Godey's Lady's Book 1850-10: Vol 41 Iss 4

Page 1

GODEY’S

PH [ ( i ; ooo r k, « mam when shal] be a m young Count of Virieu, fairer than they “ ma Jean his bailiff, because of with the impress of his noble h on his brox

brings home his lovely white forehead, and shapely, robust limbs ung I will say to her, ‘See, he slept in my The child’s foster mother grew thoughtful as she ms jhe grew strong and beaull uuder my stood there with f lded art eaning mn the door- wav. and the smile that had lighted her round, fair \r ! like the countess his mother, she face deepened almost t a shade " answer thee, ‘Ay, ay, good nurse; but what ‘;T would not be the countess for all her broad sthatto me? Thou wast well paid for thy trou lands.”? she mused, “if I were forced to put my adage children away from me before they knew their mo

e. eh ‘But mv lady is kind, for all that; and it is not ther’s face. ‘To let another watch them when they ney that rewards me Tis to see the young begin to look towards the light, and use their litt! ands! To think of my

ifant, With its paie feet, and stretch out their

toberto changed from the puny | cklustre ¢ fantnre See hov Jean calling another maman, or winding his arms bs are k nds i he grows! about a nurse’s neck when he went to sleep at And then, at nig l 1 in my ari dl night! Al ttle she knows what a pleasure it 1s th his et 1 see him gentl\ his to be a mother, and little she cares for what she has weet sleep! It is then I lost! And his fathe Paris half the tame, WW his mothe that? > 3 ‘ ling out with tl d gallants when he is seen 1 Easter s« . Ww her here! I would not change for all their chateau, j : | her and company A with its grand galleries, and stone terraces, and shame f s . \ a | - brave hangings

Page 2

choice. What are the accompaniments of wealth, the excitements of a fashional career, to the calm dome comfort that oftentimes gathers about a cottage hearth, where the ne sof e only are sup- ed What is not lost by that mother who will- viv gives her ch d to the charge of a hireling that uer vn selfish indolence and pete 1 tastes may be gratified, and turns from it to th flattery of the and the wearying round of frivolous amuse- ments? Love must be stii , maternal tenderness tu l m its natu course, ¢ this can dot and W I mother Who has WwW ged the noblest and truest instincts of her nature! ‘* She A 1 her wheat 1 ! ind s i reaj I reward « ver husbandry f i I ect W ! t lw added sorrow : ch mx rs kueW w pu tl pieasu t C ‘ ung beni nhdec the Creator t Ket g, tear ig il 1 eurliest years to se l e the ‘ rT t 1thome ot ! re ex u they 1 fe as they one « ist i re- spon of the trust s \ s so fa - lessiy discharged, they would turn trom all else to this sacred oflice, and think not that their lives were wasted in the training of these young heirs of mom aiity The reverie of the good nurse was suddenly in- terrupted ; for the children, clapping their ha eried See! see the pretty lady!”’ and in the dis- tance a party from the castle were winding thei wavy towards them. She saw at a glance that it r of her little charge, the young and beautiful Countess Emile, attended by a tall f with his gay livery and saucy air. ‘It was well that Roberto was cleanly dressed thought the dame 1 a fiutter of excitement; for the \ ts of his mother were rare events, and chronicled as great days in the household of tl cottagers Le les she had all a mother’s pride in th npearance of her foster child, and now she glanced with much sfaction at the dress, so neat, \ simple in its snowy whiteness, which distinguished the young count’s apparel from the fabrics which his coarse! playle ows wore You might h eyes grow br ive looked to see the young mother’s ht as she caught a glimpse of her beautiful son But, save a glow of haughty pride, which for a moment passed over her fine features, the difference with which she gazed on the around her was unchanged. She irned the scene warm salutation of the nurse with a listless air of weariness; and, though she kissed the child when it was placed in her arms, there was none of the heartv affection which distinguished the caresses of Marguerite The little fellow seemed pleased at the trappings of the lady’s patient steed, then looked wonderingly face, so different from the up into her beautiful harsher features to which he had been accustomed, and softly stroked the round, white arms that held him. Theresa and Jean, with the instinctive bash- fulness of childhood, hid behind the vines, and peeped out ne at the strange lady who had taken their pet, Roberto But the scene was changed when the countess a yuunced the object of her visit She had decided to remo ie child to the castle, not that she might for she would soon be on with a gay party, where eve nes be bai er son would at but that he might be given to the charge of a Paris- ian Jonne, and thus escape the contamination of a rude peasi nt ile With characteristic se fixhbness the countess hi ivenno Warning of her intentions and, though the parting was an ¢ t whi lu guerite hud sometimes cot templated, its suddenness added many a pang to the separation Now r thatas w had passed over her, for it was ddest m« ng she had ever known She kis the child again and 1, While the tears stre down upon its fair face; but the young mothe looked on in calm in erence at an agony t i never shaken her own heart And the « iren when they began to comprehend that their playrel low was to be taken from them, forgot their bash fulness and came clinging to their mother’s dress, begging Roberto not to go. The poor little fellow himself, unable to understand any of the scene except that they were all unhappy, and the strange lady made them so, tried to spring rom her, and t ittle arms towards the children with such a sad, piteous face, that even the lacquey } t} who had first been amused by such an unwonted exhibition of feeling, gave the sorrowful nurse a sympathizing glance. The old dame hobbled to the door to bid farewell to the darling of the family though she did not forbear expressing her dissati>- faction at the proud lady who had come to claim I him. And at last the sad parting was over, and the young count was borne away, king back stretching out his e hands until they passed from otetes how many times she woke that i away, and his mother stood re- and how she longed to press the little one to her heart as she so often had done and stroke its soft curls until she should fall asleey again But most s wful was it to see the little one turning from his own mother, in the midst of all vad been gathered for the heir ot the luxury thé Virieu, and refusing to be comforted because Jean ‘heresa did not bing At last he fel first tears of grief he had ever shed, and answer to his passionate sob- | asleep, his pillow wet with the watched over by his strange donne while his mother was the life and gayety of her brilliantly lighted saloon W hat wonder that, surrounded by such influences taught only to esteem wealth and rank, and to turn coldly from those beneath him in station—no matter how warm the heart or how noble the intellee the Count Roberto Virieu should have been among the

