxuriance, variety, and magnitude of
vegetation within the tropics

WASHING UP BBEAKFAST AND TEA THINGS.

It is astonishing how a little plan and notion,
in performing this daily, or indeed twice a-day
duty, shortens the time spent over it ; makes the
things look bright and wholesome ; and prevents
chipping and breaking them. A kettle of hot
water, a wooden bowl or tub, and soft dry cloths
are requisite.

When Mary washes the breakfast things, it is
not very uncommon for her to put water into
her tub which is scarcely warm, and put into it
plates that have been used for broiled bacon, or
otherwise made greasy, with comparatively clean
cups and saucers, and then perhaps she will try
to wash glasses in the same water, and at last
remembering the tea or coffee-pot has not been
scalded, she will put a fresh lot of water from
the kettle into it, and empty the water away.
Mary begins just at the wrong end.

She should first empty the tea and coffee-pots
of leaves, and then fill them up with hot water ;
this water may then be emptied into the tub, and
will serve for the cups and saucers, which should
be quickly turned round two or three times in
the water, and briskly wiped dry, while they are
still warm. Afterwards the more greasy or sticky
things may be washed, for which a little more
hot water should be added to that in the tub, and
a bit of rag used to wash them with. If Mary

would make a neat pile of plates and saucers,
and basins, on a tea-board, adding each article
to its pile as soon as it is wiped, she would save
much time ; for she generally makes a confused
heap of everything she has washed, and before
she can carry anything to the place where it is
kept, the whole heap has to be handled again to
sort it.

Should there be a tea-urn, it must be wiped
very dry inside, and polished off on the outside
with an old silk handkerchief, or wash leather.
We have heard of a well-meaning person trying
to clean an urn with sand-paper; which of
course spoiled it. There are few things more
easily injured than lacquered tea-urns; a drop
of hot water will sometimes leave a black mark.
The teapot should also be well polished; but
never put into the tea-tub to wash the inside.

Glasses may be washed either in warm or cold
water, but either should be quite clean ; they dry
more easily from the warm, but have rather a
better polish if well dried from cold water.

Used tea-leaves, if put into decanters and
thoroughly shaken about with a little water,
will clean and polish the insides.

In frosty weather, double care is needed not
to crack glass or china by using the water too
hot.

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

FOR GODEY'S YOUNG READERS.

Y JOHN B. DUFFF.Y.

(Continued from page 348.)

CHAPTER XV.

Affairs in Hayti during the admiral's absence— Rebel-
lion of Roldan.

Columbus had hoped, on his return to Hayti,
to find the colony a scene of peace and prosper-
ity, but he was disappointed. All was confu-
sion and trouble. Wars with the Indians, and
quarrels with each other, had hindered the colo-
nists from prospering, and brought matters to
such a bad pass that it seemed as if no one would
be able to set them right again.

Soon after the admiral had sailed for Spain,
his brother, Bartholomew, who was left to gov-
ern the infant settlement, built fortresses at San
Domingo and other places where they were
needed. Then, attended by a brilliant troop of
his best soldiers', he set out to pay a visit to
Behechio, cacique of the province of Xaraguay,
a country so beautiful as to be called paradise
by the Haytiens. While on his way there, he
was met by the barbarian prince marching at
the head of a great army of warriors. Most of
these, however, Behechio sent away, when told
that the Spaniards were coming to see him as
friends. He then led Bartholomew, with much
pomp and show, towards his village, which was
at the head of a beautiful bay, near where the
city of Port au Prince now stands.

No sooner had the Spaniards arrived in sight
of the cacique's village than they were met by a
procession of thirty young females, singing songs
of welcome, and waving green branches of the
palm-tree. All were comely in face and figure,
and, as they danced joyously along, their long
black tresses fell gracefully about them. When
these young women had knelt down before the
admiral's brother, and presented their palms to
him, there came up a kind of litter, in which
was borne Anacaona, the wife of Caonabo, and
pister of the cacique of Xaraguay. On her head,
and entwining her neck and arms, were garlands
of crimson flowers; and about her waist was a
cotton girdle of many brilliant colors.

The Princess Anacaona, whose name in our
language would be " The Golden Flower," was
so beautiful as to be thought the loveliest of the
428

women of Hayti. She possessed a kind heart?
and had great geniws, being able to compose sweet
songs in the musical language of her race. She
seems to have deeply loved and highly esteemed
the Spaniards ; and they, in turn, were struck
with wonder and astonishment at beholding one
so lovely and gifted among what they were
pleased to call savages.

From Anacaona and her brother Bartholomew
Columbus and his companions received every
attention by which good feeling could be shown.
Gathering together their people, they prepared
rich feasts for the Spaniards, and amused them
with a grand exhibition of Indian games and
dances. Sham battles, too, were fought by dif-
ferent bands of savages, armed with bows and
arrows ; but four warriors having been killed in
one of these, the kind-hearted Bartholomew
begged that a stop would be put to an amuse-
ment so full of danger.

The cacique of Xaraguay having agreed to pay
tribute to Spain, Bartholomew bade good-by to
his hospitable entertainers, and set out again for
Isabella. But when he reached there, he found
much to dishearten him. Nothing but complaint
was heard from the colonists from morning till
night. The truth is, the most of them were idle,
good-for-nothing fellows, who had expected to
live at Hayti without work, and to find gold in
every clod of dirt. But, seeing that they had to
work or starve, they took out their spite in
grumbling, in getting up wicked lies about Co-
lumbus, and in giving his brother all the trouble
they could. That trouble was not little, nor, in
the end, did their wicked lies fail to do the
admiral much harm. On his return to Isabella,
Bartholomew tried to get them in a good humor
again, but it was of no use. Going from bad to
worse, they seemed ready to break out into bold
rebellion, when an event happened that, for a
short time, compelled them to be quiet.

From the Spanish colonists, the spirit of revolt
had spread to the Indians. They, indeed, had
good reasons for rebellion. Sorrowfully they
looked upon themselves as the wretched slave?
of cruel taskmasters, whom they had received
with kindness amongst them, and who, in return,

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

429

had robbed them of their lands, and now forced
them to pay a heavy tribute for the privilege of
living in the island home, that was rightly all
their own. These wrongs they might have borne
quietly, out of fear ; but others, deeper and more
aggravating, were daily inflicted upon them, the
hope of revenging which gave them courage to
turn against their oppressors. But Bartholomew
was watchful and active, and their attempted
revolt was crushed at one blow. Guarionex,
the leader of it, was taken captive. He would
have been put to death had it not been shown
that a most unpardonable wrong had been done
him by a certain Spanish sea-captain. Punish- ,
ing that officer, therefore, Bartholomew sent
Guarionex to his free woods again. This act of
the adelantado has been spoken of as one re-
quiring the gratitude of the Indian prince; but
it was scarcely more than just, and justice is
nothing to be grateful for.

All things now seeming quieted for a long
time, Bartholomew, leaving his brother, James
Columbus, in command at Isabella, paid a second
visit to Xaraguay, to receive the promised tribute
of its chief. During his absence, fresh commo-
tions began to shake the peace of. the colony.
The originator of these was Francis Roldan, the
chief justice of the island. Not well educated,
but naturally knowing and shrewd, and having
great energy and boldness, yet impudent, pre-
suming, and fonder of power than virtue, Roldan
longed to obtain for himself the whole of Hayti, by
overthrowing the authority which Columbus had
left with his brothers, Bartholomew and James.
To show this man's baseness in cherishing such
a wish, I need only mention that, finding him
poor and unknown, the admiral had reached him
a kind and helping hand, and lifted him, step
by step, from his low condition to the honorable
station in which he now was.

Seeming to forget what he owed to Columbus,
Roldan spoke contemptuously of him, as a proud
upstart, and an insolent foreigner. He went
around among the colonists and the natives,
calling the adelantado a tyrant and an oppressor,
whose authority both Spaniards and Indians
ought to shake off at once. The idle, the lazy,
the discontented, and the wicked willingly list-
ened to all he had to say. Consequently, when
Bartholomew returned from Xaraguay, he found
Roldan at the head of some seventy daring and
desperate fellows, who declared themselves
wholly free of authority, as far as he and the
admiral had to do with the matter.

Being neither well prepared nor willing to use
force toward these reckless and misguided men,
the adelantado tried to win them back peace-

ably to their duty, but in vain. They treated
his threats and entreaties with equal contempt.
Wearied out, at length, he proclaimed them
rebels and traitors.

Seeing that it would be dangerous to stay
much longer near Isabella, Roldan made up his
mind to withdraw with his followers to the dis-
tant province of Xaraguay. He spoke to them
of its lovely scenery, its delightful climate, and
of its kind and simple-hearted people, who,
admiring the Spaniards as they did, would gladly
welcome them, and do everything to make their
lives pass away like pleasant dreams. En-
chanted with the pictures he drew of the enjoy-
ments they might there surround themselves
with, they easily yielded to the wishes of their
chief, and presently marched with him to Xara-
guay.

Roldan had scarcely gone away, when new
troubles were to be encountered by the adelan-
tado. The Indians, led on a second time by
Guarionex, again laid plans for the destruction
of the Spaniards. Their plot, however, was
found out in time to prevent its execution, and
Guarionex driven a fugitive to the mountains of
Ciguay. There he was taken under the protec-
tion of Mayonabec, the brave-hearted cacique
of that region. From this chieftain, Bartholo-
mew demanded the surrender of Guarionex,
threatening, in case of refusal, to lay waste his
territories with fire and sword.

" Tell the Spaniards," was the stern reply of
Mayonabec, " that they are tyrants, robbers, and
murderers. I want not their friendship. Gua-
rionex is my friend. I have promised to protect
him, and I will keep my word."

He did so. Bartholomew, too, was as good
as his word. For three months he ravaged the
territories of Mayonabec, and finally drove him,
his friend, and their families and followers to
holes and caves in the mountains. Both chiefs
were at length taken captive. Mayonabec was
kept a prisoner as security for the future good
conduct of his people. Guarionex expected
nothing less than death ; but the adelantado was
merciful, and, overlooking his revolt, was satis-
fied to keep him a captive, thus making sure
that his tribe would be peaceful.

This insurrection of the natives had just been
put down, and Roldan was living on good terms
with the Indians of Xaraguay, when the worn-
out admiral made his appearance at San Do-
mingo. Having heard the story of his brother's
troubles, he declared that he had done right, and
himself denounced Roldan as a traitor. Wisely,
however, as things were, he made up his mind
not to use force in bringing the rebel back to his

430

godey's magazine and lady s book.

duty. Accordingly, he proclaimed to him and
his companions that all, or any of them that
would, might return to Spain free of charge.
He asked nothing more of them than to leave
the island in peace.

This kind offer of pardon was at first rejected
by Roldan. After more than a month's delay,
however, he at last came to terms. An agree-
ment was made between him and the admiral,
in accordance with which the rebels were to
embark from Xaraguay in two caravels, bound
fox Cadiz. These vessels were to be made ready
within fifty days. Roldan and his company
were to be allowed to take with them their
Indian slaves, and to have orders for full pay,
together with certificates showing that they had
not done anything wrong.

Columbus, as I have already said, was a man
of a proud spirit. To consent to such terms as
these, therefore, must have been terribly painful
to him. Yet he was also a Christian, and liked
not the shedding of blood. He preferred peace
to sanguinary strife between people of the same
faith and nation. It was for this reason, then,
that he agreed to conditions so humiliating ; and
the fact shows rather the tenderness of his heart
than that either he or his brother was in the
wrong.

CHAPTER XVI.

End of the rebellion of Roldan — Voyage of Ojeda — Con-
spiracy and death of Moxica.

After the departure of the two caravels to
Xaraguay, from which place they were to carry
Roldan and his followers to Spain, Columbus
set out on a tour to see into the condition of the
island. On all sides, he beheld sad signs of the
neglect of the settlers. Fertile lands remained
without tillage, the finest flocks were without
keepers, the richest mines suffered to lie un-
worked.

Meanwhile, the ships intended for Roldan
and his companions had been hindered by storms
from reaching Xaraguay at the time agreed upon.
Giving this as an excuse, the rebels now refused
to go away. They insisted upon the admiral's
making new terms. At a meeting between
Columbus and Roldan, at Azna, in August,
1499, the latter acted more like one in the right
than a person who had tried to ruin the man to
whom he owed all that he had of wealth and
honor. Showing not the least sign of a good
heart, he stirred up fresh discontents, and finally
forced the admiral to agree to most humiliating
terms.

Having been allowed to resume his office of
chief justice, Roldan began to parcel large lots
of land among his followers, and gave to each
of his favorites a certain number of the wretched
natives as slaves. But the meanness of the
man was not less than his seeming liberality.
For, while giving away to others what did not
belong to him, he picked out for his own use
the most valuable tracts of land, and seized
upon, and took to himself, the richest goods of
the Indians.

Much worried by these things, Columbus in-
tended to return to Spain, but was hindered
from doing so by the reflection that the affairs
of the colony would not be bettered by his
absence. He therefore contented himself with
writing a letter to the king and queen, in which
he gave a true history of what had taken place.
He told them that the arrangement he had made
with Roldan was one wrested from him by force.
As some of his acts as governor had been
thought to be tyrannical and unjust, he de-
manded that some wise and discreet person
should be sent out to take charge of the trial of
criminals. "While he was unwilling to give up
any of the dignities and privileges rightly be-
longing to him, he at the same time asked that
he might be provided with competent assistants
in the management of the affairs of the colony.
He also requested that his son James should be
sent to him, for he felt that his toils and trou-
bles were fast making him old and weak.

Soon after this, four caravels, under the com-
mand of Alonzo Ojeda, the capturer of Caonabo,
suddenly appeared at the western end of the
island. Hearing of their arrival, and that their
crews were acting more like pirates than lawful
voyagers, the admiral sent Roldan to bring them
to an account. The late rebel did what he was
sent to do quickly and well. Ojeda being on
shore, he cut him off from his ships, and made
him tell whence he had come, where he had
been, and what he was after.

In reply to Roldan's questions, the adventurer
said that he was on a voyage of discovery, and
had come to Hayti for water and fresh provi-
sions. The voyage, it seemed, was of his own
planning ; but he had been aided in it by the
Bishop of Fonseca, the bitterest of the admiral's
enemies. By him, Ojeda had been furnished
with a forged license, and with copies of the
maps and charts made by Columbus during his
late voyage. In this way, Fonseca hoped to rob
the admiral of the honors justly due to him, or,
at least, of the profits which might result from
his recent discovery of the continent of South
America.

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

431

As is frequently the case, wrong met with
seeming success ; so far, at any rate, as this :
Sailing in the fleet of Ojeda, which had followed
the course of the admiral's last voyage, was
Amerigo Vespucci, a Florentine merchant, from
whom the New World presently took its name
of America. It ought to have been called after
Columbus, though neither he nor Vespucci first
discovered the main land, but John Cabot, a
Venetian mariner in the service of the King of
England.

After hearing Ojeda's account of his voyage,
Roldan set him at liberty again, he having pro-
mised to visit San Domingo and pay his respects
to the admiral. But, instead of doing what he
said he would, Ojeda sailed for Xaraguay, where
he proposed to take command of some of the
discontented colonists, lately followers of Rol-
dan, and lead them against Columbus.

Tidings of his design, however, happily
reached Roldan, who was thus enabled to put
a stop to its execution. But Ojeda finally
escaped from the island, having succeeded in
nothing there, except the capture of a number
of the natives, whom he carried off to sell into
slavery.

It was now that the former wicked compa-
nions of Roldan began to make a merit of their
reformation, and to declare that they ought to
be rewarded for it. They insisted upon sharing
with their old leader the fine lands which he
had taken to himself, and which they had helped
him to rob the natives of. While Columbus
was busied in arranging matters between Roldan
and these claimants, a new rebellion broke out,
and threatened to do much mischief. It sprang
from a love affair, and its history may not be
uninteresting.

A cousin of Adrian de Moxica, one of the
ringleaders in the late revolt, had been sent
away from San Domingo to Xaraguay, on ac-
count of his connection with that affair. His
name was Hernando de Guevara.

Guevara was at first treated with great kind-
ness by Roldan, who had been placed in com-
mand at Xaraguay. But, becoming acquainted
with a beautiful Indian girl, the daughter of
Anacaona, named Higuanota, the young Spaniard
made love to her, and she returned his love.
Now, having himself taken a great fancy to
Higuanota, Roldan grew jealous of Guevara,
and, for no other reason, banished him to the
province of Cahay.

Soon coming back again, however, the young
lover secreted himself in the house of Anacaona,
intending to marry the Indian maiden as soon as
a priest could be found. Roldan finding out

that he had returned, a sharp quarrel sprang up
between the two lovers, and at last Guevara
plotted the death of his rival. His conspiracy
was discovered, however, and he himself sent a
prisoner to the fortress of San Domingo.

Out. of revenge for this, his cousin Moxica
laid the plan of a new conspiracy; and, in his
blind rage, plotted not merely the liberation of
Guevara, but the murder of Columbus as well as
Roldan.

Many of the lattePs old companions in wrong-
doing readily joined the conspiracy of Moxica,
and it was fast becoming dangerous, when the
admiral obtained the knowledge of its existence.
He crushed it at once. Suddenly coming upon
Moxica and a number of those joined with him,
Columbus seized them, cast them into prison,
and sentenced the ringleader to instant death
upon the gallows. Led to the top of a lofty
fort, where he was to be hung, Moxica begged
for a few moments' delay, in order to confess
his sins. His prayer was granted. But he lied
so shamefully in his story, trying to clear him-
self by charging wrong upon others, that Co-
lumbus became indignant, and ordered him to
be instantly thrown from the ramparts of the
fortress.

CHAPTER XVII.

Columbus is sent home in. chains — He is liberated — He
prepares for a fourth voyage.

In the mean time, the enemies of Columbus
had been busily trying to turn the king and
queen against him. Many of the rebels having
returned to Spain, filled the ears of Ferdinand
and Isabella with lies about their late com-
mander. As he had stopped them in their
wrong-doing, they said that he was tyrannical
and cruel; and, among other foolish things,
they represented that he was plotting to seize
upon the Island of Hayti, and set himself up as
owner and king of it. Besides, joining with
others who had returned dissatisfied from the
New World, they went about railing at Colum-
bus, because, as they declared, he had cheated
them out of the wages which had been promised
to them.

" When I was at Grenada" — so writes his son
Ferdinand — "above fifty of these shameless
wretches brought a load of grapes, and sat down
in the couft-yard of the Alhambra palace, cry-
ing out that the king and queen and the admiral
made them live so poorly, by not paying them.
Their impudence was so great that, if the king
went abroad, they all got about him, crying

432

' Pay ! pay ! pay !' And when it happened that
my brother or I, who were pages to the queen,
passed by where they were, they sung out in a
mocking manner, making the sign of the cross,
and saying, 'There arc the admiral of Mosqui-
to's sons — he that has found out false and de-
ceitful countries to be the ruin and burial-place
of Spanish gentlemen.' "

The end of all this was that the king and
queen, the latter of whom still believed Colum-
bus to be very near right, had to send out a
judge to see into the condition of the colony,
and to find out whether the stories of these men
had any truth at the bottom of them. For this,
Francis de Bobadilla was chosen. From all that
I can learn, he was not a fit person for such a
business, being hot-headed, in want of money,
and desirous of power.

Reaching San Domingo about the end of
August, in the year 1500, Bobadilla found the
admiral absent in the interior of the island. As
he sailed up the River Ozema, he saw on either
lofty bank a gallows, upon which hung the body
of a Spaniard. These were a portion of the
gang who had been engaged in the then late
rebellion of Moxica.

Without stopping to ask why these miserable
wretches had been hanged, Bobadilla at once set
the admiral down as a cruel tyrant ; and. taking
possession of the house of Columbus, proclaimed
himself governor. To win the admiral's enemies
over to his side, he liberated all the rebels that
were in prison. He then called upon Columbus
to give up all authority. To show that he had
a right to do this, he sent the admiral a letter
from the king an4 queen, which has been thus
translated : —

" We have ordered the commander Francis
de Bobadilla, the bearer, to let you know some
things from us. Therefore we desire you to
give him entire credit, and to obey him. Given
at Madrid, the 21st of May, 1499. I the King.
I the Queen. By command of their highnesses.
Michael Peter de Almazan."

When he received this letter, Columbus at
once hastened to San Domingo and gave up all
authority. His obedience was harshly rewarded.
Throwing him into prison, Bobadilla ordered
chains to be put upon him. The bitterest of his
foes shrunk from executing this cruel command.
Even the keeper of the prison said that he would
not do it. At length, however, one of Boba-
dilla's servants was found mean enough to fasten
the manacles upon the great discoverer, who,
along with his brothers Bartholomew and James,
was sent on shipboard, to be carried a prisoner
to Spain.

At this time, Columbus was in the fifty-fourth
year of his age. Toil and trouble had long
since whitened his hair, and his face was fur-
rowed with the wrinkles of care. Moved by the
venerable looks of the weather-beaten mariner,
and sympathizing with him in his misfortunes,-
Andrew Martin, the captain of the vessel in
which he sailed, offered to take off his chains.

" Since the king has commanded me to obey
his governor," said Columbus, with sorrowful
dignity, " he shall find me as obedient to this as
I have been to all his other orders. Nothing
but his commands shall release me. If twelve
years of hardship and fatigue ; if continual dan-
gers and frequent famines ; if the ocean first
opened, and five times passed and repassed, to
add a new world to the Spanish monarchy ; and
if a weak and too soon old age, brought on by
services of this sort, deserve these chains as a
reward, it is very fit, then, that I should wear
them to Spain, and keep them by me as memo-
rials to the end of my life."

He did so. " I always saw those irons in his
room," says his son, " and he ordered them to
be buried with his body."

When, in December of the year 1500, Colum-
bus reached Spain, a prisoner, and in chains,
the indignation of all classes of the people was
intense. A man whose gray hairs demanded
respect, and whose great discoveries should have
secured to him the highest honor, on the com-
plaint of a few base and abandoned wretches,
had been dragged, like a thief and murderer,
from that very New World which his genius
had made known. No wonder, then, that all
Spain, as it were, became clamorous for the
admiral's release.

Columbus himself, as soon as he had landed,
sent a letter to the king and queen, showing
them how deeply he had been wronged. His
simple, but sorrowful story softened the heart
of Isabella. She could not but believe what he
wrote, for truth was in every line of it. With-
out waiting to hear what Bobadilla had to say,
she and her husband commanded the chains to
be taken off the admiral, and welcomed him
to court as honorably as if he had been a bro-
ther sovereign.

Thus received not as a criminal, but as a man
whom all delighted to honor, Columbus could
not at first speak. His voice became choked
with sobs, and his eyes filled with tears, which,
finally streaming down his furrowed cheeks,
showed plainly what mingled feelings of sorrow
and gladness were shut up in his heart. Deeply
moved at seeing the old man kneeling in tears
before them, the king and queen raised him up

BE NOT THINE A VOICELESS HEART.

483

with all gentleness, and used every tender art
to soothe and calm him.

Being thus encouraged, Columbus told them
all that had happened to him. He said that
Bobadilla had acted with too much haste, and
had shown a bad desire to become popular by
pardoning wicked men, and by setting notorious
rebels at liberty.

Time passing away, and tidings being received
of sad doings at Hayti, it became plain that the
admiral's opinion of Bobadilla was correct, and
the latter was therefore called back to Spain.
Yet full justice was not done Columbus. In-
stead of making him governor of Hayti again,
the king and queen sent out one Nicholas de
Ovando to take charge of affairs there. As a
kind of balm for the wound they thus inflicted
upon the great discoverer, the Spanish sove-
reigns directed Ovando to give back to him and
his brothers all the property that Bobadilla had
taken away from them.

Nine months slipped by, and Columbus still
lingered at court. Meanwhile, his mind was
not idle. Remembering him of a vow, made
several years before, to get up an expedition to
take from the infidels the sacred place where
our Saviour was thought to have been buried,
he tried hard to obtain the aid of his sovereigns
to such an enterprise. Had the New World
yielded him the treasures he expected from it,
he himself, fulfilling his vow, would have fitted
out for this purpose an army of fifty thousand
foot and five thousand horse. But, alas for his
pious design ! his discoveries had made him no
riches, while they brought him hardships, vexa-
tion, and sorrow.

Finding that the sovereigns of Spain were
little inclined to help him carry out his plan for
the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre, Columbus
once more turned his attention to the subject of
discovery. A new passage having been then
lately found out by the way of the Cape of
Good Hope to India, the old spirit of adventure
was brought to life again in the admiral's breast.
Thinking much about the matter, he became
sure that the opinion he first held was correct ;
namely, that there was a way for ships to reach
India by sailing directly westward from Spain.

Still believing Cuba to be a continent, he
declared that, somewhere between its coast and
that of Paria, there must be an opening -or strait
leading into the Indian Ocean. One of his rea-
sons for this belief was the fact that the currents
of the sea to the south of Cuba had a westward
flow. The place where he said this passage
might be discovered was not far from what has
since been found out to be the narrowest part
vol. xltx. — 37

of the neck of land joining North to South
America. Though Columbus is now known to
have been mistaken in all this, yet his conjec-
ture was a happy one, and shows what a pene-
trating genius he had.

Going to the king and queen, the admiral told
them his plans, and proposed that they should
fit out a small fleet for him, in order that he
might make new discoveries, and at last find
out a direct way to India, to do which had been
the darling desire of his life. Columbus still
had enemies at court, and they tried hard to
persuade the sovereigns not to grant him any
more favors. But his wishes were complied
with ; and, in the fall of 1501, he set out joy-
fully for Seville, there to get ready the fleet that
was to bear him on a voyage which, he fondly
hoped, would crown his old age with honor and
distinction.

(To be concluded.)

BE NOT THINE A VOICELESS HEART.

BY LAURA LISLE.

Burst the seals, incumbered spirit !

Speak and write the gushing thought !
For I know thou dost inherit

Gifts that glorious deeds have wrought.
Art ! where'er, whate'er thou art,
Sleep not with a voiceless heart !

Pray for strength the truth to utter ;

Keep the gems, but let them shine ;
Let the fount of feeling water

Thee and all thou callest thine :
And until thy thoughts depart,
Ne'er be thine a voiceless heart !

Furls the falcon oft her pinion 1

Dims the eagle's restless eye?
Be not thou sloth's grov'ling minion ;

Up, and write thy name on high !
Sell no thoughts in mammon's mart,
Yet keep not a voiceless heart !

Hark ! the heart neglected waileth !

" Droops the wing too long at rest ;''
Mind, inactive, palsied faileth,

Idly, weary, and unblest !
Let it labor, fill its part,
Knowing ne'er a voiceless heart !

Gush not fancies freer, brighter,
When their wont is but to flow ?

Dance the spirit's footsteps lighter
When is hushed the plaint of woe 1

Thou an aimless dreamer art,

If thine be a voiceless heart.

Be the chain of silence broken ;

Boldly speak the truthful word!
Peace shall bless thee ; by this token

Thou shalt know thine utt'rance heard
Wisdom, Pleasure, Power, nor Art
Dwells within a voiceless heart.

THE KESULT OF
BETWEEN

A THEEE WEEKS' WARFARE
LOYE AND ARTIFICE.

BY MRS. ELLEN HABBELL CANTBELL,

'* Read it, Es telle. You are always eager for
the news from Hazlewood, and I fear your
patience will not keep pace with the interval
which must defer my perusal of your aunt's
letter."

" Thank you, mother. The letter bears your
address, certainly, but the writing is my cousin
Kate's. I wonder what can be the matter that
should induce her to write to you?"

"That you can readily ascertain by reading
it."

" True !" said Estelle, laughing ; and, drawing
the neat little note from its tasty envelope, read
aloud —

'•'Dear Aunt Claremont: I trust Estelle
has been behaving properly to-day, that you may
be in such good-humor on receipt of this as to
grant an affirmative to the accompanying re-
quest. My brother, Claude, returned to us
yesterday, and to make the reunion as pleasant
as possible, mamma has commissioned me to
invite a few young friends for the next three
weeks at Hazlewood.

"Estelle is, of course, at the head of my list,
and I beg you to send her to us, if she is willing
to exchange her city amusements at this time
for the country. By the same carrier, I dispatch
notes to our city friends, Jane Lennox and
Evelyn Dorsey, which I dare hope they will
answer in person. So pray desire Uncle Clare-
mont to accompany Estelle as soon as possible.
She will meet her old friend, Fred Wynder, and
a stranger who came with Claude — Arthur
"Wellesley — besides Nelly Sandford, and her
brother Frank, from * the neighborhood.' In
eager hopes of your consent, and Estelle's early
arrival, I remain

Your exemplary niece,

Kate Dunmore.
Hazlewood, Wednesday, 14f&."

" A seasonable incident. I hail it, for I am
very tired of town. And Fred Wynder is so
agreeable! Can you spare me, mother?"

" Is Mr. Wynder's company the only induce-
ment for the visit?" questioned Mrs. Claremont
in retufn.

"No, indeed!" replied Estelle, blushingly;
"I am very anxious to see dear Claude, and
434

every memory of Hazlewood is filled with so
much delight that I am always happy in the
prospect of seeing it again."

"I can' certainly make no objection to a visit
which seems to please you so much in anticipa-
tion, though three weeks is a long time — "

" To be absent from my own dear mother !
But I can shorten my stay if I get homesick,
and you should need me with you."

" Very well ; if your father can attend you,
you have my permission."

" Thanks. I hear his footsteps in the hall."
And Estelle went out to welcome him.

Mr. Claremont gave his consent readily, hav-
ing been previously bribed with a kiss, and his
daughter hastened away to order the carriage
for ten o'clock next morning.

Pure as a falling snow-flake, and radiant as a
sunlit shower of rain-drops, was Estelle Clare-
mont ; but so disguised by her blithe spirits that
even her mother was not fully conscious of the
half-hidden gems of thought and genius which
lay enshrouded in her mind like stars behind a
sunset cloud. How her lithe form wantoned
in its innumerable graces, shaping itself into a
thousand charms for every beholder ! how her
blue eyes darkened and brightened beneath their
sable lashes, irresistible in every change ! and
how her faultless lips parted — beauteous, in-
dulgent jailers to the sweetest birdling laugh
that ever enriched our ears !

" Not thoughtless," pondered her mother, as
she caught the music of Estelle's voice whib
she warbled some merry airs in her chamber.
True, beneath the laughing waves of the rivu-
let flows a steadier current, giving strength and
volume to the blithesome surface, like Estelle's
mind, deep and powerful, though gayly decked
with smiles.

At a bright, sunny hour next morning, Estelle
had left an affectionate parting kiss on her
mother's cheek, and was soon in the carriage
with her father, trotting smoothly on the turn-
pike road, which made many a graceful sweep
through the forest of trees. She leaned from tho
window, and enjoyed for a time in silence the
whisperings of the fallen leaves, and the deep
music of the sighing trees, which would soon
stretch their naked arms to the winter's blast.?.

WARFARE BETWEEN LOVE AND ARTIFICE.

435

There was food for her mind in the gorgeous
assemblage of natural beauties, for to her "the
seasons went and came," and told a lesson in
each leaf and shrub. The autumn winds made
concord in the wildest and most plaintive airs,
tuning the sympathies to grateful melodies of
peace and love. Estelle, refreshed by her revery,
entertained her father with many pleasant re-
miniscences, of which Hazlewood, with its
flowers and groves, its rural bowers, sloping
hills, and vine-mantled grottos, formed the
scene. So interesting and enlivening was their
conversation, that a glorious autumn sunset
found them quite unexpectedly at the entrance
of the avenue of magnificent trees which led to
the imposing domain of Hazlewood.

Estelle made tender greetings to the half-
withered flowers which decked the side-walks,
and looked sorrowfully on the iron balustrade
which surrounded the veranda, now so feebly
embraced by its garlands of vine-leaves, which
were yielding their strength and greenness to the
autumn dews. In answer to the summons from
the silver bell-knob, the massive oaken door
swung on its hinges, and Estelle met an affec-
tionate embrace from Kate.

"The very last! I was sure you were taking
a leisurely buggy drive with some favored swain ;
but you are none the less welcome for the even-
ing's rosy hues tinting your cheeks. I dare say
you arc chilled by your drive. Uncle Claremont,
you'll find a comfortable fire in the drawing-
room. Coz, come with me first to my chamber."

The girls soon descended, and Estelle hastened
to embrace her cousin Claude, and her other
relatives. Then, taking all the others assem-
bled in a general salute, she sought the corner
of a sofa with Kate, having Mr. Wyndcr for a
neighbor. A genial fire sparkled on the ample
hearth, aiding the fading daylight in revealing
the features of the occupants of the room. Miss
Lennox sat on the opposite side, in easy conver-
sation with the stranger, Mr. Wellesley, and
even the dubious twilight displayed beauties of
farm and feature which verified the most enthu-
siastic reports of her admirers. Her face was
of the finest contour; a delicately chiselled
nose ; fair, pure forehead, which was smoothly
banded with hair of the glossiest black ; large,
melting eyes, bright and intellectual ; teeth of
the clearest white, and complexion as pure as
the Parian marble, and almost as colorless. Her
form was slight but commanding, and her snowy
bosom seemed to swell in proud consciousness
of unrivalled beauty.

On the return of the company from supper,
which had been announced soon after Estelle's

I arrival, Miss Lennox sauntered carelessly to the
I harp, and, seating herself unasked, touched the
\ strings, languidly at first, but gradually throwing
more force and skill in her execution, filled the
room with the most brilliant and ravishing melo-
| dies of successive airs. Mr. Wellesley listened
I attentively to her music from a seat at some dis-
i tance, which, however, he showed no disposition
\ to resign, and when Mr. Sandford, at the clo&c
\ of a finely executed sonata, urged her to con-
| tinue, she smiled sweetly, but murmured an
\ excuse in a voice low almost to a whisper, but
\ so distinct as to find an echo in the opposite
\ wall, and, rising composedly, approached the
; group at the centre-table.

\ " You are fond of painting, I believe, Miss
| Claremont," said she, " and will doubtless enjoy
this folio of sketches by Mr. Dunmore."

" Thank you for acquainting me with a plea-
sure so near at hand," replied Estelle ; " Claude's
sketch-book has been my entertaining compan-
ion for many an hour, and I shall be delighted
to examine the new contributions."

They became readily interested in the con-
tents of the portfolio, and passed from sheet to
sheet some time in silence, till Estelle exclaimed,
joyfully—

"How thoughtful, Claude, to preserve this
piece, the fairest spot in all of Hazlewood
scenery ! I have enjoyed many delightful mo-
ments from childhood onwards, at this selfsame
« Stag-King's Spring.' "

" What is the peculiar charm of the spring
you mention, Miss Estelle 1 Is there a legend 1 "
asked Mr. Wynder.

" Yes ; but rather for its eminent natural beau-
ties 1 cherish its remembrance, whence it has
always been a chosen resort with Kate and my-
self almost from infancy. She will give you the
legend."

" That can scarcely be called a legend," said
Kate, " which was an actual occurrence, wholly
unadorned with the colorings of fable, and of no
earlier date than my brother's boyhood, for it
was an exploit of his that gave name to the
spring. At that time the forests of Hazlewood
were far more plentifully filled with deer than
at present, and Claude was over-fond of the
hunt. When he was about thirteen years of
age, he went out one morning with the hounds
and some attendants, determined not to return
without some trophy of success. They roused a
stag, and after a tedious and indefatigable chase,
penetrating the thickets at the risk of his neck,
and careering through the woods for miles
around, Claude was at last rewarded with two
or three successful shots at the deer, and press-

436

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ing on him at the spring in mention, he leaped
from his horse, thinking to dispatch him with
his hunting-knife. But, somewhat to his dis-
may, he found that he had to battle with the
largest deer in the forest, and not at all so much
exhausted as he had imagined. However, reco-
vering his courage, he closed in combat with the
powerful beast, and gave him his death-wound,
while he himself fell fainting to the ground
from the loss of blood which flowed from a cut
in his arm. He was taken up by the attendant
who reached the spot as he fell, and Claude,
soon recovering, lived for months on the triumph
of having killed the stag-king of the forest."

" Whence the name so fitly chosen to desig-
nate the place of conquest," concluded Mr.
Wynder.

" What say you to an excursion thither to-
morrow?" suggested Miss Lennox.

Every one assented, and the next morning, all
fresh and blithe, at an early hour, they prepared
for the walk.

" Oh, now ! Miss Claremont," laughed Mr.
Wynder as they moved off, " how very much I
feel indebted to Miss Lennox's dazzling eyes
this morning for having seduced Mr. Wellesley.
I promise myself a delightful tete-a-tete with
you over these crushed, scented leaves through
the bracing air."

" You must think my temper very elastic, to
count on a speedy rebound after such a damper
as that ! You intimate that my leaden eyes are
the cause of my present position, since, if my
eyes had been as bright as Miss Lennox's, I
might have been enjoying the superior pleasure
of Mr. Wellesley's company!"

"Fairly retorted! Now that your vanity is
avenged by that home-thrust, receive me into
favor again."

" Your egotism is egregious ! you presume on
a previous favoritism, I infer."

" Why, yes ! I claim your preference by might
and right, and will 'seal the compact with the
hilt, and maintain it with the point of my
sword.' "

" Brave champion ! But a compact is a two-
sided arrangement, I believe ; hence, a negative
I makes your compact one-footed, that is, lame ;
that is no compact at all, you sophist!"

"My hopes are fallacious then?"

" Entirely so."

" I will not gratify you by giving words to my
despair! How do you like Mr. Wellesley?"

"Ho is too icy."

"Miss Lennox will thaw him."

" I shall be interested in observing the process,
for I confess that seems to be the only way to

extract any amusement from him, though Kate
tells me that Claude is much attached to him,
and has a profound opinion of his excellence and
superiority. He has remarkably fine eyes, and
a musical voice j pity that he doesn't use it
oftener."

" Silence is at al times eloquent, I have
heard it said, and perhaps you may yet be con-
strained to believe it in this instance."

" Perhaps so. But you have not told me what
peculiar kind of eloquence silence indicates.
Illustrate; thus I might say that Mr. Wynder's
occasional silence is indicative of — exhaustion!
Does my argument apply?"

" To me it does, after such a merciless pump-
ing /" And they joined in a long and merry
laugh. They continued to beguile their walk
with pleasantries and mirth until the whole party
reached the spring. Here they paused, and
watched the large, silvery waters gush from the
immense moss-covered hill of rocks, leaping
from slab to slab, eddying round in miniature
basins, and splashing down in music on the
pebbly channel which formed its course. Tall
oaks entwined their arms above it, as if jealous
of their lovely treasure, which bore their images
in the dimpling waves, and wantonly gambolled
about their roots. A drinking-cup, formed of
the stag's horn, rested invitingly on the topmost
slab, and all were eager to quench their thirst
in the glittering waters. As Claude laid his
hand on the goblet, Frank Sandford took ad-
vantage of the momentary silence to warn them
in a solemn, oracular tone that, among the tra-
ditions of the spring, there was one which
attributed mystical influences to the waters
when drunk from the same vessel by two per-
sons of opposite sex — that circumstance forming
a mysterious link in their after destiny ; and he
seriously exhorted them to pause, ere they
thoughtlessly brought themselves within the
charmed spell.

They affected to ridicule his warnings ; but
that all were not entirely free from a half-
concealed superstition was evident in the hesi-
tation which they exhibited to accept the prof-
fered draught. Nelly Sandford, a rosy-cheeked,
fun-loving girl, was the first to reach her hand
for the cup, which, with a careless laugh, she
drained to the bottom. Evelyn Dorsey's turn
came next. She was a fragile blonde, with eyes
like violet-leaves impearled with dew-drops,
and countenance serenely gentle. It was now
deeply dyed with blushes as she modestly per-
sisted in refusing to drink. Miss Lennox com-
posedly quaffed the bright liquid, and, with a
half-averted glance at Mr. Wellesley, which,

WARFARE BETWEEN LOVE AND ARTIFICE.

437

unfortunately, he did not observe, returned it
half filled to Claude, who gallantly emptied it
of its contents. Refilling it, he handed it to
Estelle ; but, before it reached her lips, Miss
Lennox quietly remarked that " Miss Clare-
mont should have no hesitation in sharing her
quantity with Mr. Wynder, as it would be one
more fairy link to those already formed."

Estelle's cheek crimsoned with indignation,
which was greatly heightened when that gentle-
man playfully endeavored to snatch the cup as
the rising bubbles kissed her ruby lips ; but,
dexterously eluding his grasp, she spilled the
water on the ground. Kate Dunmore was much
amused at the effect of Frank's idle fabrication,
and, to prevent any unpleasant feelings, she
good-humoredly proposed to Frank to drink
together, which they did with a very serious,
but diverting air. The party then wandered
down the course of the little stream, through the
dense forest, in a quieter mood, Mr. Wellesley
still retaining his place by the side of the beau-
tiful Miss Lennox.

" I do not wonder," said he, " that my friend
Claude should be so anxious to revisit this
delightful spot. Apart from the attractions of
his domestic circle, I think I have never seen
such a charming place for a residence as this."

" Of course, you number among the family
attractions his cousin, the lovely Miss Clare-
mont?" questioned his companion, carelessly.

" Among the most powerful, assuredly. Her
manners are irresistible, and her spirits mag-
netic."

" Her spirits are enviable, indeed ; not suffi-
ciently subdued, however, to be in perfect keep-
ing with her position as affiancSe"
"Ah ! is she betrothed so soon?"
" Oh, yes. Did you not observe the conscious
blush with which she received my allusion to
her engagement?"

" She certainly did blush," answered Mr. Wel-
lesley, in a musing tone, and he relapsed into
the same unattractive silence for which he had
been so severely censured a short while before.
The company returned from their walk just
in time to hear the dressing-bell for dinner ;
and, at table, Estelle was constrained to make a
silent self-acknowledgment of a very agreeable
disappointment in Mr. Wellesley's powers of
entertaining. He spoke with fluency on every
subject which was proposed, and betrayed such
culture and information, withal graced by such
easy elegance of manner and winning expression
of countenance, as to charm his hearers.

Mr. Wynder observed Estelle's air of absorbed
attention, and remarked, in a low voice —

27*

" I believe I can answer the question you
proposed this morning. Mr. Wellesley's pre-
vious silence has been indicative of contempt,
and he generously declaims now to enlighten
the ignorance which he deplores."

"He certainly appears to possess sufficient
intellectual superiority to regard some of us,
myself among the number, with a ' downward
glance j' but I think his manners entirely devoid
of egotism."

"He has succeeded admirably, then, in con-
cealing the most formidable fault in his charac-
ter. That he has talent no one will deny ; still
less that he is fully impressed with a know-
ledge of its possession. His vanity is intense,
and he rarely ever condescends to restrain it."

" I am sorry," answered Estelle, earnestly —
" sorry that it should be so, and sorry that you
have told me."

Her interest in the conversation was checked,
though when the last course was concluded, and
the girls had returned to the drawing-room, she
could not quite dispel the effect of his animated
face and mellow voice, and, throwing herself on
a sofa, she remained for some time in meditative
silence. The mirth and pleasantry of her com-
panions were unnoticed, until Kate, observing
her abstracted air, called out —

"Come, Jane, assist me to break up this
tragic revery of Estelle's. One would think
she was about to take her place on the rack of
matrimony."

Miss Lennox smiled, and, taking the vacant
place on the sofa, said —

" Mr. Wellesley would change his opinion if
he would see you now."

" What !" eagerly exclaimed Estelle ; " has he
been passing opinions on me?"

"Not very lengthy ones. He only said he
thought you were very wild."

" Presumptuous !" said Estelle, while an ex-
pression of mingled disdain and chagrin for a
moment shadowed her lovely face.

" Where have you met Mr. Wellesley before,
Jane?" asked Evelyn Dorsey. "I think you
betray a slight interest in him."

" I met him in Savannah last season, during
a visit to my aunt He has a high reputation
among the ladies there for elegance and fascina-
tion, and is the Admirable Crichton of the place."
" Does he reside there?" continued Evelyn.
" He owns a beautiful place in the suburbs,
adorned with magnolias, hedges of wild roses,
and everything else attractive ; but he spends
the most of his time in travelling."

" Where did your brother pick him up, Kate?"
" You mean where did he pick Claude up,"

438

godey's magazine and lady's book.

said Kate, laughing. " To keep your ludicrous
curiosity alive, I '11 just let you get the account
of their friendship from Claude. Here 's a few
morceaux for it to feed upon in the mean time —
the broad Pacific — scene terrific at the harbor
of San Francisco — magnanimous act of heroism
in rescuing a little girl, with everything else to

correspond in true novel style"

" Hold on, Kate, a minute," interrupted
Nelly. "Jane, is he rich, and is he engaged to
be married?"

" Yes ', and he can be, he thinks, whenever
he chooses, being fully acquainted with the
mercenary motives of our sex in general."

" Just the very character, girls, that I detest,"
&aid Estelle, impetuously : " a man who buys
the privilege of criticizing young women with his
purse, and makes use of his accomplishments to
mystify their brains with hopes of a proposal.
I 've no doubt he considers each of us ready to
relieve him of the trouble of placing the ring on
the right hand, third, and, in his fancy, sees our
complacent lips shaped into a * Thank you,
sir !' "

" Speak a little lower," said Miss Lennox,
cautiously; "the gentlemen are coming."

Estelle, who possessed a noble, high-toned
disposition, was, however, very often wayward
and impulsive, though she rarely ever yielded to
an ungenerous feeling without being touched
with almost instant remorse afterwards. So
that, in the present instance, the regret which
followed her hasty and severe judgment prompt-
ed her to smother her resentment and soften her
manner to Mr. Wellesley, when that gentleman
was thrown in her company during the evening.
His first address, however, which she thought
was accompanied with an overweening conde-
scension, recalled her vexation. Raising her
glove from the floor, where it lay unregarded at
her feet, he handed it to her, asking, pleasantly,
M If that circumstance might not be ominous at
the opening of their acquaintance ?"

" Be the omen evil or good," she answered,
somewhat too seriously, " I will abide by it ;
and if the former, as your words suggest, I
warn you to polish your lance."

Somewhat astonished at the tone, rather than
the words he heard, Arthur paused ere he
replied —

" I hope you do not speak figuratively, for I
would not right away offer myself as a mark for
yeur sarcasm. I confess I have no liking for
such a weapon, especially when used by a lady
who would otherwise command my respectful
admiration."

"I acknowledge your kindness in supplying

the guide-post of the road to your esteem. I
am emulous of attaining such an honorable
station."

" You should not make me regret that I, for
a moment, left it unguarded. I will be more
wary hereafter, and demand the watchword."

" And what may that be t"

" If you should ever be really anxious to enter
the postern, you will learn the countersign
intuitively."

" Ah ! then I fear my curiosity will consume
itself, condemned to an unnatural death,"
laughed Estelle, evading the fervent, but re-
spectful glance that sought her own.

" With just such an indifferent answer as
that have my hopes always been dispatched. I
cannot escape the fate which has thus far pur-
sued me, and I fear that my future condemna-
tion will be the torment of witnessing another's
success in that where success is denied to me.
Will you empower me to borrow the secret from
Mr. Wynder?"

" Beaten ! beaten ! Why, Claude, you suffer
Jane to win the game that easily! Shade of
Deschappelles, rise up in rebuke ! I could beat
you myself !"

" Don't you understand, Kate, that my gal-
lantry tempted my vigilance ?"

" You can't slip the defeat that way," said
Nelly. " Jane played skilfully, and conquered
you with fair moves."

" You must repair our honor, my friend,"
said Claude, pointing to the seat he had resigned,
as Estelle and Mr. Wellesley approached the
chess-table.

A universal assent combined to place Arthur
in the vacant chair opposite to Miss Lennox.
The silence was instantly profound as the
players began and progressed slowly in the
game with varying success. Suddenly, Nelly
gave a little start, and the other members of the
group betrayed a visible excitement at the im-
minent danger of Miss Lennox's queen. She
cast a hurried glance over the board, then, with
an air of relief, moved a distant pawn. Mr.
Wellesley proceeded to take the unprotected
piece ; but, with rapid foresight of his intention,
she dropped her smooth, white, shapely hand
unconsciously on his, and, raising her eloquent
eyes with an imploring look to his, removed the
piece to a place of security. The game con-
tinued, but was soon decided, by a few brilliant
moves, in Mr. Wellesley's favor. Miss Lennox
yielded the victory with apparent reluctance,
though, with a graceful generosity, she compli-
mented her opponent's superior skill.

Thus days succeeded days, in a happy succes-

WARFARE BETWEEN LOVE AND ARTIFICE.

439

sion of enjoyments, gradually developing inci-
dents which formed the basis of future fabrics.
The soft, mystic tones of Miss Lennox's voice
had awakened a faint echo ; the speaking eyes
were rapidly weaving a spell which nearly en-
wrapped the senses of the handsome stranger.
Mr. Wellesley was not proof against the artless
exposure of a flattering preference which dis-
tinguished Miss Lennox's intercourse with him,
and was almost constantly her willing attendant.
If, now and then, the brilliant beauty, and the
sparkling charms of natural mirth and wit,
which adorned Estelle Claremont, burst like
gorgeous sun-rays over his soul, warming it into
momentary enthusiasm, a shadow as often in-
tercepted the glorious light, in the person of
Mr. Wynder, who kept his place at her side
with all the freedom of an acknowledged suitor.
At such times, a feeling of gloom and iciness
pervaded his being, as he turned again to the
pure glancing light of Miss Lennox's loveliness,
which possessed all the interest of the moon's
artificial glimmering.

With Estelle it was different. There were
two characters combined in one presented to
her contemplation. The one high-toned, re-
served, but delicately kind, draped in attractive
mysteries of romance — magnanimous, generous,
and faithful — encased, too, in so fine a casket.
There never was an eye so mildly beautiful or
so radiantly bright; a mouth so gentle in its
smile, or so firm in its compression ; a head so
noble in its outline, and a form so lithe and
commanding. To this image Estelle yielded all
the deep enthusiasm of her nature ; but with
its memory came the other. Eminent gifts of
nature degraded by unworthy principles ; accom-
plished, but purse-proud ; talented, yet vain ;
high-bred, but scornful. And, impressed with
this belief, which was strengthened by the
casual observations of Miss Lennox, she pre-
served a coldness of manner towards Arthur
which did not entirely receive the sanction of
her heart.

At the close of a day which had been spext
in visiting the neighbors, and which had been
converted into the genial warmth of summer by
a generous sun, the ladies and gentlemen re-
sorted to the veranda to mingle the delights of
moonlight and music. Estelle and Evelyn's
guitars, with Claude's flute, made enchanting
euphony with their united voices, and they
lingered some time singing choruses, duets, and
solos. During the performance of one of these,
Nelly Sandford left the company unobserved,
and noiselessly entered the house. Her length-
ened absence was not noticed until Kate sud-

denly made an exclamation, and directed the
attention of her companions to a white figure
stealthily wandering among the trees. In much
surprise, they watched the shapeless figure
moving from tree to tree, and Evelyn's timid
cheek blanched with superstitious fear, when
Estelle hastily explained, in a low voice —

"It is Nelly, trying to frighten us. Don't
say a word, but let some of us creep around in
the grove, and we may yet have the best of the
joke."

She had no sooner finished speaking, than she
stepped noiselessly and rapidly over the leaves,
followed by some of the party. Her dark dress
favored her design, and, concealing herself be-
hind a tree, she waited silently until the " dis-
turbed spirit" should pass. Nelly — for it was
she — wrapped all in white, at length came slowly
by, and Estelle made a slight groan. Nelly
quickened her steps, and Estelle followed. The
phantom, becoming aware of the pursuit, moved
on more rapidly. Estelle kept pace. It now
became a chase ; the goblin vanishing with in-
creased speed, and Estelle in the immediate
rear. At length a quick, sharp scream dis-
turbed the still night air, followed by the sound
of a heavy fall. The ghostly figure rapidly
disappeared behind the eaves of the house, and
a low utterance of pain again escaped from the
prostrate form.

"Miss Claremont, are you hurt ?" said a low,
eager voice at her ear. " Let me assist you to
rise." And a strong arm tenderly encircled her
form, and supported her to her feet.

" Oh, my foot !" again Estelle faintly ex-
claimed, as the effort to stand recalled an acute
pain, and she sank back to the ground. M I
think I must have dislocated the ankle-bone.
In my haste, I recklessly stumbled over a fallen
limb, and my foot twisted under it."

" Let me support you to the house, that you
may apply something immediately to soothe the
pain."

Estelle was forced to assent, though her hand
trembled violently as she laid it on Mr. Welles-
ley's arm for assistance, while she tried in vain
to control the tumultuous excitement of her
feelings. There was something so unnerving
in his soft, but slightly agitated voice and gentle
manner; his hand was pressed on hers, and
there was kindness in the touch ; with but few
casual words exchanged, there was yet a power-
ful eloquence in the bounding, impetuous life-
tide.

" I am glad," said Mr. Wellesley, after a
lengthened pause, " that I happened to bo so
near at the time of your accident. I was en-

440

godey's magazine and lady's book.

dcavoring to intercept the goblin when I heard
your ejaculation. I hope your suffering will
not last long."

Estelle faintly murmured her thanks ; but
the pain she endured, and her agitation, pre-
vented her from saying more. They walked in
silence until they reached the house, where Mr.
Wyndcr met them with an exclamation of
surprise.

" Miss Claremont fell and sprained her ankle,"
explained Mr. Wellesley, briefly.

" Indeed ! Are you badly hurt ? Estelle,"
he added, in a low voice, " I am sorry I was not
near ! Let me relieve you, sir." And, draw-
ing Estelle's arm within his own, he lifted her
up the steps, through the hall, and laid her
gently on the sofa.

Estelle was powerless alike to resist the in-
trusion or to express her indignation, and she
lay in silence from the intensity of her emo-
tions. The girls now crowded around her,
making anxious inquiries ; and, as she looked
up, she caught the expression of mingled dis-
may, commiseration, and remorse so vividly
impressed on Nelly's face, and giving relief to
her overburdened feelings, which would other-
wise have spent themselves in tears, she burst
into a hearty laugh.

Mr. Wellesley's face colored, and his brow
contracted into an expression of pain, as he
hastily turned and left the room unobserved.
He did not pause until he reached his room,
merely requesting Frank, whom he met in the
hall, to make his excuses in the drawing-room,
as a violent headache compelled him to retire.
He reached his room, and carelessly threw him-
self in a great chair before the hearth, where
laid some smouldering embers. He recalled the
words of kind sympathy he had spoken to a
heedless ear ; the short, cold return of thanks
to his eager offer of assistance ; the readiness
with which it was exchanged for other, none
the more cordially proffered ; and the careless,
almost jeering laugh ! it even now rang clearly
in his ears, and his proud spirit shrank with a
feeling of keen chagrin.

Estelle had missed him from the parlor, but
thought that on the morrow she would repay his
well-timed kindness with her thanks. After
the members of the household had separated for
the night, Estelle missed a gold band from her
wrist, and returned to the drawing-room in
search of it. As she quietly opened the door,
she observed Claude standing on the hearth with
his arms resting on the mantle-piece, and his
head drooping over them in profound medita-
tion. Stealing noiselessly to his side, she gently

wound her arm about his shoulders, saying, in a
playful voice —

" In the land of dreams, Claude, and sweet
Evelyn Dorsey the ignis fatuus of your wander-
ing thoughts."

" Not so, dear coz," he replied, as he affec-
tionately returned her caress. " I was thinking
of your very incomprehensible self."

" Why, Claude, that 's a libel on my candor;
and what there is in me beyond your compre-
hension I can't imagine."

" I once entertained the fond thought of seeing
my noble friend Arthur the husband of my
sister or my cousin. Kate seems to have decided
the impossibility of the former by her partiality
for our childhood's companion, Frank Sandford ;
but you, Estelle, are free, for I cannot doubt
your feelings for Mr. Wynder ; and how you can
resist such excellence and generous nobility as
distinguish my friend's character is, I repeat,
incomprehensible."

" Poor disappointed sage ! But you certainly
can't forget, Claude, that, even were I to ac-
knowledge your friend as charming as you
appear to consider him in the case of love and
marriage, there must be some slight encourage-
ment on the part of the gentleman before the
lady makes a point-blank proposal."

" True, I have observed with some annoj^ance
Arthur's apparent preference for Miss Lennox ;
but that I attribute entirely to your indifference,
for I am certain he yielded full homage to your
charms in the beginning of this visit."

"Thank you, dear cousin, for the implied
compliment ; but let me tell you, in truth, apart
from all this rivalry between Jane and myself, I
do not consider the object worthy of contention."

" Not worthy !" echoed Claude. " What rea-
sonable objection can you make to Arthur,
Estelle?"

" I own that I have rarely met with one who
possessed such eminent personal attractions ; but
the heart, the heart, Claude ! I detest vanity,
moneyed pride, and unqualified assumption !"

" Who suggested these ideas, Estelle 1 I am
certain they did not originate in your generous
mind. Listen. Arthur Wellesley was the only
child of a widowed mother, and, until her death,
he resisted all the allurements of beauty and
fashion that were temptingly exposed to his not
insensible gaze, that her declining years might
not be desolated or embittered by a share of his
love and attentions when she coveted the whole.
A self-sacrificing, devoted son, he is as true and
single-hearted in friendship. On the eve of my
return hither from San Francisco, I was unex-
pectedly prostrated with a violent attack of

WAEFAEE BETWEEN LOVE AND ARTIFICE.

441

yellow fever, and no inducements that I could
offer would move the captain of the steamer to
gratify my earnest request for a passage home.
He was inexorable, and I was compelled to re-
main— left, as I thought, entirely to the mercy
of strangers, in a place where such a thing as
disinterested kindness was almost unknown.
You can imagine my inexpressible gratitude,
when Arthur soon after entered my room and
announced his intention of remaining with me,
though I was aware of his intense anxiety to
reach home. He nursed me untiringly by night
and day ; and to him, under God, I owe my
recovery. After a tedious delay, we were at
length in a state of glad excitement off the heads
at San Francisco, watching from the deck an
approaching launch laden with some passengers.
The surf was high, and the vessel rocked in the
mounting waves as the launch neared her side ;
but, bounding up on an opportune billow, a
terrified lady was laid in safety on the deck.
Her daughter, a lovely little girl of five or six
years of age, was the next to be put on board,
and the mother's feelings of affrighted eagerness
were vividly pictured on her face, as she watched
the boat with hungry glances. The boatman,
grasping the little girl with a strong arm, held
her aloft in readiness for the momentous spring,
and, as a timely wave heaved in, he threw her
upwards. But the brawny arms extended to
receive her were robbed of the precious burden
by the jealous billows, and the little girl sank
in the treacherous waves. The horrified mo-
ther fell in a deadly swoon, while Arthur, with
marvellous quickness, throwing off his coat and
boots, leaped after her in the sea. Fortunately,
he was in time to grasp the helpless child, and,
assistance being at hand, he was soon in safety
with his unconscious burden."

Claude said no more, and a silent tear cours-
ing down Estelle's cheek was her only tribute
to this magnanimous act of heroism. After a
pause, she said, feelingly, " He is worthy of our
highest honor, dear Claude !" and then left the
room.

Arthur Wellesley slept little that night, and,
at an early hour next morning, he left his room
for the purpose of enjoying a solitary stroll
through the woods. As he passed the door of
the library, he heard a low voice singing irregu-
larly to a guitar accompaniment ; and, suppos-
ing it to be Evelyn Dorsey, he turned the knob
and entered. A lovely face turned on him a
smile of welcome, and a friendly voice gave the
morning salute. It was Miss Lennox. Sho
motioned to an ottoman near her, and quietly
dropped the instrument on the floor.

" Pray continue," said Arthur. " It was the
music that tempted me, and my spirits are pecu-
liarly susceptible of the refreshing influence of
sweet sounds this morning."

" I was but trying to recall a long-neglected
air, that I remembered to have heard you admire
at Savannah."

Mr. Wellesley's face colored with pleasure at
this gratifying evidence of former partiality, as
he replied —

" I would listen to it now with renewed plea-
sure."

With a modest sweep of the dark fringes on
the smooth marble cheek, she touched the
strings and sang —

" I do not love thee ; no, I do not lore thee,
And yet when thou art absent I am sad,

And envy even the bright blue sky above thee,
Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.

" I do not love thee ; yet, when thou art gone,
I hate the sound, though those who speak be dear,

Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone
Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear.

" I do not love thee ; yet I know not why,
Whate'er thou dost seems still well done to me ;

And often, in my solitude, I sigh
That those I do love are not more like thee."

There was an impassioned ardor in the singer's
voice, and a dewy eloquence in the black eyes,
that inflamed a strange tenderness in the heart
of Arthur Wellesley ; and, yielding to the rush
of feeling, he caught the unresisting hand from
the still sounding strings, and clasping it a mo-
ment in his own, he said, impetuously —

" It were a grateful thought to know one's self
thus fondly remembered and so sweetly sung. If
but the heart always made entire concordance
with the lips !"

" The lips are sometimes careless jailers of the
heart's secrets ! The light of their smiles is far
oftener the beacon of a comfortable harbor than
the false signals they are said to be !"

"If the shrinking soul could but trust the
strand !" faltered Arthur.

" Courage is never wanting to the ardent
mind."

"Then," continued he, recklessly, "should I
ever be drifting to the yawning maelstrom which
threatens every life-bark, let your eyes be the
land-mark."

At this interesting juncture, the door was
thrown open, and the girls entered noiselessly,
in readiness for breakfast.

" You here before us, Jane ! you '11 make a
brisk housekeeper. And, 'pon my honor, here '3
Mr. Wellesley, too ! a very industrious pair r"
exclaimed Nelly, with a significant laugh, while

442

godey's magazine and lady's book.

she keenly enjoyed the overwhelming confusion
of Mr. Wellcsley, and Jane's ill-concealed
annoyance.

•'Jane was always an early riser," said Kate,
generously interposing.

" A very laudable trait of character. I have
no doubt it is favorable to health to sharpen
one's appetite with such invigorating morning
exercises," continued Nelly, mercilessly.

But Jane had, ere this, recovered her remark-
able self-possession, and quietly disclaimed the
credit of making any physical exertion, as she
" had only come to the library in search of a
book which she had left there the evening before,
and had just been joined by Mr. Wellesley."

Mr. Wellesley's embarrassment rapidly van-
ished in his astonishment at such unblushing
equivocation, and his rising disgust was imme-
diately followed by a feeling of intense relief,
that the wrell-timed intrusion had prevented his
committal for life. A pang crossed his breast as
he turned and beheld the fair, blooming face of
Estelle Claremont ; and, vividly impressed at the
moment with a painful recollection of the last
night's occurrences, he bowed coldly, almost
haughtily, in return to her cordial " good-morn-
ing !" Estelle's warmth of manner immediately
receded to frigidity, and the distance between
them was increased immeasurably.

On account of the temporary lameness which
prevented Estelle from walking, a ride was pro-
posed that evening, and, all arrangements being
made, the young ladies equipped themselves, and
were in readiness at the appointed hour. It so
happened, however, that Mrs. Dunmore was
confined to her room by a violent sick-head-
ache, and Kate was compelled to forego the
pleasure of the ride, to attend at her bedside and
officiate in the household duties, which, in con-
sequence, devolved upon her. She insisted that
the others would not give up the ride on account
of her inability to accompany them, for Nelly
had declared her intention of keeping her com-
pany, and they accordingly set out. Arthur
Wellesley, bidding them not to wait, re-entered
the house at this moment to get his riding-whip,
whieh he had left behind, probably with fore-
cast, and Claude rode on at Miss Lennox's side.
Frank Sandford paired off with Evelyn Dorsey,
leaving Estelle and Mr. Wynder in the rear.
Arthur reappeared at last, and springing to his
saddle, he followed igp. a leisurely gait ; but dread-
ing a tete-ci-tete with Miss Lennox, of whom he
was completely disenchanted, he chose the lesser
evil, and, at the risk of intrusion, he reined in
his horse as he came up with Estelle. Her look
o£ blank astonishment at this unexpected ma-

noeuvre did not tend to reassure him, but the
ready politeness which induced her to address
him in a pleasant voice contributed somewhat
to his relief. Mr. Wynder rattled on with his
characteristic volubility, without apparently
noticing the accession to their company.

" I can scarcely believe, Miss Estelle," said
he, " that three weeks have passed since we left

L . To-morrow closes the term of mourning

in the city circles, where the sunshine of your
presence has been thus long deplored! How
your resuscitation will enliven them!"

"You must have been favored with the cap
of Fortunatus. I don't conceive how else you
could make such brilliant predictions."

" Oh, no ! I judge of the future by the past,
having been three several times a sharer in the
general sorrow for your absence, and participated
in the joy of your return to the now desolated
city."

" A flower that seems so well qualified to
adorn these beautiful natural scenes would suf-
fer by transplanting to an atmosphere less pure
and healthful, I should fear," said Mr. Wellesley.

"You forget, sir," answered Mr. Wynder,
" that the flower you mention blooms in beauty
alike in hot-house and shaded woodland, disco-
vering brighter hues with every change."

"Mr. Wynder," interposed Estelle, "at the
risk of being denounced as ungrateful, I must
confess that your extravagance is oppressive.

" What ! not give me credit for a candor that
is all unequal to the theme1? Your modesty
should not reject the spontaneous tribute to your
charms !"

" Be it so, then ; but let me warn you that the
imperial flower you extol must be only looked
at from a distance — such daring touch might be
rewarded with a stfnging thorn."

" That would but incite me further to gather
the precious leaves so jealously guarded by the
prickly hedge."

" The barrier is impassable — the flower safe
from your grasp," said Estelle, decidedly, with
an evident desire to end the subject.

" Well, well !" laughed Mr. Wynder, turning
to Arthur, " we can admire ardently what we
dare not covet."

Arthur had been deeply interested in the dia-
logue, which had betrayed more earnestness than
the words and manner appeared to express ; and,
as Mr. Wynder concluded speaking, he said, in a
tone so low that it reached Estelle's ear alone —

" I would dare much for such a prize !"

Her fair cheek tingled with a flush of pleasure
at the words, and the varying expressions of
dreamy delight that flitted rapidly over her face

AUTUMN DYING.

443

in the long pause which followed, spoke volumes
of hope to the eager eyes that watched its play-
in silent ecstasy. The conversation gradually
revived and flowed on pleasantly until, winding
through' the woods on their return, warned by
♦he sinking sun, they approached the Stag-King's
Spring.

" At last we are here," said Estelle ; " I can
now dismount and rest my poor foot, which has
been mercilessly rubbed in the stirrup for the
last half-hour. I think it is inflamed more by
the incessant strain than it would have been
with walking."

