Godey's Lady's Book 1850-02: Vol 40 Iss 2

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GOD EY’S DY’S BOOK. PHILADELPHIA, FEBRUARY, 1850. (Se e Plate.) TWENTY years ago—can it be so long ?—a maga- zine of elegant literature was cast, doubtingly, upon the uncertain stream of public favor—its name the ‘Lady’s Book,’”’ and Louis A. Godey the publisher. It was a novel enterprise at the time, and few f thought it would outlive the first year of its nativity. ‘ It soon became apparent, however, that its manage- ment was in the hands of one who knew the want of the time, and had the tact and taste required for its supply. But a little while elapsed ere the Lady’s Book was to be found on the tables of most lovers of polite literature; and wherever it made its way, it became a favorite. This warm reception of the ‘«‘ Book,’ so grateful to the publisher’s feelings of pride in the work he had originated, naturally filled him with the desire for improvement, in order that it might be a still more welcome visitor to its many friends and admirers With him, the wish was father to the thought, and thought but the ready prompter to action. Thus, from the beginning, im- provement was a leading purpose in his mind, which was developed, year afier year, in some newer and more attractive feature. How well do we remem- ber when engravings on steel were first introduced, and the “plate number’’ appeared once in three months. That was an era in magazine literature! How prized and cherished was the number that came embellished with an engraving four inches long by three inches wide! and how grateful the pleased subscriber for such evidence on the part of the publisher of his determination to make the ‘‘ Book’’ even more attractive and elegant than he had promised in the beginning Step by step this improvement Went on; every year some “ new feature’? was introduced. Every year a longer stride toward excellence was taken ; every year Mr. Godey and the “Lady’s Book” became moore and more identified. Every year, the yublisher’s affection for the work in which he was engaged increased; and the whole current of his feelings and thoughts ran steadier and stronger in this one direction. In the beginning, Mr. Godey was compelled to look abroad for the sources of literature with which to supply the pages of his magazine; and he drew from English periodicals and books the mental bouquets monthly spread be- fore his readers. But he soon felt this to be a defect in his work. It was an American periodical, and he was ambitious to give it a distinctively American feature. He wished to see stamped upon it the freshness, vigor, and peculiar features of the Ameri- ean mind. To this end, he engaged a few native writers, and paid them for such articles as they pre- pared for him ; and, as the circulation of his work increased through his untiring efforts to make it worthy of patronage, he called in still further liter- ary aid, until, at length, every page of his magazine was filled with original matter from the pens of the most distinguished American authors, for all of which a liberal price was paid. Thus, he was not only the pioneer of magazine literature in the country, but the first to lead the way in a liberal compensation to American authors. When we say liberal, we mean what the word expresses. The prices paid by Mr. Godey have been, in most in- stances, above that paid by magazine publishers in England Side by side with che literary improvement of the “ Book,”’ secondhand steel engraving, one in three months. advanced its artistic excellence. From a plates engraved expressly for the work were given in every number. At this point in the history of the enterprise, competitors for public favor entered the field, and an effort was made to rival the “ Book”’ in every department. This, however, proved to be no easy matter. Mr. Godey was not the man to let any competitor in his peculiar walk distance him He had the means as well as the inclination to make 87

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‘ Book”’ other work of the kind that might be thrown upon his tavorite equal if not superior to any ihe current Soon, m the race that began, two elaboral vy finished steel plates were given in each ve; then three plates, and at length four steel engravings, by artists of the first ability, be- des a fashion plate, embellished every number of the ** Book and this without the smallest advance i price! The public looked on in wonder They could not understand how it was possible for twenty- live cents to give so many costly engravings, besides sixty or seventy closely printed pages of original terary matter, all of which had been procure d at a large outlay of money to authors. The secret lay in the immense circulation of the “ Book,’’ tens of thousands of ¢ pies of Which were distributed in a parts of the country From each, there was a very small profit; but the aggregate made a hand- blisher some return to the liberal-minded pu From the beginning, such a thing as retracing his steps has never been known in Mr. Godey’s policy. n the contest which went on for some years with a rival publication, and which was an exceedingly close one, Mr. Godey seemed to many who were looking on to have gone to the utmost limit of ex-

1 to have advanced « xpenditure to a ence ill point beyond which to go would | rum But, to the wonder of all, with every new year there came au new feature of beauty, a more att tive novelty, u her grade of excellence ( Book,”’ per- fect as it seemed the year before, t < a further step towards perfection in the year that f lowed Dur- ‘ iteen hundred and forty-nine, in the extent und variety of embe lishment, and in the amount of highly instructive and entertaining literature, the ‘ Book are assured by the publisher that all this is to be } " Were it surpassed in eighteen hundred and fifty. not for the evidence furnished by the past, we would has exceeded all othe and now we years take all this as mere prospectus boasting; but what Mr. Godey has promised to do he has always done. If there has been any variation from the letter of the promise, it has been on the right side, In writing thus of our pub sher, on the occasion of his yielding to the numerous calls of his sub- ily finished

scribe rs a pre senting the m with a hig which we must here say is a wonderfully portrait life-like picture of the man—we are giving nothing RAPA A more than a plain statement of notorious facts. Mr Godey is not only the pioneer of American periodical literature, but its present generous and enthusiastic patron. Since the time when he called to his aid, by the offer of a liberal compensation, the best American writers and artists, he has paid to them not less than two hundred thousand dollars. As it should be, liberality like this has met its just reward. Mr. Godey has accumulated a handsome property, which he knows how to enjoy. But it is not with him as with too many—success has not made him indolent, nor inclined to delegate to others what can best be done by himself. He manages now, as years ago, vy, his whole establish-

ment—conducting its extensive corre spondence ar- ranging With authors and artists, and bringing con- stantly to the standard of his own taste and judgment eve rything pertaiming to the magazine As we have before intimated, his whole heart is in the “ Book,”’ and herein lies the secret of its past success, as well as the certainty of its future advancement to a still higher standard of perfection than it has yet attained Of Mr. Godey, personally, we can speak from an itanceship of many years We know ) him to be a high-minded, generous, liberal-hearted,

intimate acqua sincere man; a fast friend, and a good citizen. His business or social intercourse with strangers or friends is marked by a uniform courteous and gen- tlemanly deportment. This is no assumed exterior Those who know him best, know that it is but the expression of his real character. He could not act otherwise. The consequence is, Mr. Godey has a wide circle of warmly attached friends; and, as his own tastes are highly cultivated, and his mind shrewd, observant, and well stored, they belong to Land inte pier in their domestic relations than Mr. Godey a refines ctual class. Few men are Those who meet him, therefore, in the home-circle, can most highly appreciate, because they can more fully understand his real character We cou'ld say much more of the man; but, as we are speaking of him to the public in the pages of his beautiful Lady’s Book, delicacy constrains us to withhold elaborate praise. May the time be long distant when he ceases to be a literary caterer. But come that time when it may, authors, artists, and the public will lose the service of a real friend. r THA r i i/ WD.

BY WM. ALEXANDER. Gray pyramids! proud tombs of Egypt’s kings! Four thousand summers have now tled away ;

Thrones, empires, cities, m Yet ye. uncrumbling, stand. Oblivi Have striven to overshadow you, and still, i O’er the red sands, like watch-towers of old Time, Enduringly ye rise, Death’s chroniclers sublime : One office only destined to fulfill, Man’s other mighty works ye shall outlast; And caravans of mortals, wise and brave, Must pass through death’s dark portals to the crave; Ere, from your summits, Time shall look his last, No more to point to coming destiny— Himself and you lost in one vast eternity.

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— TZ a Bat) aN tuo ©) rH be m a ion) BY MRS. JOSEPH C. AT HOME NEAL. (See Plate.) ** Crush in thy heart all pride-— By pride the angels fell.’’ MapbeELInE HERBERT was for once unconscious of the light cooing and caroling of her infant child The little creature twined her white and dimpled arms about her mother’s neck, but the soft caress was unreturned ; and there the lady sat, in a deep and sorrowtul revery, until the shadows of the twi- light fell. The old oaken chair which she had drawn to the open window, was the familiar friend of her own childhood. The landscape, which stretched miles away in rich and vernal beauty, was the same which had greeted her daily since she could first appreciate the loveliness of earth. The old oaks that were now bathed in the gorgeous light of a summer sunset; the velvet lawn that sloped gently to a little lake; the lake itself, so tranquil in its dark border of ferns and sedges—all these inani- mate objects wore the same aspect that she could ever remember in this delicious season of the year. And there crept the tangled honeysuckle, where the summer-house still stood; and near it, the old thorn tree, where the robins had built their nests many springs ago, and where Madeline, with her sister, had passed many a happy hour. Oh, it was very lovely, that English home, away from the stir of cities and the noise of traflic. The old trees seemed to guard it from all intrusion, as they rus- tled with a gentle, soothing murmur in the evening wind. Save this, and the soft ripple of the lake, the low tinkle of a far-off bell, or the solemn caw of the rooks up among the branches, no sound came to disturb that soft repose. And now we will tell you why Madeline Herbert turned from ail this external beauty with a sigh, and why her eyes were fixed on a picture hanging in the recess before her. Clasped by her arm, his fair, soft curls sweeping over her knee, was another child, who now “slept the sweeter, that he had wept be- fore.”? They had brought him to her, struggling in the hands of his nurse, to be soothed by her gentle voice. Every entreaty and endearment had been lavished on him before, but the child had sobbed, “Mamma, mamma! where have they taken her to?’’ It was sad to see passionate grief in so young a child; and Madeline whispered, “I am your mam- ma now, darling. You must love me, little Harry,” while tears dimmed her eyes and made her low voice falter. And, at last, with the variableness of childhood, tears gave place to smiles; and, half pre- pared for his nightly bath, he fell asleep at her side, prattling of the pretty nest which they had given him in endeavoring to bribe him from his grief. Madeline S* motioned to the attendants not to disturb him, and so she sat embracing her own and her stster’s child. That picture! It gleamed out from the dark recess, and riveted her gaze. There, fresh as when the hand of the artist had first fixed the colors there, were two sweet childish faces; the one with the same softeyes which were now the charm of Made- line’s face, the other with a high and haughty beauty that formed a strange contrast in the loveliness of the twin sisters. Yes, they had slept in the same cradle ; received, kneeling side by side, the evening blessing of their mother, and together played, in childish gayety, with the acorn-cups beneath the old thorn- tree. Not an hour ago, the nest which Henry still grasped had been discovered in its branches. Made- line had almost forgotten the present, as these recol- lections were called up, one after another, with the freshness of reality. Oh, that sister’s face of haunting, unearthly beauty, how she yearned to look on itagain! How well she could recall the haughty pride of her stately tread in that very room; the queenly head, the flash- ing eyes! But years have passed, and that beauty is hidden by the low turf of a stranger’s burial- ground; a rest welcomed and longed for by a still proud, but broken-hearted woman. Wilful in her childhood, inflexible in maturer life, Isabel, the pride of her father’s heart, wedded against his wishes and even his commands. Her lot had been the bitter one of disobedience : betrayed where most she trusted, deserted in a foreign land ere her child could speak his father’s name, she died, dependent upon strangers for sympathy in the last durk hour, bequeathing her little one to her sister’s care. It was a sad, yet precious trust to Madeline Her- bert, now the wife of one whom all revered, and to whom her dying father had given his ancestral estates with his daughter’s hand. The child came, and, at the first glance, she saw the mother’s beauty with the mother’s pride; the same wilful curling of the lip; the same startled, indignant glance from his dark eyes when strangers caressed him. Ay, it was a fearful trust, the guidance of such a spirit. That night, her prayer went up as silently as the dew fell or the rose blossomed, but very earnestly, that the sin by which his mother had fallen might be crushed in the heart of the child; and that, as he grew side by side with her own Isabel, “the orna- ment of a meek and quiet spirit’’ might be given to them both. 8y

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~ AT errr ore ter a 194 DVO: UD, VV tix oli VV A LUDINICDD he (See Plate.) You’vE no doubt heard the important fact that our amiable post-mistress, who has had charge of the mails (not males) in the village of ——— (no, I won't let you publish the name), for the last ten years, has been removed. As all removals, under the present administration, are “for cause,’”’ of course there was a cause for the removal of Mrs. And now I am going to let you into a little secret touching the matter. Colonel L—— has a pretty daughter; and our young representative in Congress, Edward R has taken quite a fancy to her. Well, last Febru- ary, when the whole village was agog about Valen- tines, R—— was seen, by the post-mistress, who was glancing from the window, to deposit a letter in the box; and something in his manner satisfied her that it was a missive of more than usual im- portance. Curiosity prompted her to look at the superscription of the letter, when it was found to be directed to Miss Flora L——. «Tt isn’t hard to understand the meaning of that,”’ said Mrs. to herself, with a quiet smile of satisfaction. Not long after, while the post-mistress was assort- ing and stamping the letters preparatory to closing the mail, a tall spinster, and a short, fat, plump maiden in her teens, came in to see and hear what was to be seen and heard «“ This is Valentine’s Day,’’ said the tall spinster, Miss Sprogle by name, as she sat herself down on the edge of a chair, and looked, with a curiosity not to be concealed, at the pile of letters on the table beside the post-mistress. *« Yes, I believe it is,’’ replied Mrs * Lots of love-letters, I s’pose?’’ Miss Sprogle wriggled herself impatiently. « Yes, I rather guess there are a few,’ said Mrs. —-—, with a knowing twinkle. “ Are these Valentines ?” and Miss Sprogle came over to the table, and laid her hand on a pile of letters “Here is one, I know,” replied the post-mistress, whose usual discreetness was leaving her “Oh, let me see it!’’ and the spinster snatched the letter from her hand. “ This is a real Valen- tine, then. Let me see— To Miss Flora L——.’ O dear, goodness me! and it’s to Flora. I wonder who sent it. Do you know?” “T can guess,’ returned Mrs. ——— * Who? who? Mrs. ——— shook her head. “ Ah, do tell; just tell me. I'll never whisper a 90 word of it—not a word. You can trust me, you know. I’m a woman that can keep a secret.”’ “1m most afraid. It might get me into trouble. It was mere accident that I saw him drop it in the box.” “ Who? who?” was eagerly inquired. Mrs. “ Come, now, that’s a dear, good soul. Just tell hesitated me and Lizzy, and we'll never breathe a word of it. Will we, Lizzy ?” ‘No, indeed,”’ replied the fat girl; “that we won’t.”’ “Well, Pll just tell you in confidence,”’ said the post- mistress, thus urged; “in the strictest confi- dence. I saw Edward R drop it in.” “R ! Ah, ha! he’s after Miss Flora, is he ?” Miss Sprogle’s face was instantly all animation. “ T wonder what’s in it?’’ was added, in a moment after; and up went the letter to her curious eyes For some time, she eagerly sought to connect in sentences the written words she saw. At length, she began reading alond, turning the letter from side to side in her hand as she progressed :— ' ’ ** Lovely Flora! Winning hearts where’er thy smile gentle lady Glances, like a sunbeam falling On some lonely, desert isle I now pledge thee life and fortune, Offer all T hold most dear ; ” Swear no thought Beyond this, Miss Sprogle could not go, try as she would to trace the lines concealed by the envious folds of the paper “ That’s pretty nice, isn’t it?’’ said she, as the letter was withdrawn from her eyes. ‘ Lovely Flora! sunbeams! swearing, and all that. Let me look at it again,’’ and the lines were scanned a second time. On the next day, it was known all over the village that Flora L—— had received a Valentine from the young M. C., and that the verse above quoted was in it. How Miss Sprogle came by her intelligence on the subject she was prudent enough to keep to herself; but her fat friend Lizzy was not so dis- creet; she told a very particular friend the whole story of Miss Sprogle’s spying into the Valentine ; and she told her particular friend, who happened to be living in Mr. R *s family; and she, in turn, told R——’s sister, who told him Of course, R-—— was as angry as a reasonable man ought to have been under the circumstances;

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| Ta Va Mi hi ae , bn i t % Ae ~ al WS , THE ELOPEMENT.

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and vowed. on the spot, that the post-mistress should And wrder be turned out sure enough, before two months went by, an for her removal was received; and she resigned her post, though with rather a bad grace. No reason the Department, Mrs. for the removal being given by — dec ares hers 1o be a case of proscription for opinion’s sake, she being ) 91 opposed in politics to the administration. Whether she has really guessed at the true reason, we know not; but when she reads this she will be no longer in doubt So now you know Ww hy our post-mistress was removed. —_—_+ #2 e+ ____ mrp T rT ’ romaATmMm & 6a &0 t Lud 4 S45 2Y Se BY HENRY LEFT (See Plate.) « YounG man, it is useless to urge this matter. In declining your offer of an alliance with my family, I am in earnest.”’ ‘I am not content with a simple rejection of my suit, Mr. Carlton. I give reasons for my own con- and like to have reasons for all acts affecting Will you say why I am not deemed worthy duct, myself. to claim the hand of one whose heart I already pos- sess? Is not my family as good as yours ?”’ while his brows { the The young man spoke eagerly, were knit and his eyes firmly fixed on those o person he addressed ‘ William,” said Mr f excitement as he spoke, “ Carlton, manifesting a good deal o I do not recognize your right to demand of me reasons for my conduct. I will say, however, that the happiness of my child is in my keeping as a natural right, and I am bound to protect her in every possible way. I regard only her happiness when I decline the offer made for her hand. I know the heart of Jessie well, and know that, if committed to your keeping, it will be a broken heart in less than five years—it may be in less than one.’’ ‘‘[T love your daughter, Mr. Carlton,” replied the young man to this. “ Why should I break the heart of one I love ?” “ William Levering, such love as yours falls upon I know you the heart as a blight, not a blessing well, your principles and your life—both are bad.”’ A red spot burned on the young man’s cheek, and his eyes flashed. But Mr. Carlton looked calmly at him. «“ Think,’ he added; “ picture to yourself one of your Cc ym panions In vice appr aching your own sister, and offering the love of his corrupt heart. Would you not step between, abandoned as you are, and risk your very life, rather than permit the sacri- fice ‘thd «“ Mr. Carlton,’ said Levering, “I cannot permit you, nor any one else, to insult and outrage me in this way.” * As you like,” «You ask reasons for my conduct, but are not willing returned the other, coldly. to ’ hear them.’ wv a short time, there was silence, the young Then F man standing in an attitude of irresolution. muttering something in an under tone, he retired from the presence of Mr. Carlton A few hours afterwards, a servant tapped softly at the chamber door of Miss Carlton, the young lady referred to in the brief conversation just given. ‘“ What do you want, Philip?” asked Jessie, as she opened the door The servant slipped a sealed note into her hand, with an air of secrecy, and then retired e-entering her room, and turning the ke the envelop of the billet she had The Quickly 1 key, Jessie bre received, and read what was written within. communication was from her lover. ‘‘T have seen your father,’’ said he, “as you so earnestly desired, and the result of the interview is He sult, just what I expected Was not content with an angry of my but smarting insult. He says I cannot make you happy. denial! threw me off with Heaven knows how ardeutly I desire to fill your cup with it the If the passionate love of a sincere heart can make you joy, even until overrun brim. happy, Jessie, then your whole life will be blessed. I cannot imagine the ground of his dislike towards This oppo- me. I have never injured him nor his. sition on his part makes me wretched. Are we, » remain ever separate ? or will you leave I shall await then, t and throw yourself into my arms? your this the wildest When you have made up your mind, place your He will keep our is under obligations to me all, answer to in impatience. answer in the hands of Philip secret inviolate; for he of the strongest character.”’ “My heart is wholly yours,’’ wrote Jessie, in reply. ‘Shall heart and person longer be separated ?”’ answered Levering. To-morrow week, I hear, your father will leave home, to be gone several days. This I learn from Philip. What better op- portunity to pass Irom his protection to mine - Two days elapsed, and then the maiden wrote— ‘ Let it be as you desire.’ Weak and foolish maiden! In that decision, how

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92 a VY’s WAC vm , . . » = au eee much was involved! Not the happiness of a day or a year, but, it might be, of a whole lifetime. What Mr had principles and his life was true He did not truly love Jessie, for of No It is a moral impossibility. Carlton said to Levering of his Both were bad, and very bad that he was incapable. man who lacks virtue can love a Woman truly had first riage because it was necessary, as he said to him- He belonged to a Levering turned his thoughts to mar- self, to form such an alliance wealthy family, and, by marrying into a family of equal wealth and standing, he would take proper Of course, he must have a the future. beautiful and accomplished wife care ot In looking around him, no one struck the young man’s fancy so strongly as Jessie Carlton; and, after weighing all in favor and against an alliance with her family, decided to storm the citadel of her heart. Handsome, intelli- gent, and with a good address, he was not long in making the impression he desired. Jessie Carlton’s young heart was quickly won. Philip, a servant in the family of Mr. Carlton, whom Levering had secured to his interest, was informed of the intended elopement, and employed Of course, the utmost secrecy was enjoined upon him; to give such aid as his position would afford. and his faithfulness was sought to be secured by threats as well as promises. But Philip found it hard to bear up alone under a secret of such great importance ; he wanted some one to share with him the female, he di- So, confiding in discretion the vulged to her, after first obtaining her promise not the heavy burden of another servant in house, a to betray what he was about to communicate, the fact of Jessie’s intended flight On the night previous to the day on which Mr. sat up la Carlton was to leave home, he te, engaged in writing. It was past eleven o’clock, when there was a light tap at his door, which was opened im- mediately, and a female servant glided in noiselessly, closing softly the door after her «“ Well, Hannah ?”’ as she approached him, in a said he, in a voice of inquiry, somewhat agitated manner Hannah sank into a chair, so much disturbed, that it Was some moments before she could speak. ‘Mr something dreadful to tell you.”’ Carlton,’ she at length said, “oh, I have “ For Heaven’s sake, Hannah, speak out quickly, then. What has happened?’ exclaimed Mr. Carl- ton, agitated in turn. “ Nothing to-morrow, it will happen has happened yet; but, if you go away Oh, sir, do not go away.”’ “ Hannah, what is the meaning of this? Speak out plainly at once.” «“ Miss Jessie——”’ What of her ?”’ “She is going off with Mr. Levering.”’ “When? Where is she?” his feet, and moving towards the door “ Jessie! The father was on 66 Speak, girl !”” wer ~ were werner wv AnDYT’s ROOT Ai ne AAPL ALLA LLLP frightened,”’ said Hannah; “ it I have «Oh, sir, don’t be Miss only come to tell you “Ah! thank you, my faithful Hannah.” Mr. Carlton spoke in a calmer voice ; and, return- isn’t to-night. Jessie is in her room about it in time.’’ ing to the secretary where he had been writing, sat down again. ‘“* Now,’’ he added, “ tell me all you know about this matter.”’ * All I know,”’ from Philip. He told me that he has been carrying letters from Mr. Levering to Jessie and back again, replied Hannah, “I got to-day for some time, and that it is all arranged for her to go off with him, just at daylight, the morning after you leave home.” “Can it be possible? Mad girl !”’ exclaimed Mr Carlton, passionately. ‘And you are sure of all this, Hannah ?”’ “ Philip told me, and I’m afraid it is all true.” “Very well, Hannah. I thank you from my heart for this act of duty. You have saved Jessie, it may be, from a lifetime of misery. Mr. Levering is a marries him, he will make her Could she not bad man, and if she Foolish, a»? wretched foolish girl! believe her father After some further conference, the girl left the Mr walked the floor for the space of an hour ere retir- room; and Carlton, closing his secretary, ing. On the next day, greatly to the surprise of Hannah, he left home at the time previously ap- pointed. No sleep weighed down the eyelids of Jessie Carlton during the night that succeeded. Through the long hours that intervened from the time the family retired until the hand of Aurora geatly raised the curtain of darkness from the east, she either walked the floor of her chamber or lay wakeful upon the bed. At the early dawn, she was to pass from beneath her father’s roof and from under his protection, committing unto another her destiny Well might her heart tremble and grow faint as she tried to look into the dark shrink back, half repentant, and hesitate about the The silent midnight future; well might she step she had resolved to take. gives to the wakeful solemn thoughts. Such thoughts came to Jessie; and, as the winds sighed through the trees or moaned beneath the eaves, it seemed as if a spirit were addressing her in tones of warning At last, a feeble line of light was seen upon the horizon ; and it gradually widened until the dawn appeared. Hurriedly throwing a shawl around her, Jessie stood for some minutes near the window, as if awaiting an expectant signal. Presently, a hand was laid upon the lock. Silently crossing the room, she opened the door. Philip stood there with his finger on his lip “Ts all right ?’’ asked Jessie, in a low, agitated whisper. “All is he is waiting for you.” right,’’ returned the man. “ Be quick; Gliding through the door, sessie went noiselessly down stairs. As she passed into the open air, Lev-

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THE f ering received her, handing, as he did so, a purse of money to the treacherous servant as his promised reward. A few minutes prior to this, a scene even more exciting took place a short distance from the man- sion of Mr. Carlton, where a carriage stood in wait- ing for the fugitive. The driver had left his box, and was standing near his horses, when, suddenly, aman was by his side, pistol in hand, uttering, ina low, peremptory voice, Silence, and you are safe!’ The driver while the stranger who had presented his Weapon, started back a few paces in alarm; kept it directed towards him ‘Now can go, The driver hesitated, when the sharp click of the eave these grounds as quickly as you said the intruder. pistol-lock was heard. “Go, instantly !’’ repeated the man. “ Your horses and carriage are safe. You will find them at the Stag and Hound Now you set the value of a hair upon your life.” in an hour from this. £0, if The driver, by this time thoroughly alarmed, fled. he had lett mounted the box and grasped the reins. had he appeared, and hurriedly entered the carriage. As soon the ground, the stranger as Hardly taken his place, ere Levering and Jessie >»? ‘Where did you say I must drive ?”’ inquired the man, over from the box “To Mr beneath your horses’ feet.”’ waning Liston’s. And see that no grass grows The man spoke sharply to the spirited animals, and away they dashed at full speed. Liston was a minister, Who had been engaged to perform the mar- riage service for Levering and Jessie. He lived in the town which lay a short distance from the beauti- Mr. Carlton. minutes, the horses were reined up at the dwelling ful country residence of In a few of the minister, when Levering sprang from the carriage; and lilting Jessie, as she attempted to descend, actually bore her in his arms across the pavement and into the house. Just as the fugitives disappeared, another vehicle drove up at a rapid pace. The self-constituted driver of Levering’s car- riage left his own horses, and hurrying to the door of the second carriage, spoke rapidly a few words to some one within; and then turning away, entered the minister’s house, and throwing off his rough hat and coat in the hall, presented the figure of a well- dressed gentleman. For a few moments. he stood, as if awaiting some one, while his ear was bent towards the door of a room that opened from the Then d his hand on this door, and gently pushing passage, to hear what was going on within. he pl ce it open, entered. The young couple were already on the floor; and the minister, in his robes, stood before them, ready to begin the ceremony. So softly had the stranger entered, that no one perceived his presence the intrusion to interfere with what he was doing. but the minister, who did not permit He began, and progressed until he came to that part of the ceremony in which it is demanded of those present to show cause why the parties about to be joined in holy wedlock cannot lawfully enter that state, when the door of the room was thrown sud- denly open, and a woman rushed in, exclaiming, “I forbid the banns! ‘‘Who are you, and by what right do them? you forbid in an agitated voice * inquired the minister, Levering and Jessie started at this unexpected interruption; and, turning, looked in astonishment both at the woman and the man “ Miss Carlton,”’ said the woman, coming up to Jessie and grasping her arm, * you hi no right to um, that I There is your natural pro- ive this man; he belongs to me by a prior ¢ ed arew will not see cance tector’’—and she her, with a sudden jerk, across the room towards the man who had entered just before her—* your father. And, in Heaven’s name, let not a man like this tempt you thus madly from his side ¢ ¥ Jessie scarcely heard the closing words of the sentence. Overcome by so dreadful a termination of her elopement, she sank into the arms of her father—for it was he who had driven her to the minister’s. Before the vile companion of his unbridled hours, Levering stood, for a few moments, covered with shame and confusion “ Now go, young man,”’ said Mr. Carlton, sternly, as he supported the form of his child; “go with this frail, unhappy creature, whom you have reduced from virtue to a level with yourself. Go, consort with her as your equal; but dream not again of an alliance with the pure being I have saved from your If, before, you could deceive her into the belief that you unhallowed grasp. She can never be yours were an angel of light, the power of deception is now gone, for you stand before her in all your native corruption and deformity. Go, sir!” Confounded by a denouement so painful and hu his As he been su soon as he could collect the driver who miliating, Levering, as bewildered from room had suddenly deprived of his carriage, came senses, £ sprut gained the open air, the up. Lev- ering hurriedly entered the vehicle, excel aimimig=— ‘Drive me home! The man needed not a second invitation to mount his box. Quick as thought, he had the reins in his the llop The reader doubtless understands all this without hands, and horses were soon springing before him at a ga few in- further explanation ; and Levering had but quiries to make ere he comprehended the whole affair to more than his entire satisfaction. As for Jessie, she, too, understood enough to make her heart sink in her bosom and tremble, whenever she thought of the narrow escape she had made from an alliance that could only have produced wretched- her down to the ness, if it would not have borne grave, in a few short years, with a broken heart

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PART I. One of the most intimate and oldest friends of Madame de lent judgment than religious sincerity, tells her, in a Sevigne, remarkable no less for excel- letter, ““ Votre dme est grande, noble, propre @ dis- penser des trésors et inc. tpable de s abatsser au soin den M writes, after her death, “ Ce n’est pas seulement une amasser.”’ de Grignan, her son-in-law, belle-mére que je regrette ; c’est une amie aimadle et solide, une société délicieuse ;’’ and his wife de- clared, in her bitter grief, “*7e nar pas la force de / } lever les yeux assez haut pour trouver le lien d’on doit venir le secours.’’ ‘These expressions, fresh from living hearts, are worth pages of analysis in Too noble to hoard up an idea, a feeling, or a grace that unveiling the secret of her epistolary success could give pleasure to another ;—a kind of sptrttuedle Lady Bountiful, whose society, even to those most j familiar with it, was pronounced delicious ; and the } object of an affection that gave birth to such pro- tound regret—do we not, at once, see that it was the generous instinct of her heart that bore along with its free tide the musical current of words, the play- ful bubbles of wit, and the alternating undulations of sense and sensibility ? The spirit of love which “ casteth out fear,’’ made her pen frank and bold; the desire to make another participate in all she enjoyed, gave a life-like viva- city to her narrative, whether describing a royal interview, the effect of the announcement of Ma- demoiselle d’Orleans’s proposed marriage, a fash- ionable scene, a country landscape, or a French cook’s suicide from wounded amour-propre. She excites our sympathies by her confidence ; and we share her amusement at court, her relish of literary society, her anxiety on account of her son’s devotion to Ninon, and the sublime resignation of her dying hour, as we should those of a truly estimable and lovely woman personally known and cherished. It may be, as some critics have asserted, that the idiomatic purity of her style is not immaculate ; and it is true that quite an unequal interest attaches to the numerous letters ascribed to her; it may be, also, that the recondite felicities of unstudied yet perfect art some of them display, cannot be fully appreciated by any but those “ to the manner born ;”’ and that the esprit, for which we have no English synonym, is the great charm of her letter-writing ;— yet its frankness, vivacity, and naiveté ; its piquant, easy, and varied grace, if they do not originate in, at least owe their felicitous combination to essential traits of womanly character; and it is as a genuine "4 KERMAN. literary development of these, that the letters of Ma dame de Sevigné are permanently interesting Letters unendeared by personal aflection are ac- ceptable to public taste in proportion as they catch the spirit and embody the attractions of good society. Tact, vivacity, and agreeability, are as essential to the one as the other; and great earnestness equally incompatible with both. Hence the rarity of excel- lence in this department of literature ; such a blend- ing of nature and cultivation as constitutes the epis- tolary art, being quite as uncommon as the same thing in a companion. The very nature of a letter is egotistical ; it is literally printed talk—a commu- nication such as we should utter orally, if the person addressed were by. Accordingly, the transfer of a letter always a hazardous experiment. from domestic and social life to literature, is They are either too unreserved to be read by a third party without indelicacy, too strictly private to interest the world, or so sacred in their revelations and tone that the glance of a careless eye would be profanation. On the other hand, stript of all individuality of feeling, devoted wholly to generalizations, conveying no echo from the heart and animation from the real life of the writer. published letters are vapid. It is from these intrinsic difficulties, that a collection of letters seldom answers any other purpose than that of re- ference for the facts and opinions appertaining to celebrated men. The eloquence of indifference, as Hazlitt calls wit, re- is an uncommon gift, and it is the charm of all nowned letter-writers. A favorable social position, too, to afford materials of general interest, and give the habit of spirited and pleasing expression, fine powers of observation, and that kind of sympathetic loves to note and communicate what curiosity that the panorama of life reveals, are quite as needful to a good correspondent. These advantages were pos- sessed, in an eminent degree, by Horace Walpole had they been either more human or more spiritual, he His ruling passions were anecdote and verti ; would have been more noble and interesting as a writer, and more lovable as a man, but far less successful as a correspondent. If we open any one of the many volumes of letters from his pen, we find some familiar allusion to a renowned character, that brings it nearer to us than any history or memoirs, however circumstantial; an amusing bit of court gossip, which yields an instant glimpse into the whole comedy of life; or a graceful compliment that, artificial as it is, for the moment, gratifies our mosaic or a miniature in the taste, as would a author’s cabinet.