Page 3

~ - , + wr a y xT =~ I I LT rR CEN. 197 first denounced as an aristocrat in the trou is pliance by the bold determination of their lead-r s of the Revolution but when his ancestral knew what a rushing tide of youthiul memorie s were rescued from the rude hands of the mob led by the supplic as of the faithful Marguerit., by the intercession and com! s of « 1 Jean ad moved the citizen to this deed of mercy Dumont, none of those who were awed into com- ~— eo > fy . IN CHAPTER |! ; Time, who is no sluggard in his pace, quickly

Whose daily » is the requiem < t Of wa gs it feeds the canker, care, And r Vv, Which ends on in despatr “ Mor [am weary and faint. Lay my head upon your breast, and let me breathe my last sigh with rarms about me. Do not weep, dear mo- t r r I part from a home of sadness tO gaina ‘ritage; and there, in my resting-place iar ue heavens, I will sing glad hymns of | ve the eever <e ; and your name, dearest mother, will » been a burden to you on earth. Too feeble to toil for your good, I have been all de- pendent on your kindness. But now go from sick- dearest » not e not, and though y« } be ever 1 want; u see yet your child will about you, for }

know you not that the spirits of those we ’ve prized rth speak to us gently in whispers of love, in : bt? breeze, and in dreams by night

Thanks be to Thee, O Father, for immortal, through the Saviour’s the hope of life ME With these lingering words of parting, passed ther—dear mother—farewell !”’ away the st} yirit of a child of pove rty. Beside the wi

couch re lay the lifeless body knelt a woman in the prime of Iife. But Misery’s hand had already accomplished its task, and the sunken eye, the hol- low cheek, and attenuated frame told of deep suf- fering NT} ' WiCLOINKS, kind reader, you would desire to know at of the history of the subject of my narra- the mother of the child whose death we have just recorded Ellsworth was once the star

Ellen

of ab nt cirele, and surrounded by luxury and wealth. Of noble parentage, and an only she dwelt in her father’s proud English home, th iof his heart, for whose gratification no sacrifice was emed too great, and whose slightest wish never passed by unheeded. Ps lan bid But the instructions of a pious umpere¢ 1 praised by all, this gentle girl fair to become merely a

butterfly of tashion mother, who had watched over her childhood, had never been quite forgotten. Her holy example cast its hallowing influence over her child’s mind, and often, in the gay revelry, and amid the giddy throng, her heart it served to still the wild throbbing AE he Q ¢ AAA

swept years away, and, by s touch, transformed the gentle girl into the loving woman Years, tox had wrought a wondrous change; for Ellen Elis- worth stood no more within her father’s lordly halls, but was an outcast from his home. For she had committed the unpardonable offence of making her own choice of a companion to journey with her 1 } i,t along the rugged paths of life ; and, because of this she had bitterly ncensed he r proud parent, and hron rou ght a withering curse upon her head CHAPTER II For riches certai make to themselves wings, ar Lwa I call he her marrii ELLEN STANLY r now by her husband's me) had, by ge with a man of plebeiau

her place among the corte fash m and wealth to which she formerly belonged ; 1, stung tot sneers and scorn of

relatives and friends, herself and husband left old England’s shores to seek ime across the wide Possessed of health, a refined education waters. and energy of mind, together with a moderate por- tion of this wor ; goods, Robert Stanly hoped to

win a name an the great and good in the land towards which t! urneyed ; and with such fee!l- ings, strong in ope, the young couple took pos session of their new home For many years they prospered, and love and happiness was their daily portion. Three darling children graced the ! 1, and for these ¢ d gilts the hearts of the parents offered up an unceasing tril of thanks. But, at last, in the moment which seemed t most secure o! Vv, the curse of an angr which, until now, had seemed to slumb fell heavily upon r heads The commercial dis asters which 1e years since devastated our lat swept av t one stroke, the accumulated gains of a life of lustry, and left this fam almost pet niless; for, tl igh imprudent advice, Mr. Stanly had p 1 the whole of his funds in those banking nstitutions which, by their total wreck, made s many of the fatherless and widows weep in anguish This sudden sorrow paralyzed the hitherto active