Accordingly they dismounted, and, after the
horses were tied to the neighboring trees, the trio
seated themselves on the mossy bank in grateful
repose. They were scarcely seated, when Es-
telle's horse disentangled the reins from the
branch to which they were loosely fastened, and
began cropping the stubble of withered grass on
the ground. Mr. "Wynder arose to secure him.
The horse moved away at his approach, and
being just then startled by the report of a shot-
gun, he galloped off" through the woods. Mr.
Wynder, as cavalier servante, leaped into his
saddle and rode rapidly after the frightened
animal, leaving Arthur and Estelle alone.

Alone! with the forest-trees overspreading
them, and the gurgling waterfall dashing in
music at their feet. Their eyes met ; a silent,
tender meeting, and Estelle turned hers in con-
fusion to the spouting cascade. There stood the
quaint horn drinking-cup. She reached it from
the mossy slab and dipped it in the eddying
basin. She drank half-dreamily, and replaced it
on the jutting rock. Another hand had taken
it — a pause — and Arthur Wellesley had drained
the goblet of the fabulous waters.

"Assure me, Miss Claremont," he said, "that
in gladly submitting to that generous fortune
which thus unites our destiny in this mystic
draught, I may not unknowingly lay claim to
another's right. End the perplexing suspense
which your words to-day have heightened beyond
endurance, and tell me frankly if this fair hand
is given in troth 1"

" Betrothed !" echoed Estelle. " I am only
surprised that a question should imply the possi-
bility of such a thing !"

" Then I am free to sue for it as my own ;
free to indulge the long-repressed feelings of
passionate love that have been struggling for the
mastery in my soul ; free to hope that you will
not disdain the devotion of a heart that never
yielded to any sovereignty but your own !"

Again their eyes met in a language more elo-
quent than the smoothest verse, and with the

red sun sinking in the blue clouds' embrace, the
forest-trees overspreading them, and the gurgling
waterfall dashing in music at their feet, they
pledged their mutual love.

That was a blissful walk — Arthur supporting
his affianced wife on his arm, followed by his
faithful horse, exchanging professions of lasting
regard, and the explanations which were needed
to account for their long estrangement. As they
reached the avenue, Mr. Wynder rode up with
the strayed horse by his side, and, as hot with
vexation and his violent exercise, he threw him-
self from the saddle, his jealous, searching glance
shot rapidly from one to the other, and, compre-
hending the full measure of his despair, he
walked in silence to the house. The last even-
ing of their intercourse was spent in pleasant
amusements, and the next morning the majority
of their number returned to L .

Some weeks after, Mr. Wynder followed his
card into Miss Lennox's drawing-room, ai.d
while conversing with much apparent good-
humor, he remarked, significantly —

" Mr. and Mrs. Wellesley left this morning for
Savannah."

" Yes," replied Miss Lennox, returning his
glance with calm composure ; but when he
made bis parting compliments, and his retreating
footsteps had died in the doorway, a silent tear
rolled down the white, impassive cheek, the
only evidence of regret she betrayed at the defeat
of Artifice in the Warfare with Love.

AUTUMN DYING

BY HELE]

AMILT05.

The day, new Niobe, has wept to death —
Gray stone-like clouds are piled above her tomb ;

Like some wild weeper rushing forth distraught,
The east wind hurries sobbing through the gloom.

The old trees raise their skeleton arms to heaven,
Praying for sunshine, and the sky has none

The sea is mourning for the summer's death ;
Far in the distance sounds his sullen moan.

But yestere'en the woods in beauty stood ;

The sun looked down on earth with veiled rays ;
Bright vestured Autumn walked amid the bowers,

And the shy maple blushed beneath his gaze.

Gone now the glory ! Through the naked boughs
The storm-wind rushes with a sobbing moan ;

Stripped of his gold and crimson, Autumn stands,
A chained captive before Winter's throne.

A little longer, and the year shall lay
A snowy slab above her bright son's head,

And Winter write, with frozen hand and slow,
u Here, slain by my hand, lies Autumn dead I**

PAKIS GOSSIP.

LOST AND FOUND IN PARIS — THE LUCK OF A
BEAUTIFUL GIRL.

I have acquainted you more than once with
the passage of the numerous and rapidly succeed-
ing hordes of Germans through Paris on their
way to the great West via Havre. Scarcely a
day, certainly not a week, passes away, that
some throng of those uncouth, weather-beaten,
poverty-stricken Saxons may not be seen roam-
ing about the streets or in the public gardens,
taking a last glance at the wonders of the Old,
before seeing the wonders of the New World.
Some five years ago, and when these expeditions
were not so well organized as they are now, a
young girl, about fourteen years old, attracted
by the contents of the splendid shop windows,
was separated from her companions, and at
every attempt she made to rejoin them, plunged
herself more inextricably in the intricate web of
streets which distinguished Paris even more
formerly than now, when an emperor and pick-
axes are radically changing the topography of
the city. Night came on, and she was more
perplexed than ever. She found it impossible to
make herself understood, for even had she been
so fortunate as accidentally to hit upon some
one who could comprehend the provincial dia-
lect she spoke, she would have found it more
difficult to get his ear. There are so many impos-
tors in Paris and so sturdy is their begging, the
most generous of us are but too apt to exclaim
with the gentleman on the Boulevard, who,
when stopped by an elderly woman, with a
" For God's sake, Monsieur, give me a little of
your attention," replied, " I '11 give you my
attention, but d — n me if I give you anything
else."

The heroine of this story made ineffectual
attempts to get a hearing and to make herself
understood. When the clock struck the hour
on which the train of cars was to leave Paris for
Havre with all her companions, she felt such
utter despair at the helplessness of her position,
she gave an hysterical scream, and fell helpless
in the street. She was immediately surrounded
by a crowd, and taken up. A carriage, passing
by, stopped ; a lady put her head out of the win-
dow, and asked the cause of the assemblage.
" A young girl has fallen down from inanima-
tion, I believe; she certainly looks very pale
444

and exhausted," was the reply. "Bring her
into my carriage," said the lady, " and run for
a doctor; here's my address — I live near here."

She took the young girl in her carriage and
drove her home, where she was surrounded
with every attention and put to bed. When she
recovered her senses, she was questioned, and
she replied in her native dialect, which no one
understood. The doctor came, examined her,
and prescribed one of those innumerable tisanes
which they give in every disease, from yellow
fever to flushed face. The poor girl was burning
with a fever, and after the first glow of the fever
was to some degree cooled, overcome with fatigue
and the harassing emotions of the day, she sank
into a profound slumber. The next morning,
when she awoke, she found an interpreter by
her bedside, and through him her benefactress
heard her story. Her name Was Elizabeth ; she
was an orphan ; she was from a poor village in
Hesse, which had emigrated en masse for the
United States ; she had gone with the rest of the
inhabitants, because she would otherwise have
been left alone. Even if she had not been too
ill to attempt to join her companions, the
chances were that the emigrant ship had already
sailed from Havre.

" Stay with me," said the benevolent hostess,
" until your health returns, and then we shall
see what is best to do." This suited admirably
with Elizabeth's humor ; no ties attached her to
her companions ; she was going to the United
States with all the careless indifference of ex-
treme youth and of extreme poverty.

When Elizabeth recovered her health, her
benefactress engaged her to remain with her. I
need not say how willingly she consented.
Madame M. was touched by the gratitude ex-
pressed towards her by the poor orphan girl :
her attachment to her waif daily increased; the
young girl deserved it ; the best masters were
given her, and her education rendered complete
by endowing her with all the accomplishments
which adorn her sex. The luxury and affection
which surrounded her soon polished the rustic
German orphan into the winning, graceful Paris
beauty. Last year Madame M., who has no
children, adopted Md'le Elizabeth in all legal
form, to give her name and bequeath her fortune
to her.

Last winter Md'le Elizabeth M. went into soci-

MIDNIGHT MUSINGS.

445

ety, where she had all the success an unmarried
lady, with $40,000 dot and a fortune of $200,000
in reversion, could not fail to command. Her
hand was demanded by persons in all ranks of
the French peerage. A few days ago, bans were
published at the Maire of the Tenth Arrondisse-
ment of the marriage of Md'le Elizabeth M. and
the Viscount de T. Viscountess and million-
aire ! Deny " luck" after this story ! Had
Elizabeth, the beggar, orphan, foreigner girl not
been born under some good star, some unsexed
harpy would have taken possession of her, and
after her youth, beauty, and health had fled
away, she would have died in the hospital bed
of some loathsome disease, and her grave would
have been the dissecting-table at Clamart.

" There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt, of in your philosophy."

And believe me, this thing of " luck" is one of
them.

MIDNIGHT MUSINGS.

BY O. EVERTS, M. D.

'Midst all our sorrows and desponding gloom,

When sober sadness weighs upon the brain,
Some brighter thoughts will ofttimes ask for room —

Some sweeter thoughts, to soothe the spirit's pain ;
And oft we '11 con them o'er and o'er again.

What though they mingle with the darker hue,
Receiving shade ! their features still retain

The loveliest form, and glisten like the dew
On sombre leaf, or drops of sunlit rain —
Bright jewels which the clouds o'ershadow all in vain !

It may be in the night — at midnight hour

When naught but nature's own unceasing sound
Disturbs the silence. Dew upon the flower,

And moonlight o'er the forest depths profound,
Casting their shadows on the tufted ground,

Stealing through bough and leaf all silently,
To gaze on earth and us ! The spirits bound

With strange emotion ! Beauty, mystery
Is over all things ! Majesty hath crowned
The universe, still rolling in its vasty round !

We gaze the while, and feel upon our brows

Impress of thought the mind cannot control
Or utter perfect ! Though the spirit rouse

And stir within us, wrecked upon the shoal
Of its own weakness falls the aspiring soul

Back to its earth ! We wander 'mong the trees —
The sound of falling water fills the ear

With tones familiar ; while the wanton breeze
Is playing lover — kissing off the tear
From some sweet eye, still beaming bright and clear.

A thousand voices spring from leafy beech,
From moss, and grass. On every tree and bush

Are katydids, disputing some high breach
Of insect virtue, which they keep all hush.

Anon, a deep-toned solemn sound will gush

VOL. XLIX. — 38

From some lone pool, where grave and stately frog
Has his abode, on broad and generous leaf

Of water-lily, or damp smouldering log
That holds his form. He has his secret grief,
And grumbles nightly — mayhap, too, finds relief.

Alone, perchance, on moss-grown rock we sit,

With dreamy eye avert, o'er which the light
Soft feet of moon-beams dance, while round us flit

The soft cloud-shadows. Lovely, beauteous night I
Fit time for thought, or prayer of anchorite;

Spirits might bring, or angels waft them hence,
Of earth untainted in such messagery

At such an hour ! when every feeling sense
Accords with nature in its purity :
Sight, sound, feeling, thought, and wish, all in harmony.

If thoughts of love on wings of spirits come,

Oh, how intense the feeling in our breast,
Absorbing all things ! E'en the busy hum

Of nature's laborers seems in silent rest.
The moon glides on with gently arching crest,

Unnoticed still — for now the soul is full
Of voices and effulgence all its own !

Brightness unseen ! voices unutterable !
The God of Passion now sits on his throne,
And wields that universe, the human heart, alone !

Friendship, dear friendship ! joyous now she comes

With rosy children brimming full of glee,
Laden with spices and sweet-scented gums,

And golden fruit from youth's Hesperian tree;
Oh ! how our hearts are yearning now towards thee !

Unblest without thee, though we feed on crumbs —
Captive to want, chained by har3h poverty —

Thy charming smile each bitter pang benumbs :
Thy voice is cheering, too, as reveille
Rousing the soldier from his morning reverie !

Ambition, too, may seize the aspiring soul,

Bearing it off, in such an hour as this,
On eager wings, to some transcendent goal

High up in realms of soft ethereal bliss,
Forgetful of incumbent wretchedness.

In cloud-built palace, purple canopied
And silver curtained, which the moon-beams kiss

And fly away, ambrosial feasts are spread;
And round them, ambulent in gorgeous dress,
Bright spirit forms await the fairy Fame's caress !

There may it enter, revelling the while

With beings like its own, irradient,
Yet sprung fromearthly tenements as vile,

In which sad years of bondage had been spent :
Now free, and soaring toward the firmament

On plumed wings glittering in splendor, dyed
In gold and amethyst, with pearls besprent

Rieher than Egypt's queen quaffed in her pride,
Feasting her Anthony with mad intent
To win the prize, and him by costly blandishment

But these are moments lasting not for aye !
Gone with the thought ; like dreamy visions, fled,

Leaving no shadow ! Swift the moments fly !
The moon is sleeping in her ocean bed,
And morn comes o'er the earth with amorous tread

Burning with love anl beauty ! From her eye
Beams forth such lustre, o'er the world is spread

Effulgence rare, reaching the endless sky !
Hushed are the insect-voices ! Time hath sped
Another measure— gaunt, gray, remorseless dread!

446

godey's magazine and lady s book.

TO MY MOTHER.

BY E. E.

Alas! the time has come, mother,

When I must leave my home
To struggle with the cold world, mother,

As over it I roam.
Yet I will toil hard for you, mother,

To rest your weary life,
And I will strive that your last days, mother,

May be free from care and strife.

You 've worked hard for your children, mother,

To shield them from toil and care ;
And may God strew your pathway, mother,

With many a blessing rare !
May your last days be your happiest, mother !

May blessings o'er you rest!
And in reading God's Holy Word, mother,

May you be forever blest !

'Tis hard to leave my home, mother,

And all the friends I love,
And brave the storms of this world, mother,

As through its vales I rove.
Hush ! a still small voice is whispering, mother,

Remember " God is love,"
And warns me to raise my thoughts, mother,

From earth to heaven above.

Who now will sing those song3, mother,

I sang at silent even,
Whilst you were pointing to me, mother,

The flowery path to heaven?
I know you will think of me, dear mother,

When at night you kneel to pray,
And I shall be home in thought, mother,

Though ever so far away.

Farewell, farewell to you, my mother!

Farewell, my childhood's home !
Farewell to the fields and vales, mother,

O'er which I used to roam !
Farewell to thee, my darling brother !

Oh ! remember thy sister's love ;
We will keep our hearts as one, mother,

Till we meet in heaven above !

THE WIFE.

BY MARY NEAL.

I gave thee all, long years ago,
My girlhood's blooming hours ;

Upon the altar of thy love
I laid life's brightest flowers :

I gave thee my whole heart — my life —

And still have proved a faithful wife.

And thou hast never proved unkind,
Thou 'st ever shown thy pride

Of me, thy wife, and yet my heart
Is far from satisfied.

I watch thy glance with jealous care,

And shrink to fancy coldness there.

Each act that I could deem neglect,
Every unanswered word,

Causes, far down my spirit's depths,

Its waters to be stirred
With anxious doubts and trembling fears
That melt and flow in hidden tear.

'Tis not that venomed jealousy
Hath pierced me with his dart;

I crave but what I gave to thee —
An undivided heart.

For this my spirit ever yearned —

For this my heart has ever burned.

I do not fear thy love has been

Unto another given ;
I do not dream that e'er one tie

Was by another riven :
But that the world — its cares and strife —
Has weaned thy feelings from thy wife.

I think that better I could bear

To see that much-loved form
All death-cold, could I know my love

Had been its latest charm,
Than e'er to feel one link withdrawn
Thy love around my heart has thrown.

A woman's heart ! 'tis but a waste

Around, below, above,
If from her altar-home is chased

The idol of her love.
Life is not life. She breathes and move3,
But does not live unless she loves !

Then cherish, love the one true heart
Which hath around thee clung,

Through weal and woe, for ten long years,
And round thy pathway flung

The brightest flower Love e'er hath given,

That tinges earth with hues of heaven.

And when her presence sheds its light

Upon thy care-worn brow,
Let not thy actions seem to slight

The heart that loves thee now :
She who has faithful proved for years
Will light thy path through darkest tears.

MINNIE.

M Oh ! mother, when will spring be here?"
Sweet Minnie said, and she brushed a tear
From her azure eye, and turned away
From the frosted window mournfully ;
For she thought as she looked
O'er the fields of snow —

" Oh ! long 'twill be ere the violets blow ;
And long before, by the meadow brook,
I may for the lily and cowslip look ;
And long ere I '11 hear the fluttering,
In the cherry-tree, of the robin's wing.*'
The spring returned, with birds and flowers,
Rerobing in green the forest bowers ;
And the robin came, with songs of glee,
Back to his nest in the cherry-tree ;
And again in the meadow cool and green
Were the lily white and the cowslip seen :
But the first violet the young Spring gave
Budded and blossomed on Minnie's grave.

Theresa.

I EVER WILL REMEMBER THEE.

447

MY HUSBAND.

BY MRS. C. E. SWEET.

(Captain Wesley B. Swwt was drowned in Lake Erie,
Nov. 12, 1852.)

Alas for thee, my early lost, my nearest, dearest one !

My cup of sorrow overflows — the light of life is gone ;

That noble loving heart, which once for me so warmly
beat,

Now lies uncoffined and unknelled, the wave its wind-
ing-sheet !

Thy much-loved form, now chill in death, the treacher-
ous waters keep ;

No flower may blossom on thy grave, no drooping willow
weep:

Thy head, which on my bosom oft in peaceful slumber
lay,

Lies silent, in a dreamless rest, until the judgment-day.

My tears a ceaseless fountain flow — they water not thy
grave ;

I stand and gaze in hopeless woe across Lake Erie's
wave:

Unpitying waters ! haste and waft to him I loved so well

My warmest tears, my fondest kiss, my latest best fare-
well!

I think I could have given thee up, and blest the chas-
tening hand

Which drew thee from this sorrowing world unto a
brighter land,

Had I thy dying passage soothed with all a wife's fond
care,

Thy hand's last feeble pressure mine, and mine thy
latest prayer.

In dreams thou dost return to me — I weep upon thy

breast ;
In the dear haven of thy arms my spirit findeth rest :
I wake, alas! to find thee gone — no clasping arm is

there,
And I am left alone again with sorrow and despair !

Farewell, farewell, my first beloved, a long and last

adieu —
In death's dark hour, when earthly scenes are fading

from my view,
Thy blessed spirit, hovering near, shall soar with mine

above,
Where fadeless flowers forever bloom, and all is peace

and love.

LINES TO MISS A. A. C.

At the dawn of day, ere the stars are all set,
While the birds their sweet matins are singing,

The lawn and green meadow with dews are all wet,
The flowers abroad their odors are flinging,
Then trill me thy song, with silver notes ringing,
Girl of my heart !

When in the bright east the proud god of day
Wide flings the portals refulgent of morn,

And Phoebus rides forth with cherubic array,
And loud peals the blast of the hunter's shrill horn,
Oh ! then let me hear thy tones, heaven-born,
Girl of my heart !

When, as the high noon of Sol's burning glare
Spreads warmly and brightly o'er forest and field,

The herds and the flocks to the cool shade repair,
And the birds fly mute 'neath its green leafy shield,
'Tis then to thy song my soul I would yield,
Girl of my heart !

When, at the close of the mild summer even,

The dews on the grass and the stars in the sky,
The sounds are all hushed, our thoughts turned to hea-
ven,
And gently the zephyrs breathe as they float by,
Then warble responsive, and "give sigh for sigh,"
Girl of my heart !

When the moon gleams softly o'er lake and o'er lea,
And Night o'er the world spreads her lenient sway,

And the stars beam mildly o'er land and o'er sea,
The humble and thankful forget not to pray,
Then sing me, dear one, thy own gentle lay,
Girl of my heart !

And, ah ! when anguish and pain wring the brow,
The brain is so weak and the heart is all faint,

I ask for no " ministering angel" but thou,
Whose hands are more healing than those of a saint,
Whose voice can then soothe or respond to each plaint,
Girl of my heart !

And, when, at life's close, I seek my last rest,

Oh ! still this will be my lingering prayer,
To pillow my head on thy soft, heaving breast,
There breathe my last sigh, there shed my last tear,
While thy voice wafts my soul to regions of air,
Dear girl of my heart !

Alpha.

I EVER WILL REMEMBER THEE.

BY WILLIAM RODERICK LAWRENCE.

I ever will remember thee,

Though others I forget,
For thou wilt ever be with me

Till life's bright sun shall set :
Thy gentle form and speaking eye

In beauty ever seem —
A present, fond reality,

And not a vanished dream.

I well remember me the hour

We first in friendship met,
And how my spirit owned thy power

Whose witch'ry lingers yet :
A pure white rose adorned thy hair —

A smile illumed thy face ;
And fair was thy young sunny brow,

The soul's bright dwelling-place.

Again I saw thee — as thou lay

Within thy coffin bed ;
It was at close of summer's day

They told me thou wert dead !
And though that form I ne'er shall see,

Nor hear that voice again,
I ever will remember thee

While mem'ry shall remain.
Hartford, Conn.

OUR PRACTICAL DRESS INSTRUCTOR.

EVENING-DRESS.

This is the latest and most elegant fashion
for an evening-dress. It is made of white mus-
lin, trimmed with fulled ribbon matching the
skirt. (For diagrams, see next page.)

TO MAKE MOSS.

Take about four shades of green, and the same of
brown Berlin wool. The quantity of each will depend
on what is required of moss. •

With any shade, cast on 14, 16, or 18 stitches
443

(according to whether long or short moss is de-
sired). Knit it tightly in plain garter-stitch.
When you have used all the wool of that shade,
cast off. Do all in the same way.

Dip the pieces of knitting in water; dry them
quickly before a fire or in an oven that is not
too hot, and cut them down the centre of the
whole length. Then unravel each piece, all but
the two stitches at the edge. Sew them on a
card-board covered with green glazed calico,
mingling the shades as much as possible.

DIAGRAMS OF EVENINGf-DRESS.

449

DIAGRAMS OF BODY OF EVENING-DRESS.

Fig. 1.— Front.

Fig. 2.— Back.

These form pattern to shape, for the lining.

Fig. 3.— Full front body.

Fig. 4.— Full back.

Fig. 5. — Sleeve, very short.

Diagrams 1 and 2 form the lining to the figure ;
3 and 4 form the body of the dress, which is
fulled to the lining.

38*

450

godey's magazine and lady's book.

NOVELTIES OF THE MONTH IN CAPS, BONNETS, CAPES, ETC.

Fig. 1. Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

Fig. 4.

CAPS, CAPES, ETC.

451

We have aimed at especial variety in our
selections this month, instead of confining our
notice to different styles of the same article.
In our caps, for instance —

Fig. 1 is intended for a young girlish face that
scarcely needs the aid of ornament. It is of
Maltese lace, with bands of narrow black vel-
vet. The trimming is a rich rubon Ecossais,
with broad black velvet. The lace comes to a

Fig. 5.

point on the forehead, and then allows the loops
of ribbon to fall on the sides of the face. Long
floating ends fall from the front of the cap over
the shoulders ; these are of plaid ribbon knotted
on the car with velvet. This is a charming
headdress for a young wife.

Fig. 2 is far more matronly, composed of tulle,
and a fall of blonde about the face. The nar-
row ribbon which crosses it is of satin pearling,

Fig. 6.

Fig. 7.

Fig. 8.

Fig. 9.

Fi-. 10.

lk# *%^'

any shade which best suits the wearer. Loops
of the same mingle with the frill.

Figs. 3 and 4 are models of dress bonnets for
the present season. Fig. 3 is of a delicate pearl-
colored silk, drawn in flutings, which arc sepa-
rated by bands of the same. A wreath of velvet
leaves and fine flowers forms the last row, and

is repeated inside the brim. Large autumn
leaves in velvet fall towards the back of the
crown.

Fig. 4 is less elaborate, and more easily
copied. It may be in any pretty shade, and lias
a more youthful appearance than the last.

Fig. 5 is a rich lace cape or corsage, to be

452

godey's magazine and lady's book.

worn with a low-nocked evening-dress. The
flounce on the waist corresponds to the jupe of
a basque, and the sleeves have a beautiful effect,
worn over the silk shoulder-strap or band of the
dress. A rich satin ribbon slipped beneath the
upper bcrthi displays the lace with good effect.
Fig. 6 is an unusually elegant cambric set,

the chemisette of medallion pattern, opening
square at the throat. Ribbon as above. Duchess
sleeves to correspond.

Figs. 7, 8, 9, and 10 are court bows, for de-
scription of which, and information upon head
and evening-dress, see " Centre-Table Gossip."

EMBROIDERY FOR CHILDREN'S DRAWERS.

Materials. — French embroidery cotton. Work in raised satin-stitch, sewing over the lines, or in
buttonhole-stitch.

BEAD AND BUGLE WORK.

453

BEAD AND BUGLE WOKK

The cut which heads this article represents a
berthS of net worked with beads and bugles.
For a thing of this kind, we draw a paper pat-
tern of the proper size and shape, and tack the
net smoothly and tightly over it.

Three ounces of one-eighth inch bugles, two
ounces of one-third inch bugles, two bunches
also of cut-glass beads about the size of a
mustard-seed, fine firm thread net, half a dozen
skeins of medium sewing silk, a bead, and a
sewing-needle, are the requisites.

The bead-needle is threaded with about a yard
and a half of silk, and this, doubled and knot-
ted, and fastened on at the extremity of the
stem. The sewing-needle must be threaded
with single silk. Thread about five bugles on
the bead-needle, push them down to the net,
lay them over that portion of the stem below
the leaves, then with the sewing-needle take a
little stitch and, hold them down. Thread about
eleven bugles, push them down, and lay them
over one side of the right hand leaf, and about
three stitches with the sewing-needle, judicious-
ly placed, will fix them so as to shape that side
and form the point : then thread for the other
side in like manner, and then for the other leaf,
and fix them all in their places very neatly. It
is best to pass the sewing-needle through the
centre of the bugles in slipping it from place to
place, as then we have no untidy stitches be-
hind ; for it is only needful to make stitches
here and there, at distances of about half an
inch or rather more, to shape the lines of bugles
into the pattern. That portion of the stem
above the leaves takes about ten bugles. We
then go up one side of the flower to the point
of its curved leaf; this takes seventeen bugles,
which must be threaded, laid over the outline,
and tacked down to their place with the other

needle. Ten bugles form the half of the top.
We then come along the other half of the top,
and down the other side in a similar manner.

Ten bugles form one side of the central petal
of the flower, and when these are threaded and
tacked into their places, we work the stamen
before completing this petal. Each of the three
stamens requires one-third inch bugles, one one-
eighth inch bugle, and a bead. The other side
of the petal is then completed, and the bead-
needle firmly fastened off. The beads are put
on singly with the sewing-needle, and fine
single silk afterwards.

The row which divides the upper and lower
wreaths of flowers consists simply of a Vandyke

of one-third inch bugles and beads, each one put
on separately with the sewing-needle.

The borders round the top are one-third inch
bugles laid closely together in a sloping direc-
tion, each one put on with a single stitch ; and

454

godey's magazine and lady's book.

beneath this a fringe of loops, each containing
one one- third inch bugle, thirteen one-eighth
inch bugles, and one one-third inch bugle.
These loops overlay each other j that is to say,
the commencement of each one arises about a
third of the way from the beginning of the one
before it.

The trimming round the bottom edge of the
berthe consists of two rows of one-third inch
bugles, each slanting in an opposite direction,
and meeting together at their inner points in the

«)

form of a V, as in this cut. The fringe is of
loops, similar to those above mentioned ; but
each loop has four one-third inch bugles in it
instead of two.

Jackets, half squares for the hair, collars,
sleeves, &c, may be similarly embroidered with
bugles and beads, in almost any clear, tolerably
bold pattern, with ease and facility. The only
things needful are taste, lightness of hand, and
care in the choice of the materials, especially
the beads and bugles.

Bugles may be worked on black lace with
very good effect, by following the pattern. The
great matter is not to crowd them on so heavily
as to overweigh the material. Lightness, as
well as elegance of design, is the great re-
quirements.

MAT WITH BOEDER OF MOSS, CHERRIES, AND LEAVES.

Materials. — Half an ounce of bright cherry-colored
Berlin wool ; two shades of green ditto, or of chenille d
broder, two skeins of the best green fleecy of different
shades, or shaded Shetland will do as well.

For the Moss. — If fleecy wool be used, it
must be split, and a thread of each shade taken ;
by using Pyrenees wool this trouble is obviated.
Take a pair of very fine knitting needles; cast
on 16 to 20 stitches : knit a piece as tightly as
possible, four times the length required : wet,
and bake or dry it before the fire. When it is
quite dry, cut off one edge throughout the whole
length, and unravel all the stitches but two at
the other edge. (Take care to begin to unravel
at the end you left off knitting, or the wool will
get entangled.) Fold it in four, and sew the

edges together. This will make a very full
moss fringe.

For tiie Cherries. — Cut a number of rounds
in card, each the diameter of a good-sized cherry.
Cut a small hole in the middle of each ; take a
needleful of Berlin wool three times the length
of your arm ; thread it with a rug needle, pass
the needle in the hole of the card, holding the
end of the wool with the left hand ; pass the
wool ; lay it on the edge of the card, as if you
were going to wind it ; pass the needle through
the hole again ; repeat this until the whole"
needleful of wool is used. Then make a little
tuft of wool on the end of a rather fine wire ;
twist the wire tight and pass the ends into the
hole of the card; take a pair of sharp-pointed

CROCHET COLLAR.

455

scissors, cut the wool all round the card ; with
a bit of waxed thread, tie as tightly as possible
the little bunch of wool in the hole of the card,
tear the card off, and pare the wool as smooth as
velvet ; cover the ends of wire with green wool
or silk, and each cherry is completed.

Leaves. — Make a chain of 13 loops in green
wool, and on them miss 4, dc in 5th, * 2 ch,
miss 2, dc in 3d, * twice, 1 ch, miss 1, slip on
first of 13. Take a piece of very fine wire and
hold it in, while working round this open hem,
leaving a short piece for a stem. Work all
round in tc, except the first two and last two

stitches, which are to be 1 sc, 1 dc, and 1 dc,
1 sc, twist the two ends of wire together, cover
them with wool. When sufficient leaves are
done, form them into a wreath with the cher-
ries, joining them by means of the ends of wire :
insert them in the moss, and sew the border
thus made round a mat of velvet, or work, lined
with card-board, and with silk at the other side.
This border may be used for any crochet or
knitted mat ; the moss may be made more or
less thick, according to taste. A very full border
would require six lengths.

CROCHET COLLAR.

Materials. — Evans's boar's-head cotton, No. 30. Cro-
chet hook, No. 22 ; eagle card-board gauge.

Chain of 180 stitches, on which work a row
of dc.

2d row. — * 3 tc, 3 ch, miss 3, *. Repeat.
Finish with 3 tc.

3d.—* 3 dc on 3 tc, 3 ch, *. Repeat.

4th. — * sc on 1st dc, 6 ch, miss 5, sc on 6th, *.
Repeat.

5th. — Sc on centre of first loop, * 7 ch, sc on
centre of next loop, *. Repeat.

6th. — Sc on centre of first loop, * 6 ch, sc on
centre of next loop, *. Repeat.

7th. — Dc on all the chain, missing every sc
stitch.

8th. — Sc on first stitch, 9 ch, sc on same stitch,
12 ch, sc on same stitch, 9 ch, sc on same stitch,
turn the work, dc in every chain of the 3 loops
just formed, turn again, and work dc on the
previous dc except the first 5, 7 ch, miss 5
stitches of the 7th row, 6 dc on the next 6, *.
Repeat.

9th. — Sc on the point of the leaf of 9, 4 ch,
* sc on point of largo leaf, 15 ch, *. Repeat.
Finish the row with 4 ch. sc on point of last
small leaf.

456

godey's magazine and lady's book.

10th. — De in every stitch of the last row,
working 2 in every 4-th.

11th. — * 2 de, 3 ch, miss 3, * until you come
to the stitch over the large leaf, then make a
loop of 6 ch, dc into the same stitch. Repeat.

12/A. — Dc on all the rest of the line, working
every loop thus : 1 sc, 4 dc, 1 sc.

15th.-- Dc in first dc of last row, * 3 ch, miss
2, dc in 3d *. Repeat, but without missing any
on the loops.

16th. — Sc on first chain of the foundation, and
up the side work 4 ch, miss 2, 1 sc, sc on every
stitch of the last row, and dc the other end of
the collar like the first.

17th. — Sc under first loop, 5 ch, sc under 2d,
repeat to the sc stitches, then * 5 ch, miss 2, sc
on 3d, * to the end, which work like the begin-
ning.

FURS

FROM C. OAKFOED'S CELEBRATED AND FASH-
IONABLE ESTABLISHMENT, 158 CHESTNUT
STREET, PHILADELPHIA.

(See Cuts on page 392.)

No. 1. — Represents a pelerine, with a mode-
rate-sized cape, made of sable martin, mink
martin, stone martin, fitch, &c. There is a
strong probability that the mink martin will be
in great demand from their strong resemblance
to the Hudson's Bay martin, and as they can be
furnished at much lower prices, they will in
consequence be sought after.

No. 2. — Gauntlets or mufFtees of material as
before mentioned. There is no great change in
these articles from last year's patterns, except-
ing they will be worn rather deeper. Some
prefer buttons and loops to fasten them, others
the gum -clastic rings ; the latter is more prefer-
able, on account of their being kept firmer on
the wrists.

No. 3. — Front view of white ermine cape with
pelerine ends. This article was much worn
last winter,vand is certainly more comfortable
for the cold weather. The real ermine is very
dear, consequently many ladies have preferred
purchasing the more economical imitation er-
mine, which looks nearly as well as the real,
and can only be detected by those who are well
practised in the business.

No. 4. — Back view of No. 3, showing the
pointed cape. This has been pronounced, by
ladies of great taste, the most beautiful pattern

out, and will be very generally worn by the
votaries of fashion both in Paris and London.

No. 5. — Showing the pattern for muffs, which
are very small, with ribbons instead of tassels.
There is no doubt that muffs are no longer
fashionable, although they are certainly very
comfortable.

Now for a word of advice to the ladies re-
specting the purchase of furs. In the first place,
select a dealer in whom you have the most im-
plicit confidence, as there is no article of a
lady's wardrobe where there can be so much
deception practised as in a suit of furs. It re-
quires years of practice to become proficient in
the fur business.

All the articles sold at Oakford's establish-
ment are manufactured on the premises, by the
most experienced workmen. The skins are
selected in Europe by judges of the first class,
the object being to have the best without regard
to price. Great care is taken in manufacturing,
that patrons may feel secure in their purchases,
and perfectly satisfied they have received the
full value of their money. Another advantage
they possess is, that they can afford to sell at
the lowest price, on account of the facilities they
possess in purchasing and manufacturing, and
the large quantity disposed of during the season.
The fur department has more than doubled its
sales in their new store. Ladies are respectfully
invited to call and examine the furs. They
will be politely waited upon by the young
ladies, and every facility will be offered them
with the true politeness that has ever charac-
terized that establishment.

AUTOUR BOUTONS,

Small pattern to surround shirt-studs ; to be
worked in embroidery cotton. The small rounds
in eyelet-holes to be made with a fine stiletto,
and sewed over.

ay^

PATTERN'S FOR EMBROIDERY.

457

CROCHET.— LADY'S RETICULE.

(See Blue Plate in front of Book.)

Materials. — Drab crochet thread, two shades of nar-
row blue satin ribbon, a piece of white silk as a lining.

Make a chain of 130 stitches.

\st row. — Double crochet.

2d. — 3 chain, 3 long.

3d. — 3 long worked in 3 chain, 3 chain ;
repeat.

Ath, 5th, and 6th. — 1 long, 3 chain.

1th, 8th, 9th, 10th, and Uth.— Like the 2d and
3d ; repeat from the 3d row twice, and finish
with 3 rows, 3 long, 3 chain, miss 3.

Crochet the sides together, work a row of
double long stitches around the top, in which to
insert the cord, and finish with a row of double
crochet. Pass the ribbon through the rows of
3 chain, 3 long, placing the lightest in the centre
strip,. as vyjill be seen by referring to illustration.
Make a double lining with the silk, place the
white next the reticule, and the blue inside,
and finish with cord and tassels.

chet hook, as fine as you can manage, first,
three ribs of ribbed crochet with the blue twine,
then in buff and black a stripe of double crochet
according to the design. Unless your chairs
have movable seats', a border will be wanted
all round the chair : make it with one stripe of
design between two stripes of ribs.

DIAGRAM SHOWING THE DESIGN WHEN W03KED.

PATTERN FOR EMBROIDERY

A CHAIR,

STRONGER THAN BERLIN WORK, AND MUCH
LESS EXPENSIVE.

Take three balls of crochet twine, any colors
tli at contrast well, say a bright blue, buff, and
black ; work from the design, with a steel cro- <
vol. xlix. — 39

We have lately received numerous documents re-
lating to the subject of female education, the most import-
ant theme, after religion, that can now occupy the
American mind. We insist on this, that the condition
of women settles the destiny of men ; the former must
be enlightened before the latter can become truly wise.

In our Editors' Table for August of last year (1863),
we noticed, with warm approval, the establishment of
the Pennsylvania Female College at Harrisburg, by the
State. It was a noble act, and the men who sustained
the measure, and now hold the direction of the institu-
tion, deserve the heart- warm thanks of every American
woman.*

We have before us the address delivered at the first
annual commencement in July last, by J. R. Tyson,

* We subjoin the list of names. Our many readers (at
a moderate computation, three hundred thousand persons
will read this number) must be gratified to know these
friends of woman are among the most honored men in
the Keystone State. When will the leading men in the
other States of our Union come thus nobly forward in
providing for female education? The names of such
heroes shall be embalmed in our "Book."

OFFICERS OF THE PENNSYLVANIA FEMALE COLLEGE. \

William Bigler, President of the Board of Trustees. ',

A. O. Hiester, Treasurer. \

B. R. Waugh, Secretary. \

Board of Trustees.

William Bigler, Governor of the Commonwealth, ex
officio.

Charles A. Black, Superintendent of Common Schools, \
ex officio.

A. O. Hiester, Post-Office, Harrisburg.

John Maglaughlin, "

Benjamin Parke, "

John J. Clyde, «

Robert J. Ross, - "

Stephen Miller, "

Daniel W. Gross, «

Hamilton Alricks, «

Robert A. Lamberton, "

John H. Briggs, «

Wjlliam Dock, «

John B. Cox, «

E. M. Pollock, «

Simon Cameron, Middlciown.

C. E. Blumenthal, Carlisle.
O. H. Tiffany, «
John M'Clintock, "
James Buchanan, Lancaster.
John Weidman, Lebanon.
Levi Kline, "
William H. Allen, Philadelphia.
Jsb R. Tyson, "

Principal of the College.

B. R. Waugh, A. M., {late of Baltimore Female Col-
lege.)

453

LL. D., published by the Board of Trustees. We shall
draw largely on this excellent address. The sentiments
of the writer are just, and his views comprehensive.
He has the high honor of leading the way in giving voice
to public opinion, now demanding that the daughter? Of
each State shall have places of learning equal in advan-
tages with those provided for young men :—

The Seminary ; its Aims.—" We have met to wit-
ness the first annual commencement of the Pennsylvania
Female College, at Harrisburg. I sincerely trust that it
has now fairly entered upon a long and flourishing
career, and that by its high aims it will approve itself
a useful and honored seat of learning.

" Situated in the capital of Pennsylvania, fortunate in
the selection of a judicious and able principal, and
enjoying the most favorable auspices, it had a right to
look forward with confident expectations of success.
So far, these expectations have been well fulfilled. The
number of scholars has steadily increased. Their de-
portment and improvement have been such as to justify
the belief that both they and the teachers will redeem
all the reasonable promises of the institution.

" The locality of this college at Harrisburg, and the
prudent course adopted in its management, encourage
the most sanguine hopes. All that remains for me is
cursorily to consider some of the principles upon which
it is founded, in order to ascertain whether these entitle
it to public patronage.

" It must be apparent that a part of the success it has
already met with is owing to a pretty general conviction
in its favor. I believe that the principles which lie at
its base are destined, under Providence, to scatter seeds
of inappreciable value, and to yield a large harvest of
moral and social blessings.

" It is one of the glories of our free land that such in-
stitutions as this have had their origin in this country.
They have already become numerous. No country but
ours could have given them existence. The prejudices
of society would not permit them to flourish elsewhere.

" Rudimental schools founded for her benefit, avenues
opened for her employment, colleges established for her
more complete education: these are all owing to the
universality of the opinion that the training of the intel-
lect of woman, and the elevation of her moral being, are
of the highest social concern. "

The Spheres of the Sexes.—" It does not strike
me as philosophical or just to weigh, in an unadjusted
popular balance, the comparative dignity of domestic and
public employments. It is enough to say that nature
and reason, the experience of all times, and the history
of all nations, concur in establishing the wisdom of some
distribution of duties, some division of spheres between
the sexes. These two departments lie upon a common
level. Though different in kind, they are equal or co-
ordinate in rank. No one would disturb these natural
relations by absurd or chimerical changes, as they have
all the sanctions which can consecrate a time-honored
and venerable usage. History, as I have said, no less
than reason and nature, points out the true relations of
man and woman, as well as the offices for which they

editors' table.

459

were respectively designed. We need not penetrate far
into the abstract and recondite causes of things to solve
the problem of the real distinction which exists. We
could as easily transmute one sex into another, as to
reverse the appropriate functions of either. We could
as readily violate a physical law of the world, as set at
nought those moral rules which hold society together,
and preserve it, in the beautiful harmony which now
pervades it."

Woman's Need of Education for her Sphere.
— " There is a law, the law of capability or infirmity,
which points out the fitness of things, and vindicates
the wisdom of the Creator in the government of the
world. That law, in denying to woman the more rugged
form of man, a cold and unimpassioned reason, an in-
ductive power to explore the secrets of nature by the
slow but sure and certain processes of the understand-
ing, ha3 given to her greater personal beauty, a more
delicate and complicated organization, a brighter per-
ception, a nicer acuteness of feeling, better capacities of
adaptation, and finer susceptibilities of taste. She ex-
cels in those arts which lead to the ornate, the beautiful,
and the tasteful. I would not be understood to say that
nature has not poured out to her in equal profusion
those high faculties with which man is endowed, for
I believe many women have them all in an eminent
degree. But it is evident, from the delicate texture of
her nervous system and the infirmities and disabilities
resulting from her sex, that these powers are more
limited in their range, or les3 under her control, or more
affected or clouded by inimical and counteracting influ-
ences. Man has the qualities which enable him to
breast the storm, while woman's genius enables her to
embellish the retreats which form its sheltered coverts.
The precincts of private life and its sacred ministrations
are the lot of one sex ; its struggles, combats, and ex-
ternal duties form more properly the province of the
other. But, on the other hand, is a being thus highly
gifted and formed for these, and even greater purposes,
not to be trained and cultivated ? Because her person
is cast in a finer mould, are its latent powers not to be
brought out, and its fair proportions strengthened and
developed ? Is her spirit so ethereal as to bloom only in a
genial sunshine, and not to be invigorated for the shade
and the tempest? Is it to be put to no valuable use?"

Woman's Influence.—" Woman is the presiding
deity of the household. The inferior genii imbibe her
spirit, and become, in obedience to it, the bright agents
of heaven for the diffusion of its blessings, or malignant
demons of mischief to poison the atmosphere of domestic
joy. The household god3— the Penates and the Lares
of the ancients— were either propitious and benevolent,
or unkind and cruel, according to the affections of the
wife or the mother who ruled the establishment. The
domestic principality presents a scene of order or chaos,
of beauty or ugliness, as her spirit is elevated or ignoble.

" No one can go abroad in society without feeling the
social influence of woman. Unseen, she often forms the
opinions, and moulds the character of her husband. Her
children inhale the very breathings of her soul, and what
she is for good or for evil, they permanently become.

" Education, to be valuable, should be appropriate.
We find woman fitted by nature for the retired walks
of life, and endowed by a bountiful Providence with the
most beautiful and delicate germs of character. Her
training, then, to render her happy in herself and useful
to others, should fit her for those practical and domestic
duties which she is called upon to discharge in life."

Evils of Defective Education. — " Young ladies
now grow up without much attention being given to
their physical development or mental training. Their
minds are generally undisciplined by the study of any
one subject sufficiently long to make them thoroughly
acquainted with it. The powers of the understanding
are never excited into vigorous play ; and those tenden-
cies of the female sex, which, if properly kept in reserve,
would aid its acquisitions, are alone called forth at the
expense of every other.

******

" What hope has her husband in the continuance of
those affections which are as slight as the framework
of her mental being; as superficial as her general
attainments ? What qualifications does she present to
fulfil that high vocation of a mother, ' to teach the young
idea how to shoot,' or to take her position in society, as
one that should adorn, embellish, and improve it? So
far as her influence in society extends, it is injurious.
She has not the materials of thought. Her mind, from
neglect, has become a thin and unfruitful soil, without
strength or depth, yielding only a wilderness of bram-
bles, intermingled with a few stray wild-flowers. Soci-
ety, under such a directress, must have a low standard ;
it becomes as frivolous and superficial as herself, and,
with mean aims, degrades its votaries.

" Life has been to her a dreamy and shadowy land.
She has never been awakened to a full sense of its so-
lemn realities. Removed from the world, she leaves no
footprint upon its neglected sands. Her flight through
existence has been like the path of an arrow, unmarked
by a trace of its passage.

" Cowper, in his letters, ingeniously explains the de-
scription, the iveaker vessel, as applied to woman, by
those other words of Scripture, that she is ' made perfect
in weakness.'' True to her allotted sphere, she could
attain a degree of perfection, I devoutly believe, only
a 'little lower than the angels.' Proper culture and
corresponding good works would multiply the motives
to her own self-respect, and secure for her a station of
simple dignity, the most exalted of human beings."

Good Results of thorough Education.—" The
mischiefs of luxury in producing effeminacy of character
and degradation of principle, stand out conspicuously
upon the historic canvas of all nations.

******
" Plutarch informs us that, in the early times of an-
cient Briton, such were the temperance and simplicity of
the early inhabitants that they did not begin to grow old
until they attained the age of more than a century. The
effects of luxurious refinement in the British Isles, sur-
passing, as it now does, in elaborate conveniences and
artificial excess, the wildest flight of oriental fable, are
visible in the destitution and misery of the lower
classes, and the unnatural struggle rendered necessary
among the higher.

***••*
" The universal prevalence of luxury, fostered in the
large cities by the increase of wealth, and spread through
our wide empire by the telegraph, the press, the railway,
and the steamer, threatens to overturn the simplicity
of our ancient manners.

******
" When this college, and others like it, shall have done
their perfect work, woman will stem the progress of this
blighting mildew upon the fair garden of our republic.
If she prefer the simple virtues ; if her taste rest rather
in the real than the seeming ; if she encourage her hus-

460

godey's magazine and lady's book.

band, her brother, her. friend, to discard useless glitter
and fastidious ornaments; if she adopt frugal comforts
befitting his lot ; if, above all, she inculcate the senti-
ment that one of the cardinal duties of a man and a
citizen is to live within his means, she will do a greater
good to society than by becoming eligible to political
office."

Of Woman in her Right Place. — " If, then, I be
asked the proper sphere of woman, and where I would
place her, the answer is at hand. From her nature and
organization, she proves herself to be

' born to dignify retreat,

Unseen to flourish and unknown be great !'

" I would exempt her from the active cares of political
life, while I would invest her with the greater honors of
its wise and just administration. She would form those
who take with its powers, tJie responsibilities and troubles
of political office.

" If man be the active governor, woman is the true mo-
ther of the State. She it is who is the real agent of the
trlory of man, and hers the plastic hand to mould him
for the purposes of the nation. If we would have rulers
worthy of their high vocation ; if we would have ' virtue
and intelligence' as the distinguishing attributes of our
citizens, we must elevate the mental, the moral, the
religious condition of woman. While the political hus-
bandmen of other nations are intent only upon pre-
serving the weedy and worn-out distinctions of social
rank, let our aim be to cultivate the soil of the mind
and heart of all classes. Let the praise of our national
tillage be this: —

1 Man is the nobler growth our soil supplies,
And souls are ripened in our western skies.'

Such products, when compared at the great Crystal Pa-
lace of Heaven with the dead or unprofitable fruits of
other climes, would carry off the prize!"

Methodist Colleges for Young Ladies. — Fore-
most among these excellent institutions with which we
are acquainted, stands the Franklin Female College, at
Holly Springs, Mississippi. The faculty comprises gen-
tlemen of high eminence in learning as well as in their
religious character, and the course of studies pursued ia
similar to that required in the colleges for young men.
The collegiate department for the last session numbered
one hundred and sixty students ; the preparatory depart-
ment, fifty-one.

The Wesleyan Female College, Cincinnati, Ohio, is an-
other flourishing institution belonging to this denomina-
tion. There were over four hundred students in all the
departments during the last year. Thus, this wise reli-
gious denomination is strengthening its hold on the
popular mind, and widening its sphere of influence by
bringing to its support the cultivated female intellect.
The Methodist Episcopal Church is now the largest
denomination in our land ; over four millions of souls
are under its care. It is also the richest; the value of
its property by the last census was $14,636,671. Now,
educate suitably all the girls under the supervision of
this church, and its influence for good on the next gene-
ration would be incalculable, and its praise would be in
all the earth.

Episcopal Seminaries for Young Ladies.— Some
of these are of a collegiate character in regard to the
course of studies, but no one is endowed on the liberal

scale which the importance of the subject demands.
Private institutions are defective, because the show}
accomplishments are usually made to predominate over
solid and useful branches. Among the most successful
Episcopal seminaries maybe ranked the Patapsco Fern alt
Institute, near Baltimore, Md. The Bishop of Maryland
takes a deep interest in this school, and the Accomplished
principal, Mrs. Lincoln Phelps, is celebrated for her
success as an educator. The number of students for
the last year was one hundred and forty-four. We take
the following judicious sentiments from the closing ad-
dress of the principal to the graduates : —

" As graduates of Patapsco, may you maintain the
honor and dignity of your alma mater, exhibiting at all
times and in all places a character earnest and sincere,
amiable and conscientious, despising the arts by which
too many of your age and sex seek to attract a short-
lived admiration; frowning upon the flatteries which
lead to vice, and jealous of any influences which might
cause the slightest divergence from the path of rectitude.
Representatives from more than half the States of our
republic, may you ever love our common country, and
cherish with a conservative spirit that sacred union
which binds it together as one great consolidated nation.
In your own homes will be your proper sphere of effort ;
make their inmates happy and virtuous, and you confer
a blessing on society. The future citizens and states-
men of our Republic may owe to you, as wives and
mothers, a loftier patriotism and a purer morality."

St. Mary's Hall,* Burlington, N. J., under the care of
the bishop of the diocese, continues to attract many
students. The number during the past year was about
one hundred and ninety. From the appendix we select
the following pithy counsel to parents, which, if it were
followed in all schools, would work quite a reform in
our land : —

" ' Spending-Money.' — This ia a bad name for a
worse thing. It is extravagance, in embryo. The
rule, at St. Mary's Hall, and at Burlington College,
is express, that all money for the use of children be
left with the residing heads. The uniform advice is,
leave the least possible amount except for clothing and
other actual expenses. The practice is, that many
parents disregard it. This makes wastefulness in
their own children, and discontent in others ; and, ten
to one, these same people will turn round and com-
plain of our expensiveness. Follow our rules in the
spirit and the letter, and there will be none. Children
have daily all that they need for health and reason-
able enjoyment. There ia but one table for heads,
assistants, and pupils. It is sufficient in quantity and
in quality. The trick of buying cakes, and candy, and
the like, is, in the first place, vulgar, and, in the second,
vicious. It costs more in headache, in one term (to
speak of no other aches), than all things besides. It
subordinates the intellectual to the animal. It keeps
children babies, that should be men and women. It
deranges the house. It breeds discontent. It leads to
selfish ways, and sensual feelings, and gluttonous pro-
pensities. It is all wrong. We must insist upon it
that all money for the use of children be left with the
residing heads ; and that their judgment be relied on
mainly as to the amount. We should be glad to have

* We have a number of "Reports," &c, and other
papers connected with these educational movements,
which we shall notice next month if we have room, or
as soon as possible.

LITERARY NOTICES.

461

done with spending-money, so called ; being, as we hold,
the poorest possible mode of spending money. We
invite the appropriation of the sums that will thus be
saved, to objects which subserve the cause of Christian
education. Let the child devote what would otherwise
be worse than wasted, to the good of men, and the glory
of God. How many poor children are without instruc-
tion ! To how many souls, for which Christ died, is
His gospel, in His church, unknown ! What moral
darkness to be lighted ! What hunger of the soul to be
fed! What spiritual thirst that might be quenched!
' Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little
ones, a cup of cold water only, in my name, verily I say
unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward.' »

Thanksgiving-Day for 1854.— For several years
past we have discussed the subject of a general agree-
ment on the time of this annual autumnal festival. We
believe the people would be gratified to have this union
of sentiment carried into effect. Tlie last Thursday in
November has been selected as the day best suited to the
general convenience, when the people from Maine to
Mexico, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, might sit down
together, as it were, and enjoy in national union their
feast of gladness, rendering thanks to Almighty God for
the blessings of the year.

Therefore we pray, on behalf of all friends of the
" Lady's Book," that the Governors of the several States
and Territories would issue their proclamations, each
one for his own State, unanimously appointing Thurs-
day, the 30th of November, as tlie Day of Thanksgiving !
Will not the Press throughout the Union join the " La-
dy's Book" in this petition?

To Correspondents. — The following articles are
accepted: "To Emma Morton," "Time at Fault,"
" Autumn Song," " Golden Grains from the Sands of
Life," " Headache," " Take back the Harp," " He is
Coming," "The Old Churchyard," " Philology— No. 5,"
" Lines on Botany" — the writer must wait patiently, as
the " Lines" may not appear for months; our " Book"
is crowded.

The following are not needed : " Hopes," " Reminis-
cences," &c. (a good article for a newspaper), " The
Stars, the Bright Stars" (the writer may do better), "A
Song," " Who are Wise!" " Sonnet to Spring" (the son-
net is very difficult to an unpractised writer), "A Rid-
dle— In the creation I was made," "Love," "Alice, or
the Literary Woman," "Aunt Matilda's Evenings,"
"Lines to a Wanderer." (We do not need any new
contributors at present. Articles sent are accepted, if
good, and if we have room.)

" Kate Harrington," please send real name and ad-
dress, that we may send you the " Book."

"J. G. R." or " L. N.," please say to what post-office
MS. is to be returned.

£itcr aru Notices.

From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia :—
FREAKS OF FORTUNE ; or, 11m History and Adven-
tures of Ned Lorn. By J. B. Jones, author of " Wild

39*

Wes|p:n Scenes," " Life and Adventures of a Country
Merchant," etc. Not having had time to peruse this
volume with that care and attention which seem to be
due to all works of a domestic character, we are under
the necessity of availing ourselves, for the present at
least, of the decision in regard to it of the " Publisher's
Critical Reader." He tells us, on the title-page, that it
is " equal to any of the productions of Thackeray or
Dickens," and he thinks his " assertion will be verified
by the thousands who will assuredly peruse the book."
Speaking of the characters introduced into the " Freaks
of Fortune," the " Critical Reader" says: " The cha-
racters, including churchmen, politicians, bankers,
lawyers, physicians, publishers, critics, authors, and
lovers, are strikingly developed." To this we will
merely add that the characters and the incidents are
principally drawn from Philadelphia life.

DESERTED WIFE; MOTHER-IN-LAW; VIR-
GINIA AND MAGDALENE; AND SHANNONDALE.
The works of Mrs. South worth bound in one volume.
Those who wish to obtain these popular novels in a
convenient form have now an opportunity to do so.
The author is deservedly a great favorite with the read-
ing public.

From Parry & McMillan (successors to A. Hart,
late Carey & Hart), corner of Fourth and Chestnut
Streets, Philadelphia : —

HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF STATESMEN WHO
FLOURISHED IN THE TIME OF GEORGE III.,
together with . Remarks on the French Revolution. By
Henry Lord Brougham, F. R. S., Member of the Na-
tional Institute of France. Complete in two volumes.
The sketches in these handsome volumes will unques-
tionably form an invaluable addition to English histori-
cal and biographical literature. In them, we have
fairly and plainly presented to us, without the least
objectionable pretensions to political or mental science,
because the teaching is by example, the whole philoso-
phy of government, as well as of the human mind and
character, acting under peculiar influences. We are
enabled to see at a glance, as it were, how strangely the
rights and liberties of entire nations are sometimes
affected by the opinions and prejudices of individuals,
and either preserved or lost, as good or bad counsels
may happen to prevail among a few. The great merit
of these sketches, however, in the eyes of our country-
men, will be found in the tribute which the aristocratic
author pays to some of our most eminent advocates of
republican government and republican principles dur-
ing the advent and progress of the American Revolution.
His views of our political institutions will, in most
instances, be found even more flattering than have
been those of many of our own political writers, and at
the present epoch, in the absence of more patriotic in-
centives, may therefore have a happy tendency in call-
ing home the wandering imaginations of not a few of
our people, who seem disposed to feel ashamed of the
simplicity of their parentage, and of the lowliness of
their national origin. The fact is, and we feel no little
confusion in making the confession, the estimate which
this English lord has put upon the characters and
services of General Washington, Benjamin Franklin,
Charles Carroll, and Thomas Jefferson, and upon the
Declaration of Independence, the National Constitution,
and upon our democratic principles and institutions
generally, far surpasses the estimate made by some of
our own modem writers and professors of republican-
ism. In this regard, his " lordship" teaches lessons of

462

godey's magazine and lady's book.

universal political morality which, it is to beJioped,
some of our political tyros will be industrious to learn,
and careful never to forget. The volumes are, indeed,
mil of warning and advice, presenting numerous exam-
ples for encouragement and honorable emulation, as
well as of such aspirations as should be shunned and
abhorred. They are of a character to arrest the atten-
tion, and to fix the principles of all who are virtuously
and patriotically inclined, and may, with scarcely a
forcible exception to the judgments pronounced by the
author, be safely and advantageously committed to the
perusal of American students and readers generally.

LETTERS OF RACHEL LADY RUSSELL. Com-
plete in one volume. This is a new and greatly im-
proved edition of a work which has created much
interest among historical readers. To the letters con-
tained in former additions, which related almost exclu-
sively to the death of Lord Russell, many others have
been added, on various but important subjects. The
letters, however, which relate to Lord Russell, who was
tried for rebellion and sentenced to die in the reign of
Charles the Second, give a more correct account of what
has been termed a "judicial murder" than can be
found in any other records of the times. They also pre-
sent us with such evidences of affection, energy, and
patience in the conduct of a naturally delicate and
sensitive woman, as have rarely been exceeded in the
pages of history, or even in the creations of romance.
They breathe throughout a noble Christian spirit, and
their perusal may therefore have a salutary effect in
helping to strengthen the minds and to establish the
characters of females of our own times. Adversity ia
the crucible which tries the quality of every human
virtue, and that of conjugal love in particular. In order
to pass through all such trials with purity, constancy,
and honor, it is well always to be prepared with the
encouraging remembrance of triumphant instances of
heroic devotion, such as we find in this volume. Its
perusal will awaken the best and noblest feelings of the
heart.

From Hayes & Zell, Philadelphia :—

SPENSER AND THE FAIRY QUEEN. By John
S. Hart, LL. D. The school of modern poetry owes all
its best qualities to the genius of Spenser. Reverently
regarded as this poet has been, and profoundly studied
by a few inquiring minds, to the general reader the
" Fairy Queen," the grandest, we might add the only,
allegorical poem in the English language, has been
hastily glanced at and set aside by reason of a few
difficulties which present themselves at the outset.
These difficulties are, indeed, but little likely to be
overcome by those to whom the " dolcefar nientc" is the
only palatable state of existence ; but there are happily
others who would eagerly explore the very penetralia
of this moBt musical and most romantic of poems, if
they could only be assured of the services of a capable
jruide. To such we say they need hesitate no longer.
The gigantic plan of thiB great work is, in the essay be-
fore us, laid completely open, its broken connections
united, and its fine moral under-meanings explained in
a clear, forcible, and judicious manner. Professor Hart's
essay might be entitled, with great propriety, " The
Fairy Queen made easy," since nothing can be more
admirable than the method he has adopted to disentan-
gle the fantastic intricacies of the poem, and to display,
in its best Light, the genius of its author. His analysis
of the principal characters of the poem is remarkably
good, while the occasional reflections which are intro-

duced in the course of the work are such as grow na-
turally out of the poem itself, and not extraneous to it,
as is but too frequently the case.

Written in a genial spirit, yet not irreverently, this
essay by Professor Hart is worthy of his fine logical
powers, and exhibits, in an equally striking light, the
wide range of his scholastic acquirements. By the
lovers of Spenser, this work will be hailed as an ad-
mirable exposition of the meaning of the poet; and,
while the youthful student will be gratified at finding
his exploratory labor so efficiently lightened, it offers to
the desultory reader an interpretation ready to his
hand. It is, in fact, the key to Spenser's " Fairy
Queen," a book the want of which has long been felt,
and which, now that we have it, should be received not
only as a necessary adjunct at this day to this wonder-
ful poem, but as a work which may always be consulted
with advantage by those who desire to know something
of Spenser himself and of the quality of his genius.

From Blanchard & Lea, Philadelphia : —
THE PRINCIPLES OF ANIMAL AND VEGETA-
BLE PHYSIOLOGY : a Popular Treatise on the Func-
tions and Phenomena of Organic Life. To which is
prefaced a general view of the great departments of
human knowledge. By J. Stevenson Bushnan, M. D.,
Physician to the Metropolitan Free Hospital, etc. etc.
With one hundred and two illustrations. This neat
volume is all that its title purports it to be. It is full
of valuable instruction and entertaining information,
which cannot be well dispensed with in the formation
of an agreeable and intelligent character — associate,
companion, and gentleman — in this era of progress and
scientific investigation. The subjects of which it treats
will afford abundant themes for conversation and the
interchange of ideas in private and mixed social circles,
which may well supersede the light and frivolous, and
sometimes reprehensible gossip which is resorted to for
amusement.

From Lippincott, Grambo, & Co., No. 14 North
Fourth Street, Philadelphia : —

THE BIBLE READING-BOOK. Containing such
portions of the history, biography, poetry, prophecy,
precepts, and parables of the Old and New Testaments
as form a connected narrative, in the exact words of
Scripture, in the order of the Sacred Books, of God's
dealings with man, and man's duty to God. Prepared
for the young in schools and families. By Mrs. Sarah
Josepha Hale, author of " Woman's Record," &c. The
plan of this " Bible Reading- Book" has been approved
by a number of eminent clergymen of Philadelphia of
different religious denominations. We hope the guard-
ians of public education will examine the book, and
then we feel sure it will soon be introduced into the
schools. As a book for children it will be of great value.

From Riker, Thorne, & Co., New York : —
HERMAN AND DOROTHEA. From the German
of Goethe. Translated by Thomas Conrad Porter. We
have no means of judging of the merits of this little
volume as a translation. The language is chaste and
simple, and the morality of the tale not merely unex-
ceptionable, but really beautiful. It belongs to the
classic order of German literature, each chapter corre-
sponding in sentiment to the attributes of the muses.
It is a pity, however, that the translator did not take
more interest in furnishing his English readers with a
key to the peculiarities Of the story.

LITERARY NOTICES.

463

From Wm. S. Young, 50 North Sixth Street, Phila-
delphia : —

THE DIVINE ORIGIN AND AUTHORITY OF
THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION, in a Connected Series
of Familiar Discourses, giving a concise View of the
Historical Argument for the Truth of the Bible. By Wil-
liam Neill, D. D. Price, in muslin, 40 cents. This is
a neat little volume, the contents of which have an un-
doubted tendency to increase and fortify the faith of
Christians.

From D. Appleton &. Co., New York, through C. G.
Henderson & Co., Philadelphia :—

SHAKSPEARE'S SCHOLAR: being Historical and
CHtical Studies of his Text, Characters, and Commenta-
tors, with an Examination of Mr. Collier'' s Folio of 1632.
By Richard Grant White, A. M. The principal design
of this volume is evidently to aid in clearing away those
"heaps of rubbish" commonly called "emendations,"
"elucidations," or "happy conjectures," beneath which,
for the last century and a half, ignorant or unapprecia-
tive commentators have seemingly labored to bury the
sense and beauty of the immortal productions of the
genius of Shakspeare. In the general execution of this
design, we find little to censure, much to praise. But
if, instead of a brief "notice," it were our business to
write one of those expositions of our own recondite
learning known as reviews, we might show, to our own
satisfaction, at least, that many of Mr. White's very
judicious emendations of the text of Shakspeare are by
no means new ones. Justice, however, would compel
us to state the fact that he himself has acknowledged
this to be the case as regards some of them. Yet, of
other "happy conjectures," made by Mr. White when
he was an unsophisticated " freshman," who under-
stood Shakspeare by instinct, and which he evidently
values for their novelty and originality, we might point
out not a few which his " five years" of exploration
ought, we think, to have discovered among those
"heaps of rubbish" he so slightingly speaks of. But
all this we leave to the reviewers — and to Mr. Collier,
the pretensions of whose recent volume to correct the
text of Shakspeare by authority, Mr. White has effectu-
ally demolished, while he gives the unknown annotator
due credit for such of his conjectural emendations as
seem most happy. This demolition alone, which no
English critic has, to our knowledge, as yet so completely
accomplished, renders the work of our American author
one that should be read, and stamps it with the impress
of original thought and argument. And, notwithstand-
ing our objection to the somewhat presumptuous way
in which Mr. White discusses the critical acumen of
many of his predecessors, we cannot but consider his
volume one of the most valuable contributions lately
made to Shaksperian literature, either by English or by
American writers. His style is forcible and pleasing,
his reasoning cogent, and, however much we may differ
from him with regard to certain open questions, we
must yet allow him the merit of having a true and
poetical appreciation of the works of the great master,
of whom he "claims to have been for many years,
and yet to be," the earnest, enthusiastic, and loving
" scholar."

From Phillips, Sampson, &. Co., Boston, through R.
See &. Co., Philadelphia : —

MARTIN MERRYVALE, HIS X MARK. By Paul
Creyton. Nos. 7, 8, 9, and 10. The interest in " Mar-
tin" greatly increases as the story progresses.

From D. Appleton &, Co., No. 200 Broadway, New
York, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : —

CHESTNUT WOOD. A Tale. By Lille Linden. In
two volumes. A very quiet, but interesting story runs
through these handsome volumes. It is written in that
natural and unpretending style which is alway3 sure to
leave the deepest impressions upon the mind of the
reader.