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creations of literature *‘xquisite which ec: son and enlist the heart, are the gravest states- not always Whol ne, and man is better for an occas! tea-table chat, the , enthusiast an of such letters an unexciting table-land, in the field of literature, whereon to ¢ y the requisite luxury of social pa Letters thus conce l are an epitome of external |ife—not in its philosophy or its sentiment, but in its scenic phases. Such an exhibi- tion to an imaginative re becomes dramatic; and yields the historian and The si known to often novelist mvaluable suggestions. thus chronicled by Walpole, their atmospheric character ; xty vears us, So to speak, in are made what was evanescent yet of peculiar significance, when viewed in relation to the grave aspects ol the pe riod, is thus caught and preserved How otherwise should we have known definitely of the style of a Vauxh party the particular ¢ ns of the celebrated beauties, the table-talk of the traditional wits ?—what people said of “She Stoops to Conquer,’’ the day after it was brought out.—how each successive volume of Tris- tram Shandy was received,—the zest of a fresh joke Wortley at by Garrick, and the costume of La Florence ? Pitt’s oratory and Gray’s fastid we can easily discover in their literary remains; but an instance two of the former’s covetous disposi- tion, and tI i hat t! atte tapal and eat ices ata Rk un b icidentally recorded in a letter bring their proper huma nity distinctly before us. So a more Vv 1 reality attaches in the mind to the hor- rors of the Lisbon earthquake, and the early achieve- ments of Clive, when the original impression they produced reappear in a familiar epistle of the day th the mention of Lad s death, Voltaire’s It is the same w y Coventry’s vanity and Churchi new poem and the current talk about the American war. Only writers with an uncommon stock of impudence, can address t ) ( Vithout a certain respect, that leads them suppress dé s and qualify expres- sions. The letter-writer, in the easy, frank, lively ma Ui ft a pea it colloquy, narrates what he sees 1} I 1 him we derive what we seek in society without the trouble of going there. The intrigues, political and amorous, the state-trials, pements, rumored marriages, doings of belles and beaux, court gossip, and literary animosities, recorded by Walpole, refiect the same busy, dis¢ ed, ¢ ging world as that around us now, only modified by conventional peculiarities ; and he does this well, because he is neither serious nor enthusiastic, because he has no private feeling sutliciently ardent either tol 1d his eyes with tears or deaden observation by the intensity of conscious- ness; because he looks on without having his sym- pathies so much enlisted as to divert attention from the passing drama; and because his mind was of so desultory a kind, that ec variety necessary to him Hence there is no dee p emotion, no profound insight, no th g surmise in the view of life untold All is fresh acious ~eren~ MADAME DE SEVIGNE 95 Ne and familiar; and we feel, as we read, that it is the absence ot dominant trait of character; an of great qualities, and the felicitous balances ordinary ones that render greeable a pre- 1is it is Which is the characteristic attrac moti popular ictters The direct, unequivocal, and familiar style of epistolary address, t ders letters a most available ' of 1 rship wh it is imtended to unfold a il theme Two of the most remarkable con- t ers books in existence are thus written— Junius. and the Provin« Letters of Pascal Lan- dor availed himself of the same method to picture a classic era, and some of his best “ imaginary con- > occur in the supposed correspondence of Pericles and Aspasia. Southey, in Espriella’s Letters, gives, with admirable skill, a Spaniard’s impressions of England; and in a similar way many ve successfully appeared PI Foscolo, in his “ Ultime Lettere d’Jacopo Ortis,”’ ive expression to his sentiment and political faith in tersely el quent, that the volume has be- nguage so . standard example of Italian prose ; and novel- from time tot make eflicient use of the same me favorite medium, to trace out the intricacies of a plot, and indicate More the deve! ypr the fluctuations of impassioned feeling. ” less of art, however, necessarily modifies vent of this most natural of all forms of writing, When trom a private it becomes a public channel of expression Too much study in the phrases, an absence of piaytul candor, and often something formal in the tone, rob it of that air of confidence and abandon which is the secret charm olf a genuine letter It is highly probable that some of the most popu- le lar books have grown out of letters, wherein a scope of fancy and individuality of thought have found attractive utterance, that a more formal expression would have thwarted. One of the most solid results kind may be John Foster. of the found in the celebrated Essays of weighty with thought and vigorous mn argument, yet originating, as his biographer assures us, in the conversation and correspondence of friend- In our own literature, that graphic and amus- ing picture of life in the West, « ntitled a New Home, The most pleas- ing memorial of Wirt’s genius is found inthe “ Let- was suggested in the same manner ters of the British Spy,”’ and the best of American ‘ Let- “ Letters from Under a classic romances is acknowledged to be the ters from Palmyra;’’ while Bridee?” turesque descriptive contain numerous highly finished and piec- sketches, and dainty bits of coloring most agreeably mingled Nap leon Staél with having a vagal Madame de perhaps is said to have charged md imagination ; the capricious wandering of that faculty is the pre- of bond observation, that has an eye for every curious rogative genius; and certain it is, that a vaga- phase of character and all the phenomena of social , and keeps roaming in search of the grotesque, the and the significant, is one of the great novel, requisites of a letter-writer whose epistles have any permanent attraction. The materiaus thus gleaned

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96

RPP PPP may revolve about incidents quite domestic, but A good they must form the staple of the argument letter for general perusal, Is a catalogue ratsonnee fashion politics, and literature artfully combined ; it

must be well sprinkled with oz dts; the opera, or the races, the most fresh philosophical speculation, the turns of the wheel of fortun t atest lion, death, play, book, engagement, speech, assembly, d bon-thot must be duly chronicled; with just enough sprightliness to make the record vital, just enough sensible commentary to give it} ipressive- ness, and just enough sentiment to add a pleasing to the sketch Piqua it secrets and l The dia- leht and shade pub ic allairs sh vald be equal yY mingt monds in a lady’s hair and the gems of rhetoric ina minister’s speech, a note on the weather and a de- } i scription of a mood, a hint of practical wisdom and a dash of winsome humor, should alternate, in the lett as they do in the talk of int gent, genial, and communicative peopie. he Che inability thus to express one’s self pen trom the sel{-distrust inspired the sight of a blank sheet of paper, is the cause of the wondertul discrepancy between the letters and iversation of individuals. Yet ther n of the many e is no revela spi tof an age like that afforded | the unstudied and frank letters of friends who | t ved in the midst of society and affairs, with g too much involved in them. Events deem biographers and historians too trivial for re« l, there find a memorial; and personages who, in other books, move betore us with the stately res« e ola theatri- cal pageant, become almost boon compa is Ina volume* recently published the iife f the French metropolis just before the last re ition, is thus apt " mirrored From the advent of a mouchour de caprece to the result of a scientific experiment, from the gay assembly at the opera to the grave sessions of the Academy, from a critical est ite of Balzae or Rossini to an account of ra sof / pe we are carried with some wild ig transition that lile itself y is tol ensitive reci- pient of its Parisian excitements It is s alterna- tion of subject and halt-in rnest ! er, this fluent, easy, and co muial spo less s telling everything and att ung importa * to nothing, in Which Consists the genius of this 1 ture Apart from their direct utility tters are chiefly imteresting as exponents of characte 1 this view the correspondence of literary men is highly sug- gestive In England, it is custo y to publish the vapers of distinguished generals and statesmen ; and I aphers of poets Wisely c t the narra- tive of their usually uneventtu s with letters chronologically arranged The vanity and ness of Pope, the artificial cleverness his muse, and the never-lapsing over-consciousness Which marked his existence, are plainly evident in his let- ters; while those of Cowper, overflowing with gen- * Lettres Parissiennes, par Madame Emilié de Gi- rardin of WwW knowledge of the world, masculine grasp of the material, and wo- manly insight into conventionalities ; the coarseness, talkative. and sp ited disposition oceasional be- nevolent impulse, and lively conversational powers of Lady Montagu, as d <p yed in her letters, are as indicative of her chi icter as the quarrets, repartees,

and indelicate bearing recorded of her by mp raries. Scott's letters are as manly and kind as was his beha r; Shell s as noble and pl hropic as his faith. It is well known that Lamb’s quaint humor first exh ed itself in letters 5 1 afew al equal t his essays nm sore nst 5, W their origi 1d isis t is remarkal ‘ iracter- l Cc ¢ W as y 1, that his lett exhil a gre 1a imp ement, not only in verbal « ptness ealized by the constant substitution of words more definite than those first ad pted but also in ort I and general correctness of diction. The terseness of masterly dispa ches is the acknowledged trait of brave commanders; of which there are signal ex- nfples ame yur ownchiefs ; and Webster’s official corres] ndence ately publi hed, is as in press e, though a less eloquent proof of a clear, far-reaching forcible inte his orations. lytical reader, and in the characte ie difference Goethe and Schiller 1s most expressively i We perce! that field of human in their correspondence ve the former exacts tribute from every experience as the material of his creations, while the latter earnestly strives to reach an ideal of intellectual and moral grandeur; there is universal- ity in the spirit of the one, and concentration and

an uncompromisin salism in that of the other;

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ALLONDALE PRIORY. PAPAL LAPP LLLP LPP the one appears in his letters a gifted egotist, the other a noble friend; their respective inquiries, cri- ticisms, suggestions, and plans, as there unfolded, utter the same voice as the more artistic writings of each, and proclaim Goethe many-sided and re- served, and Schiller exalted and self-denying. The sentimentalism of Metastasio, the practical intelli- gence of Swift, and the scholarlike refinement of Gray, are conspicuous in their letters. It is quite appropriate that among the very earliest published 97 writings of Voltaire, should be a dozen epistles in a collection of Lettres Gallantes ; and I have seen an autograph letter of Burns, written to accompany a present of game, which, though hastily scribbled, contained vivid traces of his love of nature, his ten- derness, his manly pride, and his zest for pleasure ; written, too, as the chirography and his own con- fession at the end prove, when he was in a convivial state. ALLONDALE BY J. Fr. PRIORY. oTIs. (Concluded from page 43.) CHAPTER lll. Wuen the travelers reached London, Martin was soon made sensible that report, like other gossips, had aggravated the account of his master’s dimin- ished fortune; and that there were some persons who did not scruple to set him down as a ruined man. Whatever he might think or know, he was wise enough to hold his peace ; and after transact- ing some pressing affairs, the hospitable mansion of Lord Tremayne received them for the few remain- ng weeks before Christmas: and here, on a similar visit, was Lady Emily Hayton. The long-absent over’s feelings were not the most pleasant when he arge party, all deeply engaged in the After the tiet and rational hours spent at the rectory, it was found a very absorbing business of private theatricals qi particularly irksome to find the day consumed in roars of laughter at unsuccessful attempts, or cla- morous plaudits at more experienced acting With much to arrange in his own mind, and much to say of great importance to his future happiness, the man so soon to enter on the soiemn obligations of marriage could ill brook the senseless folly which seemed wholly to possess every inmate of Tremayne House. He was by no means displeased that rumors of his poverty were very prevalent, nor that these should have very materially altered the manners of some who had heretofore called him friend; but he felt in his very heart a fear that there was a slight change in the looks of Lady Emily. Brought up, as she had been, in the very hichest style of fashion, it might easily be supposed that a narrow establish- ment would not be consonant with her ideas of per- but minor love —almighty love —generally into the fect felicity ; throws all considerations back- Sti loved, one so young would It ec ground; and if she surely think but little of sordid dross yuld not be believed that she would There was a young nobleman in the party, the observed of all observers, the director of all amuse- xL.—9 VOL { ments, the arbiter elegantiarum of the day; the man from whose decisions there was no appeal. he was not very learned—not even accomplished—but he was im- He was not very handsome; mensely rich; consequently, everything in the eyes of the mammas, and at the head of fashion, which rendered him an object of the greatest attraction in the estimation of the daughters; and this elevated being had taken the fancy to distinguish Lady Emily, whose importance was in consequence infinitely increased Suspense is the most agonizing attendant of any kind of acute feeling; the lover, therefore, resolved to know the worst -- for that Lady Emily was changed, he could no longer conceal from himself. As he could not find an opportunity, he made it by requesting a few minutes’ conversation while the rest were engaged in the rehearsal of an afterpiece in Which she had no part, and of which she had declared herself very weary. «My dear Emily,” said he, producing an elegant portfolio, in which were six drawings mounted with rich borders of arabesque, ‘I am desirous of show- ing you some portions of the Northumbrian scenery ; and Miss Egremont has, unconsciously, given me a sketch of the house in which we are to spend the greater portion of the year.” ‘Spend any part of the year in Northumberland!” exclaimed her ladyship, in accents of unfeigned sur- prise and consternation, ‘so far from London and from my friends ?”’ “ Look at this view, and tell me if it is not worth going so far to see.”’ The house seems large. What ?»»? “Tt is very well. are those buildings behind the trees “They want repair, which shall be done the mo- ment Iam on the spot to superintend the work. I have had too much of trusting to other people.”’ “ What is tl Could that be turned into a theatre ! Emily, you make me shudder! That ‘ } Llir square detached building ? ? ‘“ Heavens

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Ww GN G¢ toe AGAZINE is the chapel, where my ancestors have been buried for many centuries! But I hope we shall want no theatres; we shall have better amusement.”’ ‘Theatres now are quite indispensable,” inter- rupted she, with some haste. “A common proverb cannot be acted in a room without losing half its effect ”’ * Do you think your gay friends will come so far to act for your amusement? The idea of a theatre in Northumberland borders on the ridiculous.”’ “Where my friends cannot come, I cannot re- side !”’ «My dearest Emily, I shall not at first be able to keep a very large establishment. Mismanagement on the part of my steward, has much diminished my imcome.”’ ‘So I have heard;”’ said she, coldly ; and, tossing back the drawings contemptuously, rose to leave the room. ‘1s this to be my answer, Emily? Have you not said you could live with me anywhere ?”’ “ That did not extend to Northumberland. No reasonable man Would ask me to fix my residence three hundred miles from London ! She left the room with an air of dignity, pre- determined to consider herself an injured person. The rich lady graciously This breach widened daily lord re- doubled his attentions, and the received them. The gentleman, not to seem a de- spairing lover, walked and talked with all the ladies indiscriminately, young and old. Among the latter was a shrewd-looking dowager, who surprised him, one day, by asking what he thought of Northumber- land, of Mr. Egremont, and Mr. Egremont’s daugh- ters? On receiving an answer according to the impression of his grateful feelings, she nodded and said—“‘I am glad to hear all this. Mr. Egremont is my nephew.” ‘ Your nephew, Lady Prescott! How is it, then, that the Miss Egremonts are left in such deep se- clusion ? ‘Because they are sensible girls and their father By your accounts, they are all of Now to be mine 1s wise man. a them discharging their most important duties do not look as if you thought the fault | have invited them often and pressingly, and have always received the same answer Would you wish to see them in such society as this ?”’ An involuntary shudder was the only answer ‘And yet > The beauty and fashion of the gay world! Mrs mont, very beautiful, highly accomplished, and pos- where will you find better Egre- sessing an easy fortune, chose to follow her husband where his duty called him, and was contented to remain for his comfort and assistance. Her death was no common misfortune. Are these girls like ? >? her Are they handsome “T believe the world would think them eminently ain ) ‘* How do they dress, and what are their acquire- ments ?’’ “Their dress is marked by that simplicity and ener. A N 8 ND LADY’ BO neatness which must always be elegant. They are first-rate musicians; and as for their drawings, I will convince you by the sight of some I begged of them.’ “Good! but I hope they are only amusements ?” ; Proper amusements for the country; “Tt appeared to me that they took up but very little of their time. They were actively employed in better things.”’ “ Tell me, then,”’ said Lady Prescott, with some appearance of anxiety, ‘how do they spend their hours and their fortune ?—for they have a handsome income. Do they display much domestic elegance ?”’ “] should have judged, from their mode of life, that Mr. Egremont’s stipend was not a large one. I can now account for the comfort of the cottages and the happiness of all around them. Those within their influence are so different from my own tenants, that I am impatient to get to Northumberland again to commence acting on their system.”’ * Will you have theatres there ?”’ «“ No.” ‘No racers?” ‘ Not one.”’ ‘Nor packs of stag hounds ?”’ ‘No; a few dogs only for use and companionship.’ ‘Then who, my dear sir, do you expect will go with you or come after you ?” “If people are alarmed at my Utopian schemes and shun me, I must even go by myself.” “Go, then,”’ said Lady Prescott, very significantly; “and may you prosper. One old woman will find you out, if it be only to see whether people can exist without making fools of themselves !”’ To the trite saying, that “no man is a hero to his added, “no woman is a heroine in valet,’? may be her dressing-room,’’ unless there should be some one more than her maid to witness her heroism Waiting-women soon see into the depths of their ladies’ characters and feelings; and, in spite of better resolutions, display their knowledge in the second room. Martin could neither be ignorant of what was going on, nor so silent before his master } as he should have been; this, with the tattling of a few ladies, young and old—some from mischief, some from envy—precipitated affairs that otherwise might have taken up longer time “How much,’’ said one, “ Lord D— is in love with Lady Emily Hayton ! «“ How much,” said another, “‘ Lady Emily Hay- ton is in love with Lord V——! All former affairs seem forgotten !”’ ‘T am sure she is right! Who would go to horrid Northumberland ?” ‘Oh! Northumberland would not be amiss—for a short time; but to marry a man who is od/iged to live there ‘Lord V—— has twenty palaces—palaces, I may say, besides his house in town—and such an in- come ‘“ Ladies '”’ cried Lady Prescott, who accidentally heard some of these sayings, “ Lady Emily Hayton

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ALLONDALE PRIORY. ~~ Arwen does very wisely to make up her mind not to go to Northumberland, for many cogent reasons. The principal one is, she would not be happy there, nor She would get no 3ut if she takes Lord would she make others happy. good—she would do no good. Vv , She may chance to find many houses, or even palaces, do not make happiness, any more than broad lands make riches.” It was of no use repeating this to Lady Emily, though many hastened to do it; her mind was al- ready made up, and it required but little time or contrivance to bring on a crisis that ended in a total separation between these so lately firmly engaged lovers. All the letters, as well as every gage d’ amour, were returned; they became as strangers, yet each delayed te depart, that the whole of the visitors might see how stoically they bore it. Lady Emily, to her real delight, was free to receive a ; which, regular offer of marriage from Lord V however, when there were no obstacles in the way, Lord \ those who have little seruple in breaking the tenth was in no haste to make—being one of commandment, and, in fact, think lightly of any conquests unless they can be won from others; and, when that is once accomplished, lose all farther interest in them. Lord Tremayne endeavored to remonstrate with both parties, but in vain. He was shocked with Lady Emily’s conduct, but strove to palliate it. This was as useless as it was impolitic; and every word he uttered opened the eyes of the ill-used lover still wider. He saw plainly that it had been a systematic plan from the moment that it was be- lieved his large fortune was impaired; and he could but rejoice in having escaped a heartless, mercenary woman of fashion. A longer sojourn in London was now borne with great tranquillity; there was no need to fly on the wings of impatience or love. Business was quietly and leisurely transacted. Many packages were sent off to Northumberland, many more ordered to be sent. The beauties of that sublime district came over the imagination, peopled with happy images and some elegant ones. The blue mountains; the gleaming lakes; the fantastic rocks and sparkling waterfalls; the ruins; the noble castles; the primi- tive figures of the simple peasantry ; a few classical figures, that might have been studies for the chisel of Canova, flitted in succession over the mind, and might probably bring a throb of enthusiasm to the heart. Everything combined to throw the soulless world of fashion to an immeasurable distance; and, to his infinite satisfaction, three weeks before Christ- mas, Mr. Eden was again established as a welcome guest at Mr. Egremont’s quiet, simple, yet elegant reciory. CHAPTER IV. Mr. EpEN was now quite at liberty to remark how very beautiful and graceful Elinor Egremont lLRPPPDI III IO ARAL ALAPLAL 99 ~ —— ——w looked and moved; how well she spoke on most He could but remember that there were no faults in the subjects, without pretension or affectation. person or manners of Lady Emily Hayton, and that, till an apparently richer man had appeared, how much her sentiments had assimilated with his own He felt a void in his heart, but was in no haste to fill it. He enjoyed the present hours with a keen relish, and thought not of the future. He was to stay at the rectory a fortnight, with the express stipulation that the party, including Mr. and Mrs Armytage, should spend the whole of what are called the holidays at his own house, whither Mar- tin was frequently sent, to see if all needful prepa- rations were going on. Mr. Egremont was made acquainted with the deep disappointment Mr. Eden had experienced, and he sympathized with him on the mortification, but threw in hints that it was better for Lady Emily to have shown her real character before marriage than afterwards; and he could not help remarking that his young friend’s manners were gayer, and his spirits more buoyant than when he thought himselt a successful lover. He certainly had made a firm resolution never to bring a fine lady to live among the fells and forests, even if she professed herself, as Lady Emily had done, an enthusiastic admirer of the picturesque—and she really was so, of the very picturesque Regent’s Park, Richmond Hill, &e. The weather was unfavorable for exercise in the open air, and the small party were compelled to confine their amusements to the house, consequently were thrown more together. Yet Mr. Eden could not help acknowledging there would not have been one moment to throw away on theatricals. Indeed, the time was so well filled up, and flew so swiftly away, that Mr. Eden soon found other company, particularly that of Miss Armytage, was an unwel- come interruption to him. Not so to the sisters; they endured and even encouraged her, for they knew there was much good in her character, which they anxiously strove to bring forward, while they Mr. Eder He, however, tried to gently repressed all that was really evil. wondered at their patience. assist them; but soon discovered this to be a deli- cate task, as she was one of those unfortunate young ladies who can never divest themselves of the idea that gentlemen must fall in love with them perforce, whatever superior attractions may be before their eyes. The quiet occupations of elegant country life are very favorable to the finer emotions of the heart, and Mr. Eden was fast lapsing into something like his delightful cruelly disturbed—he feared broken. dream was A tall, hand- some Northumbrian squire, with thousands of acres romance again, when and a town-like castle, came on a short visit to Mr Egremont—so he said; but it was easy to see that Elinor Egremont was the attraction. He saw no airs. no bustle, no blushes; all went on precisely as before, except that there could be neither reading, | music, nor even drawing. Miss Armytage alone

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GODEY’'S M 100 —_ was agitated and extremely restless, till she could get an opportunity of speaking apart to Mr. Eden, when she began, without hesitation or circumlocu- tion—* Now is the time, sir, to show your friendship for Mr. Egremont’s family.”’ “ Only tell me how I can do it, Miss Armytage, and you will lay me under great obligation.” “Speak roundly to Elinor, Mr. Eden,’’ said she, quivering with emotion; “do not spare her. Set her folly in its true light.” “What folly? How am I to speak ? I to say?” “ Why, surely, you must know that this splendid What am Mr. Dacre absolutely sues to make her mistress of Dacre castle; that he has done so these twelve months, and that she flatly and absolutely refuses him.” “| certainly did not know it. Miss Armytage, what has Mr. Dacre, independent But pray tell me, of his castle and his numerous acres ?”’ “Oh! a fine person; an ancient name; a good temper—in short, he is a great match. Mary is going to marry a poor parson only; but what an opportunity here is to raise the family.’’ “Do you think they need raising ?”’ “Why, no—not raising—but I believe I might have had Mr. Dacre myself at one time, but I look higher!’ and she gave Mr. Eden of those looks silly girls will sometimes give. Mr. Eden tried to keep his temper, and answered, one calmly, but very pointedly— “If you look higher than Mr. Dacre, Miss Ar- mytage, how high should Elinor Egremont look ?— for I tell you, with the greatest sincerity, that in the circles of fashion—nay, in the British court—I have not seen one like her. And her noble rejection of wealth and name, because unaccompanied by mind and soul, raises her still higher in my eyes.” Fearing he had gone too far, he continued, sport- ively—“‘ When you have refused such a man, for such reasons, Miss Armytage, you will be very high, indeed, in my good opinion.”’ He left her abruptly, that she might not answer ; and, with a lightened heart and a clear brow, sought the family in the music-room. No one could admire or esteem unpretending ex- cellence better than this young man, satiated, as he had been, with foreign frippery and the hollow- heartedness of English high breeding. Love could not be far off, when such a forcible contrast to all that is meritorious was hourly before his eyes. The sober piety of Mr. Egremont was as a beautiful frame, in which the solid acquirements and true elegances of his daughters were displayed to the greatest advantage. It would have been something to have gained a companion from such a house, even had the adornments been fewer and the beauties less. Mr. Eden’s feelings, perhaps, had been more fully known to himself by the circumstance of Mr. Dacre’s unpropitious visit; and he no longer de- layed to ask Mr. Egremont to ask his daughter Elinor if she would help him to bring his own AGAZINE AND LADY'S 4 < PAPA AAA BOOK tenants and people into something like the happy Of his own feelings he did not speak ; but they shone in a state of those who surrounded the rectory. most eloquent pair of eyes; and though he did not receive a very decided answer, or even permission to speak to Elinor herself, he was not forbidden the chief aliment of love—hope. Mr. Egremont wisely required some time to know more of Mr. Eden’s character in the world, before he would absolutely consent to trust the happiness of his daughter in his hands ; and resolved to write to Lady Prescott, that he might know more particulars of Mr. Eden’s for- mer life than he would be willing of himself to avow. Miss Armytage was all blank astonishment as soon as the secret transpired ; but she consoled her- self for Mr. Eden’s most unaccountable perversion of taste, by the certainty of a present visit, and the remote prospect of being bridesmaid—that was the next thing to being a bride. After all, she comforted herself that Mr. Eden really did break his leg that he might fall in love and marry, though it was not with herself; it would have been out of all rules of romance, if such an accident had ended in nothing at all. She now began to appear more amiable in the eyes of her friends, for she condescended to talk common sense, since there was nothing to be got by folly ; and the two tall dogs, to the great delight of the quiet family at the rectory, were suffered to repose in their respective kennels at home. On the day appointed for visiting Mr. Eden, a plain, green ehariot conveyed Elinor, Miss Army- tage, and Mr. Eden; the rest of the party were iz a post-chaise. As their road lay near Allondale Priory, it was proposed to rest the horses and look over some miniatures and medals, omitted on their former visit. So well had Martin foreseen this, that large fires were blazing in all the rooms; and the old housekeeper, no longer deaf, but very alert in waiting on the ladies, pressed on them refreshments before they again made the tour of the apartments, which now included a large gallery filled with works of art—some given reason about repairs having pre- vented their seeing it in their first excursion. Here the miniatures of Cooper and Oliver, with a cabinet of rare medals, detained them long. On entering the saloon, Mr. Armytage was much interested with portraits of men he had personally known. He spoke highly of the ancestors of the Allondale family; and, pointing to the grandfather, said—“ That was one of the first of men. His son, who hangs there, was not far behind him. He gave every promise of equaling his father; but, most un- fortunately, died young. It was a great calamity.” “ Any greater than an early death in one so gift- ed?”’ inquired Mr. Egremont. “Yes, much more. Had his race ended with him, it would have been well; but he left one son, who has turned out @ sad dog.” “A puppy, sir?’ asked Mr. Eden, humorously ‘“« No, perhaps not exactly a puppy; but a sad dog, nevertheless. He was left one of the richest mer

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ALLON in the three kingdoms; but London and Paris soon make a man poor! His own steward told me, not seven months ago, that the sums he remitted him were incredible, and it was like throwing them into the sea. There was still a cry for more, more! But now he said the estate could afford it no more. The sums, he said, were beyond all calculation, or, at least, credibility “ Which sums,” said Mr. Eden, quietly, “« always traveled by a circuitous route, so as to find their way again into the said steward’s pocket ; for I have been informed, from the best authority, that he grew rich just in proportion as his master and the estate grew poor.” “ That may be—it is too often the case. I have seen the stewards riding in carriages, while the tenants starved and the proprietors of the estates foot my own steward; and I think Annie will be some- walked on I have always taken care to be what the richer for it, especially now those good irls have brought her a little to her senses, or else it was all in some danger of going to found a hos- pital for romance-reading lunatics. I have always been my own steward.”’ . You management of great wealth is a sore temptation to are a wise man, sir; for the uncontrolled men of weak principles; and, it must be confessed, the Marquis of Allondale has been much to blame. He has been wrong as well as his steward.’’ ‘* Wrong, sir? worse than wrong! Look at that , said Mr old marquis ; “ man,’ Armytage, pointing to the portrait of the tell me if. he would have left a steward to the control and management of an estate like this? No. There is wisdom in every line of his face; and I had the proud satisfaction of calling that man my friend.” 7 I am Miss Armytage for I think that I was somewhat like neonceivably flattered, sir; fancied him.”’ ‘ Not at all, sir. be like him. Put on that flowing wig, and wear No man of the present day can that ample vest and the velvet coat, and I will see if there is any likeness.”’ $6 said By all means, Mr Eden, put on the wig,” Mary Egremont The ‘and even I shall fancy you like same eyes, the slightly rising nose—— ‘Pshaw'!” cried Mr. Armytage, “that is the way with all you girls. Eyes and nose, forsooth! So th ments go for nothing. A man may change the fashion of bis dress every day in the week, anc you him bette Is the young marquis handsome ?”’ said Miss Armytage; “ and will he come to reside h 4 Handsome is that handsome does; and I am sure his actions are ugly enough. No, no; he will show his face here, even if it be hand- I entreat you to remember, my dear sir,’’ said Mr. Eden, very earnestly, not beeu long from under the control of his guard- ‘that the young man has ians, and only a vear from his tour on the conti- nent. Can he have had time to b » very bad?’ s* NDALE PRIORY 101 “T assure you, sir, I had it from his own steward. You may rely on it, he is a very sad dog.” ‘Yet I hope, Mr. Armytage, of the true English breed, without any foreign mixture; for, with all his faults on his devoted head—I am he !”’ “ You?”’ shrieked Miss Armytage; “ you Marquis of Allondale ? You Sa arm, not quite determined whether she should faint —and she clung to her uncle’. or go into hysterics, until she found no one heeded her, and she then became quite composed ‘Pardon me,”’ said the marquis, bowing to Mr Egremont, and taking a hand of each of the sisters, I al- Ag l saves much “pray, pardon me this seeming deception. ways travel under my family name of Eden. dislike “pomp and circumstance,” it trouble, and’’—bowing to Mi: Armytage—“ some expens>?, which my rich steward has made very ne- cessary I was too ill to undeceive you at first ; and I was so delighted with your quiet hospitality that I continued the incognito. I hope you will not think to a nameless, or, at least, untitled traveler, worse of the Mr. I Marquis of Allondale than you did of believe any ol the stories my nefarious len, or steward cireulated to cover his own villainy ?”’ “T am awake now!” cried Mr. Armytage; “I see it all—the double-faced, double-tongued villain! Il hope I shall live to thrash him for his lies !”’ “How quiet you all are,’’ said Miss Armytage to the Egremonts; “this does not seem to move you at all.’’ ‘‘Why should it?” said Elinor. “ What can a title add to Mr. Eden? We knew that he was a gentleman, a scholar, and a Christian.”’ ‘My noble-minded Elinor,’ said the marquis, “you will then take it on you to assure Mr. Army- tage that [ am not ‘sad dog’ as my quite sucha wicked steward would have had him believe; and beg him to continue to me the friendship he enter- tained for my excellent grandfather.”’ The old man’s eyes ran over with tears ‘I will, I ll enable you to get justice done you of will!’ cried he; “andif my whole fortune W that slanderous traitor, it is yours.”’ richer than ‘I thank you, my dear sir; but I am auld imagine. Six months away from the fashion, you wi vortex of which engulfs a man and his is aware of it, has done somewhat Added to this peculating, unjust stew- money before he retrieving my fortune con- has made the toward science a ne ‘fund more even than was demanded of him All this, laid out on my impoverished estate, will And farther to go—if you vield me rich returns in wealth and happiness now, ladies—as We have no wish to change your dresses before dinner, you will find apartments and atte ndants prepared for you.’ At this moment, a traveling chariot, with four horses, dashed up to the hall door, and a lady’s b mnnet and veil were seen through the descending iss. Elinor turned pale, for she thought of Lady Emily and the marquis She was struck with Lady Prese apparently much fatigue d. ment at seeing tt descending the She rallied in-