Page 4

198 G nergies of the man, and caused the poor husband and father to sink beneath its weight. A sudden and violent brain fever completely prostrated him, and, in a short time, Robert Stanly breathed his last, his intellect so clouded by sickness that he gave not me word of farewell to his weeping family, or one parting glance to the wife of his youth Ye who are surrounded by those you dearly love, prize their every word as a valued treasure ; for, ' is' you know not how soon the angel of death bear them from your sight And ye who are unded by wealth and happiness, forget not your brother who toils to gain food for his starving by the sweat of his brow; tor ye, too, may { 4 cs have both opulence and joy crushed by one grasp a despot hand, and if ye have not ministered unto thers, how can ye yourselves hope to be miutstered samé , mid CHAPTER II She has passed to her rest, and flowers w n Upon her bed of clay Her s it ‘ Will wing its flicht to realms ¢ Where radiant forms, in spot 3 es, allure, And seraph voices guide her on h W DurinG the first years of her married life, letter after letter had been addressed by Ellen to her in- nsed father, praying for forgiveness; but all in vain, for no answer came to ease her troubled heart. And, be ye ever so upright, a parent’s curse is a At last, the efforts to yielding to hopelessness, heavy burden laughter ceased al! soften his obdurate heart, considering such attempts useless. But now, when wrung by bitter anguish, she again wrote to m, trusting that, as the object of his hatred was no he would forget the past and pardon her Alas! n—ay, even the reci nquer his stubborn he her le some of his hoarded wealth Thus cast entirely support, the poor mother, for the sake of her inno- more, flence. it was all in vain. Her deep con- tal of her grief—failed to art; and he strove to think stter but a well-concocted story, framed to gain upon her own exertions for ent children, wrestled bravely with the world, and toiled ceaselessly to keep them free from actual for, as yet, they were too young to aid suffering ; her efforts but in a slight degree Time wore on. Gradually, pinching want entered y, I the household; one by one, the sacred relics of ier days were sacrificed to obtain the necessa- ries of life. Sickness, too, came with its withering insidious scourge, of the power; and that consumption, fl Ch, named Mary, just verging into womanhood, and the the eldest a gentle girl, stole upon darling of her mother’s heart. All her hopes were ntered on this young being; to her she poured forth her sorrows, and from her received many a BOOK. word of comfort; for she pointed forward to the led to her mother’s, time when, with her energies ad they could stem the torrent how rushing against them, and once more look gladly forth upon the world. But these fond hopes were doomed to be nipped in the bud, and the mother’s heart was again to be iected to severe trial. Disease made a slow but It touched the flower lightly, but at last it softly closed, then gently surely, until passed away. Sleep on, thou weary and heavy laden, until with glad praise the new-born spirit animates the lifeless dust, and thou wingest thy way on high, joining the ransomed throng of the pure in heart! Rest pence, thou gentle spirit, throned above ! Ss . ne, with God, inherit life and love.”’ CHAPTER IV ‘We toil—through pain and wrong; We fight—and fly ; We love; we lose, and then, ere long, Stone dead we lie, O lite! is all thy song Endure and— 9 Sickness had reduced the widow’s fund to its last farthing; and though her wearied frame sank beneath these accumulated trials, yet the never- tiring strength of a mother’s love left her not slum ber, but urged her still to strive on. After the day’s hard labor ended, that lonely, sorrowing being sat beside the dim light and plied her needle, drawing it in and out, stitch by stitch, through the dark watches of the night, uncomplaining, until the flick Night after night, and for this heavy labor, by which unceas- g candle died away. : toiled ; +} ‘ ] very threads ol her being were broken one by ? A miserable pittance ! ? Alas a crust from then one, What gained she You ask, no! The | lid no aid come to their rescue or around them gave rich went their way, careful scanty portion ; but the lest they should be imposed upon, and with easily appeased conscience, exclaiming, ‘‘ We do not know want, for they do not ask for them; they cannot help.”’ True; a thought of former years, and the shrinking pride of a cultivated mind, sealed the lips of mained, she never applied for aid } long as aught of strength re- the widow, and so Ellen Stanly amid all this ruin, had not forgotten days of yor: The refinements of a costly education had been trea sured up, and were imparted to ber children as their only heritage ; them forth upon the world to listen to the taunts and and thus she could not bear to send the vulgar-minded, and view the mass of jests of vileness and wretchedness ever found accumulated in the streets of our cities. At length the mother’s over-tasked frame gave

Page 5

vay, and she was laid on her straw pallet, w £ unine staring herself and childr it luce It ame with a rap 1 stride; first hing the rounded eek of the youngest ch | Its littl nbs W b 1 ‘ red away, its sweet voice hen kind angels came t rit beyond the skies fuded into a sigh, a o its relief and bore the free nother wept not, but rather rejoiced ; At this happy reiease, the n er Saviour loved little children, and she hoped tere oon to join her cherub babe in a brighter, happier tl | ne bes ‘ ‘ oO } n up, but prays he may be s] inessages of love to ber never-forgotten fathe ( that she might see that father but on« agal i hear him utter kind words of forgiveness! Then oO to rest vould glad Vs

Life hangs

10W stretcher

a thread The once ruddy boy trey $s poor mother, forstreng! eft his wasted frame and he is wrapped in a di ike stupor. The mother wrestles with Heav: ui answer to her prayer, and the p 1 Ir Hew Tende Th 1 \ t h r N . ‘ ot he ~22f> ~

nN wiu by er OTOR B 1 ré

‘ d t k W i 1 wa cer worth Wa l too, Wi ( his 1 ire posses g hevel 1 aller ¢ lhood. He iister to the w cl May \ '

courts au rel find many the high ¢ } , I been >a state er il awe wre e rcan iully s Ww il} Lt of grie ve thy i e broke uN A ] wu r lence c M4 cas