CAPTAIN CANOT ; or, Twenty Years of an African
Slaver. Being an Account of his Career and Adventures
on the Coast, in the Interior, on Shipboard, and in the
West Indies. Written out and edited from the Captain's
Journals, Memoranda, and Conversations, by Brantz
Mayer. Captain Canot certainly deserves credit for
having delivered " a round, unvarnished tale" to the
literary gentleman whose name appears as editor of the
present volume. But, notwithstanding that some of
the objectionable features of his story have been very
nicely varnished over — by Mr. Mayer, we presume — we
cannot recommend it to the perusal of our readers. Its
utility, in our opinion, is doubtful, to say the least,
while many of its details are such as no father can or
will read aloud to the members of his household; and
the hero of it is a tricky, cheating, piratical trader, who,
after more than half a lifetime of laborious yet fruitless
rascality, finds himself a " stranded wreck," and at
last wakes to a glimmering sense of the important truth
that " honesty is the best policy."

From H. Long & Brothers, New York, through T.
B. Peterson, Philadelphia : —

THE RTF-HOUSE PLOT; or, Ruth, the Conspira-
tor's Daughter. By G. W. M. Reynolds, author of the
" Court of London," " Mary Price," the " Massacre of
Glencoe," etc. etc. This work will favorably compare
with the best volumes by the same author.

From J. C. Derby, 119 Nassau Street, New York,
through Parry & McMillan, Philadelphia : —

POEMS AND BALLADS. By Gerald Massey. Con-
taining the Ballad of " Babe Christabel." Printed
from the third London edition, with several new poems
never before published. Revised and corrected by the
Author. Though still a young man, Gerald Massey
has already earned an enviable reputation as a writer
of poems, in which vividness of imagination and tender-
ness of feeling are combined with great delicacy and
harmoniousness of language. The son of a poor Eng-
lish laborer, and himself not long liberated from the
slavish toil of an English factory, Massey has a very
natural desire to change the present order of things to
one more like that which is to be in the " good time
coming." To the expression of this desire, in what are
commonly called " Poems of Labor," about one-half
the volume before us is devoted. Of these we shall say
nothing, being convinced that our lady readers will be
compensated for any outlay they may make in purchas-
ing the book, by the perusal of such exquisite gems of
poesy as " Babe Christabel" and " Little Lilybell."
No mother, and, indeed, no father, should neglect to
read them.

From J. C. Derby, New York, Phillips, Sampson,
& Co., Boston, and II. W. Derby, Cincinnati, through
Parry & McMillan, Philadelphia :—

HERMIT DELL. From the Diary of a Penciller.
This volume abounds in beautiful reflections. The
author displays the riches of a cultivated mind, and the
purity of a benevolent and Christian heart.

464

godey's magazine and lady's book.

From J. S. Redfield, 110 and 112 Nassau Street,
New York, through W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia : —

THE YOUTH OF JEFFERSON; or, a Chronicle of
College Scrapes at Williamsburg, A. D. 1764. Of course,
this is a work of imagination. Its author will be satis-
fied if its grotesque incidents beguile an otherwise
weary hour with innocent laughter.

FIFTY YEARS IN BOTH HEMISPHERES; or,
Reminiscences of the Life of a Former Merchant. By
Vincent Nolte, late of New Orleans. Translated from
the German. This volume, besides some sketches of
military adventure, is made up of political and mercan-
tile gossip, which may or may not interest the reader.

From Gould & Lincoln, Boston : —

THE BETTER LAND ; or, the Believer's Journey and
Future Home. By Augustus C. Thompson, Pastor of
the Eliot Church, Roxbury, Mass. The book contains
sixteen chapters on subjects connected with humanity
and heaven. It is beautifully written, and will meet
with a warm welcome from the Christian public. The
type is large and clear, a great comfort to readers, for
which the publishers should be duly honored.

THE PRESBYTERIAN QUARTERLY REVIEW,

No. 10, is before us, a work of great merit, which is
doing much for general literature as well as religious
enlightenment.

PHONOGRAPHY: A BRANCH OF POPULAR
EDUCATION. The Report of the Board of Controllers
of Public Schools for the First School District of Penn-
sylvania nas been lately published, in which the study
is commended as a branch of much importance. Those
who desire to understand the subject will do well to
examine this report. The letter of Professor Hart,
" Principal of the High School for Boys" (when is the
High School for Girls to be established]) is a clear,
sensible exposition of the benefits of the study of pho-
nography.

THE IOWA JOURNAL OF EDUCATION, pub-
lished monthly by R. Spaulding, Editor and Proprietor,
at Dubuque, is a worthy witness of the progress of the
free school system, which everywhere in our wide land
rouses the popular mind to exertion and improvement.
We welcome these evidences of mental activity in the
right direction. The views of the editor of this journal
are sound, and his work merits a generous support.

THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF INSANITY.
Edited by the Officers of the New York State Asylum,
Utica, N. Y. The most interesting paper in this num-
ber is on the " Effect of Etherization on the Nervous
System in the Treatment of Mental Disease." The
paper was read by Dr. Ray. In the discussion that
followed, one fact was asserted which should be widely
known : Never use ether (or chloroform) in presence of a
light. Ether has been known to take fire while being
administered in the evening, though the light was held
at the distance of three feet. Ether should never be
administered to persons who have an intermittent pulse.

SOUTHERN MEDICAL AND SURGICAL JOUR-
NAL. Alabama. The first article in this number is
by Jno. Stainback Wilson, on " Female Medical Educa-
tion." This article, one of the most able on the subject
we have read, not only advocates the medical education

of woman, but urges that all medical colleges shall have
professors for the instruction of a class of females in
branches which will qualify them to act as physicians
for their own sex and children. He urges the admit-
tance of women to the study of medicine — 1st. Because
they are the natural and congenial attendants and con-
fidents of their own sex. 2d. Because they are men-
tally, morally, and physically worthy of the office, and
have natural qualifications giving a natural right to
practise certain departments of medicine; therefore
this mode of sustaining themselves when obliged, as
the widow and orphan often are, to earn their own sup-
port, should be opened to them. 3d. The medical edu-
cation of females would relieve the male physician
from a branch of the profession he ought not to practice.
And 4th, because " the safety and happiness of a large
portion of the most refined and lovely women {in the South
particularly) demand it."

(Enigma0.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN OCTOBER
NUMBER.
35. Wedding-ring. 36. Telescope.

37. A tear. 38. A fishing-rod.

39. Monosyllable. 40. Love.

ENIGMAS.

41.

The dearest secrets of your heart
To me you fearlessly impart,

Nor doubt my constancy:
That which from every eye but one
You 'd strictly seal, you never shun

To freely press on me.

For I 've the reputation got
Of saving characters from blot,

So I 'm entrusted well ;
And yet of confidence betrayed,
My guilt has sometimes been displayed :

My name you now may tell.

42.

We really are a useful pair

In every point of view,
And 'tis our fortune oft to share

Life's brightest gift with you.

Your studies we facilitate,

Your recreations aid,
Yet light is e'er the estimate

Of our good service made.

Our union is so perfect, that
We 're styled by all our friends

That type of unity whereat
A happy courtship ends.

We toil together, neither knows

A happy view apart;
For one with th' other ever shows

The empire of one heart.

And yet no man and wife, 'tis sure,
Though friends in us they own,

Our name would willingly endure,
However worthy known.

(Bahiys Si r ra - C [i a i r .

Our November Number.— First plate " Peace."
This is one of a pair of match pictures illustrating
Peace and War, by the celebrated Landseer, of London.
We do not think we shall publish the companion pic-
ture " War," as there is enough of that about now,
without introducing it in the "Lady's Book." Our
fashion plates, as usual, take precedence of all others
for accuracy of style and beauty of engraving and color-
ing. The press and private letters speak to the point
about them.

1855. — We call attention to our advertisement for
1855. What we promise there we will perform. This,
we think, is as good as if we had written a whole page
on the subject.

Dun. — " If 'twere dim when 'tis done, then it were
well it were dun quickly." Shakspeare slightly altered,
which means, in the common language of the day, that
we should like some of our delinquent subscribers to pay
up, and at once. Remember, a new year is about to
commence, and it will be dreadful if you do not receive
that beautiful January number we have in preparation.

Amusing. — We shall one of these days put all our
fancy engravings at the back of our Book. Other pub-
lishers will follow the example, for what we do is right,
at least we should suppose they think so, by following so
immediately in our footsteps. It would be amusing, if it
did not. show such a plentiful lack of invention on the part
of our would-be imitators. Depend upon it, no work
can succeed that directly copies another. On one occa-
sion we announced splendid scriptural plates, executed
on steel by the first engravers in London. A magazine,
then published in the city, also announced splendid
scriptural plates, six in each number. When they had
obtained subscribers under this promise, they com-
menced publishing their scriptural plates, and what
were they but miserable wood-cuts ! That magazine
is now dead.

Our subscribers must bear in mind that on and after
January 1st, all matter upon which letter postage is de-
manded must be paid at the time of sending, or else the
letters will remain in the post-office, and not be sent ;
therefore, those writing to us making inquiries upon
subjects that only interest themselves, must remit a
stamp to pay return postage, and those sending for pat-
terns, or any other article that has to be sent to them
by mail, must remit enough to pay return postage.

Mr. John Batllaiche has retired from the editorship
of the Alton " Telegraph"— taking leave of the editorial
profession, after a continuous service in the ranks of
forty-two years. He is entitled to his certificate as an
exempt. We take leave of Mr. Baillaiche with regret,
having always found him, during an acquaintance of
twenty-five years, a true friend.

Back numbers of the " Lady's Book" can be supplied
from January, as the work is stereotyped.

Our good Friend, T. S. Arthur. — It gives us plea-
sure to publish anything favorable to this just man —
and, by the way, we have never seen anything unfavor-
able to him yet in print. The most independent editor
in the United States, P. R. Freas, of the Germantown
" Telegraph," who never publishes a line that he does not
fully believe — this is strong language, but it is true —
says of T. S. Arthur, in speaking of one of his works : —
" ' A Year after Marriage.' — An interesting and
valuable volume, by T. S. Arthur, Esq., with this title,
has just been issued by T. B. Peterson, and will be found
advertised in our columns this week. Mr. Arthur is
one of the most successful writers in the United States ;
and it may be said of him that, in every one of the
numerous productions emanating from his pen, there is
a vein of elevating, refreshing thought running throvigh
it, that fastens itself upon the heart of the reader, pro-
ducing an impression which, in many instances, has no
doubt been the groundwork of many a permanent and
ennobling moral structure."

"Ten Nights in a Bar- Room." — It is wonderful
what a sale there is for every work emanating from the
pen of this gifted author. The sale of this last of his
productions has far exceeded the most sanguine hopes
of the publisher.

Books that we wile send by Mail, Postage
Paid. — On receipt of the money, we will send by mail,
post-paid, any of the following books written by T. S.
Arthur : —

Price
Ten Nights in a Bar- Room, and What I saw

There, 75

Sketches of Life and Character — illustrated, $2 00
Lights and Shadows of Real Life, do. 2 00

Leaves from the Book of Human Life — 30 illustra-
tions, 1 00
Golden Grains from Life's Harvest Field, 75
True Riches ; or, Wealth Without Wings, 50
The Way to Prosper, 50
The Home Mission, 50
Finger Posts on the Way of Life, 50
Shadows and Sunbeams, 60
The Fireside Angel, 25
Tales of Married Life, 1 00
Three Eras in Woman's Life, 1 00
Library for the Household, 12 vols., 4 50
New Juvenile Library, 12 vols., 60 illustrations, 4 50
The Angel of the Household, 50

A sensible letter from Independence, Texas : —
" Mr. Godey, send to the address of your valu-
able ' Book ;' send it quick ; send the back numbers from
January. This is the only way I can think of to get my
wife in a good humor, and, moreover, I am tired of having
her borrow. I am sure she shall never lend. The very
first application to borrow I am going to present a sub-
scription list. Send also to Mrs. the ' Book.' She

also wants it from January. You may consider my
wife a life subscriber to the ' Book.'

Yours, &c, .»»

4G5

4:6$

godey's magazine and lady's book.

The American Press.— It is always gratifying to
our national feelings to contrast the tone and spirit of
the American journals with the tameness and subservi-
ency generally exhibited in the language of the foreign
press. Although the public may occasionally be disposed
to check some indications of rudeness in a few of our
papers, still we think it far better to tolerate Buch de-
partures from the strict rules of literary courtesy, than
to sink the language and sentiments of the press into
a slavish adulation of power. The rivalry that pro-
duces the sharp collisions of which we sometimes hear
complaints, is the best security we could have for the
freedom of speech and the perpetuity of our political
institutions.

We recently had the pleasure to read a clerical opinion
of the press, in the course of which the reverend author
declares, as his opinion, that the newspaper, quite as
much as our public schools, is, in America, the great
orator of a nation of thinkers and debaters. " The
American editor," he continues, " aims not at the choice
diction of an essayist, and pays little attention to mere
abstractions and vain theories. He writes as if he would
give the greatest quantity of thought in the briefest space.
He excels in paragraphs, which are like the sharp
shooting of riflemen ; his heavy artillery he reserves for
occasional editorials, but he seldom plies the cannon
where a bullet will do the work. But, as a characteristic
of our people, he is ever ready to lay aside his editorial
matter to make room for news. He knows men, and not
deeds. His language possesses a clear and concise
utterance. Every writer and public speaker might find
a model of style in the productions of the American
editor."

This is high praise from a man of truth and observa-
tion, and is the more to be relied upon because the Rev.
Mr. Bacon, in the same address, did not hesitate to make
some severe remarks upon the general character of the
religious press, in the respectability of which he might
be presumed to take a lively interest.

Good newspapers, of which we have an abundance,
and are constantly making room for more, are, with all
their seeming violence and contradictory spirit, the mes-
sengers of peace and reconciliation among our people.
They keep alive that desire for intelligence on all sub-
jects which necessarily leads to deep investigations, and
thus clear away the rubbish of ignorance and prejudice,
both of which have ever been the greatest foes to free-
dom, truth, and charity.

We are acquainted with the American press ; its
labors and the obstacles with which it has to contend
are familiar to us ; and, while we are happy to know
that it is every day accomplishing some new triumph for
the benefit of the people, we bespeak for it in Nebraska
(where we already have two exchanges) and the remote
wilderness in which it has just begun to spread its light,
as well as in the retired hamlet and city full, not the
cold patronage, but the cordial and generous support of
all true friends of virtue and liberty.

In the course of some remarks on this subject, made a
year or two since, we said " that there were more talent
and general information displayed by the conductors of
the public press in the United States than could be
found in Congress and in all the State legislatures taken
collectively." As yet, we have had no reason to take
back, or even to qualify this sentiment. On the contra-
ry, time and the assent of contemporaries have justified
us in having expressed it. " Truly do I believe," says
Walter Savage Landor, in a late publication, " that
more than one of our newspapers contains a daily article

worth all that is spoken in both houses for seven years."
And Eliza Cook says, in corroboration of this opinion :
" Good newspapers are the only currency that is worth
more than gold or silver."

Our Patterns. — Ladies do not seem to be aware
that these patterns are facsimiles of the originals in
color, trimming, &c. At a distance, they would be
taken for the garment itself. They could be worn in a
tableau without being detected.

The " Crescent Eagle" says : " Godey is leaving his
contemporaries in the shade on colored fashion plates.
They are perfect, and, what is more, they suit the taste
of the ladies." It is not only in fashion plates we lead
them, but in steel plates, reading matter, receipts, and
work-table department. The Brookville " Jeffersonian"
also has his say : " His fashion plates are acknowledged
to be superior to all other publications of the kind ; his
engravings are of the first quality — rich in intelligence
and beauty. The reading matter of the book, coming
from the pens of the most talented writers, cannot fail
to be well received in every circle, and we see no reason
why fifteen or twenty copies of Godey are not sent to
every post-office in this country."

The only reason why we don't have those fifteen or
twenty subscribers at each post-office is on account of
the vile system of borrowing. Were it not for this, we
should this day have 20,000 more subscribers than we
now have.

We take the following from McMakin's excellent
" Saturday Courier" : —

" ' It is estimated that 9000 pianos are made every year
in the United States, giving constant employment to
1000 hands, and costing over $2,060,000.'— Ex. Paper.

" We should like to know how many of these must be
set down to Boardman &, Gray's great manufactory, at
Albany."

At least one-third, we should think, from the great
satisfaction their pianos give, and the numerous orders
they receive. The dolce campana attachment seems
to be a great favorite with all good players. The Boston
"Waverley Magazine" copies the description of this
celebrated establishment that we published in our
January and February numbers.

Mr. W. Simmons, Box 100, Washington, Daviess
Co., Ind., proposes, on receipt of twenty-five cents, to
convey a new discovery, which he calls the "Magic
Telegraph," as follows : " To all wishing to avail them-
selves of the knowledge of a beautiful art — that of
writing an invisible letter which may be rendered visible
at will, and subsequently to disappear again— the oppor-
tunity is offered. Full and plain instructions will be
sent to enable any person to write a secret letter that
no one is able to read or detect, except their writers and
their correspondents themselves."

The editor of the Washington " Sun" says : " This is
no humbug, as you can easily ascertain. We have seen
it tried, and it operates like a charm."

Rapp's Gold Pens. — Their celebrity is increasing,
and we do not wonder at it, for they are the best
article of the kind ever offered. We will guarantee
them. Prices as follows : Condor size, with a holder,
$6; in a silver case, $7; swan-quill size, yrith double
extension silver cases, $4; goose-quill size, suitable for
ladies, with holders as above, $3.

godey's arm-chair.

467

Great American Book. — We are glad to see, by a
prospectus in a late number of the " Knickerbocker
Magazine," that some of the literary friends of L. Gay-
lord Clark, Esq., the popular editor of this work, have
devised a plan for his benefit. It is the publication of
a splendid volume, composed of original articles written
expressly for the book by fifty American authors, among
whom are Washington Irving, Fitz Greene Halleck,
Wm. C. Bryant, H. W. Longfellow, Donald G. Mitchell,
George Wm. Curtis, N. P. Willis, and others. The
volume is to be illustrated with portraits of the writers,
finely engraved on steel from original pictures, and
promises to be in every way one of the most attrac-
tive books ever issued in this country. The object of
the committee who have charge of the publication is to
raise from the profits of the book a sum sufficient to
purchase a Home for Mr. Clark, who has for over
twenty years devoted himself to his literary labors, and,
as is too often the case, without reaping that reward
which should by this time have made him independent.

We give the project our most hearty approbation, and
hereby authorize Mr. Hueston to put us on his list for
five copies of the book in the best binding. The book is
to be sold entirely by subscription, and we should think
that, among the thousands who read the "Knicker-
bocker," ten thousand copies would be called for very
soon. This would insure the success of the noble plan
of the committee, and would prove a substantial and
well-deserved compliment to one of the best editors in
his line that our country can boast.

We will only add that the " Knickerbocker Gal-
lery" is to be published by Mr. Samuel Hueston, 348
Broadway, New York, at Jive dollars per copy in cloth
gilt, and seven dollars in morocco extra binding. Send
your name at once to the publisher, and secure an early
copy.

Dempster. — The silver-toned Dempster is with us
once again, charming the public with his delightful
ballads.

Grisi and Mario. — Our New York friends are en-
joying a great treat in listening to these splendid singers
in some of the most popular operas. Shall we have
them in opera here 1 We hope so, as half the charm of
their singing will be lost in a concert-room.

Children, read this.— Your friend Blitz has ar-
rived, Canary birds, little Tommy, and all. He has
made the Columbia Hotel his head-quarters, where he
will be happy to see and delight you, as of old. Kind
and good Blitz ! he deserves the public patronage, and
he will receive it.

Resignation of Mr. G. H. Huddell.— We are sure
that our numerous readers will regret to hear that Mr.
G. H. Huddell, the energetic and gentlemanly agent of
the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore Railroad
Company, who has become so popular with the travel-
ling public, has resigned the position for which he was
so eminently fitted. Mr. Huddell has purchased the
two fine stsamers now running between this city and
Wilmington, so that we shall not lose him altogether.
We trust that his successor will take advantage of the
noble example before him, and become equally popular.

It is as well to be Particular.— The Berks Co.

" Press" says : " Every lady should have Godey by her
side— we mean his periodical."

Gift Lotteries. — A dozen of these establishments
have started into existence within the last month or
two, having for their basis the magazines. The pub-
lisher of the " Lady's Book" deems it proper to announce
that he has no connection with them further than to
furnish them with his publication upon receipt of the
money, as he would do to dealers and the public. He
would respectfully suggest to his old friends and sub-
scribers the propriety of remitting direct to him, as
usual, and let the publisher receive the profit that is
justly due to him.

Mrs. Hale's " Cook Book" we will furnish at $1,
and pay the postage. Mrs. Hale's " Household Book"
on the same terms. Every one of our lady subscribers
ought to have both these books, and they would, if they
knew their value.

Two doors above our office, in the window of Archer
& Warner's celebrated chandelier and lamp-store, is to
be seen a curious sight : three beautiful silver tea-sets
that are to be offered as premiums at the Clark Co.,
N. Y., Agricultural Society, for the three finest babies —
one set for the finest child not exceeding one year of
age ; another for the finest child over one and not over
two ; and a third set for the finest child not over three
years of age. The number of "finest children," in the
estimation of their own mothers, that will be gathered
there, will be wonderful. We hope the committee to
distribute the prizes will not consist of bachelors.

In a letter from a lady correspondent in New York,
we find the following : " ' Alone' is getting to be quite
the rage in New York. People have just got hold of it,
and every one asks me the author's name. Do you know
it!" This novel is by the author of " Marrying through
Prudential Motives" and " The Thrice Wedded," both
of which stories we have recently published. " Alone"
is a splendid work, and a novel that every lady or gen-
tleman should read.

White's Bonnet Emporium. — It will be seen by
the engraving on the first page of the book that Mr.
White again gives his inimitable designs for bonnets,
&c. An attempt was recently made to set fire to this
building, one of the " institutions" of our city. It would
be a public loss, for in no city of the Union can there
be found so splendid a store and so extensive an assort-
ment of goods in its peculiar line.

Hair Ornaments. — 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 have given great satisfac-
tion.

Wait a bit. — The Lyons " Gazette" thinks " Godey
has about run his race. How he is to improve his ' La-
dy's Book' is more than we can conjecture." This
opinion has often been expressed, but yet we have im-
proved ; and we now have several new features for
next year, which we think will astonish our subscribers.

468

GODEY'S MAGAZINE A.ND LADY'S BOOK.

INDIVIDUAL REMARKS UPON
LADY'S BOOK."

GODEY'S

" Dear Sir : My wife is a devoted reader of the
' Lady's Book,' and I guess if you could see her (even
now) poring over some of the fine 'pieces' in the 'last
number,' that would be to your mind ' confirmation
strong as proof from Holy Writ.' She says she would
not be without the ' Book' twelve months for twice the
amount to be paid, and that the patterns for embroidery,
fee., are richly worth the subscription price for a year,
to say nothing of the ' Lessons in Drawing,' the splen-
did engravings, and other attractions. Indeed, she has
come to the sage conclusion that L. A. Godey is decid-
edly a gentleman, and one that the world could not
conveniently dispense with. Nothing can be done with-
out first consulting Godey. Not even a pocket-hand-
kerchief or pair of undersleeves can be embroidered or
braided without special reference to the 'Book.' And
then she is annoyed by interesting young ladies, who
come to look at the 'fashion plates,' &c, and some of
them even ask her to lend them the ' Book' a day or
two ! Isn't that provoking? But she is determined not
to lend her Godey, and modestly tells them she wishes
to have them bound, and hints to them the terms upon
which they can call the ' Book' their own.

" Respectfully, S. P. B., Ry»

" Since infancy (almost) I have been a subscriber to
' Godey's Lady's Book ;' but, having followed your ad-
vice to the ladies and changed my name, you may not
under my present signature recognize an old and well-
tried friend, once a resident of Georgia. However my
situation may change, I cannot live without the ' Lady's
Book;' it is the solace of many an otherwise weary
hour, and withal so amusing and instructive. With
many thanks for your kind efforts to please the ladies,
and heartfelt wishes for your success,

" I remain your subscriber, M. F. H., Florida."

" It is a book that no young lady should be without.
Married or single, it is just what they need. I don't
think I can live without it, and never mean to again.
" Miss A. D. B., 0."

K We have no magazine or exchange of any kind
which we value so highly as the ' Lady's Book.'

" W. H. C, Maine."

" I would rather dispense with my coffee and tea
than my wife should be deprived of her apple of gold in
the picture of silver. G. M. S., N. Y."

" I prize the ' Book' more than any other, and would
have it if the cost was double what it is.

" W. F. K., III."

" Nothing can give me more true pleasure than to
see that an article of mine has been accepted by the
only true magazine of the country, for a delicacy of
sentiment and a truly refined taste mark its every page,
and, while I live, I expect to hold it as one of my chief-
est treasures. N., Indiana."

" I hail the arrival of c Godey' as I would an old
friend, and should as soon think of parting with my
little Delia as with that. S. M. R., N. Y."

" You will therefore be less surprised at my negli-
gence in not remitting, when you learn that I am not a
lady, but a very great admirer of them, an old bachelor
of 52; and I would not be without the 'Lady's Book'
for any consideration, for I find that the ' Lady's Book'
pleases them more than anything else I am able to pre-
sent them. Very respect fully, W. B., Ky."

" Receive my thanks for the periodical enjoyment
we receive from your ' Book.' It still retains its pris-
tine purity, quite different from many of the magazines
that give abundant promises of much fruit, but quite
wither in the bud. J. E. P., Mi."

" I think for ladies the ' Book' is the best work we
have. It costs less, and contains more useful and in-
structive knowledge than any periodical now published,
I have been taking it for several years, and expect to
take it for many more. Mrs. S. A. E., Miss."

" I cannot refrain from telling you how grateful I am
for your valuable magazine, so wonderfully adapted to
the wants of a million of readers. I have taken G., P.,
H., and K. ; each has its peculiar merit; but incompar-
able Godey blends all their merits in his ' Lady's Book.'

"L. H. C."

" Ladies' Winter Book of Crochet Patterns."
By Miss Anne T. Wilbur. — We have a few copies of
this work for sale at 25 cents per copy.

Very True. — The Miss. " Reformer" says : " We
have never seen anything approaching Godey's colored
fashion-plates in point of beauty." And we can also
add, you never will.

" The Nursery Basket" received at last, and
those persons who have paid us in advance will have
received their copies before this reaches them. The fol-
lowing is the title of the work : " The Nursery Basket :
a Hand-Book of Practical Directions for Young Mo-
thers; including the preparation for a young infant's
wardrobe ; the choice and making-up the child's bath ;
out-of-door dress ; worsted knitting ; flannel ; embroid-
ery ; the clothes of older children, etc. etc. With en-
gravings." Price, 50 cents. Please address all ordej-s
to publisher of " Lady's Book" for this most desirable
and useful work for all young mothers.

Christmas, New- Year's, and Birthday Pre-
sents.—E. H. Butler & Co., No. 67 South Fourth Street,
have prepared for the coming season some of the most
beautiful gift-books we have ever seen. We call the
attention of our friends and the public to this most
beautiful assortment, among which will be found suit-
able presents for the young and the old, the grave and
the gay. "The Bow in the Cloud" and "The White
Veil" have never been surpassed.

"Affection's Gift," a Christmas, New- Year's, and
Birthday present. Elegantly bound, and splendidly il-
lustrated with eight beautiful mezzotint engravings.

" The Gem Annual." Do. do. Elegantly bound, and
splendidly illustrated with eight mezzotint engravings.

"Christmas Blossom and New- Year's Wreath." Do.
do. Six mezzotint engravings by Sartain, after designs
by the first artists.

" The Bow in the Cloud ; or, Covenant Mercy for the
Afflicted." With six engravings in line, after original
designs by Schussele.

" The White Veil." A Bridal Gift. Edited by Mrs.
S. J. Hale. Eleven engravings and illuminations by
the first artists, and in the richest style.

"Leaflets of Memory." Eleven illuminations and
engravings in the first style. Elegantly bound.

" How to Make a Dress." — We can now send this
work to all who have ordered it, our new edition being
ready.

godey's arm-chair.

469

DIRECTIONS FOR WINDOW PLANTS FOR
NOVEMBER.

(From Mrs. HaWs New Household Receipt-Book. ITiis
book will be sent to any person on receipt of $1.)

The directions given last month must be closely-
observed throughout the remaindei of the year. The
gTeat object being to keep the majority of plants in a
rating condition, that they may start the more vigor-
ously on the return of genial weather. Winter, or early
spring-flowering plants, such as violets, China prim-
roses, cyclamen, and roses, are, however, to be excepted
from this rule; they are now in an active state, and
must be encouraged accordingly. As soon as hyacinths
and other bulbs, placed in pots last month, have become
pretty well rooted, they may be brought into the window,
and being placed near the light, will grow rapidly ; those
in glasses should have the water changed once or twice
a week. Chrysanthemums in pots require plenty of
water while in bloom, and when their beauty declines,
the plants should be taken to a warm part of the garden,
or placed in a light shed, to complete their maturity.

Mrs. Suplee has opened a very handsome store at
204 >£ Chestnut Street. Our fashion editor will furnish
from her establishment any of the following list of
patterns : —

Ladies' Cloaks, Children's Dresses,

do. Mantles, do. Basques,

do. Full Dresses, do. Paltots,

do. Jackets, do. Jackets,

do. Dress Bodies, do. Over-Coats,

do. Sleeves, do. Pants,

do. Aprons, do. Aprons,

cut in Tissue paper, and trimmed as to be made, or any
of the patterns of cloaks in this or any other number of
the " Book."

" The Lost Heiress," by Mrs. Southworth, is the title
of a new novel, shortly to be published by T. B. Peter-
son, that will produce a sensation.

" The Happy Homes of Earth" is the title of a very
pretty piece of music sent us by T. C. Andrews, of 66
Spring Garden Street.

We confess that we do not wonder ourselves that we
are a favorite of the ladies. This text was suggested
by the following, from the Ind. " Argus" : —

" We do not wonder that he is a favorite with the
ladies, who, as every one knows, are remarkable for
nice discrimination in matters of taste."

Why should we not be"? Having devoted the best
part, of a lifetime in our efforts to improve the taste and
give information whereby household duties may be
made lighter, and articles of taste accessible to every
inhabitant of even the remotest village in the United
States. We know that we have done our duty, and
expect, at no very remote day, to reap a rich reward.
Is it not something to be remembered, as we are, by
ladies who were children when we commenced the
' Book,' and are now taking it for their children 1 Is not
this a reward 1 Mothers remember that we have never
counselled aught but good, and recommend the work as
an indispensable. We do think this a reAvard.

Montesquieu says : " I never listen to calumnies,
because if they are untrue I run the risk of being de-
ceived, and if they be true, of hating persons not worth
thinking about."

VOL. XLIX. — 40

PARLOR AMUSEMENTS.

Musical Magnetism. — One of the party is sent out
of the room, and some article of furniture in the room is
fixed upon, which the person sent out is to guess on re-
turning to the rest of the party. Another, who knows the
secret, then sits down to the piano, and. plays loud when-
ever the person who is to guess approaches the article
fixed upon, and softer when he recedes from it ; till at
last, when the article fixed upon is touched, the music
finishes with a burst of triumph as loud as possible.
This game, if well managed, is very amusing; as it is
very droll to those who are in the secret to see the per-
plexity of the unfortunate guesser, who is rather bewil-
dered than assisted by the music. It also affords con-
siderable scope for ingenuity on the part of the musician,
who should vary the strain from a melancholy to a joy-
ous tune, or the reverse, according to circumstances.

To let a Person choose several Numbers out
of a Bag, and to tell him what numbers will
exactly divide the sum of those he has chosen.
■ — You produce a bag of tickets, and draw out a handful
to show the company, which you put into the bag again.
You then desire any one to take out as many tickets as
he thinks proper. This done, you desire him to take out
only one ticket, and this proves the number by which
the amQunt of all the other numbers he has chosen is
divisible.

Explanation. — Provide a small bag divided into two
parts, into one of which put several tickets, numbered
6, 9, 15, 36, 63, 120, 213, 309, &c, and in the other part,
put as many other tickets marked with the number 3
only. Draw a handful of tickets from the first part,
and after showing them to the company, put them into
the bag again, and having opened it a second time,
desire any one to take out as many tickets as he thinks
proper. When he has done this, you open privately the
other part of the bag, and tell him to take out of it one
ticket only. You may then safely pronounce that the
ticket shall contain the number by which the amount
of the other number is divisible ; for as each of these
numbers can be divided by three, their sum must evi-
dently be divisible by that number.

N. B. — An ingenious mind may easily diversify this
trick by marking the tickets in one part of the bag with
any numbers which are divisible by 9 only ; the proper-
ties of both 9 and 3 being the same; and it should never
be shown to the same company twice without being
varied.

To cause Fire to burn under Water. — You call
for a pail of water, and having a certain composition in
your hand, which you apply fire to, you throw it into
the water, and, to the great astonishment of the com-
pany, it will burn under the water till quite spent.

Explanation. — For the performance of this curious
trick, take three ounces of powder, one ounce of salt-
petre, and three ounces of sulphur vivum, beat and mix
them well together; then fill a pasteboard or paper
mould with the composition, and it will burn till entirely
consumed, under the water.

Fixing the Matter. — The N. C. " New Era"sajrs:
" To make up for past neglect, and to re-establish
ourselves in the confidence of Mr. Godey, we now say
that no lady should ever have a husband, and all gen-
tlemen forever excluded from the society of ladies, who
do not subscribe for and read ' Godey's Lady's Book. ' "
This is a fearful penalty.

470

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Swan's "Elevator,'' of Ohio, says: "We heard
Godey highly complimented, a few evenings since, by
some ladies who had been consulting his ' Book' for the
spring fashions, and, it is needless to add, they were
much pleased with them. This, alone, is a feature that
renders the ' Book' worth the price charged. ' In this
particular,' said one of the ladies referred to, ' Godey is
the best magazine published,' and we did not attempt
to gainsay the criticism."

The Grave-Digger. —
" Old man, old man ! for whom digg'st thou this gravel"

I asked as I walked along;
For I saw in the heart of London streets

A dark and busy throng.

'Twas a strange wild deed ! but a wilder wish

Of a parted soul, to lie
'Midst the troubled numbers of living men,

Who would pass him idly by !

So I said, " Old man, for whom digg'st thou this grave,

In the heart of London town?"
And the deep-toned voice of the digger replied,

« we >re a-laying a gas-pipe down !"

Question and Answer.—" Was not Smith, who
was tried for horse-stealing, a friend of yours ?s " Yes,
a well-tried friend."

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies
them.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a
post-office stamp.

" Young Mother." — The article or manner of working
you mention is not considered genteel ; quite the con-
trary. Work with white silk or zephyr worsted pat-
terns same as embroidery.

" H. B. R."— Sent Condor Pen by mail 28th.

" Miss M. N. G."— Sent basque by Kinsley's Express
28th.

" A. V. R."— Sent hair necklace by mail 29th.

" Mrs. S. B. B."— Sent pattern by mail 29th.

" M. E. M."— Thank you for the very pretty patterns.
Most of them we shall engrave.

" Mrs. S. E. O."— Sent bugles and beads by Adams &
Co. 30th.

" Mrs. M. E. G."— " Kane's Arctic Expedition," $3.
The other work cannot find a copy of. You had better
write to F. Taylor, bookseller, Washington, D. C.

" Mrs. J. B. H."— Sent patterns by mail on 1st.

" Mrs. J. H. C." — Sent hair-pins and necklace by
mail 5th.

" Miss F. M. B."— Sent dry-goods by Harnden's Ex-
press 5th.

" Birdie." — To manufacture the article is very diffi-
cult to describe, but very easy to do. One hour spent
in seeing the operation would be worth a whole page of
description ; but, in some future number, we will
endeavor to give you as accurate a description as possi-
ble. The pattern you sent us is very beautiful, and
shall be engraved. Accept our thanks for that, and for
your compliment.

" Montpelier." — French embroidery cotton is used,
floss is not. We can give no other explanation of the
French knots than is given in the description of the
engraving.

"J. D."— Sent gold pen by mail 5th.
" Mrs. C. J. H."— Sent patterns by mail 7th.
" Mrs. V. C. B."— Sent bonnet by Adams & Co. 7th.
" A. H. B."— You must court for yourself. If you are
serious, the idea is ridiculous. We have no time to
pay attention to any young lady for you. Of all the
requests that have ever been made to us, this is the
most singular.
" Mrs. J. E. P."— Sent hair-pins by mail on the 16th.
" H. M. S."— Letter delivered to Professor Hart.
"Miss M. C."— Sent silk by Kinsley's Express 17th.
" Mrs. E. P. J."— Sent stockings and handkerchief by
mail 17th.

" F. G. H."— The eldest daughter only uses the prefix
Miss. If there is only one daughter, she also can use
it. Written and printed cards are both used, and are
equally fashionable.
" Mrs. W. F. S."— Sent patterns by mail 21st.
" J. L. C."— Sent hair-pin by mail 21st.
" Miss M. E. H."— Several of the pretty patterns you
sent are now in the engraver's hands.

" M. S. L."— A gentleman may wear a frock coat at a
party. It has been so decided.

" N. P. S."— Sent hair bracelets by mail 23d.
" S. V." — The previous publication will prevent its
appearance in the " Lady's Book."

" Elida."— Several excellent remedies for freckles
will be found in the " Book of the Toilet," price 50 cts.

"Nannie."— The best plan is to have them covered
by a glass vase, or smoke them in the fumes of sulphur,
but let the operation be performed in the open air. We
wish we knew a remedy for your second inquiry, for we
are troubled in that way. Washing in cold water is
the only remedy we ever found of any use. You can
use a little Indian meal in the water. For roughness
of the skin, a wash made of barley, or simple pearl
barley, is soothing, and renders the skin smooth. Re-
mittance received, and in good time.

"J. L. H."— Dissolve as much starch as will be re-
quired in a very small quantity of cold water, then pour
boiling water on it till it is of the right consistency, and
let it boil once or twice. In mixing starch, put a lump
of sugar in it to prevent it from sticking to the iron.
Stirring the starch with a sperm candle improves it
when it is wanted for shirt-bosoms or collars.

" A. V. B."— Will find the receipt on page 99 of Mrs.
Hale's " Household Receipt Book." In future, when
the answer to a question can be found in that work, we
shall simply refer to the page. Every subscriber ought
to have the book. The price is only $1.

" Mrs. M. A. J."—" Book of Curiosities," $2 50.
" An Old Subscriber." — We fear we have not the
numbers; that was before we began to stereotype the
work ; but we have looked through our file, and, if they
were engravings, we do not find them there. We would
oblige you if we could, for your letters are truly grateful
to us.

" P." — Stone blue and flannel will make white satin
look nearly new, especially if rubbed afterwards with
crumbs of bread.

" Mrs. S. M. S." — Sent goods by Kinsley's Express on
the 13th.

" Mrs. H. M. L." — Will communicate soon some in-
formation about the birds.
•' Ajax." — Plates won't suit.

" M. E. A." — Your note received just as we were
going to press. It will be answered in December
number.

EECEIPTS.

471

To make Plaster of Paris Figures look like
Alabaster. — Dip the figures in a pail containing a
strong solution of alum and water.

To Gild or Silver Leather. — To ornament the
sides of an album, finely powder some resin, and dust
it over the surface of the leather ; then lay on the leaf,
and apply (hot) the letters or impression you wish to
transfer ; lastly, dust off the loose metal with a cloth.

Marking Ink. — Nitrate of silver, one-quarter of an
ounce; hot boiled water, three-quarters of an ounce.
When cooled a little, add gum-water one ounce, and a
little indigo to color. The preparation is made : carbo-
nate of soda, one ounce to one pint of boiled water;
color with cochineal or indigo. 2. Without preparation :
nitrate of soda, one and a half drachm to three-quarters
of an ounce of water. Add as much of the strongest
ammonia-water as will dissolve the precipitate formed
on its first addition ; then further add, gum-water, one
and a half drachms. Writing executed with this ink
turns black on being passed over a hot iron, or on being
held to the fire.

Nankeens will keep their color if washed as follows :
Put a large handful of salt into a vessel with a gallon
of cold water; put the articles in, and let them soak
twenty-four hours ; then wash in hot lye, without soap,
and without wringing.

To Varnish Cardwork. — Before varnishing card-
work, it must receive two or three coats of size to pre-
vent the absorption of the varnish and any injury to
the design. The size may be made by dissolving a little
isinglass in hot water, or by boiling some parchment
cuttings until dissolved. In either case, the solution
must be strained through a piece of clean muslin, and,
for very nice purposes, should be clarified with a little
white of egg. A small clean brush, called by painters a
sash-tool, is the best for applying the size, as well as
the varnish. A light delicate touch must be adopted,
especially for the first coat, lest the ink or colors be
started or smothered.

Tracing Paper. — Lay open a quire of paper, of large
size, and apply with a clean sash-tool a coat of varnish,
made of equal parts of Canada balsam and oil of tur-
pentine, to the upper surface of the first sheet, then
hang it on a line, and repeat the operation on fresh
sheets until the proper quantity is finished. If not
sufficiently transparent, a second coat of varnish may
be applied as soon as the first has become quite dry.
2. Rub the paper with a mixture of equal parts of nut
oil and oil of turpentine, and dry it immediately by
rubbing it with wheat flour, then hang it on a line for
twenty-four hours. Both the above are used to copy
drawings, writings, &c. If washed over with ox-gall
and dried, they may be written on with ink or water-
colors. The paper prepared from the refuse of the flax-
mill, and of which bank-notes are made, is also called
tracing paper, and sometimes vegetable paper.

Luncheon Cake.— Rub half a pound of butter into
one pound of flour until it is quite fine, add two ounces
of caraway-seeds, the same quantity of currants, half
a pound of moist sugar, one ounce of candied peel cut
thin ; mix these well together, and beat up three eggs
and put into it. Then boil half a pint of milk, to which
add. while boiling, a small teaspoonful of carbonate of

soda, which must be well stirred in it. With the milk
mix the other ingredients. Have your tin ready, and
put the cake in the oven immediately. Bake half an
hour.

Sqyer's Pea Soup. — Have a quarter of a pound of
fat bacon ; if none, take leg of beef, veal, or pork, cut it
into dice ; peel and slice two good-sized onions, or
three small ones, fry them with the meat until slightly
brown ; then add half a pound of vegetables, either car-
rots or turnips well washed, but not peeled, also leeks
or any other vegetables, which you fry gently ; then add
one pound of yellow peas, previously soaked some hours,
and eight quarts of water, three ounces of salt, half an
ounce of brown sugar; let the whole boil gently for two
hours, stirring it now and then. Put into a stew-pan
half a pound of common flour, mixed into a liquid paste
qiaite smooth, with cold water, and pour it into your
soup, stirring the contents with a wooden spoon so as
to mix it well ; boil again a quarter of an hour and
serve. If warmed up the day following, it will be im-
proved in quality, merely requiring to be warmed
slowly, and stirred now and then before using.

Stewed Mushrooms. — Cut off the ends of the stalks,
and pare neatly some middle-sized or button mush-
rooms, and put them into a basin of water with the
juice of a lemon as they are done. When all are pre-
pared, take them from the water with the hands to
avoid the sediment, and put them into a stew-pan with
a little fresh butter, white pepper, salt, and a little
lemon-juice; cover the pan close, and let them stew
gently for twenty minutes or half an hour ; then thicken
the butter with a spoonful of flour, and add gradually
sufficient cream, or cream and milk, to make the same
about the thickness of good cream. Season the sauce
to palate, adding a little pounded mace or grated nut-
meg. Let the whole stew gently until the mushrooms
are tender. Remove every particle of butter which
may be floating on the top before serving.

RUDIMENTS OF COOKERY.

Meat that is not to be cut till cold must be well done,
particularly in summer.

The use of skewers in joints should be avoided as
much as possible, as they let out the gravy; twine will
answer better.

In every branch of cookery much must be left to the
discretion of the cook and knowledge of the family's
taste; particularly in forcemeats and seasonings.

Suet. — When sirloins of beef, or loins of veal or mut-
ton, are brought in, part of the suet may be cut off for
puddings, or to clarify. Chopped fine and mixed with
flower, if tied down in a jar, it will keep ten days or a
fortnight. If there be more suet than will be used while
fresh, throw it into pickle, made in the proportion of
one-quarter pound of salt to a quart of cold water, and
it will be as good afterwards for any use, when soaked
a little.

When meat is frozen, it should be brought into the
kitchen and laid at some distance from the fire, early in
the morning ; or soak the meat in cold water two or
three hours before it is used : putting it near the fire, or
into warm water, till thawed, should be avoided.

Meats become tenderer and more digestible, as well
as better flavored, by hanging. In summer, two days
is enough for lamb and veal, and from three to four for
beef and mutton. In cold weather, the latter may be
kept for double that time.

472

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Legs and shoulders should be hung knuckle down-
wards.

An effectual way of excluding the fly is by using a
wire meat-safe, or by covering the joints with a long
loose gauze or some thin cloth, and hanging them from
the ceiling of an airy room. Pepper and ginger should
be sprinkled on the parts likely to be attacked by the
fly, but should be washed off before the joint is put to
the tire.

A larder should always be placed on the north side
of the house ; the window may be closed with canvas,
but wire is preferable. There should be a thorough
draft of air through the room.

Articles that are likely to spoil should not be kept in
or laid upon wood.

Warm, moist weather is the worst for keeping meat ;
the south wind is very unfavorable, and lightning very
destructive ; so that after their occurrence meat should
be especially examined.

Boiling.— This is the most simple of all processes of
cooking. Regularity and attention to time are the main
secrets.

Much less heat is requisite to keep liquids boiling in
copper and iron saucepans than in those made of tin.

There is frequently a great waste of fuel in cooking,
which arises from making liquids boil fast, when they
only require to be kept slowly boiling. Count Rumford
(the inventor of the Rumford stove) states that more
than half the fuel used in kitchens is wasted in the
above manner.

It is a sad waste to put fuel under a boiling pot.
There is a degree of heat in water called the boiling-
point; and all the coals or wood in the world cannot
make water hotter in an open vessel ; it can but boil.
By this waste, the cook not only loses time, but spoils
the cookery.

The average time for boiling fresh meat is from
eighteen to twenty minutes for every pound ; thus, a
joint weighing six pounds will require from one hour and
three-quarters to two hours boiling. Salted meat re-
quires rather more boiling and water j fresh killed meat
longer time : and all meats longer in cold than warm
weather. It is, however, better to be guided, for time,
by the thickness of the joint than by its weight.

Dried or salted fish and meats require soaking in cold
water before boiling.

Meat and poultry will lose their flavor and firmness,
if left in the water after they are done ; as will also fish,
which will break to pieces.

The water in which fish, meat, or poultry has been
boiled, should be saved ; this pot-liquor, as it is called,
may be made into soup.

Slow boiling is very important for all meats, to insure
their tenderness; fast boiling always makes them hard
and tough, less plump,, and of darker color than when
they are boiled gradually.

Skimming the pot will alone insure the good color and
sweetness of the meat ; a little cold water and salt will
aid in throwing up the scum : milk put into the pot
does good in few cases only ; and wrapping in a cloth
is unnecessary, if the scum be carefully removed.

The lid of the saucepan should only be removed for
skimming ; and, before taking off the lid, be careful to
blow from it any dust or black from the fire or chimney.
The joint should always be covered with water;
above this quantity, the less water the more savoury
will be the meat.

In some few instances, however, it may be necessary
to boil the articles in a much larger quantity of water ;
a quart of water is mostly a good proportion to a pound
of meat.

If meat be put into cold water, it should be heated
gradually, so as not to cause it to boil in less than forty
minutes; if it boil much sooner, the meat will shrink
and be hardened, and not so freely throw up the scum.

Four skewers, or a plate, inside downwards, should
be laid on the bottom of the saucepan, especially for
large joints and puddings ; so that they may be equally
done, and escape burning or adhering to the saucepan.

When a pot boils, remove it nearly off the fire, but let
the lid remain on. A very little heat will then keep up
the boiling.

The time of boiling should be reckoned from the time
bubbles begin to rise on the surface of the liquid. As the
boiling continues, the water will evaporate, and in some
cases it may be requisite to fill up the saucepan with
boiling water.

SICK-ROOM AND NURSERY.

To Cure Lumbago ok Stiff Neck.— As a liniment,
mix in the proportion of one-third of hartshorn to two-
thirds of oil, and rub in with the bare hand.

Stye in the Eye.— Styes are little abscesses which
form between the roots of the eyelashes, and are rarely
larger than a small pea. The best way to manage
them is to bathe them frequently with warm water.
When they have burst, use an ointment composed of
one part of citron ointment, and four of spermaceti,
well rubbed together, and smear along the edge of the
eyelid.

Bleeding from the Nose.— This may be some-
times checked by the person sitting upright bathing the
nose externally with cold water, or vinegar and water,
and sniffing it up the nostrils. Should it continue, a
moderate pinch of powdered alum may be put into a
couple of tablespoonfuls of water, and thrown up with a
squirt, or a plug of lint dipped in this wash and placed
up the nostril, taking care to fasten a strong thread
securely round it.

Lime in the Eye.— Bathe the eye with a little weak
vinegar and water, and carefully remove any little
piece of lime which may be seen, with a feather. If
any lime has got entangled in the eyelashes, carefully
clear it away with a bit of soft linen soaked in vinegar
and water. Violent inflammation is sure to follow ; a
smart purge must be therefore administered.

To Cure a Whitlow.— As soon as the whitlow has
risen distinctly, a pretty large piece should be snipped
out, so that the watery matter may readily escape, and
continue to flow out as fast as produced. A bread and
water poultice should be put on for a few days, when
the wound should be bound up lightly with some mild
ointment, when a cure will be speedily completed.

To Assuage the Sting of a Bee.— Common whit-
ing is an effectual remedy against the effects of the
sting of a bee or wasp. The whiting must be moistened
with a little cold water and immediately applied ; it
may be washed off in a few minutes, when neither pain
nor swelling will ensue.

A Lotion for Weak Eyes.— Twenty drops of lau-
danum and five drops of brandy in a wineglass of water.
Apply three times a day as warm as the eye will bear it.

€tn\xt-€ahh (iosatp

ORNAMENTAL SHRUBBERY AND FRUIT-
TREES.

The best way to furnish a new residence with the
evergreens and fruit-trees is to plant them out as you
meet with them, in some unused or secluded nook of
the lawn or garden, ready for transplanting. We know
of a lady amateur gardener who has a most flourishing
nursery of her own planting, sufficient to stock a con-
templated residence with fruit and ornamental trees,
which will be of no expense to her. The evergreens
were the trophies of a mountain excursion, brought
home in a common travelling trunk from the Catskills.
The fruit-trees are seedlings planted from every fine
variety that appeared upon the table. Willow twigs,
young elms, and beeches from the roadsides, are fur-
nishing flourishing shade-trees. There are flower-
stacks for the less hardy fruits, and plenty of stout
sweetbriars, waiting only the process of budding or
grafting to be converted into costly standards. The
whole plantation takes but little room in one corner of
the vegetable garden, and requires no care.

When the time shall come to furnish the grounds of
the new residence, a choice selection is at hand, with
no long nurseryman's bill to counteract the pleasure of
planting the thrifty saplings, and every tree will have
its own particular reminiscence and value.

It is well to have such a nursery, even when set-
tled in an established country residence, to fill the
vacancies occasioned by old age, frost, or drought in the
shrubbery, or to have the pleasure of furnishing a friend
or a new neighbor. Rare varieties may thus be secured
at the cost of planting only, and, to any one really inte-
rested in horticulture, it furnishes abundant pastime.
We give, in conclusion, some directions for transplant-
ing trees, from a reliable authority.

Before you dig up the trees intended to be transplanted,
or before you unpack any you may have received, you
should fully prepare the holes to receive them. But if,
from any cause, delay is indispensably necessary for
preparing the holes, the trees should be well wet over
the roots and branches, and the roots then be well
covered in a trench, till you are ready to plant them.
It is of great benefit to puddle the roots of trees before
planting them, which operation should be performed
thus : Make a hole in the ground four feet in diameter,
and two and a half deep, and fill it with water ; then
pulverize equal quantities of rich mould and old decom-
posed manure, and throw in, and mix the whole well,
so as to form a thick puddle. At the time of planting,
place the roots of each tree in the puddle, give the tree
two or three turns until the puddle adheres to every
root, then proceed immediately to plant it, the holes
having been previously prepared as follows : Make the
holes full large in proportion to the size and spread of
the roots of the trees, so that they may be spread out,
and in no wise cramped. The usual diameter will be
three to four feet, and the depth two to three feet. In
removing the earth, place the surface soil aside by itself,
and cast away the poisonous bottom soil as useless.
Mix in with the surface soil about an equal portion of

rich mould, and of old well-rotted manure, in sufficient
quantity to replace the poisonous soil cast aside, and
then pulverize the whole. This done, then spread a
portion of the prepared compost at the bottom of the
hole, and, after having pared any bruised or broken
parts of the roots of the tree, place it in position, and at
a depth of one inch below that at which it had pre-
viously stood. Then, whilst one person holds the tree
erect, let another fill in the prepared compost till the
roots are covered, treading it down well ; then fill up
the remainder without treading, as the surface should
be loose in order to receive the rains. Make a slight
cavity around the tree for the same object, and to re-
ceive waterings. When thus planted, water the tree
plentifully, and do the same occasionally afterwards,
and especially if the weather should prove dry. Ever-
green trees are usually transplanted with balls of earth,
and therefore the puddling will be dispensed with, un-
less some of the roots should become bare.

COURT BOWS.

We give, in our selections of novelties in dress, two
styles of this favorite evening headdress. They are
made of very rich satin, taffeta, or gold or silver ribbon,
and worn very low at the back of the head. The hair
is divided as for the braids worn by school-girls, « la
Kenwig, and formed into a round Grecian circlet on
each side behind, and a little above the ear. The bow
conceals this parting, and the circle formed by the braid
is filled up by a corresponding lapel, the small bow
given in our cuts. As seen by the examples we have
selected, they are sometimes mixed with fine flowers or
full blown roses, corresponding with the trimming upon
the evening-dress.

For theatre and opera, many headdresses of velvet
are worn, with " torsades" of jet, coral, or even pearls
and diamonds. Long curls of lace mixed with flowers
is a lighter style, more becoming to many ladies. Others
more matronly still have assumed the old, but elegant
style of a half handkerchief of lace thrown over the
head, and crossing on the bosom, where it is fastened
by a brooch. The hair is displayed in puffs beneath the
lace with excellent effect.

Evening-dresses are now in demand, and are made
of more costly materials, if possible, than ever. A city
belle dressed for an evening party carries, literally,
" whole acres of charms." For instance, we find re-
ported in a leading journal a dress of light blue moire
antique, with three flounces of Honiton lace, which is
displayed to better advantage by a lining of blue crape.
The skirt is ornamented on each side by sprays of con-
volvulus, and mounted in combination with moss and
small silver flowers ; sprays to correspond are worn in
the hair. An opera cloak, ordered by the same lady, i?
of scarlet gros de Tours, an exceedingly rich fabric,
trimmed with gold ribbon.

A wedding-dress of white moire antique, the corsage
pointed in front and without a basque, is high, close,
and fastened to the throat by pearl buttons set in silver.
A collar of Honiton lace, fastened by a pearl brooch,

473

474

godey's magazine and lady's book.

finishes it. Another is of Brussels lace over white silk.
From the knee to the hem the skirt displays three
wreaths of oak-leaves. The corsage is also ornamented
with oak-leaves, and the sleeves are trimmed with the
same.

Mesdames Reckless and Gaubert are the appropriate
names of two fashionable milliners and mantuamakers.

NURSERY SONGS.

We are not of those who cry out against " Mother
Goose," and the pretty infantile jargon it is natural to
talk to the little people at our knee. But when twilight
comes, and the mother, full of tender and prayerful
thought, hushes her darling to rest, it seems to us a
more gentle lullaby is fitting to the hour and the mood.
There is scarcely a young mother of the present day
who does not remember being hushed by the " Cradle
Hymn," or who is not familiar with the beautiful song
of Mary Lundie Duncan —

" Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me ;
Bless thy little lamb to-night!"

Worthy to be remembered, and sung with these, are the
two gems of nursery song which follow. We find them
in the pages of « The School-fellow," where we always
are sure of meeting " things lovely and pure and of
good report." They are written by Mrs. Bradley, whom
we remember as a girlish contributor to the weeklies of
our city, and whose writings are now tersed by the gifts
and graces of early womanhood :—

THE BABY'S LULLABY.

Go to sleep, my little child;
Night-time cometh soft and mild ;
Flowers are folded up to rest,
Birds asleep in downy nest,
Only breezes wakeful keep,
To sing my little girl to sleep.

In my baby's thoughtful eyes,
Like a dream, the slumber lies ;
Let the white lids drooping low,
Softly, sleepily, and slow,
Shut the tender eyes within
As a rose is folded in.

Jesus, once an infant small,
Now the mighty Lord of all,
Spread the shadow of thy wing
O'er this helpless little thing !
Pure as child of earth can be,
Keep her always nearest Thee !

LITTLE ARTHUR'S EVENING SONG.

My little bed is fair and white,"

My pillows soft and pure,
And I can sleep here every night

Serenely and secure.
Oh, Jesus, sweet and holy child,

Whose infant head divine^
Lay on a couch of straw defiled,

So different from mine,
Look down from thy high dwelling-place,

And hear my evening song !
Its prayer, and thankfulness, and praise,

All unto thee belong.

I thank thee now for all thy care,

And pray that thou wilt give
To me a heart of praise and prayer

As long as I may live.
I want to be thine own dear child,

I want to be like thee,
Oh, make me holy, pure, and mild,

As lamb of thine must be !
And bless me till my life is past

With all the friends I love,
And take us up to Heaven at last

To dwell with thee above !

SELF-EDUCATION.— SECOND CHAT.

We promised in a recent article, which has been the
subject of much correspondence with our readers and
friends, to give some lists of books suitable for a tho-
rough course of study. Finding that this would occupy
too much time and space, we redeem our promise by
recommending to those who desired it, the most excel-
lent aid to self-education with which we are conversant
— "Pycroft's Course of English Reading." A
new edition of this valuable work, edited by Dr. Spencer,
has recently been published by Francis & Co., New
York. It is of English authorship, and Dr. Spencer, as
a recent critic expresses it, "sketches into Mr. Py-
croft's chart such great islands, continents, and home
worlds of American literature as the author had
ignored."

It will, of course, be impossible for any one person to
collect and master all the volumes cited, but they will
be able to make from it a copious and judicious selec-
tion. We will procure the book and forward by mail,
if desired, for any subscriber or correspondent, at the
publisher's charge. We should be happy to answer
more at length the various pleasant letters which this
subject has called forth, if time would allow. We can
have no greater pleasure than to aid by our knowledge
and experience any who are debarred from personal
advantages of education. No one therefore need apolo-
gize for addressing us on what they fear we would con-
sider trivial matters. Nothing is trivial that will add
to the happiness or comfort of any human being. Our
range in the " Centre- Table" is from "grave to gay,"
as our readers will remember at the institution of the
club ; and, though we like to answer its gayer members
by items of the doings in the gay world, it gives us still
more pleasure to be consulted as a willing friend by
those whose pursuits are of a more earnest nature.

We have been reminded that we promised in our
August number some hints on the training of those
whose only object is to make a useful and intelligent
home companion. This shall not be forgotten ; and we
have also in course of preparation some talks on the
formation of a good style in vocal and instrumental
music, which we hope will be acceptable.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

"Lizzie N."— An aquarium is a tank or basin filled
with sea water, in which are kept fish, sea-weeds, etc.,
for amusement, as we would cultivate any other pets.
If she desires it, we will give a more extended descrip-
tion in our January number.

" Mrs. L.," of The Elms.— There is a circular house,
built as an experiment by a gentleman of Sommerville,
Mass. He maintains that it is cheaj>er than the ordi-

FASHIONS.

475

nary square dwelling, at the same time it presents a
striking and ornamental appearance. The windows
are of four large panes of glass in a single sash, and
slide up into the wall, quite out of the way. The inner
blinds are disposed of in the same manner.

" Marie S." — Will not be able to find an illustrated
edition of " Tennyson's Poems," but one is looked for
the present season. Mrs. Opie's "Life" is announced
from the press of the Longmans. It will no doubt be
worthy of a place beside Elizabeth Fry and Mary Ware.

"A Young Housekeeper." — Woodcock may be
roasted or broiled, according to taste. If roasted, they
are trussed with the head under the wing ; they require
but very few minutes, and should be basted with butter
constantly, to have a fine rich flavor.

" Anne L. B." — We never saw any economy in hav-
ing good silks dyed when a family goes into mourning.
Dyed silks can always be detected, and are never really
nice. Half worn or glace silks may be colored to good
advantage, and used beneath bareges or tissues as an
under-skirt. Such laces or muslins as she desires to
keep should be laid away rough dry, or the stitch will
rot them. All wool mousscline-de-laines may be had at
60 and 56 cts. Mohairs and a variety of excellent
fabrics in silk and worsted range from 75 cts. to $1 50.

" Mrs. H." is right. All personal defects should be
held sacred; and, so far from indulging children in
ridicule or mockery, they should never be allowed to
comment upon them or allude to them unnecessarily.
No expression of displeasure seems too severe, when
the feelings of a natural sensitive nature are thus
jarred upon.

" Miss L.," of Wayne Co. — We recommend " Agatha
Beaufort," published by Stringer & Townsend, as a
romantic story, without the feverish tendencies of the
Radcliffian school, while retaining its machinery and
absorbing interest. " Weary foot Common," by Leitch
Ritchie, which requires no commendation from us, is
also published by them. " Our Honeymoon" is a very
clever jeu d'esprit, with a moral in its gayety, that we
can safely recommend. We can send her either or all
the books by mail.

" Minnie Lee."— Worsted lamp-mats in cross batch
are quite out of date. They are usually knit or cro-
cheted.

las I) tons.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase
of jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance,
the Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter
execute commissions for any who may desire it, with
the charge of a small percentage for the time and re-
search required. Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn
bonnets, dresses, jewelry, bridal cards, cake-boxes,
envelopes, etc. etc., will be chosen with a view to eco-
nomy, as well as taste; and boxes or packages for-
warded by express to any part of the country. For the
last, distinct directions must be given.

Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expendi-
ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., who
will be responsible for the amount, and the early execution
of commissions.

No order will be attended to unless the money is first
received.

Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompa-

nied by a note of the height, complexion, and general
style of the person, on which much depends in choice.
Dress goods from Levy's or Stewart's ; cloaks, mantil-
las, or talmas, from Brodie's, 51 Canal Street, New
York; bonnets from Miss Wharton's; jewelry from
Bailey's or Warden's, Philadelphia, or Tiffany's, New
York, if requested.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR
NOVEMBER.

Fig. 1st. — Evening-dress of rose-colored silk, one of
the most delicate shades for a blonde for evening dis-
play. The skirt is plain to the knee, where a reversed
puffing of crape the same shade commences, having a
light and at the same time rich effect. The upper part
of the skirt is covered by a flounce or tunic of lace,
blonde, guipure, Brussels, or any point that may suit
the fancy or the means of the wearer. The bodice is
pointed, plain, and low, being ornamented by a berthc
of lace to correspond with the tunic, and rosettes of
rose-colored ribbon. Loose sleeves also of lace. The
hair is arranged in the Marie Stuart style, with a head-
dress of blonde, softening the effect of a drooping spray
of blush roses and foliage. Altogether, we consider this
a most elegant costume, whether as a model throughout
or suggestive of graceful arrangement.

Fig. 2d. — Carriage or walking-dress, the skirt of blue
taffeta, in nine flounces, the upper one falling a little
below the basque. These flounces have a narrow bor-
dering of double fringe the same shade, and a black
velvet ribbon an inch in width, placed at an equal dis-
tance above. Close-fitting basque of black velvet,
fastened by small jet buttons from the throat to the fall
of lace which edges it. The sleeves have a puff at the
shoulder, terminating in a fall of lace like that on the
basque, and continued in a close sleeve to the wrist ;
this has an opening at the back of the arm, to show a
cambric undersleeve. Collar to correspond, of rich
cambric needle-work. Bonnet of blue satin and blonde,
with blush roses. In the street, a Duchess cloak is very
suitable with this costume.

DESCRIPTION OF FASHIONABLE BONNETS
AND CAPS.

FROM THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THOMAS WHITE & CO.

(See Cuts in front of Book.)

No. 1. — Fine Leghorn bonnet, trimmed with Marabout
feathers and dotted velvet ribbon.

No. 2. — Material white satin, covered with embroi-
dered crape, blonde quilling around face and crevn,
trimmed with velvet and crape leaves and grapes.

No. 3. — Plain frame, material black silk with velvet
Btripe, deep fall of blonde around the face ; trimming,
ostrich feathers.

No. 4.— Child's hat, material of blue velvet, trimming
ostrich feathers.

DESCRIPTIONS OF NEW CLOAKS.
(See Cuts in front of Book.)
We give in the present number some of the most elo-
gant cloaks of the season.

The Varna. — This extremely elegant mantle is
designed by the modiste of the London Mourning Ware-
house, Ludgate Hill.

The front is plain, slit up slightly at the side to afford
room for the arms, the opening being ornamented by a

476

godey's magazine and lady's book.

bow of the same silk, a rich black glad. It is trimmed
with rows of graduated velvet and broad Maltese lace,
edged with fringe.

The back is set in full plaits on a circular yoke, which
is trimmed with velvet to correspond with the mantle,
edged with deep sewing-silk fringe. As we have given
both views of the Varna, a more correct idea of its
style could scarcely be gathered from the garment itself.

The Modena is a comfortable wrap of cloth, the
very finest and richest grade, scarcely to be detected
from satin. The form is peculiar ; the back, being quite

plain behind, forms a yoke at the shoulder, into which
the remainder is gathered in easy fulness over the arm.
The trimming is a double row of broad tafteta galoon
with velvet edge ; a bow of the same marks the sleeve.
The galloon should exactly match the cloak, which
may be of any prevailing shade.

The Duchess. — This is a serviceable cloak, intended
for the coldest weather. The back has all the grace of
a Talma, while the sleeve and yoke combine to make a
novelty. It is of cloth, with broad stripes and slashes
of velvet a darker shade.

PEIGNOIR, OR MORNING-DRESS.

CONTRIBUTED BY MADAME DEMOREST.