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GODEY’S MAGAZINE 102

stantly, on seeing the party; and exclaimed, with much vivacity, “Did I not tell you, my lord, that one old woman would find you out, even in ‘hor- rible Northumberland ;’ and a terrible journey 1t 1s. But, my dear nephew, I was resolved to answer your interesting letter in person, and to add my blessing to what rejoices my heart. When I found you all flown from the rectory, I followed you post- haste. And now, girls—my own girls—lead me to a room where I may rest an hour or two, for I pro- mise you I am tired enough.” Miss Armytage was in perfect ecstasy with the splendor of the apartments newly furnished for their use. The velvet hangings; the long, low sofas; the cabinets and tables; the rich ornaments of the the toilet- boxes of chased But the sisters’ dressing -rooms, with silver, occupied all her attention hearts were too full to bestow a moment’s thought on externals They embraced, and wept long in each other’s arms; but strove to fortify each other’s mind for the high duties that were devolving on them. But Elinor could not rouse herself from her dreamy abstraction, till, on entering the dressing- room appointed for her use, she was struck with an exquisite portrait of the marquis in his robes of state ‘You are my witness, Mary, that it was Mr. Eden I loved, and not the marquis At Lady Prescott’s request, Mr. Milner, the lover of Mary, was added to the party; and, as she de- clared her intention of dividing her property equally between her two grand-nieces, it was her wish that they should be married on the same day, and that not a very remote one ‘I am old,”’ said she, “‘and cannot remain long in this world; let me see as much human happiness as I can before I die.’’ Mr. Egremont agreed to this, and stated his intention of resigning his living to Mr. Milner, that he might spend his remaining years in visiting his daughters and Lady Prescott The vicar and his family received invitations to the priory. The lady was astonished to find that neither the science of good eating nor the manage- ment of a house made any part of the conversation and that the sub! of dress were never discussed in at the dinner-table ; mer mysteries drawing-room he rie The daughters were still more perplexed at there bbons, nor ringlets being neither feathers, flowers, ri about the dress of any one, not even of Lady Pres- cott, who was fresh from the regions of fashion that tapestry work was held in no esteem, and that even Miss Armytage, in some respects like them- selves. disdained to quote from a novel, and would 4 Q é 3 < 4 PLP PPP PPL LLL not very readily allow that she indulged in reading one. When Mr. Egremont preached in the parish church, the vicar found he must rouse himself and shake off his sloth, or have his congregation go where they could hear such sermons. Miss Armytage was the most incorrigible of all the party in her follies; but the humorous bluntness of Lady Prescott effected more than the united efforts of her uncle or the Egremont family had ever done. She laughed at her grimaces; begged to be spared when exaggerated sensibilities were to be played off; and whenever heroics or romance were coming on, she used to affect a slight degree of fear, crying out, “Now do, my dear, come down from adding, in a low voice, “ You frighten This was always a most effective caution, and was never your stilts !”’ all the gentlemen when you walk so high !”’ known to fail of due effect. It was thought that, if the marquis would but have long waistcoat, and velvet coat in which his grandfather was portrayed, Mr him- ad ypted the wig. Armytage would never have been able to tear self away from the priory, and that he would have made him his heir, to the exclusion of his still ro- mantic niece. As it was, he made him sole guard- ian and residuary legatee, with a clause that his full consent was necessary to her. marriage under penalty of forfeiture Lord V Lady Emily Hayton, who bitterly repented her folly when it too late. After many similar disap- pointments, from having acquired the character of never made a tender of his hand to

was a mercenary woman, she married the son of a needy peer, and her husband became a pensioner on the bounties of government. Honest John Powell was frequently a welcome and honored guest at the table of the Marquis of Allondale, all parties considering him the original link in the chain of circumstances that had produced so much present good and gave promise of future happiness Th unaltered, except that the area was cleared of fallen e ivy-covered ruins were suffered to remain stones, and the broken, connecting walls removed detach the whole from the main body of 80 as to the bu thus forming a group of the most pic- turesque beauty The chapel alone underwent thorough repair. The habitable part of the priory needed no addition; there was ample room for many friends 11 iy world, 4/asé with reiterated Spectacies, sigh 1 in vain for an invitation to intro- duce f \ vice within its peaceful and h wed w

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THERE are, in each individu BY JOHN Could I but still And bury deep the Which ever and an And o’er each al, certain traits of character that claim our highest admiration; while others, of an opposite nature, engender disgust to such a degree, that the few bright spots which, on irst acquaintance, we delighted to look upon, be- come clouded, their lustre dimmed, and their beauty ’ the deformities tha lo attain pe ction, in this | I ssible; but man can accomplisl deep-seated passions of his s strong impulses and desires ained T imperious, €xac he yw, though taught by lessons of for a time sways t ler one who possessed eve heart, permit us to mtr t surround them ww is im 1 much to eradicate nature, by curbing until the mastery 1s ng spirit of pa ul expe! ry attracti eautiful exterior could present, but who lacked that portant charm which alone constitutes true great- Cora Linton was one who, from childhood, had emained ignorant of tl nature of ‘ ) 1 in th »of luxury, every \ | \r W W h was ( r \ while h , 1« leve nent . i l ‘ t yo 1K W l l d \ prec V All V ure < i | 1 ‘ } 7 { Ww « 1 \ 1! - i In au ! ( ’ ( | p id she en- I a I I I cl! wu: ot l But, how ve mu we m 1 ort \ tr ind gra¢ a 7 t i : ( i ir, there is alv ays 1 exp n ! 1 this medium, that. to c } ( v ist 1 character id I s contracted in early life ing W lestroyed much which herwise lered her attractive But soon sur- the throbbin memories of ft joy their ¢ M EVANS. this heart, gs of the past lil ¢ m like spectres start loomy shadows cast

$ rounded by a host of admirers; among whom was George Benton, a young man of promise, who, but one year previous, had entered into a bu ‘ that was already vielding him the richest return his exertions, Which promised, in a short t , to uC him in an elevated | His friends, who n ticed t tachmel vineed for t \ Cc 1, would not pe t 1 to re n enoral f her char r; but! n i, Na acute | cern wa ‘ pletely | \ the powerful passion of love, that x m sul sequent to their acquaintance, he wa | wled el accepted suitor What others cor I ed a faults, with the leniency of love he overlo d the domineering spirit she sometimes displayed, | conceded as a privilege her beauty a a ! granted Mr. Walt n un of G wl ‘ led i 1 will pare inte s' we d with the dissimilarity « ndd ! and, before he was aware of their « ‘ cated to him the fears he e1 tained ' na le ed I you | ¢ < W } ‘ ‘ | i ] li 1 | 4 d 11 eX] why my ‘ 1 to ( 1 You I ( there e th ? } , I fi . — | ed uj g i * » sekeet , ie f | | vn { ‘ | { iIw l k in ny ol I « not | u | vou W tiw | \ uw ‘ I ge ha ! " formed your op soft l qt ‘ wilt 10uld possess —qualities that |] ! entirely obsolete, and yielded to others that th provements of society have suggested ‘Yes, George. I am I at sad innovations have been made upon the customs of tl len time but much that you call improvement has placed us in a worse posi 1 than that occupied fifty vears ago, when each one enterts correct P rT

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v4 ‘ aad 2 AZINE ideas in regard to the dignity of labor. And, I fear, you will discover, when too late, that all the boasted achievements of modern reform will fail to impart to your home an air of peace and domestic comfort.”’ “ Well, unc marry Cora, you will see what a paragon of a wife hag gayly rep ied George, * if I ever she will make; and if you now withhold your con- sent, I can then Say you were mistaken once, at least, in regard to your estimation of character To would be the quences - Here he took his departure, leaving George to his him of me, an error of judgment in such a case of little you importance; but if you commit mistake, alone must endure its conse- own reflections; but all failed to convince her true character, as described by his uncle, whom he regarded as prejudiced against everything that was not in strict conformity with his antiquated ideas. But time passed on, and each day seemed to links of that chain which strengthen the hidden bound him to Cora. The charms of other society were lost in his devotion to her, whose beauty had thus wrought its fascinating spell around his heart As we have already stated, six months elapsed before their engagement was announced; and at the expiration of three more, their marriage was cele- brated with all the pomp and display Cora’s position in society demanded; and a suite of apartments engaged at a fashionable boarding-house, until pos- se 1 could be obtained of the splendid mansion Ce had purchased for his residence. But Cora, thus pleasantly situated, evinced no desire to assume the responsibilities of conducting the aflairs of her own house; and full three months elapsed before he could persuade her to occupy with him that home where, he fondly hoped, his dreams of domestic bliss would yet be realized; and though surrounded by everything that could tend to her enjoyment, she was not happy. Her nature required the strongest mental excitement that the gayeties of fashionable life could contribute, to nourish those habits con- tracted in early life; and, with the arrival of each day, came some new invitation or engagement for the evening, thus depriving her husband of the only had expected to enjoy her society amid The prodigality of her ex- season he the quiet of his home penditures, also, began to awaken serious doubts in regard to the amplitude of his means, as bills of large amount were almost daily presented, for un- necessary articles of dress and decoration; but he And this course of extrava- ut could not expostulate gance continued for months, with interruption, when he was apprised of an entertainment she con- plated giving, which was to eclipse anything of tem the season ‘Well, “ you certainly have my consent; only let your am- Cora,” pleasantly remarked George, bition to eclipse be regulated by moderation in your expenses. I am willing to gratify every reasonable wish; but you must remember that my wealth is not inexhaustible ND LADY'S I YO! iN 4 ~ + PLAAAA LDLDDAALD ADA “ There it is,” prone to look at expenses, and for ever counting the replied Cora; “you men are so cost of everything, that one would suppose all pleasure must be destroyed by such parsimonious motives. For my part, I never look at this.”’ George was silent. It was the first allusion made to anything of the kind; and, at the time, he feared its results. But her plans were not so easily frus- trated. Determining, this once, at least, to let her pursue her own course, he was suffered to remain in entire ignorance of who were invited, or what preparations had been made to receive her numerous guests, until the evening arrived, when the fears he had entertained of enormous expenses were more than verified by the brilliant display of ornaments the table that groaned beneath the weight of costly re- purchased expressly for the occasion; large freshments, with various other matters of minor importance, that assisted to swell the debt he would have to discharge On the following day, various bills were presented, amounting, in all, to nearly five hundred dollars George was dismayed. The highest estimate he had formed did not exceed one-third the amount; and it was with difficulty he could realize that this sum had been lavished upon an evening’s entertain- ment. od C lar air, that, At an early hour, he returned home, to fi ora humming a fam had seated at but a short time her piano; previous, sounded so sweetly to him, as the silvery tones of her musical voice stole o’er his heart; but his feelings had undergone a change; and, seating himself on the sofa, he ad- dressed her :— “Cora, Is it pos ible that the expenses of last evening could have reached this enormous amount ?”’ at the same time presenting her the bills ‘I be “ Then I must speak plainly, and inform you that As I have before stated, lam willing to gratify every ieve they are all correct,’’ rejoined Cora my means will not allow of such extravagance sire; but useless expenditures of this Do not reasonable de nature I can never sanction. impugn my motives, for necessity compels me thus to speak.” ‘ Nece meanness ; ten employed as an excuse for to ’ warmly re- silty 1S O but I have desires by any such rule,’ never been accustomed measure Mm) Pp ied Cora “But the propriety of my remarks must appear evident, if you will but reflect a moment. My busi- ness, thus far, has been prosperous; but if the ex- penses attending this one party were generally ype of retaining the credit l and the taDils known, I could searcely h I have ded would undoubtedly prove my ruin in es hing, result succe I therefore en- I have no treat you to consider what I have said. desire to limit you to any fixed amount; only let culate your desires.” but retired to her chamber, judgment re Cora could not reply ; there to vent her displeasure in a flood of tears; while George was c mpelle d to forego her society at dinner, and returned to his store sad and dishea

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CORA LINTON. weeeneerw Pov APORPPPOP DOP PDDODODL ened, to reflect upon the rupture that had thus oc- -urred so soon after their marriage. He felt grieved at the thought of inflicting painful emotions in the breast of his young and beautiful wife; but an ap- proving conscience justified the course duty had suggested, and he hoped that no necessity would again occur for reverting to a subject so unpleasant. But Cora soon forgot this lesson of economy, as she gradually relapsed into old habits. the year, George discovered that the large demands made upon him had not only consumed all the profits of his business, but made such sad inroads upon his invested capital, that it was with difficulty sufficient funds could be procured to discharge other obliga- tions. Again he endeavored to reason with her, informing her of the alarming deficiency that existed, and of his determination to curtail their vast expen- these resolves were formed too ditures; but, alas! late. In a few months, he found that all further efforts would prove utterly unavailing; that each day was only adding new difficulties to those under which he was struggling, without hope of relief. Accordingly, he assigned all his property for the whom he was indebted, and frankly the True to her nature, she upbraided him, preferring benefit of those to communicated intelligence to Cora. accusations of mismanagement, as she wept over the blasted hopes of her ambition, instead of impart- ing that tender sympathy so peculiarly the province of woman to bestow in the dark hour of adversity. But all her tears and accusations could not alter their circumstances ; and she was compelled to be- hold everything once ber own expored to the cu- rious gaze of a crowd collected by the display of an ominous red flag that waved from her window. George was now obliged to accept of a situation as olerk, at a small salary, and remove to a house in an obscure street; and here, in this humble abode, years rolled on without bringing any change to im- prove their condition; but to him, they were years tf happiness. He now enjoyed the constant society of Cora; and, by the winning force of love, suc- ceeded in reconciling her to the change that had thus reduced them to comparative poverty. But this proved a task of no small importance. The deprivation of those pleasures in which she had de- lighted, that wealth alone could purchase, at first created a stolid indifference to all his attentions; but gradually, these feelings were dispelled, as her heart yielded to the teachings of that devoted husband. The flower that, rearing high its stately head, looks with disdain upon the meek beauty of the humble violet, as it slumbers in peaceful security upon its grassy bed, nestling beneath the shade of its more noble companion, is always the first to feel the blighting frosts of autumn pass, with withering breath, o’er all its boasted beauties. Thus it is with the human heart. The man who, elevated by fancied greatness above what surrounds him, swayed by the unholy influence of pride, must eventually 3ut bow beneath the humbling touch of adversity. At the end of ~er ooo ween 105 the experience of all ages has proved the beneficial results that flow from its teachings It was the fifth anniversary of their George returned from his business at an earlier hour Marriage than usual, his countenance beaming with delight as he entered Cora’s presence “My dear, I have received a letter; to which, with your consent, I shall return an affirmative an- swer. I doubt not that better days yet await us; but there is much we must sacrifice before this object can be attained. My uncle, who, you recol lect, removed to the west soon after our marriage, has been apprised of our situation, and generously invites us to share his distant home. Are you will- ing to relinquish all the associations of youth, to sever the ties that bind you here, and, with me, share the privations incident to an emigrant’s life ?”’ “Yes, willingly, George! Nothing can longer affurd me pleasure but your society, with the joys that now cluster around our home. On contrasting my present condition with the first year of our mar- ried life, I often think how much more real happi- ness I now enjoy than when surrounded by all the luxuries of wealth. I have hitherto remained silent upon this subject, but my conscience has been its own accuser. I deeply deplore the ruin my folly has brought upon you; and a sad, but profitable lesson has it proved. Henceforth, my only object shall be to contribute to your happiness, and, if pos- sible, to repay your forbearance, when, led on by the alluring gayeties of life, I preferred the excite- ment of the ball-room to the quiet of my home; the deceitful flattery of other tongues to the noble praise your love for me expressed in every word and action. Forgive me, George, for all the pain I have caused you; and let my future course satisfy you of the purity of my motives, by increasing devotion to your happiness.”’ ‘Let not such thoughts intrude upon your mind, Cora. I I think of the happiness I now enjoy in your society ; regret nothing that has befallen me, when and the future, which appears bright, I trust may never again be clouded by sorrow.” Two months after the above conversation, George was settled in his new home amid western wilds, but surrounded by everything that could contribute to his comfort. His uncle, rightly suspecting the cause of his late misfortunes, determined, if possible, to induce him to accept of a home with him, where temptations are not of so dangerous a character, and where every action could be regulated by the re- straining hand of experience. He also formed the determination of educating, according to his peculiar ideas, not only George, but this work of reform was to extend to his wife; and, long before their arrival, he had prepared a well-digested mode of procedure, But what was his surprise, on beholding Cora, to notice the in which he felt the utmost confidence. cheerful expression that played o’er those features formerly marked by discontent, as she assisted in arranging each article of furniture, with an interest

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wr 106 GODEY'S that evinced a change in the feelings that had governed the actions of former years, and which he supposed still existed; and as days grew into weeks, the old gentleman could not repress his admiration at the perfect order which reigned around his bache- lor home Everything had improved—his table not excepted —under the influence of this presiding genius; and he began to think that he had, indeed, done her in- justice; that all his fears were utterly groundless. But he determined to solve what to him appeared a mystery, and accordingly applied to George. “ Well, George, I hope you may enjoy yourself in your new home. You certainly ought to be happy in any condition of life, with such a wife as Cora.”’ “Why, uncle, your views have undergone an important change since we last conversed on this subject.”’ “Yes, I confess my error; but there appears to be some mystery connected with all this. How is it? I had supposed your misfortune in business was occasioned by the extravagance of your wife; but that certainly could not have been the cause; for, of all women, I really think Cora is unexcelled in domestic economy.”’ “The views you once entertained were strictly true; but Cora has been instructed by a teacher that seldom fails in imparting useful lessons to all who and | regret any loss I have sustained that has been the When her tastes had are brought under its influence ; can never means of securing so much true happiness first married, she was very young; become vitiated by mingling with the world, and it settle down The ¢ was almost an impossibility for her to in lite ere a single pleasure had palled in- dulgence of those expensive tastes led to excesses that I rd; deavored with and when too late, I en- to could ill afl to reason her in regard their But understood; consequently, all influence was lost; impropriety by me, her character was not and to this may be attributed my unsuccessful efforts in effecting a reform. The refining fires of adversity alone have separated the dross from that pure and holy principle of her nature, which now influences every action and regulates each desire.’’ ‘I am, indeed, delighted to hear that this change, though at first evidently painful, has been so mate- rially conducive to your happiness. You are now amply repaid for every loss then sustained, in the love she bestows upon you. But, come, we must hasten home; no doubt Cora is anxious to know what subject can prove so interesting as to make us both forget our tea, which is waiting.”’ Ten years had elapsed since the above conversa- ! What a period of seemingly end- the the gloomy walls of his narrow cell, daring not to breathe Ten years to tion less duration convict, immured within the pure atmosphere of heaven or look upon the AGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. PRARARAPRAAALA AARARLALALALD ADDED unclouded sky; whose heart is never gladdened by the bright smiles of nature; who hears no sound but the whistling of the wind without, or the dull echoes of the busy loom reverberating along the vaulted passages of his prison-house ; counting each day, as it wearies on, by the light which steals through the grating of his window; at morn, praying for night, and with its approach, sighing for the return of day But George could scarcely realize that so many years had passed since he exchanged the scenes of childhood for his western home, so happily had each moment been borne along upon the wings of love His uncle was not long permitted to enjoy the society of those he loved; the summons of death had called But the final arrangement of his temporal affairs had not him hence, very soon after their arrival. been neglected; and to George was bequeathed the greater portion of his property, which yearly in- creased in value, until, at the period to which we allude, he was one of the most wealthy citizens of the town of S—. again secured for Cora a prominent position in But the return of wealth, which society, could not tempt her to the indulgence of those transient pleasures that had so nearly de- stroyed her happiness for ever. The sad lesson of former years had changed the desires of her heart, and given correct views of the important part each one must sustain in the great drama of life; of th responsible position occupied by parents in imparting instruction to those who have been placed under their charge Nor was she ignorant of the fact, that of this had proper performance of life’s duties, causing much a neglect so unfitted her for the of that unhappiness which marked the first year of her married life With untiring zeal, she now devoted the energies of her nature to the instruction of her only daughter who was, in every respect, her exact counterpart And what a blest employ! It is said that angels rejoice over the conversion of one soul; and may we not suppose that such a sight fills heaven with joy? Tobehold the fond mother, true to her nature bending over the child of her love, teaching its infant voice in prayer to lisp the name of its Creator, fitting it for the enjoyment of purer scenes, where, in eternal anthems, that voice shall mingle with those whose music make the very arches of heaven ring ? Nothing was neglected that could contribute pro- perly to mould her disposition and refine her tastes With the jealous eye of love, she watched the bud- ding feelings of her young heart; instilling those principles of virtue and religion, which constitute the only sure foundation of human greatness, upon which must rest, throughout eternity, the happiness of the undying spirit. Her aim was directed to the accomplishment of a more noble object, than that of securing the meed of praise bestowed hy a cold and heartless world. Experience had taught her the folly of listening to its empty praises, or living for aught—but heaven.

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maar TIT AT i Vein VV SA LIN: Vr A TALE OF BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, ESQ., AUTHOR OF ‘** THE ‘* THE YEMASSEE,’’ THE PARTISAN,”? TWh RERR 5 A THR ing IVI Dt i 6 4 ps 4 Ive REVOLUTION ‘* MELLICHAMPE,’’ ‘‘ THE KINSMEN,’’ ETC [Entered, according to the act of Congress, in the year 1847, by W. Gilmore Simms, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. ] CHAPTER I. You, besides This fort, have yet three castles in this isle, Amply provided for, and eight tall ships Riding at anchor near.—DRyDEN, Amboyna. Our story opens early in September, in the event- ful year of American revolutionary history, one Our scene 1s the thousand seven hundred and eighty one destined to afford abundant materials for purposes of the future romancer. It lies chietly upon the banks of the Ashley, in South Carolina—a re- which, at this gion period, was almost entirely In pre- covered by the arms of the foreign enemy vious narratives, as well as in the histories, will be and ho fall of found the details of his gradual conquests; one need be told of the events following the iz in the defeat of General Charleston, and terminati Gates, at Camden, by which, for a season, the hopes of patriotism, as well as the efforts of valor which aimed at the recovery of the’ country from hostile humbled, if not over- lomination, were The WHOLLY thrown southern liberating army was tem- porarily dispersed, rallying slowly to their stand- ids in the wildernesses of North Carolina; few in number, miserably clad, and almost totally wanting in the means and appliances of war. The victory of the British over Gates was considered complete. Many rf their prisoners were execute d ups n the spot, mostly It was distinguisheé by their usual sacrifices. upon the smallest pretexts and the most questionable testimony. These sacrifices were due somewhat to the requisitions of the loyalists, to the excited pas- to their sions of the conquerors, and, in some degree own scorn of the victims. But one of those decreed had inoment of destined execution, by a most daring and his escape, rescued, in the for sacrifice made I mexpected onslaught of a small body of partisans, Colonel Richard Walton, great personal worth, of consideral +, had, circumstances, and when the State te led by a favorite leader. t gentleman of le wealth, and exercising much social influenc under particular was believed to be utterly lost to the confederacy, m.”? This taken what was entitled a “ British protecti vas a parole, insuring him safety and shelter be- neath the protection of the conqueror, so long as he preserved his neutrality It was some reproach to ' Colonel Walton that he had taken this protection ; i but, in the particular circumstances of the case, With his justification, however, just at this moment, we have there was much to extenuate his offence. nothing to do. It is enough that the violation of the compact between the citizen and the conqueror was due to the British commander. In the emergency of invasion, at the approach of the continental arms, the securities of those who had taken protection were withdrawn, by proclamation, unless they pre- sented themselves in the British ranks and took up arms under the banner of the invader. Compelled to draw the sword, Colonel Walton did so on the side of the country. He fell into the hands of Corn- wallis at the fatal battle of Camden; and, steadily of British to treason by taking a refusing the overtures general the purge himself of the alleged commission in the service of the conqueror, he was »rdered to execution at Dorchester, in the neighbor- hood of his estates, and as an example of terror to the surrounding country. He was rescued, at the foot of the g had allows, from the degrading death which been decreed him By a we -planned and desperate enterprise, led by Major Singleton, a kins- man, he was plucked from the clutches of the exe- cutioner; and the successful effort was still farther distinguished by the almost total annihilation of the British, rison at Dorchester to ese strong guard of the which had left the gar- rt the victim to the fatal tree. The beautiful hamlet of Dorchester was par- tially laid in ashes during the short but sanguinary conflict; and, before reinforcements could arrive the partisans into the with The ‘currence had been one rather to exasperate the from the fortified post at the place, had melted away, like shadows, so many swamps of the neighboring cypress, carrying them, in safety, their enfranchised captive ot invader than to disturb his securities It was not less an indignity than a hurt; and, taking place, as of of audacity, on the it did, within miles of the garrison twenty Charleston, it denoted a degree part of the rebels, which particularly called for the active vengeance of the invader, as an insult and a disgrace to his arms. the whom the post at Dorchester was held, was great, But if mortification of Colonel Proctor, by still greater was the fury of Colonel Balfour, the commandant of Charleston. The intelligence reached him, by express, at midnight of the day of the affair, 107 6

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108 GODEY's and roused him from the grateful slumbers of a life which had hitherto been fortunate in the acquisition of every desired indulgence, and from dreams hold- ing forth the most delicious promise of that otewm cum dignitate which was in the contemplation of all his toils. To be aroused to such intelligence as had been brought him, was to deny him both leisure and respect—nay, to involve him in possible forfeit- uce of the possession of place and power, which, he well knew, were of doubtful tenure only, and easily determinable by a run of such disasters as that which he was now required to contemplate. Yet Balfour, in reality, had nothing with which to re- proach himself in the affair at Dorchester. No b! me, whether of omission or performance, could he charged upon him, making him liable to reproach for this misfortune. He had no reason to suppose that, with Rawdon in command at Camden, and Cornwallis, but recently the victor over Gates, with the great body of the British army covering every conspicuous point in the country, that any small party of rebels should prove so daring as to dart between and snatch the prey from the very grasp of the executioner. Marion had, however, done this upon the Santee, and here now was his lieutenant repeating the audacious enterprise upon the Ashley. rhough really not to blame, Balfour yet very well knew how severe were the judgments which, in Great Britain, were usually visited upon the misfor- tunes or failures of British captains in America. He had no reason to doubt that, in his case, as com- monly in that of others, his superiors would be apt to cast upon the subordinate the responsibilities of every mischance. It is true that he might offer He strengthen his army against Gates, Cornwallis had good defence could show that, in order to stripped the city of nearly all its disposable force, ieaving him nothing but invalids, and a command of cavalry not much more than sufficient to scour the neighborhood, bring in supplies, and fu:-ish escorts. Dorchester had been shorn of its garrison for the The reproach, if Yet who would same reason by the same officer. any, lay at the door of Cornwallis. impute blame to the successful general, who offers his plea while yet his trumpets are sounding in every ear with the triumphal notes of a great victory? Suecess is an argument that effectually stops the mouth of censure. To fasten the reproach upon avother, by whom no plea of good fortune could be offered, was the policy of Balfour; and his eye was already turned upon the victim. But this, hereafter. For the present, his task was to repair, if possible, the misfortune; to recover the freed rebel ; to put Dorchester in a better state to overawe the surround- ing country, and make himself sure in his position by timely reports of the affair to his superiors; by which, showing them where the fault might be im- putable to themselves, while studiously imputing it to another, he should induce them to such an adop- tion of his views as should silence all representations which might be hurtful to his own security. All these meditations passed rapidly through the a PPP LPL PLP LLP PPP MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. ———— eee brain of Balfour, as he made his midnight toilet When he came forth, his plans were all complete As we are destined to see much more of this person- age in the progress of our narrative, it will not be unwise, in this place, to dwell somewhat more par- ticularly upon the mental and moral nature of the man. At the period of which we write, he was in the vigor of his years. He had ept well, to borrow the idiom of another people, and was altogether a very fine specimen of physical manhood.. With an erect person, fully six feet in height, broad-chested, and athletic; with cheeks unwrinkled, a skin clear and florid; eyes large, blue, and tolerably expressive; and features generally well-chiseled, he was alto- gether a person to impose at a glance, and almost persuade, without farther examination, to the con- viction of generous impulses, if not a commanding intellect, as the natural concomitants of so much that is prepossessing in the exterior. But Balfour was a man neither of mind nor heart. in ordinary affairs, he was sufficiently shrewd and searching. It was not easy, certainly, to delude him, where his selfish interests were at all at issue. In the mere details of business, he was methodical and usually correct; but he neither led nor planned an enterprise; and, while able in civil matters to carry out the de- signs of others, it is not seen that he ever counseled or conceived an improvement. His passions were more active than his mind, yet they never impelled him to courageous performance. He was a carpet knight, making a famous figure always on parade, and, in the splendid uniform of his regiment, really a magnificent person—in the language of a lady who knew him well, “as splendid as scarlet, gold lace, and feathers could make a man.’”’ But he never distinguished himself in action. Indeed, the record is wanting which would show that he had ever been in action. That he should have risen to his high station, as second in command of the British army in South Carolina—for such was his rank—might reasonably provoke our surprise, but that the record which fails to tell us of his achievements in battle, His method of rising into power was among the re- is somewhat more copious in other matters proaches urged against him. His obsequious de- votedness to the humors and pleasures—we may safely say vices—of Sir William Howe, first gained him position, and led finally to his present appcint- ment. ton, his arrogance became insufferable. seems to have been in due degree with the servility which he had been forced to show in the acquisition He could enact the opposite phases In the capacity of commandant at Charles- His vanity of his objects. in the character of his countryman, Sir Pertinax MacSycophant, without an effort at transition—éow without shame or sense of degradation, and com- mand without decency or sense of self-respect was at ignorant and self- he once In the exercise of his government, he In council, opinionated. “By the sub- the absorbed all the powers of the state. version,’”’ says Ramsay, “of every trace of popular government, without any proper civil estab-