Page 6

CHAPTER IX In our last chapter, we did not quite conclude what we have to say on this them because the lifferences of government and of manners in various kingdoms and principa tres, Into W ch this inote- ‘sting country is divided, render the costumes of lres e varied than in any other part of Eu- women of Lombardy are remarkable for the tawdriness of their ornaments, and for the large black | gold German fans which they parade on fest 1 the streets of Turin; yet many of both exes » bare-legged, and some even bare-footed A lo ” costly personal decorations of gold ver is very general: the peasantry vest all their valuable ornaments T younger e- rhpatle iy much classic taste in the braiding of unt tresses, which are sometimes con- ng comb, and sometimes fastened by Ikin ; even the elder dames wear a 1 veil, not ungracefully d posed, which trast to their tattered petticoats zs. Bright and gaudy colors are much ! G 1 his “*Germany,’’ says of the women of Gel ‘The painted liaen veil which they wear, allead zzaro, 18 Not unbecoming, thougn it re- rem flowered gown thrown over the head and hvod By Lady Morgan’s account of Genoa we take the ving: * The women’s heads are ornament- ed by a quantity of silver bodkins, forming a sort of ‘ r star at the back, and confining a profu- sion ¢ tited tresses. Many of the elder women vear iare linen veils, embroidered and trimmed with iuvse lace. Dresses are here considered as heir- is. Many a silken vest and quilted bodice, many hain of gold and of coral, purchased in the day (Genoa’s prosperity, still remain to deceive the « with the appearance of rural and commer- cia alth. The shops at Genoa display a pro- fu fg and silver filagree work, clasps, rings, ul . chains, combs of coral, and even of costly rem destined for the peasantry The nobility were the latter times of the republic, prohibited trom ring such sumptuous ornaments; and the lowe asses are still, as formerly, the sole pur- chase t the old-fashioned jewe ry of the Genoese golds is The fullest dress allowed to the ladies by the sumptuary law, was a black velvet, trimmed with colored ribbons and point lace. The women of Genoa are covered, even on working days, with 200 om ae gold and s Pp iusion ol itions, and marriag t irancs a ve The dress worn a is very sin ‘On fe wear black cl iria n seau, mod le il to their ordinary, ‘ ile peasant, when making he thinks seven or eight hundred rate price for a heck.ace or t Ancona, according to Niss thes lined wit d Lys,’ he rays, ** they n green, blue stockings shoes whitened with chalk, and tied with colored ribbons; their waistcoats unbuttoned, the cuffs of their coats eml lered; their shirt-sleeves hang over their hands he women wear head-dresses, with long fringes over their faces; jackets of red or vellow silk, lac th seams of gold or silver lace, and short } coats of a hundred colors Evelyn savs that, at Lucca, he bought, in 1645, glove nd embroidered stomachers. the same as those ** usua worn by gentiiemen in these coun- tries , The annexed cut represents the costume of a lady ot Flore nee. “ The dress of the | s Sard savs Pinkerton, “is a vest of white or scarlet woolen covered with a long coat. or a short jacket, made

Page 7

out of four sheep-skins; this garment is without sleeves. The woman’s dress has nothing pecu- , liar The women of Malta are attached to their primi- tive dress, consisting of a short cotton shitt, a petti- coat generally of a blue color, and upper robe open- ing at the sides, and a corset without sleeves. The higher classes among the Maltese follow the French and English fashions; but we must not omit to mention the faldetta, a black silk veil, their usual coiflure when abroad, which almost rivals in grace MARY BUELL. Tue subject of the present notice was permitted to live to an advanced age, and to see in its prime of strength and prosperity the republic whose birth- struggles she had witnessed. A pleasing task it is to such to recount to a listening circle the interest- ing incidents by which the history of their own early life has been interwoven with that of the country. I have conversed with several in the last stage of human existence, who seemed already severed from the world in their indiflerence to what passed around them; but became animated to en- thusiasm when speaking of occurrences of their youth. The bowed frame would become erect, the dim eyes would flash, as those unforgotten days were lived over in graphic narrative. One matron would show the hiding-place back of the chimney, where she had concealed Whig fugitives; another would tell how her friend, in a night assault, had saved herself and child by sliding behind the bed to the flo and detained them till some hunted patriot within yr, or how another had confronted the enemy had escaped, or had stood firm while broadswords hacked in pieces the chair or table on which she None could describe scenes of warfare and leaned. THE REVOLUTION 201 woniinenind pimped and elegance the much-admired mantilla of the Spanish. ! Tour through Sicily and Malta,”’ ond The la have remarkably fine hair, and they understand how Brydone, in his * says of the ladies ot Palermo: dies here to dress and adorn it to the greatest advantage It embellishment; but, in Is how ony used as an former times, we are told that, like that of Samson it was found to be gth and prot n of the country. Their historians relate (in whose reign, I believe, is rather dubious) that this city had suflered a long siege from the Saracens, and was greatly re- duced by famine; but, what distressed them still more, there were no materials to be found for mak- ing bowstrings, and they were on the point of sur- rendering. In this dilemma, a patriotic dame stepped forth. and proposed to the women that the whole of them should cut off their hair, and twist it into bow- This The besieged, animated by this gallant sacrifice of was immediately complied with strings. the fair, renewed their defence with so much vigor, that the assailants were beaten off; and, a reintorce- ment soon alter arriving, the city was saved. The ladies still value themselves on this story Th hair of our ladies,’ says one of their quaint poets, ‘is still employed in the same office ; but now :t discharges no other shafts than those of Cupid : and the on y cords it forms are the cords of love peril so vividly as those upon whose memory they were branded thus literally with steel. In only one instance did | find that the infirmities of age had so impaired the mental faculties as to efface altogether the remembrance of Revolutionary events. “ Thos¢ were great days,”’ said the aged woman; “ but my memory is gone—I have forgotten them ;’’ and she spoke in a tone of peculiar sadness, as if she had lost what was invaluable—a treasure she did not let go till the very faculty of recollection had de- parted. In another affecting instance, where old age had made the mind a wreck. the wandering thoughts dwelt habitually on incidents of the war. Some one, by way of experiment, once mentioned the name of Major André to the lady, who had been a loyalist. She suddenly started, looked intelligently at the speaker, and then answered, “ Yes, André is a noble young man: he has gone over the lines. and they say he is in trouble.’’ Sometimes the hearing of music would suddenly excite her by bringing back scenes she had witnessed in former days, and she would speak rapidly and vehemently, imagining the very scenes and the actors therein to be present before her.—The effect is thus evident, in al! who survive, of that severe trial-time which so strongly