We here give the design of this graceful negligee, from

the establishment of Madame Demorest, 375 Broadway,
whose opening of ladies' and children's patterns at-
tracted so much attention the past month. It consists
of a full skirt, fastened by loops and buttons across the

THE TOILET.

477

front, or it may be left open at pleasure, to display a
handsome embroidered skirt. The sacque or basque fits
closely at the shoulder, and is gathered about the waist
in an easy fulness, that can be arranged at pleasure by
the belt and buckle. It is finished by a scalloped
flounce to correspond with that on the sleeve, which
just falls to the wrist, and thus allows of an under-
sieeve, or obviates the necessity for one, at the pleasure
of 1 he wearer. If made of plain cashmere or moussclinc,
for winter wear, these flounces are scalloped in needle-
work, as is the bottom of the skirt, as also when of
cambric or lawn, for summer wear. If of silk, pinking
supersedes the necessity.

It may be as well to mention, in this connection, that
this establishment has introduced the new combinations
of pinking, as seen in the mantillas of Bell and many
other manufactures, most of which were done under the
direction of Madame Demorest. Since the removal to
her present place of business, the show-room of this
lady is one of the great attractions to those who come
from a distance to make their spring and fall purchases
in New York. Every article of ladies' attire, from a
plain under-garment to the most elaborate cloak, is to
be found here in its tissue-paper counterfeit, at a won-
derfully low price, and including every variety. The
facilities to nursery work afforded by such an establish-
ment are certainly to be classed among the modern
blessings to young mothers.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILA- \
DELPHIA FASHIONS FOR NOVEMBER.

Our plates and cuts of dresses, cloaks, embroideries,
caps, and capes are so numerous the present month,
and the descriptions are so full, that it seems scarcely
necessary to add anything more to our report of the
fashions. There are, however, a few items of interest
not included in these which we may as well jot down
for those just making up winter dresses.

There never has been a season when the trimmings
of dresses and cloaks were richer, more costly, or in
greater variety. At Peyser's, especially, the choice is
so great a3 almost to distract one, while at Morrison's
and Clerdin's you are sure of getting the very best
article of the kind. Among the greatest novelties we
notice the plush ribbons or galloons, which come in all
widths, from one and a half to the hitherto unthought
of excess of eight inches. The last can only be used on
cloaks and flounces, at the moderate price of three dol-
lars a yard ! as much as many highly respectable and
well-dressed ladies ever give for their best winter silk.
In a dress of the present autumn, made in Paris, we
notice a galloon of this kind almost covering the three
tolerably broad flounces of the skirt. The dress itself
was of rich black taffeta, the ribbon checked or quad-
rilled in blocks of two shades of green, pale yellow,
and black ; that on the sleeves and corsage, though ex-
actly matching it, the effect is checks and bars of velvet
much thicker and richer than usual ; sometimes these
bars and stripes occur on a ground of thick plain taffeta.
Galloons are also of velvet, embossed or plain, velvet
leaves, vines, or foliage a shade darker than the ribbon
itself; these are, of course, also very costly, from fifty
cents to a dollar and a half a yard. Plainer ribbons of
every variety are much in use, all the wider numbers
having narrower ones to correspond. Some are intended
to draw by a cord in the edge into quillings, box-plait-
ings, and the like, as the gauze ribbons described last

summer. There are also trimmings described best as
half galloons or ribbons, tiie other edge being a fringe of
an inch or so in width formed by the warp. There are,
besides these costly decorations, the usual varieties of
narrow gimps, braids, and headings.

The shawl and cloak-room of Stewart's are now
united, the mourning department having been trans-
ferred to the wing formerly occupied by the shawls.
We only wonder that this was not done long before,
it is so obvious an improvement. Among the piles of
wraps on shelves and counters, there is every variety
of shawl and scarf that can be imagined, from the
costly India to the unpretending Highland plaid. Many
of the last are exquisitely fine and soft in texture, and
rich or elegant in coloring. They are worn as much as
ever by fashionable women for morning or travelling
wraps, and by plainer people on all occasions. A fine,
delicately colored plaid woollen shawl is often more
ladylike than a gaudy broche or imitation cashmere at
the same price. Very pretty square broches, plain
grounds, with rich colored borders, may be had from
$10 to $25. Square shawls from $15 to $50, and even
higher. Black Thibet mourning shawls have, in some
cases, a gray and lavender woven border, giving a quiet
and pretty relief. Scarfs of this style are very popular.

The display of all wool cashmeres, mousselines, and
merinos, at Levy's, Stewart's, and Beck's, are, if possi-
ble, more various, rich, and dazzling in every shade of
color than usual. We shall speak of them more par-
ticularly in our next month's article. Fashion.

ffilje ffioilet.

Essence and Oil of Jasmine. — Soak two ounces of
the fresh jasmine flowers in olive oil, so that they are
just covered with the oil. Let them thus remain for
three or four days, and then strain.

Jasmine Haik Powder. — There is little or no true
jasmine hair powder; that so called is starch finely
powdered, and scented with orange-flower water.

Jasmine Pomatum.— Lard one pound, suet four
ounces, jasmine water one pint, essence of jasmine one
ounce. Mix.

Jasmine Water.— Take twelve ounces of white
jasmine flowers, essence of bergamot eight drops, spirits
of wine one gallon, water two quarts. Digest for two
days in a close vessel ; then draw off by distillation one
gallon, and sweeten with loaf-sugar.

Jasmine Water.— Take six pounds of the white
sweet almond cakes, from which jasmine oil has been
made abroad ; beat and sift them to a fine powder, and
put to it as much fresh oil of jasmine as will be required
to make it into a stiff paste. Let this paste be dissolved
in about six quarts of spring water, which has been
previously well boiled, and left until it has become about
half cold. Stir and mix the whole well together ; and
when the oil and water have been well combined, let the
whole stand until the powder has fallen to the bottom
of the vessel. Now pour the liquid off gently, and filter
it through cotton, in a large tin funnel, into the glass
bottle in which it is to be kept for use.

To Sweeten the Breath. — Roll up a little ball of
gum tragacanth, scent it with some oderiferoua essence
or oil, and hold it in the mouth. A little musk may be
added to the ball while rolling up, where that perfume
is not disagreeable.

NOTICES BY THE PR^^^S LADY'S BOOK,

The Lady's Book is generally admitted to be the best work of the kind published in this country,
and the new number promises a true fund of amusement to the fair reader. We refer to the advertise-
ment to show how varied and rich are the attractions contained in this book, and the annual subscrip-
tion is only $3. — Charleston (S. C.) Mercury.

"The last number is, of course, better than the ladies bargained for, for the veteran Godey not only
does not do things miserly, but always gives more than he promises. This is perhaps the great reason
of his success and popularity. We have seen January numbers of magazines that were really magnifi-
cenl ; hut, by December, their attractions have 'grown small by degrees and beautifully less.' Godey's
practice is the reverse of this. Excelsior ! is his motto, and nobly docs he work up to it. Without
saving more, we simply suggest that now is the time to form clubs for next year."

It is a fact that L. A. Godey is one of the most generous, whole-souled fellows in the world, and his
"Book" is a type of his character. There are numbers of periodicals boasting of their bulk that are
comparatively worthless, being a reprint of some foreign work, with the addition of some stories that
are not worth reading. The " Lady's Book," on the contrary, is a " live" periodical, its contents
original and useful. — Auburn Gazette.

Godey's Lady's Book. — To say anything as to the merits of this publication is superfluous, as
they are universally known. For the benefit of our fair readers, however, we would say that it is now
generally admitted that it contains more information than any work of a similar nature, and that hun-
dreds of dollars have been saved to families who are in the habit of taking it; indeed, one gentleman
casually told us, a few days since, that he had been subscribing to it for some years, and that his family
should not be without it were the subscription price $30, instead of only $3 per annum. — Courier,
Charleston, S. C.

Godey's Lady's Book. — We deferred our usual notice of this work, on its receipt, for the purpose
of giving it something more than ordinary stereotyped commendatory notice. Our readers are no doubt
aware of its very high reputation, both in an artistic and literary point of view; but very few have
probably ever stopped to consider of how much intrinsic value such a work would be to them. Now,
•we have no hesitation in saying that any young lady desirous of improving her mind, manners, or
mechanical accomplishments would find the Lady's Book worth more, in dollars and cents, than any
other dozen publications to be had. To the farmers and mechanics about to build a house even, we
would venture the assertion that more information may be obtained concerning the erection of a tasteful
and elegant residence from " Godey's Model Cottages," than could be purchased from our architects for
$100. Ladies and families can make it available, too, in its aid to tasteful needlework, fashionable
patterns of cloaks, capes, caps, &c. &c, and save themselves an outlay of many dollars.

This is an age of motion and money, and we have taken the dollar view of the work, which, to an
educated and refined mind acquainted with its merits, must be deemed an infinitely inferior considera-
tion to its healthful and elevating moral tendency. We give these voluntary expressions of opinion,
hoping that every reader of the " Gazette" will avail themselves of the benefits derivable from a work
of its really superior character, and not from motives of friendship to the publisher, although we can-
not help but esteem and respect, personally, any man who can issue such a book. Be sure to subscribe
for Godey, if you want to get the worth of your money. — Norwalk Gazette.

Godey's Lady's Book for January is a superb work, being, indeed, a fine specimen of what a
periodical of the kind ought to be. Its pages are filled with a variety of matter, in which the fanciful
and the practical are so judiciously associated as to please every diversity of taste, and afford abundant
material for both amusement and instruction. The literary contributions, which are furnished by many
approved writers for the magazines, possess great merit, while the editorial department is well supplied
with paragraphs sparkling with humorous spirit, and full of intelligent observation upon the current
affairs of the day. The embellishments are more than usually creditable in design and execution. —
Philadelphia North American.

The colored fashion plates excel any that have ever appeared before the public, in beauty, accuracy,
and expression. — Ind. Dem. Messenger.

The Lady's Book. — This is one of the best numbers of Godey that we have seen. It is excellent
in every department. We are really surprised at the remarkable combination of the useful, the beauti-
ful, and the entertaining that it exhibits. As a lady's magazine, it stands alone, occupying the field so
entire, that scarcely any room is left for competition. — Arthur's Home Gazette.

Those who have not yet enrolled themselves among the subscribers to the Lady's Book, and thus
done something towards sustaining one of the most useful works of the day, and one which has, in fact,
become the great national work of our country, will find this an excellent time to make a commence-
ment. In a literary point of view, the Lady's Book occupies the same high position which it does in
the field of art. Its one hundred pages of reading matter are furnished monthly by the most talented
and accomplished pens in our country. Surely, the smiles of the public must attend such deserving
efforts. — Rockland Co. Journal.

Godey's Lady's Book has arrived. It is one of the most agreeable visitors that has ever entered
our sanctum. In the language of a contemporary journalist, " This is the Lady's Book par excellence,
and should occupy a place on every centre-table." We admire this work for the plain and simple rea-
son that, like refined, polished, and virtuous female society, it powerfully tends to improve the
manners and amend the heart. Perpetual success to Godey and all his contemporaries, wTho strive to
emulate his laudable example ! — Litchfield Republican.

"The 'Lady's Book' is a periodical literary treasure to the fair sex of America. Every lady
should be a subscriber — every citizen should see that it graces the table of his wife or daughter. It is a
fountain of unexecptionably pure and instructive literature, and an unfailing source of the purest intel-
lectual enjoyment. Godey adopts for his motto, ' EXCELSIOR !' — more elevated — and his unrivalled
enterprise is vindicating its propriety." — Easton Clarion.

Decidedly the best Lady's Magazine in the Union. This is our honest opinion about Godey's
Lady's Book. — Claiborn Southerner.
478

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THE CRIMEA.

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

articles of costume.]

From among- the many tempting novelties which demand our admiration we select, for its bewitching
beauty, the present style for delineation, from Brodie's magnificent assortment. It is drawn from an exceed-
ingly rich-toned green satin, although we observed others, fashioned in the same style, in Ma-/.arine and
Napoleon blues, browns, &c, and equally beautiful— the trimming being a charming novelty of raised black
velvet figures upon a satin ground ribbon, similar in color to the cloak. A cape eighteen inches deep extends
to the shoulder-seams, fairly rounding over them; from thence it sweeps with a bold spring decidedly in front
of the arms, rounding from the bottom upwards so as to quite free it from being folded inwards when the arm
is raised across the chest. Attached to this cape is the skirt, which falls below it fourteen inches in depth.
and is plaited in ample box-plaits, the back reaching round so as to fall over the arms when raised, as above,
about four inches in advance of its inside curve. The points fall smoothly from the neck, terminating in an
easy alTiiough slignt fulness at their lower portion. The trimming is arranged as pictured, mruds of the velvet
ribbon heading the streamers which, in addition to the velvet curves, adorn the cape. It is lined with quilted
black taifetas in beautiful needlework.
4S4

SHOES FOE LADIES AND CHILDREN

DRAWN FROM ARTICLES SELECTED FROM THE ESTABLISHMENT OF E. A. BROOKS, 675
BROADWAY, AND 150 FULTON STREET, NEW YORK, EXPRESSLY FOR OUR PAGES.

BOUDOIR SLIPPERS.

The inimitable articles which we have pictured are so love'y, comfortable, and becoming, that we almost
hesitate to offer them to our readers, lest many, whose distant or Inaccessible residences may render their
procurement impossible, will sigh for them. Designed expressly for the boudoir, they are constructed of
delicately tinted silks or satins — the particular ones here delineated being respectively a rose-hued satin and
pea-green silk of the richest description. They are ornamented with rosettes and that loveliest of all trim-
mings, the snowlike swan's-down, or equally pure ermine, which is set off by the needleworked lining, which,
like the outside, is of taffeta, and also quilted in exquisite workmanship. The inside soles are cushioned, so
that the fair wearer may as softly tread as we would have each footstep of a beloved friend — and we mean
each and all of our subscribers by that word — through this not-carpeted-with-velvet world.

THE MONTEREY, FOR BOYS.

As, nowever, we always desire to accompany the doicc with the utile, we will also call attention to a pair
of youth's shoes, which, in addition to the novelty of the style, posse-'s the advantage of convenience, as well
as being truly handsome. The fact of their being confined by the braid passing through but one hole, will
recommend them to impatient boys, whilst the rich bronze of the quarters affords a beautiful contrast to the
dressy jettiness of the patent leather vamps.

INITIALS

485

OPERA CLOAK

THE PURITAN

487

BEODERIE ANGLAISE.

CODEY'S

]LABX'

PHILADELPHIA, DECEMBER, 1854,

EVERYDAY ACTUALITIES.— NO. XXYI,

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER
BY C. T. HINCKLEY.

Fig. 1.— PUNCHING BLANKS.

THE MANUFACTURE OF BUTTONS.

The button is an article of utility, the manu-
facture of which includes many curious and
interesting processes. These vary greatly, ac-
cording to the multiform materials used in but-
ton-making— namely, metal, horn, shell, glass,
wire, mother-of-pearl, jet, precious stones, linen,
velvet, satin, Florentine, and embroidered stuff
of all kinds.

The gilt button manufacture will be the first
we shall notice. Sheet-copper, with a small
alloy of zinc, is the material employed. This is
furnished to the button-maker in strips of the
exact thickness to suit his purpose. A corner
of one of these strips is placed upon a circular
die or bed in a fly-press, and when the handle
of the press is pulled forward, a circular cutter

or punch descends, and punches out a round
disk of the copper, technically called a blank.
This being removed, the strip of copper is shifted,
and another blank cut out ; and so, with great
rapidity, and by female hands, this process is
repeated, at the rate of about thirty blanks per
minute, or twelve gross in an hour. Numerous
and various fly-presses are at work at the same
time, with one female to each ; therefore, the
total number of blanks produced in an hour is
very large. This first process for gilt buttons is
also common to the other varieties.

But besides the common gilt button, which is
flat on both sides, there is the convex button,
such as is worn by pages. To produce (his, the
blanks are placed one by one in a fly-press.
having a concave mould and a convex punch,
which, being brought down upon the soft metal,

4S9

490

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

forces it into the bed, and gives it the required
shape. This is also the business of women, and
is performed with skill and celerity. But there
are other buttons in which the convex front is
closed in behind with another piece of metal,
also convex on the outer surface, but less so than
the front. These are called shell buttons. The
two pieces or blanks are made separately, and
brought together afterwards by the action of a
die and punch, whereby the edge of the shell is
bent over and lapped neatly down upon the bot-
tom without any soldering. Metal braco-but-
tons, and others which have holes through them
instead of a shank, are made first by stamping
out the blanks, then making them a little con-
cave in the middle with a punch at a fly-press,
next piercing the holes with a punch, and then
rubbing down their edges with a blunt steel tool,
to prevent them from cutting the thread. To
return to the simple blank : when it is cut,
the edges are exceedingly sharp, and require to
be smoothed and rounded. For this purpose,
they are rolled between two parallel grooved
pieces of steel, Fig. 2, about eighteen inches

Fig. 2.

long, one movable, the other fixed. In each
grooved piece is a semicircular opening, which,
by corresponding once during each revolution
of the handle, allows a blank to be dropped into
the grooves, and this blank, revolving as it pro-
ceeds between two pieces of steel, reaches a hole
at a, and drops through into a basket beneath.
This operation is carried on rapidly by a boy,
who places the blanks in the cavity with one
hand, while he turns the handle with the other.
The blanks are now ready to be planished on
the face, and this is done by placing them one
by one in a die under a small stamp, and allow-
ing them to receive a smart blow from the falling
of a polished steel hammer. In this state they
arc ready to receive the shanks, or little metal
loops, by which they are attached to the dress.

The manufacture of button-shanks is a dis-
tinct branch of trade. They are made of brass
wire, and vary in weight from eight to forty
gross in the pound. A coil of wire is placed in
a machine, which gradually advances one end
of the wire to a pair of shears-, where short pieces
are successively cut olF. A metal finger then

presses against the middle of each short piece,
bending it, and at the same time forcing it
between the jaws of a vice,, which compress it,
so as to form an eye : a small hammer then
strikes the two ends, spreading them out into a
flat surface, when the shank is pushed out of
the machine as ready for use. Millions of
shanks are made in this way in the course of a
year. The office of attaching them to the blanks
is assigned to women, who, while seated at a
bench, adjust them in their proper position by
means of a small spring clasp of iron wire,
shaped like sugar-tongs, one limb of which rests
on the top of the shank, the other on the face
of the button. A little solder and resin arc at
the same time applied to the spot where the two
are in contact, and this, when the buttons are
afterwards placed by hundreds on iron plates in
an oven, melts, and combines the two, causing
them, on cooling, to be firmly united together.
The button is now complete as to outward form,
unless it has to be decorated with a crest or
inscription : in which case a die containing the
device reversed is attached with its face down-
wards to a heavy weight or monkey, moving
between two upright posts, and suspended by a
cord passing over a pulley, and ending in a
stirrup-iron, into which the workman inserts
his foot. On the solid bench beneath this
monkey another die is firmly fixed, containing
the maker's name reversed, and a hole for the

Fig-. 3. — THE STAMPING PRESS.

shank. When the shank is inserted in this
hole, the face of the button is exposed upwards,
and is ready to receive the impression from
above. This is given by the workman with-
drawing his foot from the stirrup, which lets the

THE MANUFACTURE OF BUTTONS.

491

-weight descend with great force, and thus stamps
the device in relief on the face of the button,
while at the same time the maker's name is
stamped on the back. The workman then presses
on the stirrup, thus raising the weight, and
quickly removes the stamped button, and with
the other hand puts a plain one in its place.

The succeeding processes are ornamental, for
at this stage the buttons, though perfect in
shape, are exceedingly dull and ill-looking.
They are first cleansed, by being stirred up in a
weak solution of nitric acid ; then taken out,
and after draining a while in a perforated earthen
dish, dipped into a stronger acid solution ; then
washed and dried. They are now ready either
to be silvered or gilded, as the case may be. For
the former, they are put into an earthen vessel,
containing a mixture of silver, common salt,
cream of tartar, and some other ingredients, and
well stirred up for a minute or two. This gives
them a silvery white surface. For the latter,
much greater care is required, in order to econo-
mize the gold. In some cases, the gilding is
only to be applied to the face of the button,
which is then called a top; in others, to the
whole surface, making what is called an all-
over. For the latter purpose, the buttons are
first pickled in dilute sulphuric acid, and then
immersed in a solution of nitrate of mercury,
called quick water, which leaves a thin film of
mercury over their whole surface. If tops are
to be made, the buttons are not immersed, but
arranged on a board (in which there are holes
for the shanks), and brushed over their faces
with the liquid. Owing to the astonishing
divisibility of gold, five grains arc sufficient to
gild 144 one-inch buttons, and sometimes two-
and-a-half grains arc made to serve the purpose.
A few grains of gold-leaf, dissolved in about ten
times its weight of mercury, is the amalgam used
in gilding. It is gently heated in an iron ladle,
and stirred with an iron rod ; then poured into
cold water, and finally strained through wash-
leather, to remove the superfluous mercury.
The mass left in the leather is in a semi-fluid
state : this is dissolved in dilute nitric acid, and
the buttons stirred about in the solution, for all-
overs, or merely brushed on the face, for tops.
The buttons do not at this period present the
slightest appearance of gold : they are of a dull
silvery color, due to the excess of mercury which
ha,s dissolved the gold. The next process, there-
fore, is to drive off all the mercury by heat, and
so allow the gold to become visible. This was
formerly done at great loss, both of the material
and of the health of the work-people, over an
open fire, but is now managed by placing the

buttons in a wire-cage, within a furnace, con-
structed to preserve and condense the fumes of
the mercury, by allowing of their escape into a
vessel containing water, instead of being diffused
through the room and poisoning the work-peo-
ple. Under the present arrangement, a woman
can sit without danger and turn the handle of
the cage, thus exposing all the buttons in suc-
cession to the action of the fire. From this pro-
cess, which is called drying-off, the buttons cer-
tainly come forth of a gold color, but it is still
of a dull and unpleasing hue. To give the

irMAtfi f

Fig. 4. — DRYING-OFF.

requisite polish which is characteristic of a new
gilt button, they are now removed to the lathe,
and carefully burnished with bloodstone, which
completes the process.

The gilt-button manufacture has suffered
greatly on account of the prevalence of other
fashions in this article. The Florentine and the
silk button have nearly superseded it, and these
have been carefully improved from time to time,
and made the subject of various patents. In
one of those, the fabric for covering the buttons
is expressly woven for the purpose, and contains
patterns and ornamental designs placed at suit-
able distances for cutting up into circular pieces
for covering buttons. The ground may be of
satin, satinet, twill, &c, with an ornamental
central figure of any fibre. The parts of a Flo-
rentine button are numerous, and the manufac-
ture is very ingenious. All the different ports
arc cut out at a fly-press : they are, fust, a metal
shell, of which a front and side view are shown in
Fig. 5, No. 1 ; secondly, a metal collet, with an

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

oblong hole for the shank of the button (No. 2) ;
thirdly, a circular piece of silk or other woven
material (No. 3) ; fourthly, the padding, which lies

Fig. 5.

under the collet, and which has a thread wound
round it, at right angles to the oblong hole of the
collet (No. 4). This padding is made up of seve-
ral layers of soft paper, and a layer of silk over
them, the whole forming tho back of the button.
After all the pieces are cut out, the circular
piece of silk (3) is first placed on the face of tho
die or mould (shown in section at No. 5) ; the
metal shell (1) is then placed on the silk cover-
ing, and the two together aro pressed down to
the bottom of the die by means of a punch,
which nearly fits the hollow of the die. This
punch is then removed, and a hollow tool (6)
forced into the die, by which the edges of the
silk are forced toward the centre, thus overlap-
ping the shell. The collet (2) with the padding
(4) is then dropped into the mould through a
hollow tool (7), the collet being uppermost. A
punch is then pressed down within the hollow
tuoi, forcing the padding and the edges of the
outer covering of the button into the shell, which
retains them with sufficient firmness until tho.
button undergoes its final pressure. The button,
thus far advanced, is removed from the die by a
wire passod up through a channel made for the
purpose. The final pressure is given by a punch
with a plain face, the workman holding a piece
of tissue-paper between the punch and the faco
of the button, to prevent injury to the latter.
In this kind of button there is no projecting

shank, but a flexible one through which the
needle can bo easily passed. By a recent im-
provement, this final pressure is given by the
punch and die which are employed in covering
the front shell, and bringing the parts of a but-
ton together. This is not an unimportant cir-
cumstance, though it may seem a trivial one;
for, by lessening the number of processes which
an article of manufacture has to go through, the
cost is lessened also, and the patentee has the
preference in the market, and a decided advan-
tage over his fellow manufacturers.

COCK-CROWING AT CHRISTMAS EVE.

It was formerly a belief that cocks crowed all
Christmas eve, which doubtless originated from
the circumstance that the weather is then usually
cloudy and dark, and cocks, during such weather,
often crow nearly all day and all night. Shak-
speare alludes to this superstition in Hamlet: —

" Some say that ever 'gainst that hallowed season,
At which our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The Bird of Dawning crowelh all night long-.
The nights are wholesome, and no mildew falls;
No planet strikes, nor spirits walk abroad ;
No fairy takes nor witch hath power to charm,
So gracious and so hallowed is the time."

The ancient Christians divided the night into
four watches, called the evening, midnight, and
two morning eock-crowings. Their connection
with the belief in walking spirits will be remem-
bered : —

" The cock crows, and the morn grows on,
When 'tis decreed I must begone." — Butler.

-" The tale

Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly,
That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand
O'er some new-opened grave ; and strange to tell,
Evanishes at crowing of the c-oek." — Blair.

Who can ever forget the night-watches pro-
claimed by the cock in that scene in Comvs,
where the two brothers, in search of their sister,
aro benighted in a forest ?

Might we but hear

The folded flocks, penned in their wattled cotes,
Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops,
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cook
Count the night watches to his feathery dames,
'Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering,
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs."

Dr. Forster observes : " There is this remark -
ablo circumstance about the crowing of cocks —
they seem to keep night-watches, or to have
general crowing-matches, at cortain periods — as,
soon after twelve, at two, and again at day-
break."

THE MOTHER'S FAITH.

BY ALICE B. SEAL,

" Being dead, yet speaketh."

" Why, you have not tasted your luncheon,
Miss Hope !"

" No, Margery ; I do not care about any,"
the young lady said, listlessly.

" But I made that cocoa-nut pudding myself,
on purpose to tempt you," said the discomforted
housekeeper; "knowing how fond you used to
be of them when you was a little thing, and
how poorly you 've been of late. You used to
come and coax me of a baking- day for one —
don't you remember? — and you not higher than
the moulding-board. It must be dyspepsia, Miss
Hope."

Her young mistress turned from the fire impa-
tiently. Her hair was half unbraided, as if she
had commenced her afternoon toilet, and hung
heavily around her face and throat, giving her
unusually large eyes a wild, troubled expression.

"I'm quite well, perfectly well, Margery;
only I do not choose any luncheon."

" That 's more like master than her blessed
mother," grumbled the old family servant.
" And that 's, for all the world, the way he used
to sit and glower over the library fire after she
died, and start just so, as if we wanted to worry
him, when a body went in to see after the coals
or snuff a candle. And this nice pudding not so
much as looked at ! and my very best orange
marmalade, too ! Well, I can't say, but I do
think Dr. Coleman ought to be called in to look
after her."

So Mrs. Margery began to pick her way down
the stairs, for her eyes were by no means so
good as when she first took charge of Mr. Cal-
vert's household ; and in her own room the
only child of the mansion — Hopo she was called
— began to pace the floor as one whoso mind
was full of some great unrest. She had been
sitting, all the short autumn afternoon, " glow-
ering," as her old nurse said, over the wood fire
of her own room. It. was tastefully furnished,
though neither the room nor its upholstery was
modern. The Turkey carpet and dark heavily
carved chairs belonged to a less glaring style
than that which now fills our houses with
tawdry decorations, and the one large window
had a curtain of crimson damask, relieved by a
vol. xlix. — 42

more recent drapery of lace. There were books,
choice editions in rich bindings, and a cabinet
piano; a lounge with its carelessly tied port-
folio of prints and drawings, but no pictures on
the walls save one, towards which the young-
girl did not even glance. It seemed almost as
if she studiously avoided it ; but, as she paced
to and fro, the large thoughtful eyes, like her
own, but with a more peaceful expression, fol-
lowed her everywhere. The face was very
lovely, but delicate, too much so for health, and
the lady c6uld scarcely have been older than
Hope herself; but she had known a different
inner life, which had fixed the signet of gentle
dignity and peace upon the low white forehead
and crimson lips.

The shadows gathered deeper in the room,
and in the young girl's heart, as she came back
to her low seat before the fire, and stirred the
dying embers to a quick red blaze.

"Oh, I cannot!" she said, aloud, as if bat-
tling with some half-formed resolution ; and
then again, " I must !" broke forth as impul-
sively.

The room was silent again ; you could hear
the small Geneva watch tick from its stand on
the dressing-table, as the struggle went on in
her heart whether she should leave this home
of wealth and indulgence, forsaking her father
in his loneliness, or, by renouncing that night's
engagement, place a barrier between herself
and one who had called out all the romance
and passion of her life.

The loud peal of the second dressing-bell rang
in the hall below; for, in Mr. Calvert's man-
sion, the old-fashioned courtesies of the house-
hold were paid and exacted as rigorously, though
the father and daughter were alone, as when
years before the great drawing-room had been
filled nightly with guests. Many years had
gone by since then. Hope had led a most se-
cluded life for the heiress of great wealth and
an old name. She could scaroely remember the
covers removed from the furniture and pictures
except for the annual household cleaning, and all
she knew of the life of society and the world
was the occasional visit to a gay relative, which
made the old house seem doubly gloomy by
contrast.

493

49±

godey's magazine and lady's book.

She never had dared to ask her lover, who
had become to her unpractised judgment the
embodiment of all manly grace and elegance, to
enter the house. They had mot first at her
cousin's bridal festivities, and since then when-
ever it was possible, until the tacit understand-
ing had ended in stolen appointments, and at
last in the half reluctant consent to a private
marriage, wrung from her when the agony of a
sudden separation was forced upon her. She
did not stop to think then that the honor of a
soldier was compromised by such a proposition,
even though his despair, when summoned to a
distant part, might have prompted it, or of the
selfishness it involved towards her father as
well as herself, reared as she had been in luxury,
and so unfit for the hardships of a frontier life.
But she loved him madly, and separation would
be a living death, she thought ; so the promise
was given.

It may be that the gay officer did not count
on a long trial of her faith, and reasoned that,
when the father found the sudden bereavement
insupportable, he would recall them both to the
ease and plenty his fortune would command.
Young and wholly inexperienced, Hope thought
of-none of these things in her mental combat,
only that she must decide from between the
two.

Her father's manner towards her had always
been constrained, she thought it cold at times,
but that was when she had been listening to the
impassioned words of her lover, and recalled
them all with thrilling pulse as she sat in the
library, where her father leaned for hours over
his favorite treatises on the vexed economy of
nations, or wrote rapidly without looking up,
while his daughter's unbroken reveries satisfied
him that she was contented in the quiet that he
loved.

" He does not care about me ; all would go on
just the same if I was not here. Margery is
more essential to him," she said bitterly to her-
self, as she made her hurried preparations in the
gloom of twilight. She would not ring for can-
dles, but groped impatiently in her drawers for
what she needed, and wound her long hair into
a graceful knot, without so much as a glance at
the mirror.

She met her father in the same mood, her
heart steeled against him, and more than ever
confirmed in the rash promise she had made.

Mr. Calvert was already in the dining-room,
the most cheerful apartment in the house, ex-
cept her own, for it was under Mrs. Margery's
immediate superintendence, and now with the
ruddy light of fire and chandelier streaming

upon the snowy linen and glistening silver of
the table, it had a comfortable and thoroughly
homelike air.

Hope noticed it, coming from her own dark
room. The light made«her shade her eyes for a
moment, and, as she did so, Mr. Calvert came
forward and looked earnestly into her face.
Conscious of all that was in her heart, Hope's
forehead flushed crimson at that searching look;
but her father had not even guessed her secret,
much less fathomed it, for his manner towards
her was more than usually thoughtful, almost
affectionate. The daughter's heart- smote her
with a sense of ingratitude towards him, as she
looked into his careworn face, old even for his
years, and remembered, what Margery had often
told her, that his hair had grown gray in the
short interval between her mother's death and
funeral.

But she was not prepared for the abruptness
with which he set down his untasted wine and
came to her side, after the servants had left the
room, bending her head back to his breast as
she sat, and looking down into her eyes with
almost a mother's tenderness as he pushed the
hair from her forehead. Her lonely girlhood
had never known such a caress before, and she
seemed to feel, yearning as she did for love, that
there was an affection far deeper and stronger
than the wild fervor of a lover's passionate fond-
ness. Her eyes closed and filled with tears, as
her head lay there passively for a moment, and
then Mr. Calvert kissed her lips, trembling with
the new feeling he had called up. An instant
longer, and she would have told him all ; but he
moved away again towards the fire, and, leaning
his arm upon the mantle, called her to him.

"So this is your seventeenth birthday, my
daughter."

Hope started from his side. Her mind had
been so full of other thoughts that she had for-
gotten it till now.

" Seventeen years," Mr. Calvert said, slowly ;
u yet I can remember every stroke of the ^lock
that long, miserable night. I walked this room
listening and praying, and dreaming of future
happiness, until they called me to her death-
bed. Oh, my daughter !" And the stern,
reserved man groaned with the remembered
anguish.

Hope could not have spoken then; the thick
beating of her heart seemed choking her.

"I am afraid I have been unjust to you, my
poor motherless child. I had forgotten you
were growing to bo a woman in the shadow of
this old silent home and my gray bead. She
named you Hope to comfort me ; but I could

THE MOTHER S FAITH.

495

find neither hope nor comfort when she was
gone. You are so like her to-night — so like
her ! God, forgive me !"

And the daughter whose life had cost so much,
and who had so nearly forsaken him, could only
press her lips to his hand, not daring to look up
into that troubled face.

"When you were a little child,. Hope, you
came to me one day, and begged to look into the
little drawer of the cabinet. I sent you away
then ; but this is what it held in trust for you.
You will wear the jewels when the time shall
come ; I can bear to see them now. But read
the letter to-night before you come to me in the
library."

Still, without speaking, Hope held out her
hand for the packet, and went to the solitude
of her own room to read a dying mother's mes-
sage. So strange it seemed, the mother she had
never known, who had died in giving her birth,
yet speaking through the lapse of years and the
silence of the tomb.

" My child — my daughter ; for I feel that a
daughter will be given to me — I am writing, it
may be, all you will ever know of a mother's
counsel. There is a shadow hanging over me,
a mist, for it is not as heavy as a cloud upon my
spirits, but rather like the golden mist through
which we see the sunshine still. Sometimes, as
I sit here and dream of your sweet baby face
and clasping hands, and fancy I can press your
velvet cheek to mine, and I think of all you
might be to me, the friend and companion, as
you grew up to womanhood, pure and good,
then I long to live and watch over you, and
know you, my darling. But I know this cannot
be ; and there is a keener agony comes with the
thought, the blind fondness of my husband,
your father, my child, that refuses to think of
such a future. It will be a terrible blow, and I
know how he will shut his heart against all
comforting, unless it is yours, my precious
Hope ! They must call you Hope, for his sake,
and you will twine your soft arms around his
neck and nestle in his bosom, an unconscious,
blessed babe. I shall see you both, and love
you doubly for your ministry to him.

" He has been so cold and so reserved towards
all but me, so distrustful of every other love,
that I know this will be so. Even if he should
seem so to you, do not doubt him, do not love
him less. If you knew the story of his early
manhood, and could feel as I do what he will
suffer now, you could not blame him if he
should turn from you at first, as constantly re-
minding him of his loss. Forgive him, dear
child, for this loving injustice; win him to

you and back to the world and its social charac-
ters. You will be a woman when you read
this, and perhaps will have loved ; tfien you can
pardon him, and the sympathy will draw you
closer.

" You have a perilous way before you, blessed
one, a motherless girl, without the guidance or
sympathy which only a mother can give. Did
I not trust my God and his many, many pro-
mises, I should pray to take you with me. But
He can teach you, and lead 3rou far better than
I could do, and preserve you through dangers
that I do not even dread for you. I commend
you to Him, and to the lonely heart I leave
behind. Where human love will not suffice,
His care be ever over you. But oh, my daugh-
ter, as you value a dying mother's blessing, be
true to the trust that I leave with it — your
father and his happiness. You will stand to
him in my stead, and he will love you and
cherish you if you never deceive him. He has
been wronged and betrayed, but he never must
suffer through my child. He may shut up his
heart from you, but love him and trust him still ;
give him your confidence, it will win his, and,
when you come fully to know each other, he
will be no longer alone.

" Never leave him. No one would be worthy
your love who could tempt you to forsake his
old age, knowing the story of his bereavement ;
his home and heart will be large enough for all
you can bring to it. You cannot understand
the passionate 3rearning of a mother's heart
towards the child she has never seen ; but by it,
and by the anguish which wrings it when I look
forward to yielding you up in the first blissful
moment of possession, listen to what I have
asked of you !

" My precious, precious child ! my treasure !
my Hope! God bless you and keep you, and
unite us all where there shall be no more pain
nor parting !"

So it was that the dying mother's faith saved
her child in the hour of temptation.

The costly jewels, her birthright, sparkled in
their cases unheeded, while the young girl lay
upon the carpet, her face buried from the light,
moaning " Oh, mother ! mother !" tears of
shame, and penitence, and yearning love rolling
down her pale, convulsed features. Above her
the sweet eyes of the picture looked down as if
in pity and forgiveness, and from the floor be-
neath sounded the muffled, heavy tread of one
who still kept the yearly vigil of bereavement.
It caught her ear at last, dull as it was with
mental anguish, and, without a pause or thought,
she flew down the lung stairs to the room where

•m

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

a life had been given for hers, and wound her
arms with a strange love and confidence around
the stern, lonely man. The lather and daughter

wept with each other for the first time since the
wail of a feeble babe sounded through the sobs
of his first widowed anjruish.

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTBY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL,
HER "DEAR, DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY HORACE MAYHEW

AND

THE TWELFTH LETTER LEFT.

(Tlie smallest possible size of a Lady's note.)

SHOWING HOW A YOUNG LADY CAN LEAVE
OUT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF HER
LETTER.

Dearest Nelly, I was nearly leaving out
the postscript of my last letter. How extremely
foolish ! I now send it to you.

Poor little Twigg is in disgrace. The piano-
forte-tuner has made her an offer of marriage,
and the Lady Principal not only won't let her
accept it, but says she ought to be ashamed of her-
self— indulging in such good-for-nothing fancies,
and setting such a bad example to the young
ladies of the establishment. Twigg carries his
portrait in her huswife, amongst all the pins and
needles. I cannot say whether he is good-look-
ing, because she has cried over it to that extent
that the color has been completely washed all
over his face, and purple eyes and blue whiskers
do not exactly give him the most prepossessing
appearance. She says her heart is broken, and, as
far as one can judge, she eats nothing. She seems
to live only upon tears. Sho declares her hopes
are blighted, and doesn't mind how soon she
dies. We pity Twigg ; and many arc the conso-
lations which are given her by girls who say
they have suffered as great, if not greater hard-
ships— and how they ever survived it was a
miracle ! but, considering how fat some of them
look now, their grief seems to have agreed with
them remarkably well. In fact, Miss Isabella's
crying has given quite a tone of sentiment to the
school, and some of the sighs you, hear would
turn a windmill. The struggle with each girl
seems to be to recollect the period when she was
most miserable, and if she can only prove that
she has known more misery than any one else,
then she is supremely happy. I cannot tell you
how tired I am of this wishy-washy stuff. I
have no patience with martyrs of fourteen, who
wish to go into a convent, and pray for the tomb
to open and receive them ; when, if an invita-

tion to a ball came, they would be clapping their
hands with joy, and soon be lost in a long debate
as to what dress they should wear. I declare
there have fallen so many showers of tears lately
that the school feels quite damp. Fraulein is
the worst. She would be invaluable to a gar-
dener ; for I am sure she cannot weep less than
a watering-pot full at a time. Her sentiment,
too, makes you so melancholy that I declare it
is not safe to leave so many bodkins about. I
wish to gracious ! the Lady Principal would let
Twigg marry, for all the girls have so completely
made her injuries their own, that it is nothing
but a flutter of pocket-handkerchiefs all day
long. What can they know of suffering, Nelly,
in comparison with me ? and I am sure one
look from Sydney, when he goes by on the top
of an omnibus, is worth all the piano-forte-
tuners in the world !

If Twigg wasn't such a favorite, there
wouldn't be so much fuss about her. She is the
junior governess, and some day is to inherit
Mrs. Rodwell's black velvet mantle. She has
never been away from the Princess' College, and
doesn't know what holidays are. The whole
world is only a big school to her ! The conse-
quence is, she is a great overgrown bread-and-
butter school-girl, though she's thirty-two years
old, if sho 's a day. They say she was pretty
once; but for the life of me I cannot see her
beauty. She is so conceited — so stuck-up, prim,
and affected, always showing off* to the masters,
and flirting with Herr Hullabullutzer. She is
so much in love with herself, that I wonder she
ever found any to spare for the poor piano-forte-
tuner (who, by the way, has been ordered never
to come into the house again). We do just what
we like with Twigg, by flattering her. Even
the little girls coax her over by telling her what
pretty hair she has, or asking to feel the softness
of her hand. By these means they get excused
many a forfeit, and let off* many a hard task.

No wonder she has got such a soft hand, or
that it is so white, when the story goes that she

DAINTY DISHES.

497

sleeps in gloves, and that she is always washing
it with pate (Tamandes. No wonder cither that
her ringlets are so glossy, when she spends one-
half her income in cosmetics and Circassian
creams ; and is twisting and twirling them round
her fingers all the time she is not eating !

It's a world of pity she is so weak, for really,
Nelly, she is very good-natured — and clever in
her little way — and quite grateful if we only
admire her. I think we are often tempted to
praise her more than we otherwise should, on
account of the great pleasure it gives her. If
we only ask to dress her hair, she is as pleased
as if she was going to the play. Besides, I don't
know what we should do without Twigg, for she
buys our goodies, gets whatever we want in
town, and posts our letters (many a one has she
posted for you, Nelly !) On the other hand, we
tell her all manner of stories about our brothers,
how they admired her at the last concert ; and
invent love messages from our cousins. They
are every one of them stricken with her. She
takes in every word, and goes to sleep with her
head as full of dreams as of curl-papers. If any-
thing very particular is wanted — a supper, for
instance, on a large scale — Twigg will procure
us the pork pies, the peppermint, tarts, and all,
if we only promise to write home about her, and
invite her in the holidays. In this way, I believe,
the poor girl has got ten invitations for next
holidays — and, in her simple soul, believes she
will go to every one of them. Her conceit plays
all sorts of tricks with her. She is continually
fancying gentlemen are looking at her, and fall-
ing in love at first sight. She carries a locket

with a hair chain in her bosom. Whenever her
aunt scolds her, she takes out this locket, and
begins crying. By this we suspect that it is the
souvenir of some early disappointment — long
before the piano-fortc-tuner — perhaps the danc-
ing-master 1 But with all her curious old school-
girlish ways, we cannot help pitying Twigg.
Her greatest fault is her vanity. It is the sun
round which her nature revolves. Place her in
the desert with a looking-glass, and she would
be as happy as a woman in a bonnet-shop.

I must now run away to our singing-mistress,
Signora Piieciosa-Nini — a real Neapolitan,
though it puzzles me to understand how " crater"
can be the Italian pronunciation of " creature."
She teaches us effect, and she was to have come
out at San Carlo, only she lost her stage voice
at the very time that Rossini had prophesied
she would be the first Prima Donna in the world.
It was grief that did it I On my word, the world
seems to be full of nothing but grief; only it's
rather profitable to the Signora. She works it
into all her songs, and sells them at the rate of
two shillings a copy. Such miserable subjects,
Nelly ; every one is disappointed, or driven to
despair, or dying in them. I think if the world
grew virtuous, and there were no more hearts
broken, the music-sellers would have to shut up
shop.

There was such a knocking at the door last
night. It lasted for at least a quarter of an hour.
The belief is that it was Mrs. Rodwcll's husband
come back to ask for some more money. The
wretch !

DAINTY DISHES.

The epicure of modern days is, no doubt,
deeply indebted to Monsieur Soyer for the fund
of instruction and amusement given to the world
in his " Pantroplieon" In that book of gastro-
nomic lore, the reader is told how Roman empe-
rors, and Egyptian monarchs, and Grecian phi-
losophers, and Syrian nobles, feasted on high
days and low days. How Rome, Athens, and
Tyre revelled in ducks' heads, geese's liver,
ostriches's brains, roasted peacocks, and asses'
steaks. How the gourmands of ancient times,
sighing for novelty, tried the flesh of the fox,
the dromedary, the dog, and the hedgehog; and
how, thanks to the skilled practice of Roman
Soycrs, the flesh of the hog was so tastily dressed

42*

and served on table, as to pass for duck, capon,
pigeon, and even fish !

We learn also from our nursery literature how
a certain " dainty dish" was " set before a king,"
consisting of twenty-four blackbirds baked in a
pie ; and, moreover, how certain Cornwall giants
were in the daily habit of regaling themselves and
their families upon little boys and girls. All this
information is well enough as far as it goes, but
both Soyer and our nursery historian have only
half fulfilled their task. It is well enough to be
told of Romans realizing fifty thousand pounds
by fattening peacocks — of the great esteem in
which the tongue of the flamingo or the neck of
the stork was held two thousand years since,

498

godey's magazine and lady's book.

and ft great deal of other curious, bygone matter
upon dainty things ; but we consider that the
author of the " Pantropheon" has been guilty of
a grievous oversight in omitting all mention of a
vast number of " dainty dishes" of the present
aay, not relating to this country, it is true, but
still belonging to the history of food in this our
own time.

No doubt Monsieur Soyer will, before long,
publish a second edition of his book; in this
case it will be well that he embodies in it the
information comprised in the following passages
upon the dainties of some of our kindred in
various parts of the globe. Why should a history
of food be confined to European delicacies?
Why should not John Chinaman's " slugs and
snails, and puppy-dogs' tails," find a place beside
John Bull's mock turtle ? and why are " fricasseed
frogs," a la Parisienne, more to be thought of
than " stewed snakes," d la Otahietienne ? What
of is going on in the world nowadays is surely
as much importance to know as what took place
before the Christian era. We have had quite
enough of the bill of fare at Guildhall on the ninth
of November ; we know it all by heart — it has
become a perfect bore. Let us know something
of the " carte" at a civic feast in the Sandwich
Islands— on Lord Mayor's Day in the Celestial
Empire. Let us hear how the "brother to the
moon" sups on court days — how the New Zea-
land ministry manage their annual whitebait
dinners at Ooloopoolonga.

The Celestials of the Chinese Empire may
fairly be ranked first amongst the exotic epicures
of the present day. They have brought their
" dainty dishes" to rare perfection, which is,
perhaps, not to be wondered at, seeing that they
have been engaged in the selfsame unchangea-
ble cookery, according to their own account, for
about ten thousand years. Whether the Celes-
tial literature contains any " Pantropheons" is
more than we are prepared to stato ; but whether
their culinary art bo handed down through suc-
cessive generations by word of mouth or other-
wise, matters little to our present purpose. They
are evidently masters of their craft, and able to
concoct the most delicious dishes from materials
that in other barbarous countries are utterly lost
sight of. Whilst we devoto our best energies to
the rearing of herds, flocks, and poultry — whilst
legislators are preserving game by means of acts
of Parliament — whilst the forest is scoured for
venison, the bay for turtle, and the preserve for
pheasants — whilst air, earth, and water are made
to yield up their choicest and most rare produc-
tions for the " dainty dish" of the epicure of the
west, our wiser and more simple friends in the

east content themselves with those things which
nature has provided in great and ready abun-
dance. Dogs, cats, rats, slugs, snails, sharks'
fins, and birds' nests form the leading items at a
Chinese symposium ; and strange and repulsive
as such a bill of fare may appear to Europeans,
we are assured by those who have had some lit-
tle experience in these things that no aldermanic
feast, no courtly revel, no political banqiiet in
what we call the civilized world, is ever more
heartily partaken of, more keenly relished, than
are the Celestial entremets and Japanese patis-
serie.

The chief delicacy of the Chinese is undoubt-
edly their edible birds' nests, which indeed may
be said to take the place of turtle and calves'
feet amongst them. Our readers must not
imagine these nests to resemble the stick and
straw habitations of western birds. They are
indeed bound together and retained in their shape
by small pieces of bamboo, or other twigs, but
their chief composition is a clear, gelatinous
matter, the origin and nature of which remained
for a long period involved in uncertainty. The
birds which construct these eatable nests are a
species of swallow (Hirundo esculenta), which
are found in vast numbers in many of the islands
of the eastern seas. They construct their little
habitations on the sides or sloping roofs of caves
near the sea-shore, or adjoining to some inland
piece of water, for the sake of the insects which
are always to be found in such situations, and
which form their sole food. In Java, Sumatra,
Madagascar, Ceylon, and other islands, the trade
in these birds' nests is carried on to an extraor-
dinary extent. Chinese junks make regular
annual voyages from Canton to the islands for
cargoes of these and other Celestial delicacies of
a similar kind.

Some idea of the magnitude of the trade in
these table articles may be formed from the fact
that the yearly import of birds' nests alone into
Canton amounts to nearly sixteen thousand tons
in weight, valued at three hundred thousand
pounds sterling. The finest in quality are set
aside for the use of the imperial court at Pekin,
who, with the high mandarins, willingly pay the
extravagant price demanded for them — namely,
twice their weight in silver.

The governments of the various countries in
which these nests arc found make the collecting
of them a means of aiding the local revenues by
selling licenses to persons enabling them to
search for the articles ; these fees, in many
instanccs, amount to a good round sum. Even
the British government in Ceylon is not too
proud or too rich to receive one hundred and

DAINTY DISHES.

499

twenty-five rix dollars annually for the farming
of the birds' nests' caves within its territory.
We have paid a visit to some of these curious
caverns in a neighboring district, which, at the
time, were leased to a Chinese collector, who
was then busily occupied in gathering in the
harvest of nests. The cave was large and dark,
not lofty, but with a sloping, sharp, and rugged
roof, along the projecting ledges of which we
perceived a number of brightly shining objects,
glittering like stalactites. These were the swal-
lows' nests, so highly prized, according to their
age and condition. From the long-tailed col-
lector we gathered that the most valuable nests
were those recently made, and not yet contain-
ing eggs. They are then of a delicate pearly
white in the interior, and very valuable ; but
such as these are rarely to be met with. Our
informant had not more than a dozen of this fine
quality, and said that he seldom shipped above
a hundred of such in each year.

The next in value were those which contained
the fresh-laid eggs of the swallows, and such
were valued at something under half the price
of the best. Those in which the young had been
reared were of far less value, not more than a
tenth of the value of the last-named, as they
were, of course, far from being clean, and not
at all calculated to furnish a very delicately-
flavored soup or jelly. These caves were
situated fully thirty miles from the sea-coast.
Others, both in Ceylon and elsewhere, are upon
the borders of the ocean, into many of which the
waves of the sea have forced their way, and
made a home for themselves and the birds that
flock thither in vast numbers. In these places
the collection of the nests is usually attended
with considerable danger. The people engaged
in the occupation sometimes pass to the spot
in canoes, and fixing bamboo-ladders against
the sides of the caverns, ascend them provided
with bags, slung around their necks, to contain
the spoil, and with hooked staves to steady
themselves against the cliffs. Sometimes they
descend into these sea-washed caves from open-
ings above by means of rope-ladders ; and
there, swinging high in mid-air, with a boiling
surf lashing the sharp rocks below, they labor
with incredible activity at their dangerous task.
Many of these deep caverns arc so hidden from
the light of day, that the bird-nesters have to
work by torch-light ; a dozen of lighted flam-
beaux will glare above, shedding a faint glimmer
on the dark ocean below, whilst others, fastened
to the ends of ropes, will be lowered to the deep-
est portions of the subterranean dwelling-place.

It appears, from investigations recently made

by naturalists, that the edible gelatinous portion
of these nests is constructed by the bird from a
natural secretion passed up from the throat, and
laid on around the inside of the covering or shell
of sticks and leaves, in successive layers, until
it has assumed a thickness of from an eighth to
a quarter of an inch. It rapidly hardens, and,
at the end of a few days after its completion, the
hen begins to deposit her eggs within the newly-
made nest. In some islands, the commencement
of the collecting seasons, which in nearly all
cases date about April and December, are cele-
brated by festivals and processions, shared in by
the native authorities of the place.

Next in importance and value to the nests are
the sea-slugs, or, as some persist in terming
them, sea-cucumbers, doubtless from their form-
ation, which originally is not unlike that vege-
table. Beche-dc-mer is a name by which these
disgusting-looking creatures are commercially
known, and under that title they appear in the
custom-house returns of many eastern islands,
where their annual declared value reaches, if
not quite as high as that of the birds' nests, to
at any rate many thousands of pounds sterling.
About five thousand tons' weight are yearly
imported into the Chinese markets from the
Mauritius, Ceylon, Singapore, Bombay, the
United States, and many islands of the South
Seas. The supply of the article, in fact, appears
to be unbounded ; and as the demand for it is as
large, the only limit to the trade appears to be in
the want of a sufficient number of boats to
engage in the fishing.

The sea-slug, Beche-de-mer, or Tripang, is
remarkable in its appearance and characteristics.
As before stated, it is not unlike a cucumber in
shape ; yet, although it is of hardened texture, it
is at the same time so gelatinous in its nature as
to take almost any form, according to the posi-
tion it may be placed in. It appears to feed
during the night-time, which it does by suction,
drawing its prey within its mouth whilst holding
on to the sea-weeds or rocks, by a set of minute
forceps at one end of its body.

This slug, which is of a dark color, is caught
either by means of barbed instruments thrust
amongst the sea weeds where they are known to
congregate, or in shallow water, by the fishermen
walking along the sand, and ascertaining where
the creatures lie by feeling them with their feet.
Occasionally we have seen many thousands of
the tripang Avashcd up high and dry along a
sandy shore, after a heavy gale in the tropics,
when, of course, they are an easy prey to the
natives, all of whom understand and practice
the curing of them for the China market.

500

godey's magazine and lady's book,

There is much more trouble involved in pre-
paring this delicacy of the East than in many-
others of a similar nature. The tripang is first
boiled for about half an hour in plain water,
then cut open lengthwise, and re-boiled in salt
water for several hours, with a piece of man-
grove bark in the caldron. Removed from the
vessel, it is placed upon an open framework of
split bamboos, with a slow fire beneath, where
it rapidly dries sufficiently to be packed in bags
or baskets for shipment to Canton. The Chi-
nese dealers in these articles are very expert in
assorting them for sale according to quality.
There appear to be as many as thirty different
varieties known to the dealers, although an
unskilled eye could not detect any essential
difference in them. When thus sorted out, their
value ranges from eight Spanish dollars to one
hundred and fifteen per picul — a weight equiva-
lent to about one hundred weight and a quarter.

The mode of preparing these sea-slugs for the
table does not appear to vary much from that
pursued with the birds'-nests, save that in the
case of the latter every vestige of stick, straw,
or moss is removed by means of fine forceps.
When this has been done, they are soaked in
cold water for several hours, then gently sim-
mered over the fire for an equal time, and either
reduced to the consistency of soup, with an
admixture of spices, or prepared as a jelly, and
flavored accordingly.

The next contribution to our list of " dainty
dishes" is that of " sharks' fins," which, although
not so highly esteemed as the before-named
delicacies, are nevertheless much relished
amongst certain classes in China, as well as by
the natives of some parts of the African coast,
who appear to divide their taste equally between
sharks and alligators. The trade in these and
sharks' maws is very considerable in some parts
of India. From Bombay they are annually ex-
ported to the value of thirty thousand pounds
sterling and upwards, whilst a large quantity
goes from Madras. The eastern islands also
furnish supplies of them, and the same may bo
said of some of the islands of the southern seas.
Some of the islanders have trained their dogs to
catch sharks, by watching until one makes its
appearance close to the shore, when the dogs
rush into the water, and, seizing the astounded
fish by each fin, soon bring the monster to land,
in spite of his sturdy resistance.

Descending from birds' nests, sea-slugs, and
such delicacies, we must notice the more hum-
ble dainties of the lower order of Chinese. These
are content to regale themselves upon festive
occasions with stewed kittens, harricocd pup-

pies, rat-soup, and an olla podrida composed of
fowls' heads and claws, earth-worms, black
frogs, and sea-snakes. A Canton butcher's
stall presents a rather motley assemblage, and
amongst other tempting joints may be seen the
hind-quarter of a horse, or a fine full-grown
cat, delicately trussed for the table, and by no
means expensive.

Strange as some of these descriptions of pro-
vender may sound in our ears, they are not one
whit more peculiar than the asses' steaks of the
Romans, or the roasted dogs of Greece. In one
thing the Chinese are, we should imagine, rather
singular in their cookery, for they are in the
habit of serving up ducks' eggs and fish roes
fried in castor-oil ! It would be difficult indeed
to match such a dish as that amongst ancients or
moderns. With regard to the sea-slug, however,
our friend John Chinaman does but follow the
example of divers celebrated personages of Gre-
cian history. We read how Iphicrates, upon
the occasion of his marriage with the daughter
of Cotys, king of Thrace, had a hundred polypi
and sepise served up at the festive board, dressed
in many ways, and brought on with highly sea-
soned sauces.

From slugs it is an easy transition to snails,
which, from having been considered a great
delicacy at the tables of the Romans, are now
held in high estimation by many of the epicures
of Paris, Vienna, and other continental capitals.
In the town of Ulm, in Wurtemberg, we learn
that snails are reared in vast numbers, and fed
upon strawberries and other fruits, in order to
impart a soft delicacy to their flesh ; and thus
domesticated they are highly prized in the
various markets to which they are sent. In a
French journal we find it stated that the art. of
rearing and fattening snails, which had been
lost for a long period, was recovered in the six-
teenth century by the Capuchin monks of Fri-
bourg, and that in the present day it is an occu-
pation of some magnitude and value in Bur-
gundy, Lorraine, and Franche-Comte. It is
estimated that in Paris alone the consumption
of these creatures amounts to fully half a million
monthly. The market value of the fine vine-
yard snails is from two to four francs the hun-
dred; those gathered about the forests, fields,
and by-ways are less highly esteemed, and do
not command the same price. The owner of
one snaillery in the neighborhood of Dijon is
reported to realize a clear income of seven thou-
sand francs a year from this source of industry.

Ages since, we know that locusts and wild
honey formed the food of those whose dwelling
was in the great wilderness of the east. They

DAINTY DISHES.

501

are to this day met with in the like extraor-
dinary numbers as was the case in days long
past, when they ravaged the land of Egypt,
leaving ruin and desolation in their track. Man
has, however, learned to be avenged upon these
winged pests; and since they eat up the sub-
stance of the earth, he retaliates in devouring
them by wholesale. The Arab travellers in
northern Africa often encounter myriads of
these insects, and collect them in great numbers
in bags during the night-time, when it appears
they rest upon the bushes.

The African mode of cookery in this case is
one of extreme simplicity, and for which, doubt-
less, Monsieur Soyer would feel the utmost con-
tempt; nevertheless, it answers their purpose,
where culinary utensils would certainly be a
great hindrance to travellers through the Desert
of Zahara. A pit several feet in depth, and a
foot or two in width, is dug in the ground, and
a wood-fire lit and kept burning in it until the
earth be thoroughly heated. The embers are
then rapidly removed, and a sackful of live
locusts emptied quickly into the scorching pit,
the mouth of which is immediately covered with
sticks and sand, upon which another fire is kept
burning for some time. In this way the heat
above and below cooks the locusts sufficiently;
and when the whole mass has cooled, they are
removed and spread to dry on the grass, exposed
to the rays of the sun. They are either eaten
whole, first deprived of their wings and feet, or
they are bruised into fine paste or powder, and
worked up with meal and fat into a sort of
savoury black pudding, said to possess great
richness of flavor.

The Hindoos of many parts of India eat them
fried in oil, and the Hottentots relish them
cooked in a variety of ways, boiled, roasted, or
fried. They also make a rich gravy soup of
them, in which their eggs are mixed, as a great
delicacy. In some parts of Africa, they are salted
and smoke-dried, and in this condition are said
to bear a strong resemblance to fish, and to be
very nutritious. In such vast quantities are
they caught and cured, that it is not at all an
uncommon thing to see whole wagon-loads of
locusts brought into some of the African towns
for sale, packed in baskets, as poultry is brought
to Leadenhall market.

The natives of Australia feed upon butterflies
and large white grubs with great avidity, assert-
ing that they are more nourishing than the flesh
of kangaroos or fowls. In order to catch the
butterflies, they light fires beneath the trees in
which they are known to be resting for the night.
The smoke ascending amongst tho branches

stupefies the insects, and they fall in great
numbers to the ground, when they are collected
and pounded into a sort of cake, and so eaten.
As for the white grub, it is eaten alive at one
mouthful.

A delicacy common to the aborigines of South
America and Africa is the guana, a large kind
of lizard, but far more unsightly, and perhaps
not unlike a small crocodile. In spite of this
repulsive form, it is cooked and eaten with great
relish, especially in South America. The follow-
ing passage from an old volume of "Travels,"
by Peter Martyn, relates how the Spanish con-
querors of that continent came in time to esteem
the flesh of the guana : " These serpentes," said
the above author, "are lyke unto crocodiles,
saving in bygness : they call them guanas. Unto
that day none of owre men durste adventure to
taste of them, by reason of theyre horrible de-
formitie and lothsomeness. Yet the adelantado,
being entysed by the pleasantness of the king's
sister, Anacaona, determined to taste the ser-
pentes. But when he felte the flesh thereof to
be so delycate to his tongue, he fel to amayne
without al feare. The which thynge his com-
panions perceiving were not behynd hym in
greedynesse, insomuch that they had now none
other talke than of the sweetnesse of these ser-
pentes, which they affirme to be of more pleasant
taste than eyther our phesantes or partriches."

The natives of many parts of Australia roast
several kinds of snakes, which are said to equal
in delicacy and flavor the best stewed eels ; and
an English traveller asserts, that undoubtedly
the steam from the roasting reptile was by no
means unsavory, whilst the flesh appeared to
be exceedingly white, and on tasting a small
piece of it roasted on a fire of dried sticks, it was
found far from unpalatable.

Our list is yet far from exhausted, though per-
haps enough has been said to show what a wide
field for research lies before Monsieur Soyer, or
any other culinary monarch ; how much may
yet be done in the way of novelties for the tables
of our epicures. There are the Greenlanders,
with their blubber and putrid deer's flesh. There
are the South Sea Islanders with their marine
hogs, one part of which is beef, another bacon,
in taste. There Is the Indian Garma, not made
from salted mackerel and boneta like that of the
Romans, but from putrid shrimps and pounded
cockroaches. There are the clay-balls, partaken
of with so much relish by some tribes of Indians
in Central America; and there are the moss-
eaters of the Hudson's Bay territories. There
are dainty folks in Russia who will pledge you
in a goblet of unrefined train-oil, and there arc

502

godey's magazine and lady's book.

dwellers in American prairies who esteem a
draught of buffalo's blood as the richest drink
on the earth.

It may be well that these exotic courses be
taken into consideration by some of our culinary
artists ; especially if, as reported, the Sydenham
Palace is to contain, amongst other interesting
collections, a couple of inhabitants from every

land under the sun — a brace of representatives
of every living species of humanity. Then
indeed will it be necessary to study this universal
bill of fare for the daily universal table, and
birds'-nest soups, bow-wow-stews, fried ser-
pents, harricoed snails, and baked locusts, must
become items in the Sydenham " cookery for all
nations."

GODEY'S COUESE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

LESSON XII.

PROPORTIONS OF THE HUMAN FIGURE.

We have deemed it best to keep this class of
drawing, treating of the proportions which dif-
ferent parts of the human frame bear to each
other, according to the acknowledged standard
of beauty, as derived from measurements from
the antique, separate from the others. The
student wrill find the lessons here given of great
assistance in enabling her to draw from casts.
We should advise her to habituate herself to this
practice, as it will lay a foundation for attaining

Fig. 1.

Fig. 3.

given in fig. 1, is equal in width to the length
of one eye and a half, and the height to one-
half. The mouth in profile is exactly the same
height, but only half the width ; the upper lip
projects less than the lower one. The nose in
width is equal to one eye, and the height to two

with ease a correctness of proportion, which
constitutes the chief beauty in drawings of the
human figure. She must not, however, suppose
that beauty is always attained by attention to
these rules, but chiefly correctness. There are
many styles of beauty, the qualities of some
consisting in a slight deviation in some point or
other from the established proportions. This,
however, is not carried so far as to become in-
correctness.

We first begin with the various parts of the
human " head divine" — the seat of the soul, as
some term it. The mouth, of which a sketch is

Fig. 2.

eyes, measuring parallel to the eyebrows (fig. 2).
The eye is composed of the ball, the sight, the
lachrymal point (which is the point nearest the
nose), the upper and lower eyelids, and the eye-
brow (fig. 3). The ball, when seen in front, is
> an exact circle, with the sight in the centre; the

GODEY'S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

503

height is equal to half the length, and the eye-
brow is situated above the eyelid about one-third
the length of the eye. The eye in profile is

Fig. 4.

half the length and exactly the same height as
when seen in front ; the eyeball forms an ellipse,
and the sight is always in the centre (fig. 4).

The ear in width is equal to one eye, and its
length to two eyes (fig. 5). In the annexed
figure (fig. 6) a front view of a face is given.
In order to obtain a correct proportion, a per-
pendicular line must first be drawn, and then
divided into two parts by a horizontal line drawn
across the centre of it, which will give the point
for the height of the eyes. After drawing the
outline of the face, the perpendicular line must
be divided, as in the sketch : the lower point
will give the place for the lower part of the
nose ; the mouth is situated about half an eye
lower than this; the ear is exactly the same
length as the nose, consequently these are on a
level. The same proportions are observable in
the figures 7, 8, 9, and 10.

Fig. 5.

Fig. 6.

Fig. 7.

Fig. 8.

Fisf.

Fie. 10.

PAJSTTLEBKIDGE'S FIKST LOYE.

BY FRANK

HICKLINQ.

(Concluded from page 421.)