Page 29

lishment in its place, he, with a few coadjutors, assumed and exercised egisialive, judicial, and executive powers over citizens in the same manner as over the common s ery.”’ He was prompt to anger, obdurate in punishment, frivolous in his ex- actions, and bloated with the false conse quences ol a position Which he had reached through meanness

and exercised without dign ly. Feared and hated by h lnferiors, des] <ed | his equals, and ed by few any, he was yet one « hat fortunate persons Whom an imordinate but accommo- sell-esteem happily assures al 1 satisfies in every situation. Gratifying his favorite passions at every step in his progress, he probably found no reason to regret the loss of affections that he had learned to value and never cared to win. mind had nevertheless never risen to the appreciation of those better treasures ol e and of the heart which the noble nature learns to prize beyond all others, as by a natura instinct His sympathies were those <¢ of the sensual tempera His desires were those ot t \ ptuary He was an unmarried man, and I habits were th e ola olher gay Li hario ol the army. The warm tints upon his cheek were Sig cant olf something more han vulga ewan 5 and ti q d softness of his eye was indica € of | S such as were adn ed not to be ¢ g the worst traits of that passionate Roman whos love Balfour was not the person lo torieit f#zs world through either of these passions, though he too freely and frequently indulged in both. He pos- sessed yet others which Mark Antony does not seem to have shared, or not in large degree ; and his avarice and lust of power were the rods, like of Aaron, which kept all others in subjection. But

we have lingered sutlicient y long upon his portra Enough has been said and shown to furnish all the clues to his character. Let us now see to his per- formances In a short period after receiving his advices from Dorchester, Balfour was prepared for business. His secretary Was soon in attendance, and his aids were dispatched in various quarters in search of the whom he had summoned to his morning officers conierence He occupied, as “Head Quarters,”’ that noble old mansion, still remaining in the lower part of King Street, Charleston, known as number efeven At that peri d, it belonged to the estate of equently, it became the pro- perty of Colonel William Allston, nm whose family th Balfour as its tenant, the

rietorship might fairly be assumed to be wholly in leterminable only in the event, now scarcely anticipate d by the invader, of the State ever being With his } secretary seated at the table, his pen rapidly cours- recovered by the arms of the Americans ing over the sheets under the dictation of his supe- rior, Balfour trod the apartment — the southeast chamber in the second story—in evident impatience. At times, he hurried to the front windows, which 109 were all open, and looked forth, as any unusual sounds assailed his ears Returning, he uttered sentence atter senten¢ [ struct 1, and paused only to approach the side ard and re ie Ww his draught of old Made a bottle of which had b l I yp ed lx st elary came At length ef of his patience ie sound of a cal I vas heard g to ad and the nce ( Ltoé uli onel Cru i Show him 1 was the repiy and, t x moment, the person thus named mi Pl auce, and was welcomed in proper tei y the commandant, wh turnil t the secre V. Hastily eXu ed What he hud written, as hi attached his s¢ and signatu id, in lower tones t 1 Was his Wont, gave | 1 instruc mW manner lo dispose of the pape Leave us n 1 Ba I but not ‘ I may! 1 you s \ No m g remet! You 1 elp yours« » SOME ot the wine t m é you il ust g rT V ~ [hie \ Ing in ¢ 1 not y 1 ‘ \ } eg awi ail l lie ¢ t t with a bow, retired Let us drink, « ( t Was sp { I ul em ‘ ie d Lhis early 1 e renders ‘ is par ticu ni ! Y i g : son ( ‘ \ " e cellar ol 1 l t SOLE e Pre ot ( s Lie had a bett e for Madeira than polities. There sno bette be found in he city Come s business which calls us up at hour? ing in your way, I fancy But first let mgratuiate you on your appointment. As agent for sequestrated estates, you should soon be a m lionaire.”’ There certainly ought to be good pickings where rebellion has been so fruitful,’’ said the othe: ‘Surely; and in possession of the fine mansion

of that premature rel Colesworth Pinckney decidedly the f t house 1 Ca na—you are already in the « ment of a pieasant foretaste of What must kk W ihe house ol course Will remain your owl | Suppose s¢ { the is not rec iquered And have you any fears of t deteat of that sentime il her« Crate ‘ ( ! TI il allair seems to settie ne qi I ! Li © yx pie are effectually crushed and « ed, aud Congress can never raise another army The 1 a oft Middle States and the South are by ho means nu merous, and they want everyth as well as ¢ The New Englanders no longer take the field. now that the war has left the own borders: and. come what may, it is very clear that the Carolinas, Ge and Florida must still remain the « ies

of Great Britain. In that event, a peace which even yields independence to the nore th hern province

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110 w ‘ " wr to thes md mv ta it ' that the atlas un unlucky om a tmost unlucky | | 1 j ‘ ‘ with ; aie ist ua platmetuire ' my | ‘ n And I's r ‘ t d tellow—-really a noble \ / l row tir t eu irtinent fe “ WW peal with t it 1 peri ty Admitted; and ye between u Cruden, be has ‘ the ure | | ~ his been particularly tol t ite, | few wi his alleectiot to be ensnare y tl daughter of th " ul t r you it | ‘ it vem very rele VW Hn; W not Ww { T t ! | it u " L hil i t the consider her Vust ¢ hi han to | od-lool I uideed, Kitty Llarve ‘ init \ it ‘ i t uddently that she w plait beauty a yeur a \ Is thot l ‘ { ‘ pry nd | “ to but say he wa ery al i \ te ue that i 1 ! I’ I ‘ ! N Vv, th iri nou i conn i hurp censure, U nota t com two « ! e hundred ve und i ba il ! landed est ! ‘ prove ! mineh f your nephew It ! that he ha vu hunsell i ull t 1 the } ‘ / I’ t qu ‘ ! lee | i the \ iT ‘ . ’ mt Wa " ! { trom scl re ltot re me { i ‘ we 1 the wuy to exe ; lf of | his escape ! ut | t md Dor er burnt to l i lisp i | md t not to be rey ted or repeated \ " he best of 1 une test \ j P eto a ‘ \ : j . ‘ ! t | ‘ d pateh ble m l e clon hot se " oe been \ tn i ‘ ‘ I} © part il 1 were | I ey i ! t sti you nd when Vs ‘ out 1 l l ke " ( iw halt of h dl « foree to ene t the rebel to u " | " \ i! execu i ew dt k he had ! quite \ pres ead | | that 1 i | Vas requ | . ul ore ry erreum I \ ila t not the disy l Lhe t ecm md yet where would 1 rele ‘ ‘ 1 ca ly ist tlie though led | tn ul a | tie I | vet But Cruden L already atichuc Vy to attack eh «a vard within lit « thee me “re pt which bore tf Dorchestes fortre im oth tia u . ecretly Cote i that lle mad no comment, however, on the chance fuvored him i an extr ‘ ! er’ ! ee, and torbore all ng rv, While he Mind you, now, | say nothing of my own h al l | read 1 lispateh of ¢ Proctor give you ot he conjpecture the mere whisp . ‘ ' post at Dorchester and the contiguous of others, and be you to beheve that 11 p my had been « tidenal judgment im reserve for more conclusive evidence ‘ l certa it t unfortunate atluir; but “1 don’t doubt that Proctor will acquit: himesell I do not see how Prox to blame Ile seems to before any court But have you any farther ad have done everyth n his power vices—no letters Phat is to be seen L hope », for your sake no None that relate to this athaur was the rather ‘than! But at is a matter of t serious a hesitating reply kind not to demand k nund seare! nquiry “ And what is it, Balfour, for Which you want me 1 r had 1 nh seve mien at the now ? post ( mwa py 1} rot at could be As cast of your office I w it uflord spared; and 1 ‘ t seem than if was sule to you an opportunity of exer yours« you spare new Vocation You must accompany me to D Viy dear trend, you are just m tl eceipt of a chester this very day Here is a memorand handsome appomtment trom Cornwa llow can particular Take your secretary With you The vou yose that he should err i! ary caleu estates of th rebel Walton are to be sequestered thon of tl rt? Llow suppose that the King of You shall take them on charge and admi te Creat Britain ean be persuaded of error at the Land ne on house furniture, men-servant and very moment which brings him advices of so great maid-servant, ox and a and such an equiy ° as “uv rot impossible! Come et us replen you Will seareely find anywhere int colour I he again filled the glasses Cruden drank am told that the Mad iin Walton irrets 1 hoe but deliberately; and while the blet was yet un oldest in the country Remember, there must be a fi ed, paused to say fair division of that spoil | have not insisted upon Ll wee, Ballour, my kinsman is to be sacrificed.”’ your merits to Cornwallis to be denied my reward Nuy, not so: we shall give him every opportu Besides, the stud of this rebel is said to be an nity of sa humselt On my honor, he shall not $ nificent one I know that Tarleton itched to tind a be pressed to the wall But you see for yoursell > plea for laying hands upon his blooded hor:« We

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must i ia Cruden la no mean vd unter h tal Up | is tae i i iW i \ rhitist re t | tj \ pliriase used by Ww it ‘ i ‘ i mysell Lh e tw ee hundred me ‘ \ i Ll been a ! um um {| ad a i t \ \W it, i | i uttol ve ! You w l I ! i l i t t ure i Ww, even shou ul tan ! \ \ i i { i 3 Phe pete W { N t i ‘ i rh ence Wa nd with a vii | ‘ ‘ ' | ( t " ‘ rm ! Vl t ‘ 1 fire | i ! W il proken { al apuin i Ve 1! ‘ { Iv ! | t ij ine ( dieu ern t ! ! veenu t | i I \ tient wi HX tl | I ‘ ed wit ! i " I » il iliimost l { \ I | ck i , | al ‘ \ ed the et \ ‘ hot 1 ath | | \ if { | , as a i i Ile was | ul , | ol neph ome u i jul 1 thie | ‘ don ri dl wi i rr w“ | i rel ! I re WV ‘ Lie h ed W I ‘ 1, ul t the i I " ‘ W first ul throwa ed \ | “ \ n 1 | \ \ ecu l ime " ! ‘ unt loulbst iy i 1 { t ! ! i ul \ i tlery only | ‘ ed rt i t hud been ere | | | ‘ a ale ! ‘ | tre | l 1 ‘ il i i! TT ‘ trom , , I ed | ‘ i CHAPTER Tl icf iT \ i ol \ I ! \ i i bore | ‘ é \ il ' ve | Thies ‘ it therm f i 1 ‘| feartul p ( ( ‘ 1 ‘ ! ! ‘ i Cn ; ltt fom ‘ if ‘ ‘ ' , ' t P } ' ‘ t ri \ ' | ‘ ! i { 1 ‘ ‘ ( \ ' east. 1 , “A ] t | ( | ‘ " ! ‘ I i i thin } \ | ern w " t l ‘ Ihr cle } i 1 ‘ if a j j I ! } 1 i tk ! Val a fou i re i ya sul t ‘ ‘ t ‘ t to all and W \ | | parties Wi! and | t equa re ed its

Page 32

il . V 1 A ‘ (a ¥ | It e t ee W t ‘ i pa yu "" . l (yret “ eve i ~ 1 ne 2 Ww Lu pers I ane j time best +} ] 4 , mean in = ck for ? ensual custo! a old Jat ca ! t he 1 was \ yé ort tt n h ur 1 ty resumed their route

¢ }

The ; | e ~t the | r rt rt ted

Page 33

after the arch of the brigade at a smart canter. A ride of tour hours brought them to Dorchester, Where, apprised of tf approach, the garrison was drawn out to receive them The pectacie that met the eyes of Balfour, in the smoking uins of the village, was well calculated to impress him with a serious sense of the necessity of a thorough investigation into the affair lie shook his head with great gravity as he said to Crudet ‘It will be well if your kinsman can acquit him- the responsibility of this aflair Proctor is flicer ; is quick, sensible, and brave; but I ‘ruden, I very much fear, that he has been

somewhat remiss this business And then the in tions Which are said to have existed

awkward rela between this rebel’s daughter and himself— ‘Stay said Cruden; * he approaches The next mo , Major Proctor joined the party, and offered the proper welcome He was a young man, not more than twenty-eight or thirty in appear- than ordinarily youthful to have ance ; and more arrived at the rank which he held in the service But he had been fortunate in his opportunities for distinction ; and, both in the conquest of New York and of Charleston, had won the special applauses of his superiors for equal bravery and intelligence His person was cast in a very noble mould. He was tall, erect, and graceful, with a countenance finely expressive; lofty brow, large and animated eyes; and features which, but for a stern compres- Ss, Might have appeare d eff minately sion of the 1 : t this time, his was marked by He conducted hi | \ ate gravity face handsome J an approp s Visitors the village, pe tt inting out the dig } were as few as possible; through scene of every isaction with nity and calmness important tra But reference to y his Ww and every the subject, naturally so painful, was influenced chiefly by considerations of duty to his superior When this examination of the field was ended, they made their way towards the fortress, at the entrance of which they found an officer in waiting, to whom Balfor eagerly, and in

accents mu less stately than tho-e which he employed in dealing with subordinates Captain Vaughan—for such was the name and title of this officer—met the eye of Proctor at this moment, and did not f to observe the dark scowl which over- shadowed it A sudden gleam of intelligence, l triumph, lighted up which did not seem without its g] | his own eves as he beheld it; and his lip curled with a smile barely pe cept bie to a sing'e one ot ‘ Beer the party Balfour just then called the young officer passed through the portals of the Pr Cruden, forward also;

forward, and t fortress together ctor motioned his kinsman, but the latter, twitching him gerly asked

by the sleeve, held him back as he « the question, in a whisper— “For God’s sake, John, what is all this? How are you to blame ?” 10* 113 * Only for having an enemy, uncle, I suppose.” “An enemy I thought so. But w Proctor simply waved his hand forward in the direction of Vaughan, whose retiring form was still to be seen following close behind Balfour ‘You will soon see Vaughan! But how can he hurt you? Why should he be your enemy ?”’ I am in his way somewhat; and—but not now, uncle Let us go forward They were soon a asst bled in Proctor’s quar- ters, Where dinner was in progress. Balfour had already renewed his draughts, enjoying, with a relish, the old Jamaica, of which a portly square bottle stood before him His beverage now was taken without the milk; but was qua d witha rather small allowance of cool water. The conver- sation was only casua It was tacitly understood that, for the present, the subject Most mm the mind of all parties was to be lett for future discussion Proctor did the honors with ease and grace. yet t lacked little « With a gray ity ol aspect tha reverily. Captains Vaughan and Dickson were of the com- pany—officers both belonging to the station—and Cruden contrived to examine, at intervals, the fea- tures of the former, of whom he knew but little, with the serutiny of one who had an interest in fathoming the character of him he surveyed. But Vaughan’s face was one of those inscrutable ones , and ol with » sort ol shows its surface only He ircumspect old sold fountain, of a dark which nothing its depths was not unaware Cruden’s watch—that « hi all his shrewdness and experience, being n match for the person, seemingly a mere boy, small of features, slight of figure, and with a chin that appeared quite too smooth to demand the reaping of a razor—whom he sought te fathom Yet those girlish features, that pale face, and thin, efleminate, and closed lips, were ihe unreveaiing representations of an intense ambition, coupled with a cool, de- liberate, almost icy temper, Which s¢ dom betrayed t<

ind never any of its secre Ilis eyes

impatience, smiled only, not his lips, as he noted the furtive serutiny which Cruden maintained At length, dinner was announced, and discussed Balfour was at he e at table Ile was a person to

do the honors for the 4ov vivant; and here, perhaps, lay some of the secret of his influence with Sir William Howe Fish from the Ashley, which glided beneath the walls of the fortress, and venison from the forests which spread away on every hand } ! within bowshot, formed the chiet dishes of the feast; and the Jamaica proved an excellent appetizer and provocative Wines were not wanting; and the commandant of Charleston very soon showed symp- toms which acknowledged their influence. Before the cloth had forgotten; and, rather abruptly, the affair of Wal-

been removed, his forbearance waa

ton’s rescue was brought upon the table “Tl tell you what, Proctor, this affair is decidedly unfortunate. Here you have seventy-six men in

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good men, not including invalids, and you send out a detachment of thirty only to escort this rebel Walton to the gallows. I must say, you might almost have expected what followed ‘Really, Colonel Balfour, I see not that. I send out half of my force, or nearly 80, to supe rintend 1 execution of @ single man One would suppose such a force suflicient for such a purpose. Was I to abandon the garrison entirely Had I done so, what might have been the consequences ? Instead of the mere rescue of the prisoner, the post might have been surprised and captured, with all its stores, and the garrison cut to pieces.”’ Scarcely, if the reported force of the rebels be true. They do not seem to have had more than twenty men in a ‘You w | permit me to ask, sir, how you arrive at this conclusion? lam not conscious of having made any definite report of the number of the rebels In this assault ‘No, Major observe, is a most Proctor; and this, I am sorry to unaccountable om ssion In your report You had the evidet I named Blonay, who distinctly ice ol @ Worthy loyalist, told you that they numbered only twenty men.” The deficiencies of my report. C nel Balfour, seem to have been particularly supp ed by other hand was the ironical ren ‘ Proctor, his eve glancing fiercely at Vaughan a he spoke ; “ but your informant is scarcely correct himself, sir, and has been too glad to assume, as a certainty, a report which was only conjectura Blonay stated dis- linctly that there were twenty men and more These were his very words. He did not say how many. His whole account was wretched!ly confused, since his mind seems to have been distracted be- difficulty of rescuing his mother from tween the the feet of the horse, by which she was really tram- pie 1 to death, and the desire of tal g revenge upon gle enemy, upon whom alone his eyes seem to been fixed during the affuir. This B have onay, Sir, miserab e He has on this occa- instead of being a worthy loyalist, is a wretch, half Indian, and of no worth at all an Indian passion for revenge, which al left him singularly ine: ile of a correct obser- sion, vation on any subject which did not involve the accomplishment of his passion. But, allowing that the rebels made their assault with but twenty men, it must be remembered that they etlected a surprise Ah! that was the reproach, Major Proctor; there was the error, in allowing that surprise ad But Balfour,’ said Cruden, “this seems to be quite unreasonable A detachment of thirty mon from the post, leaving but forty charge of it, gee to be quite large enoug That depends wholly on circumstances, Cru- den was the reply of Balfour. filling his glass. I etly, sir resumed Proctor and these cir- cumstances Were such as to ca Ik a guard for the no st r th that w h | assigned it. sornwallis LLIS OL Dt te een nnn ] ] te tally defeated the Camden Were of the rebels, in his rear, of rebel army at we to look for an effort \larion, e, had joined himself to the force of reason to suppose that this description Did we not know that with his brig Gates? and had we not every he had shared its fate? The whole country was in Lord Rawdon held Camden; Colo- Vottis, our possession nel Stuart was at Ninety-Six ; Watson’s, Monk’s C risoned by Orangeburg posts gar- scouts brought no ner, Quimby—all ourselves ; and our tidings of any considerable force of rebels embodied in any quarter.” I four. ‘ But the txzconsiderable,’’ answered Ba “They were scarcely provided against in a force of thirty men, led by a competent otlicer, who sealed his devotion with his life.” “Why did you not take command of the escort a0) yourself ?”’ queried Balfour. For a moment, an expression of strong disgust spread over the face of Proctor. But he replied, calmly— “It might be a sufficient answer to say, that such The command of the post at involved no obligation to assume the was not my duty Dorchester duties of a subordinate But | will express myself more frankly. I could not have assumed this duty without violating some of the most precious feelings of humanity. I had enjoyed the hospitality of Colonel Walton; had shared his intimacy; and cherished a real esteem for the noble virtues of that gentleman, which his subsequent unhappy rebellion cannot ob- literate from my mind. I could not have taken part in the terrible event of that day. I preferred, sir, as my duty allowed it, to withdraw from so painful a spectacle " soldier, sir those of tor—very sorry—not less for your sake, The has obligations to his king superior to “Ah! that was the error—the great error mere sentiment. I am sorry, Major Proc- than be- cause of the deep sympathy which | have with my i I t with Cornwallis so completely triumphant o riend, Cruden said Cruden, “ it strikes me that W ith his garrison «“ But, Balfour,”’ John’s course has been quite justifiable orce, he could not have detached from the nore than he did. as an escort tor the rebel’s execu- ion. And, under the circumstances of the country, tover Gates, and with our tro ps every where overawing every conspicuous point, there could be no reason to antici- were these things to be considered by th Now’’— “ My dear Cruden, all this sounds very vate such a surprise as this. well; and Inseives, I have no doubt the defence would be properly urged But I am afraid that an evil construction may be placed upon the deep sympathy which our young f ] t riend seems to have felt for the fam y of this re bel. le seems to have been a frequent visitor at Wal- m’s plantation | Walton was understood Only, sir, when Colone » be a friend of my king and «“ That be never was “Tle was adin i im our among

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« Do you think so, sir There would be nothing abominable about it, were there not a villain in the business.’’ “ And that villain’’— “Ts Vaughan! the servile tool of Balfour; the miserable sycophant, who fancies that ambition may be served by falsehood. But I shall crush him yet His triumph is for the moment only.” CHAPTER III. ‘¢1T°ll keep her to her stint; I’ll put her to her pension She gets but her allowance—that’s a bare one MIDDLETON Tue sun was still an hour high when Balfour gave instructions to prepare his horses and a small escort, pro a visit to the plantation called “The Oaks,’’ the domain of the famous rebel, Colo- nel Walton. *“ You will, of course, accompany me,

Cruden Your duties begin in this quarter. It is just as well that we should have this estate within our clutches as soon as possible, and before the alarm is taken We will quarter ourselves upon the young lady to- night, and see how the land lies Should she prove as beautiful as they describe, we shall make hera ward of the king, and dispose of her accordingly.”’ “In that event, you had best take her to the city “7 shall most surely do so.’ “7 shall certainly be better pleased to take charge of the plantation in her absence. Our authority might, otherwise, conflict. With the dawn, we must proceed to gather up the negroes, and fot this purpose I shall need your assistance. You will have a sufficient detachment with you ?”

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116 GODEY MAGAZI Twenty men will do There are some three hundred slaves, I understand, of all classes; and the fewer soldiers we employ in bringing these into the less heavy will be the assessment on the estate This was said with a grin, the meaning of which was perfectly understood by his associate Does my nephew accompany us, Balfour ? [ may need his assistance in the matter ‘You h ‘ ‘Yes; but John is a ready fellow at accounts— ught your secretary as quick with the pen as with the sword ;—besides, he knows something of the estate already, and may e some useful hints in respect to plate, horses, and other property, which these rebel women are apt t » conceal "7 Che plate generally finds its way into the cellar, or under some great oak-tree in the woods; but I have long been in possession of a divining rod, which conducts me directly to the place « sale-keeping We have only to string up one of the 1 family negroe ! with a tight knot under the left ear and a ttle uneasiness n breathing i soon dis- rges his secrets. But, in truth, these women It is usually at the very last hour that they consent to put away the plate, and then it is rather burried outof sight than hidden Il have sometimes detected the hoard by the ears otf a silver milk-pot, or the mouth of a coflee-urn, or the handle of a vase, sticking up unnaturally beside in old chimney in the basement nephew, and let us ride but, on the t Cruden proceedes expression of his wish, was met by a firm and prompt refusal How can you ask me, C nel part in this business? It is your duty, as the pro- per officer of the crown, and that is your apology. | should have none ‘I am afraid, John, you are quite too deeply inte- ested in this beauty Stop, sir; let us have nothing of s. Enough that Miss Walton can never be to me re than she is She is one always to co Vy respec and I beg that she will yours. For my sake, sir, admin- ter this unpleasant duty, upon which igo, With il Poss ble tenderness and forbea a I will, John, for your sake lo be sure I will And they separated—Balfour cla ¢ without impatiently, for his companion, w soon after nee i An easy ride of an hou eht them to the n nue, “ The Oaks,”’ wl 1 conducted for half a mile, to the entrance of Cx vel Walton’s dwe ng a stately, sombre wood the great, vene- rable trees arching and uniting completely over the space between, while their bearded mosses drooped to the very ground itself. The mansion was in a sivle of massive grandeur to correspond with so noble an entrance The approach of the British party was known to the inmates, even before it had These inmates consisted, entered upon the avenue now, only of Colonel Walton’s maiden sister, Miss Barbara—a lady of that certain age which is con- 1 in the calendar—when, sidered the most uncerta in fuct, the spinster Ceases to compute, even as she ceases to grow—and Katharine, the only daughter of the fugitive rebel himselt Kath: ne was stilla belle and a beauty, and youthful accord \ She might have been nineteen; and, but for the majestic and admirable form, the lofty grace of her carriage, the calm and assured expression of her features, the ease and d gnity ot her bearing—the fresh sweetness of her face, and the free, luxuriant flow of her long, ungathered locks, simply parted from her forehead, | } left at freedom upon her neck and shoulders— and , , , would have occasioned a doubt whether she was quite sixteen An obsequious negro, who rejoiced in the name of Bacchus, without making an exhibition of feature or conduct as would induce the suspicion that he was a worshiper at the shrine of that jo y divinity, received the British officers at the entrance, and ushered them into the great hall of the mansion. Their escort, having had previous it structions, was divided into two bodies, one occum ng the front avenue, the other that which led to the river, in the rear of the building. But two persons entered the house with Balfour and Cruden—Cap- tain Dickson, of the garrison, and one who kn the Walton family, and the secretary of Colonel Cruden. It was not long before the ladies made their ap- pearance. Though by no means disposed to waive any proper reserves ot the sex, they were yet pre- pared to recognize the policy which counseled them essary provocatio to give no undue or unne those to Whose power they could offer no adequate Mrs. Barbara Walton—the old maid in those days being always a mistress, through a resistance courtesy that could no longer regard her as a mz - } led the way into the hall, dressed in her stateliest manner, With a great hoop surrounding her as a sort of chevauz de frize frieze? a purely unneces- sary defence in the present instance—and her head surmounted by one of those towers of silk, gauzes, ribands, and pasteboard, which were so fashionable in that day, and which reminded one of nothing more aptly than of the rude engravings of the Tower of Babel in old copies of the Bible, done in the very infancy of art. Poor Mrs. Barbara was a tame g yod-natured creature, no wavs decided in her cha- racter, upon whom a foolish fashion could do no mischief, but who was always playing the very mischief with the fashions Thev never Were more military in character than in her hands—leading to conquest only by the absolute repulsion of a ants. Whether, at forty-five, this good creature fancied that it was necessary to put her defences ia the best possible array against such a notorious gal- lant as Balfour, we may not say; but certainly she never looked more formidable on any previous occa- sion. Her very smiles were trenches, pitfalls for the invader—and every motion of her person how- ever gracefully intended, s¢ emed like a “‘ warning to

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} —with a sig f “steel traps and P guns 1wa spassers I ss, the venerable ma ) might have large- ‘ ed the consider n of the B ers, t t ght « ature that appeared in ately 1 her; and who, witl any appearance of t j r doubt, quietly advanced and we ned g ngers, as Uo performing mnost fa ar n the world. Balfour : itely recoiled as held h So bright a vision had not often lla la ross Dis eyes 5 Jov 1e muttered, at the first pportunity to ( | she ¢s a beauty! What a figure!— what a f ' No wonder your kinsman neglected h du 3 for his love terially to chal your present m these Ww nvolve penalty and pr i 1 pl bable e < duct of present attituce 1uU detance a ot his 1 esty i nit the grac s overtures made to! ( wallis as by Sir H y ¢ p e that Wwe shou extend g ‘ As a rebe 1 arms Stay, sir! ou speak of my necessary that you should say any ter s € save What Is al ule s d know If I cones rig this visit, it 1s to Visit upon my fi

lence

whispered ( il she ects i rt } erty th

Page 38

form th \ i I 1e! watche Ww a tireless eye, {al 1 ith? overs reverTr r?r 1, > i I it n disa t 8 k the soul, rt 8 ; s \ t \ } w. 1 are ved woe en Ww ul est

challenge nothing but submission. As I have said already you are t mast nere , she ret | these W a “’Pon my soul, Cruden, 1 g is a princess With what a grace she yields! She seems no ways stubborn; and so beaut ful! It o ont ttol very difficult to thaw the heart of such a woman Chat she has not been won before, is because they have never sulfered her to come to the city But, by g uld the plate have followed the Che question is a serious one We shall see at supper Your k 11 t have said something of this matter, if he pleased. He must have seen, in his frequent visits, whether any display of plate | Ah! but he did too trequently for his 1;— but ri 2 t gentle nly negro B hus, tl ‘ him. Such a name seems pa ilarly suited to a butl [ think, ¢ en, you had bette send him to | e the fe y's 1 ers He

my man ¢ MI dy begs to tell you, sir, that supper waits.” Very well—show the way Did you ir that, Cruden ?—my lady! How these Provincials do ape nobility !” (To be continued.) But e car er his drooping art And ss gain ( nl Ler ‘ é \ 1 Cal ‘ i Is w un we > G " word, iy P " - W ‘ \ tone, W " ; ( . Goaskt I \ land 1 ss heart Who car s passions ¢ Who can Ww i ute nomed dart, Bid malice a revenge depart, And t i well If w " weak, then w ti ¢ no

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| fi] | j | / fi ( SS. on <— BY HARRY KaTE, my sprightly niece, like most young ladies of her age, has her own opinions on matters and things currently transpiring. She thinks ndepend- ently, and generally speaks what she thinks. Of course, her knowledge of human nature is not very deep; nor is she as wise in all her conclusions as

she is led to imagine I do not say this d sparag- ngly, for Kate has quite as good sense as nine in ten who have only numbered her years, which are about twenty-one. On one subject, Kate had, for a year or two, been The Valen- which has raged so violently, she particularly decided in her expressions tine epidemic, considered a social disease emphatically It was no healthy manifestation of right feelings, in her estimation As last St. Valentine’s day approached, and the store Windows and counters began to be filled with emblematic love missives of all kinds, from the

licate, and refined, down to the cheap est, coarsest, and most vulgar, Kate exhib ted more and more strongly her antipathy to the custom about to be honored. ‘If any one were to send me a Valentine,’ she, “I would take it as a direct insult to my * said com mon sense.’ “Oh, as for that,’’ I replied, vely overs are not so silly as to address the common sense ot those whose favor they desire to win ‘Whoever wins me,’’ was her prompt answer ‘must appeal to that. At no other point will I b accessible.’ 7 We shall see.’ ‘“ And we will see.’’ “T'll wager a new hat against a spring bonnet said I, “that you receive a Valentine this year froin a certain young man named——Never mind; d blush so; I won’t name him.”’