Page 8

22 lied at Orwe Ver 1 ‘ 1 il Ire ye ell | iys Her den ¢ \ A1bDT youngest a f ri b ‘ ‘ eee “omers, ( cl "I ‘ st «¢ i was he I I it ee sist \ 11 : y | an ner li Bi ie A ary was the be ed one ¢ Int ( n yr nuturaiy « a cheeriul and iy Lispo- tion, and possessing 1 uncommon § e of V it I.ven im her eariest years, a sel or matters Which, however unllm] it mseives ire p nly i cau ol che icle she ex ] iat decision, energ ind strength of purpose vi the tr ge scenes of ter 3 i y deve ped She wus 1 ol a favorite ii ‘ imily, but also iong | more dis tr t : id in the t d where s ve lany wecdotes, gathere rom her own ‘ ust ‘ f th act, have been preserved | er descend- its and a notice of one of them w not be here it of place | ippears that. even among 1 conse jentious Puritans of those days, were to be f 1 Spec ens fa class rather numerous at present persons W ike pleasure in mischiel-making, ¢ er from in i fondness for ecupatl or the grati- t i 1 of envious or resenttiul tee gs Lh pe e t vhole neighborhood in w i the Kibbe i ed had been « pletely dest d by forts of some malicious gossip, by me s of the arti circulation of petty s dal and the sending { i1ymous notes. The saying ] 1 how eat a matter a iittie lire Kin was illustrated i disturbance of harm y anda 1 lee SY spec y au g I \ i} in nin nity Many, who had: ( bn velg s, but ntimate friends, were alienated altoget and would scarce notice each other by a formal recognition. It was a melancholy state of things, and called for the inte ren me b nign spirit, Who m clear away the ¢ j ouch t which objects » see cicariy ‘I I nes y I Ss Na- ture, and the clearness ot | ent, young as she was, had prevented her | iived the eneral misunderstandin 0 she fully appre end extent ¢ its consequences Ull she Was surprised by receiving a I! nal ofler of marriage ma young g ieman W m she knew to have een attached 1 engaged to one of her cousins The spirited and gene us g was not content W cll g an olier s vas « vinced had grown out piq \V i ed ( ¢ Ye re solved Oo iearn he cause the estrangeme ud spare no pains n eflecting a recon tion, not only | veen the separated : wt « who needed her good ffices. She exerted herself in earnest, and her be- rded by a discovery that ent efforts Were rewa gevVi vg Was \ sire ll I ii é ere \ confide r s« a \ wi ‘ { ‘ i A 4 a i I c ] noble t i with Vv n | I is al i ‘ 1 ‘ ‘ in her ¢ n rare th as Suiiks t! interested bet headed 1 aud thus res The s ac } ais ( 1 on m ) may venture t gos ui : 1 be : I Ont { irtee ith of Ox he was ! ried to Matthe t i his ne t 1 i ¢ bul mu i Xp alle ns to ‘ ele suc ] ! i s ( i i S ¢ uu i her et to 1 : ¢ wary 2 t up “a gri ited all the young The invitations were gt al ! ( wa er\ 4 a erm! ary col the lot excellent n y c ‘ al the ests t j Y ‘ ana s. It wi al rec é Ons ween er heig rs house Iti ¢ admira 1 1 l s A tew e Sal au i se at i r ¢ nsil rriag t Vs light not e ante-Reve yi but ‘ v must have « la iniluence It was « ess ! > ana t 0 and mischiet i e¢ to his destru on ild « er an € al any WV ». If tl ibbe In our re ¢ o assert that ma ~ ed to ul ] 17 our youl 1eTO- w Bue a fari } e who lived 1 ‘ mitry and m«¢ s, espe the places she l three s s andtwo daugh and devoted herselt » the care ol her grow g lal \ Yet it appears ¢ ain that sh as weil ¢ het band, took a live uterest in p cal « | State of the « nies, the grievances under WI i suffered, and the oppression of the 1 r coun must hav been topics frequent ciscuss¢ i farmer's h 1, and listened to re ) s ' ) rited their m e and ‘ 3 8} t Buell \ iul- f lott rogress ol events, and was acqua ed with the state of feeling which prevailed throt out the « try. He was an ardent patriot, | h g € th zealous interest into the con- troversy, and decide d on the part which duty ealled upon him to a was fully prepared for action W | ne came in which his services we equ it cor cement of the war of the Re ti Bu was still a resideut of her 1 ve town. Ller « st child, a s was then sixteen years of age, and her youngest an infant. The news