" When Mr. Battledore reached home again,
it was supper-time. We were all out on the
porch as usual, Diagram also, and making him-
self excessively agreeable to the ladies. I was
also endeavoring to be as entertaining as I was
able. I think I can see the glitter of the wheels
in the sunlight yet, as the carriage whirled
rapidly into the lane. When it stopped, old
Mr. Battledore, without waiting for Columbus
to open the door as usual, and which took that
worthy some time to accomplish, thrust his arm
out and opened it himself, and then came trot-
ting up the steps with a face as red as the sun
that was just setting. I thought something was
in the wind, so I sat still where I was. Neglect-
ing the usual salutations, he made up to where
Diagram was sitting with his chair tilted against
the wall ; halting in front of him, he shouted —

" c So, sir ! so, sir ! It was you, sir — a — sir,
that called me small potatoes, was it, sir ? You
that have been amusing yourself with abusing
me in the columns of the " Flag." And you
have the audacity to come to my house and sit
on my porch while pursuing this assassin-like
series of attacks !' Then, with a bitter and
mock politeness, he retreated a pace, bowing
profoundly as he continued : e Sir, your most
humble servant I Your most obedient ! Is there
anything else you would like? Shall I bring
you pen and ink for another article?' Then
turning on the steam again, he went on : * I
marvel at your impudence ; and you it is that
are going to change the world ! Upon my word !
And you are the author of that infamous turnip
theory, filling a valuable newspaper with your
trash on the subject. But I '11 let you know,
Mr. — a — a — Diagram, that no man shall insult
me with impunity ! A pretty thing, indeed, if
men of my years and experience are to be the
butts of every brainless boy that chooses to send
an arrow at the mark !'

"And he waved his arm, reminding me
strongly of ' Malek,' the old Moor in tho ' Apos-
tate.' I thought that afternoon, as I sat there,
that the wholesale pork and ham business had
spoiled an excellent tragic actor.

" While Mr. Battledoro was relieving his
mind at this rate, Diagram had remained per-
504

fectly stupefied leaning against the wall, with a
face of blank dismay. Probably at first he
thought Mr. Battledore had lost his wits ; but,
at the mention of turnips and potatoes, con-
science no doubt recalled to him the articles on
the potato rot, and he began to perceive what a
dilemma he was in. Bringing his chair down on
its fore-legs, he at this juncture stammered out—

" ' But, my dear Mr. Battledore, I really
hadn't, on my honor, the slightest idea. 1 do
assure you'

" Battledore, who had recovered his breath,
here broke in again —

" c Don't dear me ! I 'm only " small pota-
toes," at your service, sir ! And as to your not
having the slightest idea, don't alarm yourself
on that score, for I never thought you had.'
Here he gave a withering smile. * And this is
modern politeness, to come to supper at one's
house and plant a poisoned dagger in his back,
while on terms of intimacy with his family.
But why' — sinking to a moralizing tone — ' why
should I expect anything better? Who was
ever yet thanked for what he did for the hu-
man race ? Galileo was imprisoned, Columbus
abused and ill-treated for all his services; and
what could I expect better? Why don't you
bring up that horse ?' he shouted loudly to the
negro, as he pointed to Diagram's animal, who
was tied to the fence by the lane. And, so say-
ing, he majestically strode into the house.

" The girls never troubled themselves much
about their father's pursuits, and were therefore
unacquainted with the turnip theory and its
disastrous results ; so that when Mr. Battledore
left the porch, they turned with faces expressive
of the greatest alarm to Diagram, who was still
sitting looking at the door through which the
old gentleman had passed, as if some dreadful
apparition had vanished in that direction.

" * Oh, Mr. Diagram/ cried America Ann,
1 what have you been doing or saying to make
pa so angry? I declare, I never saw anything
like it'

" ' You know,' chimed in Lucretia, ' that he
thinks a great deal of Columbus, and, if ho was
impertinent, you ought to have complained to
pa, and then this wouldn't have happenod.'

pantlebridge s first love.

505

" The historical allusion of Mr. Battledore
evidently had misled Lucretia as to the subject
in dispute.

" { It wasn't the nigger /' said Diagram, com-
pletely bothered at this reproach from a friendly
quarter. ' I never did or said anything to him.
It 's the infernal potatoes that have made all
the mischief. I wish I had never seen one! He
wrote something about them in the newspaper,
and I was fool enough to answer his piece, for
want of something better to do. How the mis-
chief was J to know it was your father ? He
never signed his name as he ought to have done.
Only "Potato Rot"— Potato Rot, that's all!'
exclaimed Diagram, turning from the ladies to
me and back again, as though addressing judges
and jury. ' And how the deuce was I to know
who Potato Rot was, 1 'd like to know V

" ' Oh, don't swear so, Mr. Diagram,' said
Lucretia, quite shocked. * Don't swear so ; and,
besides, pa might hear you, and think you were
swearing at him. Oh, I am so sorry this has
happened ; I declare I don't know what 's to be
done now.'

" ' Pantlebridge, are you and the girls coming
in to your supper?' cried Mr. Battledore, at this
instant, popping his head out of the dining-
room window and back again, like the clown in
the pantomime.

" 'Yes, sir, in a moment,' chirruped the two
ladies ; and, as I passed in, I heard the rascal
kiss the hand of one of them, then, hastily
mounting his horse, he rode down the lane,
without pausing

' To shake his mailed glove at the towers.'

" Shakspeare, eh, Jack ?"

" Sounds like Marmion" said I.

" Well, may be you 're right, I 'm not quite
sure. At all events, he rode off, and I can't
say that I spent the evening in lamenting for
what had occurred ; for, though he always
seemed friendly enough, still he was a good deal
in the way when I wanted to talk to America,
making trios of a good many intended duets.

" Of course, after this affair, his visits to the
house ceased. He wrote a very apologetic sort
of letter to Mr. Battledore, which the old gen-
tleman put in the fire without answering. The
ladies, being thus deprived of Mr. Diagram's
agreeable society, made me their constant cava-
lier in their rides or walks, the last of which
they took frequently in the direction of the
village.

" I assisted them in choosing gloves and rib-
bons ; and, indeed, in all matters of importance
my taste was called in. Many a dcop delibtra-
VOL. XL ix. — 43

tion was held in the little store of Mrs. Trim-
mins, and I gained a great deal of valuable
information during these 'seances' I found out
that a dark red was not a dark red, but a ma-
roon. And, in a little while, my mind became
so educated that whereas at first, in descrihing a
bonnet to my fair companion, I mentioned it as
yellow, I now learned to speak of it as a salmon
or a buff. They also intrusted me with tho
obtaining of books from the circulating library,
while they waited at the store, as the library
was at some distance from that place. At first
they would say, 'Now, if you can't get "Mur-
murs of the Sea," or " The Distant Isles," bring
us some periodical. But, on no account, fetch
any histories or chemical works.' But, after a
while, this changed to ' Mr. Pantlebridge, brirue
us something nice ; you know what we like.'

" Upon two of these occasions the library was
closed, Miss Snigglefritz, the presiding genius,
having gone on a picnic, or something equiva-
lent, as I gathered from a little ajfiche, written
in delicate Italian hand, and wafered outside on
the shutter. Sauntering back again to Mrs.
Trimmins, I found a bay horse that I thought I
recognized standing contemplating Mrs. Trim-
mins's 'hitching-post,' to which he was attached.
And, on entering, no less a person than the lost
Diagram rose to shake hands with me. He had
happened to drop in, he said, to make some
trifling purchases, and was delighted to see the
ladies and myself again. I said / was delighted
to see him, too ; so he walked with us up to the
precincts of Mr. Battledore's domain. Lucre-
tia seemed pleased to see him, and I hardly
thought it fair to spoil sport, particularly as I
knew it did not require a breath from me to
keep up the draught on the old gentleman's
anger. For, when the girls attempted that even-
ing to insinuate something in his favor, their
papa gave them distinctly to understand that his
opinion had not changed in the least, and, fur-
thermore, expressed his conviction that Mr.
Diagram was one of the most impertinent young
men that he ever knew.

"This did not prevent them from speaking to
Diagram, and walking with him whenever we
met him in the village ; and I thought that this
began to be pretty often. He bought so much
of Mrs. Trimmins that, had I been that good old
lady, I should have become suspicious of an
intention to set up a rival establishment.

" As for me, I was getting deeper and deeper
in love with America with each succeeding walk
or ride that we took together. I could think of
nothing but her. One day I askcu a country
boy, at a fork of a road where I missed my way,

506

godey's magazine and lady's book.

' Can you teli mc which way America Ann
goes V He looked at me for a few minutes with
a grin, and said, ' A didn't see her.'

" I came to the conclusion one day, as I
sauntered along with my gun on my shoulder,
that this sort of thing would have to have a
termination at the first favorable opportunity.
' What,' said I, ' Pantlebridge, are you, a great
strong fellow like you, afraid of a girl ? I 'm
ashamed of you!' As I said this to myself, I
heard the beat of a horse's hoofs in a rapid gal-
lop. Raising my eyes from the ground, where
they had been resting in deep thought, I per-
ceived Diagram on horseback come galloping
out of our lane. As he passed me, I spoke to
him ; he barely returned my salutation with a
nod, and, without checking his horse, continued
at a pace that soon hid him from view. I was
somewhat astonished. < Since when,' thought
I, l has our talented friend Diagram taken to
riding at that rate, and what is he doing in our
lane?' As I turned from looking down the
road after him, and resumed my walk towards
the house, I perceived Columbus, who, having
opened and shut the lane gate for Diagram's
passage, was now practising the difficult feat of
walking on his hands, in imitation of a circus
troupe that had passed down the river a few
days before.

" ' Columbus,' I asked, ' what makes Mr.
Diagram ride at that rate to-day1?'

" ' I spec he 's in a hurry to git home, sah,'
replied Columbus, presenting the soles of his
shoes for my inspection. He was not afraid of
me, as I never either scolded him or informed
en him.

" * Columbus,' said I, ' has he been at the
house?'

" * Yes, sah,' replied the negro, from the level
•f the earth.

" I was astonished.

" ' Did Mr. Battledore see him, do you know?'
I inquired.

" ' Yes, sah ; and Mis' Diagram seen him too.'

" I was more and more puzzled. I looked at
Columbus's heels that waved backward and for-
ward like the stalks of some strange plant by
the wayside ; and then I drew a piece of money
out of my pocket, and held it out between my
fingers.

" ' Columbus,' said I, ' do you know what he
wanted ?'

"The boy immediately substituted his head
f.>r hio heels, and answered, as he took the
silver —

" ' Him had come to p'pose.'

" To propose ! Here was a revelation.

" ' Whom did he come to propose to?' I asked,
anxiously.

" Columbus rattled the money in the hollow
of his joined palms as he said —

"'To Mass' Battledore.'

" < To Master Battledore ! What did he pro-
pose to Master Battledore for?' I demanded, a
good deal bewildered.

" ' Yes, sah ; him p'pose to Mass' Battledore
for Miss Lucreesher,' replied the boy, with a
double shuffle movement of his heels.

" ' What did Mr. Battledore say ? And how
do you know it was for Miss Lucretia?' I con-
tinued, feeling a good deal relieved of sundry
clouds of suspicion that had been hovering on
the edge of my horizon.

" ' Tole him to cVar out, I spec ; an' I know'd
it was Miss Lucreesher, ca'se she come out
arter him an' shuk hands wid him on de pie-a-
zer when he lef ', and 'quested him to keep up
his sperits, or sumpin like dat, ca'se I held his
hoss.' And Columbus favored me by whistling
a bar of * Jim Crow' as he waited for further
questions.

" That was all he knew, however. He inti-
mated that, happening by accident to be standing
somewhere near a keyhole, the ' ole gempleman'
had opened the door suddenly and threatened to
whip him severely (' skin him,' Columbus
phrased it), if he was found nearer to the house
than the end of the lawn for the remainder of
the afternoon.

" So I left Columbus's heels again to wave
over his head undisturbed, and continued to the
house, musing on what I had heard. The ladies
had finished their supper when I got there, and
were up stairs, where they remained during the
rest of the evening, which I spent in playing
checkers with Mr. Battledore. Two or three
times he seemed on the point of confiding the
visit to me, but probably thought better of it,
for he checked himself without finishing his
sentence.

" Things went on very much as usual after
Diagram's proposal. To look at Lucretia, y»u
wouldn't know she had ever been proposed to,
or for rather, in the whole course of her life. 1
never was much of a hand in reading a lady's
thoughts, and some ladies can conceal theirs so
successfully that Mademoiselle le Normand her-
self couldn't find out anything. One thing was.
I was very busy in examining my own affairs.
They say * one wedding makes many,' and pro-
posals, I rather think, are apt to follow this
rule. At least, I know that Diagram's venture
did a great deal to turning my attention that
way, and fixing my wandering resolutions.

pantlebridge's first love.

507

Some two or three days after his misadventure,
one fine moonlight evening, I was out on the
porch with my chair tilted against the wall.
Lucretia, poor soul ! complaining of a headache,
had retired ; America was detained by her father,
reading to him or playing checkers, or in some
equally interesting occupation.

" I sat, as I have stated, with my chair tilted
against the wall under the piazza. I was in a
melancholy frame of mind, and was listening to
some one who was whistling, away down the road,
the air of ' Daylight, love, has passed away.' It
had quite an effect on me, for the whistler per-
formed with considerable execution, running the
air down with a flourish, and pausing artisti-
cally on the rest at the low C. It had rather a
depressing effect on me, I say, for I was think-
ing to myself, ' Supposing she should come out
now. What a chance !' I remembered that Mr.
Battledore had that day stated his intention of
driving to the county town next afternoon, and
had offered me a seat along with him, so as to
give me an opportunity of getting my gun-lock
mended, and executing some other small com-
missions ; and I said to myself, ' Another excel-
lent chance to speak to him on the subject.'
Then I pondered how to address the youn^ lady.
' Miss America,' thus ran my ideas — * Miss
America, you may probably consider it strange
that, upon so short an acquaintance, I should
presume to request your most serious attention
l.o what I am going to say ; but, as it is connect-
ed with a matter of vital importance to me, I
may venture to do so.' Here I paused to run
aver the sentence two or three times, and fix it
in my memory. I was rather pleased with the
opening. ' You must have noticed that of late
my attentions to you have been more particular
than those which'

" While I was busy eliminating this sentence,
I heard steps in the passage, and Mr. Battledore,
from the top of the stairs, address some one who
was passing out by another door with, 'My
dear, where are you going to?' 'Only for a
little walk in the moonlight, pa,' was the reply,
in a voice whose every tone I knew by heart."

" Pantlebridge," cried I, here interrupting
him, " that last sentence is highly poetical. I
don't flatter ; it is highly poetical."

"Do you think so?" he replied, evidently
gratified, and rubbing his hands. " Do you
think so? Well, may be it is." And, as he
continued, he repeated —

" Whose every tone I knew by heart.

" ' Take Pantlebridge with you, my love,'
rejoined the old man.

"I was delighted.

" ' Oh, I 'm not going far, pa,' answered the
daughter ; ' and it 's a pity to trouble him. Be-
sides, I believe he has gone to bed.'

" Maiden bashfulness, thought I, and I sprang
up, upsetting the chair, and ran in to teffer my
services. With some hesitation, they were ac-
cepted ; old Mr. Battledore saying that it was
totally unsafe to walk without a gentleman,
were it only on account of the dogs.

" I offered my arm, and we proceeded across
the lawn through the rose-bushes and young
cedars. It was one of those beautiful, cloudless,
tranquil nights of the early summer. The
moonlight lay over tree and flower and sward
like a white frost. The shadows of the horse-
chestnuts that skirted the lawn fell in deep and
lengthened masses of shade. It was a night
that I shall not soon forget.

" It is my opinion, Jack, that almost every
one has some moonlight night in his memory
that he recurs to with feelings of pain or plea-
sure, although he may not like to confess it.

" America moved lightly beside me ; her little
white hands were crossed over the arm that
supported her light form against the unevenness
of the ground. She seemed more beautiful than
ever. When she looked up at me to reply to
some question or remark, her regular features,
blanched by the moonlight, were as faultless as
the outline of a statue. I can't say that on
the evening in question I was in the tranquil
state of mind proper to enjoy a moonlight walk
with a fair companion. On the contrary, I was
in a cold shiver, and making desperate efforts
to be composed all the time. I recollected a
great many apposite maxims, such as 'Faint
heart never won fair lady ;' ' England expects
every man to do his duty f ' It 's the early bird
that catches the worm.' With these, and many
other encouraging sayings, did I endeavor to
keep up my spirits. Like Hogg's hero, I would
have 'whistled up Lord Lennox's March to
keep my courage cheery.' "

" Burns, Pantlebridge."

!' Ah ! yes, Burns. I was so busy reasoning
with myself that I had very little to say to
America; and she was very quiet also, and
kept looking anxiously down the road.

" ' What a heavenly night !' said I, and my
voice seemed so harsh that I started at the
sound.

" ' Beautiful !' she replied.

" 'Such a night as this the soul feels attuned
to the harmonies of nature,' I continued, with a
spasmodic swallow. ' Don't you think so V

'"Yes, quite so,' said she, looking round at
me with an astonished gaze.

508

godey's magazine and lady's book.

" We were approaching a cherry-tree that
stood at the road-side and cast a circle of deep
shade beneath it. I foresaw we would stop
there. ' Now or never, old boy,' I said to my-
self. I gritted my teeth, and continued. I tried
to remember the beautiful oration I had been
preparing on the porch. I might just as well
have tried to repeat the Constitution of the
United States.

" * America !' said I, solemnly, with a gulp.

"'Sir!' she answered. Now, whether she
had that 'female presentiment' usual on such
occasions, and foreshadowing the coming ques-
tion, or not, I can't say ; but she looked despe-
rately alarmed.

" ' America, I have wished for an opportunity
like the present to occur — for some time past.
I — you — in fact, you behold before you the most
miserable of human beings !' I was not exactly
before her, for I was walking, of course, at one
side of her ; but I spoke figuratively, you under-
stand. ' You behold before you the most mise-
rable of human beings !'

" ' Oh, gracious me I don't say so, Mr. Pantle-
bridge !' And she seemed just ready to cry.

" Seeing her so frightened, I began to recover
my spirits, and I went on more boldly —

" ' You cannot but have noticed that, for some
time past, my attentions to you have been more
particular than those that a gentleman usually
pays a lady; and I do not think I have been
mistaken in supposing that they were not disa-
greeable to you.' She held her head down,
apparently watching the little slippers as they
emerged from and disappeared under her dress
with the most intense interest. ' May I not
hope, then'

" ' A pleasant evening to you two !' at this
instant exclaimed a voice from under the tree,
and Diagram, whom, owing to the shadow, I
had not before noticed, descended from the fence
he had been sitting on, and advanced towards
us. I believe America was really glad to be
clear of me, she greeted Diagram with such fer-
vor. I could have kicked him all the way to
Jforthport with pleasure.

" ' Dear me !' she cried, after a few minutes'
conversation, ' I must have dropped my pocket-
handkerchief. Do, Mr. Pantlebridge, see if you
can find it anywhere along the road. It must
be somewhere near here, for I had it in my hand
just now.'

" I moved off with my hands in my pockets
and my eyes upon the ground, and when I got
a little way up the road, I found myself uncon-
sciously whistling ' Sitting on a Rail.' I could
not tell what to make of Diagram being found

under the tree. * What did he want? How did
he come there?' I asked myself. Then I re-
membered the whistling that I had heard on the
porch. 'It must have been he? What did he
whistle for? Lucretia,' I answered myself;
' and Lucretia having a headache, and not being
able to come, America went in her place.' I
began to see through it. ' They might have made
a confidant of me,' I thought, reproachfully, ' and
yet they naturally thought that I might tell Mr.
Battledore. Never mind,' I concluded, 'Mrs.
Pantlebridge sha'n't take any messages, whatever
America jinn Battledore may do.' And, not
having found the handkerchief up to this point,
I changed ' Sitting on a Rail' to a quick step,
and returned towards the chestnut-tree.

" I met the two advancing towards me, appa-
rently in most earnest conversation. Diagram
continued with us up to the end of the lane
before he made his adieu. He related a very
interesting murder trial, in which he had been
retained as junior counsel, and of which I did
not understand a single word. I found no fur-
ther occasion that evening to acquaint America
with my sentiments, as she hurried rapidly into
the house, and retired almost immediately.

" A ter I got to my apartment, I sat down
on the side of the bed to consider matters.
' Come,' said I, ' it's not so bad, after all. You
were precious near it, and if it hadn't been for
that Diagram — yes, that Diagram spoiled all.
Better luck next time,' I added, as I laid my
head on the pillow. ' The course of true love
never did run smooth,' as all the world knows.

" Next morning at breakfast, America's eyes
studiously avoided meeting mine. She seemed
embarrassed. Good omen, I thought. ' She
never told her love, but let concealment, like a
worm i' the bud, prey on her damask cheek.'

" ' Pantlebridge, a piece of beefsteak,' said old
Mr. Battledore, as I repeated this to myself.
' You '11 have to drive to-day, for Columbus has
sprained his wrist so, he says, and wants to stay
at home.'

"I gladly assented. 'We'll see,' thought I,
* if I don't make out better with papa than I did
with the daughter.' At noon the horses were
got out, and we got in. America seemed sorry
to see us depart. She hung round the old man,
and kissed him as he got into the carriage.

« ( Why, you silly little puss,' said he, pinch-
ing her ear, ' did I never go to before, that

you make such a fuss about it?'

" She held her hand out to me, with a 'good-
by, Mr. Pantlebridge ;' and, as I took the little
fingers in my own, I thought I saw tears in hex
eyes. She remained standing, looking after the

PANTLEBRIDGE'S FIRST LOVE.

;o9

carriage until a turn of the road hid her from
my view; and, as her slender form vanished, I
turned again to my companion with a sigh.

" I deferred saying anything to Mr. Battledore
on the matter I was interested in until we should
be on our return, partly because he talked so
much on other subjects that it left me no chance
to introduce what I desired to say.

" I had my gun-spring repaired, and, Mr. Bat-
tledore getting tb rough his affairs at , we

started on our way home rather earlier than he
usually returned. I felt elated, I did not know
why. It was a fine afternoon, and the two bays
made the light carriage spin over the level road.
It was towards sundown, and our course was
marked by a train of dust rolling away behind us,
ruddy in the rays of the setting sun. I introduced
my subject very neatly, as I flattered myself.

" * Sir,' said I, ' your daughter is indispensable
to my happiness. My position is very fair, and
I flatter myself I am not altogether disagreeable
to her ; and to be allied to you I should consider
an event of my life.'

" I went on in this strain for some time. Mr.
Battledore was visibly affected.

" 'My dear boy,' said he, as I paused at last,
' nothing would give me greater pleasure than to
have you for my son-in-law; but — but — she's
in love with that scoundrel Diagram!'

" The reins and whip fell from my hands, and,
had not my companion caught them, we should
have gone home faster than we intended.* I felt
the blood rush violently to my face, and, for an
instant, I was unable to speak; then I muttered
between my set teeth, cthe deceitful, the heart-
less little coquette !' and I am afraid I added
some pretty strong expressions. What a ' thrice
sodden ass' had I made of myself! I felt as if
I could shoot her, knock out Diagram's brains,
and set fire to the house. I did not wish to see
the place again. Old Mr. Battledore tried to
comfort me.

* • Never mind, Pantlebridge,' he kept saying,
'it's not so bad after all. I told the rascal he
should never have her; and now, that she don't
see him, she '11 forget him and learn to like you.
You know it is ' out of sight, out of mind' with
the women. You 're a great deal better-looking
fellow than he is any time ;' and he kindly patted
me on the shoulder. But I could not take that
view of the subject.

" ' She will never forget him !' I exclaimed,
bitterly. ' She has a memory like the calculat-
ing boy, and as to her never seeing him, she
meets him every day and evening, too, I believe,'
I added, remembering the preceding night and
the cherry-tree. What to do I did not know,

43*

I wished to take the boat for New York that
would be going down the river in an hour or so.
I could not bear the idea of seeing the treacheious
girl again.

"As I revolved these things in my mind, we
were rolling rapidly up the street of Northport.
As we approached the store of Mrs. Trimming,
I recognized the old lady as she held on to the
post front of her door with one hand, while the
other signalled us to stop, waving something
white, like a shipwrecked mariner attracting
the attention of a distant vessel.

" • I thought,' said she, as I checked the horses,
' I thought it was you, sir ; and I says to myself,
law, says I, here comes Mr. Pantlebridge ! and I
says to Becky — Becky, says I, run quick and
get the letter, says I, and now he '11 save us
the trouble of sending little Jim up to the house,
says I ; for you know that' —

" ' Where is the letter?' I broke in with, 'and
who 's it from?'

" ' Becky 's a fetchin' it, for I had to run out,
you know, to stop you, because you know you
always like to — dear me, and there's Mr. Bat-
tledore sittin' in the back seat, and to think I
shouldn't have seen him. How do you do, sir?
Well, my eyes isn't as good as they was thirty
years ago, to be sure, though I can't expect it at
my — oh, here's the letter," and Becky handed
the letter to her mistress, who, in turn, delivered
it to me. It was superscribed to " Mr. Battle-
dore," and, as I handed it to him and resumed
the reins, the old lady went on. ' She said it
needn't go up till to-night or to-morrow morn-
ing, but, as you happened to be passing, it will
save me the' —

" ' Good-by, Mrs. Trimmins,' said I, rather
rudely, I fear ; and, as Mr. Battledore opened
the note, the bays again sprang forward.

" ' Who is the she that the old woman was
prating of?' I thought; and I watched Mr. Bat-
tledore somewhat curiously as he opened the
letter. He gave a hasty glance at the contents,
and exclaiming, ' By the Lord Harry, she 's
gone !' fell back on the seat motionless. I stop-
ped instantly. I thought he was struck with an
apoplectic fit. But he rallied in a moment.

" ' Turn back !' said he. ' Turn back this
instant ; may be we 're not yet too late ;' and he
flung me the note. I turned the horses' heads
towards the village again, without asking why,
and read it as we went along. It ran thus. I
kept it," said Pantlebridge, addressing me ; " and
I believe I know it by heart: —

'Dear Papa: Forgive me, I know you dis-
liked Harry so much that you would never lis-

510

godey's magazine and lady's book,

ten to him. He didn't mean to write against
you, and I couldn't leave him. Do not think
hardly of mo. Before you receive this, I shall
be your affectionate daughter,

America A. Diagram.
'P. S. Don't blame Lucretia; she does not
know about it.'

"Old Mr. Battledore's face had become so
pale that it seemed as if all the color had settled
in the tip of his nose. ' Stop !' he exclaimed, as
we came opposite Mrs. Trimmins's again. He
sprang out of the carriage, and ran into the shop.
In a moment he reappeared. 'Drive to the
minister's,' said he; 'there is yet time; they
have not been gone long.' In a few minutes we
•hecked front of the little parsonage garden gate.
A slip-shod servant girl came leisurely down the
garden. 'Is my daughter here?' said old Mr.
Battledore, preparing to get out. ' No, sir !' ' Has
she been here?' 'I b'lieve she was,' was the
reply. ' Ask Mr. Veritrue to come here for a
moment.'

"The slip-shod domestic slapped up the steps,
and, in a minute or two, the clergyman came
down the walk. He was a tall slender old gen-
tleman, and the white hairs on his temples blew
back with the evening breeze from the river, as
he advanced towards us.

" ' Did my daughter come here to be mar-
ried?' asked Mr. Battledore, as the minister
approached ; and his eyes flashed fire.
" ' She did, sir,' was the calm response.
" 'And how dared you marry them without
ray consent!' continued the questioner, his
smothered wrath breaking forth into fury.

" ' I did not marry them, sir. I refused, know-
ing who your daughter was.'

" ' Why didn't you say so at first, then ?' con-
tinued Mr. Battledore, impatiently. 'Where
have they gone, and how long since?'

"Mr. Veritrue said, 'about twenty minutes,'
he supposed, and he did not know what had
become of them. I suggested that they had

probably crossed the river to , where one or

two clergymen were established. 'True!' re-
plied Battledore, catching at the suggestion.
He wrote something with a pencil on a piece
of paper and gave it to me. 'Take this,' said
he, as we quitted the parsonage. 'You are
younger than I am; get a boat and cross the
river. This paper will authorize you to stop
the marriage. I can't row, but I can drive to

, the large town I have mentioned on our

side of the stream. There is great probability
that they have gone there !'
" J would have refused, for I disliked the

I office exceedingly; but the old gentleman cn-

I treated me so earnestly that I couldn't, but

; promise to do so. At the fork of the road I got

out, therefore, and taking my gun with me, that

had been lying in the carriage since we left ,

I ran down to the bank of the river. It was
getting dark when I got there ; the sun having
gone down behind a cloud, made it still darker.
" As I glanced my eye over the outlines of the
little fleet of pleasure-boats moored there, I was
astonished to see the little propeller I have
spoken of swinging round preparatory to leav-
ing the wharf. At first I thought Diagram was
on board ; but, as I looked closer, I recognized
Columbus at the crank. I presumed he was
going on a stolen fishing excursion, as I knew
he sometimes did. ' Columbus !' I shouted,
' Columbus, come back this instant.' Columbus's
first impulse was to endeavor to get away ; but
the boat, though moving swiftly when in a
direct line, turned very slowly. I levelled my
gun at him ; it was unloaded. ' Come back this
minute, you black rascal,' I cried. I was irri-
tated. Columbus seemed under some counter-
influence. He didn't continue to shove off, nor
did he approach the land. His teeth chattered,
and he began to ensconce himself behind a seat,
to be out of range of the gun. I ran down over
several of the boats that I perceived were fast-
ened together, and, with a vigorous spring, I
reached the little propeller. My first impulse
was to. administer a kicking to the negro, but
he begged so hard, saying he was afraid of
'catching a licking' for going fishing without
leave, that I desisted, and bade him turn the bow
for the opposite shore, and I stepped towards
the little cabin at the afterpart. But Columbus
caught tight hold of my coat-tails. He looked
perfectly blue as he said: "Don't! don't go in
de cabin, for massy sake !'

" ' Why shouldn't I go in the cabin ?' I asked,
in astonishment.

" "Case— 'case— it 's jis fresh painted,' he
stammered, without releasing his hold on my
coat-tails. 'I jis fresh painted de interur
(interior) dis afternoon.'

"I was rather astonished with this fit of
industry on the part of the boy ; and, had my
mind not been busily engaged with a more
anxiously interesting subject, I should have
been still more so ; but I sat down gloomily by
the bow, and watched the ripples as they parted
at the passage of the cut-water. Columbus,
with the long tiller ropes fastened one on each
side of him, sat turning the cranks and looking
at me. Thus we moved out into the stream. I
felt a*; if I wanted to talk to some one; so 1

PANTLEBRIDGE'S FIRST LOVE.

511

asked Columbus when he had last seen Miss
America.

" ' Sah !' said Columbus, starting.

" * When did you last see Miss America?' I
repeated, more loudly.

" ' 'Bout dinner-time, I s'pect,' replied he,
watching me like I have seen a dog watch his
master when expecting a cuff.

" ' Columbus,' I resumed, sadly, ' I believe
she has run away with Mr. Diagram?

" Columbus's face assumed a faint expression
of a ghastly grin.

" * I 'm glad Ms' Diagram didn't run away
wid hei ,' he answered.

"'What do you mean, you rascal?' said I,
turning sharply round.

" Columbus collapsed into insignificance
behind the crank, and we pursued our way in
silence. I was pleased with the negro's energy.
He seemed as anxious as I was to reach the
opposite shore ; and, thinking he might be tired,
I sat down to assist him at the crank. As I
turned, I revolved matters over. There were

two ministers in , and I was uncertain

which to go to first. They lived some distance
apart. One was a Baptist, and the other a
Methodist. In this dilemma, remembering that
•two heads were better than one,' I determined
to consult my fellow-laborer.

" ' Columbus,' I began, ' do you think they
have crossed the river to be married ?'

" Columbus said he didn't know, and he
turned a shade bluer than before.

" ' Columbus,' I continued, ' which minister
would they be most likeljr to go to — the Baptist
gentleman or the Methodist?'

" 'I guess dey go to de Mefodis gempleman,'
replied Columbus, without hesitation.

"'Why?' said I.

""Case de Baptis 'quire 'mersion and con-
sternation fuss, and de Mefodis marry right off.
Nobody don't go to a Baptis.'

"Columbus was a Methodist, I knew, and,
therefore, I made allowance for his peculiar
views in favor of that sect. Still, I thought
there might be some correctness in his supposi-
tion, and, as the Methodist minister lived the
nearest, I determined to go to him, therefore,
myself, and to send Columbus with Mr. Battle-
dore's paper, to the Baptist to stop proceedings.
As soon as we touched the shore, I ordered
Columbus to run right off to the Baptist gentle-
man with the paper as soon as he should have
made fast the boat, and I immediately hastened
to the Methodist. I asked on the wharf if a
gentleman and lady had crossed that evening in

a boat from Northport. No one had seen any
such.

" When I arrived at my destination, I spent
at least fifteen minutes in knocking at the front
door. At last some one put her head out of an
up-stairs window, and informed me that the
clergyman was out of town ; he had gone that
afternoon to attend a funeral. I felt somewhat
relieved. 'At least,' thought I, ' he could not
have married them at all events f and I moved
rapidly off to join Columbus at the Baptist's.
It was some distance, and of a hot summer
night, too ; but I reached it at last. Mr. Vari-
ance, the servant said, was at home ; ' would I
walk into the study?' I entered, and paced up
and down the room impatiently. I heard dis-
tant doors open and shut, and in a few moments
Mr. Variance entered. I rapidly explained the
object of my visit, and inquired for Columbus.

" 'Dear me! dear me!' said Mr. Variance, 'I
am extremely sorry, but I have just married
them. They 've only this instant left the house.'

" ' What ! sir,' said I, ' after the message that
the negro gave you ?'

" ' He gave me none !'

" ' None !' said I, aghast.

" ' Not a word, sir. Nay, he was even present
at the ceremony, and I inferred from the con-
versation that he had himself brought them
across the river in a boat.'

" ' The fresh painted cabin ! the fresh painted
cabin !' I exclaimed.

" And I had assisted to convey them across to
get married myself. Mr. Variance made a great
many apologies. I bade him good-evening, and,
picking up my gun, walked leisurely down stairs
and out of the house. I moved down the street
to the wharf, using my gun unconsciously as a
walking-stick. The night-boat for New York
was taking passengers on board. I looked out
on the river, and, in the first light of the rising
moon, I beheld the little propeller more than
half way across the stream to Northport. I
thought I could distinguish the treacherous
Columbus at the crank. The bell tolled- on the
river steamer. ' All aboard !' shouted the man
at the gangway. 'Stop! I'm not!' cried I.
I sprang on as the plank moved. In a few
moments 1 was on my way to New York. Next
day I sent a letter for my luggage, which was
forwarded with an answer, asking me to come
and see old Mr. Battledore. I never went,
though ; and I heard yesterday that Mr. and
Mrs. Diagram, with several small Diagrams, aro
residing with him and 'aunt Lucrctia' at the
'Bower in the Bushes.' "

512

godey's magazine and lady's book.

" Pantlebridgc," said I, "I am curious to
know if Columbus met with no retribution for
his misdeeds."

" His master cancelled his indentures (he was
bound) for having yielded to the bribes of Dia-
gram, and he it was that gave me the informa-
tion yesterday, while handing me < coffee and
muffin' at * Taylor's Lower Saloon,' in Broad-
way."

" Dinner ! gentlemen, dinner !" cried the
steward of the " Wanderer," clanging his bell as
he perambulated the decks.

" Dinner — eh. Certainly ! come, Jack. ' If
there was but ae man left in the world, it wad
behoove that man to hae his dinner !' for which
see Scott's ' Antiquary.' "

" Gait's Entail," said I, as I followed him
into the dining saloon.

CELESTIAL PHE N OMEN A.— DE CE MB E R

BELISLE.

ARIES. — Ancient historians inform us that
twenty-two centuries ago this constellation occu-
pied the first sign in the ecliptic, commencing in
the vernal equinox. At every revolution of the
heavens, this constellation gains fifty seconds
on the equinox, which, in the lapse of ages, has
advanced thirty-one degrees beyond the ecliptic.
Aries is now the second sign in the zodiac, and
is situated east of Pisces, midway between the
Triangle and the Fly on the north, and the head
of Cetus on the south.

This constellation is readily distinguished by
two bright stars in the head, about four degrees
apart. Arietis, the brighter of the two, is the
most easterly, and is situated in the horn. The
other, Sheratan, may be known by a minute
star south of, and in close proximity to it.

Arietis and Sheratan go in pairs like Castor and
Pollux in the Twins, and Procyon and Gomelza
in Canis Major. To nautical science Arietis
affords important facilities. Should a navigator
become lost in an unknown sea, or driven by
storms and tempests from his course, he could,
by measuring the distance between Arietis and
the Moon, which often passes near it, deter-
mine the spot he was in, and his true course,
and the distance to any known meridian or
harbor on the earth. Along the moon's path
there are nine conspicuous stars that are used
for determining longitude at sea. These are
called nautical stars, and are Arietis, Aldebaran,
Pollux, Regulus, Spica Virginia, Antares, Altair,
Fomalhaut, and Markab. This constellation
contains sixty-six stars, and Arietis comes to
'he meridian on the 5th of December, twelve
minutes after Sheratan.

According to Greek mythology, this was the
Ram that bore the golden fleece, and carried
Prryxus and his sister, Ilelle, through the air

when they fled to Colchis, to escape the perse-
cutions of Ino, their cruel stepmother. The
rapid motion of the Ram caused the head of
Helle to become giddy; she lost her seat and
fell into the sea, which was named Hellespont
from that time, to commemorate the event.
Phryxus arrived in Colchis, but was murdered
by his father-in-law, who envied him his golden
prize. This gave rise to the Argonautic expe-
dition, fitted out by Jason, to recover the golden
fleece.

The Hebrews contend that this constellation
was of more ancient origin than that assigned to
it by the Greeks, and assert that it refers to the
flocks of the shepherds of Chaldea.

CETUS.— This is the largest constellation in
the heavens, and occupies a space of fifty degrees
east and west, and twenty north and south, and
is six weeks in passing the meridian, its tail
reaching it on the 10th of November, and its
head leaving it the 22d of December. The
head of Cetus may readily be distinguished by
five remarkably bright stars, four and five
degrees apart, so situated as to form a regular
pentagon. These are twenty degrees south-east
of Arietis, and arc too distinctly marked to ba
mistaken for any others. The brightest is
Menkar, and marks the south-east angle of
the figure, and makes an equilateral triangle
with Arietis and the Pleiades. Twelve degrees
south-west of Menkar is a remarkable star,
situated in the neck of Cetus, called Mira, or
"the wonderful star of 1596." This is a varia-
ble star, changing from the second magnitude
to the seventh once in three hundred and thirty -
four days. Ten degrees south-west of Mira is a
very bright star called Batcn, which marks the

DAILY DEVOTION.

513

brighter star, which, with one seven degrees
north-west of it, makes a scalene triangle.
Eighteen degrees south-west of Baten is a very-
bright star called Diphda, which, with Schemali,
eleven degrees north-west of it, forms a large
irregular figure of very brilliant stars, within
which may be seen four small stars in a regular
line from east to west.

This constellation is of great antiquity. Some
mythologists contend that this is the monster
sent to devour Andromeda when she was chained
to the rock, and which was slain by Perseus.
But it existed prior to the time of Perseus, and
is probably of Egyptian or Chaldean origin.

" With gill pulmonic breathes the enormous whale,
And spouts aquatic columns to the gale ;
Sports on the shining wave at noontide hours,
And shifting rainbows crest the rising showers."

PERSEUS AND MEDUSA.— This double
constellation is situated between Andromeda
aud the Wagoner, and is of extraordinary beauty
and brilliancy.

" Perseus next
Brandishes high in heaven his sword of flame,
And holds triumphant the dire Gorgon's head,
Flashing with fiery snakes ! The stars he counts
Are sixty-seven ; and two of these be boasts,
Nobly refulgent in the second rank ;
One on his vest — one on Medusa's head.

Algol, a star of the second magnitude, marks
the head of Medusa, and may be known by three
small stars a few degrees south of it. It is re-
markable as a variable star, changing alternately
from the second to the fourth magnitude in three
hours and a half, and back again in the same
time, to its original brilliancy, and remains thus
for two and three-fourths of a day, when it per-
forms the same variation over again.

Nine degrees east of Algol is Algenib, which
marks the side of Perseus, and may be known
as being the brightest of a number of stars which
forms a semicircle curving up towards Ursa
Major. Algenib comes to the meridian the 21st
of December, fifteen minutes after Algol. When
these stars are on the meridian, the most brilliant
part of the starry heavens is visible in the eastern
hemisphere, which is unspeakably magnificent
with the visible glories of the great I AM ; and,
as the eye contemplates these lofty mansions of
being, the heart cannot fail to bow in reverence
to Him whose handiwork they are, or covet a
knowledge of their order and relations to one
another, and to our own earth.

The Milky Way around Perseus is very vivid,
presenting the most sublime and wonderful
power and greatness of the Creator. There are

nine nebulous clusters in this constellation,
which have the appearance of being worlds
beyond worlds in the space beyond the visible
stars, whose faint luminous disks greet the eye,
while, still beyond, a dark void is seen, where
still may be worlds even like our own, to
acknowledge a Maker's sway.

Perseus was a great favorite with the gods,
and, wishing to outdo all competitors, attacked
Medusa, the only one of the three Gorgons who
was subject to mortality ; and, cutting off her
head, laid it as an unprecedented trophy at the
feet of Polydectes.

" The victor, Perseus, with the Gorgon head,
O'er Lybian sands his airy journey sped ;
The gory drops distilled as quick he flew,
And from each drop envenomed serpents grew."

The destruction of this monster rendered Per-
seus immortal, and he was placed among the
stars, with the head of Medusa by his side.

DAILY DEVOTION.

BY REV. H. HASTINGS WELD.

(See Plate.)

" Evening and morning, and at noon, will I pray and
cry aloud." — Psalm lv. 17.

When over earth night's shadows close,
And wearied nature seeks repose,
Be unto Him our voice addressed
Beneath whose sheltering power we rest.
He who doth watch o'er Israel keep
Doth neither slumber know, nor sleep
Father ! in Thee our faith to prove
Was night ordained, thou God of Love !

As morn in hopeful radiance breaks,
His mercy ever new it speaks,
Who gives unto our waiting earth
The glory of a daily birth.
Saviour ! it is an earnest bright
That thus shall close death's silent night ;
We join, as day dispels the gloom,
Thy psalm of victory o'er the tomb.

And when the noon with fervid ray
Declares the mighty power of day,
Giver of Life ! to Thee we turn,
As o'er our heads Thy glories burn :
While in Thy beams our souls are faint,
For Thee our thirsty spirits pant :
When weakest in ourselves, are we,
Blest Comforter ! most strong in Thee !

His symbol in the Night we own,

Who doth the Darkness make His Throne:

Morn speaks the Light Revealing Word,

And Noon proclaims Life's mighty Lord :

Praise God, from whom all blessings flowj

Praise Him, all creatures here below ;

Praise Him above, ye angelic host ;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Gho&t.

BOTANICAL GEOGRAPHY.

BY HARLAND COT7L.TAS.

Having viewed separately the several agents
which act as stimulants on the vegetable world,
we shall now consider their influence in combi-
nation in the different regions of the earth.

Tropical countries may be truly regarded as
the paradise of trees and flowers. The intense
heat and light of the sun, combined with the
humidity in the atmosphere, cause the rapid de-
velopment of a rich and varied flora. There
are no wintry winds, falling snows, or hard
frosts to blight the magnificent vegetable beauty
with which these regions are overspread. The
forests of the tropics, instead of being composed,
as in temperate climates, of a small number of
trees with deciduous leaves, presenting the same
wearisome, monotonous aspect, exhibit a much
greater variety of arborescent forms, which,
clothed with perpetual verdure, are covered
throughout the year with fruits and flowers in
lifferent stages of growth. There are bamboos
and other grasses, ligneous and gigantic, equal
in height to the trees of temperate climates ;
immense woody vines of fantastic and varied
form, which elevate themselves to the summit
of the tallest trees, in the midst of which they
mingle their foliage and their flowers. But that
which adds singularly to the originality and
beauty of the tropical landscape, is the elegant
palms and tree-ferns, whose tall, graceful, and
cylindrical stems tower far above the other trees,
bearing on their summit a magnificent bouquet
of gigantic and pendulous fronds.

As we pass from tropical into temperate cli-
mates, the heat diminishes, the rays of the sun
become more oblique and consequently less
vivid, and the humidity of the atmosphere also
decreases ; in a word, all the exciting causes of
vegetation gradually diminish in intensity. The
tall and graceful palm-tree, the plantain, and
the banana, the cotton-tree, and the sugar-cane
are no longer visible. Vegetation is despoiled
of its magnificence and variety, and takes an
humbler and simpler form. Accordingly, we
find that the plants with ligneous and persistent
steins are fewer in number, and that there is a
greater predominance of such as are herbaceous,
and which, therefore, perish annually. Plants
with herbaceous stems have precisely the same
growth as (hose whose stems are ligneous and
514

persistent; any one can speedily convince him-
self of this. There is visible on the cross section
the same disposition of the matter of the stem
into pith, wood, and bark, and the same develop-
ment of buds and branches in the axils of the
leaves. But the heat is not spread through a
sufficient number of months, and the period is
too short for the plant to run through all the
phases of its development. The whole process
is, therefore, stopped in its first stages, and the
stem with its branches and flowers dies down to
the ground, and disappears from the earth's sur-
face on the approach of winter.

In proportion as we approach the polar regions,
the trees become stunted and dwarfed in their
growth ; the number of genera and species is
still further diminished; the oak, the walnut,
the chestnut, and the hickory are replaced by
dark and sombre forests of coniferous plants,
amongst which pines and firs are the most pro-
minent. Finally, these plants gradually disap-
pear, and the last lingering remnants of vegetable
life are seen in the form of mosses, lichens, and
other cryptogamia, the excessive rigor of the
climate preventing any higher indications of
vegetable life.

The same causes influence the development of
the vegetation which covers the side of mount-
ains, as we ascend from their base to their sum-
mit. There is, in fact, a remarkable similarity
between the plants which cover a hemisphere
from the equator to the poles, and those which
clothe the sides of a tropical mountain from its
warm and sunny base to its cold and snowy
summit. The species, genera, and even the
families of the plants growing in the country
surrounding its base may be entirely different
from the vegetable productions of Europe ; but
here, elevation above the ocean level acts in the
same manner on vegetation as an increase of
distance from the equator. In proportion as we
ascend the mountain, vegetation gradually loses
its tropical character, and assumes the appearance
of that without the tropics. The climate becomes
cooler, until at length the tropical plants disap-
pear, and European genera, and even species,
analogous to if not absolutely identical with
those of the temperate climates of Europe, pre-
sent themselves to the eye of the astonished ofc-

CHARADES IN ACTION.

5.5

server. As wc approach the limits of perpetual
snow, the vegetation becomes wholly cryptoga-
mous and similar to that of the arctic regions.

It is, therefore, with great justice and sagacity
that M. de Mirbel has compared the terrestrial

globe to two immense mountains, whose bases
are united at the equator, and whose summits
are the arctic regions around its northern and
southern poles.

CHAEADES IN ACTION.

INTRODUCTION.

The French have made themselves singularly
famous by their " petits jcux," as they call them.
Their inability to sit still for more than half an
hour has forced them to invent a long list of
amusing excuses for locomotion. They have
their " Pigeon Vole" and " Main Chaude" or
*"' Berlingue" and " Chiquette" and a thousand
other receipts for making a long evening short.

But the most celebrated of all these petits
jeux are their " Charades en Action." Pigeon
Vole, and all the rest, have given way to these
Acting Charades. No birthday is allowed to
pass without playing at them. The young and
the old both delight in the game, and invariably
choose it. The old people lay aside their dignity
with a look of jovial martyrdom, and laugh
more than any one else ; whilst, as if to apolo-
gize for their apparently unbecoming levity,
they tell you " they do like to see young people
©njoying themselves."

Some persons have even acquired a kind of
reputation as charade actors, and are in such
request that invitations shower down from all
quarters ; and, if they can only be engaged, it is
looked upon as a kind of certificate that the
party is sure to be a good one.

Lately, the game has been introduced into the
drawing-rooms in this country, and has become
very popular. Its success has been tremendous.
Cards have been discarded, and blind-man's
buff forfeits, and hunting the ring been utterly
abandoned. On Christmas day, it has been
looked forward to and entered into with as much
energy as the sainted plum-pudding itself. We
have seen it played among literary circles with
unbounded mirth. We have seen philosophers
and poets either acting their parts with all the
enthusiasm of school-boys, or puzzling their
brains to find out how they could dress as Henry
VIII., with only a great-coat and a " gibus."

This game is, as its name expresses it, a cha-
rade, acted instead of spoken. The two most
•olebrated performers of the party choose " their

sides," and, whilst the one group enacts th*
charade, the other plays the part of audience.
A word is then fixed upon by the corps drama-
tique ; and " my first, my second, and mj
whole" is gone through as puzzlingly as possible
in dumb show, each division making a separate
and entire act. At the conclusion of the drama,
the guessing begins on the part of the audience.
If they are successful, they in turn perform j if
not, they still remain as audience.

The great rule to be observed in Acting Cha-
rades is — silence. Nothing more than an ex-
clamation is allowed. All the rest must be done
in the purest pantomime.

If, in the working out of the plot, there should
be some sentence that it is impossible to express
in dumb-show, and yet must be made clear to
the audience, then placards may be used. A3
Hamlet says, they must " speak by the card."

This license may also be taken advantage of
in the scenic department. For instance, it
would be utterly impossible for the audience to
know that the drawing-room wall before them
is meant to represent a " magnificent view on
the Rhine," or " the wood of Ardennes by
moonlight," unless some slight hint to that
effect is dropped beforehand. In this case, it is
better to follow the plan so much in vogue
about Queen Elizabeth's time, and which, for
simplicity and cheapness, has never been sur-
passed. At the commencement of each act,
hang against the wall a placard stating the scene
that ought to be represented.

The audiences nowadays are no doubt quite
as accommodating as in the sixteenth century.
Then, the same curtain that had served for " Ye
pavelyon of Kinge Richarde," could, in the
waving of a placard, be changed into " Ye feildes
of Bosworthc ;" and there is no doubt but that,
in these days, a fashionable drawing-room
assembly would believe anything you could tell
them.

By this simple method, the most expensive
scenery can be commanded at any time. The
palaces can be golden wiihout any addition ol

516

godey's magazine and lady's book.

cost, and lakes can be fairy- like at a moment's
notice. There is also this advantage : as each
spectator will be his own scene-painter, the
views are sure of giving general satisfaction.

Another very important point with Acting
Charades is the proper delivery of the gestures
in the panto nimic readings of the parts. Every
actor ought to study the different expressions
and suitable actions of the passions. So much
depends upon this that, under these circum-
stances, perhaps it would be better to draw up a
kind of code of expressions, or laws for the
better regulation of frowns, smiles, and gestures.

Love, one would think, is too well known
to require many directions. The pressing of the
left side of the waistcoat or the book-muslin,
the tender look at the ceiling, and the gentle
and elegant swinging of the body have, since the
days of Vestris, always accompanied the de-
claration of a true devotion in the upright and
dumb individual. The flame may perhaps be
made a little more devouring by the kissing of a
miniature, or the embracing of a well-oiled
ringlet or figure-of-six curl.

Rage, like a mean husband, can only be
managed by fits and starts. It may be pictured
to an almost maddening amount by the frequent
stamping of the foot and the shaking of the fist.
Frowning and grinding of teeth should be ac-
companied by opening the eyes to their greatest
possible size ; and, if a great effect is desired to
be produced, the room may be paced, provided
the legs of the performer are of a sufficient
length to enable him to take the entire len>> \
of the apartment in three or four strides.

In Despair, the action is slightly altered;
there, the limbs must almost seem to have lost
their power. The actor must sink into a chair,
pass his hand through his hair, with his five
fingers spread open, like a bunch of carrots ; or
else, letting his arms fall down by his side,
remain perfectly still, like a little boy on a
frosty day, either gazing at his boots or the
ceiling. Despair is made more tragic by a slight
laugh ; but this must only be attempted by the
very best tragedians, on the principle that
laughter, like the measles, is very catching.

Hope, like a sovereign sent by post, is seldom
properly delivered. Here there must be no vio-
lent gestures — everything must be soft and
\ leasant. The finger must be occasionally
raised to the ear, and the performer's counte-
nance wear a bright smile and a look of deep
intensity, as if listening to the soft still voice
within. The ceiling may be looked at fre-
quently, and the bosom pressed; but, if great
care is not taken, and the hands are not fre-

quently clasped at arm's length, the audience
will be imagining you arc in love — and in a state
of love, of course, one is quite hopeless.

Disdain is perhaps the easiest passion to be
expressed. The dignified waving of the hand,
and the scornful look, gradually descending
from top to toe, are well known to all who have
been mistaken for waiters at evening parties.
The eyes should be partly closed, the nose, if
possible, turned up, the lips curved, and the
countenance gently raised to the ceiling.

If any embracing should be required in the
course of the piece, it is, under the present arbi-
trary laws of society and mothers, better to
leave this interesting process to husbands and
wives.

The effect, from the sheer novelty of the
situation, will be startling. If they should re-
fuse, the old theatrical plan should be resorted
to — press heads over each other's shoulders, and
look down each other's backs.

Many pieces conclude with a blessing. This
is simply done by raising both the hands over
the heads of the kneeling couple ; look steadily
at the ceiling till the eyes begin to water, and
move the lips slowly, as if muttering. At the
conclusion, the tear can be dashed away, and
always has a very pretty effect. Weeping is
generally performed by burying the face in the
handkerchief, beading the head to the breast,
and nodding it violently.

The great difficulty to be overcome in Acting
Charades is the absence of a theatrical wardrobe.

Very often it is necessary to dress as a Ro-
man, a Persian, or a Turk. Sometimes an
ancient knight is wanted in full armor. We
have known Louis XIV. called for in a full
court dress, and only five minutes allowed for
the toilet. In all these trials, the mind must ba
exerted with high-pressure ingenuity. The
most prominent characteristic of the costumo
must be seized and represented. In the Roman,
a sheet will do for a toga ; in the knight, the .
coal-scuttle for helmet, and the dish-cover for
breast-plate, make capital armor ; and in Louis
XIV., the ermine victorine wig for well-pow-
dered peruke, and the dressing-gown for em-
broidered coat, would express pretty well the
desired costume.

Great-coats, veils, whips, walking-sticks,
aprons, caps, and gowns must be seized upon
and used in the dressing up of the characters.
No expense should be spared, and every sacri-
fice be made, even though the incidents of the
piece should include the upsetting of a tray of
tea-things, or the blacking of all the young
ladies' faces.

CHARADES 1>N ACTION.

517

COURTSHIP. — A CHARADE IN THREE ACTS

ACT I.
COURT—

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

Lord Chief Justice. Counsel.

Prisoner (a Sailor).

Eight Ladies (his Wives).

Jurymen, Policemen, Spectators, &c.

Time — Before supper-time.

Scene— A Court of Justice. At back of Draw-
ing-room the Lord Chief Justice's easy-chair.

and ottoman for Counsel. To the right, sofa
for Jurymen. To the left, fire-screen for Pri-
soner's dock.

Flourish of splendidly imitated trumpets.
Enter procession in following order: The
Usher, holding the carpet-broom of office ; His
Honor, robed in gorgeous dressing-gown, and
wearing a magnificent wig of ermine victorine ;
the Counsel, carrying carpet-bags, holding
briefs of music, and properly wigged with night-
caps ; the wretched Sailor, who stands charged
with the dreadful crime of polygamy, in the

close custody of the Jailor, bearing the street-
door key of office, and endeavoring to restrain
his prisoner from dancing the hornpipe.*

As soon as Prisoner is safely secured behind

fire-screen, he again breaks out in a hornpipe,

when

Enter the eight Plaintiffs (ladies whom
the inconstant Prisoner has respectively mar-

ried in the several ports he has visited). They
are natives of various countries, and dressed in
their different national costumes.

At sight of the vile Sailor they are deeply
moved, and intimate a strong desire to get at him.

Enter Jurymen, who are immediately packed
into the sofa.

Counsel for prosecution, in the most elcctri-

* Unfortunately for the pantomimic art, the hornpipe
is the only means left for proving that a gentleman in
black continuations is a sailor.

TABLEAU,

fying dumb-show, proves, by pointing and
frowning at Prisoner, who is still dancing, what
a villain the man is. He shows the validity o
each marriage by putting an imaginary ring
his third finger; and having referred to the
of "Lachi darem— in Re Don Giov/
Italian Duets, Vol. II., demands, by a th
the ottoman, that the scoundrel si
punished with the utmost rigor of the

Judge, putting on the black hat, pr
pass sentence of death on the ^^
wretched Prisoner, who evinces ^*
the utmost callousness by doing ^^
the split in the hornpipe.

The wives no sooner hear their
joint husband's doom than an affectionate
is made towards him, which the wretched
perceiving, he seeks safety in flight.

TOL

. XLIX. — 44

518

GODEY's MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK,

ACT II.
—SHIP.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Captain, Sailors, Passengers, &c.

Scene— The deri of that fast-sailing craft, the
Front Drawing-room.
Enter Captain, with noble cocked-hat,
made out of yesterday's Times, and hair-brushes

passengers make a simultaneous rush. He al
enables several poor creatures, who are walking
about in the most extraordinary manner, and
rolling from side to side of drawing-room, to
reach their berths.

for epaulettes. He shouts through a set of
quadrilles, when

Enter several tight lads, who proceed to the
music-stool to heave at the capstan and weigh

the imaginary anchor; whilst others pulley-oi
at the larboard bell-rope to let out gallant main-

top ceiling. Two more brave boys take the
el, and, by means of the arm-chair, steer
n beautifully.

iGers on after-ottoman now begin, by

jsticulations— the turning up of eyes, and

sudden application of handkerchiefs— to

.itimate that they have passed the Nore Light;

whilst others, leaning over the backs of their

chairs, implore their neighbors, in the most

affecting pantomime, to throw them overboard.

Enter Steward with basins, at which the

Presently a fearful storm is supposed to arise.
The Passengers, binding life-preservers of com-
forters round their waists, jump hurriedly from
their berths, and, springing over the sides of the
ship, strike out for the door, where exeunt
omnes.

ACT III.
COURTSHIP.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Old Father. His Daughter. Her Lover.

Retainers, Lawyer, &c. &c.

Scene— Apartment in mansion of Old Father.

Enter Daughter, who shows, by pressing

her side and swinging about, that she is deeply

in love. She commences laying a table for two,

and, having set down a lovely round of cold'

bandbox, she again expresses her fondest devo-
tion for one of the knives and forks.

Sweet plaintive sounds of a splendidly-exe-
cuted whistle are heard without. She claps her
hands, and

Enter Lover in full uniform of the new
police, richly silvered with chalk. He glances

anxiously at the cold round of bandbox, an
then gives vent to the wildest moven
joy. They advance to table, and I
mences. Just as he has helped himself to

THE STEAM-BATH.

519

lid, a loud and continued knocking is heard
without. They become agitated j and Lover,

endeavoring to avoid an angry parent's just
wrath, seizes some bread and plunges beneath
the table.

Enter Old Father, suffering acutely from
an attack of suppositious gout, and forced to use
brooms whilst walking. He expresses his sur-
prise at banquet, but is pleased when he learns
it was intended for him. Lover, growing tired
of bread, endeavors to snatch some meat off his
angel's plate. Old Father, alarmed on seeing
the mysterious hand, and jumping from his
seat, drags Lover from under the table. Grand
exposure. He is about to curse the villain,
when

Enter Lawyer with placard, announcing
that the scoundrel has just come into a coro-
netcy and £2,000,000. He crowns him with a
ducal meat-cover. Old Father relents, and
blesses his children. Retainers and maid of all
work rush in, and arrange themselves into the
subjoined —

IkM

GRAND TABLEAU.

THE STEAM -BATH,

A SKETCH OF SOUTHERN LIFE.

BY PAULINE FORSYTH.

Mrs. Rachel Heartt was one of Louden's
most noted characters. Her father had been a
mighty hunter, and all her early life had been
passed on the frontiers of civilization. He was
a well-educated man, and a widower, with but
this one child, of whom he had been devotedly
fond. All his unoccupied time was spent in
attending to her education, and at the age of
fifteen she was a good Latin and Greek scholar,
a ver}' fine shot, an excellent horsewoman, and
managed her father's house, and plantation too,
when he was absent, with great discretion. She
married at that time a physician, but one who
preferred hunting and out-door sports to the
practice of his profession. When she was
about thirty, she lost, within one year, both her
husband and father. On examining into the con-
dition of their affairs, it was found that, though
both had been supposed to be wealthy, their ex-
penditure had so far exceeded their income that,
out of their united possessions, only a small
estate near Louden was left to Mrs. Heartt.

She removed there immediately, bringing with
her a few old family servants and her husband's
library, for which no purchaser had been found
in the backwoods. Her mind was too active to
remain contented long in the limited sphere to
which her losses had reduced her. For want of
other occupation, she took to the study of modi
cine, for which she soon developed a decided
vocation. She was one of those " women with
a mission," that Dickens amuses himself and his
readers about. They were rarer characters then
than now, and Mrs. Heartt was so earnest and
genuine a character that every one liked and
respected her.

Thorough in everything she undertook, she
made herself well acquainted with all the books
on medicine in her library, and the ordinary
diseases of the locality. The success she met
with in her practice, which was really remarka-
ble, was greatly exaggerated by rumor, and her
reputation extended far beyond her county. She^
had, at one time, thirty patients ill with

>20

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

scarlet fever, and they all recovered. After
that, the common people regarded her as an
oracle. One great addition to her popularity-
arose, no doubt, from her advice, and often her
medicines, being given gratuitously. Her income
was very limited, and she was obliged to deny
herself many luxuries, and sometimes even com-
forts, to enable her to gratify her benevolence.
But this active and useful life was so pleasant
to her that she looked upon nothing connected
with it as a sacrifice.

I am sorry to be obliged to relate that, after
practising for some years on the allopathic
system, she met with a Thompsonian doctor who
made a complete convert of her; and when I
knew her, "Number Six" and the "Steam-
Bath" were her great remedies. She afterwards
adopted the Homoeopathic plan ; but she never
took kindly to the infinitesimal doses; and,
when the Hydropathic school arose, she wrote
to me for some books relating to it. I collected
all I could find, and sent them out to her. It
was a mode of practice peculiarly suited to her
genius, and she is now packing vigorously.
But she is hardly as popular as she once was,
especially with the servants on the plantations
around, who now seem to regard her rather as
an infliction tha"h a benefactor.

I owe my first acquaintance with her to a
fever which attacked me during the second
spring I passed in Louden. It was the first
sickness I had had since the days of my infancy,
and I hardly knew how to endure it. Indeed,
I gave up all hopes of recovery when I found
that I could «iot stand alone and was obliged to
lie in bed all day. It was a degree of weakness
from which it seemed madness to hope that I
could rally. I looked at my pale hands, and
pitied myself most sincerely, poor little thing,
about to die so far away from home.

I am not sure that this quiet resignation to
the worst is not in some cases a better plan than
the habit some people have of forming in the
blackest night the most sanguine anticipations
of a bright morning; for, when you are in the
depths of gloom and despair, the slightest ray
of light is welcomed with joyful surprise; and
when the morning comes, as it always does,
even though it is a clouded one, its unexpected-
ness and its contrast to the darkness make it
delightful ! But when were sanguine expecta-
tions ever realized !

During the first week of my illness, Mrs. '
Heartt came to see me. She had never visited
me before, though we had met occasionally, and
I had always been favorably impressed with her
••^pcarance, yet I cannot say that she was a

fine-looking or even a comely woman. Her
features were large and strongly marked; her
chin and the lower part of her face heavy ; her
hair sandy, and combed smoothly back from a
forehead and cheeks that had somewhat of a
weather-beaten look. But, notwithstanding all
this, the practical good sense and great benevo-
lence that were already expressed in every line
of her face, seemed to throw into the background
the contour of her features. You saw them, but
as though under a softening and refining veil.

I am afraid I owed her first visit as much to
professional curiosity as to sympathy, for she
knew that I stood in no need of the latter, being
surrounded by very kind and attentive friends.
But she had no sooner entered my room than
her practised eye discerned at once that I was
not comfortably placed. Lifting me in her
strong arms as though I had been an infant or
a small* bundle, she arranged in a moment the
pillows and bed-clothes, so that, when she had
laid me down again as carefully as she had taken
me up, the difference seemed wonderful to me.
She remained about an hour, and during all that
time busied herself about me in the same effectual
way. Everything she did was pleasant to me ;
the drink she held to my lips came at the very
moment that I was wishing for it, and I never
liked any one's mode of fanning half so well as
hers. More than all, she did everything without
asking me whether I liked it or not. That was
her greatest charm to me, for I had grown ex-
ceedingly weary of being called on to make up
my mind about what I would like to have done
or left undone.

After the first greeting was over, I remained
silent till Mrs. Heartt was tying on her bonnet
to go, and then, impelled by a sudden impulse,
I said —
" Do come again soon, Mrs. Heartt."
There must have been a very wistful look in
my eyes as I spoke, for she bent over and kissed
me, saying —

" Certainly, my dear. I will stay now if you
wish it. And call me Aunt Rachel, Pauline, as
everybody else does here."

I turned my face away while the tears came
slowly rolling down my cheeks, and my breast
heaved with the gathering sobs. If she had
spoken another word to me, I should have lost
all control over myself; but she stood quietly
by me, passing her hand over my throbbrng
temples with a regular gentle motion that was
very soothing.

I do not know whether, by some magnetic
influence, the strength and calmness of fter
spirit were imparted to mine, or whether tho

THE STEAM-BATH,

521

effect was a purely physical one, but very soon
my tears stopped of their own accord, and a
delightful feeling of repose, languor, and perfect
peace stole over me, and then I fell asleep. This
was the commencement of a friendship between
Aunt Rachel and myself that has been a source
of great happiness to me. As soon as I was
sufficiently recovered to bear the ride, she came
over to ask me to return and spend a week or
two with her.

We rode out to her place on horseback, for
she had no carriage, and before we reached
there, a sudden shower came up, which drenched
us thoroughly. Aunt Rachel was very much
troubled on my account, and with reason, for I
had no sooner entered the house than I was
seized with a violent chill.