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I would discard any one who insulted me with a \ entine repil 1 Kate, ind rt intiy « Don’t say that, for fear you will have cause to repent the indiscretion Yes, Ido say it. No man of good sense would stool » such trifling I don’t know, Kate A little trifling, now and ther sre shed by the best of men s rhyme, which does not always go hand in | | with reason.” You'll grow wiser, Kate, as you grow older.’ If that is the kind of wisdom ag ngs, I'm sure [ don’t want it I answered with a laugh, for to be grave on such a theme was not in me As the fourteenth ap- proached, Kate frequently repeated her expressions of « ist at the silly custom of sending Valentines iat had become so popular, and declared, over and over again, that such a liberty with her would be taken as a direct insult, and resented accordingly Ar the visiting acquaintances of Kate, was 1 Vv r man named Loring, for whom, I could see, sh 1 kinder feelings than for any other male friend; but, either in consequence of a natural re- he was in doubt as serve i cn iter, or because to Kate’s sentiments regarding ise he never seemed perfectly at ease in her company, though he sought it on every proper occasion I had him in my mind when | suggested the re« n of a Valen- tine from a certain young man, and Kate understood me yx riec \ Well, Valentine’s day came round At dinner- time, I came home as usual, and almost the first word my wife said to me was “ What do you think? Kate's received a Valen- tine ‘Indeed '”’ It’s true ’ + It came by the Dispatch Post. I re- ceived it at the door, and sent it up to her room.” ‘‘ Have you seen her since ? ‘No.’ “ Of course, she’s particularly indignant.”’ I don’t know anything alx handsome one, I infer, from tl id it hard, a breastpin or a bracele ut that It was a size and envelop; I took 1e and hi in something which for jewelry ‘« Where do you think it came from ?’’ said I. “]’ve guessed young Loring,”’ answered my wife. If he has sent it, he has committed a great mis- take I re Pp “d ‘You know Kate’s antipathy to Valentines.”’ «“ Young talk really knowing what they say ladies often a great deal without and Kate is not alto- Wile W hen the bell from her 1 gether free from the fault,”’ said my enough assented to this I readily rung for dinner, Kate came down yom Her face did not join in the conversation with her accustomed was rather more sober than usual, and she e table. said I to animation. She was first to retire from y offended, «“ T don’t think she is mortal] my Wile. PPPL LLP LLLP PAP DDD eee ‘No, not if I am skilled in mental indications, was replied the During afternoon, two or three more love missives came; but not a word touching their re- ception, or the fee produced thereby, was nes breathed by Kate. It was plain, however, to one with even half an eye, that she was pleased at the tention, or, it might be, token of love mark of at Evening instead of being passed as usual with the by Kate in her room at breakfast-table, I Valen- he day family, Was spent On the next morning, the + mentioned the fact that a certain number of tines had passed through the post-otfice on t bet and call out This was in order to introduce the but subject, re from Kate ; she re- though some remark mained silent on the subject, not without indicating, by her heightened color and restless eye, that her thoughts were busy enough ‘] rather think said I, our young lady has changed her opinions,” smi after Kate had left the ing, table. « Circumsta kn w,’’ re plied cases, you my Wile, smiling in turn On the next evening, young Loring called in Kate was longer than usual in making her appear- ance, and when she came into the p r, Was dressed with more than ordinary care. For the first time, I noticed on her wrist a new and beautiful bracelet She blushed, slightly, as she met Loring; seemed a little embarrassed, but was soon convers- ing with him in an animated style * Did you see that new bracelet ?’’ asked my wile, when we were next alon “7 did.” «“ Where did it come from?” « Didn’t you say that in one of the Valentines she received there was something hard, like a piece of jewelry?” “Yes.” «“ That bracelet «“ No doubt of it probably ‘And, moreover,” said I, “it is plain that she believes the Valentine came from Loring; for, at her first meeting with him, she wears it tor the first time , “ Thus,”’ ves the token kindly remarked my wife, “notifying him that she rece I laughed aloud, for I could not help it ‘Why do you laugh ?”’ asked my wife “She was going to discard any one who insulied her witha Valentine !”’ That was idle talk I’ve heard such things said be fi re.”’ Two or three evenings went by, and Loring came again. Since his former visit, the new bracelet had not been seen. Now it was worn again. As we knew the young man well, and liked him the better the more intimately we knew him, we saw no im- propriety In leaving the young coupie alone in the pari r. marked change in From that time, there was a my niece. She was less sprightly and more absent-

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minded than usual. Next, her appetite failed her, and she began to grow thin and lose her color—sure signs of a heart disease. Meanwhile, Loring was a constant visitor; and whenever he came, the bracelet was displayed, evidently in token that she knew from whence it came, and wished its full received a At last, I formal visit from the young man, and a formal offer acceptance to be understood. hand of Kate. Of course, I had no objec- That matter was, in my mind, already for the tions to urge fully settled. After that, the bracelet aforementioned was always it Was to be seen on the arm of Kate. One evening, about a month before her wedding-day, as I sat talking with Kate, for whom had always been as tender as that of a father for his child, I took brace let— my aflection her hand, and said, as | examined the “That is very beautiful.”’ “ Yes, I have always admired it very much,”’ she replied, the color growing warmer in her cheeks. “A love-token, I presume ? And as I said this, I looked at her archly. The hue of her cheeks became still deeper “A Valentine ?’’ I added The blood mounted to her temples. ‘But it was not an ordinary Valentine. It did not come from a trifler, and was not received as an insult. I thought you were not the girl, Kate, to reject a sincere offer.”’ Kate blushed still more deeply. ‘* This little love-token, dear Kate, is for thee: ” Accept it, and keep it, and wear it for me As I repeated this couplet, the young girl started with surprise, and looked with inquiring earnestness in my face ‘But smile, and a voice I'm afraid, Kate,’ said I, with a meaning half-regretful in its tone, “ that you wore it less for the real than for an imaginary giver.”’ She did but looked at me more earn- not reply, estly, while a sudden light appeared to break upon her mind ‘ Dear uncle,’ said she, at length, bending to- wards me, “ had you seen this bracelet before you saw it on my arm?” ‘Yes, love,’’ was my tenderly spoken reply; and I pressed her pure forehead with my lips as | spoke. ? ‘ And you sent it She seemed half breathless as she awaited my reply. a Yes, dear - She covered her face suddenly with her hands, for some moments. In a little and sat motionless while, | saw a tear come stealing through her fingers. My feelings were touched, for I teared lest I had done violence to hers by this little confession of the truth. But, ere I had looked for composure of mind, she withdrew her hands from her face, on which aflectionate smile shone like a rainbow amid the parting drops of a summer shower, and an said, as she arose— “ Henceforth, I will wear it for the real giver Bending to kiss me, she left a tear on my cheek, and then glided from the room On her wedding night, Kate wore her Valentine bracelet; and lam weak enough to believe—if the sentiment may be called a weakness—that she prized it even more highly than if Loring himself had been the giver. a eo a ~~ a? dad r BY W. G Brieut stars are not for ever bright, Clear skies for ever clear ; But sun and shade, and bloom and blight, The glow of day and gloom of night, The bridal and the bier! First Childhood, with its wondering eye Undimmed by grief or care, Sports gay the summer streamlet by, Where young flowers blossom but to die Amid the autumn air Youth changes swift to Manhood’s prime, Days glide like shadows o’er; How like a dream of sunny clime, Passeth life’s spring and summer time, To glad the heart no more! VOL. xL.—11 BROWN. Stern Manhood, with his burnished brand, Half carves his name on high ; The steel rusts in his withering hand, While his hopes perish, that were planned Of deeds too great to die Age, from the tomb of buried years, Calls back the shadowy past ; A checkered scene of smiles and tears Of vanished hopes, of griefs and fears Gone like a dream at last But let them pass—the flying hours Of morn and noon and even; For cloudless skies and fadeless flowers, Lone pilgrim, soon we know are ours, In yonder changeless heaven.

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LO I THOMA Ou! if there is on earth a perfect \ iss unstained by this world’s gross allio it earthi ys approach, or e’er attain ['o that bright bliss we’ll know when born again ris in the calm delights we feel when ne Some being held above all others dear rhe very air her presence doth refine Near her, the sun doth warmer seem to shin On rosy wings, whole hours like moments fly rhe earth seems fairer, and more bright the sk. Each pleasure, doubled, doth more pleasing seem; Our life becomes one happy, heavenly dream ; And man, with heart all filled with peace and love, First tastes the cup that angels quaff above rhe wandering feet of t ightless, gi vu hou aid’st, oh! Love, to keep the paths of truth Life’s rocks and breakers teachest them to shur With soft, endearing words and gentle tor And when dark clouds would veil the light ot day, Thy beacon still illumes the lonely way Still shinest on with soft, unflickering ray How ess, then, how dreary must be life Q Unblest by Love! with weariness how rife rhat man’s existence who ne’er knows the sweet, Ethereal joys of lovers when they meet Who ne’er hath heard some rosy lip contess , In him is centered all its happiness; Who ne’er hath seen some maiden’s dark, sott eye, Grow darker, sotter—when he said ** Good-by With rising tears, nor heard her heaving sigh ; Who ne’er hath clasped some white and tre ¢ hand, Nor had his cheek by some fair breather fanned Who owns no flower nor lock, when far away 2 From her who gave it, to reeall the day Q 2

When that mute token of her love was given Before no witness save himself and heaven; Who ne’er hi At each slight tribu Nor read w The tale its lid would modest ith seen the ec r mount some cheek te that his lips did speak, ithin some bright, bew itching «¢ ye ly deny; Who ne’er hath sat beside some purling stream And, as be listened, s y seemed to dream, Or breathed his love into the willing ear Of some estray from heaven, that, wandering there, Pronounced, in accents low, some blessed word, like heavenly rth Falling, When o And watching music sometimes heard,

e earth is hovering balmy

sleep angels their pure vigils keep ; Who ne’er hath stolen round some tapering waist His arm, in eager but in graceful haste, And, as he swept the curls back from her brow the solemn vow - sealed, + to come, at rosy evening’s close, Gave then, in silence * * But, oh! To that pure altar where you pay y« And find the Gazing on some m * * * * ur VOWS, priestess, With a smile more tair, re favored votary there; To see the foot-piece of thy worshiped shrine, Pressed by a knee, where none had knelt but thine To see the m fondly ealled your own, gem yi And thought had never for another shone— The gem you valued al Sparklin ove all the rest— gu 1 rival's breast; pon some hater To see thy beacon false retuse to shine, Save on one path, and yet that path not thine w ; this the o’erwhelming gricf This, For which earth hath no this 1s sorre balm, no blest relief ;— Earth’s joys then no kindred joys awake, And naught is left the full heart but to break ! ~_— + s2ee » — mmr Ee tm Tenney oO A Bivun F THE HISTOR F . on - ATT “7 om DEATH OF I IS XIV. TO COMPILED FROM THE F B A MANTTt THE DIRECTORY AND CONSULATE Fasuion did not, because it could not, perish; and the termination of the Reign of Terror saw it resume is power over costume. We will pass over the Saturnalia of the Goddesses of Reason during the directory or regency of the Republic After the 9th of Thermidor, the women of France would naturally have returned to the old costume, but for the circumstance that the mistresses of the jilet were not members of the old court. The soci- ety of bewitching marchionesses was diffused over 99 RENCH

TMmArAT Tm Rom r rm aT, hi Th ; ef PR wWAL .< pT ait BS @ Bar UR OWN DAY: AUTHORITIES AMAKER

all Europe, and a coterie altogether new had replaced them. Under the influence of republican ideas, the spirit of imitation of the Greeks and Romans was carried to great excess. The passion of one great painter for antiquity was everywhere visible in the new costumes. David arranged costumes for the great functionaries, uniforms for the army, and was When men dressed like senators, women, as a consequence the master of ceremonies of the Republic could not bedizen themselves like marchionesses and ladies in waiting. This influence was not however unresisted; for many of the youth of both

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A SKETCH \r fF TT - Wma T E . y ae 12: 4 i h A 1 i u 4 ‘ ~~ oe n RAAA PPOLRPPPODP PPO sexes still continued, to a degree, to imitate the old this character, and the wearer was known as a regime. The following represents a costume of merverileure. It will be seen that all traces of’ the defensive armor have disappeared, and that great abandon pervades the whole air and manner

The classicists were divided into two sects. The Athenians were the simplest in attire. They wore merely a narrow robe and under garments cut very low, without sleeves, and covered the neck with a mere fillet of red woolen. The hair was simply knotted behind, and the shoes were ordinarily otf red morocco, laced like the dramatic buskin. As pockets were out of the question, the article called by the French a reticule, and by the English an tn- dispensable, was introduced. The Romaines were § the rivals of the Athenians, and the familiars of the fine powers of the Luxembourg Of these, the } presiding superiors were Madame Tallien and the , ez-vicomptesse, Who was destined soon to becom«e an empress. The rich material of the days of Mar- cus Aurelius were revived This extravagance however, never extended to the middle classes Attendant of the Romatnes was the famous Jen d re The following costume, taken from a portrait of Madame Vigre-Lebrun by David, now in the mu

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of that day, and, though differing materially, seem bon-ton. vach to have been of equally The bonnets are what were called casques a la seum of Rouen, will give the best idea of one of the Athentennes Costumes continued, however, various, and there was far less uniformity of dress than during the old Minerve and chapeauzx de la Venus—reflexions of ving are all taken from portraits > the career of the warlike Republic. ' TELL iN Zz sas ee a ee

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art BY ONE THERE was an unusual excitement in the streets of Cooper’s Landing, a little town on the Hudson It but for not all all River, not many miles from Newburgh is down in any map or panorama, it is true ; thai it has its sloops, its tow-boat, its groceries, and it of places of resort that the stir we speak < last-mentioned rf It was a very nice resting-place for tra- its hotels. Was at one the com- menced wooden edifice, with its velers, this same white, green blinds and shady piazzas. Moreover, it re- joiced in “ double parlors,’”’ in one of which stood a mahogany piano of doubtful tone, which, by the way, was kept locked, when children were staying there, by the careful landlord. This he explained to a lady visitor, who had inquired for the key, adding, ,/e instrument, and he didn’t like h that “ it was a va/ to have it ruinated ;’’ after which he complimented his visitor on her songs, gallantly saying, “ she had exactly the right heft of voice.”’ But that has little to do with our tale, except that these elegant apartments of the “Cooper House”’ were thronged with visitors, one fine October morn- ing in the last year. However, they were doomed to disappointment ; at least, all but Mrs. Bench—the wife of Judge Bench, and the mistress of the finest house in town. She had been beforehand with the whole party, and she now appeared from one of the three private parlors on the second floor, and announced to the anxious and expectant group, that ‘Miss BreEMER was too much fatigued with her ride to see any one this morning, but had promised, to lect who were to be with the greatest condescensio”. meet a sc her house that evening, of the appearance at Cooper’s Landing.” circle at assembled in honor distinguished lady’s Here, then, is the key to the intense excitement that caused the ladies of the place to assemble in the parlor, the men in the bar-room, and the boys on the front piazza of the Cooper House. Early that morning, a light “‘covered buggy,’ driven by a boy some sixteen years of age, had ar- rived at the hotel. Mine host, with his usual polite- ness, assisted a middle-aged lady to alight from it, and ushered her in with one of his most profound bows. But his civility was exchanged to an over- powering demonstration of regard, when a young law student, who was hanging about the bar, read the names soon recorded in the register in an awk- ward, schoolboy hand— Hiram PowE Lt, Jr., Mrs. FreprIcKA BREMER, and informed his fellow loungers that the distin- 11* WHO Pe nee guished Swedish authoress was actually dst W hat made the “ Newburgh Republican” mi the conclusion more certain was, that had announced e torially, the past week, that Miss Bremer was pay- ing a Visit to a gentleman of that place, well-known for his and liberality The editor, with that taste peculiar freedom which distinguishes the “ Ameri- can press,’ gave a description of her personal ap- pearance ; and this was now hunted up, and mine host made an express trip to the parlor to compare notes, after the passport or thief-taking fashion ‘She sutting/y ain’t tall,’’ was his report; “and she’s got on a cap. I couldn’t get a good look at her and I reckon she’s about the desired age All regretted they eyes; This was regarded conclusive had not cross-questioned the charioteer, who had 1 driven on immediately, saying he would be back at nightfall for the lady, who had concluded to stop, as she was not very well, until his return from the p for now, how- next landing. There was no he it and Judge Bench tilted his chair down to the feet f1 the ever floor, thumbs the tront window-sill, and ol took his om from arm-holes his vest, and his walked up at a brisk trot—for him—to inform his lady-wife. The Columbus of this discovery, Byron Olmstead, Esq., as he wrote his name (who, though ‘‘admitted” for a bar meantime, as he did not expect to be year yet, practiced at the hotel most law students commence life), hurried off to some young ladies of his acquaintance. Others caught the story ; and, by ten o’ciock, all Cooper’s Landing was aware that a /ive authoress Was among them Mrs. Bench was what is commonly called “a quick woman.’’ She put aside the letter she was writing for the Home Journal, to which she con- of “ Lillias Griene,’ tributed under the signature and the personification of a young and extremely in- ot natural scenery, the fine arts, Cole’s pictures, anc teresting girl, who recorded her impressions forest walks, in the most arch and waive style im- aginable. Indeed, it is said several sophomores fel! desperately in love with the fair unknown, and pro- Her ad- mirers were destined to wait another week, how- posed for her under cover to Mr. Willis. ever, on this important occasion; for, quick as thought, she had resolved to secure Miss Bremer for a sotrée, to be held at her house, in humble imita- tion of the literary reunions which her favorite journal described so glowingly. She had thought of half the company by the time her hair was disengaged of curl-papers; the rest were decided on while her bonnet and mantilla were 125

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26 5 AZ urranged ; and before she reached the Cooper House she already had shadowy views of future celebrity based upon this entertainment. She would write a description of it for the Home Journal : half-formed paragraphs floated through her brain, as— ‘Can I describe to you—you, who have known so many of the bright stars in the literary galaxy— half the rapture, the transport I felt on standing, for the first time, in the presence of this illustrious wo- man? All my childhood’s dreams,”’ ete. etc And, better still, might not Miss Bremer allude to her hospitality in her next novel, or in the volume ] of travels she was, of course, intending to write? It was so like a great authoress, to travel in this plain Miss mingle way ; she had heard Bremer came to see the people of America, to with them ;—but how came she to select Cooper’s Landing? Could it be possible? It must be!—she had heard of “ Lillias Griene,’’ and had come to welcome her to author- land land ! Such was the busy soliloquy that quickened Mrs. Bench’s steps, lest any one should be before her W hat a triumph over the Woods, who had taken such airs in the summer, because Mrs. Osgood passed a day with them! How the Bells, whose cousin knew Fanny Forrester, would hide their diminished Vir. Gibson d often met heads! How fortunate that was still at his sister’s, Mrs. Morrison’s, for he hi Mr. Griswold, and once dined with “ Boz’? (at a table dhote, though this was not generally men- tioned). Yes, fortune favored her, and the happy and excitement as she entered the parlors before alluded little Woman was m a perfect fever of delight to But Miss Bremer had, meantime, been accommo- dated with a private parlor by the obliging landlord, and thither was Mrs. Bench ushered by two waiters and a chambermaid, all of Whom were anxious to catch a glimpse of the authoress ; for they, too, had read “Harper's Popular Library’’—that valuable collection in brown-paper covers. We will not enter into details of that interview, interesting as it would doubtless prove, but return with Mrs. Bench to the assembly of ladies, who, by this time, had hastened to pay their respects to the stranger. With what triumphant satisfaction she announced the acceptance of her invitation to the Bells, two maiden sisters, who had never married—Byron Olm- stead declared—because no man ever knew them apart long enough to be sure which one he was pro- They were always in balf-mourning for Mrs. W ood and as crestfallen as could posing to the death of some distant relative her three daughters were have been desired, for they had come with similar designs upon Miss Bremer ; although, not being of so daring a temperament as Mrs. Bench, they had only planned a tea-party. Mrs. Morrison, on the strength of her brother’s intimacy with so many lions of the day, had thought of asking her to drive out with that gentleman and herself, in one of the Mr. three carriages owned in Cooper’s Landing Olmstead’s friends, the Lords, were satisfied with to the took to circulate the hasty notes which Mrs. Bench not an invitation sotrée, and delightedly under- Was to dispatch to those of the * first families” present. They were amiable girls, not long from Miss Willard’s boarding-school at Troy, where they had Dickens, and Miss Bremer, more deeply At present, they ‘ doated”’ on Jane Eyre, and were in love with that studied Bulwer, than the classics divine Rochester ‘Now I must tell you about this, girls,”’ said Mrs. Bench, as she hurried home between them. ‘She isn’t handsome.”’ ‘Who? Miss Bremer?’ said Anna Lord “ There, that’s another thing. I had them bring me the register while I waited in the parlor, and I see she has had her name put down as Mrs. Bremer Now, you know, it’s a European fashion that ladies of a certain age are called Mrs.”’ Mrs. Hannah More,” * Precisely. Now put everybody in mind of this. “O yes; suggested Ellen. And for yourselves, my loves, let her see that there are some people, even in this remote part of the country, Who are accustomed to European styles. Talented as you are, Anna’’— ‘O, Mrs '*? exclaimed the blushing girl. “ Yes, my dear, for Lines toa worthy of Miss Landon herself. Bench I re peat Bs your * Dy ing Snowdrop’ are You should try to make a favorable impression.” Mrs. literary reputation, could afford to be generous to so humble Bench, being so sure of her own a rival « Indeed, Anna, I have serious thoughts of inclos- ing that poem to Mr. Willis, with a note of admira- tion—of introduction, I mean, from myself;’’ and here she entered the garden-gate, leaving the young cirl overwhelmed with grateful emotion Mrs. Bench was a busy woman that day. For- tunately, as she had often heard no refreshments were offered at literary reunions—the company being expected to satisfy their hunger “with the feast of reason,’ and quench their thirst in “ the flow of soul’’—there was not much to be looked after in the kitchen department. Mrs. Bench, being hospitably inclined, and, moreover, having the prettiest cake- baskets in town, and a new set of lemonade-glasses, could not bring her mind to dispense with all re- freshments; but it was easy to buy up all the stock on hand at Newton’s, the baker’s, and to get a dozen bottles of lemon syrup at the apothecary’s. The arrangement of her rooms, however, cost her more thought and anxiety. Her own apartment was given up as a ladies’ dressing-room, much to the discomfiture of the Judge, who had to take his after- noon nap in the “ spare chamber,”’ one story higher, and who had an aversion to sleeping in strange beds. The toilet-cushion her sisters had made at her marriage (it bore an unaltered inscription in pins, «“ To Angeline. May you be happy !’’) was paraded conspicuously on the dressing-table, which had a fresh and a vase of chrysanthemums and life everlastings. The best Marseilles counterpane dimity cover,

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was brought out, and ruilled pillow-cases completed the decorations of the apartment. And now for the parlors. Mrs. Bench was deter- mined they should be relieved of all stiffness, and graceful and evince, by their tout ensemble, the mistress. The sofas were wheeled the grouped with artistic skill in the most unlikely posi- tasteful hand of their into angles with wall; the chairs tions for well-bred mahogany chairs to assume ; the curtains were looped back with studied carelessness ; and the piano opened and strewed with sheets of music To crown all, the centre-table was loaded with engravings, the journals and magazines of the day ; while Miss Bremer’s works, in one volume, bound in muslin, with a portrait, occupied a con- spicuous place. All this she surveyed with an air of satisfaction ; the good Judge looking on and con- gratulating himself on his wonderful good fortune in having secured such a miracle of refinement and taste in a wife; and then, as the shadows lengthened, Mrs. Bench “ the kitchen, before toilet Nor was the mansion of Judge Bench the only one rested’’ herself with tea and toast in she commenced her elaborate that exhibited marks of hurry and excitement. Young ladies were making impromptu head-dresses, and cleaning soiled white kid gloves with bread crumbs or India-rubber ; matrons selected their most impos- ing caps and collars ; and every one, from the invited guests to the young ladies of the various mantua- making establishments, and the clerks at the grocery Half the population of the town had occasion to pass the store, were talking of Miss Bremer’s arrival. Cooper House just at the dinner hour, and many were the curious glances directed towards the din- But all in vain, the lady was invisible ; having her roast- ing-room Windows, which opened on the street beef and custard-pie in her own room, at the polite suggestion of the landlord. Miss European hours, could not be expected to arrive at Of course, Bremer, being accustomed to the sorrée before eight in the evening ; but many of the townspeople were already there when the Judge, armed by a note of introduction from his wife, was dispatched to escort her from the hotel. “« Does she speak German ?”’ inquired Mr. Gibson, who had a commercial knowledge of that language Oh, of course; but her English is excellent; a little accent perhaps, but no more than a Connecticut woman has to us New Yorkers. I was surprised to find itso. I suppose her French is equally good. I have been told by travelers’ —(a German music teacher, dear reader)—*“ that, on the Continent, both languages are considered indispensable to a genteel education.’ ‘Now you have the advantage of us, Anna,’”’ she continued, to Miss Lord. I shall expect you to entertain Miss “ Your accent is purely Parisian Bremer in French; and if Mr. Gibson speaks Ger- man, she will have an exalted idea of the general diffusion of education among all classes in America, which is only proper.” a 3 LANDING 127 “How fortunate Byron Olmstead noticed her the hotel a week, Lord “If she had only written it herself, | should have begged name; she might have been at and not have seen a soul,’’ said Ellen that leaf of the register for my collection of auto- graphs.” “ Don’t asked a very young lady meet her, Mrs. Wood?” “I fairly tremble to think you dread to of being in the presence of one I have heard so much of.”’ > said Mrs. Wood, with an air of studied “This feeling «“O no,’ indiflerence soon wears off, when you come to know authoresses and authors inti- mately, as I have done. One finds they are only at the best Uncle Thomas wrote men and women We are quite a lite- rary family. My great voyages to Botany Bay, or some of those places ; his and my husband has a cousin who published a volume of poems year before last—‘Lays of Wounded Affections’—have you ever seen it? But, just at this moment, the company were ¢7 muse ; for Judge Bench walked into the room with an air of sublime gravity on his round, good-natured face, and on his arm leaned the lady of whom they spoke Many hearts beat quickly, and some few, who truly appreciated the natural and touching tales of Swedish life by which Miss Bremer has endeared herself to many a stranger heart, could have grasped her hand with true Swedish cordiality, and called her “thou.”’ But, for a time, she was engrossed by her hostess, and the guests had leisure to “ look their fill."?. She seemed a plain, unassuming, middle- aged lady, dressed in a black silk, with a cap trim- med with white satin ribbon. She wore no gloves, and seemed a little ill at ease as she glanced around upon the crowd of strange faces, every eye turned upon her with anxious scrutiny. Ellen Lord Mrs thought you expected a few friends sociably Bench: “I [ did heard her say to not know it was a party.” family We Americans are the Make yourself I am sorry Mr. Powell did “Oh, it is a mere gathering, I assure you, Miss—Mrs. Bremer. | the world. most social peopie in quite at home, I beg not return in time for us to have the pleasure of his company.” “Yes, he ought to have come back an hour ago. But boys are boys; and he’s a careful driver, so I’m easy about him.” “What a Anna Lord to Byron Olmstead’s fellow-student, Mr. ‘‘ Her very air breathes the benevolence of benignant countenance!’’? murmured Riggs. her nature.”’ ‘Oh, Anna,”’ returned the youth, “be always thus confiding. I love to look thus into your inner life, though the crowd do not comprehend the depths and richness of your nature.” ‘‘ No one but you has ever understood me,’’ mur mured the pensive girl, still lower than before ‘I am dying to hear her speak,” said Ellen to Miss Martha Bell. ‘See, Mrs. Bench is introduc-

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W hat an air Mrs sne buys all her ing sister Anna and Mrs. Wood. Wood puts on!—I detest her. dresses in New York; our stores are not good enough for her.”’ said Mrs. Bench, “ self away, dear lady, for a little while, having intro- “ And now,” I must tear my- duced my most particular friends to you Miss Elien Lord, Mrs. Bremer; Mr. Olmstead, Mr. Gib- son. I shall try to persuade Miss Agnes Bell to give us a little music, and then I shall call upon you, my dear, for that charming duet— Take them, I be- seech thee ‘** ¢ T implore thee,’ Mrs. Bench ; it’s from Norma,”’ said Ellen Lord, blushing at the sound of her own voice in such an august presence ‘“Tt’s of no consequence as to terms, my dear; half the world are quarreling about words now-a- days. But,” and here Mrs. Bench stooped down and whispered, as if concluding the sentence, “] forgot to tell you that Miss Bremer does not like to talk about her own works; at least, she ailects not to understand any allusion I make to them. Besides, she’s a little deaf, I discover; so When you see a kind of surprised look, speak a little louder.’ As Miss Bremer had turned away to answer a question asked by the Judge, this information was speedily circulated through the little group around her. By this time, Miss Bell had been persuaded to ‘favor the company,” and being of a rather anti- quated school of music, the Storm Rondo soon drowned all attempts at conversation. Variations on the Swiss Boy, by her sister, followed, and beth being eight pages long, by the time they had finished refreshments were announced. Miss Bremer declined the lemonade, but seemed to enjoy the very nice cake. The conversation pro- gressed in monosyllables. Lemonade is not usually very inspiring ; but it seemed to rouse the suspende d animation of Byron Olmstead, who observed to the authoress, with a most insinuating look— ‘I cannot tell you how much your ‘ Neighbors’ charmed me.”’ «“ Yes,”’ was the reply ; “ I must say, our neighbor- hood is exc “nt “How well she turns it off!’? whispered Ellen. « But I must tell her, for all that, how Nina won my heart.”’ “That dear Bear.”’ continued Mrs. Wells, a young married lady; “I have called my husband ‘ Bear’ ever since. He has just the doctor’s expression.”’ ‘A very strange taste,’ said Mrs. Bremer, as if determined not to understand. But Anna, who thought she saw a secret satisfaction concealed in this, responded— «“ My passion was that charming ‘ H. Family ;’ the Judge’s wife is perfect.” ‘She seems to be a most excellent woman,’’ re- turned Miss Bremer, kindly. «“ The modesty of true genius,’ whispered Ellen, again: and here, as the servant returned with the cake-basket, her sister saw an excellent opportunity for her French. >. ~~ “ Voulez-vous avoir un. gateau ?” s 1e inquired, fresh from *“* Olendorf’s Method.’ Ellen noticed the puzzled look Mrs. Bench had spoken of, and motioned to her sister to speak louder “ Wollen Sie etwas Kuchen nehmen?’’ vocife- rated Mr. Gibson. By means of sundry gestures towards the cake- basket, Miss Bremer at last understood that she was expected to help herself again, and did so accord- ingly ; while Anna sunk into mortified silence at her bad pronunciation, to which she attributed the slow- ness of comprehension. After having collected the lemonade-glasses from the ladies, and deposited them on the piano (where every one made a ring on the mahogany, which kept Mrs. Bench rubbing an hour the next day), Mr. Riggs ventured his first remark, in a confidential undertone— “ We are literary ourselves, in a small way, Miss Bremer. My friend, Mr. Olmstead, writes charm- ing poetry. You should see his ‘ Leaves from Lil- lian’s Album.’ Number twenty-eight was published in the Herald of Freedom last week. Miss Anna is our poetess, and will write for the best magazines next year. Oh, as Dickens so aptly says of the amiable Miss Pecksniff, ‘she is indeed a gushing thing. To know her as I know her!’”’ and he clasped his hands in an ecstasy of admiration, and looked up to the ceiling with an earnest gaze “Oh, Mr. Riggs!’? was all that the delighted Anna could articulate, at this compliment from her lover, for such he was. While Byron Olmstead declared, in a manner which he meant should be particularly disembar- rassed, “His poetry !—oh, it was mere nonsense: trifles which amused his leisure hours in the midst of intense application to graver pursuits.” Mr. Rig; ‘You must give me permission— painful as I s returned to the charge. know it is to a sensitive nature to listen to its own praises—to thank you, profoundly, in behalf of my many thousand countrymen and countrywomen, who have read Harper’s Select Library, for the exquisite gratification which, as my friend Byron has often remarked, your ‘ Brothers and Sisters’ afforded us.”’ ‘‘ Indeed,”’ returned the lady, apparently overcome by this unexpected tribute, “I did not know that you were acquainted with our family. I said to Mrs. Bench, this morning, ‘Mrs. Bench, your warm hospitality to a stranger I shall never forget.’ ”’ ‘* You a stranger ?’’ ejaculated Miss Martha Bell. ‘‘ America opens her arms to you,’’ responded Mr. Riggs, metaphorically. Mrs. Bench came at this moment to claim the duet; and, as the young ladies were considered wonderful vocalists, and could rarely be persuaded to give this celebrated duet, the beaux followed them to the piano, leaving the circle about the lioness comparatively thin Miss Martha Bell remained seated on the sofa by her. She had burned for this opportunity of ex-