Page 9

- T N ; a | ) of the u l : bj ! ' ‘ - , ; fj it . ' , n ‘ a i / . ' f i 203 ies ex Was a | a n nh « i ve t sentim sue

Page 10

204 SODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK, venbeenbnnennennnnenenrrrermnrrenncttnnnhntbantnibirineninn tin rrnnnnnnnnntie fident hope that all would be well in the end never Hampshire. This town was at that time newly deserted her. She offered no opposition to the de- settled. Mrs. Buell was present at the organization sire of her second son to go to the army ; but, on the of the first Congregational Church, and, with her mtrary, encouraged and prepared him for the husband, enrolled her name as a member. She had nterprise, sending him to be in attendance upon his made a public profession of her faith in the Re ther. With the aid of one boy, and he a mere child, deemer many years before, d adorned it by a she had now to feed and clothe her helpless house- well-ordered walk and conversation. Their home hold Not a moment was given up to despon lency ; $ was fixed in this piace, and here her two daughters she laid hold of the spindle and distaff, and ‘“* worked married and settled. Mary, the eldest, who mar willingly with her hands.’’ By such labors, often ried Mr. Silven, removed, in after years, to Cass necessary for daily subsistence, did the matrons of county, Michigan, where she is still living, sur- the young republic avert disquieting and discourag- rounded by a numerous family of children and de- ing thoughts. scendants, in good health, though at the advanced The health of Lieutenant Buell did not permit age of eighty-nine. him to continue in active service during the whole About the year 1800, Lieutenant Buell removed war. He was with the army, without leaving his with his wife to Orwell, Vermont, where they re post, except for two brief visits home, till after the sided with their son Daniel, who had married and battle of Monmouth, which took place in June, 1778 settled in that town. Here the lieutenant died, on He then received a regular discharge on account of the second of November, 1804. His widow re- ill health. So much impaired was his strength mained, being destined not only to survive her hus- that he was unable at that time to travel; but, atter band forty years, but to outlive all but one of her much harassing detention, he reac 1 home in Octo- children. Her character as an exemplary Christian, “+r. When he arrived, and met once more his sustained during seventy-two years from her first xious wife, he was so feeble as to be searcely entrance on a life of piety, has impressed itself e to keep bis saddle. Her trials, the greatest of upon the community, and exercised a noble and ex which had been to know that he was ill, and to be tended intluence \lthough not among those w ible to render him the aid he required, were at nen who were called to act a striking or brilliant t hay ended by his recovery and restoration part, to perform deeds worthy of | x rec lon covered i the honors of a successful sol- the page of history, or to mingle in sé S ody Her se i named in I during peri ! ‘ imong at ‘ I war rous ¢ whose work was not the less i it In the year 1781, Lieutenant Bu left Somers for being pertormed in the seclusion of 1 removed with his family to New Port, New warded by | *~2o°ooe BY 1 ( ARA MOT rON OcTORER’s solemn F } s T : « that ¢ x vn Are wa ' Qacobeste tate At eve t , ills B 1 But. t It » has AY W t y re ' Lik t flow lie 1) vill I Y A} S . 0 . Ar ’ s e The x H ! note Ar ‘ 1 t But ; S dat Her wear > Sor £ ; For w n flowe f ? I ve I I love the fair O E chee ' rhe s 0 ror The fore ¢ wove Of riches 1 § And the grave be cold and r \ } But oh, I dread N > W Luse t t fear November’s weeping sk | , ,