" We must break this up directly," said she ;
"you are under my care now, not Dr. Warren's,
and if you will do as I tell you, you will not
have another shake this year."

I was very willing to obey her, for she had
inspired me with the most unlimited confidence.
In one of the rooms of her house, especially
devoted to invalids, there was a tall, narrow
box, about large enough to contain a man in a
sitting posture. There was a small aperture in
one side of it called a window, and a door with
a bolt on the outside, the use of which I soon
learnt.

This was Aunt Rachel's steam-bath, and she
was very proud of it, and fond of relating the
wonderful cures she had performed with it. The
steam was introduced by some contrivance of her
own, and I hardly think it was done in a scien-
tific manner, though no one dared to insinuate
such a thing to her.

I had not been in the house fifteen minutes
before I was wrapped up in a blanket and sit-
ting in the box, like a mummy in a sarcophagus.
I was waiting for the warm, pleasant sensation
I had been promised, when the hot steam poured
in, nearly suffocating me. As soon as I reco-
vered my breath, which I thought at one time
gone forever, I put my head close to the little
window, which was too small to allow me to
look from with both eyes at a time, and implored
to be let out. My entreaty met with a decided
refusal.

" But I am suffocating !"

" No, you are not, my dear."

" I cannot endure it a moment longer."

"Yes, you can. Try it and see."

" I am dying."

" Nonsense, child ; do you think I would put
you where I didn't know you were safe."

I knew I could not live through any more ;

44*

but, seeing that I was " shut up to it," I resolved
to die like Caesar, decently, and without any
more useless entreaties. Ten minutes passed
away, and the door was unbolted.

"How do you feel now, my dear? You're
alive yet, I see."

" It is very pleasant now," I replied, a little
ashamed of my fright, and wishing to make
amends. " But did you ever try it yourself,
Aunt Rachel?"

" No, dear, I am never sick."

" I wish you would try it once," said I, " and
then you would know better how delightful it
is."

A little while after the bath, Aunt Rachel
came to my bedside with a vial full of a dark
thick liquid. She poured some out in a spoon.

"Take this, my dear. It is some Number
Six. It is the best thing in the world for chills,
and is not disagreeable at all."

I swallowed it as unsuspectingly as I had
entered the bathing-box ; but if it had been
liquid fire poured down my throat, I do not
think it could have caused me greater agony for
a moment. I could not speak for several min-
utes. At last I gasped out —

" Did you ever taste that, Aunt Rachel ?"

" No, child. I never need such things, I am
thankful to say."

" It is the most dreadful stuff!"

Aunt Rachel only laughed at me, and went
away. She returned in a minute with another
vial.

" I am going to drop some of this in your
eyes, my dear; they look a little inflamed. I
am afraid you use them too much."

So great was the influence that her calm,
authoritative, self-relying manner gave her over
my naturally passive and yielding disposition,
that, if she had gone on proposing new remedies
all night, and they had all turned out tortures,
I should still have submitted to each one of
them.

1 believe the Thompsonian medicines are
generally fiery in their nature. All that have
been tried on me were. This eye-water was no
exception to the rule. It brought tears in
streams from between my closely shut eyelids.
It seemed to me that I should never be able to
open them again.

" Are you sure that is the right vial ?" asked I.

" Certainly, my dear. Have you no more
reliance on me than to suppose I would make
such a mistake ?"

This was cruel, considering what I was under-
going for her sake ; for I had not been aware of
the slightest inflammation in my eyes.

522

godey's magazine and lady's book.

" Aunt Rachel, I am afraid I am blind," said
I, timidly.

" You are a foolish little child. Go to sleep."

And She kissed me and left me to my reflec-
tions. I tried to realize the probability of my
never being able to see again, and found it but
too easy. I began to wonder what I should do.
It seemed to me people in such cases generally
took to weaving baskets. How much could I
earn in a day at that? I wondered. And how
long would it take me to learn to read in raised
letters? And did they ever print any novels
in that way? which question, though not a
very edifying one, interested me deeply; and in
such musings I fell asleep.

The dread must have been on my mind all
night, for my dreams were disturbed, and I woke
very early, while it was yet too dark to discern
a single object. The horror of that thick dark-
ness fell around me like a pall as I thought that
perhaps I might have to walk in it all the rest
of my life. I shall never forget my sensations
as the dim outline of the window slowly defined
itself to my straining eyes, in the first gray light
of the morning. Ever since then, if I wake
before the sun, my eyes turn involuntarily to
the window through which its earliest ray will
stream, and when I discern it, the same emotions
of trembling rapture fill my soul that I felt on
that morning at Aunt Rachel's. It is as if I
received my sight as a new gift.

I was soon well enough to need no attention,
and, as Aunt Rachel was accustomed to spend a
great part of the day in visiting her patients and
attending to her little plantation, I was left
alone for many hours at a time. Wishing to
find some occupation for me, Aunt Rachel told
me that she did not think I could find anything
so improving and interesting as the study of
medicine. I had a secret detestation of every-
thing connected with it ; but, to please her, I
began it. No one need be astonished at this
when they learn that I had, two years before,
commenced the study of law, and read three
pages in Blackstone to please an old bachelor
uncle of mine, who recommended it most
strongly to me as a most useful and delightful
pursuit. I also learned the Greek alphabet, and
puzzled over the Hebrew, for the sake of another
old friend. Of course, I was prepared to study
anything proposed by one who had been so kind
to me. I have no doubt I should have been
prepared for practice long since, if I had not
been so troubled by symptoms. No sooner did
I read of one than I felt, it, and after two days'
trial, Aunt Rachel told me herself to put the
books away, that I was not. capable of going on

with it, which derogatory opinion of my capa-
bilities gave me sincere satisfaction. I hunted
out in their stead a complete set of Mrs. Rad-
cliffe's romances, and Sir Charles Grandison.
I had read the first when I was thirteen, and,
remembering the delightful horror with which
they had filled me, I was quite disappointed to
find how changed they appeared to me on this
second perusal. Sir Charles Grandison I had
never met before, and it occupied me several
days.

I was in the room generally used as a sitting •
room by Mrs. Heartt, not only for herself, but
for all her visitors. Her bed, standing in one
corner of it, was considered rather as an orna-
ment than otherwise. I was deeply engaged in
the last volume of Sir Charles when a man
entered unceremoniously.

"Aunt Rachel here?" asked he, with a
familiar nod.

" No," I replied ; " she will be at home in an
hour or two, though."

" I reckon I mought as well wait."

And he sat down and looked inquisitively at
me. I glanced at him now and then, but, as he
never seemed to think it necessary to remove
his eyes from my face, I found that I was pursu-
ing my observations under difficulties too hard
for me. He was a rather tall and very thin
man, with a sallow face and small puckered-up
features. He was really not more than thirty,
but he might readily have passed for forty. His
clear brown eyes redeemed his face from positive
ugliness, they had such a bright and pleasant
expression ; and for a good, steady, unwavering
gaze, I never knew their equal. I found my-
self growing rather nervous under it, and, unable
to read, I began to wonder when he would get
used to my looks; whether he thought me so
astonishingly ugly, or whether he was discover-
ing hidden beauties. I rather inclined to the
latter supposition. Sometimes I felt as though
my eyes were the particular object of his curios-
ity; sometimes I was sure it was my nose, and,
all at once, it struck me that perhaps it was my
mouth. I was a little sensitive about my
mouth, and I felt that I could not bear the silent
inspection any longer. I closed the book and
gazed back at him.

"Fond of reading?" asked he, as though he
had known me all my life.

" Yes."

" Well, that is a thing I don't see the slightest
use in. It's all waste of lime to me. Thcr
put a heap of learning into me when I was a
boy, but I took it mighty hard. I reckon I've
forgotten every word of it, and I 'm just as well

THE STEAM-BATH.

523

off. You are the stranger that 's visiting Aunt
Rachel?"

" Yes."

" You are a foreigner ?"

" No," with a surprised look.

" A Yankee, I mean," said he, hesitatingly,
as though he were afraid of hurting my feelings.

" Yes," replied I, with an emotion of pride,
for while the word suggested to him only ped-
dlers, to me it was full of aspiring, triumphant
genius, and the pilgrim fathers.

" It seems mighty strange," said he, surveying
me again, " to see a lady Yankee. I hav'n't
felt quite easy in my mind towards your coun-
try-people for some time. I don't think I'd
like to trust myself alone in the room with one
of them for fear I might do him some hurt. Of
course, I don't mean the ladies ; they are the
same everywhere, I believe. Have you ever
heard the last trick the Yankees played me?"

As I had never seen him before, and did not
know his name, of course I answered in the
negative.

"Well, I'll tell you, and see if you don't
think it was enough to make a man angry.
You know your people can't stay at home, but
are always wandering about the country" — a
very conscious guilty feeling came over me" —
and they are mostly peddlers, I believe ; anyway,
I never saw one that wasn't. I met one last
December, that had a lot of andirons to sell ;
nice-looking iron ones they were, and he was
offering them very cheap. I told him I didn't
see how he could make a living at that rate,
and he looked so mighty meek and innocent,
and said it was dreadful hard work to get along,
that I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. I
was very near taking two pair of the andirons,
but I concluded not to buy but one. It happened
to be a warm spell of weather, and I didn't
have a fire made for a week or two. But one
day when I was going out, I told Polly, my cook
you know, to have a good fire for me when I
came back at night. Well, when I went into
the dining-room, what should I see but the
coals scattered all over the hearth, and some of
them had rolled on to the floor, and, in a minute
longer, the house would have been on fire ! I
called for Polly, and asked her what she meant
by making the fire in that way, and where the
andirons were. She said that she had put them
in the fire-place, and when she came and saw
that they were gone, she looked so scared that I
didn't know what to make of it. She said a
sperrit had come and taken them away. I asked
her what she thought spirits wanted with andi-
rons : and, while I was talking, I went on put-

ting up the fire. All at wonst I came across
something that looked very suspicious. I said,
'What's this, Polly?' 'Laws, mast'r, it's de
andiron,' says she. And, sure enough, we found
bits of them here and thar in the fire, and when
we came to look at them, they turned out to be
nothing but painted wood. They were mighty
hardwood; I'll do the Yankee the justice to
say that. But I tell you, Miss, I would give
something handsome if I could come acrost that
man only once more.

"Ah, Aunt Rachel, how dy?" continued he,
addressing that lady as she entered the room.
"I've been waiting for you for some time, but
this young lady and me has been having quite a
pleasant chat."

I had said " No" twice, and " Yes" as often.

" You see, Aunt Rachel, I can't get shut of
my shakes. I took some Number Six, and it
helped me ; but I had another fit of them this
morning, and I made a bee-line for your house
to see if you couldn't break them up for me at
wonst. I hear a heap of that steam machine of
yours, and I thought that perhaps if you would
give me a turn in it, it might do me good."

" Misguided man !" thought I.

Aunt Rachel was highly pleased.

" Certainly I will," said she. " I am sure it
will be of use to you."

I wondered how he would bear the operation,
and my curiosity was soon gratified ; for the
room he was to occupy being separated from
Aunt Rachel's only by a thin partition, I could
hear their conversation distinctly.

It had been quite late in the evening before
the bath had been prepared ; and when, after it,
while he was lying down recovering from its
effects, Mrs. Heartt went in to administer some
of her other remedies, he greeted her with —

" Now, Aunt Rachel, I always thought you
were a Christian and a well-meaning woman ;
but I 'd like to know if you consider it a human
thing to shut a man up in a box and smoke him
to death. If ever you catch me in that steam
fixin' of yours again, you may trade me off for
a bobtail dog, and shoot the dog. It's a heap
worse than a b'ar fight ; and, if I ever get my
strength again, if I don't give that Joe of yours
a thousand, it will be because I can't. When I
told him I was being murdered, I heard him
laughing to himself, as though it was mighty
good fun."

" How do you feel now ?" asked she.

" Why, Aunt Rachel, I hain't got a grain of
stiffenin' left in me. I could tie myself up into
a double bow-knot and twist the ends into a
cockade, just as easy as rolling off a log. It 's

524

godey's magazine and lady's book.

as true as preaching, Aunt Rachel ; and I don't
know when I can hold myself up again."

According to her usual custom, Aunt Rachel
proposed to read a chapter to him before leaving
him.

"So do, Aunt Rachel," said he; "that's a
first-rate contrivance of yours for making a man
think of his sins. The way I forgave every-
body and repented wasn't slow. It would have
heen mighty handy, too, if I could have remem-
bered any little prayer; but I couldn't think of
a thing but

1 How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey every day
From every opening flower.'

I reckon I must have said that over twenty
times."

The next morning Mr. Inskeep, for so had he
been introduced to me, found himself, to his
surprise, well enough to sit up ; and, as Aunt
Rachel went out on her customary errands, we
were left to entertain each other. Discovering
that I was a good listener, he was insensibly led
on to tell me all the interesting particulars of
his life. I learned, among other things, that he
was engaged to a Miss Nanny Tenney, and that
the wedding was to take place in two weeks,
with many particulars concerning the young
lady. " She was a low woman," he said, mean-
ing short, "with sandy hair; she had the pret-
tiest red jaws he had ever seen, and was mighty
peart."

After a while, I found my thoughts wander-
ing to Sir Charles and Harriet Byron, and,
taking advantage of a little pause in his mono-
logue, I resumed my reading. After sitting
uneasily for a few minutes, Mr. Inskeep asked
me if I had any objection to reading out. I was
perfectly willing to do so ; but, as I was in the
middle of the last chapter, he found it more
incomprehensible than interesting. He asked
me so many questions as I went on, that I was
obliged to begin at the beginning and relate all
the story to him. His whole heart and soul
seemed to be absorbed in it as I went on, and,
my interest being quickened by his, I entered
into the minutiae of some of the most important
passages ; and, in fact, though it was high noon
when I commenced, the shades of evening had
stolen over us before I had finished.

I was so pleased with the wonder and delight
with which ho had listened to me, that I had
already determined to astonish him with all
Mrs. Radcliffc's horrors, when, indulging in a
long stretch and yawn, he said —

"Thank you, Miss. Do you know, Miss

Pauline, they talk a heap about you down at the
town. They say you arc a right nice girl, but
you are so still. Tom Jessup says you stayed a
month with his sister, and he never heard you
open your lips ; and here you have been talking
six hours without stopping a minute. I am
pretty peart with my tongue — father used to tell
me I was like a sheep's head, all jaw — but I
couldn't beat that. I '11 tell the people down at
Louden that you can talk fast enough when you
want to."

I had several twinges during this little speech.
Those remarks of his about my silence hit me
upon a very tender point. " It was true, and I
was sorry for it," as a member of Parliament
said, when he was called on to apologize for
some inadvertent language. * Mr. Speaker, 1
did call that honorable gentleman a knave. It
is true, and I am sorry for it." And yet, though
I would have liked very well to have it known
that I could talk on an emergency, I didn't feel
pleased with having it supposed that Mr. In-
skeep was the one who had aroused me to such
unusual exertion.

" You forget," said I, " that I read for some
time."

" Only a very little," replied he. " You
talked most of the time. In fact, I wouldn't
care to hear anybody talk any more." And he
gave me an approving look, as much as to say,
" Don't be too modest about it."

My self-complacency has not often been more
completely subdued than it was by Mr. Inskeep's
compliment. I returned to my monosyllabic
replies immediately.

He remained a week under Aunt Rachel's care,
and by the end of that time he seemed to have
formed quite a brotherly attachment for me.
" The low woman with red jaws" had no cause
for jealousy, however; for, so far from his inte-
rest being personal, my want of the matrimo-
nial prospects which were brightening his future
was a source of great trouble to him. He con-
doled with me on the subject till I found myself
getting almost out of patience.

" I '11 tell you what it is, Miss Pauline," said
he, one day, " I have got a cousin Peter Inskeep,
a first-rate man ; and he '11 have you in a minute,
if you '11 say the word. He told me the other
day that he thought it high time he was getting
married. I will tell him to go and see you."

" He need not come. Of course, I shall not
see him if he does," I said, with a proper degree
of spirit.

"Now, Miss Pauline, you couldn't have a
finer chance. He's very well off, and there
isn't a better provider anywhere."

THE PLAYMATES.

525

After this, when he was not talking to me
about Miss Nanny, he entertained me with the
history and position of his cousin Peter.

I returned to Louden, and several weeks
passed away without my having heard anything
of Mr. Inskeep but that he had brought his
bride home, when I was suddenly accosted by
him in the street. After the first greetings, he
said —

"I heard you were engaged, Miss Pauline.
Is it true?"

" Noi"

" I thought it couldn't be. No such good
luck, eh? Well, don't be discouraged about it.
I had been trying for seven years, and was nigh
on to thirty before I could get any one to have
me. Has cousin Peter been to see you yet?"

"No."

" Well, he 's coming. I told him about you,
and he said just wait till he had a new coat
made, and he'd come down in a hurry."

" I hope he won't take the trouble."

" Oh, it isn't the least trouble ; he '11 be sure
to come. Farewell."

I shook hands with him, but not very cor-
dially. In a few minutes, I heard my name
called again, and, looking back, saw him hurry-
ing after me.

"I forgot to tell you," said he, "what I
stopped you for. You see, you haven't any
father or brother out here ; and now I want you
just to let me know if anybody says anything to
you you don't like, and I'll fight for you if
there were a dozen against me."

There was such an earnest, unaffected good-
will and friendliness in his manner, that my
feelings of annoyance were all forgotten in a
moment. Our second adieus were very cordial.

Having no necessity to call upon him for his
assistance, I never saw him again. Neither
have I yet received that visit from his cousin
Peter. His coat, it seems, is still unfinished.

THE PLAYMATES.

FROM THE GERMAN OF E Z. I S E POLKO.

A day in May, under the clear, brilliant sky
of Italy, has a charm that we children of the
north can scarcely understand, though we may
sometimes imagine it in our dreams. The earth
smiles and decks herself in her brightest robes ;
the sun looks down upon her with a warm and
tender gaze, and the air is filled with the fra-
grance of a thousand flowers. The human heart
grows and expands amid this glorious nature,
exults and rejoices with all around it ; and the
human eye is fiery and tender as the burning
sun- god himself. A cold, life- wearied face is as
seldom seen there as the ice-flowers with which
frost wreathes our northern windows.

So much more striking, on this account, was
the appearance of a boy who, on a bright May
day in the year 1793, sat alone by the sea-shore,
gazing on the vast, glittering expanse of water
before him, and turning his back upon the fair
city of Genoa, that, like a radiant bride, rests
on the bosom of the proud sea. He was a child
ten years old, of slender figure, with a refined,
pale face, dark hair and eyebrows, and wonder-
fully black eyes. The expression of his eyes
was almost mysterious, from its frequent rapid
changes ; now flashing, ardent, proud, and tri-
umphant; now sad as death. A clear, sweet,
childish voico broke in upon the melancholy

mood of the youthful dreamer. A charming
little girl ran up, and, throwing herself into his
arms, exclaimed —

" You naughty Nicolo, where have you been
this whole long afternoon? and I have been
looking for you everywhere!" and she kissed
him heartily, looking lovingly on him with her
large brown eyes, and, at last, shook down from
her little white apron a whole heap of flowers,
wild roses, myrtle-blossoms, and orange-flowers.

Nicolo embraced the little speaker, smiled
quite joyously, stroked her wild, dark locks, and
said, gently —

" Gianetta, I slipped away from my father. I
wanted to sit still and dream, and be happy a
little while, here by this beautiful, bright sea —
you know the place I love best !"

Instead of answering, Gianetta began to rail
at her young friend's cruel father. " He gives
you no rest by night or by day," said she ; " he
will bring you to your grave, so my mother
thinks. ' Your Nicolo is not strong,' she says ;
* that mad violin of his is wearing away his soul,
and his father works his body to death.' And
she is right, too!" she said, with deep sadness.

" Do not believe it," Nicolo answered, in a
serious tone. " I am not going to die ; I cannot
die until I have grown up to be a big man j and

526

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK,

I am not so weak either. See here ;" and, with
these words, he rose up, his figure seeming to
grow as he stretched it to its full height, his eyes
burned with a wild fire, and a peculiar smile
played round his mouth. He lifted Gianetta
suddenly from the ground, and, with his strong
arms, held her over the glancing waves at his
feet. The little girl did not turn pale ; she did
not move; but sighed gently as Nicolo set her
down again upon the ground. She said nothing
more about dying, however, but looked slyly at
the boy as he stood by her side. Her charming
naivete soon returned. She prattled and sang,
and Nicolo listened patiently to her thousand
childish schemes, and her stories about her flow-
ers and birds. And if, in the midst of this sweet
prattle, he fell into a melancholy mood, a kiss
or a gentle touch of Gianetta's hand would
quickly rouse him, and then she grew quite
radiant and light-hearted, and was inexpressibly
lovely.

Thus they sat together by the sea-shore, with
the deep blue sky above them. The brilliant
sunshine poured down on both those young
heads, but the brow of the boy was earnest and
full of care, the girl's face was like spring itself.
When it began to grow dark, they went home-
wards arm in arm, passing through many wide
streets until they turned into a little side street,
at the end of which stood two houses nearly
covered with vines ; Gianetta lived in one,
Nicolo in the other, opposite to her. The boy
encountered the frowning face of a hard, severe
father. Gianetta's mother stood at her door,
looking out anxiously, and kissed the wild little
girl tenderly as she entered. The children said
" Good-night," and parted.

As Nicolo, with a deep sigh, entered his soli-
tary little chamber, he hastily opened the low
window, that the lovely night air might come
in, took from a small coffin-like case an old
violin, which he gazed upon with passionate
tenderness, and began a fantasia upon it. The
pure, strangely powerful sounds were heard afar
in the silent night, and floated up and down in
the narrow chamber, so that the walls seemed
to shake and tremble with their undulations.
Scarcely was the first note heard when a large
and beautifully marked spider ran into the room
from the thick vine-leaves that surrounded the
window. " Welcome, little Silvercup," said
Nicolo, kindly, and laid his hand upon the
ledge of the window. The spider ran quickly
upon it, and the boy placed her upon the frame
of his violin, where she held fast with her little
feet, and remained fixed and motionless, listen-
ing to the sea of harmony, as wave after wave

passed over her. The boy played and played,
until his arm grew weary, his eyelids began to
droop, and the morning, with her rosy veil of
light, to look in at his window. Then he laid
down the beloved violin. The spider again
showed signs of life, crept over Nicolo's hand
as if to thank him, and he carried her to the
window, where she quickly disappeared amid
the foliage of the vine. The boy followed her
with his eyes ; the feeling of comfortless solitude
came over him, a feeling that overpowered him
every night when little Silvercup, this strange
playmate of his sad early years, had gone from
him.

Nicolo clung to the faithful little creature with
real love. The first note of his violin summoned
her, and it was only when the last sound died
away that she awoke from her stupefaction,
from the strange intoxicating dreams into which
these enchanting melodies transported her.
Often when Nicolo, lost in deep revery, dreamed
that his bold ambitious wishes and proud hopes
were realized, and mechanically struck the
strings, Silvercup would softly creep in, and the
boy felt her touch like a gentle kiss, and, closing
his eyes, would forget his loneliness, and that
no one loved him. His father was his severe
master; his tender mother was dead ; the boys
of his own age shrunk from him as if afraid ;
little Gianetta alone played with him and fondled
him ; but Nicolo's heart was divided between
the warm-hearted little girl and his strange
window friend. Gianetta could not bear the
spider. " They are witches," she said, and was
afraid of them. Nicolo never put Silvercup on
his violin when the child was with him, and,
listening breathlessly to his wonderful playing,
had crouched in a corner of the room. The
spider soon seemed to perceive she was not
welcome at such times. She never crept in
when Gianetta was there, but if Nicolo ap-
proached the window with his violin, and gave
a stolen glance outside, he always saw his mute
listener hanging motionless on a vine-leaf.

Gianetta, however, was not satisfied when his
weary arm sank down from exhaustion, and the
sweet sounds ceased. Nicolo must tell her
stories, and he did it willingly. Wild and fear-
ful were the tales he related to the listening
child; and not only these — no, all the dreams,
too, of his own ardent heart, all the plans of
his struggling soul, he confided to the silent,
faithful breast of his loving little friend, and she
could not answer him a word; she only pressed
his hot, feverish hand more and more closely in
her own, and her large eyes gazed tenderly on
him, as if they felt and clearly understood him.

LOV

527

Then he would tell her of the illustrious German
master, Mozart; how, in his sixth year, he had
written great concerts, and had shone like a star
in the heaven of musical art; and his cheeks
would burn, and, trembling with excitement,
glowing tears of indignation gushed from his
eyes. " See, Gianetta," he said, with e bitter
smile, "what a poor, miserable bungler I am
compared to him ;" and the little girl knew not
how to comfort him.

One day Nicolo, while a prey to these inward
tortures, had been practising, under his father's
direction, the most monotonous and difficult
exercises. His hands were wearied, his forehead
glowed ; all the force and life of his whole body
seemed concentrated in his eyes; they shone
strangely. He suddenly heard the voice of
Gianetta's mother anxiously and hastily calling
his name. Nicolo hastened to her. Gianetta
was suddenly taken ill ; she had been attacked
by a violent fever. She fixed her eyes long and
earnestly on him, her favorite playmate, her
friend. He understood her meaning, and brought
his violin. His heart was in a wild tumult.
" Gianetta, a lullaby for thee !" he passionately
exclaimed. She smiled. Then the magic violin
of the boy poured forth its enrapturing harmo-
nies, strangely sweet and soothing, as if lulling
her to rest. When he had finished, Gianetta
raised herself up from her couch, and called
Nicolo by name. He threw his arms around
her. " Thank thee, my darling," she gently
whispered. " Nicolo, I shall sleep sweetly, but
thou must not rest yet. Thou must shine upon
the earth, a bright, surpassing star. Go forth,
far, far away from here. Think of me and my
last words." The affectionate child bowed her
head and died.

Nicolo stayed all night beside her beloved
form. The next day, half beside himself, he
wandered aimlessly about. As he returned home
late in the evening, his dark, quiet room made
him shudder. From his window he looked
directly into Gianetta's chamber. Candles were
lighted there; the child lay upon a bier adorned
with flowers, buried in flowers, angelically
lovely. A monk kneeled beside the coffin and
prayed for the pure young spirit which had been
so early called from its fair home. " Farewell,
tender, loving heart," said the mourning boy,
in a low tone, and hot tears coursed down his
pale cheeks. " I shall go away, far away — ah,
s far as I can ! Nothing now holds me back ;

one, unloved!" and he fell upon his knee*,

' sobbed convulsively. At the same moment

jit a soft, peculiar touch upon his hand; he

:d, and Silvercup crept over it. " It is you,

my dumb darling; alas, now my only playmate,"
exclaimed Nicolo, while a momentary ray of joy
gleamed in his countenance. He looked mus-
ingly upon the faithful creature. At length he
rose up. " One more parting greeting for Gia-
netta, and then away into the wide world with
thee, powerful, and heavenly, and only beloved
of my heart !" and, with these words, he pressed
his violin passionately to his bosom. Then
the strings sang with more mysterious power
than ever. Notes of enrapturing sweetness,
yet trembling with sorrow, were wafted over
to the sleeping Gianetta. The dead seemed to
smile; the sweet flowers trembled; the tapers
flickered ; the praying monk dropped his folded
hands, and strange, enchanting dreams over-
powered him.

When the morning sun looked with his glow-
ing eyes into the little room, there lay upon the
floor a half- fainting boy, his violin in his arms ;
upon its strings was Silvercup— dead.

Was the prophesy of the lovely Gianetta ful-
filled? The boy's name was Nicolo Paganini.
Have you ever heard of him?

LOVE.

Oh, bliss without compare ! for which man
would give up all his dreams of ambition and
glory in any one of the thousand shapes in which
Fame presents herself to the ardent imagination
— to feel the dawn of a new light and a new
life breaking upon the heart, gradually and beau-
tifully expanding as the moments creep on — to
feel that a new and hitherto undiscovered world
of sensation has been laid open to us. True it
is that others have written on the theme, have
endeavored to explain it away, have declared
that all is vanity ; but what matters this ? The
adventurers of old still sallied forth in search of
new discoveries and conquests. After Columbus
had planted the flag of Spain in a new world,
and Cortez had founded a province where an
empire had stood, they still sought, despite the
disappointments and broken hopes of the many,
fresh spots of virgin beauty where the sun should
ever shine, and where the smallest streams were
impregnated with gold; and ye adventurers in
the heart's hidden mines of wealth, ye who
faint not in your search after the priceless good,
what avails it to tell you of countless disappoint-
ments, of exhausted energies, of long labor lost,
of broken hearts, and wasted hopes! Ye will
ever struggle on — the hope is in the heart, the
energy is in the youth which blooms within you,
your faith is in the omnipotence of love.

LIFE OF COLUMBUS*

FOR GODEY'S YOUNG READERS.

BY JOHN B. DUFFEY.

(Concluded from page 421.)

CHAPTER XVIII.

History of the admiral's last voyage.

The Bishop of Fonseca and his friends, all
of whom were enemies of the admiral, did
everything they could to prevent him from
getting ready for sea. But the careworn old
sailor had the spirit of youth in his heart, an J
went to work with a will. Hopeful and reso-
lute, he swept away all the obstructions of envy,
and, at sunrise of May the 9th, 1502, departed
from the harbor of Cadiz, on the last of his
momentous voyages. His fleet was made up of
four small vessels, one of which his faithful
brother, Bartholomew, commanded. Along with
him also went his son Ferdinand, then about
fourteen years of age.

Once more braving the deep waters of the
Atlantic, Columbus was wafted westward by a
fair and steady wind, and, without having to
change a sail, reached the Island of Martinico
on the 15th of June. Thence he designed steer-
ing straight on to the westward, in search of
that supposed passage by which he hoped to
enter the Indian Ocean. But one of his vessels
being a bad sailer, he determined to go to San
Domingo, and there exchange her for a better.
Acting on this determination, he came to anchor
at the mouth of the Ozema River on the 29th
of June.

The first thing Columbus did was to send a
messenger to Ovando, the new governor, asking
leave to shelter his vessels in the harbor, as, he
said, a terrible hurricane was about to sweep
over that part of the Indies. His request was
not granted. Shelter was denied him in the
very harbor his labors had opened to others.
Equally sorrowful and indignant, he determined
to seek in some other port that safety which the
Spaniards had refused him, but had given to
strangers.

Before leaving, however, he did one thing, in
which he gave a striking proof of the forgiving-

* Entered according to Act of Congress, by John B.
Dufley, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
528

ness of his disposition. Learning that Boba-
dilla, Roldan, and many of the late rebels were
on the point of sailing in a large fleet for Spain,
the admiral sent word to Ovando, begging " him
not to let those vessels depart within eight days."
Venturing to sea sooner, he said, they would
surely be lost in the coming tempest.

Now, the pilots of the home- bound fleet wit-
nessed none of those signs by which the prac-
tised eye of the admiral was enabled to foresee
approaching storms, sometimes many days before
they burst upon him. Looking at the bright
and cloudless sky, they laughed at him for an
old fool, and, heedless of his warning, the very
next morning they spread their sails for Spain.

But what Columbus had foretold to them they
were doomed to meet. Arising suddenly, one
of the most fearful hurricanes swept over the
seas of the western Indies. Twenty of the
thirty-one vessels composing that fleet were
swallowed by the waves. Every soul on board
of them was lost, including Bobadilla, Roldan,
and many of the bitterest of the admiral's ene-
mies. The worst ship in the squadron, which
carried nearly all the little fortune of Columbus,
alone made its way safely to Spain. Viewing
these facts, his son was satisfied that he saw the
hand of God in the whole affair. The admiral's
enemies, however, looked upon the matter
differently, saying that "he had by magical art
raised that storm, to be revenged on Bobadilla
and others of his enemies in the fleet."

Meanwhile, sailing to a harbor westward of
San Domingo, Columbus was there sheltered
from the first fury of the tempest. Night, how-
ever, soon added its horrors to the scene, and in
its darkness the ships were separated. For
several days each mourned the others as lost,
but happily all met again in a harbor some fifty
miles to the west of San Domingo.

On the 14th of July, Columbus left the shores
of Hayti. A tedious voyage of more than two
weeks at length brought him to Guanaga, an
island not far from the present city of Truxillo,
in Honduras. Here he met with an immense
canoe, hollowed out of a single tree, paddled by
some twenty natives, and containing a largo

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

529

store of curious Indian goods. An old chief,
who owned this boat, advised the admiral to go
on westward. Had he done so, it would per-
haps have been better for him. But, still long-
ing to find away to the Indian Ocean, he turned
his prow to the east, not doubting that he would
soon " hear news of the great Cham" of India,
and of the rich countries under his sway.

Met by currents and storms, with " rain,
thunder, and lightning, as if the world were
going to ruin," the fleet was forty days sailing
two hundred miles. In the mean time, Colum-
bus suffered severely from sickness, over- watch-
ing, and anxiety. Many of his sailors, too,
sank under their heavy labors, while the ships,
battered by wind and wave, let in the water at
every seam. At length, however, on the 14th
of September, the easternmost land of Mosquitia
was reached. Here the coast turned suddenly
to the southward, in which direction a soft and
gentle breeze wafted the fleet over a compara-
tively tranquil sea. Grateful for this change,
Columbus and his men knelt in prayer, and the
name Cabo de Gracias a Dios, or Cape Thanks
to God, was given to the point around which
they had sailed.

Gliding along what is now the Mosquito
shore, the Spaniards presently cast anchor near
a beautiful island full of groves of palm and
other tropical trees. Three miles to the west-
ward, and near a great river, was an Indian
town, on the main land, which was high, wa-
tered by many streams, and thickly wooded.
Here a boat's crew went ashore, finding the
natives " the best people they had as yet seen."
Armed, as if they had assembled to defend their
homes, numbers of them were met upon the
beach. Still they were peaceable, but shy and
seemingly afraid to trust the strangers.

Having spent several days in winning the
partial confidence of these people, Columbus at
length sent his brother ashore to hold a talk
with them. Landing, Bartholomew was met by
two chiefs, " who, gently locking arms with
him, led him to a grassy plain, and made him
sit down." A throng of Indians soon encircling
him, he began to question them about their
country. But, when they saw his secretary
take out materials with which to write down
their answers, they ran away in terror, " think-
ing that he was bewitching them." " To us,"
writes the discoverer's son, " they also seemed
to be sorcerers ; because, when they came near,
they threw some powder about them in the air,
and, burning some of the same, tried to make
the smoke fly towards us."

Some days afterwards, the adelantado again
vol. xlix. — 45

landed with a party of men, and explored the
neighboring country. Among the curious things
he saw, were certain great houses of wood, con-
taining dead bodies dried, and wrapped up in
cloths of cotton. Over each was a board,
adorned with strings of beads, and the carved
figures of animals, and likenesses of the person
embalmed.

Three days subsequently, on the 5th of Octo-
ber, the admiral once more set sail. For nearly
a month he kept on to the south-east, admiring
the beauty of the coast along which he glided.
Of the natives he saw many, but they were not
friendly. As the ships swept by their villages,
the mournful sound of wooden drums and the
hoarser bray of conches would be heard echoing
through the forests, calling crowds of yelling
barbarians to the beach, where they brandished
their swords and spears of palm-wood, as if
defying the mysterious beings who had come
upon their shores.

Entering and naming Porto Bello, Columbus
sailed a short distance beyond that beautiful
harbor. But, meeting with head winds, and
moved by the complaints of his sailors, he
turned back to the north-west. Scarcely had
he done so, when the wind changed, and began
to blow in his face. Then a terrific tempest
burst upon the fleet, and for nine days raged
with unexampled fury. " At times there was
such thunder and lightning that the men were
afraid to open their eyes. Now the ships seemed
about to be swallowed by the waves, and then
the sky appeared to be coming down to crush
them." The rain "fell in such floods that a
second deluge was feared." Worried out, the
" men almost gave up, seeing they could not get
half an hour's rest, turning sometimes one way
and sometimes another, struggling against all
the elements, and dreading them all — the fire
of the lightning, the fury of the air, the surges
of the sea, and the hidden rocks and sands of
the earth."

At length, on January the 6th, 1503, Colum-
bus reached the coast of Veragua, where, he had
been told, there was an abundance of gold,
anchoring off* the mouth of a river which he
called Belen, about fifty miles north-west of the
present town of Aspinwall. Many presents of
beads and trinkets soon gained the friendship
of the natives, while party after party, exploring
the country, found that it was indeed rich i~j.
gold.

Again did the fanciful temper of the admiral
show itself. Here, he fondly thought, was the
very land from which Solomon had procured
gold to adorn the great temple at Jerusalem

530

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Believing this, he resolved to plant a colony
somewhere in the neighborhood. His brother
gladly consented to take charge of the new set-
tlement, for which Columbus set about selecting
a location, not doubting that his proposed city
would soon surpass the capitals of the. Old World
in wealth and grandeur.

CHAPTER XIX.

Continuation of the history of the admiral's last voyage
— He is cast ashore on the Island of Jamaica — Mutiny
of Porras.

Building a number of houses, and arranging
all things for the new settlement, Columbus left
eighty men there, and started for San Domingo.
But the river, up which he had sailed during
the time of a flood, was now low, and he could
not cross the bar at its mouth. Nothing was
left him "but to turn to God, and beg rain of
Him to swell the river."

Meanwhile, the natives became alarmed.
Jealous of the strangers, they plotted to drive
them away by burning their houses. Their
plans being discovered by James Mendez, the
chief writer of the fleet, Bartholomew Columbus
marched with seventy men to the palace of
Quibio, the king of that part of the country, and
made captives of him, his wives, children, and
principal chiefs. Among other things noticed
by the Spaniards in this expedition were three
hundred stakes, encircling Quibio's palace, and
on every one of which was the head of a slain
enemy.

Binding the king hand and foot, the adelantado
placed him and the other prisoners on board a
boat, to be carried to the fleet. John Sanchez, a
stout pilot, to whom the captives were intrusted,
declared that they might pull out his beard if
Quibio got away from him. The hardy pilot,
however, had a tender heart. Moved by the
moans of the captive king, who complained that
his hands were bound too tightly, Sanchez un-
tied the oppressive thongs. Once freed, Quibio
took advantage of the night, which had mean-
while set in, and plunged into the river. Hear-
ing no more of their prisoner "than if a stone
had dropped into the water," the Spaniards con-
cluded that he was drowned, and went on their
way, carrying with them pilot John, "much
ashamed of what had happened."

About this time, heavy rains raising the river,
Columbus was enabled to get to sea, where,
within three miles of the shore, he anchored,
waiting a fair wind for Hayti. Meanwhile,

notwithstanding what his captors thought, Qui-
bio had made good his escape. Infuriated by
seeing his wives and children torn from him,
he assembled his warriors and daringly attacked
the Spanish settlement. Equally brave, and,
though greatly outnumbered, having many sharp
swords and deadly muskets, the adelantado
drove the savages back to their woods again.
For this defeat, however, they made up by
assailing a boat, which, with more rashness than
courage, presently ascended the river for fresh
water. Of the ten Christians aboard of it, one
only escaped, by diving under the water, and
thus swimming to a thicket on the bank. Reach-
ing the settlement, this man made known the
fate of his comrades. Scarcely had he ended
his story, when all the woods around re-echoed
with the yells, conches, and drums of a swarm
of savages.

Shunning instant destruction, the adelantado
moved to an open place on the beach, where he
sheltered his men behind a rampart of casks and
chests. Here, having a few small cannon, he
was enabled to keep clear of the Indians ; though
his only chance of finally escaping their deadly
rage was to reach the fleet, still at anchor ofF
the river's mouth. But the wind blew so fierce-
ly, and the sea ran so roughly, that it would have
been madness to attempt sending a boat either
to or from the ships.

While the adelantado remained thus hemmed
in between the sea and the savages, looking
gloomily forward to death by starvation or by
the arrows of his enemies, Columbus suffered
dreadfully from anxiety with regard to the fate
of those whom he had left on shore. Hearing
nothing from them, he feared that all had been
murdered. To add to his distress, his Indian
prisoners one night broke from the room which
confined them. Rushing upon deck, several
plunged into the sea and escaped to the shore.
The rest, however, being seized, were again
confined. " In their despair at not getting off
with their companions, the poor wretches hung
themselves with such ropes as they could get at.
Next morning they were found dead, with their
feet and knees dragging upon the bottom of the
hold, which was not high enough for them to
hang upright."

This horrible event, while it shocked the
naturally tender feelings of his heart, also took
away from Columbus all hope of persuading
Quibio to peace. That monarch's children, pre-
viously taken captive, being now dead or
escaped, he had nothing more to fear for them,
while the manner of their death, Columbus
doubted not, would arouse him to revenge it

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

531

bloodily upon the Spanish settlement. He
therefore became distressingly anxious to hear
from the adelantado ; but there seemed no pos-
sibility of doing so, as the roughness of the sea
prevented any boat from landing. But at length
a stout and fearless pilot, named Peter de
Ledesma, having been rowed to the surf's edge,
leaped boldly into the boiling waves, and forced
his way to the shore. Returning as he went,
Peter brought news t of the dangers which
threatened the settlement.

To get the colonists on shipboard was the
next difficulty. The fierceness of the storm was
not yet lessened, and no boat could surmount the
billows still thundering against the shore. Co-
lumbus became heart-sick with the knowledge
that, no matter what misfortune might befall
his brother, it was not in his power to help him.

Suddenly, however, the wind died away,
and the sea became calm. Boats were safely
landed, and once more the admiral embraced
his brother. Two days of hurried labor were
spent in getting ready for sea, and then, wafted
by a fair wind, Columbus left behind him the
disastrous shores of Veragua. Leaving one of
his shattered ships at Porto Bello, he presently,
on the 1st of May, 1503, took his last look at
the main land of America, and stood to the
northward in search of Hayti.

Disaster still pursuing the worn-out old
mariner, he was tossed about for nearly two
months by storms and billows, and finally driven
upon the shores of Jamaica. His ships being
now almost ready to sink, he could only seek a
smooth beach and run them aground, which he
accordingly did, fixing them close together so
that they could not move, and sheltering his
men in sheds upon their decks.

Thus castled, as it were, in the sea, Columbus
sent his faithful secretary, James Mendez, to
make a friendly arrangement with the natives
to supply his men with food. Courteous as he
was brave, Mendez easily accomplished his task.
Next looking about for some means of reaching
San Domingo, the admiral recollected that the
people of the different islands frequently visited
each other in their canoes, one of which he im-
mediately purchased, and then called his sailors
together, inquiring who among them would
venture in it to Hayti, and there ask that a ship
might be sent for the relief of the rest.

No others offering themselves, James Mendez
came forward. " Sir," said he to Columbus,
" I have but one life to lose. I am willing to
risk it in your behalf, and for the good of all
here, trusting in the protection of God, which I
have experienced on so many other occasions."

While Mendez was getting ready his canoe,
Columbus wrote letters to be forwarded to Fer-
dinand and Isabella, in one of which, if I may
believe Herrera, the following remarkable pas-
sages were to be met with : —

" Such is my fate that the many years I have
passed through with so much toil and danger
have profited me nothing. At this very day,
there is not a roof in Spain I can call my own.
If I wish to eat or sleep, I have nowhere to go
but to the inn or tavern, and most times lack

wherewith to pay the bill I have

not a hair upon me that is not gray. My body
is weak, and all that was left to me and my
brothers has been taken away and sold. . . .
The devotedness I have always shown to your
majesties' service, and the unmerited outrages
with which it has been repaid, will not allow
my soul to keep silence. I implore your high-
ness to pardon my complaints. I am, indeed,
in as ruined a condition as I have related.
Hitherto I have wept for others ; may Heaven
now have mercy upon mo, and may the earth
weep for me. "Weep for me, whoever has charity,
truth, and justice !" t

Setting out with one Spaniard and six In-
dians for his companions, Mendez, after endur-
ing many hardships, was finally taken captive
by the natives of the eastern end of the island.
Doomed to death by his captors* he escaped
almost by a miracle, and returned to Columbus,
to whom he once more offered his services. The
admiral did not refuse them, but gave him two
canoes, manned by twelve Spaniards and twenty
Indians, with one Bartholomew Fiesco for his
lieutenant. Hayti being reached, Fiesco was to
come back immediately with tidings of the
party's safety, while Mendez, hastening to San
Domingo, was to buy a ship there and send it to
Jamaica. Departing, the adventurers were ac-
companied to the easternmost point of the island
by an armed force under the adelantado. Hero
they waited three days for a calm, and then
pushed out upon the broad waste of the ocean.
Night came on as, with straining eyes, the ade-
lantado and his men watched them sailing away

Days, weeks, months went by, and yet no-,
thing was heard of the departed canoes. Sick-
ness, meanwhile, began to afflict the Spaniards
on the wreck. Many of them, too, giving up
all hope of Fiesco's return, did nothing from
morning till night but talk about how they were
to get to San Domingo. At length, cursing tho
admiral as the cause of their troubles, they broke
out into open mutiny. A t their head was Francis
Porras, a man for whom Columbus had done
more than one good turn.

532

godey's magazine and lady's book.

On the 2d of January, 1504, Porras went into
the cabin of tho admiral, who was laid up with
the gout. " Sir," abruptly exclaimed the mu-
tineer, " why do you not set out for Spain 1 Is
it your design to have us perish here?" Co-
lumbus was about to give a quiet answer to
these questions, showing their foolishness, when,
interrupting him, Porras cried out in a loud
voice, " I, for one, am going to Spain ! Let all
who will, follow me !" Immediately, the whole
ship was in confusion. With shouts of " For
Spain ! for Spain !" the mutineers set about get-
ting ready to start. Tottering from his cabin
upon deck, the admiral tried to persuade them
to stay. Just then some one cried out, " Let
him die ! let him die !" Hearing these words,
the adelantado grasped a spear, and would have
attacked the rebels had not his cooler friends
held him back. At the same time, turning to
Porras, " We do not oppose your departure,"

they said. " Go, in ^God'

But, if you

hurt the admiral, it will not be well with you !"
Thereupon, taking ten canoes, which Colum-
bus ha,d purchased, the mutineers went away,
fallowing the course pursued by Mendez. Many
sorrowful eyes followed their departing forms ;
some lamenting their wickedness, and others,
especially among the sick, weeping that they
could not bear them company.

CHAPTER XX.

Cruelty of the mutineers — Troubles of the admiral —
Tidings received of Mendez and Fiesco — Porras de-
feated by the adelantado — End of the mutiny.

Reaching the eastern end of the island,
Porras persuaded a number of Indians to paddle
his canoes, and then dared the perils of the
ocean way to San Domingo. Twelve miles
from land there arose a storm, in which, after
throwing overboard most of their goods, the
mutineers drew their swords and drove eighteen
of the Indian oarsmen into the sea. Of these
poor creatures, some sank at once ; but others,
being good swimmers, kept themselves above
water a long while, until, taking hold of the
sides of the canoes, their hands were hacked off
by the civilized savages whom they had be-
friended.

Subsequent to this murderous deed, the mu-
tineers returned to Jamaica, where they wan-
dered from town to town plundering the natives,
and behaving towards them most wickedly.
When they complained, Porras laid all the blame
opon Columbus, tolling them that he was their

deadly foe, and that they ought to seek satisfac-
tion from him.

Being thus turned against the admiral, the
Indians presently ceased to furnish him with
provisions. Already the horrors of famine were
threatening his sick and desponding followers,
when, happily, Columbus recollected that within
three days the moon would be totally eclipsed.
In the morning previous to this eclipse, he
called together the chief men of the neighbor-
hood, and told them that the God of the Christ-
ians was angry with them for not supplying
him with provisions, and intended to punish
them with famine and other calamities. As a
sign of this, he said, the moon, that very night,
soon after rising, would turn to the color of
blood, and finally be darkened altogether.

At this some of the Indians laughed ; but
others, agitated with fear, tremblingly waited
for the coming of night. When the moon rose,
however, of a bloody hue, and with a dark
shadow creeping over its face, their terror was
extreme. The whole country around began to
echo with their howls of apprehension. Run-
ning from all parts loaded with provisions, they
threw themselves at the admiral's feet, begging
him to ask his God to pardon them. Saying he
would do so, Columbus shut himself up till the
eclipse was almost over, when, coming out
again, he told them that his God was satisfied
they would be good for the future, and had for-
given them, in token of which they would pre-
sently see the moon grow bright. Warm were
the thanks, and earnest the proffered friendship
of the savages, when they beheld the darkened
orb once more resume its silvery splendor.
Having thus obtained the reputation of one who
conversed with God, the admiral did not again
want provisions from the simple-hearted natives.

Eight months having now passed by without
bringing any word from Mendez and Fiesco, the
admiral's men were much cast down, fearing
that the canoes and those in them had been lost.
This, however, was not so. After four days of
labor and suffering, Mendez and his companions
had reached the island of Hayti. " When they
had rested two days, Bartholomew Fiesco, who
was a gentleman that stood upon his honor,
would have returned as Columbus had com-
manded him, but could not get one man, either
Spaniard or Indian, to bear him company."
Though suffering from ague, Mendez hastened
to do what his commander had told him.
Travelling over mountains and bad roads to
Xaraguay, he there found Ovando, to whom he
related the story of the admiral's misfortunes.
Pretending to bo very sorry, the governor yet

LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

5S3

allowed seven months to slip by before he would
permit Mendez to go to San Domingo and there
fit out a vessel foj the relief of Columbus.

No sooner had the faithful secretary departed
on this errand, than Ovando sent a small cara-
vel to Jamaica, with a cask of wine, a flitch of
bacon, and a letter of condolence for the admiral.
Not seeming to intend it, the governor, by send-
ing this ship, did Columbus a good service.
Almost crazy in their hopelessness of relief,
some of his men had plotted to leave him and
join the band of Porras, when Ovando's vessel
happily came in sight, driving all thoughts of
mutiny from their minds, and restoring them to
hope and cheerfulness. Though, immediately
after delivering the letter and presents for Co-
lumbus, the caravel stole away under cover of
night; still, its appearance was sufficient to
assure the men that their condition was now
known, and that relief might be looked for in a
short time.

Desirous of winning the rebels back peace-
ably to their duty, the admiral now sent mes-
sengers to them, informing them of the caravel's
visit, and promising to overlook all that had
been done, if they would but return to him.

Porras managed it so, however, that these
messengers had little chance of speaking to his
followers. Accompanied by a number of the
most desperate, he met them at a distance from
the main camp. In answer to the admiral's
kind offer, he and his companions replied that
they would not trust to it, but offered to remain
peaceable, if he would promise to find a ship to
carry them off, and share his provisions and
stores with them. As the messengers were
about to show how unreasonable these propo-
sals wtjre, Porras cut the matter short by saying
that, if Columbus did not agree to them, they
would come and make him do so. With this
threat, the admiral's ambassadors returned to
their chief.

Yet it was not possible for the rebel leaders
to keep their followers entirely ignorant of the
arrival of the caravel, and the offers made them
through the messengers. Perceiving this, Porras
told them that Columbus had not intended to
fulfil his promise, his real design being to delude
them into his power. As for the caravel, that,
he went on to say, was nothing but a phantom
ship, which the admiral had raised up by his
wonderful skill as a magician. " If it was a
true ship," said he, "why did not he and his
brother embark in it?" By such talk as this,
the rebel chief easily succeeded in strengthening

45*

the opposition of his followers to their old com-
mander, and finally persuaded them to set out
for the ships, " to take what they found by force,
and make the admiral a prisoner."

Hearing of the approach of the mutineers,
Columbus, who was then sick in bed, sent his
brother at the head of fifty men to meet them.
Being come to a small hill, within bow-shot of
the town where the rebels were, Bartholomew
dispatched messengers to them, asking them to
be peaceable. But, judging from the sickly ap-
pearance of the adelantado's men that they were
weak and unable to fight, they refused to hear
the messengers, but, drawing their swords,
rushed in a body against the admiral's party.
Six of the boldest and stoutest, having taken an
oath not to leave one another, set upon the ade-
lantado, believing that, if he were killed, it
would be easy to master the rest. But Bartho-
lomew met them bravely, hewing several of
them down at the first onset. Seeing his stout-
est followers thus fall, Porras, who did not want
courage, " singled out the adelantado, and at
one cut cleft his shield to the hand, which he
wounded." But before the mutineer could with-
draw his sword, which stuck fast, Bartholomew
sprang upon Porras, and held him until others
came up and assisted to secure him.

Their leader being thus made a prisoner, the
rebels were speedily routed. " The adelantado
would have pursued them, had not some of the
best men about him dissuaded him, saying that
they had been sufficiently punished, and that it
would not do to carry things to extremities.
He returned therefore to the ships, with Porras
and others prisoners, and was joyfully received
by the admiral."

The day after the battle, which was fought
on the 19th of May, 1504, such of the rebels as
had escaped sent a petition to Columbus, ac-
knowledging their fault, and begging that they
might be forgiven. Hoping that they might
" be buried like heathens and infidels in the
open fields," if they failed in their promise, they
declared that, should he pardon them, they
would serve him faithfully in the future. Feel-
ing certain that they were sincerely repentant,
the admiral, giving way to his naturally merci-
ful disposition, sent the poor wretches the
assurance of his full forgiveness. All he asked,
in addition to what they had promised, was
that Porras should remain a close prisoner until
he could be tried for his offences before the pro-
per authorities.

534

GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK.

CHAPTER XXI.

Return of Columbus to Spain— His last days, illness,
and death — His burial — Conclusion.

Having thus brought about harmony, the
admiral had but a few days longer to wait before
the ship fitted out by Mendez made its appear-
ance. On board of this all hands, friends and
enemies, went joyfully together. Sailing from
the scene of their wreck, on the 28th of June,
after more than a year's stay there, they were
nearly two months voyaging to San Domingo,
at which port they arrived, almost worn out
with toil, on the 13th of August.

On landing, Columbus was met by all the
people of the city. At their head was Ovando,
who welcomed the discoverer with every show
of respect, and took him to lodge at his own
house. " This, however" — so writes Ferdinand
— " was but a treacherous kindness," for he im-
mediately set free the ringleader in the recent
mutiny, and even went so far as to threaten to
punish those who had stood by the admiral.

Though Columbus resented this treatment
somewhat warmly, Ovando kept up his outside
show of kindness and courtesy, till, on the 19th
of September, he and the great discoverer parted
never to meet again. Embarking that day with
his kindred and followers, the admiral took a
last look at the beautiful island which his enter-
prise had rescued from the ocean, and once more
turned his face towards Spain. His voyage
home was one of peril ; but at length, on the
7th of November, he arrived, sick and weary,
in the harbor of San Lucar. Thence he imme-
diately set out for Seville, there " to take some
rest after the fatigues he had gone through."
" There he understood that Queen Isabella was
dead, which was the greatest affliction that
could have befallen him, after all his suffering,
she being the only person that had always
favored him, and in whose protection he most
confided, King Ferdinand having ever been
averse to him, and disposed to give him little
but fair words."

The death of this lady deprived Columbus of
nearly all hope of having restored to him his
high and honorable offices of viceroy and
governor of the Indies. Confined to his bed
during the following winter, he still wrote often
to the king, urging the justice of his claim to
those honors which his enterprise had won. It
was not for his own sake that he asked them,
but for that of his eldest son James, to whom
his death would leave little else. As usual,
Ferdinand returned favorable answers to his
appeals, but did nothing more.

The spring of 1505 found the admiral's health
so much improved that he ventured to go to
Segovia, and there plead in, person with tho
king. Weak in body and sorrowful at heart,
the great discoverer was welcomed to court by
no outpouring of the people. He stood among
the nobles neglected and almost alone. When
he presented himself before his sovereign, he
experienced, indeed, a show of kindness at the
hands of Ferdinand. But the civilities, con-
gratulations, and promises of the king had no
earnestness in them, and the admiral was too
well learned in the ways of the world not to see
that he had little to hope for from them.

Persevering, however, he spent many months
in a vain effort to awafte Ferdinand to a sense
of just gratitude. Care and anxiety had already
broken his spirit while he was thus employed,
when a fresh attack of the gout compelled him
to take to his bed again, never to leave it a well
man. Yet once more, from his couch of suffer-
ing, he addressed a petition to the king, entreat-
ing him to restore to him his hard-earned honors.
Answering with his usual cold civility,. Ferdi-
nand offered to give him a Spanish estate and
title in exchange for his dignities in the New
World. Complaining of this offer to his friend,
James de Deza, Archbishop of Seville : " It
appears," wrote the admiral, "that his majesty
does not think fit to fulfil that which he, with
the queen, who is now in glory, promised me
by word and seal. For me to contend to the
contrary would be to contend with the wind. I
have done all that I could do. I leave the rest
to God, whom I have ever found propitious to
me in my necessities."

About this time, Philip the First, having
married Juana, the daughter of Isabella, took
possession of the throne of Castile, which had
■ come to him and his wife through the mother
of the latter. Hoping much from Juana, who
was so nearly related to her who had ever been
his friend, Columbus sent his brother Bartholo-
mew to give his good wishes to the new sove-
reigns, and to ask them to intercede in his behalf
with Ferdinand, their royal father. Honorably
and kindly received by Philip and his queen,
the adelantado was gratified with many fair
promises that his distinguished brother should
soon have full justice done to him.

But it was now too late. The troubled life
of the poor old man was fast slipping away.
Soon after the adelantado bade him farewell, his
sickness grew worse and worse. Seeing that he
had but a little while longer to stay in the world,
he did everything he could to arrange his earthly
affairs, and then turned all his thoughts to God

THE CHARM OF CLEANLINESS.

535

and to his last end. His brother was still ab-
sent, nor was he to meet him again in this
world ; but he had the happiness of beholding
at his bedside his beloved son James, as well as
a few of those hardy mariners who hacL been
faithful to him in all his troubles and reverses.
Consoled by the presence of these unwavering
friends, and by those solemn sacraments which
the Catholic Church has appointed for the de-
parting, he quietly gave up his soul to God, on
the 20th of May, 1506, exclaiming, with his last
breath, " Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend
my spirit !"

The mortal remains of the great discoverer
were not permitted to rest in quiet. Laid with
much honor and ceremony in the church of St.
Mary, at Valladolid, they were subsequently, in
1513, removed to that of the Holy Saviour, at
Seville. Twenty-three years afterwards, they
were conveyed to Hayti, and there buried by
the side of the grand altar of the Cathedral in
San Domingo. Still later, in 1795, when Hayti
fell into the hands of France, they were borne
to Havana, the chief city of Cuba, where the
highest honors were paid them. Met at the
shore by the governor-general of the island,
with a grand concourse of military and citizens,
they were conveyed in solemn procession to the
Cathedral. Here, after many imposing ceremo-
nies, the few bones and ashes which yet re-
mained of what was once the " Admiral of the
Indies," found at length a resting-place in which
they have not since been disturbed.

" When we read," beautifully and feelingly
remarks Irving, " of the remains of Columbus
being thus conveyed from San Domingo, after
an interval of nearly three hundred years, as
sacred national relics, with civil and military
pomp, and high religious ceremonial, we cannot
but reflect that it was from this very port he
was carried off loaded with ignominious chains,
blasted apparently in fame and fortune, and
taunted by the revilings of the rabble. Such
honors, it is true, are nothing to the dead, nor
ean they atone to the heart, now dust and ashes,
for all the wrongs it may have suffered ; but
they speak volumes of comfort to the illustrious
yet slandered and persecuted living, encouraging
them bravely to bear with present injuries, by
showing them how true merit outlives all
calumny, and receives its glorious reward in the
admiration of after ages."

Here let me end my necessarily brief life of
him whose epitaph is written briefly — " Here
lies Columbus, who gave to Castile and Leon a
New World." Of the character of this great
man I need say nothing further. His whole

disposition for good, I think, has already been
made known to such as have read my short
story of his life. His errors, which were few,
let us forget, as Heaven, I hope, has forgotten
them. They were, to use a common expres-
sion, " more of the head than the heart." They
belonged rather to the times than to the man,
and much more to the man than to the noble
spirit within him. Let us then remember, with
one of his Spanish biographers, that, " had he
accomplished such wonderful enterprises in
ancient times, it is likely he would not only
have had statues and temples raised up to his
honor, but that some star even, as in the case
of Hercules and Bacchus, would have been made
sacred to his memory." With us Americans,
though we have obtained the title wrongly from
that Americus Vespucius, whom * the Admiral"
has yet lamented as " a worthy, but unfortunate
gentleman" — with us Americans, I repeat, let
the name of Christopher Columbus be held
in the highest honor
the republic shall last.

THE CHARM OF CLEANLINESS.

A white-yellow cravat or shirt on a man
speaks at once the character of his wife ; and
be you assured that she will not take with your
dress pains which she has never taken with her
own. Then the manner of putting on the dress
is no bad foundation for judging — if it be care-
lessly, slovenly — if it do not properly fit. No
matter for its mean quality; mean as it may be,
it may be neatly and trimly put on ; and if it be
not, take care of yourself, for, as you will soon
find to your cost, a sloven in one thing is a
sloven in all things. The country people judge
from the state of the covering of the ankles ; and
if it be not clean and tight, they conclude that
all out of sight is not as it ought to be. Look
at the shoes ; if they be trodden on one side,
loose on the foot, or run down at the heel, it is
a very bad sign ; and, as to slipshod, though at
coming down in the morning, and even before
daylight, make up your mind to a rope, rather
than live with a slipshod wife. Oh, how much
do women lose by inattention to these matters !
Men, in general, say nothing about it to their
wives, but they think about it; they envy their
luckier neighbors ; and, in numerous cases, con-
sequences the most serious arise from this appa-
rently trifling cause. Beauty is valuable — it is
one of the tics, and a strong tie, too ; that, how-
ever, cannot last to an old age ; but the charm
of cleanliness never ends but with life itself.

LEAVES FROM MT JOURNAL.

BY CORTEZ.

CADIZ.

It was night when we passed through the
Straits of Gibraltar, and we could only see that
there was land on both sides of us, without
being able to distinguish any objects. At day-
light next morning, we came in sight of

" Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea ;"

and a fairer object never greeted the traveller's
eye. It is certainly one of the beautiful spots
in Europe, as seen from the water. The white-
ness of the houses (all are white) gives a light
and airy appearance to the city ; and the count-
less Moorish turrets rising from the roofs gives
it a very picturesque character. The long line
of green presented by the trees of the Alameda,
contrasting with the white, and the continuous
line of wall around the city, and the domes and
steeples of the many churches, are all striking
features in the picture.

Cadiz is built upon what appears to be a rocky
peninsula, which is an extremity of the island
of Leon. Its level is from ten to fifty feet above
the sea. Its antiquity is very great, the ancient
Gaddir of the Phoenicians having been founded
347 years before Rome, and 1100 before Christ.
Under the Romans it was known as Gades, and
was a place of some celebrity.

It is a very clean city ; the streets are more
cleanly than those of any European city out of
Holland. It is well paved, and has side- walks,
which are rather narrow, to be sure, but as the
streets are narrow also, that could not be avoided.
It is well lighted also.

The best view of the city is obtained from the
top of the signal tower, which rises in the centre
of the city. The appearance of the place from
there is highly picturesque. The flat roofs
(azoteas) are so regularly built, so even, and so
clean, as to excite astonishment in the mind of
one accustomed to the dirt of most Spanish
towns (especially those in South America),
where that part of the house is usually the
receptacle for all the dirt and rubbish of the
establishment. The hotels are all bad, as is
generally the case in Spain. The floors are of
tile, and are not kept clean ; the furniture is
536

scanty, and of very ordinary character; and the
bugs and fleas are numerous, and very active.
Most of the chamber doors are without locks
or bolts, and it is fortunate that the people are,
generally, honest. I believe, indeed, that in
the good quality of honesty the lower orders of
Spaniards are superior to most other people of
their class, and certainly to the Anglo-Saxons.

The women of Cadiz have long been cele-
brated for their beauty ; but to see the fair Gadi-
tanas in all their glory, one must go to the Ala-
meda at sunset, when the whole female popula-
tion seems to be there congregated. It is a very
beautiful Alameda, and very extensive; but
fashion (as arbitrary here as elsewhere) has
decided that only one part of it can be used for
the paseo, and thus a great crowd is collected,
which, if dispersed throughout the entire Ala-
meda, would have much greater comfort. The
women have, however, lost much of their beauty
in these latter times. If they ever were so
beautiful as described by older writers, they
have certainly changed since Byron's days.
One sees many large and beautiful black eyes
(used with great effect, too), and glossy and very
thick and beautiful black hair, but seldom a face
of extraordinary pretensions. The features are
striking and full of expression, but not beauti-
ful. The ladies' feet are much larger than they
used to be. Why this should be, I know not ;
but a lady of the place assured me that such was
the fact, and rejoiced that long dresses had taken
the place of the short ones, which formerly dis-
played the small feet and well-turned ankles. I
imagine that a good deal of their old reputation
may be attributed to their former costume (the
basquina), which must have been very becoming,
and both picturesque and attractive. One of
their old habits is still retained — the everlasting
use of the fan. Without this plaything, the
Spanish woman seems quite lost. At church,
opera, Alameda, or at home, the fan is always
in her hand, and always in motion ; and between
the initiated it is a perfect telegraph. The
Spanish ladies say that the art of properly man-
aging the fan cannot be acquired by foreigners.

The cathedral is one of the finest in Europe ;
of Gothic architecture, with large columns, and

LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL.

537

very beautiful. Its great charm is its simplicity.
It is stern and sublime. There is little tinsel,
and fewer images than are usually found in these
churches.

In the Sacristy is a painting of a Magdalen,
which is one of the finest I saw in Europe ; the
Sacristan said it was by Murillo; but this is
denied, and the painter's name is unknown. It
is a work to which Murillo might have been
well content to give his name, and is decidedly
a finer picture than his " St. Catherine," in the
church of the Capuchins, in painting which, he
fell from the scaffolding and received serious
injuries, from the effect of which he died soon
after, in Seville.

There is also a " St. Francis," by Murillo, in
the church of the Capuchins; but it is so dark,
and is hung in so bad a light, that its admiration
becomes very much a matter of faith. There is
no subject about which there is more cant than
painting, and about none more than Murillo's.
His paintings are, many of them, chefs-d'ceuvre —
magnificent efforts of genius ; but it is certain
that many of his paintings (or those shown as his)
are very indifferent, and bear evident signs of
very careless execution. However, all are equally
admired ; whether good or bad is not the ques-
tion, but whether they are by Murillo. It is
very amusing to see a party of travellers admir-
ing the paintings pointed out by their guide as
to be admired. The enthusiasm they get up when
he shows them a Raphael or a Guido, and the
evident want of knowledge or appreciation on
their part, afford a fine subject for mirth ; for it
is very plain to one at all acquainted with the
art (and equally so to the simple traveller who
uses only his common sense) that any daub
under the prestige of the same names would
have been equally admired.