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ere OY eee pressing Aer admiration, and lost no time in doing so ‘‘ Every one has their favorite, you know,”’ said she, “and I confess the ‘ President’s Daughter’ is mine.”’ ‘*How many daughters has General Taylor?’’ re- turned her listener, innocently ‘I suppose, if you go to Washington this winter as, of course, you will, when Congress meets), you will have the pleasure of an introduction to them. But your * President’s Daughter—— Miss Martha Bell never spoke very distinctly. Miss Bremer had not comprehended. Miss Martha tried another tack ‘‘T suppose you enjoy writing very much ?”’ “JT can’t say Ido. I always make Jane write my etters ‘And yet you have given the world so much pleasure by your bo« ‘I’m always willing to lend what books we have, ever care much but none of my peop about reading.”’ They do not deserve you, Miss Bremer But I have often heard that ‘a prophet is not without honor save in his own country and among his own So have I,” returned the lady, as if a little puz- zied to see how the quotation could be applicable to her And then, suddenly assuming a confidential look and tone, which delighted Miss Martha beyond measure, she added— Miss, you look like a very nice, sensible g amiss Will so warmly received in your town irl, who could not take my questions you tell me, then, if all strangers are ?— for, if so, I must say Cooper’s Landing is a pattern to the whole country ‘‘T cannot say they are,’’ answered Miss Martha; ‘but surely it is no more than you might have ooked for world adinires Are you not the genius which half a ps ? the pride of your own country the Miss Bremer whose charming works have en- deared you to us all ?” ‘‘ Indeed, my dear, I am neither the one nor the other, answere d the pea od lady, p ainy _ I hat e thought there was some mistake all along.’’ ‘But are you not Miss Bremer, the celebrated Swedish authoress ?”’ lif ‘I never wrote a line in my life, except letters, when there was no one else to do it And, now you speak of it I do believe I heard sister Ella say something about such a lady being in Newburgh last week Miss Martha was at the point of suffocation with eagermess Oh, if it was true—if Mrs. Bench had been mistaken But the name on the register! ‘May I ask your real name, then?” she ejaculated ‘Certainly, for it’s one I’m not ashamed of. My husband is Captain Beamer, Captain Frederick Bea- mer, of Nantucket; and I’m stayiag in Newburgh on a visit to my sister, Mrs. John Ellis, whose husband keeps a grocery there I started this morning to go l ) with Hiram, their store boy, to the next landing— I *t TO 129 , wnneronnonccanpeanrannntniiiti [ forget the name—where some goods of theirs have been left by mistake. Sister thought it would be a nice little jaunt for me; but I felt a sick headache coming on—I’m subject to them—so I concluded to Stop at the tavern and wait till Hiram came back. That’s the long and short of it And, I must say that I thought the people of this town was the most obligi 1g and attentive people | ever come across— from the landlord down But, dear knows, I didn't mean to impose upon them in borrowed feathers Now, it is not to be supposed that this confidential chit-chat was without listeners; for everybody was, of course, expecting “pearls and diamonds’’ of con- versation to fall from the mouth of the last speaker, after the fashion of the good princess in the fairy tale By the time it was concluded, two or three of the group—Mrs. Wood being the first—compre- hended the whole aflair What was the surprise of Mrs. Bench, on turning from the piano, to find her guest talking eagerly, in a loud and excited tone, as she stood in the midst of them! What was her const on When a dozen voices explained the mistake she had fallen into! her rage and mortifica- tion When she at last Was made to coi pre he nd that all her care, her pride, and her hospitality had been lavished on the wife of a Nantucket sea captain, whose brother-in-law kept a retail grocery in the next town! She, the aristocratic, the literary, the sharp-sighted Mrs. Bench! It was too much for woman to endure Good Mrs. Beamer was sutlered to depart almost without a farewell, from her late hospitable enter- tainer. The guests, as a general thing, stood as far alool The Judge proved himself the best bred person of the party; for he had a most interesting conversation, going to the hote upon the subject of whaling voyages generally and ever afterwards declared that, if the lady wasn’t Miss Bremer, she was a first-rate, sensible woman. But alas for the busy schemes which his wife had planne d! Never will she be allowed forgetfulness of this unfortunate contretemps Mrs. Wood made a party last week, to which Mrs. Bench sent regrets, and where the matter was talked over at length, and Byron Olm- { ¢ stead had to take his share of popular opprobrium for being such a bad manuscript reader But it was an awful hand, ’'ve no doubt,’’ said Miss Ellen Lord, who took the part ot het absent friend “T saw Hiram when they drove off the next morning. and he doesn’t look as if he could spell his own name » she wasn’t deaf, after all didn’t understand French,”’ said Miss Anna > added Mr. Gibson Did you see Mrs. Bench’s poem in the Home > asked Miss Wood It was Blizhted Hopes ’ Or German,’ Journal, Saturday ’ called There’s one thing— never get over the airs she took that night a good lesson for her.”’ And so it was, dear reader; and a lesson for all who rush with impertinent curiosity to look upon a distinguished man or Woman, as if they were wild

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130 GODEY'S MAGAZI beasts caged for the occasion; for all who “ patron- ize”’ genius, or Wit, or beauty only because it is the fashion, and that they may thereby share in the notoriety. And though America does, indeed, wel- THERE is a law governing in the affairs of life, with its award of good or evil, according to the tenor of every one’s obedience or disregard thereto [enorance of this law exempts no one from punish- ent; and yet at least four-fifths of the human race ppear to be utterly unconscious of its existence Che w is that of action and reaction, Which n thus be stated, in order to make it y ¢ ipre- Lens t Every act of a man’s | whet good ‘ is a reaction of conseg s. Whatever we d iffects others or ourselves in some Way; toi innot be such a thing as an act without an ell proportionate to the action This, upon a little reflection, will appear self- vident The importance of a life in obedience to this law must strike every one at a ince, for happ ness or misery here and hereafter depends upon it. In creat things, so to speak, all see and acknowledze the existence of the law we have stated, for « iples laily occurrence. How sad and various are the punishments that men of its unerring visitation are of « receive for evil actions! But in little things, as they are called, where no violations of penal statutes or public opinion take place, and where no reaction S$ apparent, We imagine that none W ever come; that what they have done is lost as in a void im- mense. But this isa fatal error. There is not an act of a man’s life, little or great, ; 1 or bad, that loes not, sooner or later in life, react upon him with its full quota of consequences A philosopher has said, that the stamp of a man’s foot up n the earth Will Shake the universe We can believe it more easily to be true than false than we can disbelieve it. Andasingle word, a look, ' r smallest act of a man’s life, forgotten by him in the next moment, may shake his soul to the very centre. A ft} \lonzo Turnham had never heard of the existence f the law towhich we have alluded. But that was He would not have cred ted Itle ‘ nbsequence e fact if he had heard it stated. Tl aw which 1e laid down for his government, was to seek his own gratification in all possible ways that it could be done, without so far trespassing upon the rights of others as to give them the power of retaliation. At the age of twenty-one, he started in life with a determination to succeed inthe world. He saw that wealth gave the means of self-gratification to almost come Fredrika Bremer with warm hearts and earnest sympathy, we should remember that, as a woman, she must shrink from coarse flattery or attentions devoid of feeling. ARTHUR. any extent, and he resolved upon its attainment. He had been for two years engaged in the study of law; but the law he perceived to be too slow a means of attaining the object of his wishes, and he therefore began to look around him for some quicker mode of advancement. He possessed some literary ability, and had indulged an early passion for literary pur- suits by writing for the columns of a weekly news- paper Th 1, fo some extent, ace with individ ted with the press. Con- versing, one day, With the pe persons Who had become wealthy in the publishing owner of a popular lical, the latter enumerated many instances of business. ‘Turnham caught at this, and pondered it in his mind. He had a few thousand dollars, with which, after mature deliberation, he determined to purchase a halt-interest in a newly-started weekly newspaper, the projector of which found himself in difficulties, and compe ed to take a partner Upon this new pursuit in life, Turnham entered With great spirit. There was a newspaper in the city of the same class. It had been in existence for some years, and was firmly established Before coming into the business himself, Mr. Turnham had been a regular subscriber for this paper, and written for its columns. He had always liked it, and con- sidered it a very excellent publication. But now it Wore an indifferent aspect in his eyes, and he never took it up without a disparaging remark ‘Isn't it astonishing,’ he said, to his partner in the business, one day ‘that a paper like 1 s should have such a circulation? It isn’t comparable with ours To this the partner readily assented Turnham commenced reading the number of the paper upon which he had just commented Just listen to this!” he said, sudden and he read a few paragraphs. Then he added: “What do you think of that ? ‘I shouldn’t like to see that in our paper,’ the partner answered ‘No: it’s enough to k any ern I'm sure that no parent, Who sees it and re s upon it, wil allow another number of the paper to come into his house. Very certain am I, that 1 would order a discontinuance instanter.”’ ‘So would I,”’ returned the agreeing partner silent, with his eyes upon the floor, After sitti for some time, Turnham said, speaking slowly—

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“Tt would be a capital move for us just now, to take this matter up, and remark with some severity upon it.” “And get a storm about our ears for our pains.”’ that I would like better. It “ There is nothing would be the very thing for us. We circulate six or seven thousand, and they twenty thousand. The controversy would make us known to all their readers, and known as the advocates of religion and a high morality. We should have the public all on our side. Without doubt, inthree months, their list would diminish at least five thousand, perhaps more, and It is a tide in our affairs, If you do not positively object, I will fire a Paixhan ours increase that number. depend upon it, that we should take at the flood. gun upon them next week, and then prepare my batteries for a regular fight.”’ “ Just you returned the pliant partner. «‘ There is no doubt of its doing us good.”’ This false step of our neigh- as like,”’ «“ None in the world. bor is a lucky thing for us.”’ In the hope of building up his own establishment by ruining his neighbor’s, Turnham opened upon the rival newspaper with his Paixhan gun, as he called it, and then waited anxiously for the return fire. A week went by; and, at length, wet from the press, imagination, smoking with wrath, came and, to his the paper he was so anxious to see. He opened it with eager hands, and starting at the first editorial column, ran his eyes over the whole inside page, in search of the rejoinder he expected. But, to his mortification and disappointment, not the slightest allusion was found to the violent attack he had made. But, in his search, one paragraph, more conspicuous It was than all the rest, attracted his attention. this :— ‘* ENLARGEMENT.—The publishers of this paper have determined to enlarge and greatly improve it. They have ordered an entire new font of types, and will add a column to each page, and increase the length of the pages several inches, so as to give at Their large and rapidly increasing subscription list enables them least a third more of reading matter. to do this. In advance of every other paper in the country, it is their intention to keep in advance, spite of all competition. To this they stand pledged to the public, and prepared to redeem their pledge.” Turnham read this over twice, and then laid aside the paper, in a very quiet and deliberate manner. He had been completely outgeneraled; and he felt his neighbor and Instead of breaking down up himself, his movement was likely to it. building result in the establishment of his neighbor on a broader basis, and the complete overshadowing of his own concern, that would be in danger of grow- ing of He took it granted, that the determination to enlarge and im- mode taken to answer his attack; feeble for want sunshine for prove was the It was the reaction upon his and he was right selfish attempt to ruin a neighbor, in order to build up himself. Ashamed, after having written so warmly aga inst < < ION 131

the rival establishment, and after promising to refer to the subject again, to drop the matter, Turnham concocted a still more bitter article, in the hope of provoking a reply. To this, he received the eflectual and silencing rejoinder of an enlargement and im- provement. The appearance of his neighbor, so superior to his own, completely disheartened Turn- ham. It was plain, that unless a paper of equal pretensions were published, it would be no use to The list they had The But it became a ques- struggle for an existence. by ne means justified increased expense profits were yet only in prospect. tion between enlargement and abandonment, and they chose the former. Not six months had elapsed from the time Turn- ham entered the business of newspaper publishing, before he was heartily sick of it, and determined to sell out his interest for the sum paid for it, which was three thousand dollars—more than double what he now considered it worth. He had a young friend, just of age, who had been smitten with a love of the muses, and who imagined himself to possess liter- ary abilities of no common order. This person received, at his majority, some six or seven thousand dollars, the income from which partly contributed to his support while he prosecuted the study of law Upon this young man, whose name was Wheeler, Turnham fixed as the scapegoat who was to beat the evil of his false step. For a month or two, he managed, whenever he met him, to turn the conver- sation to the subject of newspapers and periodicals, and the fortunes that were every day made by pub- lishers. His own fortune he considered as made; for the paper of which he was part owner, was increasing in patronage almost beyond precedent He affirmed that ten thousand dollars would not tempt him to sell his interest. In this way, he kept the young man’s thoughts in one channel, and filled him with a desire to ex- change had adopted, for one that promised such golden harvests the slowly-rewarded profession he At length, he vaguely hinted that, if he were not in so good a business, he would be tempted to join a friend in opening an office as an exchange broker An allusion to this was more distinctly made soon afterwards—so distinetly, that the friend could not help remarking thereon. Finally, by gradual approaches on the subject, and by a system of false representations, ingeniously made, Turnham created an eager desire in the mind of Wheeler to buy out his half interest in the paper, and actually to make a proposition to that eflect This proposition was met by certain well-timed remarks, going to show his reluctance at giving up so certain a means of fortune. At last, he agreed to take five thousand dollars for his part of the paper, Which was paid to him in cash “A lucky escape '? he said to himself, when the ain was complete; and so full was he of self- this fortunate turn bar congratulation at he had not a thought or feeling of sympathy for the

ot affairs, that friend he had deceived, and who lost every dollar

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132 GODEYS MAGAZIN RRR AAPIDLPODOD DDD S 00S invested, and became involved in debt, by the break- ing down of the newspaper, in little over a year had been in the establish- had and he also saw that, unless the subscrip- Wheeler saw, after he ment about a month, that he not been fairly dealt by ; tion list of the paper could be greatly increased, ruin He the difficulties of his position, but he struggled in was inevitable struggled hard to overcome vain. The subscription increased but slowly, and the paper was published at a loss from the day he bought into it until it stopped for want of means to carry it on But the young man, deeply as he felt the wrong he had the uttered a word on the subject to that individual, sustained at hands of Turnham, never although his manner towards him became reserved, and their intimate intercourse was not continued. He set him down in his heart as a dishonest man, and determined to mark him as such. After retiring from editorial life, Wheeler, who had been admitted to the bar, entered upon the practice of his profes- sion, determined to rest there all his hopes of future success In the mean time, Turnham had opened an ex- change office, and commenced operating among & class of men quite as sharp-witted and far more experienced than himself. His success, during the first year or two, was by no means equal to his expectations. But, after that, he operation of things better, and knew how to take understood the advantage of the almost hourly fluctuations created in the money market by the eager spirit of gain. At the age of twenty-five, Turnham began paying his addresses to a young lady, who was known as an heiress. Her parents were dead; but she lived with an aunt, for whom she had a most tender re- gard, and in whose judgment she reposed great confidence. It happened that Wheeler made the acquaintance of this aunt shortly after Turnham commenced visiting the niece ; and it also happened that, from some allusions made to the young man, the aunt was led to ask Wheeler if he knew him. ‘Yes, and to my sorrow,’’ was the unhesitating answer « Why do you say that?” asked the lady. «“T was his friend, and confided in his honor, and he deceived me,”’ replied Wheeler Nothing Turnham; but this was enough was alleged against The lady took the pains to ascertain that Wheeler was a man of more particular truth and integrity, and therefore believed what he said When Turnham called, next time, upon the young heiress, with the sentiments, he was told by her aunt that she did not intention of making known his wish to receive his visits; and so all his present hopes of obtaining a fortune by marriage were scat- But he never dreamed that this No- tered to the winds was merely a reaction upon his own conduct. thing could have been farther from his mind In entering into the exchange business, Turnham had not contemplated a partnership with a friend, $ order to make up a good story POO as he stated to Wheeler. He had only said so in Ile commenced business alone, upon the five thousand dollars he had received for his paper; and continued it, with more or less success, for ten years; during which time he had married a lady, older than himself by many years, Who was reputed to be worth fifty The I turned out to be only five thousand dollars ; and this the wise lady thousand dollars. fortune had taken good care to have so secured that he could not touch it. At the end of ten years, by ¢ sudden change in the stock market, and the explo- sion of two or three fancy stock concerns, Turnham lost thirty thousand dollars, more than all he had made. The extent of this loss he concealed, and soon after began to look around him for a partner with capital. It was not long before he found a young man, whose father was a wealthy merchant and inclined to furnish him with twenty thousand dollars, if he would make a good connection with a well-established exchange broker. This was just the thing for Turnham; and he represented his business, and gave such good refer- ences as to standing and capacity, that he succeeded in his wishes. A co-partnership was agreed upon The terms of the were placed in the hands of a conveyancer, wh« being settled, they connection was directed to prepare therefrom articles of agree- ment. Before these were signed, the father, wh was a prudent man, submitted them to his lawyer, who happened to be Mr. Wheeler, now in a good practice, and standing high at the bar as a man ot talents and great probity. «Mr. Turnham did you say it was? the lawyer, with an expression of surprise, when * remarked the business was stated to him, and before he had looked at the papers. “ Yes, sir,’ returned the merchant, who was struck by the peculiar tone and manner of Wheeler *“ Do you know anything against him ? ‘‘T should hardly like to see a friend of mine con- nected with him in business.”’ “Why?” ‘« Because, to speak freely, as I deem it my duty to do in the present instance, I do not think him an honest man.”’ ‘Not an Wheeler. What evidence have you of this “| will plainly state to you the fact upon which honest man? You astonish me, Mr 9 my conclusion is based, and leave you to make up your own mind upon the subject. I have no wish to injure Mr. Turnham, but I feel it to be my duty to warn the innocent when I see them about to run into danger.’ Wheeler then gave the merchant a plain history of his newspaper speculation; and concluded by saying— “| have stated the circumstance as it occurred; you must make up your own mind in regard to it.”’ On the day that the merchant waited upon his lawyer with the articles of agreement between Turnham and his son, the broker found himself ex-

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ceeding! hard presse d A number of heavy drafts > REACTION 133 Yes, oe «Let me see—I did know now I remem-

for funds in his hands belonging to his correspond- ents in New York, Boston, and New Orleans, were presented and had to be cashed; also, several notes given for stocks, that were not now worth ten cents By the most earnest efforts, he suc- through; but in the dollar. ceeded in getting he was fully con- vinced that it would be impossible for him to stand for another day without important aid. From no- where could this come except through his new part- arance, With the articles of agree- ner, Whose appe ment hav l signature attached, l had been ool i irl) But p to ir o’clock, he had ke 1 1 ! I hat | t not 1e mn } e}1 1 dre ot consequences of even l I d 1 it best to « ! t the young man’s fat r, and thus I ( 1 ol ¢ i yr { i ¢ Dov <now ? ld oe ber It is Wheeler “ Wheeler ! I recollect now very well. He’s a sound lawyer.” Are you sure ’ “O yes. Wheeler is 2 the man.’”’ Turnham went back to his office, thinking more seriously about his conduct towards Wheeler than he had ever thought before, and feeling anxious and alarmed lest the lawyer should have retaliate d upon him by informing Mr. H—— of what he had done The etlect, he saw, wou d be to ruin him Turnham slept but a few hours that night In the morning he a in a feverish state of mind, but re ved upon « i and that was to see Mr H 1 his son | e nine o'clock id knov v he the art 34 eement were to be signed or not Accordingly, he called upon the merchant f Mr. received him even more coldly than before and the son | ked embarrassed and u t})} Have you had the papers examined ?” the brok I x at once to the point Wel rep ed Mr. H Are they properly drawn ? asked Turnham Ye but since I saw you yesterday, circum stanc have led me to cl my views in regard to my Ot I should have informed you g y [ trust it w be no matter Ss is disapp ‘ A connection, fully as ad \ eeous as the one about | g¢ formed with my son, you can, without doubt, easily make.” reason of your extraordinary conduct,”’ said

Turnham, who had become quite pale, “you will ce! y eX] ! I can make no ex nat s, Sil returned the chant, ec y ly reasons for what I do are sufi t for my own 1 tion. My conduct may pp ‘ i vour eves; but I am satis { \ 1 e no right to complain I v the s faction Turnham received On day his acce] ces were dishonored ; and t i ul it, drawn against deposits and that ought to have been in his hands, we ku ] teady as the | ser would have been to secure ething for himself in the disaster that befeil him < e up n him so suddenly as t leave this out ot powel Everything was swept from his hands and he was compelled to begin again with less than indred dollars in his poc! For once, he saw as W as ieit the reaction ol his own conduct, and was forced to acknowledg that, in extricati { from 1 early diflicully by improper m d laid the foundation ruin in after lif ( | he have seen deeper into e relation exist bx \ iu s and eflects, | uld } 1 } f t err I d committed, aud trer rol even more re ive « ‘ es D/O sst came I the law ted at first, we have

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134 JODEY’S MAGAZI dreds of others might be given, taken from every grade, and involving all social relations. The con- AND LADY'S BOOK ~~ inevitable, for against all action must come reaction ; and they will bear a due relation in quality and force to each other—a truth that we cannot lay too deeply sequences of every one’s conduct must be felt in > to heart. some form or other, earlier or later in life. This is 3 PETER LOEAN’S FPANTEH R CHASE: OR, INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A BACKWOODSMAN BY SARAH ittle story it is our present purpose to relate, is one Which may be depended upon as strictly true. THE The leading incidents were related by a descendant of the person we intend to introduce under the cog- the will nomen of Peter Allan; and, although under it im own way, we Peter Allan tv of detailing our necess e an unvarnished statement of facts vas a fine, athletic young Irishman, who came from ie auld countrte in the nineteenth year of his age ints who arrived Fifty vears back, the class of emi om that unhappy country were, as a general thing, destitute than at present. As far as worldly wealth was concerned, Peter had a small patrimony was fortunate enough to dispose of to The sum thus obtained he hoarded with which he advantage great care, and being possessed of uncommon natural shrewdness, and endowed with indomitable energy of character, he managed by laboring with his hands to support himself in comfort ; and, after a time, to wards what had lay up a portion of his earnings t ever been the summit of his wishes, viz., the pos- session of a farm. Peter was up early and down ate; no job that promised the reward of a penny was beneath his notice, and emp nent that re- quired trust was usually executed so as to give entire satisfaction. So obliging was his disposition, and so punctual his habits, that he at length began » make friends among his employers. One rich ntleman in particular, attracted, in the first place, by his open countenance, took a great deal of notice of him; and, on Peter making him acquainted with his secret and long-cherished scheme, of some day ywning a farm, the gentleman promised to make in- juiry, and if he could discover a place that would suit him, he would take an early opportunity of acquainting him with the fact Accordingly, one morning he sent for Peter, and informed him that he had been making inquiry, and had learned from a correspondent that there was a farm such as Peter wished about two hundred miles This appeare d like the end of the but the gen- from the city world to the unsophisticated Irishman ; tleman, taking down a map, made him acquainted with its location, and pointing out the advantages which might accrue to him from being among the first settlers, with the gradual rise which must take e country became place in the value of property as tl HEPBURN HAYES populated, he became willing and eager to embrace the opportunity thus offered for enriching himselt There was another difficulty, however, in the way Allan had become enamored of a blue-eyed lass liv le, who could not see any reasor ing on the Jersey side, for going so far to make a home in the Pennsylvania woods: and it required all his powers of persuasion and every epithet of endearment the musical lan guage of his native land could supply, to alter her resolution At length, Debby consented, and no time was lost ot heavy in making their preparations. Their mode con the It was laden with such articles of furniture home, and with veyance was after ancient fashion, a wagon as might be useful in their new provisions for themselves, and provender for the four stout horses whose business it was to convey it over the wretched road stretching from Philadel- phia into the interior. This mode of conveyance had its inconveniences ; but, at the time of which we write, no other was practicable, and Peter and with the man-servant and maid, who a of the his wife, companied them, endured the discomforts journey with exemplary patience and cheerful hope and the The wagon was the shelter transport; for in their route, at that day, few habitations were to be seen; and when at nightfall they would halt in some deep forest and kindle their huge camp-fire they would spread their repast beneath some over- arching tree, and, secure in the light of the cheerful blaze, talk over the occurrences of the day with jests and laughter; while, perhaps, the owl would hoot and scream in the distance, or the wolf bark and howl, in a manner which would set the dogs accompanying them to baying, until the whole forest Debby, times feel a degree of alarm, but daylight always had echoed to the sound it is true, would some- the eflect of reassuring her; for the scenes through which they passed possessed the charm of novelty, and there was an indescribable interest connected with their progress and the beginning of their life in the wilderness. At length the desired haven was reached, and they found a comfortable log dwelling awaiting them within two miles of a settlement consisting of a dozen or two of houses The site selected for these dwellings was a gentle elevation, in the centre of a

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~—_ a AAAAA lovely valley, girded in by an amphitheatre of hills, whose graceful and romantic shapes added much to the beauty of the scenery. The Allans had been settled some weeks in their new residence, aud were beginning to feel quite at home, when Debby, who was engaged at some do- mestic duty on the outside of the door, noticed a she had a wearied look, carried an infant in her arms, and led by the woman approaching the house ; hand a little one apparently about three years of age. The coarseness of their habiliments proclaimed their poverty ; this, however, instead of repelling, opened Debby’s kindly heart towards her, as to one less for- tunate than herself. And on her advancing, she in- vited her in to rest awhile There was something pleasant about the countenance of this wayfarer, and, although evidently inured to hardship, her manners were far from being rough or uncouth; while her language, although she had acquired some of the imaccuracies common to the woods, showed that her education had not been wholly neglected. On asking eave to stay all night, it was granted with ready hospitality; and after being refreshed by a cup of milk and a hot corn-cake—for tea was a beverage more difficult to obtain than at present—they asked as to her place of abode. She replied as follows :— ‘« We live on a clearing about six miles farther up We have a garden and a few fields; but as there is no house nearer than yours, it is often quite solitary J can see the squirrels at play in the woods when I sit at work, and the wolves howl dismally around the house sometimes.”’ ‘Are you not afraid?’’ asked Debby, with dilat- bg eyes. ‘Not often,” oe | generally keepa good fire’’—( wild animals always flee returned the woman, smiling from a fire)—‘‘ and Towserx there,”’ pointing toa large bull dog who had followed ber, and now sat sullenly eyeing the group—* Towser there is nearly as good a5 a man.” ‘‘Ts your husband always at home ?”’ interrogated Peter. ‘‘ No; he is sometimes gone two or three days to the mill, and then I have to stay alone. But I would not mind, if we had a door to the cabin.”’ “Have you no door?” asked Debby, again, in amazement ‘ Not yet But, as I was a going to tell you, this accounts for my A body can’t get everything at once being here. My man left yesterday morning, to be gone a couple or three days; and last night I hung 1 quilt on two forks before the door, brought in the pitch-fork, put the dog outside, and after hushing the little ones to sleep, betook myself to bed as usual. Some strange noise awoke me in the night; and, on turning around, the dog came in looking dreadfully afraid, and whining as I had never heard him do be- fore. Feeling seared, I got up, made ona blazing fire, for it had got low, and peeping out from under the quilt, I saw the most enormous bear you ever You laid eyes on, standing just outside. may be sure, [ put it down in a hurry ; and as I did not feel Aatiaidutinitandndiauaed PAP PLP PLP LLLP PP Pa Patt tat SE. 135 much inclined to sleep again, for fear the critter would come in, Towser and I sat and kept up a fire the remainder of the night.” ‘*Have you never been seriously alarmed, or in- jured by these wild animals ?”’ inquired Peter. Delighted with having an audience so evidently interested in the incidents which had befallen her, the woman commenced, with animation— “T can’t say that 1 ever was much afraid but once. We lived then up in the Green wood, as much as fifty miles from here. It was a terrible lonesome place ; there was no habitation within a long distance from us. This child’’—pointing to the elder girl‘ was a baby then; and one evening | shut her in the house, and went out about twilight to look for the cow, which had strayed away ; for my husband was from home. I had not proceeded far, when I heard such a wild, strange cry among tbe bushes on a hill, at a short distance. It sounded almost like the ery of a child ; but so loud and shrill ! I had heard of patxters’’—(always the vulgar name for panther)—‘“ what bold, dangerous animals they were, hiding among the trees and bushes, and spring- img upon people as they passed; so, thinking this might be one, I hurried home with the cow as fast as I could, got her under shelter, and then went into the house; pulling the leather string that fastened the door inside. Our cabin had also an opening. where the window should have been, but it had no glass in it, only a board shutter outside, which I also drew in and fastened, and then felt tolerably safe ; still it was lonely for me and my little baby, up there in that great forest. After a while it began to rain and get dark—so dark that you could not see an inch before you—when, all at once, there was the most fearful screech or yell just outside, enough to make one’s very ears tingle. I thought to be sure the painter would be right in, for the door was hung with leather hinges, and I knew that one bound against it would fling it wide open; so, jumping up, I pushed the table against it, and piled the chairs on the top of that for greater security; this done, I went up into the loft, where there was a little open- ing that I could get my head out, and what do you think I saw?” “What?” cried Debby, almost breathless with terror and emotion. “Why nothing more or less than the painter There he was, and he must have had his fore feet on the low fence that went round the garden, for | could see his eyes like two live coals glowing in the darkness. Now, if there is anything upon earth to seare one, it is a fierce, dangerous animal like this Bears and wolves are not half so terrible ; and I can tell you, I trembled from head to foot while he sat there and eyed me for more than an hour, every once in a while howling out in a way that made the woods ring again.” “ Well, what then?” cried Peter, who, with his wife, the man-servant, and maid, sat with open eyes and ears drinking in every word that fell from le: lips.