Page 11

wr AIMTTADTATT WALTON r 1 +} lent col ae . AAOANIING VWALLUIN: A TALE > al +y, mr ewemrm tT — THE REBEL’S DAUGHTER. TTAN TT OF THE REVOLUTION. BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, ESQ., AUTHOR OF ‘‘ THE PARTISAN,’’ ‘* MELLICHAMPE,’’ ‘‘ THE KINSMEN,’’ ‘(THE YEMASSEE,’’ (Entered, according to the act of Congress, in the year 1850, by W. Gilmore Simms, in the Clerk’s Office of ETC. District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.] (Continued from page 179.) CHAPTER XXVIII. ** You have a Trojan prisoner, called Antenor, Troy holds him very dear.”’ TROILUs AND CRESSIDA. Yesterday took. BaLFourR was soon apprised, by the ireacherous servant, of the absence of Proctor from his lodgings the night before; and the impossibility of accounting for it, as usual, led to the conjecture that John had been sent out of the way, simply that he might not follow the footsteps of the master. When, the next day, Proctor left the city, it was determined by the commandant, after a long conference with John, that the latter should pursue him, but in a di Two hours, guise, and on a horse which Balfour furnished. accordingly, had not elapsed, when the faithless ser- vant was on the tracks of his master. The progress of Proctor was not so rapid but that he could be easily overtaken by an eager pursuer. Fifteen miles from the city the spy distinguished him about half a mile ahead. He maintained this distance for the rest of the journey. Proctor reached Dorchester and proceeded to take lodgings at the house of Humphries, ‘The Royal George,” the better to A rival tavern was kept by Pryor, ” avoid suspicion. but, as he was a suspected Whig, he no longer re- ceived the public patronage. Even the patriots, in order to escape suspicion, avoided the dwelling of one with whom they yet thoroughly sympathized. The spy, whom practice had made an adept, having ascertained the manner in which his master had dis- posed of himself, went at once to the post of Dor- chester, carrying letters from Balfour to Vaughan. His horse groomed and stabled, he left the fortress under cover of the night, and established a watch upon the house of Humphries. After supper, Proc- tor came forth, and, as the localities were all well known to him, he took the direct route for the neg- lected hotel of Pryor. Thither the spy followed him; but, beyond the single fact that he saw his master enter this dwelling, he gathered nothing from his espionage. Pryor received his visitor at the entrance, and conducted him to an inner apartment, where, in the course of an hour’s conversation, Proctor unfolded all the difficulties in his case, and of service which the other Though a blunt, rude man, extent indicated the might perform for him. VOL. XLI.—20 and a fierce Whig, Pryor was not hostile to Proctor The latter, in command at Dorchester, had done his spiritings so gently as to have compelled the re- spect of the people generally. Besides, the service desired by him was one which aimed to defeat the machinations of Balfour and Vaughan, both of whom were hated, and was further commended to him bv a brief letter from old Tom Singleton, whom ow The cor sequence was that Pryor took up heartily the cause landlord well knew and greatly honored. of his visitor. “It can be done, Major Proctor. It shall be done !”’ said Pryor, with an oath. “I will doit. | can manage Gradock and Clymes, but I must have money, and my own way.”’ * You shall have both,” was the prompt reply Twenty guineas were at once put into his hands “ This will do,’ returned the landlord. ‘If more is wanted I will contrive that you shall know it. You shall hear of me through old Tom Singleton He will tell you that your money will be safe in my hands.”’ Proctor quickly declared that he needed no such assurance. *« Nevertheless, major, it’s in the way of business that you should have it. And now that we under- stand what ’s to be done, we don’t need you any longer. You must be off with You can be of no service in dealing with these pec to-morrow’s sur ple, and your presence here will only occasion sus picion, and make the affair difficult to manage. O course, Balfour knows all about your coming here “ Searcely.” ‘Don’t you believe it. He knows you ’ve lef* the city. If he’s busy, as you think, in this matter, and really desires to destroy you, and if your man John be in his employ, and is the rascal you think him—and which I verily believe—I never could bear fellow—then, be sure, that he has sent a the spy after you.’ ‘¢T saw no one,”’ replied Proctor, with rare sim- plicity. ‘“Oh, to be sure not! It is a spy’s business to see and not to be seen. But do you so act as if you felt that every footstep which you take is watched Go back to Humphries, and ask the old scoundr all sorts of questions in regard to the affair of the 205

Page 12

GODEY'S MAG, 206 WOOO rescue of Colonel Walton. Don’t say a syllable of Gradock and Clymes. Talk only of Marion’s men, and the goggle-eyed Tory, Blonay. This will lead them off the scent. Set off with the dawn to-mor- row, or an hour before it, and, by sunrise, I'’Il report everything to Vaughan, just as Humphries will be sure to do. This will save me harmless. Other- wise, [ should be very apt to enjoy the bayonet pricks of a corporal’s guard before I had fairly swal- We must be artful. We must fight fire with fire.”’ Satisfied that things were now in proper train in lowed breakfast. this quarter, Proctor left the shrewd old landlord and returned to play the game prescribed with the loyalist, Humphries. We need not dwell upon the details. The counsel of Pryor was closely followed, and the whole history of the rescue of Walton, by Marion’s men, was deliberately discussed, point by point, in all its particulars, under the dubious lights accorded by the wit or wisdom of the Tory landlord. With dawn, Proctor was already crossing Eagle sridge, gazing sternly, as he passed, upon the little fortress in which his experiences, for more than a year, had been those of unmixed trial and bitterness. His heart was filled with the maledictions which his lips did not utter, as he thought of his enemy, Vaughan ; and his hand griped fiercely the handle of his sword in a mute but expressive thirst for the moment when he could close the account of enmity between them in the deadly arbitrament of fight. He little dreamed that his action was beheld, and its The also in the saddle, and, from a neighboring covert, Proctor drove the spur import properly divined traitor John was had him clearly in his eye. into his steed and darted forwards; and the other dogged resolutely after him, taking due care not to draw too nigh, yet as careful never long to lose his master from his sight The spirits of Proctor grew more elastic as he rode. There is something in the very effort to foil the enemy which contributes to the conviction that the thing may be done ; and the exhortations of Fur- ness, of old Singleton, and Pryor, their counsels, and the cool readiness with which their several faculties had been brought to bear, in the same man- ner, and upon the same game, seemed to relieve it from all its embarrassments. For a moment, it oc- curred to the British major as something singular that his two agents in the business should both be of the patriotic or rebel party; and that he should owe his acquaintance with Singleton to the interposition sufficiently ex- of a loyalist—though plained by the former—was yet a circumstance provincial which continually occurred to his thoughts as some- thing curious. Nor did itescape him, as also among the catalogue of things to occasion surprise, that Pryor should speak so confidently of communicating with old Singleton whenever the necessity for it should occur. But Proctor had become quite too cold, as a subject of his royal master, and entertained quite too littke sympathy with the existing powers m Carolina, to allow himself to meditate these eee AND LADY'S BOOK. eee OOOO doubts with his usual vigilance. If there was any- thing suspicious in the connection between these parties, there was no responsibility, on his part, which required that he should investigate the matter. New thoughts and fancies, new conjectures, hopes and fears, passed into his brain; and he found himself busied in fruitless guesses as to the unknown, but, as he now believed, fair correspondent, to whom he was indebted for all the clues to his present inquiries. Was she fair? was she young and lovely? and how, when, and where had he awakened in her bosom the degree of interest such as her solicitude in behalf of his fortunes would necessarily show that she felt? He was bound to believe her both young and fair. Common gratitude required nothing less, and it gave him pleasure to believe it. His interest in the unknown continued to rise—it had risen prodi- giously within the last few days—and his fancy began to frame a portrait of her to his eye, which might possibly become a fixed image in his heart But of this Proctor had no misgivings. He felt grate- ful faithfully over his fortunes; and the sympathy which for the love which, unknown, had watched so had been thus gratuitously shown, might, naturally, in the heart of one so much alone in the world, and so much assailed by enemies, provoke and deserve a warmer sentiment than simple gratitude. It was while thus brooding over the services of the un- known damsel that our British major was suddenly, and somewhat roughly, brought back to more imme- diate interests by a stern command to halt, from unknewn lips, and by finding the bridle of his steed He looked up to behold before him a sturdy forester, in the well-known in the grasp of an assailant blue hunting-shirt of the colonial rangers, one hand presenting a pistol, while the other bore heavily upor the bridle of his steed. To clap spurs to his horse, to ride over the ob- struction, and draw his own pistol from the holster was the instant impulse of Proctor; but his action and purpose were beheld in season for a warning, to which he was compelled to listen “It’s useless, major. You ’re surrounded. You ’re a prisoner.”’ The man’s tones were civil, but firm. His words were seconded by the appearance of three other per- sons in similar costume, each of whom presented his rifle as he drew nigh. The necessity was not to be eluded or escaped, and, submitting with a good grace to his captors, one of them led his horse by the bridle into the neighboring thicket. In ten mi- nutes after, a similar party had taken like possession of the treacherous servant John. The whole affair happened within twelve miles of the city. The captives were taken to the shelter of a dense Not Proc rT, furest growth which skirted the Ashley. a word was spoken during the progress. staggered by the audacity of the proceeding, was His mind was in astate which enabled him to look with some- yet comparatively resigned to the event. thing like indifference upon all the caprices of for- tune. For the present, he made no inquiries, con-