The silver treasures of the cathedral are of
immense size and weight. They are kept in a
chamber, with a solid iron door, to which there
are several locks, the keys of which are kept by
different persons, so that the door can never be
opened by one person, and the risk of robbery
is lessened. The Spaniards seem always to have
looked upon that method of securing their
treasures with great favor, believing that three
men in high position would be less likely to act
together dishonestly than either one of them
might be by himself.

The most interesting institution in Cadiz is
the asylum for poor children and foundling
hospital. Great numbers of boys and girls are
here taught to read and write, and to work at
different trades, and have thus the means afforded
them of becoming respectable members of society.

The children seemed happy and contented, were
well fed and clothed, and the superintendent and
matron seemed very fond of them. The arrange-
ments of the building were all most excellent,
and it is an institution of which the city may
be proud. In our happy country, so much of the
kind is seen (though much is still left undone)
that we are disposed to look less admiringly
than we should on all these institutions by
which the rising poor are reclaimed from their
ignorance; but in Southern Europe, and in
Spain especially, such institutions are rare, and
the more welcome when met with. Education
is the great want of Spain. The Spaniard is
inferior by nature to no race on earth, but he
has been so degraded by centuries of misgovern-
ment that he seems now to have settled down into
an apathetic state from which it will be hard to
rouse him. When he shall be roused, however,
woe to those who have so long misgoverned him !

A very favorite amusement here is flying
kites. The flat roofs are capital places for the
sport, and in the afternoons the air is filled with
the gay objects, and it has a very pretty effect.

The bread of Spain has always been celebrated.
The reason is that the wheat is ground every
day by the bakers themselves, on their own
premises. The flour is thus quite fresh, and
much sweeter than that which has been a long
time packed in barrels. The mills they use are
of the most primitive description. They are
generally in the back of the house, and are
turned by a horse or mule. They are, no doubt,
the same mills which were used centuries ago ;
this is not the country of progress or improve-
ment.

The market-place is very well arranged. A
row of one-storied stores on each side of a long
square, with a covered walk all round outside
the stores, is devoted to the sale of meat, fruit,
and vegetables. It is kept in perfect order and
very clean. Most of the stalls are attended by
women; and I saw here, for the first time, a
female butcher.

There are several very handsome public
squares, especially that named after General
Mina. There are also some fine palaces and
private residences. The hotel of Ximenes is
kept in what was the palace of General Solano,
the governor of Cadiz, who was killed by the
people for being afrancescado, or attached to 1he
French interest during the Peninsular war. His
fate is alluded to in Childe Harold—

" A traitor only fell beneath the feud."

One of the peculiar Matures in Spain is the
aquadero, or water-carrier. There are two vn rie-

538

godey's magazine and lady's book.

ties : one carries water from the fountains to
his regular customers at their houses ; the other
retails the water in the street by the glassful.
He carries a jar holding six or eight gallons,
and two tumblers. These men appear to have
distinct routes, and are never encroached upon
by rival sellers. The long drawn-out cry of
aqua-a-a is always heard in the same voice in
the same districts. The men are usually Galle-
gos, or natives of Gallicia, and are famous for

their honesty and industry. Almost all the
porters and confidential servants belong to the
same steady race.

There is not much to see in Cadiz, and, after
a few days, one is disposed to leave so quiet a
place for the greater attractions of Seville, which
is distant only a few hours' journey, a steamboat
leaving daily each city. Let us pack up, then,
and in our next leaf say something of Seville.

LETTEE TO THE PUBLISHEK.

Superior, Douglas Co., Wis.

Probably, Mr. Godey, this is the first letter
you ever received from the head of Lake Supe-
rior, and I feel an irresistible desire to tell you
something of the country and our mode of life.
We regard your magazine as the very pink of
refinement and fashion, and, as we are living in
a board shanty, in a wilderness which, a year
ago, was unbroken, the contrast is just in
harmony with a certain perverse spirit which I
always possessed — a spirit which ever led me to
sing a dancing tune after singing a psalm tune
(except on Sundays), and to bid defiance to
etiquette whenever I chanced to fall among a
set of " exquisites."

Yes, we live in a rough board shanty, which
was built and moved into in twenty-four hours,
with rough board partitions which divide it into
four rooms, besides up ladder. From our win-
dows we have a view of a nice-looking dwelling
now being constructed, but in which we do not
expect half so much fun as we have in our
fragile shanty.

Our town is upon the Minnesota side of the
St. Louis Bay (wonder if it was named after
you), which is seven miles in length, and
averages a mile in breadth ; and a narrow
peninsula which belongs to Minnesota separates
its waters from those of Lake Superior. The
whole region at the head of the lake was for-
merly called Fond du Lac, but that name is now
borne alone by the old trading-post at the head
of steam navigation, twenty miles up the St.
Louis River, which empties into the bay at its
head. This trading-post was established in
•1816, and we have twice visited the place ; once
in a birch canoe, with an Indian boy to row.
What a frail barrier was that thin bark between
us and eternity ! At Fond du Lac we visited
an Indian grave-yard, and saw the scalp of a

murdered Sioux enemy fastened to the top of a
long pole, at the head of one of the Chippewa's
graves ! The hair was long and matted, and the
skin was covered with a reddish mould. We
are surrounded by the dusky Chippewas, and
their language is very soft, but rather monoto-
nous, and their dress is sometimes picturesque
in the extreme. I have seen one Indian woman
wear a flounced skirt, and jewelry is so invaria-
bly worn by them that we are becoming disgusted
with it for our own decoration.

Can you imagine yourself in such a country
and entering such a dwelling as ours? Wouldn't
you laugh to see the " Book" lying upon oui
shelves, which are of rough boards and covered
with coarse muslin? How your city belles
would stare were they to cast their eyes around
our dwelling ! (Once in a while somebody treads
on the wrong board, and my pen makes such
marks as you see in the last word of the last
sentence.) And yet, much as I dreaded to
come, I am very happy in my new home on the
frontiers. The atmosphere is so cool and
bracing, that, with invigorated frame, I am ever
ready for our many romantic excursions amid
the beautiful scenery of Lake Superior, and the
charm of novelty is effectual in causing a hearty
laugh over little discomforts which, at home,
would have been unendurable.

There are but few ladies in our settlement,
but we have already a population of 500 in num-
ber, and many of our gentlemen would be an
ornament to the most aristocratic circles.

But there ! My pen never knows when to
stop when once it gets to going, and I did not
intend to write you a long letter, but only to
ask you to send Mrs. N. and myself the Julj
numbers of the Lady's Book.

Yours truly,

M. C. P.

LIGHT.

539

HE IS COMING.

BY WILLIE EDGAR PABOK.

(See Plate in September number.)

The crescent moon goes up the blue,

Its beams betray each flower ;
The distant spire looms up to view

Beyond yon castle's tower :
Haste, dearest, to the cot of love —

Thy coming I await ;
The deepening shadows seem to prove

That thou, my love, art late.

Our baby, Ina, rests her head,

And slumbers on my knee;
She watched the ripples as they sped,

While I, dear, watched for thee :
I 've oped the little wicket wide,

And all is ready quite ;
I wait the loiterer, and bide

His coming with delight.

Old Towzer starts ! What sees he now 1

Ah ! footfalls greet my ear ;
I see a bold and noble brow —

A manly voice I hear.
He 's coming ! Ina, wake, my child,

In dreams no longer roam ;
But tune thy voice to accents mild,

To greet the loved one home.

MARY.

With the magic of her presence

She swayeth every heart ;
Her eyes the very essence

Of love and joy impart.
Old men with blessings greet her,

And she greets them in reply;
Young children run to meet her

Whenever she comes by.

When last we sat together

Within the evening air,
And I was wondering whether

The angels were as fair,
In tones that ever move me,

She asked me, soft and low,
" Why do all people love me,

And smile upon me sol"

I marvel not, fair maiden,

For love is born of love ;
Thy heart, with kindness laden,

All hearts to kindness move.
Each smiling face that meets thee

Is a mirror of thine own ;
Each gentle word that greets thee

Echoes thy soft tone.

When the rising sun to-morrow

Shall look upon the earth,
The dew-drops of her sorrow

Will pass away in mirth ;
From forest, field, and river,

Bright smiles on him shall gleam,
But they only give the giver

The light of his own beam.

Thus, maiden, in thy gladness,

Wherever thou shalt go,
Thy smiles shall banish sadness,

And tears shall cease to flow ;
Each tongue shall welcome sound thee,

Each bosom call thee dear,
And joy and love surround thee

Like an atmosphere.

AUTUMN SONG.

BY H. L. SPENCER.

The ripened grapes in clusters

Are hanging on the wall ;
The winds blow cool from the woodland,
And the leaves begin to fall :
Drearily,
Wearily,
The leaves of the forest fall.

The shadows grow darker and deeper,

More pearly the dews of morn,
And cheerily sings the bluebird
Among the sheaves of corn :
Cheerily,
Merrily,
Among the sheaves of corn.

Fall gently, O ye leaflets —

Ye fruits so fresh and fair;
And gently, O ye breezes,
Waft music through the air :
Gently, O
Breezes, flow,
For death is everywhere.

LIGHT.

BY J. M. KNOWLTON.

There 's beauty in the light that shines

Upon the teeming earth,
That spreads the landscape for our eyes,

And gives each charm its birth :
But, oh ! there is a brighter light

Than that from sun or sky —
That pure and steadfast gleam that shines

Upon us from on high ;
That light from him that formed the worlds

And bade the realms unroll ;
A light that fills the fainting heart,

And renovates the soul.

For, like the grateful dew that falls

Upon each herb and flower,
That gives its freshness to the field,

Its fragrance to the bower ;
So to the soul that 's lost in sin

That glorious light shall come,
To lift it up and bid its strength

Like the green bay-tree bloom ;
To save it from eternal death

Its faith, its hopes to raise
Until it yields its Maker all,

And gives eternal praise.

540

godey's magazine and lady's book.

SONG OF LIFE.

BY BELLE BUSH.

Once I stood beside a river,
Where the waters danced along,

Bearing ever on its current
Murmurs of a pleasant song.

Gladness claimed it for her mirror,

And the angel beauty came,
Dripping with the sunset glories,

Giving to the waves her flame.

Clear, and beautiful, and smiling,
To the stream of life I cried,

And my tiny bark I hastened
Quick to launch it on the tide.

But, alas ! while thus the waters
Sang and prattled at my feet,

Lo ! another stream came dashing
From a mountain's lone retreat.

Dark and turbid in its flowing,

Lo ! they mingled into one,
And I sorrowed that the beauty

Of the pleasant stream was gone.

But I learned a needed lesson
From the waters' fearful strife—

For a something whispered near me,
Thus it is with human life.

Youth had woven dreams of beauty
All too bright for one of earth ;

I had yet to learn that Sorrow
Goeth hand in hand with Mirth.

Soon its grasp, so cold and chilly,
Wove its frost-work o'er my heart,

Till the lesson it enshrineth
Never, never will depart.

Ever since hath Sorrow striven

For the mast'ry over Joy,
Sporting with my fondest pleasures,

Striving with my hopes to toy.

All life's early cherished treasures,
All the brightest and the best,

Like pale flowers of Summer's weaving,
In the grave have gone to rest.

But there is a spirit in me
Strong to suffer grief and pain,

For I know that he who sends them
Will not let me strive in vain.

Youth's bright gushing songs of gladness
Bursting forth with passions high,

Feelings that have waked no sadness,
In my soul's deep fountain lie.

Oft I hear their voiceless music,
Thrilling all my being through,

Till returns life's early freshness,
With its sunshine and its dew.

Oft there quivers o'er my spirit,
Playing with its mystic chords,

Something of a mournful gladness,
Which can never live in words.

Joy and sorrow, pain and pleasure,
In my soul's deep fountains dwell,

Like the mingled lights and shadows
In a shaded sylvan dell.

But I never pine in sadness,
Never feel the joy of mirth,

That there does not come a vision
Of a brighter clime than earth.

Something like an angel spirit
Seems to whisper in my ear

Of a stream whose limpid waters
Floweth ever bright and clear.

By its shores, in sunny gladness,
Dwell the loved of other days,

Where the solemn harps of sadness
Wake no more their haunting lays.

WE PART TO MEET AGAIN.

BY J. F. SIMMONS.

Full many a scene, full many a flower,
May yield the bosom some delight,

To perish with the passing hour,
And leave us back again in night ;

But oh ! there is a special joy
When parting with the friends we love

The friends whose hearts know no alloy-
To point them to the sky above ;

And while the pearly love-drops swell
From eyes, the heart is free from pain —

For though we whisper " fare thee well,"
We feel " we part to meet again."

We know there is above the skies

A land "where saints immortal reign,"
Where every saint on earth who dies

Meets friends he ne'er will leave again.
And when we meet in that bright land

To sing Jehovah's praises o'er,
Among the countless happy band,

We '11 feel that we shall part no more.
Look up where truth and virtue dwell,

For earthly things are ever vain ;
Then thou, when bidding friends farewell,

Mayst say, " We part to meet again."

SONNET.— URSA MAJOR.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

Great Constellation of the northern sky !
Treadest thou still in constant circle (round
The pole, as erst, when he of Idumea found

Arcturus and his sons. Eternally

Refulgent shine thy lamps to tell His love,
Who out of darkness called the living lights,
The great to rule the day, the less the nights,

And with bright spangles decked the dome above.

Six thousand autumns have now passed away,
Yet Time hath shed no wrinkle on thy brow-
As Adam, erst, beheld, we see thee now.

Thy seven bright urns pour light unceasingly;
The granite hills may hoary grow and gray,

But thy bright gems shall sparkle everlastingly.

MY LITTLE SISTER ISABEL.

541

TIME AT FAULT.

THE OLD CHURCHYARD

BY BEATA.

Why is Time in search of Cupid?

Cruel Time no mercy shows ;
Youth and Beauty fade before him —

He destroys them as he goes.

Mighty are his daily trophies ;

He respects not wit nor worth ;
Wisdom's lips he seals in silence,

Hushes every note of mirth.

Taste and Genius find no favor ;

This fair page shall pass away ;
" Godey's" self, in some far future,

Be a thing of yesterday.

Even Earth must fall his victim ;

As the greatest, so the last —
For amid this wide-spread havoc

Stern old Time is dying fast.

But young Love is an immortal,
And may laugh at Time's strong hand,

Play about the glittering sickle,
Shake the swiftly flowing sand.

Vainly, then, Time seeks for Cupid—
Vainly hopes dear Love to find ;

He can never harm the urchin,
Though the darling boy is blind.

HEADACHE.

BY MARY P.

There is a demon dark and grim

That sits beside my hearth,
Though rosy childhood's music tones

Fill all the house with mirth.

For ages hath this goblin dread

(The heir-loom of my race)
The children of our fated name

Clasped in his foul embrace.

When loving friends crowd round my board,

Gay, " blithe, and debonair,"
With hideous scowl and blasting eye

That glim fiend still is there.

When on my downy pillow soft

My weary head I lay,
The fiend amid the snowy folds

Scares gentle sleep away.

He lays his gaunt and loathsome hand

Upon my tortured brow,
And frightful pains, and horrid shapes,

Nor joy nor rest allow.

My life's best duties, sweetest joys,

His upas breath can bane,
And make my very prayers ascend

A chilled and lifeless strain.

His horrid greed and elfish thirst

No power on earth can slake :
Seek you this demon's name to know1?

On earth he 's called Headache,
vol. xlix. — 46

BY JOHN H. BAZEEY.

When fruits and corn are gathered in ;

When forest-trees are bare ;
When wintry winds their storms begin,

And roar, and rend, and tear ;
At evening's close, when men from labor cease,
And all is still, in silence and in peace,
Then let me die.

And bury me in " the old churchyard,"

In a quiet lonely nook,
Where the old yew-tree seems keeping guard,

And listening to the brook.

Ay, bury me in " the old churchyard,"

Where many a friend doth lie,
Where the old yew-tree seems keeping guard,

And saying, "All must die!"

Ay, bury me in "the old churchyard,"

Close by the old yew-tree,
Where the elm and pine keep watch and ward

O'er poor mortality.

And when they take me to the grave,

Let no vain pomp be shown,
No grand array with staff and stave,

No heartless tear or moan :

But let my nearest kin, and those

Who loved me as their friend,
Follow me to my long repose,

And there their sorrows blend.

Thus would I rest in " the old churchyard,"

In a lonely quiet spot,
Where fragrant flowers and soft greensward

Whisper, " Forget me not !"

MY LITTLE SISTER ISABEL.

BY W. S. GAFFNEY.

Her eyes of azure, clear and bright ;
Her golden ringlets, waving light ;
Her tender smile, angelical !
Her perfect form, celestial !
Her guileless prattles, music fine ;
Her heart, the coinage all divine!
How sweet ! nor words can ever tell —
My little sister Isabel.

To gather flowrets rich and rare,

And bind them in her glossy hair;

To romp in gladness, skip in glee,

Or kindly fondle round my knee;

To mingle pleasures ever bright —

Is all her little life's delight!

Oh ! sweet the bliss that binds the spell —

My little sister Isabel.

May time nor care e'er mark the brow
Where innocence is beaming now ;
May grief or sorrow ne'er come nigh,
To cloud the heart or dim the eye
Of her, whose sweet, delicious kiss
Is to my heart a world of bliss !
Father in Heaven ! guard her well—
My little sister Isabel.

OUK PRACTICAL DRESS INSTRUCTOR.

JACKET-PETTICOAT.

The body forms a jacket, fastened in front
with buttons, and is made separately. The
skirt is put in a band, which must be tacked
inside the body, about four inches from the
bottom.
542

The accompanying engraving represents a
trimmed skirt, with insertion and tucks be-
tween, the bottom edged with muslin, worked
in Broderie Anglaise.

NOVELTIES FOR DECEMBER.

543

DIAGRAMS OF JACKET-PETTICOAT,

Fig. 1. — Front of body.
Fig. 2. — Front side-piece.
Fig. 3.— Back.

Fig. 4. — Sleeve.
Fig. 5. — Jacket body.
Fig. 6.— Skirt.

NOVELTIES FOR DECEMBER.

Fig. 1.

Although the season for white dressing- \ ing on the hips allows of its being buttoned

gowns has gone by with our northern sub-
scribers, many a southern belle will wear them
through the year. We give for their benefit —

Fig. 1. A well-shaped baeque, intended to be
of Marseilles, a fine delicate pattern. The open-

close in front. The buttons may bo of white
linen, or more ornamental, as colored agate, or
any fancy button. The hem of the sleeve and
jupe arc nicely stitched, and bordered by a h;u fd-

\ some cambric embroidery. This may be worn

godey's magazine and lady's book.

with a white or colored skirt. It is also a good
pattern for a silk or cashmere morning-dress.
Fig. 2. A bonnet of dark-green satin, with

Fig. 2.

ciennes insertion, trimmed with knots of deli-
cate pink ribbon.
Figs. 4 and 5 are undersleeves in the duchess

Fig. 4.

Fig. 5.

cross bands of velvet ribbon in points. An edge
of black lace turns back from the brim. Bon-
net-cap of blonde, having a single rose and
foliage placed high on the left side of the face.
A cluster of glossy orange-leaves quite low on
the left

Fig. 3.

form — the one of lace, the other of cambric
embroidery. This style is considered the most
suitable for cold weather wear, particularly in
the street.
Figs. 6 and 7. Glove trimmings for evening-
Fig. 6.

dress. Fig. 6 is of lace, with ribbon bands and
bows. Fig. 7 is composed of puffs of silk, with

Fig. 7.

a rosette ard ends of mixed velvet and satin

Fig. 3. Morning-cap, of muslin and Valcn- j ribbon.

EMBROIDERED GLOVE-BOX.

545

POCKET-BOOK, EMBROIDERED IN APPLICATION.

Materials.— A piece of fine cloth, 13 inches by 9 ; a
yard of narrow black ribbon velvet ; a little black vel-
vet ; gold thread, No. 2 (three skeins) ; an ounce of black
glass beads, No. 2 ; also a red button. A little silk cord,
of the color of the cloth, will also be required; and
satin, or sarsenet, to line the pocket-book.

This pretty kind of pocket-book will com-
mend itself to our friends as being at once very
useful and very quickly done. The term em-
broidered in application is used to describe that
kind of work in which the pattern is produced
by one sort of material being cut out in any
given design, and laid on another. The edges
are finished with gold thread, gold-colored braid,
or, in short, any material which the worker
may fancy.

These pocket-books, which are exceedingly
fashionable in France, have the design in three
separate compartments — always, be it under-
stood, on the same piece of cloth. The centre
one is, of course, the full size. The front is
like it, but slightly sloped from the middle. The
flap is cut in the form seen in the engraving. It
may be simply lined, and closed up at the sides,
to contain cards or work ; or it may be formed
into a regular pocket-book, with a place for a
pencil, a ribbon down the back to hold some
paper. In this case, a thin card-board should
be inserted, on both sides, between the silk and
the cloth, and a piece nearly the size of the two,
and bent in the centre, should also have silk
gummed on one side of it, to form a cover for
the paper.

The design of this pocket-book is vine-leaves
and grapes. The leaves are cut out in velvet,

and tacked down on the cloth ; the edges, stems,
and veinings are entirely in gold thread, sewed
closely on. The ends are drawn through to the
wrong side. The grapes are formed of clusters
of black beads, each one being composed of
seven — a centre one, and six close round it.
The border is narrow black velvet ribbon, laid
on ; and at each edge black beads, placed at re-
gular intervals, with about the space of two be-
tween every two, make a pretty finish.

The silk cord is used to conceal the sewing by
which the cloth and lining are joined.

Watered silk is preferable to plain for linings.

Thin kid, velvet, or satin may be used for
these pocket-books instead of cloth.

Gum is frequently brushed along the back of
the work when done ; but it needs a very prac-
tised hand to do this without spoiling it. In-
deed, the process of lining and making up alto-
gether, is better done at a warehouse than by
amateurs.

EMBROIDERED GLOVE-BOX.

(See Plate on page 4S1.)

Materials.— Three-eighths of purple satin; a 6iinii.ir
quantity of blue silk or satin; two shades of blue em-
broidery chenille, one skein of each shade; one ske.u
of the best gold twist; three yards of gold cord : pur] .e
and blue sewing silk, and a sheet uf stuul cartl-board.

Draw the design upon a piece of satin ten
inches long and eight inches wide. This is t r
the top. For the sides, satin about thirty inch i
lung and two inchca wide will Lc rtquued. Upon

546

godey's magazine and lady's book.

-these work the designs, as in the illustration,
in embroidery-stitch, the flowers with the che-
nille, using the light shade in the centre of the
flower, and the stems, leaves, and letters with
gold twist. Make an inner box for the gloves ;

line this with quilted silk, in which a perfume
has been introduced ; make the outside covering
of purple satin. Cover the top and sides with
the worked satin, and sew gold cord upon the
joinings.

EMBROIDERY FOR LADIES' MANTILLA.

BEAD AND BUGLE WORK.

547

BEAD AND BUGLE WORK.

The subjects of the present paper are chiefly
ornaments adapted for various purposes of
adornment and dress ; all of them are useful in
their different ways, and such as can be made at
home for at least one-half what they cost when
purchased ready made.

The first cut displays an ornament adapted
for dress buttons, for buttons to be attached to

velvet as a headdress, or for attaching to hair-
pins to adorn the hair. It is composed of pearls,
and may be made of any size, from that of a
crown piece to a sixpence.

Four rows of seed pearls, two rows of pearls a
size larger, one row about the size of a pea, one
row of oblong pearls, a skein of China silk, half
a dozen almost flat button moulds, with a hole
large enough to admit a quill drilled through the
centre of each of them, and half a yard of white
sarsenet ribbon, are the requisites.

One of our bead needles, or a straw needle,
may be threaded with a long double needleful
of the silk, passed through the hole in the centre
of the mould, and fastened by looping the needle
through the doubled silk, and the fastening
drawn up to the hole, so that the silk proceeds
from there, and is at the surface of the mould.
Thread five seed pearls and one of the second
sized; pass the silk under the mould, and bring
it up again through the hole, arrange the beads
threaded so as to form one of the lines which
radiate from the centre ; thread a second line
of five seed and one larger pearl, and arrange

that into its place. Then thread four seed
pearls, and let that row lie between the other
two, so as to occupy the space which would
otherwise be left vacant. The rows, or radiat-
ing lines all round, consist of five seed and one
larger pearl, and of four seed pearls placed
alternately, until the whole circular surface is
filled up. Each row is threaded separately, and
the needle brought under the mould and up
again through the central hole. When it is
necessary to join the silk, the new needleful
must be knotted on to the other as close to the
end as possible. The work must be held tightly,
otherwise the lines will hang loose and get out
of place.

When the surface is covered, the needle must
be once mo.ve brought up through the hole, and
a large bead threaded on it, and then the needle
passed back again through the hole, and the
large bead drawn up so that it may occupy the
centre and cover the hole.

The silk has to be fastened on to the edge of
the button in order to begin the middle tassel ;
it is formed by threading a second-sized bead,
an oblong bead, twelve seed beads, one second-
sized bead, one large one, one second-sized one,
and twelve seed beads. We now pass the
needle up through the oblong and second-sized
pearl, and attach it to the button by looping it
through the stitch at the back ; we then bring it
down again through those two beads, and com-
mence the second loop, which is made by again
threading twelve seed, one second-sized, one
large, one second-sized, and twelve seed pearls.
Once more the needle goes back through the
oblong and the second-sized pearl, and is fastened
by being looped through one of the upper
stitches.

The two smaller tassels have to be arranged
symmetrically on either side, and threaded in a
similar way, only omitting the oblong bead.

The number of seed pearls we have directed
to be put in the lines, of course will only cover
moulds of a certain size : they must be added to
or diminished as occasion requires. The tassels,
too, can be lengthened or made shorter in like
manner. The back of the button is finished off
by gumming on a circular piece of the sarsenet
ribbon neatly over it.

Our second cut represents a rosette of bugles
and beads, adapted for an ornament for the hair,
or to be worn in lieu of a brooch.

Half an ouacc of one-tenth inch bugles, half
an ounce of one-fourth inch bugles, a bunch of
small cut-glass beads, a bunch of cut-glass beads
a size larger, and a row of large cut-glass beads
of the bigness of a pea ; some firm yet fine dark

5±S

godey's magazine and lady's book.

wire, a skein of stout silk, and a couple of long
hair-pins or sharp steel pins, constitute the

requisites for making a pair of rosettes. Each
rosette consists of three circles of upright loops,
one within the other, and a pair of tassels.

The first or outer circle has in it thirteen
loops ; a length of about a yard of wire is taken,
and on it is threaded a second-sized bead, two
one-tenth inch bugles and a small bead, two
bugles and a bead, two bugles and two beads,
three bugles and two beads, two bugles and one
bead, two bugles and one bead, and two bugles.
These are pushed to within an inch and a half
of one end of the wire, and the other end passed
again through the first or larger bead, from the
outside inwards or towards the bugles, and the
loop drawn up firmly and closely. All the loops
are alike, and must be arranged so as partially
to overlap each other like the petals of a cup-
shaped flower. When the requisite number are
completed, the extremities must be united, and
the wires twisted together.

The second circle contains nine loops, re-
quires about three-quarters of a yard of wire,
and is threaded thus: one second-sized bead,
two one-tenth inch bugles and a small bead, two
bugles and two beads, one bugle and two beads,
one bugle and two beads, two bugles and one
bead, two bugles.

The third or innermost circle contains only
five loops, and requires about half a yard of
wire. Each loop has in it one second-sized
bead, two one-tenth inch bugles and a small
bead, one bugle and two beads, one bugle and

two beads, one bugle and two beads, one bugle
and one bead, two bugles. Every circle is so
formed as to be complete in itself ; they are then
placed one within the other, and the ends of
wire all passed down in the centre. A large
cut bead is mounted on about two inches of
wire, and being retained firmly in the middle by
the ends of the wire being twisted together, is
placed in the centre to complete the rosette.
The superfluous ends of wire at the back are
now to be twisted very neatly together for about
half an inch, and the rest cut off; and the twist-
ed ends turned down flat. The rosette is then
to be sewn to a button, or a small square of
double velvet or silk.

For the tassel, take a good needleful of silk,
affix it firmly to the button or square at the
back of the rosette, then thread one of our bead
needles on it, and commence as follows : Thread
two large beads, three one-fourth inch bugles
and a second- sized bead, two bugles and a bead,
two bugles and a bead, three bugles, one second-
sized, one large, and one second-sized bead,
three bugles and two beads, three bugles and a
bead, two bugles and a bead, and two bugles.
Pass the silk again up the two large beads,
thread a sewing-needle on it, and attach it by a
stitch to the back of the rosette. Thread the
silk again in the bead-needle, bring it down
through the large beads, and make another loop,
as before directed. Each tassel should have
four loops, and each rosette two tassels pendent
from it.

The whole, when completed, must be neatly
and firmly sewn on to a long hair-pin, if intend-
ed for the head, or a sharp steel pin, if destined
for the dress. Of course, it will be understood
that all the materials employed in a rosette must
be of one color. These ornaments may be made
of any size, and with tassels of any length and
fulness, by adding to or subtracting from the
number of beads, and bugles, and loops we have
given. Ours are rather larger than a crown
piece when complete, and the tassels about an
inch and a half long.

The third cut represents a button worked in

turquoisc-bluc French beads. For a dress trim-
ming of a dozen buttons, six rows of small bead?,

ALABASTER DESSERT MAT.

549

©..

and one of a size larger, will be required, also a
skein of silk to match, and a dozen button
moulds the size of a shilling, flat at the back,
slightly raised on the surface, and having a hole
drilled through the centre.

They arc worked in the same way as our first
pattern, viz,, in lines or rows radiating from the
centre, and having alternately five and four beads
in each. One of the larger beads fills up the
centre, and the back is finished off by a circular
piece of silk gummed on to it.

These buttons may be made in the white,
blue, coral-colored, gold, steel, or green pearl
glass beads,. according to the dress or trimmings
with which they are to accord.

The fourth cut illustrates another variety of
button, consisting of bugles and cut-glass beads

worked upon silk buttons. Our pattern is of
gray beads and bugles on a gray silk button.

For it we require one-tenth inch bugles, seed
beads, and others a size larger; half an ounce
of the bugles and a bunch of each size of the
beads will suffice for a couple of dozen of the
buttons or more. Besides, a skein of sewing
silk to match the buttons, and a fine yet strong
needle, will be necessary. The bugles and beads
are threaded by threes, viz., a bead, a bugle, and
a bead, and thus sewn on to the button. Eight
small beads form the central circle, and a larger
one fills this up. All are neatly stitched on in
their separate rows or groups. Pattern in such
things is a mere matter of taste. There are no
arbitrary rules, only all those forming a set
should harmonize with each other. The stitches
must be as neat as possible, and passed under
the silk or at the back of the button.

In the next round you will increase to 35. to
be worked thus : 5th. — * 3 beads, 2 cotton on 1,
* 7 times.

SSa&a

ALABASTER DESSERT MAT.

Materials. — Two ounces of alabaster beads, No. 2,
and a reel of the ingrain pink Boar's Head crochet
cotton.

Thread the beads on the cotton, do 3 ch, sc
on the first, and work 2 sc on each, dropping a
bead on every stitch.

2d round. — Increase to 12, still with a bead on
every stitch.

3a'. — Increase lo 20, working in the same way.

4th. — Increase to 28, still in the same way.

6th. — * 3 beads on 3, 3 cotton on 2, * 7 times.

1th. — * 1 cotton on first bead, 1 bead on 2d of

3, 4 more cotton, * 7 times. After the 7th work

1 cotton on 1, and 1 on the 1 bead.

Sth. — * 1 more cotton over 1 bead, 2 c, 1 b, 3
more c, * 7 times.

9^. — * 3 c over 2, 3 b (the centre on 1), 2 c,
* 7 times.

10th.—* 3 c on 2, 5 b, 1 c, * 7 times.

11th. — Crochet with a bead on every stitch,
increasing 7, so as to have 70 altogether in the
round.

12th.—* 2 c on 1, 4 b, * 14 times.

nth.— * 3 c, 2 b (on centre 2 of 4), 1 c, * 14
times.

Uth.—* 3 c on 2, 4 b, * 14 times.

loth. — * 3 c on 3, 6 b on 4, * 14 times.

16th.—* 5 c, 2 b (on centre 2 of 6), 2 c, * 14
timos.

17th. — Cotton on cotton, and beads on beads,
of last round.

ISth. — * 4 cotton, 4 beads (over 2 beads and a
cotton stitch at each side), 1 cotton * 14 times.

19^. — * 3 cotton, 6 beads (over 4 and a cotton
stitch at each side), * 14 times.

20th. — * 4 cotton, 4 beads, 1 cotton, * 14 times.

2ist. — * 4 cotton over 3, 2 b, 2 c (over centre

2 of 4 beads), 2 b, * 14 times.

22d. — * 1 b, 2 c, 2 b, 5 c (over 2 and a bead at
each side), 1 b, * 14 times.

23(/. — * 4 b (over 2 c and a bead at each side),
7 c, * 14 times.

24th.—* 6 b, 4 c (over 3 centre of 7), 2 b,*
14 times.

25th.—* 5 b, 6 c, 1 b, * 14 times.

26th.— * 1 b, 2 c, 2 b, 2 c, 1 b, 1 chain, 1 b,
2 c, 1 b, * 14 times.

21th. — * 4 c, 3 b, 4 c (over 1 ch and a bead at
each side), 3 b, * 14 times.

550

godey's magazine and lady's book.

28th.—* 4 c, 1 b, 1 c, 1 b, 4 c (over 4), 1 b,

1 c, 1 b, * 14 limes.

29th.—* 6 c, 2 b, 3 c (on centre 2 of 4), 2 b,

2 o, * 14 times.

30th.— * 5 c, 4 b, 1 c (on centre of 3), 4 b, 1
c, * 14 times.

31s*.— * 5 c, 9 b, 1 c, * 14 times.

32c/.— * 6 c, 7 b, 2 c, * 14 times.

33d.— • 9 c (over 6, and 2 b), 3 b, 4 c, * 14
times.

342ft. — 10 c, 1 b, 5 c, * 14 times.

Now work tne edge thus : * 7 ch, miss 7, sc
on 8th, 5 ch, sc on next 6 ch, sc on the next, 5
eh, sc on the next, * repeat this all round.
Then on the right side of the doyley, 5 sc under
the chain of 7, 6 sc under the chain of 5, 7 sc
under the chain of 6, 6 sc under the chain of 5.

TAMBOURED PURSE.

WITH INSTRUCTIONS IN TAB1B0UR WORK.

EMBROIDERED SHOE, FOR AN INFANT.

Materials. — White kerseymere, a skein of green ombre
silk, a skein of scarlet or lilac ombre ditto, and one of
coarse white sewing silk, also flannel and soft jaconet
rnuslin, for lining.

Tins pretty little shoe, like another of which
we have already given the design, is formed of
three pieces ; namely, the sole, the toe, and the
heel piece. The two latter are embroidered. On
the toe is a small bouquet of flowers and leaves,
worked in common embroidery stitch, the shad-
ing of the silk producing the requisite varia-
tions. Over the instep another small group of
flowers is worked. Round the ankle is a line
of herring-bone, done with the green silk.

When all the embroidery is finished, cut out
a lining for each part in flannel and muslin;
stitch the front neatly over the instep, on the
right side, with white silk ; put on the sole on
the wrong side, and scallop the edge round the
ankle, in overcast stitch, adding buttons and
button-holes. Cork soles may be used, if pre-
ferred.

Materials. — Black soie d'Avignon, a fine steel mesh,
green, pink, crimson, violet, and orange silks (a small
quantity of each), fine gold thread, a single slide, gold
fringe, and a garniture a flacon. A small frame for
embroidery is also indispensable.

It is always a pleasure to us to introduce a
novelty to the " friends" who have for so many
years encouraged us in our exertions for their
amusement. We now present to them a style
of work very recently introduced into France,
although the stitch itself (the tambour stitch)
was fashionable in the time of our grandmo-
thers. The peculiarity consists in the using it
for embroidery on an open substance like net-
ting, which can only be done through the me-
dium of a more solid one, which is afterwards
pulled out, thread by thread. The material
which answers best for this purpose is very fine
crape, and the color most pleasant to work on is
pale green.

The implement used for tambour work some-
thing resembles a crochet-hook, but with this
difference, that the tambour needle is separate
from the handle ; it is about the length of an
ordinary needle, and slides into the ivory han-
dle, being kept in its place by a steel screw at
the side. This screw is useful as a rest for the

EMBROIDERY WITH CORD.

551

finger, and greatly aids the execution of the
work. We would not therefore advise the sub-
stitution of the ordinary crochet for the more
legitimate instrument, as, though the form of
the hook itself is the same, the mode of working
is essentially different. Muslin, or muslin and
net, ribbon and lace, and many other materials
were once frequently embroidered in tambour
work ; and, the mode being the same in all, it
remains only to describe the process. First
have the design marked, then stretch the mate-
rials to be embroidered in a frame, or between
two small loops ; hold the tambour needle on
the upper side^ and the silk or cotton under the
work. Insert the hook in the work, at the base
of a stem, or in any other convenient part, and
catch over it a loop of the silk, which should be
held between the finger and thumb of the left
hand, close to the place. A loop being now on
the hook, insert it again in the outline about the
tenth of an inch off, draw up another loop
through the first, and continue the process. It

will be found to facilitate the work, if the screw
of which we have spoken is turned towards the
worker in inserting the hook, and turned from
her, towards the left, in withdrawing it. It will
be observed from this description that the left
hand is always under the work, and the right
above it. In tambour work the outlines are the
first worked, and the filling up is done after-
wards. In the purse pattern we now give, all
the outlines of the design are done in gold thread,
and the flowers and leaves are afterwards filled
up in their natural colors. The purse itself is
in ordinary diamond netting, done in two pieces,
seven and a half by four inches. One of these
must have the opening left three inches long.
The two pieces, after being embroidered, are
sewed up the sides, rounded at the corners of
one end, and trimmed with gold fringe, as seen
in the engraving.

The trimming is a passementerie imitation of
the little smelling-bottle now so fashionable for
short purses, with tassels and cord to correspond.

EMBROIDERY FOE A CHILD'S SACK.

EMBROIDERY WITH CORD.

Our Friends.—

" Again the circling wheels of Time
Their annual round have driven,"
and we have reached the last number of the Book for
1854. Now, will our dear, kind friends, who have been
with us through all the changes of the seasons, gather
once more around our Table, and give their approval of
the past, and their promise for the future? Look over
these hundreds of letters. No, you have not time to
read, nor we space to publish them, but we may state a
summary of the contents : viz.— Congratulations from
every quarter on our success, and assurances of con-
tinued public favor, mingled here and there with requests
from the young people to " give a few more love-stories,"
while the seniors and scholarly desire that scientific
and educational articles should abound, and from
others, the excellent of the earth, hints that, as the wide
circulation of the Book makes it of national importance
as an organ of popular improvement, its moral and
religious influence should be the paramount considera-
tion. All, however, agree that, as a periodical for the
household, the " Lady's Book" is unrivalled. Still, we
do not intend this praise to hinder us from aiming to
improve. "Excelsior" is the motto of Americans; our
next volume will show our application of the term. In
the mean time, we thank our friends, heart in hand, for
their favor3, and bid a kind farewell for this year, only
to prepare for warm greetings at the New Year's Table.

" Cold winter is coming : O God, help the poor !
I wish it was going away."
Yes, winter is coming, and fuel and food are at such
high prices as render it certain the very poor must suffer
severely, unless open-handed, warm-hearted charity
comes, like a kind angel, to the work of relief. She will
come. There is wealth all but boundless in our land ;
provisions enough and to spare. Surely those who have
the power to do good, even to turn that which seemed
evil into greater means of goodness, will feel that now
is the time to work. In every large city and populous
town organized societies for charitable purposes are
found, whose agents relieve the distressed and adminis-
ter to the afflicted. These associations do much good;
still, something more is needed. Charity, to be « twice
blessed," must interest the heart of the giver, as well as
relieve the want of the receiver. Individual effort is
required. If each family of ample means in this city
would take charge of one suffering family for the winter,
to watch over, counsel, encourage, assist when relief
was indispensable, what advantage it might be made to
both parties ! What an amount of sorrow to the hope-
less poor it would prevent, and of time, idly wasted by
the rich, it would redeem ! Still, my dear lady, if your
engagements will not permit you to visit the abodes of
poverty, then I feel sure you will be glad to learn that
there is, in Philadelphia, an agent who will take charge
of the money you are doubtless ready to give, and will
faithfully and tenderly administer relief to those in this
city who are in need of your alms, as the following from
his pen will assure you :-
552

Extracts from the Journal of a City Missionary*—" It
is a fact that no one will dispute, that we have poor,
wretched creatures around us, who drag out a miserable
life from day to day, who pine, and sicken, and starve
in loathsome cellars, in filthy courts and vile alleys, and
who, work hard as they may by night as well as day,
yet cannot provide themselves with bread.

" I entered a narrow court to visit a poor woman, the
inmate of a small garret room. The wind whistled
through the openings of the framework of the doors and
windows. A small stove stood in one corner, but it was
cold. The boards of the floor were scrubbed clean and
white, a few dishes were on the window-ledge, and a
sweet little boy was playing on the floor, shoeless and
in rags. His mother, with an infant child but a day old,
lay on a miserable bed in the corner of the little room,
while the husband, almost driven to despair, had gone
out seeking to perform any kind of labor, to get some
nourishment for his wife and little ones. I gave them
immediate relief, conversed with the young mother about
her spiritual welfare, and found she was a wanderer
from the household of faith ; and when I prayed with
her, the tears and exclamations told the workings of her
heart.

" In another abode of poverty, I saw the husband (and
father), the provider of his little household, stretched on
a bed of illness, while his faithful wife, sad and broken-
hearted, but nerved by the energy of despair to super-
human exertions, was watching over him, an* paying
him all those delicate attentions with which a loving
wife ever surrounds the couch of her sick and dying
husband. And, oh, what comfort was lit up in those
dying eyes as I stood beside him, and sang, and prayed,
and talked of heaven! I relieved the temporal wants
of the family, and, when death had done its work,
preached his funeral sermon, having the assurance he
had lallen asleep in Jesus.

" There is another class of the poor who are said, by
some, to be past recovery. The horrors of those abodes
of sin and debauchery are too shocking to relate. But,
I ask, are they to be left to die in their sins, or shall we,
by God's blessing, endeavor to make some impressions,
however small, and thus be the humble instruments in
converting some of those poor, degraded wretches from
the error of their ways ? For in the blessed Book we are
taught to believe there is nothing too hard for God to
accomplish. And may we not ask those who are sur-
rounded with so many blessings, and yet find cause for
so much complaint, to think of the poor? Be thankful
for your many comforts, and give to (he distressed your
sympathy, your assistance, your friendship, and prayers:-

Our Artists Abroad.— Among these, Miss Harriet
Hosmer, of Boston, seems likely to take a distinguished
place. She has lately completed several busts, said to
be exquisitely finished ; and a head of Medusa, which
elicits much praise from (lie judges of art Miss Hosmer
has passed the summer in Florence.

* Rev. J. Street. Are there not men like him in all
cities ?

EDITORS' TABLE.

Women in the Printing-office. — Thanks to the
efforts of good men, the art of type-setting is now counted
among female employments. In Boston, women have
been engaged in this way more than twenty years.
About three years ago the fashion was extended to New
York city, with great advantage to the employers, as
well as employed. And now Philadelphia has a hero
who has nobly won the right of employing females in
his printing-office. We will not, however, go into a
detail of his battle with the " Printers' Union," the
members of which were opposed to any such innova-
tion. Those men will, when they consider the matter,
remember that they "have the whole circle of trades
before them : California, Australia, Texas, and Kansas
open to them their boundless prairies; and they can
afford to give place to their almost helpless sisters," and
they will join in helping onward the good work.

Mr. Birney (his name deserves to be printed in gold)
has won the victory. How could he fail in our chivalric
land, when he was for the "weaker sexl" He has
established a job printing-office at the Drexel Building,
South Third Street, where he has between twenty and
thirty young women employed in type-setting. The
rooms are large, lofty, and pleasant, and the arrange-
ments excellent. A writer who understands the busi-
ness, says —

" Among all employments, none is more appropriate
to woman than type-setting. It is level to capacities
of ordinary grade, requires only a good common-school
education aiid manual dexterity, allows the person to
stand or sit, demands no exercise of strength, is cleanly
and respectable, easily yields weekly wages varying from
five to ten or twelve dollars, according to quickness and
correctness. Besides, it can easily be learned in a few
months, by a grown-up person working with the purpose
of gaining a livelihood t>7 it."

In short, nothing now seems necessary but full em-
ployment in this job printing-oifice, to the complete
success of the experiment. In the words of the earnest
writer of the article from which we have quoted, we
say: "Let merchant and business men send in their
card3, circulars, bill-heads, and check-blanks; let
authors send in their pamphlets and books; let editors
of weekly papers send in their type-setting, and the
enterprise will be completely and triumphantly success-
ful. The work will be well done, for there are expe-
rienced printers there, as well as apprentices. In
short, we do not hesitate to say that, in all its depart-
ments, the Drexel Job Printing- Office is inferior to none
in the city, while in some, it may serve as a model to
the best. If you are sincere, reader, in your profession
of good wishes for the necessities of the feebler sex, you
will take some pains to throw patronage into the only
printing establishment which has ever dared to attempt
bo bold an innovation."

THE INSPIRATION OF GENIUS.

" My mother's kiss made me a painter."

Benjamin West.

The sun's slant ray was leaning down

To kiss the closing flower ;
The bird on gliding wing went by

To seek its resting bower,
As evening, like a matron mild,

At duty's call drew nigh,
Breathing a sweet and soothing calm

That blessed the earth and sky,
VOL. XLIX. — 47

And rested like a holy charm

Of blended Hope and Joy,
Where, in their home's soft shadow, sat

A mother and her boy.

His heart, like leaping fawn, went forth

Over the scene around ;
Her voice, like low, sweet music, calmed

And gave his fancies bound.
And yet her tender sympathy

In every breath was felt,
A a on his pencil's trembling touch

With cheering smile she dwelt
Oh ! Genius needs this sympathy

To bid the soul expand,
As lilies open to the day

By summer breezes fanned.

When first the fount of mind is stirred.

The mother's loving look,
In rapture beaming on her child,

Like moonlight on a brook,
Makes every gush of feeling wear

The diamond's living glow,
And bids the stream of childish hope

In silvery wavelets flow,
Till thus the soul an ocean filled

With love's translucent flood,
Pours out those great, immortal thoughts —

The tide that mounts to God.

The world has worshipped Angelo,

And bowed at Raphael's name;
But never in the highest seat

That Genius crowned could claim,
Was such delight as felt the boy

When, at his mother's feet,
His first, weak, wavering sketch he drew,

And earned her kisses sweet ;
Till waked and warmed by her embrace,

Burst forth the spirit free,
Prophetic as the sibyl's voice —

" A painter I will be !" Sarah J. Hale.

Christmas! — A merry Christmas, with Love'3 gifts
for the young, Home's comforts for the old, and Heaven's
bright hopes for all, is our fervent aspiration.

To Correspondents. — The following articles are
accepted: "Evening Reverie," " To Ellen," " Sympa-
thy," " Violet Valley," &c, "To my Absent Brother,"
" All Earth is Beautiful," " Lines to a Lady who will
understand them," "The Waif," "To Kate." "The
Thrush," " Be not Idle," " Sonnet to a Child,'' and
" The Tress of Hair."

The following articles are necessarily declined : " Th<
Gaudy Tulip," "The Storm." (This poem shows talent
in the writer, but the composition is faulty. The trti-
poet must work and wait.) "Silence," "A Mountain
Vigil" (shows good promise for the writer, but we have
not room for beginners). "The Orphan," "The First
Marriage." (The subject is delicate and difficult to
manage artistically. The author had better take a los-
ambitious theme.) " Life and its Sorrows," " The Mid-
night Death-Knell," and " Come with me, Love."

We feel deeply obliged to those who offer their articles,
with their wishes for our continued prosperity. When-
ever we have room, we shall be happy to welcome 1 tie
young aspirant for fame, and when we decline, our
thanks for the interest manifested by our host of cor-
respondents are warmly tendered.

o54

godey's magazine and lady's book.

jtiterarg Notices.

From Parry & McMillan (successors to A. Hart,
late Carey & Hart), corner of Fourth and Chestnut
Streets, .Philadelphia : —

THE BOOK AND ITS STORY. A Narrative for the
Young. On occasion of the Jubilee of the 'British and
Foreign Bible Society. By L. N. R. With an introduc-
tory preface by the Rev. T. Phillips, Jubilee Secretary.
First American from eleventh London edition.

The laudable intention of the compiler of this volume
may be judged from the title. His reverence for the
Bible, and his great desire for its free and unrestricted
use among the people of every clime and nation, are
apparent throughout the four hundred and fifty pages
of the work. Zealous Protestants, the old as well as the
young, to the latter of whom it is particularly addressed,
will peruse it with unusual interest, and many will no
doubt be induced, through its vigorous representations,
to give a more decided encouragement, and a more
generous pecuniary aid to the Bible cause than may
have been their practice heretofore.

RAILROAD ACCIDENTS, AND THE MEANS BY
WHICH THEY MAY BE PREVENTED BY THE
USE OF THE ELECTRO-MAGNETIC SAFETY
APPARATUS. To which the attention of the travel-
ling public, presidents and directors of the various rail-
roads throughout the United States, is respectfully
requested. By Lawrence Turnbull, M. D., author of
" Lectures on the Electro-Magnetic Telegraph," and
William C. McRee, Telegraphic Engineer.

This little work contains a great deal of valuable
information in regard to the management of railroads,
and much that will be serviceable to travellers.

From LipriNcOTT, Grambo, & Co., No. 14 North
Fourth Street, Philadelphia : —

THE BIBLE READING-BOOX. Containing such
portions of tlie Old and New Testaments as form a Con-
nected Narrative, in the Exact Words of Scripture, and in
the order of the Sacred Books, of God's dealings with Man,
and Man's duties to God. Prepared by Mrs. Sarah J.
Hale. Two editions of this work have been published ;
it has received the warm approval of eminent scholars
and divines of all religious denominations, of experi-
enced teachers, and, what we consider the test, of mo-
thers— careful, conscientious Christian mothers — who
themselves instruct their children in the truths of the
Holy Bible. We shall, in our next number, give selec-
tions from these notices and letters.

OLD REDSTONE ; or, Histmncal Sketches of Western
Prcsbylerianism, its Early Ministers, its Perilous Times,
and Us First Records. By Joseph Smith, D. D.

No matter to what school of theology we may happen
to belong, we will find much in this volume to interest
and instruct us, and even to overcome our sectarian
prejudices, if, unhappily, it should be our misfortune to
entertain such troublesome companions. It forms not
merely a part of the history of the Presbyterian Church
tn the West, but a most valuable portion of Western
history, independent of the church, which can never
t>e so pointedly or graphically related as in connection

with the lives, characters, adventures, and manner of
life of the pioneers of Christianity. Boast as we may
of our wonderful progress in the arts and artifices of
civilization, and of our new men and new schools in'
religion and politics, there was something so solid, so
pure, simple, and dignified in the morality and piety of
the men who founded our institutions, and who first
preached the Gospel to the scattered inhabitants of the
wilderness, that it will be impossible for us ever to
cease venerating their memories without endangering
our liberties. This volume, therefore, will help us to
cherish the virtues of the sterling men who have passed
before us, and may influence many to imitate, in some
respects at least, their bright and disinterested efforts in
the cause of religion and humanity.

From E. H. Butler & Co., Philadelphia :—

THE PARABLES OF THE NEW TESTAMENT
PRACTICALLY UNFOLDED. By Rev. Wm. Bacon
Stevens, D. D., Rector of St. Andrew's Church, Phila-
delphia. Splendidly illustrated. Among the many new
books the season will call forth, we have seen none so
worthy of admiration as this beautiful volume. The
parables,4wenty-two in number, are illustrated both by
pen and pencil in a manner that elevates and almost
sanctifies the art of engraving, and shows the power
and grandeur of the human mind, when devoted to the
study and elucidation of the Word of God. We wish
every Christian family could have a copy of this work.
The love for Bible literature will be cultivated by such
attractive and excellent books.

THE FEMALE PROSE WRITERS OF AMERICA.
With Portraits, Biographical Notices, and Specimens of
their Writings. By John S. Hart, LL.D. This is a new,
revised, and corrected edition of a work which should
be in the library of every friend of American literature.
How any lady of taste and refinement can be without
it, Ive think will be a great mystery to her literary
friends and visitors. Here is a list of more than sixty
American women, who, by the force of genius, religious
example, moral precept, and literary industry, have
accomplished almost as much for the lasting fame of
this country, after its struggles for independence, as did
its patriots and heroes during the gloomy period of the
Revolution. Not many years ago, it was sneeringly
asked, " Who reads an American book!" Well, it is
not for us or anyone else to answer who reads an Ame-
rican book now, but we think it is very obvious, from
the beautiful and gratifying record before us, that any-
one may at any time have his choice of American books,
in all the various departments of literature, and from
the pens of female American writers. It is not unrea-
sonable, therefore, to hope that these biographical no-
tices and specimens of the abilities and genius of our
amiable countrywomen will find a place not only in
every American library, but in every American heart.

JERUSALEM AND ITS VICINITY. A Series of
Familiar Lectures on the Sacred Localities connected with
Hie Week before the Resurrection. By W. H. Odenheimer,
A. M., Rector of St. Peter's Church, Philadelphia. This
work is elegantly printed and illustrated. The author
having himself made a visit to the Holy Land, the Lec-
tures contained in this beautiful volume, apart from
their intrinsic Scriptural piety, derive much of their
interest from his own personal observations. We can-
not conceive of a more appropriate friendship-offering
keepsake than this volume. Its language is simple and
touching, and in union with the awful, but unprotend-

LITERARY NOTICES.

ing sublimity of the Divine Author of the faith of
Christians. Such is the sincerity of the author's admo-
nitions, and such the tenderness of his appeals to the
. religious affections of his readers, that we cannot but
anticipate for him the purest of all rewards for his dis-
interested labors.

From Blanchard & Lea, Philadelphia : —
HEALTHY SKIN. A Popular Treatise on the Skin
and Hair, their Preservation and Management. By
Erasmus Wilson, F. R. S., author of " A System of
Human Anatomy," etc. Second American, from the
fourth and revised London edition. With illustrations.
This is unquestionably a work of scientific research.
It will amply repay the curiosity of the general reader.
It gives many reasons why men's beards should be per-
mitted to grow, thus according with the new and popu-
lar theory. Price 75 cents.

From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia: —
THE LOST HEIRESS. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N.
Southworth, author of " The Deserted Wife," " Dis-
carded Daughter," etc. etc. etc. This is regarded, by
competent judges, as one of the best of Mrs. South-
worth's numerous productions. In the estimation of
others, it excels all her previous productions. Our own
opinion of the work is that it presents some of the most
noble and beautiful models of virtue, in private and in
public life, that have ever come to us through a similar
medium. Its impressions, therefore, upon the mind of
the well-disposed reader will have no other than a
truly moral, religious, and elevating tendency.

From De Witt & Davenport, N. Y., through
T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : —

PROGRESS AND PREJUDICE. By Mrs. Gore,
author of " The Banker's Daughter," " Mothers and
Daughters," " Refinement," etc. etc. This is not a fit-
ful or idle fiction hurriedly patched together for the mo-
mentary amusement of the reader. On the contrary, it
is a work of practical common sense, by which we mean
excellent good sense, and in which the author has con-
nectedly and steadily illustrated sound principles, and
the necessity of generous and virtuous actions. The
same moral and philosophic spirit which has charac-
terized all the previous works of Mrs. Gore, in an emi-
nent degree pervades this. The last, but not always,
we admit, the best inducement for the purchase of a
book, is the cheapness of this handsome volume. The
price in paper is 50 cents, in cloth only 75 cents.

THE GOBLIN SNOB. Imagined and illustrated by
Henry L. Stephens, author of the " Comic Natural His-
tory," " Billy Vidkins," etc. This work contains nearly
fifty comic engravings, with poetry to match. The en-
gravings are executed in the best style, "and, with the
poetry, form very amusing and laughable sources of
reflection for those who are habitually and naturally
afflicted with the blues.

From Garrett & Co., New York, through T. B.
Peterson, Philadelphia : —

THE CABIN BOY'S STORY. A Semi-Nautical Ro-
mance, founded on Fact. By the author of " The Pirate
Doctor," " The Lawyer's Story," etc. Those who are
fond of sea adventures will be gratified in the perusal
of this volume. The writer appears to understand more
of the practical duties of a seaman than generally falls
to the lot of writers of similar tales.

From D. Appleton &, Co., No. 200 Broadway, New-
York, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia :—

THE VIRGINIA COMEDIANS; or, Old Days in the
Old Dominion. Edited from the MSS. of C. Effingham,
Esq. In two volumes. It has been the principal object
of the author of this work to describe scenes, charac-
ters, domestic habits and manners, as they were in
Virginia a hundred years ago.

THE WORLD IN THE MIDDLE AGES. An Hi*-
lorical Geography. With accounts of the origin and
development, the institutions and literature, the man-
ners and customs, of the nations of Europe, Western
Asia, and Northern Africa, from the close of the fourth
to the middle of the fifteenth century. By Adolphus
Louis Kceppen, Professor of History and German Lite-
rature in Franklin and Marshall College, Pennsylvania.
Accompanied by complete historical and geographical
indexes, and six colored maps from the Historical Atlas
of Charles Spruner, LL.D., Captain of Engineers in the
Kingdom of Bavaria. In two volumes. This is a geo-
graphical work, which we think should be in the pos-
session of all readers and students of history. We
regret, however, that we cannot speak confidently of
its completeness, as our copy has not been accompanied
by the six colored maps referred to in the title.

MEMOIRS OF NAPOLEON, HIS COURT, AND
FAMILY. By the Duchess D'Abrantes (Madame Ju-
not). In two volumes. With numerous portraits, en-
graved on steel. It will be sufficient, perhaps, if we
announce the reproduction of this work. Everything
relating to the Bonaparte family must continue to be
interesting, especially while it continues to occupy so
large a space as at present, and so materially to influ-
ence the affairs of Europe, and, indeed, those of the
whole world. The author is one who was acquainted
with the family from her infancy, and who shared
deeply in its varied fortunes.

ADVANCED COURSE OF COMPOSITION AND
RHETORIC. A Series of Practical Lessons on the
Origin, History, and Peculiarities of the English Lan-
guage, Punctuation, Taste, the Pleasures of Imagina-
tion, Pictures, Style and its essential properties, Criti-
cism, and the various departments of prose and poetical
composition; illustrated with copious exercises. Adapted
to self-instruction, and the use of schools and colleges.
By G. P. Quackenbos, A. M., Associate Principal of
the Collegiate School, New York, author of " First Les-
sons in Composition," etc. This work will be of incal-
culable benefit to those who have not had the advantage
of a thorough or collegiate education. Persons who
have been thrown at an early age into the absorbing
perplexities of business, may greatly improve their
minds, and even attain to a degree of literary taste, by
devoting a few of their leisure hours, which would
otherwise be dissipated in idle amusements, to the study
of this volume, and to the practice of its lessons.

From Harper & Brothers, New York : —
WOMAN'S RECORD ; or, Biographical Sketches of
all Distinguished Women from the Creation to A. D. 1854.
With Selections from Eminent Female Writers of every
age. By Mrs. S. J. Hale. Illustrated by two hundred
and thirty portraits. Second edition, revised and en-
larged, pp. 912. The popularity of this work is esta-
blished, as the large sale and the kind voice of the public
press have evidenced. This second edition has about
twenty new names and several revisions, which will
enhance the value of the book. The noble women of

555

godey's magazine and lady's book.

the Methodist denomination are fitly commemorated.
As a gift-book for young ladies, it is unrivalled.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through
Parry & McMillan, Philadelphia :—

LIFE'S LESSONS. A Tale. The author of this story
Las shown great judgment and an intimate acquaint-
ance with the impulses and motives of the human heart.
In the delineation of character and the development of
the plot — or rather of the moral of the work — we find a
great deal to admire and very little to condemn. The
incidents and illustrations are all drawn from American
lite, as presented in the city, in the forest, and on the
wide prairie, and are therefore the more likely to please,
and it may be to instruct the reader.

MEMOIRS OF CELEBRATED CHARACTERS. By
Alphonse de Lamartine. In two volumes. The title
of this work will show at once the character of its con-
tents. The abilities and style of the author are familiar
to our readers.

From Little, Brown, &. Co., Boston; Evans &
Dickerson, New York; Lippincott, Grambo, &, Co.,
Philadelphia : —

THE POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN GRAY!
With a Life of the Author, by Dr. Johnson. In two
volumes. These volumes are uniform with an elegant
and complete edition of the British Poets, without
which no collection of books in the English language
can be considered worthy the name of a well-selected or
classical library. The edition embraces the entire
works of the most distinguished authors, from Chaucer
to Wordsworth, with selections from the minpr poets,
accompanied with biographical, historical, and critical
notices. The size and style of the volumes are those of
Pickering's " Aldine Poets." Each separate work is
sold by itself, and the price of each volume, bound in
the Aldine style, or in black cloth, gilt lettered, is 75
cents. The work has been edited with great care and
literary ability, by F. J. Child, Boylston Professor of
Rhetoric and Oratory in Harvard College. In recom-
mending this edition to the attention of those who may
wish to complete their libraries, or to form the nucleus
of a never-failing source of information and pleasure,
we have no hesitation in saying that it is the best in
point of paper and printing that has ever been offered.
For their enterprise in furnishing such a work, requir-
ing a vast pecuniary outlay, the publishers are entitled
to the thanks and deserve the patronage of American
readers, a reward which we hope will be generously
extended to them.

From J. S. Redfield, 110 and 112 Nassau Street,
New York, through W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia: —

THE SCOUT ; or, the Black Riders of Congaree. By
W. Gilmore Simms, Esq., author of " The Partisan,"
" Mellichampe," " Katharine Walton," " Woodcraft,"
" The Yemassee," " Guy Rivers," etc.

WOODCRAFT; or, Hawks about the Dovecote. A
Story of the South at the close of the Revolution. By
W. Gilmore Simms, Esq.

These volumes are uniform with the new and hand-
some edition of the author's works, which has been
some time in course of publication. The established
reputation of Mr, Simms as a poet and romance writer,
and the popularity of " The Scout" and " Woodcraft,"
render any particular notice of their merits almost
wholly unnecessary. We may say, however, that the
intimate relation which these works bear to the event-

ful and exciting history of the Revolution, and to occur-
rences known to have taken place at the close of that
war, must render them always deeply interesting to
American readers.

A TENNESSEEAN ABROAD ; or, Letters from Eu-
rope, Africa, and Asia. By Randal W. MacGavock,
A. M., LL.D., a Member of the Nashville Bar. The
letters which compose this volume are highly creditable
to the author. They were written during an absence
of two years, commencing in 1851, and were originally
published in one of the leading journals of Tennessee.
Although the objects met by the author in his travels
may be more or less familiar to readers of similar works,
it is but just to say that his observations and reflections
are always pleasing, original, and practical, without
any apparent effort.

FIRMILIAN. A " Spasmodic" Tragedy. By T. Per-
cey Jones. For the benefit of those who would not
otherwise comprehend the mystery, it is stated that this
tragedy is a satire from the pen of W. E. Aytoun, and
that it is a hit at Carlyle, Gilfillan, Tennyson, and par-
ticularly Alexander Smith.

From Ticknor, Reed, '& Fields, Boston, through
W. P. Hazard, Philadelphia :—

POEMS BY THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS. The
refined taste, excellent judgment, and classical erudi-
tion of the author of these poems have long since placed
him in the front rank of American poets. He is not,
indeed, conspicuous for the creative powers of his
genius, or for the brilliancy of his imagination. There
is, however, a chastened beauty in his compositions,
and a solidity in his illustrations which fully and rich-
ly compensate for the absence, generally, of those lighter
touches of fancy which most of the modern professors
of the poetic art introduce so profusely as, in many
cases, to render their productions tedious and insipid,
instead of pleasing and instructive. We have rarely
read satirical verse which flowed more smoothly or cut
with a keener edge, and yet at the same time carried
along with it fewer indications of acrimonious or per-
sonal feeling. We may as truly say of the author's
wit that, while it sparkles, and occasionally flashes
with some severity upon the irregularities of the age, it
never descends to the application of opprobrious epithets,
or becomes, in the remotest degree, the promoter of vul-»
gar ideas. We feel therefore that no discriminating
reader of poetry, who loves to commune and to compare
reflections with his author, will ever put aside these
poems without retaining a warm impression of the lan-
guage, the sentiments, the scenes, and the personages
to which and to whom he has been introduced.

MEMORABLE WOMEN. The Story of their Lives.
Brief as is the title of this volume, it will so fully sug-
gest to the mind of the reader the interesting character
of its contents, that we could well permit it to pass
without further comment. Memorable women ! Who
does not feel that there is something peculiarly attrac-
tive in such a title 1 Who does not know how important
it is to cherish the virtuous examples of memorable wo-
men at a time when so little attention seems to be paid
to the inculcation and practice of those female duties
upon which the peace and happiness of the human race
so intimately depend] Let us hope, then, that the
influences which have been brought to bear on subjects
so interesting to all, and vhich have been so delicately
and feelingly enforced by the able portraitures of the
author, will not be lost upon those who have the leisure
and the ability to study them.

LITERARY NOTICES.

557

From Phillips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through
Parry & McMillan, Philadelphia: —

A HISTORY OF ENGLAND, from the First Invasion
bif the Romans to the Succession of William and Mary, in
1688. By John Lingard, D. D. A new edition, as en-
larged by Dr. Lingard shortly before his death. In
thirteen volumes. This is the seventh and only volume
of this work with which we have been favored. The
author of this history was a Roman Catholic Priest and
Doctor of Divinity. But, notwithstanding the preju-
dices which it was at first supposed he would naturally
entertain against the Reformation and the Protestant
religion, we believe it has been generally, if not uni-
versally, admitted that he has written the history of his
country with greater impartiality and a steadier ad-
herence to the truth than can be traced in the records
of any of the historians who have preceded him. On
this head we have examined the volume before us,
which relates the events of the most trying periods in
the history both of Church and State, and from which
we may gather many lessons of humiliation, whatever
may be the peculiarities of our creeds. Whether Pro-
testant or Catholic, we will find ample reasons for
walking backward as did the son of Noah, and covering
up the shame of our forefathers with the mantle of
charity. We may learn, also, to avoid the terrible
effects which will most surely flow from religious hate
and intolerance, wheresoever and by whomsoever -en-
couraged, and which, unhappily, have left their bloody
and indelible traces upon the annals of Christianity
without the exception of a single sect that has ever been
fettered to the temporal power. We have as yet seen no
criticism which condemns the tone, or denies the general
and important facts of Lingard's history.