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“ Why then,’’ said the woman he went away, and I heard no more of him that night. The next ay my husband came home, and he said a painter had been shot near one of the clearings below, and I Xp ed it Was the ne one W ( ’ l t This is a rible re I said | who tf the first time began to realize the fu s of her situa 0 Do, Pet let us go bas ( Pho cried Peter, h ling out his brawi arms id p ng to t two ed ritl ig t he itelpiect you W I r be w sul cient protec n I do not think the wild vai . irl much so near the settlements either chimed m thei visit At this moment, a cheerful “‘Gee up, Dobbin,’’ was heard outside; and, runn to the d the woman espied her husband s return el He vas trud x along ! \ i the gathe ark tie ( i ito re é 1 }? i ‘ persuasion wed t | i remain l em unt l i 1 bustled i et sw } u ‘ ‘ u it Z. | to a t i ( ures W 1 1! en t s | " i WW i " ew 1 M i t W i I ' u ¢ I ‘ 1ind ‘ t rt ‘ will Cave In the ul ( 1 ftew ve I Kceellent man \ conn i us TT : { gan to vive ¢ I n ( t His fences \ } 1 ord trees fs cattle ek 1 we ed; his t vertowu and, when he found leisure to orndment, the white- was 1 cottage exhib ed an app ince f Arcad ! beauty It st lo i plat of gre ‘ | sward, which Peter é ed h a rud e, also white va | _ 1 ved r | flung t en ms im many fi istic ul | 1 owly i eb \ t na w flows } r notes he heart ! y a bird At th x ¢ a st gent! past, at the distance of a fe nu and within t neclosure of the yard, s h foliag of a couple of hug trees, the little spring-house presented quite a picturesque appe Tie it was supplied by a four n, Where the water dripped constantly over the moss-covered stones, with a cool, plashing sound Here, under a low, projecting roof, the active, neat-handed Debby kept her well-scoured cro¢ k-covers and shining pans, arranged on shelves in just and gradual order the buckets of foaming milk Here

were brought;

5 and here the In us § den butter was J epared for marke Amid the abundance and lepe et of their new con on, there was e cause to reg t the en ments of the piace I for saken Phe settlement near them was | ‘ o g i cou | boast a « irct W lille ha st j t night be d tne farm use, ¢ } o the house ‘ Il re Was a i = riding an English mare of uncommon streng d ae 1 he was s Jem J eX | ss it every 1 1 Tart ~ \ unerring mstinet, to com] ehend the state of 1 ease, and brist with terror, the ar il put fortl its utmost powers. She dashed onward with he terrified rider; and, as there was no time to look for the openings, cleared the first fence in a stvle

planse 1 any steeple chase in the United Kingdon But there were vet three fields, with two fences t« surmount: the last of these was the or rd. se pe rated, by a lane of fifteen or twenty feet, from the paling which inclosed the yard Allan, who had re vered his presence of mind. now cheered his gullant horse, ar d sped onward with tl ri pia \ {

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THE SHORE OF WRECKS 137 PPS LLLP IPI ~ _ ~~ ww ~ ee Oe the wind: but the panther was close behind; he } the house. Here he found the family awaiting | could hear his quick bounds, and plainly distinguish arrival; and, taking down the two rifles, he, with the angry snarl which seemed to indicate a fear that the hired man, sallied forth to see to the fate of th his prey would escape him. Another fence was “ bonnie gray’? which had carried him so bravely gained, and nothing but the orchard remained to be They found the trembling animal had escaped to the crossed. Peter knew that his horse was taxed to barn-yard; but the panther, doubtless alarmed by the utmost; yet the brute was evidently gaining on the light emitted from the opening of the door, had him, and one moment’s flagging in their headlong { taken itself off. The next morning, on examining course, or one false step, and a horrible death was the tracks made by its feet in the sandy soil of the mevitable. Happily, no such accident occurred. { lane, they discovered it to have been one of the In frantic haste, he reached the Jast barrier. It was largest size. Peter had been so thoroughly fright- high and difficult; but, with a glorious effort, his ened, that you may be sure Debby did not have to mare surmounted it; and she was in the yard at the lecture him soon again for staying away so late at moment the monster in their rear leaped the en- } night As for the mare—he always declared he osure of the orchard. In the twinkling of an eye, owed his life to her matchless speed—she roamed Peter had thrown the reins over the neck of his the greenest of pastures, and continued the rarest of horse ; and, leaving it to shift for itself, dashed into pets until the end of her days. - That truthful world in memory’s scope And, in the startling light por ved Follow the ] m to the last, Beho f human pride To chide regrets or chasten hope

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THE SUPREME POWER BY EDWARD EVERETT ‘Tv has been as beautifully as truly said, t undevout astronomer is mad.”’ The same might, with equal foree and justice, be apy undevout geologist. Of all tl bsurdities eve ed, none more extravagant can | ed mt ind ta eacl g resea 1 ScOV re “fy ire h tie to th | 1 re , i seem to us, on the very contrary, to lead quirer, step by ste

tep, into the immediate applied to tl hat the remark

1- r stat the m- presence of that tremendous Power which could alone produce and can alone account for the primitive convulsions of the glol as the p 5 4 en im ¢ i characters on the side of its | e and « id-| ere 7 mountains, o! ire Wrought t r i tance of the s a that compose its nd wl i are, a day by day and hour by t work to feed the fires of the volcano, to pour th its molten tides, or to « ipound the salu ts of tl mn il f w 1S} t 1 val t = in g Z - I I i la = oo I ™ as they are, we < under tl it ma tude, tl I tery of thei ‘ nd reciprocal nil s, the bewilde x s of their dis- tances Sense and science eatw The spark ¢ gem that 1 on Der 4 fy t. is Cole ‘ by s ! al ) ‘ oures of licht and heat, the « c a 1, the sun ofa sy ou vn The | i i planet which in the Western SKY W 1 un i gone down, or h th oft Ll whose mild 1 lovely beam s¢ to shed a spirit of tranqt tu uxed wilh § ( nor tar removed from d tor nto t rt of him who W lers f hins ude to! t ite i ( t } a Ww | } ] VV study, We reason i ‘ b tl scaflold of I tot We bo row “ {1 b t | i ou 5 t | its t } tof tt We ‘ , ‘ } 11 lou n of ft I S lt I s ’ \ | Its « led st , le. ex a. hecor ] and we ir t i ( 1 mich cirel d them. J I is of Orion ed ] kelir I s which « seach 1] ! ‘ I is of light, i . m tos s the illimit- patt ‘ The conclu- « \ grand and sublime; the imagmation sinks under them; the truth too vast, too remote from the premises Is from which it is deducted ; and man, poor frail man, sinks back to the earth and sighs to worship again with the innocence of a child or Chaldean shephe the quiet and beautiful stars, as he sees them in the simplicity of sense But in the province of geology, there are some subjects in which the sense seems, as It were, led up into the boratory of divine powel Let a man fix his eyes upon one of the marble columns 10 the He sees there a condition the Ww ashington earth’s surface, when Capitol at 1} pe DD ch « ompose the es of every and material, whi size and fi n vere held suspe nded in singular species of stone, the medium in which they are now imbedded, then a liquid se f marble, which was hardened into the S« 1, lustrous, and variegated mass before his eye, in the very substance of which he beholds a record of the convulsions of the globe Let him go and stand upon the sides of the crater of Vest 1 1 the ordinary sta f its eruptions 1 « te the glazy stream of molten 1 cs that oozes qu V at his les encasing the surtace of the mow as it cools, with a most black and t\ 1 crust wr lig g up its sides at night with st f lurid ti Let him cons r the volcanic island, wl i ) a few years since, in the neig borhood { Malta spout Il ( from the d pth of th vy « our own navig ti f 1 Nantuel » 1 Antarctic ocean, wh fi g ‘ of a sm ind to Which he was ithe habit riing ink 3 I el! i two ot il \ ed 1 1 an op ! s sid v ‘ 1 had und its way, a moored his Ip the sn ilde yr crater of a re cent t u ed no U li \ et ! ) h ‘ } ha ed tot tra { < s qualities ‘ tof the surface ‘ " i t is f } i lhe is s l tant ! I el 1 flow fror s pr } ged. 1 : ante , I r y s ot ‘ Z ? 1 g Is a « I the } ‘ ry which g ved from ks would be cness for at ig il man w should r the renova } a W ri to o {1 ubrious mi al f ‘ drank in t w “ stretcl ! i 1 ¢ present and t Powe

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Oneness . - THE CARNIVAL AT ROME—1S847 BY CHARLES G. LELAND Le Carnival qui approchait lui en fournait locca- est une époque qui montre le peuple de Rome LA PRINCESSE BORGHESE f10n, car ¢’ tel qu'il est.—VIE DE This feast is termed the Carnival, which being Inte rpreted, implies ‘* Farewell to flesh ;”’ When there is fiddling, singing, drinking, masking BYRON How shall I ever describe thee, thou glorious Car- > He shadow of an idea of thy exquisite folly, nival yw can I ever hope to convey even the thy deli- cious madness? As well might the opium-eater hope to paint his fairy-land visions, or a German getster seher to describe the brilliant phantasma of the seventh sphere ‘‘ There is one month in the year,”’ say the sober- Turks, } And, truly, he who does minded “during which Christians are in- not enter into the deem sane.” spirit of the Carnival, may well himself in a world of lunatics. All the eccentricity, all the gro- tesqueness, all the wit, folly, singularity, and oddity which can be devised by a people who are eccentric and romantic in their soberest moments, are then brought There into play is a broad and beautiful street in Rome, called the Corso, any part of which presents views which might serve for scenes in theatres From every Window in this street, cu ns of crimson ind gold, or blue and silv ire hung; and the bal- onies Wh Pp ect tl 1every house are milarly a ] rm l ihese are of pu CX ul ery beau 1 We 1 ‘ \ of « I Ww 1 tory can sugg Cu} ivent r imag tation « ‘ I; 1 gg uter pa t a oranges, lemons, large balls of sugar, heavy bon bons, and bouquets in which the stem is the prin- part The Corso 1s undoubtedly the head-quarters of

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140 GODEY’S MAGAZINE the Carnival. But it does not by any means mo- nopolize all the fun. In order to prevent confusion, carriages are compelled to follow each other in succession, keeping to the left, as the Roman law directs To return to their plac e, they are obliged to make a detour through another street, generally he Ripetta ; theretore the Ripetta becomes itself the scene of a small Carnival. Moreover, all those pedestrian masks, to Whom acting is necessary in order to fully exhibit the part which they have ussumed, are obliged to seek a street not over- crowded, such as the Ripetta, in order to obtain an audience The visitor, therefore, who wishes to fully enjoy the Carnival, must not neglect this street. These pedestrian maskers are, to many, the most uiteresting part of the Carnival Every one is sustaining a part; and not unfrequently two or three unite for this purpose. You will see banditti bend- ing low, and stealing with stealthy step around the corner, threatening to rob the unwary passer-by of his last sugar-plum. An elderly lady, apparently trom the country, with a coal-scuttle bonnet, and mask admirably adapted to express terror and con- fusion, rushes madly through the crowd at right angles, shrieking aloud for her lost child. A man, bearing his wife on his back, and six children hung round, passes by; you laugh, but are deceived at the sight; nor is it until a close examination that u discover that, of all this interesting family, the nan only is real—the wife and children being com- pose d of paper m ache I observed a party of maskers in a car festooned with evergreen, and drawn by a donkey neatly dressed for the occasion, in white pantaloons and brown coat, with his tail ina bag. The unfortunate animal walked along with slow steps, apparently m a dream He was complet ly confused, be- wildered. No longer an inhabitant of this world, he was, apparently, m a transition state to that future life, where, according to the Pantagruelist, beasts change conditions with their masters Every one at Rome, as I have already intimated, either gives or receives flowers during this period. But how can this apply to young ladies who are doomed, by cruel fate or a cross papa, to sit in third, fourth, or even fifth story windows, and watch the passers-by Roman genius has surmounted this difficulty by an astonishing invention. This consists of a number of wooden bars, joined together in such # manner that when opened their united length is sufficient to reach the said window. But when sed and lying together para they may be car- To open and hout difficulty under the arm shut these ingenious contrivance requires skill When a gentleman wishes to convey a flower or bon bon to a lady, he attaches it to the end of this and shoots it up to her window She, detaching it, affixes another, which the machine, closing with a noise like the report of a pistol, bears to its master The war with the plaster plums rages to a terrible tlemen and dies are, how- extent Eng h ¢ ever, the principal actors in this offenstve warfare These are the only persons who are so carried away by mad excitement and over-heated enthu- siasm, as to literally pour the plaster by the peck upon passers-by, without distinction of age or sex To protect yourself from such foes, it is necessary to wear a wire mask, a blouse, a broad-brimmed white sombrero, and a smiling face (for a Carnival Thus armed and equipped, according to universal custom, mask doth hardly conceal the features) you may bid defiance to a pelting world The Carnival of each day begins at two o’clock, and closes just before the Angelus, with a horse-race The steeds — according to the universal custom, which has given the street its name—run directly through the Corso, from the obelisk to Torlonia’s palace. In this race, the horses are without riders; and, being goaded to the last pitch previous to the start, are urged on by the pricking and clattering of the sharp iron plates with which they are hung, as well as by the shouts of the spectators. So excited do the latter become at this spectacle, that it requires the utmost efforts, at the close of the race, for the soldiers to prevent them from rushing in and stopping the horses. Several times, during this present Car- nival, men have been very seriously wounded by the bayonets of the guard. And so it goes on, madder and madder, and wilder and wilder, like the witches’ festival of a Walpur night. On the /ast day, the excitement is at its high- est pitch. Flowers, bon bons, and plums are thrown, poured, and shot, with an unsparing hand. The num- ber of carriages is doubled. Multitudes of maskers, hitherto unseen, make their appearance ; while many of the old stagers vary their dresses in such a man- ner as to give a new interest to the scene. But the climax of this delirium appears in the hour succeed- Then, indeed, the tra- veler will behold a spectacle, wilder, stranger, and ing the race of the last day more exciting than anything which he has ever before imagined I refer to the ceremony of ‘“ Extinguishing the Carnival,”’ as it is termed—a ceremony in which every one bears a part. Let us imagine the masking and pelting of the day well over, and the revelers returning by the thousands from the race. Suddenly, a noise is heard in the direction of the Corso; and you, perceiving that all the maskers are bending their way thither, join them As you enter the Corso, a light like that of an immense conflagration appears. You press on, and, as you enter, a sight meets your eyes, the like of which the world cannot furnish. The whole street, more than a mile in length, is crowded to suffocation with crowds of people, every individual bearing in his hands a torch ortaper. Lights are flashing from roof and balcony, and their glare is reflected from the crimson and gold canopies which yet overhang } the houses. The carriages still continue their course, but their occupants are holding tapers; and, at inter- vals, in the crowd, you see long poles to which lan- : terns are hung or torches tied. It would seem as if

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RPP PDL PIPL DLO the entire population of Rome were bent on illumi- p nating the Corso to the utmost extent. As you gaze, you perceive that these lights are continually being extinguished and relighted. Every individual ap- pears bent on beating out his neighbor’s light and preserving his own; and, against every luckless wight whose tapers are thus extinguished, or who appears taperless on the ground, the cry of “Senza Moccoto”’ is raised by his more fortunate neighbors. rhese two words, signifying, literally, “‘ without a candle,’ are the only ones which are heard. For- merly, the ery raised during the “ Extinguishment,”’ was “Sia ammazato chi non porta moccolo”’—* Let him who is without a taper be assassinated.”” But in these days, assassination is becoming unpopular, even im Rome. And the roar of the voices—which is truly overpowering—the red flashing sheet, ap- pearing in the distance like a gulf of fire, and the quaint devices which everywhere meet the eye, are ke the spectator believe that i ill the wildest delusions, the maddest magie fan- enough, in truth. to ma isies of Domadaniel, or the ** House of Wrath,”’ are being realized in the city of Rome The lights which are used in the «Senza Moe- to”? consist of slender wax tapers, with large wicks Several of these are twisted together, and slarge flame is thus produced, which it would be next to impossible to blow out with the breath. To eflect the extinguishment of these, the Roman ties one end of a handkerchief to a switch, and, thus irmed, flaps away right and left It sometimes eecurs that, while thus employe d in “ dousing the vlim,’’ the eandle-holder catches hold of the hand- kerchief. In such a case, if the captor be a fo- reigner, it is at once applied to the flame and burnt; but if a **native,”’ it is quietly pocketed. One of the most astonishing points in these scenes s the perfect good-humor which prevails through- out. An angry word, or even look, is very rare. Were this thing tried among us,”’ quoth Von Sehwartz, my companion, from under his sombrero, there would be more than ten thousand fights, esque a la mort, in less than three minutes.”’ Von Schwartz lost his te mper once during the Extinguishment.’? A very pretty young lady, in a carriage, having dropped her taper, Von Schwartz politely relighted it and returned it to her. And what did the fair Italian? She not only blew out his light, but actually snatched it from him. Oh, ye Roman ladies!’ groaned Von Schwartz, would that Juvenal were alive again, even for your sake s! And thus, in tumult and revel and wild uproar, ends the Carnival. But nothing strikes the observer more than the sudden transition to the gloom and silence of Lent. The sun which sets on the wildest gayety and confusion, rises on prayer, repentance, and fasting. The lord of misrule, who hath borne it bravely for a season in minivere and gold, now vields his crown to the friar and monk, who, in silent power, confess the sins of his followers—Co- media luget—Scena est dese rta. WOMAN’S BEST ORNAMENT BY RBV. E. P. ROGERS. LET me urge upon my female readers, especially those who are in youth, the importance of taking loftier and better views of life than those taught by the vain world. It is a sad thing to see so many of the young and fair, whose life is most a blank—I will not say a blot—whose keen susceptibilities, whose noble powers, whose deep affections, whose precious time is lavished only upon dress and gayety, and fashionable visiting ; who wear the bright appa- rel of the butterfly, and are as light and graceful, and as useless too; Whose conversation finds no higher or more improving subject than the idle gos- sip of the day, the last party, or the never-failing topic—dress ; whose reading is the miserable trash which is inundating every community, and enervat- ing and dissipating the minds of our youth; whose whole life seems to be an aimless, frivolous life ; and who, as they flit by us on their airy wings, pro- voke the inquiry: ‘For what were these pretty creatures made ?’’—I pray you, take lofiier views of life than these. While I would not draw you from the rational pleasures of society, nor bring one gloomy cloud upon your youthful sky, I still would plead for some serious hours, some industrious mo- ments ; some time apportioned to the culture of the mind, the enriching of the memory With stores ot useful knowledge. I would plead that the capacities and asp rations of the immortal part receive some ministration, and that the moral faculties be culti- vated and stimulated, and the generous impulses of the soul be expanded in labors for the best good of those around you. Be assured there is no beauty like that of goodness—there is no power like that of Virtue ; personal beauty may attract the admiration of the passing hour, but it is the richer beauty ot moral worth, the loveliness of the soul, that com- mands the deepest reverence, and secures the most enduring aflection. Even men who have no religion themselves, but who are men of judgment, and whose opinion is worth the most, respect and ad- mire a lady most, who di plays in her character the “beauty of holiness.” If there is one sight more than any other, in this world of sin and sorrow, which combines all the ele ments of beauty, of nobleness, and of worth, it is that of a young and lovely female, whose youth and beauty, whose depth and richness of atlection, and whose powerful influence on human hearts, are all consecrated to the cause of truth and holiness, laid as an humble offering at the Saviour’s feet! Such a being is, indeed, worthy of the reverence and admiration of every true and noble heart; and she will command it, even when the light of her beauty is quenched, ard the flower of her loveliness is faded. But if there is a sad, heart-breaking sight on earth, it is that of one gifted with all the charms which nature lavished upon her daughters, prostitut- ing them upon the altar of vanity or fashion, and

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142 GODEY'S starving the soul on the unmeaning flattery of a vain and hollow-hearted world; running a giddy round of gayety, frivolity, and dissipation; laying up in a cheerless and forsaken old age, and a the future miserable, remorseful eternity. Oh, what is we ? What her smile, Her lip man 8 of love, her eyes of light ? nen —————e—Ee—EeEeeeeeEeEeeeEeOeeOOeoeenw What is she, he lowly Jesus? if those lips revile Love may write His name upon her marble brow, And linger in her curls of jet: The light spring flowers may meekly bow Before her tread; and yet—and yet Without that meeker grace, she’|| be A lighter thing than vanity !” Simp icity is, in all cases, the best general rule in dressing little children; and infants, particularly, should be spared all unnecessary ornament Figure 1—Is a christening dress, made as plainly is possible, though the material may be as rich as the circumstances of the parents will allow. Jaco- net muslin will look nearly, if not quite, as well as nen cambric, and insertion at twenty -five cents per yard, as that which costs treble the amount. There 1s a deep hem and three plain tucks in the skirt; and corresponding tucks in the sleeves with waist en chemisette, or Figure 2—A robe made in the style of a chemisette. The insertion and edging are of embroidered cambric, a very open, handsome pattern, and the sleeves are trimmed to correspond. The long, full skirt has five narrow tucks at the bottom Caps are not now in vogue, fortunately for the poor little things, who would otherwise be made un- them. We remember when the comfortable by O ; t ee) bow Z FANTS. child’s face was difficult to be found im the cloud of French lace quillings which surrounded it; and to a nervous visitor, expected to pronounce on the re- semblance to “ pa’’ or “ ma,”’ this was somewhat embarrassing. Fortunately, some sensible physicians discovered that, doing no good, a covering for the head irritated and annoyed the child, besides mak- ing it unnaturally and uncomfortably warm Bracelets, another thing that should be prohibited, are not as much worn as formerly, and those used for looping the sleeves are, in some cases, super- seded by a knot of narrow lute-string ribbon, plain blue, white, or pink. We know some ladies of ex cellent taste, who always use ribbon, buying it by the piece for that purpose, thus costing very little It may be renewed twice a day, if necessary. If bracelets are used, they should be plain, flat, gold links, with a clasp of cut coral, or cameo. Coral beads, bells, and whistles, are also a part of the modern nursery apparatus

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We give two cloaks, that are now quite the rag in Paris and London. Figure 1.—The Aramis Mantelet The material is fine slate-colored An entirely new pattern. ‘loth, ornamented with rich embroidery of silk in the same color. It does not fit closely to the figure hut, at the back, has the appearance of a short cir- enlar cloak, with loose, hanging sleeves. The cape s not carried all around, but terminates at the arm- holes The skirt descends to a slight point in front Figure 2.—The Gitana, or Gipsy Cloak. The mT TY TG rnNnam DT RT sa On' lay the broken Ivre Up yn his t ymib ; The Pleiad’s glowing fire Is quenched in gloom! The glorious and the bright (Wiled from the realm of night To earth) has taken flight Good spirits—room ! material should be velvet, of a dark blue, green claret, or cinnamon color. The trimming is black Brussels lace, four or five inches wide, and with scalloped edges. It is buttoned across the front and has a small, coquettish, upright collar. “ La Gitana”’ is the most fashionable cloak of the season. The Aramis mantelet may be made of cashmere or merino, although the fine French cloth, of which the original is made, is the most fashionable mate- Black cloth, lined with white quilt- ed silk or satin, is beautiful for half mourning rial at present. rT wal ~ D TD awa D—EDGAR A POF LION STEPHENS Room for the truant star' Room—room a To the bright land afar Admit our dove So worn and tempest-riven ! Be all his faults forgiven ' Calm be his rest in heaven Whose soul was ! ve

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CROCHET.—LACE COLLAR

Raworth’s crochet thread, No. 70. into next, repeat from * three times more; 3cs S$ ¢ into top stitch; 3 .¢ s,s ¢ into 3d stitch down th ExpLANATION.—c h, chain stitch; d ec, double cro- other side; lde into same stitch: *, 11s into next et: sc, single crochet; | y stitch; dl, double 1 dls into next; 5e¢ s, 1 dc into next; repeat from ng stitch t |, treble mg stitch; ec s, common * three more times, finishing with 5es, 1 d « Pass the th d under es ; sc up three | OvaLs. FO x rue B , j the 1st. 5 « 7 «< & ¢ » the next p 7< < Oes,11s into Sth a" ‘ ss lls into next tall round. Fasten « t 1; repeat from * tw m envcs, 8 ¢ ( mence \ ie ne stitch as trou 4 t st « Ses, sce into centre of lst 7¢s of tround; Ses / pes, d into ist Fes. d ¢ scl I Id next 7 repe it ce I 7 s t x peat a round 1, at t paces, S ¢ to ol ext 7; Tes, s< Oth ot t ‘ dc into them twice, after the Des 7: Ses, sce into 2d stitch beyond the point; 7 ¢ it round Sc up three ol the D5es, *, 6es,8e s ¢ into 3d stitch from last; 7 ¢ s, s ¢ into middle o round the 5 e s of last round repeat from * all next 7; *,8 ¢s,sec into centre of next 7; repe round and into the end spaces %ecs, dc again into from * twice more Sc the remaining 15 for stalk same space Twelve of these leaves must be worked 1 round Lde,21ls.3dls,21s,1deround with fifteen stitches for the stalk, and eight with ten every chain of 6 in last round stitches Sth r /.—6 ¢ s,s ¢ into centre d1s of scallop; Tack these flowers and leaves upon colored paper Ss, S¢ » Same stitch Hes,se¢ intose stitch wrong side up; fasten the ovals together by wm g » ithe 6e¢ 8 of 3d round; reps ill round 1 mall loops. Arrange the sprigs as in the LUS Twenty-two ovals equired r the collar TRATION, and unite them by bars of fine { | Tue sMALL Flowers, wuicu ForM THE Sprites, passed from the edges of the flowers to the ovals jes W mf s, de round the r ng; rep at and each other and working round the same t i j ym * five more times a few times to form a twist xt round, lLde, 51s,1d to every space Make a chain the length of the « r, and w ! es Lis,2cs,n g t ‘ » * 4] f Ww i neces ‘ to space s,1 sl ‘ ! f * LAV Jes, de back een of these; Tack this on the paper, and unite it to the flowers s 3 in dl « s » next; Lde by the same twisted bars

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Accommodation.—This is a simple, economical, inferiority of the material; and when whitewashed, lling, Without pretensions either this meanness, though concealed, is still known to and comfortable dwe no building was ever whitewashed, but to ornament or style. It contains an entrance lob- exist; for by, a; kitchen, 4; back kitchen, c; children’s bed- for the purpose of concealing something, and every room, @; bed-room forthe father and mother, and one must feel, with Wood, that the grandeur or the the infant children, e; tool-house, 7; pantry, ¢; place beauty of any building is never heightened by this - for fuel, A; privy, ¢; cow-house, 4; and dairy, Z. operation. ‘ The world in general,”’ says this philo- There is a yard behind the house containing a pig- sophical artist, “is exceedingly unwilling to ac- sty and the manure well. This yard is entered knowledge beauty of form when the material is bad ; from the back kitchen, ¢; and also by doors in its and, on the other hand, where the materials are boundary fence, m. good, it is ready to praise the form also; the one Coxustruction.—The walls may be of stone, brick, is a much more obvious and indisputable merit than or earth; the two former materials will not only be the other.”’ (Letters, &c., vol. ii. p. 96.) Where found more suitable in reality, but more satisfactory white-washing, or lime-washing, a building, with to the eye; for walls of earth, when not white- any color, contributes to the preservation of the wall, washed, have always a mean appearance, from the it is justifiable; but no genuine lover of truth will rr, \ —_ ee ebethtned b- Sb dt - — 245 von. xL.—13

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“ OOO ' i¢ ‘ ever admit it this o ition can add to the beauty The Roof is shown of a low pitch, and covered or character of a building { with slates. The chimney tops are quite plain. +72ee> —_ BROTHER, whi 1e breath even Brother, dost thou not rem Woos the starry eyes of heaven; Through one cloudy, cold De Aud the stea y shadows, creeping, How we counted Christmas cor Softly as an infant's sleep All its promised pleasures sur Seem but as the brooding fancies, Softly—lest our mother’s sleeping Which the poet’s soul entrances, , Ss ild be broken? Often crec; When the outward world is turning *Neath the curtain’s close ent ing, Dark beneath his spirit’s burning ; } And her sad, sweet face beh g Then I stand amid the shrouding ) While she slu ered? Never dre Memories on my vision crowding ; ; When the hap; n was beami Then I see 5 te n ro é Heaven’s ig vn would wake ir mother— Thou art w t too, my brother ¢ We be left alone, ther Brother, would that I were near thee, ; srother, as the past c ‘er me, Ww ispering wa words to t thee; Il y visions float before me Happy as in cheertul childh | é We f ildren still, and keeping When we w lered through the wildwood ; ; Wa f t ir mother, sleeping Finding only pleasant places ; A e of love i duty Filling all with fairy faces ; F sus W s heave beauty Sending on our songs before us, } An er fait like light shed downward, Till the x cs returned the chorus— ; Draws ir faltering footsteps onward ;— Till the brook, our bourne of travel. oO ’ though the w { oppress thee, With its we Ith of glister gravel, Ar its wearing W s distress me, Reached—of mines we s t none other— Never, while we | »ench other, Oh, how rich we were, m er And are worth { ri her, shail W hive u t brother, Pee LO N I SAL. BY CHARI s I ( \ K I 1 GAZE upon thy gra lilu ed page Bore thee, of old r iT nd wand’re ~ Peter’s shade Ss ew rer tor tt Te) With pity that th we ward pilig r¢ © Savy l quatted ind the Apos es al Has brought thee to a stranger’s f to fade; Some fr pressed thee on each gifted shrir inon’d sage, By ¢ istian valor freed trom heathen thrall Conjecture

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‘ i ‘ ; iy {" 4 ‘ | r. | | ‘ ~s } ( * » mo th Ye a HW Ls EN Uddin, Sill WM an 1, Hy

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EDITORS’ But fashion so directs, and moderns raise On fashion’s mouldering base their transient praise Churchill Fastions in literature are quite as apsolute and often ns s l those in dress. D’ Israeli says, that ‘‘ after Spenser’s ‘Faery Queen’ was published, the press wverflowed with mar mistaken imitations, in which iries were the chief actors The great persona wi gave e ia 1on to this ¢ ss ol te ture, was c I nd romantic FT ibeth herself her obse- I s ¢ tiers 1 not ta to flatter her taste Whether they all e beauties, or languished ove e tedi ess, of the ‘*‘ Faery Queen’’ and the Ar- of Sidney, at least he majesty gave a yvorue ( 1 sentimental and refined romance And when zabeth « se the classical style e € ntro- unother literary fashion; having translated the iles (2tacus, she made it fashionable to trar te Greek tragedies Su being the influence of fashion in literature, we | invoke its power to create a new model for St ntine Day In the L s Book for Fe iry, 1819, wes | it those who did not « se to write their own mis- ves on the important four nt WW ld s w thelr “l taste by sending a beautit book (with the senti- nt or stanza they w edt nuke ficant, under- rea rather than a tantast howere printed eet of paper, purporting to iV tir e first- umed gift would be rt re y \ ed and much nger preserved The hint was tf wed | many ntlemen, as we were if to the great tistac- n of the lady recipient and we now invite all who fer enduring Valentines, to unite in carrying out s new fashion We also suggested last yea 1] reiterate the coun- l now. that any young gentleman who rea wishes ) » his idea enshrined in the me fa young either as friend or lover, h better subscribe for periodical (sending the January and Febru num- ¢ tt} rs on St. Valentine’s Day), and continuing | i his choice . he Ly National Magazir Ladies’ ‘* Sartain’s’’—either m’s’? and these woul wutiful and appropriate Valentines for 1550 } We brought to our ible, last month, some choice nd rich intellectual viands, furnished by literary men, istaining woman’s influence and encouraging her from the iueation. We will now give another course me generous and healthful store There is a beautiful parallelism between the condi- nof woman in her domestic life and the character nation She is the mother of men, and the former f their minds, at that early age when every word dis- upon the heart like the dew-drop upon the tender iss. There is to that young mind no truth or false- hood in the world but that whose words flow from the There is no beauty in character, nor mother’s lips 148 TABLE. glory in action, which has not been concentrated by is, to that climbing child Her fire which 1 her praise. There no path where the mother’s foot has not trod mind is to his the supernatural pillar of imines his ignorance, and the silvery ¢ midday, precedes him in every highway to the wi rid And when science has conducted her pupil thr rh the highest walks of knowledge, or when art has polished him into the accomplished citizen, or when power has dignihe n W 1 the memorials ot otece, s§ still lives in his soul, which she has imbued, from her heart's ‘¢____ pictured urn, With the hts that breathe and words that burn It is thus that society is formed in its social and moral ideas i s its condition must ever present, on a large s e,a parallelism in its moral life to the con dition of w ! It is not a matter of fan but a great social fact.—Edward D Mans fie d FEMALI ATION IN Enoianp.—In the age of Elizabeth, E sh women studied the masterpieces of ancient e! s In the present they seldom bestow 1 ittention on the de languages; but they are ul the tongue of Pascal and Moliére, with the tongue of Dante and Tasso, with the tongue of Goethe and Schille I is there any e graceful English than that which accom- dw n now speak B. Macaulay Tue ComMpaRATIVE TALENTS OF Man anp Woman.— We have 1 too many instances of women of talent and of ’ to doubt their ability to excel—we make no except n any inch of literature whatever We give em, on the other hand, no m« nopoly of ele- gance org ice r ce icacy « f touch, Is some affect to do. These qualities they are very likely to display ; but they will be superior in them to authors of the male sex, only just so far as they are superior to those au- thors in genius and talent There is st i practice, in many critics, to detect the style feminine from the style mas e. The sooner this is laid aside the bet ter. There are styles which, speaking metaphorically one may say have a feminine grace, ¢ ateminine weak ness Such an observation has been made by Sir Mackint , on James pretend to ss i given page of compos whether a man ora wv n has penne is absu We often hear it said, that none but a woman could have writter the letters of M ne de Sevigne If Cowper had been a woman, people would have said the same thing of his letters. They are unrivaled, at least in our own lan- guage, for grace and elegance, an 1 wit and playfulness No woman, we believe—and the epistolary style is sup- posed to belong. bv « specia emale pen— has ever written suche¢ 108e to Lady Hesketh, and his old frie As to the letters of ume ¢ Mad from a m er to a daughter, that it is im; forget, for a moment, the sex of the writer But if the