From Charles Scribner, New York, through Par-
ry & McMillan, Philadelphia : —

THE CAPTAINS OF THE ROMAN REPUBLIC,
AS COMPARED WITH THE GREAT MODERN
STRATEGISTS ; their Campaigns, Character, and Con-
duct from the Punic Wars to the Death of Caesar. By
Henry William Herbert. The name of the author of
this volume has been frequently introduced to the pub-
lic in connection with works of literature and historic
research. The present publication belongs to the series,
or, as the author prefers to say, to " the system" of
military histories which he commenced with the " Cap-
tains of the Old World." In this volume of "the sys-
tem," he has included accounts of the campaigns of all
the Roman generals of any note from Scipio Africanus
to Mark Antony.

From M. W. Dodd, New York, through C. G. Hen-
derson, Philadelphia : —

THE CLOSET COMPANION; or, Manual of Prayer.
Consisting of topics and brief forms of prayer, designed
to assist Christians in their devotions. With an intro-
duction, by Albert Barnes. Fourth edition. This is a
very eloquent book of prayer, and will be always ac-
ceptable to Christians of every denomination.

From Rudolph Garrigtje, 178 Fulton Street, New
York, through H. J. Weik, 195 Chestnut Street, Phila-
delphia : —

THE POETRY OF GERMANY. Consisting of
selections from upwards of seventy of the most cele-
brated poets, translated into English verse, with the
original text on the opposite page. By Alfred Basker-
ville. This is a beautifully printed volume of more

47*

than six hundred pages, comprising the originals as
well as translations of some of the finest gems of Ger-
man poesy. Mr. Baskerville has displayed exquisite
taste in his selections, and gives evidence of considera-
ble capacity in the difficult art of translation. PI is
English verse has much to commend it, being, in the
main, smooth, graceful, and correct. Such of our
readers as are students of the German will find this
work a valuable and instructive assistant in the prose-
cution of their labors.

NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, ETC.

From Evans & Dickson, New York, through C. G.
Henderson, Philadelphia : A package of " Little Folks
Books," comprising thirty-six handsomely illustrated
stories, among which are many old favorites, such as
"Cinderella," " Little Red Riding- Hood," "Jack and
the Beanstalk," and many others which have been
added since our juvenile days. Price three cents each.

From Garrett &. Co., New York, through T. B. Peter-
son, Philadelphia: "Bryan Blonday; or, the Blue
Ranger of the Mohawk." By Newton M. Curtis. Price
25 cents. — " Fred Arden ; or, the Jesuit's Revenge."
By J. F. Smith, Esq. Price 50 cents.

From Harper &, Brothers, New York, through Parry &
McMillan, Philadelphia : Nos. 3, 4, and 5 of Harper's
" Gazetteer of the World." A valuable publication.
Price 50 cents a number.

From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia : " Alice Seymour :
a Home Tale." By Mrs. Grey, author of the " Gipsey's
Daughter," and numerous other popular works of fic-
tion. Price 25 cents. — " The Man-of- War's- Man." Ey
Eugene Sue, author of " The Wandering Jew," etc.
Price 25 cents.

From E. C. & J. Biddle, Philadelphia: " Single Entry
Book- Keeping. Explained in four sets of Books." By
S. W. Crittenden, Accountant. This is accompanied
by a " Key to the Treatise on Single Entry Book-Keep-
ing, and Blank Books for Writing out Exercises given
in set 3 of Crittenden's Treatise on Single Entry Book-
Keeping." This work has received the approbation of
a number of practical teachers in various cities of the
Union.

From Parry & McMillan, Philadelphia : " The Rose
of the Parsonage : an Idyll of our own Times." Trans-
lated from the German of Robert Giseke, author of the
Romance, " Modern Titans." This is a beautiful story,
the quiet lessons of which will come home to the heart
of the reader, and leave the most salutary impressions.
Price 50 cents in paper cover.

NEW VOCAL MUSIC.

We have received the following new music from that
most enterprising of our music publishers, T. C. An-
drews, 66 Spring Garden Street, Philadelphia :—

" Asatha to Irene, ' Now the .Swallows are Return-
ing;' answer to Franz Abt's celebrated song, 'When
the Swallows Homeward Fly,' " " Shells of Ocean,"
" Down where the Blue Bells grow," " As if you didn't
know," " To Horse and Away," (vocal duet,) " Oh, I 'd
be a Sailor !" (dedicated to Captain West), " And shall
I never see thee morel" " Don't you Remember?" (ar-
ranged to the popular air of " Pop goes the Weasel"),
and " My Pretty Bird."

Any orders addressed to the publisher of the " Lady's
Book" will be attended to.

(Scbuj's Slrm-<£j;im.

Our Thanks are due to our numerous subscribers
fbr the very ample support we have received from them
during the past year. In return, we have given them
every novelty that money could procure, and artists
execute. We have in preparation many beautiful things
never before attempted in a magazine, and such things
as they cannot procure elsewhere. We hope to meet
all our old subscribers again next year, and many new
ones. In the mean time, a merry Christmas and happy
>Jew Year to all.

We have now finished the year, and we defy any one
to say that we have not kept our word. We think that
our numbers have been better and more useful at the
latter end of the year than they were at the first.

Bishop Ken. — Of the contributions to the hymns now
in use by every denomination of Christian worshipers,
Bishop Ken's are among the most popular. He w^s
the author of the admired morning and evening hymns
found in almost every collection, which close with the
doxology —

" Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;"

lines too familiar to need repetition here. So connected
are they with the idea of social worship and public
devotion, that the engraver of our beautiful plate in
this number could devise no better legend to place
lander his work. A host of delightful thoughts and
memories are associated with the simple yet beautiful
doxology of good Bishop Ken. They are "household
words."

There is another hymn by the same author — a mid-
night hymn, with which the public is less familiar.
The morning and evening hymns, as now printed,
omit several stanzas of the original. We subjoin those
omitted from the Evening Hymn : —

" Dull sleep, of sense me to deprive,
I am but half my time alive ;
Thy faithful lovers, Lord, are grieved,
To be so long of Thee bereaved.

" But, though sleep o'er my frailty reigns,
Let it not hold me long in chains ;
And now and then let loose my heart,
Till it a hallelujah dart.

M The faster sleep the senses binds,
The more unfettered are our minds ;
Oh, may my soul, from matter free,
Thy loveliness unclouded see !

" Oh, may my guardian, while I sleep,
Close to my bed his vigils keep,
His love angelical instil,
Stop all the avenues of ill.

" May he celestial joy rehearse,
And thought to thought with me converse ;
Or in my stead, all the night long,
Sing to my God a grateful song."

Bishop Ken has all testimony in his favor for learn-
658

ing, piety, conscientious propriety of conduct, and un-
yielding uprightness. He lived during the reign of three
kings, and was placed by his conscience in sturdy oppo-
sition to all three. While he resided at Winchester,
the profligate Charles II. visited that city, and the
house of Dr. Ken was chosen by the king's harbinger as
the lodging of the king's favorite, but Dr. Ken positively
refused to admit her beneath his roof. Charles coolly
answered, when informed of the circumstance : " Then
Mrs. Gwynn must find lodgings elsewhere." The
monarch could admire the virtue he did not practice,
and Dr. Ken was appointed his chaplain, and became
Bishop of Bath and Wells. In the next reign, Bishop
Ken was one of the seven bishops who were sent to the
tower for resisting the usurpation of the king. " We
have two duties to perform," said Bishop Ken; "our
duty to God, and our duty to your majesty. We honor
you, but we fear God." The acquittal and release of
the seven bishops is the theme of one of the most bril-
liant passages in Macaulay's history.

On the accession of William and Mary, Bishop Ken
could not, in conscience, transfer his allegiance, and,
as one of the " Nonjurors," he was deprived of his pre-
ferment. What he lost in preferment, he gained in
honor and respect; and, in his latter years, Queen
Anne bestowed upon this uncourtierlike divine a pen-
sion. Among the many biographies and reprints of old
literature, we wonder that no one has given us a selec-
tion from the life and works of Ken. It is true that his
genius is not remarkable, but there is a hearty holy
sincerity about the man, which we must admire. His
hymns, without any pretensions as artistic poetry,
breathe the true devotional spirit. We never hear
them sung without remembering four other lines of the
honest, simple-hearted bishop : —
" And should the well-meant songs I leave behind,
With Jesus's lovers an acceptance find,
'Twill heighten even the joys of heaven to know
That in my verse the saints hymn God below."

Notwithstanding the increase in the price of paper
and printing, and every branch connected with publica-
tion, the price of the " Lady's Book" will continue the
same — see terms on cover. The increase on paper alone
is an additional yearly expense of $4,000 to us. If paper
continues to rise, it will be more.

Brodie has favored us with only one fashion this
month, but it is a beauty. Perhaps we shall receive as
many orders for patterns of it as we have for the His-
pania ; and they still continue to come.

Remember that on and after January 1st, all postage
on letters must be paid in advance, or the letter will lie
dead in the post-office where it is deposited. If you write
and want an answer from us, you must inclose a stamp
to pay return postage.

PANTLEDRinGE's First Love.— We hope our readers
have read and enjoyed this Btory as we have.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

559

The " Lady's Book" Embroidered and Worsted
Slipper. — This very pretty design is to be worked in
the usual way. The portion for the back of slipper is
only given in part. The portion of the design in blue,
white, and yellow, is the centre. This is the first time
thai a pattern of this kind has been printed in any work,
wi this country or in England.

Arthur's Home Magazine and Arthur's Home
Gazette. — We call attention to these two publications.
The Gazette is the best and purest weekly family paper
we have, and the Magazine is only second to the " Lady's
Book." We will send the "Lady's Book" and either
the Gazette or Magazine, one year for $3 60.

A Model Dun. — A Pennsylvania Yankee publishes
the following advertisement in the Doylestown " Intelli-
gencer." We copy it without change : —

" To Money Lenders and Speculators. — I want to pay
my debts, and as the only means I can devise to get
money without suing, I have resolved to expose at
public sale, at the Court House, on Tuesday, the second
week of court (when there will be a good many politi-
cians about), a large number of unsettled book accounts,
and the like number of notes of various dates and
amounts. A full and complete printed catalogue of the
names, dates, and amounts, will be distributed on the
day of sale. Conditions cash. R. Thornton.

N. B. — The above accounts will be open for settlement
until the day of sale."

Our accounts are always open for settlement. We
will venture to wager Mr. Thornton that we can show a
list one thousand times as long as his. We are sorry to
say so, but the truth must be spoken.

Our fashion editor will furnish any of the following
list of patterns : —

Ladies' Cloaks, Children's Dresses,

do.

Mantles,

do.

Basques,

do.

Full Dresses,

do.

Paltots,

do.

Jackets,

do.

Jackets,

do.

Dress Bodies,

do.

Over-Coats,

do.

Sleeves,

do.

Pants,

do.

Aprons,

do.

Aprons,

cut in Tissue paper, and trimmed as to be made, or any
of the patterns of cloaks in this or any other number of
the "Book."

Jokes. — We have been favored by our correspondents
with some very good things, which will soon appear.
Those we published in our October number have been
very generally copied.

We congratulate our friend of the Norwalk " Gazette,"
and hope that the twelve-pound shot won't endanger his
house much. We can only say that, now he has that
boy, he may bid farewell to quiet — no more snoozing
until morning. He will have to get up and walk that
boy about, and the weather is getting pretty cool for
that kind of employment. In fact, neither popny nor
mandragora will give him that sweet sleep which he
knew but yesternight. Overhaul your Shakspeare, and
when you find the tragedy of Othello, make a note of
it. Better get our Fashion Editor to purchase you a rig
oat,

Mr. Church's Lecture, u The Town."— Fashion-
able audiences have expressed their satisfaction at this
lecture. Mr. C. has been called upon to repeat it.

Quite Poetical. — The evenings are lengthened :
the fire is glowing on the old Ingle ; the home circle is
again formed. Only two things are wanting to make
happiness complete — Godey's "Lady's Book" and Ar-
thur's " Home Magazine." Inclosed is $3 60, the
desired amount. C. A.W., Ohio.

And now for the prose. Both magazines may be had
one year for $3 50.

Out of some hundreds of notes to the same effect, we
select a few at random, touching upon the abominable
practice of some publishers in issuing a large number
for January, to gull persons into subscribing, and then
falling down to very small numbers before even the
middle of the year.

" Godey differs from those publishers who get out a
grand initial number, and then taper off through the
year." — Lynn Ncivs.

" Many of Godey 's contemporaries make fine starts in
the first number, but fall off sadly before the end of the
volume." — 0. Telegraph.

" Unlike some magazine publishers we know of,
Godey does not issue a double number for January, and
afterwards suffer the number of pages to diminish." —
Marion Bern. Mirror.

" Godey's 'Lady's Book' never throws out a decoy
number on the first of January, to deceive the public
into its support, and then flag off." — N. H. Argus and
Spectator.

Hair Work. — We have received very many compli-
mentary letters about the various pins, necklaces, &.c,
that we have had made up to order. Any one having
hair of a relative can have it made up into a most
beautiful ornament, either pin, necklace, or bracelet.

-Another Poetical Letter from our own
State. — " We are getting together a' string of pearls, but
we have lost one off. Could you help us to find it by
sending the September number of the Book; ours for
this month has not yet made its appearance. Long life
and health to the Book and its editors."

Of course, we sent it. Such a letter as that would
coax us out of a year's subscription.

Mrs. PIale's "Cook Book" we will furnish at $1,
and pay the postage. Mrs. Hale's " Household Book"
on the same terms. Every one of our lady subscribers
ought to have both these books, and they would, if they
knew their value.

Hair Ornaments. — Ladies wishing hnir 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 have given great satisfac-
tion.

560

godey's magazine and lady's book.

In Good Time.— We wish to call the attention of all
parents to the following. We have seen, in the streets
of Philadelphia, mothers wrapped up in furs, and
fathers in great coats and overshoes — (the mothers, of
course, had not the latter; upon their feet were slippers
or light gaiter boots) — leading a child whose little legs
were exposed to the cold. We have often wondered of
what material that mother's heart must be composed,
that would thus expose her child to the rigors of one of
our winters : —

A modern medical writer has a word for parents
who expose their children's limbs to the cold. We
commend the advice to all who indulge in this practice :
" I cannot pass without a word the barbarous regimen
which custom and the ignorant conviction of many-
parents have prescribed for infants and young children.
I allude to the practice of half dressing children, which
is adopted in almost all weathers, sometimes with a
view to show off— sometimes, as is said, to invigorate
and harden the child. The continued impression of
cold thus allowed to be made on the arms, shoulders,
legs, and often bodies of young children, must result,
unless the power of the system be very great, in gradu-
ally establishing a congestive circulation, that will favor
the development of tubercles in the lungs, or mesenteric
glands, of dropsy of the brain, chronic diarrhoea, bron-
chitis, catarrh, and so on ; to say nothing of the multi-
tudes of the little sufferers cut. off by croup, and other
acute inflammations. Parents should know, and not for-
get that children have less power of generating heat than
adults ; and that, consequently, in cool or cold weather,
their bodies and limbs should receive as careful an
envelopment and protection as those of grown persons
liable to the same degree of exposure ; for a more careful,
the selfish attention of the latter to their own comfort
and health will hardly admit of."

We wish all our lady subscribers to read the follow-
ing from the Dover " Reporter :" —

u As Godey's ' Lady's Book' is principally intended
for the edification of ladies, it becomes almost an especial
duty for them to assist in extending its circulation."

Surely there is not one of our subscribers of last year
but what will renew her subscription for the next ; and
how easy to get a friend to join you.

The " Lady's Book" Slipper. — Our fair subscribers
will perceive, on viewing the slipper in the front of this
number, that we have gone to a great expense to please
them. They may not possibly understand as well as a
printer would, how costly such an engraving is. It has
to go through the press four times, therefore it is four
times as expensive as any other engraving, independ-
ent of the colors, which is also a very large item. The
register has very strictly to be preserved, so that in print-
ing, one color shall not overrun another. This is not
likely to be imitated by our followers, as it is rather too
expensive and troublesome for their notions of enter-
prise. In January we shall publish something even
superior to this.

Rapp's Gold Pens. — Their celebrity is increasing,
Mujl we do not wonder at it, for they are the best
article of the kind ever offered. We will guarantee
them. Prices as follows : Condor size, with a holder,
$6 ; in a silver case, $7 ; swan-quill size, with double
extension silver cases, $4 ; goose-quill size, suitable for
ladies, with holders as above, $3.

The " Lady's Book" better than a Husband. —
We have never ventured to say this, but the Jackson
" Standard" don't hesitate to avow that, "if we were a
lady we would have one, cost what it would, husband
to the contrary notwithstanding. Why, ladies, it is belter
than a husband, for it is always with you, and every
lady should have one for herself. We will leave this
part to our worthy friend, L. A. Godey, to decide."

Oh! we decide yes, of course; better than a husband,
but not better than a wife.

> To a Young Lady on her Marriage with Mb.
Gee. —

" Sure, madam, by your taste we see,

What 's good, or great, or grand, without a G?

A Godly glow must sure on G depend;

Or oddly low our righteous thoughts must end:

The want of G all gratitude effaces ;

And without G the Graces would run races. ,"

" The Book of the Toilet." — We are now on our
tenth thousand of this very useful work for the ladies.
The sale of this ladies' indispensable has been very
large. It cdntains receipts for almost everything that
can interest a lady. Price 25 cents.

Something more about our Fashions. — But
before we publish the notices, will every one of our sub-
scribers please compare our fashions with those of any
other magazine 1 We ask it in justice to ourselves ; we
court a comparison. The editors of the different papers
we quote from are supposed to see all the magazines
containing fashions, and we think their opinions may
be relied on : —

" We have never seen anything approaching Godey's
colored fashions in point of beauty." — Miss. Reform.

"Its fashion plates, as usual, are the be3t out." —
Hollidaysburg Register.

" His fashion plates are ahead of anything of the kind
we have ever seen." — Va. Observer.

" The fashion plates are exquisite, and the ladies will
pronounce them worth the price of the number." — N. H.
Am. News.

" The colored fashion plates are worth the price of the
Book." — Md. Telegraph.

" The fashion plates are superior to those of any other
magazine published." — Rlainfield Gazette.

Our Patterns. — Ladies do not seem to be aware
that these patterns are facsimiles of the originals in
color, trimming, &c. At a distance, they would be
taken for the garment itself. They could be worn in^
tableau without being detected.

A Lady friend sends us a club, and says : " Among
these are my most inveterate borrowers." Why can't
other ladies do the same ? Have a paper headed : " The
following persons agree to take, in a club, Godey's
' Lady's Book' for one year." When a borrower asks
for the number, say: " I am making up a club; won't
you subscribe ; the price is very low." Two things will
be gained: you will lose a borrower, and we will gain a
subscriber.

"How to Make a Dress." — We can now send this
work to all who have ordered it, our new edition being
ready. Price 26 centB.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

Blitz and little Bobby still hold their nightly levees
at the Columbia Hall, Chestnut near Seventh. Take
the young folks, and see them delighted ; the hours can-
not be spent more agreeably.

The New York " Commercial Advertiser," the oldest
paper in New York city, says : " The number of pat-
terns for embroidery, needlework, &c., the piece of
music, and the engravings with which the Lady's
Book is monthly embellished, render it very attractive
and useful to ladies."

We have seen a copy of the plate to be presented to
subscribers of the Philadelphia Art Union. It is called
"Clearing the Track;" designed by Schusseler, and is
twenty-three by eighteen and a half inches. The en-
graving is by Samuel Sartain. It represents a sledding
scene, popularly called coasting, is full of life and spirit,
and will, no doubt, prove the most attractive, pleasing
picture, yet issued by any Art Union.

Edward F. Dennisin, 210 Chestnut Street, is the ac-
tuary of the institution. Fifty splendid engravings will
be distributed on the 31st of December. Subscription $5.

Back numbers of the " Lady's Book" can be supplied
from January, as the work is stereotyped.

DIRECTIONS FOR WINDOW PLANTS FOR
DECEMBER.

(From Mrs. Hale's New Household Receipl-Book. Tliis
book will be sent to any person on receipt of $1.)

If the geraniums or other plants taken from the bor-
ders in autumn exhibit signs of rottenness, remove the
decaying parts, and dust the wounds with quicklime or
sulphur ; keep them comparatively dry, and as much
exposed to the sun as possible. Air is essential when-
ever it can be admitted. Remember previous directions
regarding the employment of pans ; they are a most
fatal source of disease and death when left with water
in them. Water sparingly, keep the leaves clean, and
wait patiently. Flowering plants must still form the
exception, as mentioned last month.

One little matter in a garden is particularly adapted
to the attention of the fair sex. They should go out,
scissors in hand, and snip off every decayed flower,
especially of roses, which will grow all the better, and
look all the smarter, for riddance of the dead blooms,
besides lasting the longer in flower. Geraniums want
their dead flowers cut off regularly, for it makes them
look better, and encourages new growth and bloom.
Everything, unless seed is wanted, should be deprived
of decaying blossoms.

PARLOR AMUSEMENTS.

Fountain of Fire. — Add gradually one ounce of
sulphuric acid to six ounces of water in an earthen
basin. Then add three-quarters of an ounce of granu-
lated zinc, with a few pieces of phosphorus the size of a
pea. Gas-bubbles will be immediately produced, which
take fire on the surface of the effervescing liquid, and
the whole surface of the liquid will directly become
illuminated ; fire-balls- and jets of fire will dart from
the bottom through the fluid with great rapidity.

Rotatory Motion of Camphor upon Water. —
Fill a saucer with water, and drop into it camphor re-
duced to the form of ooarse sand. The floating pestiles

will commence moving, and acquire a progressive rota-
tory motion, which continues for some minutes and then
gradually subsides.

To Melt a Coin in a Nutshell.— Take three parts
of nitre, one part of sulphur, and one of dry sawdust ;
rub them together, and press down the powder in the
shell, on which place a small coin of silver or copper ,
rolled up ; fill the shell with more powder, and press it
closely down; ignite the powder, and the coin will be
melted in a mass when the combustion has been com-
pleted.

Instantaneous Crystallization. — Make a con-
centrated solution of sulphate of soda, or Glauber's
salts, adding to it gradually portions of boiling water
until the fluid dissolves no more. Pour the solution,
whilst in a boiling state, into phials previously warmed ;
cork them immediately, to exclude the air from the so-
lution ; place them in a secure place, without shaking
them, and the solution will cool ; remove the cork, and,
as soon as the atmospheric air becomes admitted, it will
begin to crystallize on the surface, and the crystalliza-
tion is complete.

Combustion under Water. — Put a small quantity
of hyper oxi-muriate of potass and a bit of phosphorus
| into a wineglass; pour on them cold water. Take a
glass tube, and dip one end into sulphuric acid ; press
( with the finger upon the upper orifice to retain it, con-,
\ vey the end to the bottom of the glass, take away the
| finger, and the combustion will take place instantly.

\ PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies
them.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a
post-office stamp.

" Mrs. M. F. D."— Sent patterns by mail 12th.

" Mrs. M. D. C."— Sent patterns by mail 12th.

" M. S."— Sent patterns by mail 12th.

" Miss J. H. McL." — Sent patterns by mail 12th.

" Fannie Deyton." — Wrote you on the 12tb.

" A. A." — We cannot describe the dresses; but if yo.u
will let us know the age of the child, and send us $1 60,
we will send you the patterns for a suit of clothes.

"Annie." — We cannot send you that pattern en-
larged, but will send you a handsome slipper pattern foi
75 cents. The anti-macassar pattern you can work the
desired size by following the directions.

" Mrs. E. B. D." — All kinds of buttons are worn.
You will scarcely find two of the dresses with the same
buttons on. It is entirely a matter of taste.

"Madam W. R. B."— Sent patterns 13th.

"Mrs. L. T."— Sent box by Adams & Co. 13th.

"Miss F. J. B." — Sent patterns 14th.

" F. B. R." — Embroidery with cord. Trace the pat-
tern on tissue paper, sew the paper on to the material,
and sew the cord or braid over the paper. After it »
worked, the paper can be picked out.

" T. W. B."— Sent Rapp's gold pen 14th.

" Miss J. O. P."— Sent hair ear-rings 14th.

" Mrs. J. D. W." — Sent your two boxes by Adams &
Co. 14th.

" Frosting Grasses." — A very pretty and simple way
of preserving grasses is to dip them in a solution of
alum water (alum the size of an egg to one quart of
water), and then sprinkle them through with wheat
flour. When dry, the flour will adhere; and different
grasses thus arranged with a few "everlastings" uud

562

GODEY S MAGAZINE AND LADY S BOOK.

purple amaranth flowers, form a very pretty bouquet.
Here is another method : —

How To keep Gathered Fruit and Flowers
always Fresh. — A friend has just informed us that
fruit and flowers may be preserved from decay and fad-
ing-, by immersing them in a solution of gum arabic in
water two or three times, waiting a sufficient time be-
tween each immersion to allow the gum to dry. This
process covers the surface of the fruit with a thin coat-
in.if of the gum, which is entirely impervious to the air,
and thus prevents the decay of the fruit or the withering
of the flower. Our friend has roses thus preserved,
which have all the beauty of freshly plucked ones,
though they have been separated from the parent stem
since June last. To insure success in experiments of
this kind, it should be borne in mind that the whole
surface should be completely covered; for, if the air
only gains entrance at a pin hole, the labor will be lost.
In preserving specimens of fruit, particular care should
be taken to cover the stem, end and all, with the gum.
A good way is to wind a thread of silk about the stem,
and then sink it slowly into the solution, which should
not be so strong as to leave a particle of the gum undis-
solved. The gum is so perfectly transparent that you
can with difficulty detect its presence, except by the
touch. Here we have another simple method of fixing
the fleeting beauty of nature, and surrounding our-
selves ever with those objects which do most elevate
the mind, refine the taste, and purify the heart. —
Country Gentleman.

" Crochet Alphabet." — We have a copy of it, but how
are we to send it? If addressed to "An Old Sub-
scriber," Detroit, we question very much if that old sub-
scriber would receive it. We never will take one bit of
trouble again for anybody, unless they will give us their
names.

" Lucy H." — Two ounces white gum arabic powder
in a pint pitcher of boiling water. Cover it, and let it
set. all night. In the morning, pour it carefully from the
dregs into a clean bottle, and cork it. A tablespoonful
thrown into a pint of starch will give to lawns, either
white or printed, a look of newness when nothing else
can restore them after washing.

" Query." — Can any of our subscribers give us any
hints upon ma'king ladies' gaiter-boots? We want the
information for the benefit of all.

" E. A. L."— Sent patterns by mail 17th.

"Mrs. E. A. M." — Sent patterns by mail 17th.

" R. E." — Sent patterns by mail 17th.

" II. H. D." — Can send you the three pieces of music
on receipt of $1.

" T. W. A."— Sent patterns on the 19th.

" Miss M. E. W."— Sent patterns on the 19th.

"J. D. W."— Sent Rapp's pens by mail 20th.

" Mrs. A. G."— Sent books by mail 20th.

" C. W."— Sent patterns by mail 20th.

" Miss J. S." — Sent patterns by mail 20th.

" Mrs. 0. V."— Sent books by mail 20th.

" Miss A. L." — Sent patterns by mail 20th.

" C. J. W."— Sent the articles by mail 20th.

" A. B." — Sent motto wafers by mail 20th.

" Mrs. S. R. C."— Sent patterns by mail 22d.

" Mrs. J. C." — Sent hair ornaments by mail 23d.

" Mrs. L. D. S."— Sent Mrs. Hale's " Household
Book."

" Mrs. V. C. B."— Sent box by Adams & Co. 25th.

"Mrs. II. R. M."— Sent Mrs. Hale's "Household
Book."

" Mrs. L. W."— Sent Toil Cir6 by mail 26th.

" E. M. L."— Mrs. Mowatt's works : " Evelyn," 50
cents, and " The Fortune Hunter," 50 cents.

" L. S." — Sent your goods by mail 26th.

"Mrs. Col. J. J. T."— Sent hair bracelet, &c, by
Harnden's Express 26th.

"Mrs. A. M. P."— Sent Mrs. Hale's "Household
Book."

" Mrs. J. W."— Sent pin by mail 26th.

It erupts, &t.

To Clean White or Colored Kid Gloves. — Put
the glove on your hand, then take a small piece of flan-
nel, dip it in camphene, and well but gently rub it over
the glove, taking care not to make it too wet. When the
dirt is removed, dip the flannel (or another piece if that
is become dirty) into pipe-clay and rub it over the glove ;
take it off, and hang it up in a room to dry, and in a day
or two very little smell will remain ; and, if done care-
fully, they will be almost as good as new. In colored
ones, if yellow, use gamboge after the pipe-clay, and for
other colors match it in dry paint.

To Prevent Colored Things from Running. —
Boil one-fourth pound of soap till nearly dissolved, then
add a small piece of alum and boil with it. Wash the
things in this latter, but do not soap them. If they re-
quire a second water, put alum to that also, as well as
to the swilling and blue-water. This will preserve them.

To Preserve Pencil Marks. — If you have anything
drawn or written with a lead-pencil that you wish to
preserve from rubbing out, dip the paper into a dish of
skimmed milk. Then dry it, and iron it on the wrong
side. In ironing paper, do not let the iron rest a moment
(as it will leave a crease or mark), but go over it as
rapidly as possible.

To Wash Mousseline-de-Laine. — Boil a pound of
rice in five quarts of water, and, when cool enough,
wash in this, using the rice for soap. Have another
quantity ready, but strain the rice from this and use it
with warm water, keeping the rice strained off for a
third washing, which at the same time stiffens and also
brightens the colors.

To Clean Paper Hangings.— Cut into eight half
quarters a stale loaf of bread; with one of these pieces,
after having blown off all the dust from the paper to be
cleaned by means of a good pair of bellows, begin at the
top of the room, holding the crust in the hand and
wiping lightly downward with the crumb about half a
yard at each stroke, till the upper part of the hangings
is completely cleaned all round; then go again round
with the like sweeping stroke downward, always com-
mencing each successive course a little higher than the
upper stroke had extended till the bottom be finished.
This operation, if carefully performed, will frequently
make very old paper look almost equal to new. Great
caution must be used not by any means to rub the paj>er
hard, nor to attempt cleaning it the cross or horizontal
way. The dirty part of the bread, too, must be each
time cut away, and the pieces renewed as soon as at all
necessary.

To Make Artificial Red Coral Branches for
the Embellishment of Grottos.— Take clear resin,
dissolve it in a brass pan, to every ounce of which add
two drachms of the finest vermilion ; when stirred well

RECEIPTS.

563

together, choose the twigs and branches, peeled and
dried ; then take a pencil and paint the branches all
over whilst the composition is warm ; afterwards shape
them in imitation of natural coral. This done, hold the
branches over a gentle coal fire till all is smooth and
even, as if polished. In the same manner white coral
may be prepared with white lead, and black coral with
lamp-black. A grotto may be built, with little expense,
of glass, cinders, pebbles, pieces of large flint, shells,
moss, stones, counterfeit coral, pieces of chalk, &.c, all
bound or cemented together with the above-described
cement.

To Clean the Rust from Iron or Steel. — Scrape
off as much of the rust as you can ; then grease the iron
all over with lamp-oil (any other oil will do), rubbing it
in well. Put the iron in a place where it will be out of
the way, and let it rest for two or three days, or more.
Then wipe off the oil as thoroughly as possible, and rub
the iron with sand-paper till it is perfectly cleaned from
the grease. For want of oil or sand-paper, rusty iron
may be cleaned tolerably well by greasing it with a bit
of pork-fat, and afterwards rubbing it with common
sand.

COOKERY.

Gingerbread. — Gingerbread is not only one of the
very oldest articles of the baker's business, but formerly,
as well as now, one of the most favorite. One principle
is to be observed in the manufacture of all gingerbread,
that is, that molasses or honey is the only sweet em-
ployed, and that the necessary fermentation is produced
by an alkaline carbonate, which, by the heat of the oven,
and assisted also by the acid in the molasses, becomes
decomposed, and, emitting its carbonic acid into the
particles of bread, renders it porous. Besides the ad-
mixture of the various materials, the molasses requires
the following preparation : —

1. To Prepare the Molasses. — Take fourteen pounds of
the best molasses, one-fourth pound of alum, and one-
half pound of American potash. Dissolve the alum in
one-half pint of hot water, and in another vessel the
potash in the same quantity of water. Pour the alum
first into the molasses, stir it up, and then add the pot-
ash, and stir it all well together for use.

2. To Prepare the Dough. — Mix some of the preceding
prepared molasses with flour, to make a soft dough ; set
this aside for three or four days, when it will be ready,
by mixing with the other ingredients, to bake directly.
If kept for eight or ten days, it is called old dough, and
requires to be mixed in certain proportions with similar
dough just made; in this case, the oldness of the one
and the newness of the other uniting, the medium, and
proper quality, and age are preserved.

3. Ingredients.— Take four pounds of light dough and
two pounds of new dough, one-half pound of butter,
one-half pound of molasses, two ounces of ginger, and
two ounces of mixed spice. You may add, at pleasure,
orange or lemon peel, almonds, or other flavoring ingre-
dients. Caraway seeds are sometimes used.

4. Making. — Mix this all well together, and make it
of a thinner consistence with water, if required. Place
it in a pan to about an inch in thickness in square tins,
the bottom and sides of which are well buttered, press
the stamp upon the top, having first washed it over with
water or egg. A. large cake of gingerbread will take
three-quarters of an hour to bake in a slow oven ;
smaller and thinner cakes, in a brisker oven, for a
Shorter time ; do not touch them, or expose them to a

cold draught of air while baking, or they will be heavy.
When done, wash them over with size, egg, isinjbiss,
or gum-water.

After the ingredients are fully made up, gingerbread
should be kept a little time before baking, but never
more than two or three hours. In the following receipts
it is prepared by one operation.

5. Flour and molasses, of each one pound, butter one
ounce, carbonate of magnesia one ounce, powdered gin-
ger and cinnamon, of each one drachm, grated nutmeg
one-half ounce ; let it be baked, after having been made
about four hours.

This is for thin gingerbread ; if for thick, you must
add more flour, so as to make the paste stiffer.

6. Flour one pound, carbonate of magnesia one-quarter
ounce, mix these together, then add one-half pound of
molasses, one-quarter pound of moist sugar, two ounces
of melted butter, tartaric acid one drachm, and spices as
in the last receipt. Let it be baked when it has been
made about four hours.

If to be baked quickly, double the quantity of the car-
bonate of magnesia, and of the acid; this will be ready
for the oven in forty minutes.

7. Flour one pound, molasses three-fourths of a pound,
potash dissolved in a little water one-half ounce, butter
one ounce, spice according to taste. This will not be
ready for the oven for several days. When it is to be
baked, mix up "with it a little more flour.

During the several days' rest between the making and
the baking, the acid which is in the molasses neutralizes
the potash, and lets its carbonic acid escape into the
bread.

8. Instead of the potash used in the last receipt, mix
up the ingredients with one ounce of the carbonate of
ammonia, to make the bread porous ; or it may be used
in addition to the potash in the last, using then one-
fourth ounce, and adding it when the paste is two or
three days old. With the carbonate of ammonia only,
it may be baked directly it is prepared.

9. Flour six pounds, powdered ginger two ounces,
caraway seeds one ounce (other spices to palate),
candied lemon and orange peel, of each two ounces,
moist sugar and melted butter, of each one-half pound,
molasses four pounds, volatile salt (carbonate of ammo-
nia) dissolved in a little water one and a half to two
ounces. This may be baked at once.

10. Take three pounds of molasses, of candied lemon,
and orange peel, and green citron, each one-half pound,
two ounces of ginger in powder, two ounces of coriander
seed, prepared, beaten, and sifted. Use the prepared
molasses, or else either of the carbonates before men-
tioned with common molasses.

The French, whose gingerbread is vile stuff, use honey
instead of molasses, and flavor it very strongly with
aniseed.

Ginger Cakes. — Take one pound of sugar, one-
fourth pound of ginger, one pint of water, two pounds
of flour, and eight caps (half-peels) of orange perl.
Pound and sift the ginger, and add one pint of water;
boil it five minutes, then let it stand till cold. Pound
the preserved orange peel, and pass it through a hajr-
sieve; put the flour on a paste-board, make a wall, and
put in the orange peel and ginger with the boiled water,
mix this up to a paste, and roll it out; prick the cakes
before baking them.

Essence or Tincture of Ginger.— 1. Take of gin-
ger in coarse powder two ounces, proof spirits two pints.
Digest in a gentle heat for seven days, and strain. This

56±

godey's magazine and lady's book.

tincture is cordial and stimulant, and is generally
employed as a corrective to purgative draughts, without
which the latter are apt to be griping.

2. A more concentrated essence may be procured by
digesting four ounces of ginger in a pint of spirits of
wine for a fortnight, then press and filter. Oxley's
concentrated essence of Jamaica ginger varies from this
only, in having a little of the essence of Cayenne added
to it.

3. Bruised Jamaica ginger twelve pounds, rectified
spirits of wine two and a half gallons. Soak for four-
teen days, press, strain, and reduce the essence by dis-
tillation to one gallon, cool, and filter. This is so strong
that two ounces are equal to three of ginger. It is used
much, not only by the medical profession, but by publi-
cans and distillers in making cordials, and occasionally
in flavoring brandy.

4. Mix together equal parts of Jamaica ginger and
animal charcoal, both in coarse powder, put them in a
funnel which has a piece of cotton wool in the pipe of it,
stop the lower end with a cork, and pour spirits of wine
on to the powder. After twenty-four hours, take out the
cork, and let the spirits filter through, adding altogether
spirit double the weight of the ginger employed, pour the
runnings backward into the funnel two or three times
till of sufficient strength.

To Candy Ginger. — Put one ounce of race ginger,
grated fine, one pound of loaf-sugar, beat fine, into a
preserving pan, with as much water as will dissolve the
sugar. Stir them well together over a slow fire till the
sugar begins to boil ; then stir in another pound of sugar,
beat fine, and keep stirring it till it grows thick ; then
take it off the fire, and drop it in cakes upon earthen
dishes; set them in a warm place to dry, when they
will become hard and brittle, and look white.

Ginger Candy and Drops.— Coarsely-powdered
ginger two ounces, boiling water one and one-fourth
pint; macerate in a warm place for two hours, strain,
and add to it seven pounds each of loaf and brown
sugar. Ginger drops are the same, except that they are
made with all loaf-sugar.

Ginger Candy. — Boil a pint of clarified sugar, until
upon taking out a drop of it on a piece of stick, it will,
when cold, be quite brittle. Color it yellow by boiling
with it a little saffron tied up in a piece of muslin. Now
mix and stir up with it, for a common article, about a
teaspoonful of ground ginger ; if for superior goods,
instead of the ground ginger, add to it, while hot, half
the white of an egg beaten up previously with fine sifted
loaf-sugar, and twenty drops of the strong essence of
ginger.

Ginger Lozenges. — Dissolve in one-fourth pint of
hot water one-half ounce of gum-arabic; when cold,
stir it up with one and a half pound of loaf-sugar, and
a spoonful of powdered ginger, or twelve drops of the
essence of ginger. Roll and beat the whole well up into
A paste, make it into a cake, and punch out the lozenges
with a round stamp; dry them near the fire, or in an
oven, nearly cold.

To Preserve Ginger. — The preserved ginger that
conies from China, and from the Indies, is much superior
to any we can make in this country ; it being made from
the roots while young and tender, while ours being from
the older roots, and these having been dried, they still
remain stringy and tough when preserved. The method
pursued in the East Indies is, first to wash the fresh
roots, then to boil them for an hour in water, taking out

the pieces and letting them cool ; they are then peeled
with a knife and cut into smaller pieces. The pieces
thus softened and cleaned, and still containing as much
pungency as will be desirable, are boiled in a thin syrup
of white sugar, then taken out and dried, if wanted in
this state, or if wanted as a wet preserve, the syrup and
ginger are both preserved together in earthenware jars.

Preserved Mock Ginger. — Cut off the stalks of
lettuces just going to seed, and peel off the strings, cut
them in pieces two or three inches long, and throw them
into water; after washing them, put them into sugar
and water, mixed in the proportion of one pound of
sugar to five pints of water, add to this quantity two
large spoonfuls of pounded ginger. Boil the whole
together for twenty minutes, and set it by for two days.
Then boil it again for half an hour, and renew this five
or six times in the same syrup. Then drain the stalks
upon a sieve, and wipe them dry ; have ready a thick
syrup boiled, and made strong with whole ginger. Pour
it upon the stalks boiling hot, boil them in it twice or
thrice, or until they look clear, and taste like the West
India ginger.

Syrup of Ginger. — Take of ginger, bruised, four
ounces, boiling water three pints. Macerate for four
hours, then strain, and add white sugar to make a syrup.

Ginger Wine. — 1. To seven gallons of water put
nineteen pounds of clayed sugar, and boil it for half an
hour, taking off the scum as it rises ; then take a small
quantity of the liquor, and add to it nine ounces of the
best ginger, bruised. Now put it all together, and when
nearly cold, chop nine pounds of raisins very small, and
put them into a nine gallon cask (beer measure), with
one ounce of isinglass. Slice four lemons into the cask,
taking out all the seeds, and pour the liquor over them,
with half a pint of fresh yeast. Leave it unstopped for
three weeks, and in about three months it will be fit for
bottling. There will be one gallon of the sugar and
water more than the cask will hold at first ; this must
be kept to fill up, as the liquor works off, as it is neces-
sary that the cask should be kept full till it has done
working. The raisins should be two-thirds Malaga,
and one-third Muscatel. Spring and autumn are the
best seasons for making this wine.

2. Take of cold soft water nineteen gallons, Malaga
raisins fifty pounds, white tartar in powder four ounces ;
ferment. Mix ginger, in powder or bruised, twenty
ounces, eighteen lemons, peel and juice; add brandy
two quarts or more. This will make eighteen gallons.

3. Take twenty quarts of water, five pounds of sugar,
three ounces of white ginger, one ounce of stick liquorice.
Boil them well together; when it is cold, put a little new
yeast upon it, but not too much; then put it into the
barrel for ten days, and after that bottle it, putting a
lump of white sugar into every bottle.

MARKING INK.

(From Mrs. HaWs New Household Receipt-Book.)

Sympathetic Ink.— With a clean pen write on
paper with a solution of muriate of cobalt, so diluted
with water, that the writing when dry will be invisible.
On gently warming the paper, the writing will appear
of a blue or greenish color, which will disappear again
when cool. A solution of muriate of copper forms i
yellow and sympathetic ink, and acetate of cobalt a rose
or purple. If a landscape be drawn representing a
winter scene, the paper being overlaid where the foliaga

RECEIPTS.

565

should be with the green sympathetic ink, then, on gently
warming the drawing, it will represent summer. Sky
and water may be drawn with the blue, and standing
corn with the yellow ink.

Blue Ink. — Dissolve a small quantity of indigo in a
little oil of vitriol, and add a sufficient quantity of
water, in which gum-arabic has been dissolved.

Yellow Ink. — Dissolve gamboge in a solution of
gum-arabic.

Scarlet Ink. — Dissolve vermilion in a solution of
gum-arabic.

Red Ink. — Boil one ounce of Brazil wood in half a
pint of water for a quarter of an hour ; add to the decoc-
tion three drachms of gum-arabic, and an ounce of
alum.

Green Ink. — Verdigris, two ounces ; cream of tartar,
one ounce; water, half a pint; boil till reduced to one
half, and filter.

Excellent Writing Ink. — Boil eight ounces of
galls in coarse powder, and four ounces of logwood in
thin chips, in twelve pints of rain water, for one hour:
strain the liquor, and add four ounces of green copperas,
three ounces of powdered gum-arabic, one ounce of blue
vitriol, and one ounce of rock candy, powdered ; stir the
mixture until the whole he dissolved, then let it subside
twenty-four hours ; decant it very steadily, and put it
into stone bottles for use.

A clove kept in it will prevent it from becoming
mouldy.

POISONS AND ANTIDOTES.

We have before published poisons and antidotes ; but
ws find, in Mrs. Hale's " Household Receipt-Book,"
directions so plain and short that we are induced to give
them again. In fact, they cannot be published too often.

Acids. — These cause great heat, and sensation of
turning pain, from the mouth down to the stomach.
Remedies, magnesia, soda, pearlash, or soap, dissolved
in water; then use stomach-pump or emetics.

Alcohol. — First cleanse out the stomach by an emetic,
then dash cold water on the head, and give ammonia
(spirits of hartshorn).

Alkalies. — Best remedy is vinegar.

Ammonia. — Remedy, lemon-juice or vinegar, after-
wards milk and water or flaxseed tea.

Arsenic. — Remedies, in the first place evacuate the
stomach, then give the white of eggs, lime-water, or
chalk and water, charcoal and the preparations of iron,
particularly hydrate.

Belladonna or Night Henbane. — Give emetics, and then
plenty of vinegar and water or lemonade.

Charcoal. — In poisons by carbonic gas, remove the
patient to open air, dash cold water on the head and
body, and stimulate nostrils and lungs by hartshorn, at
the same time rubbing the chest briskly.

Corrosive Sublimate. — Give white of eggs freshly mixed
with water, or give wheat flour and water, or soap and
water freely.

Oreasote. — White of eggs and the emetics.

Laudanum. — Same as opium.

Lead. White Lead and Sugar of Lead. — Remedies,
alum, cathartic, such as castor oil and Epsom salts,
especially.

Mushrooms, when prisonous. — Give emetics, and then
plenty of vinegar and water, with dose of ether, if
handy.

VOL. XLIX. 48

Nitrate of Silver (lunar caustic). — Give a strong solu-
tion of common salt, and then emetics.

Nitrate of Potash, or Saltpetre. — Give emetics, then
copious draughts of flaxseed tea, milk and water, and
other soothing drinks.

Opium. — First give a strong emetic of mustard and
water, then strong coffee and acid drinks; dash cold
water on the head.

Oxalic Acid. — Frequently mistaken for Epsom Salts.
Remedies, chalk, magnesia, or soap and water freely,
then emetics.

Prussic Acid. — When there is time, administer chlo-
rine, in the shape of soda or lime. Hot brandy and
water. Hartshorn and turpentine also useful.

Snake- Biles. §-c. — Apply immediately strong hartshorn,
and take it internally; also, give sweet oil, and stimu-
lants freely. Appl)r a ligature tight above the part
bitten, and then apply a cupping-glass.

Tartar Emetic. — Give large doses of tea made of galls,
Peruvian bark, or white oak bark.

Tobacco. — First an emetic, then astringent tea, then
stimulants.

Verdigris. — Plenty of white of egs; and water.

White Vitriol. — Give the patient plenty of milk and
water.

In almost all cases of poisoning, emetics are highly
useful, and of those, one of the very best, because most
prompt and ready, is the common mustard flour or
powder, a spoonful of which, stirred up in warm water,
majr be given every five or ten minutes, until free vomit-
ing can be obtained.

Emetics and warm demulcent drinks, such as milk
and water, flaxseed or slippery elm tea, chalk water.
&c, should be administered without delay. The subse-
quent management of the case will of course be left to a
physician.

SICK-ROOM AND NURSERY.

Balsamic Vinegar. — Take rue, sage, mint rose-
mary, and lavender, of each a handful ; cut them small,
and put them into a stone jar; pour upon the herbs a
pint of the best white wine vinegar; cover the jar close,
and let it stand seven or eight days in the sun or a warm
room ; then strain it off and dissolve in it as much cam-
phor as it will take up.

The liquid sprinkled about the sick chamber or burnt
will much revive a patient, remove bad smells, purify
and refresh the air, and tend to prevent contagion.

Distilled Water.— Water that has been distilled
is the softest of all waters, therefore the best adapted
for drinking in cases of sickness, and for infusions ; but
as a still is rarely ready at hand, water of the same
quality may be obtained by the easy method of fixing a
tin pipe, about four feet long, to the spout of any common
kettle, and placing the other end of it into a decanter
placed in a tub of cold water. The liquid, as it drops,
must be kept cool by frequently changing the water in
which the decanter is placed. Distilled water is now
recommended in gout and diseases of the kidueys. The
taste being flat and not agreeable, it should be poured
from one vessel into another before use.

Toast Water. — When you have toasted until brown
about half a slice of a quartern wheat loaf, pour over
it in a jar or jug about a Quart of water. Let it stand
an hour and a half, and pour the water clear from the
toasl into a win* decanter. If a flavor be desired, it
can be added, to the taste of the individual.

566

godey's magazine and lady's book.

Oat-Cake Water is made the same way, substitut-
ing oat-cake for bread. This has proved very beneficial
in cases of vomiting, which could not be allayed by any
other means.

Biscuit Water is made the same way as the two
preceding, and will be found an agreeable variety.

For Sore Eyes. — Incorporate thoroughly, in a glass
mortar or vessel, one part of strong citrine ointment
with three parts of spermaceti ointment. Use the mix-
ture night and morning by placing a piece of the size of
a pea in the corner of the eye affected.

Excellent Remedy for Lumbago. — Dip a piece
of flannel in scalding water ; wring it out, and sprinkle
some turpentine immediately over it, and apply it
quickly to the part affected by the pain. Repeat this
process a few times, and it will afford certain relief.

Camphorated Ammoniacal Wash. — Take half
an ounce of the liquid subcarbonate of ammonia ; and
one and a half ounces of camphorated spirit, mix and
apply to the parts by means of rags moistened with the
lotion. This is a useful application for contusions un-
attended with abrasion of the surface.

Discutient Lotion. — Take one ounce of sal-ammo-
nia .\ and dissolve it in four ounces of vinegar, and four
ounces of spirits of wine.

This is used for contusions attended with much dis-
coloration of the skin, and is applied by wetting pieces
oi rag folded four or six times, tying them over the part,
and changing them as often as they become dry.

Gi avriul. — Take two drachms of tincture of benzoin,
and ten ounces of rose-water. Mix and shake well.

This is much used as a cosmetic on the continent, to
remove sun-burns.

Nails Growing into the Flesh. — Cut a notch in
the middle of the nail every time the nail is pared. The
disposition to close the notch draws the nail up from the
sides.

Corns. — Corns may be prevented by easy shoes ;
frequently bathing the feet in lukewarm water, with a
little salt or potashes dissolved in it. The corn itself will
be completely destroyed by rubbing it daily with a little
caustic solution of potash till the soft skin is formed.

Qli)c ffloilet.

Oil of BergaMot is extracted by pressure from the
rind of the ripe fruit of the Citrus bergamium and auren-
tiam. It is a limpid, yellowish fluid, having a smell
resembling that of oranges. Its specific gravity varies
from 0.888 to 0.885. It becomes concrete when cooled a
little below thirty-two degrees.

Bergamot Perfume. — Take sixteen pounds of hair
powder and forty drops of the best oil of bergamot ; rub
them well together, and, to mix them more intimately,
rub the powder two or three times through a fine sieve.
Keep it from the air at all times.

Bandoline for the Hair. — 1. Boila tablespoonful
of linseed in half a pint of water for five minutes.

2. Put one ounce of quince seed to a quart of water ;
let it simmer on the fire for forty minutes; strain it
through a fine sieve, and, when cold, add a few drops
of any scent you please. If the bottles are well corked
and tied down, it will keep for many monlhs.

;?. Put one tablespoonful of linseed, half a teaspoonful
of quince seed, and a pinch of white mustard seed into

a pint of soft water ; simmer it to half a pint, according
to the goodness of the seeds ; add essence the most agree-
able. The quince seed may be previously bruised.

4. Take one-quarter of an ounce of carrageen, or Irish
moss ; cleanse it thoroughly from all impurities. This
being done, pour half a pint of boiling water on it ; let
it stand for a quarter of an hour ; then strain it through
muslin. When nearly cold, add half an ounce of spirits
of wine, with six drops of the essential oil of almonds,
or any other perfume.

6. Take an ounce and a half of pure isinglass, one pint
of water, all but two wineglassfuls, and two wineglass-
fuls of proof spirits ; pour the water over the isinglass
in a covered vessel, and let it stand all night; the next
day let it be put into an oven or on the hob, till the isin-
glass is completely dissolved and the liquid is quite hot,
then mix the proof spirit with it. If you wish to scent
it, two or three drops of any essential oil (that you like
the perfume of) must be mixed with the spirit previous
to adding it to the isinglass. Some ladies' hair requires
a stronger bandoline than others ; where this is the case,
an extra half ounce of isinglass will effect it.

6. Do not make much of this mixture at a time, as it
is apt to spoil. Pour over ten or twelve quince-leaves
about a tablespoonful of boiling water.

Pastiles. — 1. A la Rose. Gum arabic one ounce, gum
olibanum one ounce, storax one ounce, nitre three-
quarters of an ounce, charcoal powder six ounces, oil
of roses twenty drops. The above mixture is to be
thickened with a quarter of an ounce of gum tragacanth
dissolved in rose-water, and the whole pounded and
made into a paste.

2. Ambergris eight drachms, powder of rose-leaves
four drachms, gum benzoin two ounces, essence of roses
one ounce, gum tragacanth one ounce, and a few drops
of the oil of red sanders wood.

3. Common. Gum benzoin one pound, cloves half an
ounce, cinnamon two drachms, a stick of calamus aro-
maticus, mucilage of gum to mix.

Eau de Marechale. — 1. Musk twenty grains ; es-
sence of bergamot, oil of lavender, oil of cloves, each
one ounce; essence of ambergris two ounces, oil of sas-
safras fifteen drops, oil of marjoram twenty drops, spi-
rits of wine four pints.

2. Spirits of wine one pint, essence of violets two
ounces, essence of bergamot and essence of cloves, each
four drachms, orange-flower water one pint.

Mareschal Hair Powder.— 1. Oak moss in pow-
der two pounds, starch powdered one pound, cloves
one ounce, calomus aromaticus one ounce, Cyperus in
powder two ounces, rotten wood in powder one ounce.
Mix all well together.

2. Powdered cloves one ounce, starch powder two and
a half pounds.

Mareschal Pomatum.— White wax two pounds,
suet six pounds and three-quarters, scent four ounces
and a half, Mareschal powder six ounces.

To make Eau-de-Cologne.— Take two quarts of
spirits of wine, above proof, then add oil of bergam t.
three-fourths of an ounce; oil of cedra, three-eighths of
an ounce; oil of lemon-peel, three-eighths of an ounce;
oil of orange-flowers, three-eighths of an ounce; oil of
rosemary, one-sixteenth of an ounce; and cai
four grains. Let the whole be shaken during a quarter
of an hour, and then Buffered to remain withou*
tion a fortnight, and filtered through white blotting-
paper, and then bottled.

Ctntrj-CnbU (Boss'ip

FAMILY PORTRAITS.

Among those executed with the pen, and warranted
to find originals in every family, none are more success-
ful at the present day than those of Thackaray. Com-
menting on the advantages of a bad temper, in a late
chapter of the " Newcomes," we have two that will
speedily be recognized by many "afflicted friends."

" .Surely a fine furious temper, if accompanied with a
certain magnanimity and bravery, which often go to-
gether with it, is one of the most fortunate and precious
gifts with which a gentleman or lady can be endowed.
A person always ready to fight is certainly of the great-
est consideration amongst his or her family circle. The
lazy grow tired of contending with him, the timid coax
and flatter him ; and, as almost every one is timid or
lazy, a bad-tempered man is sure to have his own way.
It is he who commands, while all the others obey. If
he is a gourmand, he has what he likes for dinner, and
the tastes of all the rest are subservient to him. She
(we playfully change the gender, as a bad temper is of
both sexes) has the place which she likes best in the
drawing-room, nor do her parents, nor her brothers and
sisters, venture to take her favorite chair. If she wants
to go to a party, mamma will dress herself in spite of
the headache, and papa, who hates those dreadful
soirees, will go up stairs after dinner and put on his
poor old white neck-cloth, though he has been toiling
all day at the office, and must be there early in the
morning — he will go out with her, we say, and stay for
the last cotillon. If the family are taking their tour in
summer, it is she who ordains whither they shall go,
and when they shall stop. If he comes home late, the
dinner is kept for him, and no one dares to say a word,
though ever so hungry. If he is in a good humor, how
every one frisks about and is happy ! How the servants
jump up at his bell and run to wait on him ! How they
sit up patiently, and how eagerly they rush out to fetch
cabs in the rain !

" Whereas for you and me, who have the tempers of
angels, and never were known to be angry or complain,
nobody cares whether we are pleased or not. Our wives
go to the milliners and send us the bill, and we pay it ;
our John finishes reading the paper before he answers
our bell and brings it to us; our sons loll in the arm-
chair, which Ave should like, fill the house with their
young men, and smoke in the dining-room ; our tailors
fit us badly, our butchers give us the youngest mutton,
our tradesmen dun us much more quickly than other
people's, because they know we are good-natured, and
our servants go out when they like, and openly have
their friends to supper in the kitchen."

A NURSERY BASKET.

This very convenient receptacle for the odds and ends
of an infant's toilet is thus described in the " Nursery
Book" by our Fashion Editor, recently published by
Appleton : —

" Any basket large enough to hold a certain number
of articles will answer the purpose ; but there are those

that come especially for this use. Of the several differ-
ent styles, we prefer those shallow and close covered,
with strong handles ; the shape may be oblong, round,
or square.

" A close-fitting top or lid comes with some of them,
unhinged, so IJiat it may be taken off entirely when the
basket is in use. Many persons use them without a
cover, just as they come from the shops, where they can
also be procured fitted up, and furnished with all the
articles necessary for an infant's toilet.

" The cover may be of cashmere, dimity, or white
cambric or muslin, with colored silk or cambric under-
neath. The flounce falling over the outside, so as en-
tirely to cover it, is embroidered, if in cashmere. The
bottom piece is entirely plain, carpeting the baaki
it were; the lining of the sides is full, and >
gathered or finely plaited into this centre piece, ae
as the flounce at the top of the basket. The seams are,
of course, on the under-side. Two or four pockets may
be made, in the old-fashioned work-bag style, dra
up with a narrow ribbon. The handles are also wound
closely with ribbon. Instead of the flounce, some are
made with the outside cover of the brim, exactly like
the inner piece ; full, and caught closely to the bottom
of the basket. It will be seen that these covers can, in
any case, be taken off to be washed or cleaned.

" Fitting up. — In furnishing, we have, first, the in-
dispensable pin-cushion, usually the flat toilet shape.

"It is usual to have two sizes of good English pins,
one medium, the other rather small. Ornamented pin-
cases may be had, holding two or three papers. Two
or three dozen pins should be in readiness on the cush-
ion, with a shield-pin of any kind preferred.

" A powder-box of fancy paper, Britannia, or china,
containing a moderate-sized down puff. A paper of
pearl or Lycopodium powder.

" A small bag of oiled silk, containing a very fine
sponge.
" A cake of plain, fine Castile soap.
" An infant's brush, and ivory or shell comb.
" In preparing the basket for first use, one pocket
should contain: A pair of fine sharp scissors, good me-
dium size ; a cake of fine white wax ; a piece of fine
white linen bobbin.

" In the other, a needle-book ; a spool of thread ; red
or white silk ; a roll of narrow white ribbon, for looping
sleeves.

" Place in the basket a complete set of the child's first
clothes, slip, night petticoat, shirt, flannel band, and two
Boft napkins ; a fine linen wash cloth, as some nurses
prefer it to a sponge ; a pot of cold cream. A roll of old
linen is indispensable — worn-out handkerchiefs, or any
old garment, if soft and fine."

A Traveller's Wardrobe— In answer to the re-
quest'that we would designate a proper wardrobe for a
young lady going abroad, we would refer our corre-
spondent to our various descriptions of travelling and
watering-place toilet. Her needs will be much the
same in England and France as here. We BhooJ
pose that she would defer the purchase of the orna-
mental articles, silks, laces, gloves, embroideries, etc.,

567

568

godey's magazine and lady's book.

for Paris or London, to have the very latest styles.
Miss Leslie's " House- Book" contains invaluable hints
for a sea outfit, which she would do well to look over.

SAN DONATO.

LETTER-writers from Florence usually mention, if
not describe, this palace-like villa, the residence of
Prince Demidoff. With all his magnificence, it will be
remembered that he is not of royal blood, but a plebeian
Russian, whose wealth obtained for him an alliance
with the Princess Matilda, daughter of Jerome Bona-
parte, from whom he is now separated. We give in
full one of the most elaborate descriptions of the gor-
geous apartments of San Donato we have ever met
with :—

" It was generally conceded by our party, made up of
persons who had travelled extensively, that there was
nothing in all Europe to equal it. I do not mean archi-
tecturally, for the exterior is plain, a two story building
presenting rather a handsome front, with two wings,
forming three sides of a square. We saw only the state
rooms upon the second floor, forming a suite of sixteen
rooms, all communicating with each other by doors that
would be with us wonders of art ; not folding doors —
for they are, I believe, peculiar to America — but a
double door, about as wide as a good American strefet
door. One great charm of the whole was the exquisite
taste and home-like appearance of each room, as if
made to be occupied, notwithstanding their more than
real magnificence. Imagine two rooms as long, if not
as wide, as the East Room of the President's, with
windows of plate glass on either side, commanding ex-
quisite views of the mountains and Florence, and beau-
tiful grounds stretching off into well cultivated fields
and farms ; these rooms entirely furnished with the
precious malachite, not one piece, but great tables,
chairs, sofas, columns, vases, cabinets, mantle-pieces,
with hearths of the finest Roman mosaic. Walls
covered with the finest Gobelin tapestry or crimson
velvet, gorgeous carpets, priceless mirrors, pictures,
gems of art, Murillos, Guidos, Raphaels, .and some of
the most celebrated pictures of De la Roche ; in statu-
ary, the choicest works of the great modern sculptors,
among which were several by Powers— the Fisher Boy,
Greek Slave, several busts, &c. ; ceilings rich with gild-
ings and frescoes, the rarest and most superbly dressed
skins placed as foot-rugs. Follow me into another,
furnished entirely with exquisite Florentine mosaic, as
fine as the finest of those we see at home set as orna-
ments ; chairs and sofas artistically formed of velvet
and gold gilding, the finest antique lace thrown over
them; magnificent full-length portraits of Peter the
Great and Catharine.

" Again another, furnished with ebony and crimson
velvet, rich ebony cabinets filled with countless snuff-
boxes, set with large diamonds, emeralds — in short, all
imaginable precious articles of vertu ; a large centre-
table, and upon its superb cover the most exquisite
illustrated editions of English and American books. I
took up one — the first I touched—' Rip Van Winkle.'
My involuntary exclamation of hurrah for Washington
Irving, drew several of the party to the table. It was
refreshing, in the midst of this magnificence and bewil-
derment of luxury, to see this little gem of American
literature. But I forget that I have only taken you
through four rooms of the suite. Well, imagine an-
other, the walls covered with the most exquisite pic-
tures of the Flemish school, rich pieces of Flanders lace

thrown over the gilded and satin sofas and chairs,
mantle-pieces and columns of verd antique.

" Another, the walls covered with crimson satin, and
lined with lovely pictures of the French school ; another
with exquisite old armor and beautiful pieces of antique
furniture ; another with statuettes, chandeliers, vases
of chased silver, great rosewood presses, richly carved
and filled (the servant informed us) with plate. An-
other, the fall room, lined with mirrors, the ceilings
covered with magnificent and appropriate frescoes ; and
yet another, the great dining-room, the richly carved
buffets covered with gold and silver vessels — articles of
the table — some of them originals, others from the
school of Cellini; the walls covered with full-length
portraits by Titian; and one of the most remarkable
portraits I have ever seen, and one well authenticated —
a full-length portrait of a richly dressed, sad-looking
woman of the great Florentine family of Frescobaldi,
who was the mother of fifty-two children, and had out-
lived them all, which interesting fact is painted in a
corner of the picture.

" Imagine all the other rooms equally as magnificent,
with wood in the chimneys, ready for kindling ; richly
gilded wood boxes, great vases of Sevres china, mala-
chite verd antique, rosso antics, red antique hangings,
baskets filled with the freshest flowers of spring, or the
rarest exotics, casting a delicious perfume throughout
the suite of rooms ; thousands of wax lights in the
chandelier ; plate-glass windows, commanding never-
to-be-forgotten views of mountain and valley. Imagine
all this, and much more, and you will have some idea
of about one-fourth of the famous villa of San Donato,
the home of one of the autocrat's richest subjects."

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

" Mrs. Memtford," Ala. — Can depend on the re-
ceipt for tomato ketchup. We consider it so reliable
that it is republished, in the season, every year.

" Mrs. B. S. H." says: " I am very glad to hear of
Mrs. Hale's' ' Bible Reading-Book.' I have long wished
for something of the kind, and, from what you tell me
of the selections, print, and external appearance, think
it will not only be a useful, but very attractive volume."
It shall be forwarded immediately.

" Mrs. N.," of Texas.— The best way to keep eggs for
use is to have always on hand a saucer of unsalted
butter, and, as the eggs come in, cover them immediate-
ly with a complete coating of this, so as to exclude the
air entirely. An experienced Michigan housekeeper
sends us the receipt, she having been successful in keep-
ing a barrel and a half until mid-winter, placing them
endwise in layers.

u The Wager."— Both are right. Aconite is " monks-
hood," and was originally called " wolf's bane." It is
said to be so poisonous in quality that its perfume has
been known to cause a death-like swoon and loss of
sight for several days, yet it is one of the most commoi?.
and successful homoeopathic remedies for reducing
fever. The ancient mythological legend of the aconite
is curious. Being so virulent a poison, they considered
it the invention of Hecate, and had its origin in the
foam of Cerberus, whom Ovid describes when dragged
forth by Hercules—

" Backward he hung, and, scowling, looked askew
On glorious day, with anger rabid grew,
Thrice howls, thrice barks, at once with his three heads,
And on the grass his foamy poison sheds.

1 M

AE Godey's magazine

G56

v. 4.8-49

PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE
CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY

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