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EDITORS’ } K TABLE 149

jualities which have given them literary celebrity are { The showy flowers the sweet outvie: to be pr n inced teminine, halt the literature iF ince And tinsel shames the purer ore is of the same gender less can we tolerate the While glitt’ring gauds oft win the eye, affectation that pretends to discern a certain weak- To pass unseen the richest store ness, a tremulousness of the hand when the pen is held by a woman. There isagrace and elegance, but, for- } Thus souls with truest virtue crowned 8 1, a certain hesitation—a want of vigor and cer- }$ By common eyes unfound, aspire tainty of touch Nonsense Take Our Village. by And vain pretence, while flaunting round, Miss Mitford, and the Sketch-Book, by Washington } Bids merit to the shade retire Irving; th ire both of the graceful and elegant order — of style; but the lady writes the English language with NoTICceEs To (¢ RESPONDENTS.—We ve been com- far more freedom, ease, and vigor, than the gentleman pelled to decline most of the articles sent us lately The poetic element is mingled in her diction with far Where the request of return, in case of non-acceptance, more taste and judgment It glitters through her prose was made, the MSS. have been sent back But we \ as the sunlight inthe green tree—throwing its ¢ | hope the writers w l retaine pies of their comin ica- y amongst the tolliage, yet leaving it the same green, and tions, a8 We cannot answer for the sate-keeping of the simple, and refreshing object as before.—Blackwood’s multitude of articles that reach us every wee The Magazine foll Woman’s R s rhe — Pi Loneliness,’’ ** A Gem LINES BY A STRAY WAIF iT

y’s News-

Tue pearl lies hid beneath the sea ;

nes the diarmond shuns the day

ve author of ** Evaleen”’ had better try agai. His

sure things that rarest be ’ letter evinces more talent than is displayed in his poem, i EDITORS’ BOOK TABLE. REDBURN: HIS FIRST VOYAGE. By Herman and especially from those who are the friends of the

gai i re s¢ ‘ f the i - wa 1 While there i thing upon any ot its pages entl wy the merchant service A sens e book to startle with its stupendousness, or awe with its und one that v I more f the at *s re itation mayest et is there something upon ali of them to than ten t and suchas ** Mardi.’? Without becom- touch and captivate every one It is a simple collec- ing Mur iusenish, it tells some wonderful stories, tion of verbal heart-in lses, With imagery as chaste and the est is admirably sustained to the last page as the fleecy el s in a summer’s heaven, and rhyme CAPRICES. R tCar Brothers, New York as easvand graceful as the flow of a river—enriched Wim.S8. Martien, Philadelphia A collection of poems, With the pure and gene s sentiments of Woman—and the ve title of whi Is a caprice The aut ris embellished with the delicate ies Which she alone has nor is. We have read far worse poet than isin } the skill to empl We are sure that it will be the this volume, and seldom better than is to be found in means by which its fair authors will add many to their some of the articles. The author must not hope to } already legion list of frier We deem this a place ret to lor pee irly appro ite to seatte { s handful of rhyme- THE WESTERN WORLD. By Alex. Mackay grains gleaned from the good old fields of quaintness :— a & Blanchard, Philadelphia A two-volume book

of travels in the United States, in 1816-7, by a London ‘* Who write such sweet and pleasant songs as these irrister-at-law, who | bette saved his! ne nd Do often bring the reader’s heart such eas« stayed at hor It is one of t e | 1 edoes That wl sand sees what they do note— that fall at e's fee nd1 e a nois n loding ‘Well fa their hearts,’ he says these lines wh« wi t even ruffling the sole of the boot that tre n wrote i Oh. for time w i Yankee | \ will ve us Ais travels in England in the same vein! { The put ers have issued this volume in a style MAZELLI, AND OTHER POEMS. By George W which its internal excellence 1 its. The paper, print- Sands. Linds & Blakiston A ve clever | <— ~ ing, and binding are superb, and will mi with an far above mediocrity—but not evincing talent or ger s } of the issues of the English press All in al it is one ‘ gh to warrant the a or ing a literar of the daintiest gift-books of the season, and whoever ee I thew t 1 fe to lead I t i chases ar presents it, 5 sn ¢ pliment to | make a living otherwise, and will use his poetic talents wn good taste, and that of the friend to whom iti merely for recreation, well and ¢ 1; otherwise, so, ¢ given as Jack Bunsby s The book is very neatly got up, THE EXCURSION: A POEM. By William Words- r t “ these pul ers worth. C.S8. Fra & Co., New York: Lindsay & as e i ‘ POEMS, BY ALICE AND PHIC2BE CAREY. Moss Blakiston, P del} It is a pleasure to posse & Brothe P in rhis w will re ean 2 ‘ rr em it Ss prese ‘ rm. O enthusiastic W from ailw ve swect poctry $ the poem itself, it 1s unnecessal to speak ; t e

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TION By Mrs. I : D. A & 6 LI & SIDONTA, THE SO! ape I iting, bin iw, «& will rf k it among the king i ks We trust that the pub- s W eus est of Wo th’s works in e same ‘ rEN THOUSAND A-YEAR. T. B. Peterson, Phi- 1 A new edition of this deserved popular K, too we Known to requ iny particular notice em MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS By Mrs. Gore I & B New Y Kk An r novel bya boost 8 proiihe is James i | The pre- s ugh not equal to some of Mrs. Gore’s, 4 “W en and full ot terest SHIRLEY AT By ¢ er Be The new | icknowle 1! author of Jane |} t twill Db is p l is t work was, or s to be It has 1 le, but is, » mae irts t ut ul it t eXte ’ ANCIENTEGYPT. ByG R. ¢ n T.B P elphia We id see that a new Ww k ! It is t up € neat an econ ile 1 withal ) esting matter ISABEL OF BAVARIA B Alexander Dumas me pu sher A | the this a Ww - l 4 that he f lan ex s ss 1 us are is 1 so fre ent the pps ince HEARTS AND HOMES; OR,SOCIAL DISTINC- New c: G.S. Apy » i W ive . t s 1 1 e wW K, ‘ t t t { i € | du t 1 W " re ‘ n terms ot e! st prali riikhy CARAVAN By G. P. Quackent Same A ¢ 1on I r ! German of Wi Im Hau It ve } 1. strated by J. W.O t e€ sO ‘ >the young, that \ n Nights, or Same pu I r Amber- i ven 1 it I nded on ¢ Sf e \ e reign Sf iP 1 2 Ss ’ re absuo- rib CARDINAL’S DAUGHTER B Robert zie Daniel. H. Long & B ( New York s, and is deservedly p rukh MYSTERIES OF BEDLAM; OR rik MADHOUSE. T.B. Peterson, P ide] t. vork purportir to have been written by an officer went ears experience Itis well w A COPLOUS AND CRITICAL ENGLISH-LATIN XICON Harper & Brothers, New ¥ Lindsay Binkiston, Philadelphia. Another magnificent work, h we are inde 1 to the s. It is 1 on the German-! D Dr. Charles Ernest Georg nold, of the American edi sion of Profe sufficient gua It is a splendi GREENWOOD LEAVES: SKETCHES Ticknor, Ree Philadelphia es, by the Rev. Messrs. Riddle and Ar- English Universities This is the first tion, and 1s produced under the supervi- ssor Charles Anthon, whose name is @ rantee for its excellence and ¢ 1 octavo, of nearly 800 pages A COLLECTION OF By Grace Greenwood Hazard & Mitchell, at last; and a AND LETTERS 1, & Fields, Boston Long looked for, com beautiful book have our friend and her publishers made l sa t ng trom its pages, it 1s 8 me and thrilling poetical sketches, that have so popular an author We are delighted rendered her to see her w and to recog! their number SACRED SCENES T. Headley Headley has { the B ga st ur sigt Da gi kK, 1 inner a exte ac rning the t of the nume A SYSTE itings gathered into so pleasing a torm, las new faces among AND CHARACTERS New York M Baker & Scribner, selected a number of interesting scenes i dressed them up in his usual ele- l they are illustrated with exquisite de- The t e-page is enchanting Asa s surpassed by none in the beauty of its ppearance and 18 tar worthier of ibles of the library or parlor, than most ous annuals of the season I. OF ANCIENT AND MEDLEVAL GEOGRAPHY By Charles Anthon, LL.D Harper & Brothers, New York: Lindsay & Blakiston, Phila- d ar. Thist nificent octavo, of S00] t is in- ter 1 tor the use higher schools and « res It st sus as r one the most learned works é ge Ar sea unt of labor must! een €X- pended in its « n and arrangement We trust tl rwi ve us a second volume HISTORY George Tick the firs I ire tas 1 " n ¢ t to literature very nas THE WHA T. Cheever ‘ the W l¢ pl is n e Pre gray g ul \ ng Art M ec} i738 Che book for the It embraces illustrated, and binding is exq CHAPMAN’S No.3. Jf Chapman 1 standing, to ne A WHEAT OWN FIELI OF SPANISH LITERATURE By Same publishers We ve received The work will be completed in three t the faci es en- ! = I vee i at ) t y ly I pography of the work i ‘ est style LE AND HIS CAPTORS. By Rev. H = I ishers An interesting ace nt viventure i the wha s biogra- t he ward ¢ ise ott ( Il- ] i t wi nume is en- is f of i n both to old 1 S’ POSTHUMOUS WORKS. Vol. viii SHEAF GATHERE Ss. By F. Cc. W worth ow W Do st s et, P welphia A gem ofa . our two fa s in a rr e tale or poem, Is iu cannot fail to meet with favor. The AMERICAN DRAWING-BOOK J.S. Redfield, New York. Mr well known as an artist of the highest { culogium trom us

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ROLANI By C es YCASHEL. Part III., and the conclusion Blakistor his v ime f e s in interest either of the e ng. Son of el lents and sudden alteration of e characters a i little astonishing, but it is a volum int se in est The inge in Lord Ki {’s character is not! e remarkable than that of the elder D he FAIRY TALES OF ALL NATIONS. Same pub- lishers Another gift-book of the se n—one well c l late | to le ise the munee me nbe s ofa tamily LITTLE ROBINSON OF PARIS, and THE WORLD AND ITS WONDERS, are the titles of two beantiful little gift-books, sent us by J. & J. L. Gihon, 98 Chestnut Street. We can recommend them to al! fa es; they are deserving of a place in every house where there trated THE BO¢ are children. They are profusely illus- 1K OF THE MARTYRS. No.1. This is another work we have received from the same pub- lishers. It is printed from fine large type, on excellent paper, and is well illustrated A very valuable book for eve ibrary SHAKSPE Peterson. P! HISTORI¢ By the Rev the bes scno use, we recor ARE’S DRAMATIC WORKS. T. B iladelphia. We have received No. 4 of edition, containing a fine line eng! iving of ‘AL GEOGRAPHY OF THE BIBLE Dr. Coleman. E.H. Butler & Co. One of -books of the dat Independent of that nmend it to the perusal of every lover of Bible literature The follow ing is a list of some of the publications to be had at George 8S. Appleton’s, southeast corner of »venth and ¢ SACREDI A large and b HOLIDAY tiful colored e HOME RI peril and adve manners and ‘hestnut Streets: -OETS OF ENGLAND AND AMERICA eautiful book, with splendid line engray- HOUSE. By Catharine Sinclair Bean- ngravings. Anexcellent book for children XCREATIONS. A collection of tales of nture ; voyages and travels; biography customs; poetry. A new gift-book for young readers, by Grandfather Merrvman AMERICAN HISTORICAL TALES FOR YOUTH Commencing with Voyages of Henry Hudson; Adven- tures of Dani Captain Smith LITTLE F in words of or BOOK OF instruction of sixteen elegar el Boone, the first settler of Kentucky 1 and Pocahontas, &c. With engravings RANK AND OTHER TALES. Chiefly e svilable BIRDS. Intended for the amusement and young people. Beautifully got up, with t colored illustrative plates THE CHILD’S PRESENT. A new story book, to engravings LIVES OF sement an Cromwell, H Adam Clarke, Cuvier, and R see his variety and improve the hearts of youne chil- by Grandfather Merryman. With colored ILLUSTRIOUS MEN. Adapted for the linstruction of youth. Comprising Oliver ernando Cortez, Sir J. Reynolds, Dr Sir H. Davy, Lindley Murray, Baron ev. Geo. Crabbe. Call at Appleton’s, and ited edition—* ALFRED” nt us. We have heretofore s Lindsay & Blakiston have it r l ‘ poken of NEW MUSIC WE are indebted to Lee & Walker. No. 162 Chestnut Street, for the following choice collection of new music published since our last number :— Vew Mazourk t(Quadri les By James Bellak. They were written for and are danced at Maguire’s Assem- es; and we can speak confidently, ar I nm expe- rience, of their beauty and appropriateness Diligent Polka By J. A. Getze. This capital polka is dedicated to the members of the Diligent Engine Company Gustaviana Polka. By Gustave Blessner Like all the works of this author, an excellent performance Sub- Rosa Waltz By Fr. Benkhardt. An easy and simple waltz, with a queer title Saucy Kat A ballad. Words by Lawrence Seckel Music by W. P. Cunnington This is ¢ ‘* Saucy Kate,’’ sung by Mr. Hudson, during his recent engage- ment here, and is deservedly popular. It is embellished with a fine lithograph of the lady hersel Jeanie and Donald. Words by Farquharson. Music by Hodson A ve sweet Scotch song Gentle Deeds Words by Mrs. Clara Foster Musie by E. F. Rembault. A cor union to ** Ge e Words.” Iwill not breathe thy ” Words by D. L. Qden- baugh Music by Mrs. Geo. W. Brook Woman's I nd H ss Love Two sweet songs, by the lamented J. T. S. Sullivan—the music as well as the wor t the latter being by m Adrea that lo in r forget W s by Hub- sent us the following new publications We know of no | sher w se selections We can n confidently recommend than Mr. Walker’ His proverbial good taste is a sufl t guarantee that every piece he pub- iis t € t } S¢ sauicl tp i = wor | Capr pou } le Rondo Fi introdutt Jans I la Cha f le Max M j Com- ] par WU. St f VW ever has he the origi- nal of this fine production, will be delghted with this improvement of Strakos¢ Thee rated Invitation ala Polka, by Maz Maret- zek Arranged for four hands by J. A. Getze The same remark may be made as above. The Ledger Polka By James Bellak A capital polka, witha splendid engraving, representing the office of the ‘* Ledger,’’ corner of Third and Chestnut Streets, and the scenes common to that locality Home-sick Polka. By Gustave Blessnet An excel- lent polka, by an author who always writes well Southern Odd- Fellows’ March. By Mrs. W.H. Hay- ford Prairie City Waltz By Mrs. W.H. Hayford If this author goes on as she has commenced, she will win laurels in the field of song WaLker’s Musicat Girt, For 1850, which, we trust, most of our readers have seen, is certainiy a magnificent specimen of the arts The nding 1s superb, and richly gilt and figured. The illuminated presentation and title-pages are in McGuigan’s best style, and worthy so elegant a setting rhe music itself is, of cour supe r, or Mr. Walker would never give it publication even, much more so splendid an issue. We are pleased to notice that the words of

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several of the songs are by our good friend Fitzgerald, of ‘ ( Item We tru is we have no doubt that Mr. W. will dispose of a numerous edition. We are sure that our friends can bestow no more appropri- ate f k on their wives, sisters, or lady-loves In Arthur’s Book of Sketches,’’ published by Brad- North Fourth Street, is a story entitled ‘+ The t dist Preacher We advise ever yerson to pur- ‘ se the book, if only for this story It isa gem Tue Sat DAY PosT.— ng old paper still keeps on rising in the estim ts su ers, and gaining in numbers every da Occnsior it casts | I its ld ‘ es ind comes tous new essed -8O d lyhed i ippearance, that we sometimes think it is a stranger ; it, on Open it, we still find the man-

GroreesS.A ETON. corner of Seventh and Chestnut streets is semt us one of the ve best tof all the <p Drawing Books f ginne we have ever seen: sixteen early lessons in drawing Any body may learn to draw purchasing this tle work 4 Pur NG ST T eare tew ect { greater intere t ! 1 ed or ta < nances to be seen at al t we t ed erreoty pe the celebra the Me sR 140 Chestnut Stree f ’ erest ind , ce of een ‘ ‘ to ers f art or to t who are « This ‘ { ered, | te $ ne of 8 8 r excellence, and is well W the t e of ay Tut ! from our s sand ex inges i 8 i ] bout | WW : t we 11n { ed \ neg to notice e matte \ bs er in Suffolk, V writes ust e them The Dent (Md.) Journal says tha ! ire sO I | bw borrowers, that the ' not fit t ind ufter t have gone the 1 The Tra t. at

him. Sure e price of the work is v ¢ to prevent b wing 4 NTLEMAN is anxious to « rin the ess of Lille L t ‘ Will s send it to the | er of the La s Book ? W st decidedly iwain ra es and the er types on glass They never w for female faces I se that we have seen are hice A Gem it n the Frene Sylvia”’ s very good; but nfortunately, the newspapers | vey shed it Ovr correspondents must have patience with us ) hundred letters a day are not so eas t gh with Ovr instructions about remitting seem t ive been

* Remitted, &c., t sed, and not on e lette bank notes in § THE bern. N. ¢ \ eg leave t am em wo

M

ost abi eo i ed peri lical The reverend editor most es e gentiemal The engraved heads of nent men in the church are admirable specimens of nd ¢ i rs, and for effect are not surpassed by 1y steel ones We have not room on our cover for the advertisement ot « mos lie ser Mat ance any

ir friend of the ** Boston Yankee Blade ;’’ but we t cordia recommend the paper to the reading pub- isam diverting one It contains mirth and good e combined. The price is only $2 a year, and hews, the edito person might boas

C. A. W., Springfield, N. C.—Inquiry has been made, With no success Tue Valentine plate in this number, ‘‘ Cupid among the Flowers s one of singular etiect Hold the plate at a litt stance, ¢ efore a looking-glass, and its beaut great ncreased NEW FURNITURE. WeE have been frequently requested to give a notice of new fur e,f the benefit of those at a distance from cities, w wish to send orders. In compliance to t we levyote some tin and space to the dese ion ¢ a suite of elegant furniture, W h was f exhibit larg nd elegant ware ! G e J. Henkel Now, t may cause divers groans trom honest countr \ echairs.a bureau,a! iss, indat e st ‘ ered the esse s of parlor f niture is tor centre-tabie xuries, that call forth the sitors, that ** Squire Smith, or Major Jones e are living quite too stylish!” But w we ¢ the honest sincerity w 1 still lives ir e sha \ { wWall-paper ¢ ul and depre- cate the extray int transparency of ¢ roidered lace ditt v cit s a faithful historian compels us to do } tice t the « nt articles, in which Mr. Hen- kel’s g taste ar e skill of his workmen are dis- pla ect Tur Harti.—A set of hall furniture, comprising a t-stand, e¢ s, and f ng-table, of fine carved and g | ed oak, is first on our list. These ire of a Got attern, and distinguished by i pecu- liar neatness The stand is furn ed with a small, tacle for umbrellas, ¢ ete. The the country gene re ive little nsidered, as most often described, simply a passage Tne Par Specimen r-room or pa r f e are well the plate w mpanies our de sofas and ‘ ry « s are covered with satin damas son and black, and deeply tufted, or knotted, as w be seen The frames ar f rosewood, delicately ¢ ved, ind of the | est } One of the prettiest patterns, represents clusters of small and large roses, every petal being distinct Frames of the same shape, and covered “ velvet lus rir-cloth, may be procured M writ s the established accompaniment of hair- ri weve fhe lounging, or arm-cha has a richly ¢ ered covering of pl damask; the

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bouquets are life-like in color and execution, rivaling base. We commend it to consideration of ** heads the far-famed labors of our grandmothers. Indeed, this ot large families kind of needlework is once more the fashion ; and chair- We have given the con n names of the articles de- covers, embroidered in silks 1 worsted, or of silk scribes t.as French terms are often met with, we } itchwork, In an inhinite variety ot patterns, are con- append a list { those most frequently us wilh their stantly in the hands of fashionable upholsterers to be ti lations

The boudoir piano has been recently introduced in Tete-a-tétes (sotas) this count As will be evident, it occupies a t ( ses res (recepti iirs) half the space of an ordinary square instrument, and the Canapésat s ‘ is With three backs). | strength or volume ot tone is not in the least i in- ( S¢ 'u (imaie 4rmi-cChairs) | ished. They are fast superseding, in many familie Etagéres (what the more cumbrous, square, and grand pianos, being Consoles (j table easily transported, and a very elegant ornament to any B ts S room Ecrans (fire s Sofa tables seem to have taken the place « e centre- Bibliotheques , in shape, with marble tops. The most elegant being irmotres (W robes of yellow or Sienna marble, which is twice the cost of Bureaux d i ies’ work-stands) an ordinary white slab Lits droits (Fret edste s). And now we come to the étagére, or ** w t not.’’ as —— this article of furniture is usually der nate The PERFUMES

is in t f = title The . 5 f indispensable to mar Jewish ceremonies, we have » > ed cat . the ac nts in his rv ot the e « perfumes among al 1 t ' ¢ ‘ nia ! The luxur s Cle a had her scented edge ure e most co! er , . i . i luxu patra had j sitting-room. 1 - r nurser I ‘ , : bat e ele int Athenian finished a ft et with the ¢ int and simple in constructi is int ed or for delicate ointment comy nded of roses and violet the parlor 4 iwer for eneravings. etc.. is att at ind, down to our own times, the love of perfumes is a to t central shelf, which is. ir me <« a . found among all classes and in every civilized country marble In most houses, elegant bound b cs. and We do not object to their use—far from it—but their ; ilerie of all dese tions. fill the different ies abuse is so frequent and s disagreeable to delicate olfactories. that we ive t wht to « P rales Tur Bep-Room.—Here we have the « —_ It i it we |} t ht ffer a few c

— - nee oe us s for e gui nee of our frier side nd shelves i dee lraw t : The cor eration of the sul *t was forced upon us, t ee — —— . utler divisior A mir is someti a it rted , 1 n iong go,a 1e re ing of Hamlet by Mrs. Butl ; pane atthe Sansom Street Hall All who were there, will q : . remember that the house was crowded, and the air ne- e are ne irean, of a size 1 1 t ] , . ecessarily confined. Close to us sata badly attired lady, best please the taste of the | , Veil el’s ] ] whose gaping dress, shining ly hair, and coarse stock es every varie Or . gloves did not speak n 1 for her refinement In are attached to all Black w t is e 1 - { cs volunt .**a shudder took us,’’ and we retreated as for chambe i niture, ¢ 1 doe mot s § ‘ er neighborhood But what was stains so ¢ yas mahogar Be t ft t , , } ' the | vy. if we ¢ 1 not see the animated face of the

costly and ¢ int « *ript . ranging in pri from : : oa ’ ee ; eae 990 to $1000. | Se Sera ; reade And ) , it was necessary to lean very we r , = gh , near the lady in question Presently, the heat of the And 2 =e we ” ’ —_— at ‘ — room drew } er handkerchief It was saturated sebeamates diiaicasivitcn es ‘apie chins bs with guet de Car vw; and, with every fresh move- raised or depressed at pleasure a ment, the overpowering odor was wafted towards us ne oes e bed to support . W here s Trincolo says,in the Tempest, ‘‘ our t 4 , or anything required by a convalesce re , nose was in great i ition.’? But there was no help invalid t ) and, as our neighbor was not the only lady who

Tue Dintnc-Room.—A dining-room shou in every had availed herself freely of Roussel’s extracts, the case, be furr ed simply A table, chairs, s -tables, ir was he and surely unw lesome betore the end and, perhaps, afew pictures upon the walls, are suill- ot the se nd aet cient The im ed extension t e, Which is Won Asa first principl ad ed or strong odors are in { Mr. Elenkel the warmest « endations from house- bad ste What i it perfume it the counterteit keepers, and honor from numerous “ institutes,’ is brenth of sweet flowers; and nature rely overdocs given the plate Its advantages are obvious to those her work, in making that addition to their loveliness so who once were obliged to place two square tables, obvious as to be disagree e. To be used successfully, sometimes of unequal t, side and side, if company then, | extracts s 1 be like the faint breath of was to be entertained In this improvement, the t- flowers ting lightly on the air, but never burdening ce! ed by a rope and small windlass con- i Besides, many people dislike peculiar perfumes so ce m of the table. w ch also obviates much—such as otto of rose, musk, or patcheuli, once the necessity of screws to fasten the different leaves so fashionable—as to be al lutely faint by coming in toget! as they may be tightened by a turn of the contact with them Charity —with this in view — windlass. When entirely shut up, it has the appear- would dictate a sparing use of What is not essential to ance of a beautiful oval centre-table, with a hea our own comicrt

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Wwe nee knew an old lac vho adopted a very inge- i ! t id erse ice in the shape of musk. which her a , ter was very fond of using t ited exter The young i an r ce to ether l whi d been re- ’ gren ! for e nery is allec- t Rnow yr t er au inl n was | vided ; ct Su when Mademoiselle sh K out une i erchiet at meeting,’’?’ what was he it hnding it verpowered b i flask ot et . 1wasp ‘ the old la s pocket. Frowns and rer nstra es were of no avail So long as thee : c, I it. ] shall resort to an antidote ; for it nery s attacks most rccountably.’’ 4 f str e was esta shed 1 Miss E ma’s m Ww l ed up with an ' s ether

rrow ill the entiful e of otto of rose made by ne¢ t ir fj ind, to this day, patcheuli has a Perfume imes, were vided into two kinds Nhe firs f rt, were ¢ | led into a kind ( intm t { imost inv e in price nd put up in cos xes and yases i ves of alnbaster) as the W nown instan ae i in the G spels usé t 1d perfumes was nsidered as etlemi- r\ ious; but grave senators and sober ma- trons In ged in the first wit t reproach Grecian ladies conside I them indispe é ypendages to the toilet; and t se who prepared i | them were imong the most petted and succes l tisans inancient Rome re mes are extracted | from flowers, 8 s, and woods, with the s of o« iferous | its Bes es these we ive ‘ i e pro- ‘ tot a little creature (m S ¢ native to Thibet and Tonquin. It is 1 i id but dries to a hard brown sul e that is eas pul- verized It is very costly; but a small juar ty is sul- ficient to scent a large stock of perfumery Civet is similar to musk, but is used only to stimu-

late or strengthen other perfumes rhe present taste of the day seems to have fixed on extracts of flowers in the form of eau spiriteu and Paris, and Roussel, in our own ci ive these delicate prepa i g rhe « rait or é rit of roses, violets, nionette essamil orange- flowers, acacia, tuberose, and lavender are, beyond question, the most exquisite of all perfumes; and an rreeable variety is produced by a ju us mixture f several here enumerated. Eau de cologne—so called from the name of the city most celebrated im its manu- facture—is c ymposed of several fins viveits dilated with pure nicohol Now, either of these, when moderately used, are agreeable to most people; but a handkerchief saturated with coarse eau de cologne, or a strong essential oil marks at once a person a8 possessing very littie good taste. We have always found the following the best method: Procure a quantity of poudres aux fleurs— " which is common hair powder s

‘nted with flowers, and is to be procured at any perfumer’s—fold it in an

envelo so that it cannot escape, and iay it in the drawer appr ypriated to laces, gloves, handkerchiefs, ete., which will acquire from it that faint, scarce per- ceptible odor which is so pleasing. Scented French } glove-boxes are sufficient in themselves, sometimes, for all necessary purposes; and, if a liquid be used, let

RAARAAD ADDR D DS it be as sparingly as possible In a future paper, w may have some g to say of cosmetics generalil but at present we only seek to impress upon our lad " ny friends the truth of the | proverb as applied to per f es—‘* Too much of a good thing is good for no- thing.’? DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION PLATI Figure 1st.—Evening dress of straw-« red silk, the the skirt trimmed with r flounces of Brussels lace her medium width, and caught sage is jionable this season The th is worn with ringlets and made to droop at the le, while the others for small bouquets Flowers e the most simple an

r n those now in vogue ir eountrv The tippet the neck, descending 1 much as our g WOODEN BLOCK FASHIONS These are ** by the very | arrivals,’’ as our cotem- he way, weare n nt! expecting will vertise their tashions as received by W s<ing-dress of dark green watered fringe, and a close velvet bonnet, com 29d. figure.—Walking-dress of dark silk A large negligé mantelet, of the same material A bonnet « quilted satin, edged with a niche ot ribbon the same col iveilt vn carelessly over it td figure —Morning dress of plain crimson cash- mere, with corded velvet ribbon extending up the front and deep pockets, highly ornamented Loose sleeves and small cambrie collar ith figure.—An indescribably ugly costume; but ner, very new, which may throw a charm around it The shmere, and the under dress is fine

material is a dark cambric The sleeves show a decided tendency to- ’ ward the old style of ‘* mutton leg.’ FAsHION

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“NOLLAIUOS AT YO ‘MO0g 40 AIDVd LSVI Aas {S) 1H ss —AITAININ AM AW i) I",

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A SMALL VILLA. Fig. 1. ae RR ‘wh } LS . ci J — i oi Ni) a LG fast-room, f, 14 by 114 feet ; porch, 2 ; dining-room, / The elevation is shown in Fig. 1; the ground 24 by 15 feet ; green-house, ¢ ; kitchen, 4; scullery, /; plan in Fig. 2. Accommodation.—The principal floor, Fig. 2, con- pantry, m; dairy, 2; stable, e; chaise-house, p; tains a porch, @; hall, 4; staircase and passage, c; open terrace, g; and terrace with a veranda over, r. ’ ’ , qs study, d; drawing-room, e, 24 feet by 15 feet ; break- Fig. 2 UM = | a F i ——]

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