Page 13

tenting himself with the reflection that the explana- He mitted to throw himself at ease, where he would, tion would come quite soon enough Was per- among the trees, and his horse was properly cared for by a negro groom whose face Proctor fancied he had seen before; a conjecture which seemed to find encouragement in the broad grin that opened the fellow’s countenance to barn-door dimensions, as he led away the steed Sut the captive was permitted no words with him. He was vigilantly guarded, three or four riflemen constantly keeping him in sight. Proctor was surprised at the numbers of these people. They He noted no less than forty different persons were continually coming and going All of them were well mounted and apparently well armed. The place had the appearance of being fre- quently used, as in the present instance, for the of a scouting The earth was well camp party. beaten by the hoofs of horses. The trees bore sad- dies and bridles; the cook-pot smoked constantly with wild cheer of the woods; and yet the whole party were within two miles of the Ashley Ferry Road, then much more traveled than at the present day. Amongst all this motley and somewhat savage group, Proctor saw no officers beyond the grade of a sergeant; but the utmost order prevailed in the encampment. It was while he lay at ease in the shade that he saw another captive brought in as he But the British major did not recognize him, and the prisoners were had been. This was his man John. guarded separately, and at no time allowed to come together. Alt noon, dinner was served him alone, and he was waited on with respect by one of the foresters. He was well known. The man addressed him by name * Who is your leader, sir ?”’ was the question of Pr ctor “He must answer that question for himself,’’ was the oW hen shall I see « To-n It was an reply. him ?”? ght, I reckon.’’ hour after dark, when a considerable bustle in the camp announced an arrivai. Mean- while, a fire had been built among the trees where Proctor had made his tent, and a couple of blankets were provided him, with a thick roll of black moss by way of pillow. He had supped; and while he lay at ease, with his feet to the fire, meditating the novel phase in his fortunes, a group approached him of the They fire, while Proctor lay on three persons, the centre and taller figure of party, to his great surprise, being masked stood on one side of the the other. The masked figure began the conversa- tion with asking the captive how he had been treated. ‘As well as I could wish, sir, my captivity alone excepted. Am I to understand that I am a prisoner in the hands of the Americans ?”’ “You are! You wil! be treated well, Major Proc- > ? 2 ? ) tor, and with proper respect for your character and Indeed, moment longer. rank, sir, you need not be a prisoner a If you will give me your word, as a man of honor, that, for one week, you will say nothing of this adventure, nor make any report of the body of soldiers you see here, you shall be free to depart with the dawn.”’ “That is impossible, sir. I can make no such My duty, sir-——”’ Major Proctor! pledges It will be my duty It not have reason to * Enough, then to keep you safely, at least for a few days. will be our care that you shall complain of anything but your detention. Our fare is coarse, and the couch assigned you is a hard one; but you are a soldier, sir, and can accommodate yourself to such small inconveniences.”’ “]T am content, sir. But, Colonel Walton, your voice betrays you—I know you !——”’ ‘You know too much for your own safety,”’ cried one of the officers accompanying Colonel Walton, drawing a pistol from his belt, with the words, and presenting it at the head of the prisoner. But for the timely interposition of Walton, the rash subordi- nate would have drawn the trigger. The piece was already cocked. ' McKelvey !”’ ‘He can do us no hurt. “ Pshaw cried Walton, arresting We have only Let me his arm. to keep him safely. Put up your weapon. see nothing of this.”’ “ You are too indulgent, Colonel,’’ said the other. This man— Major Proctor, * You will pay for it some day. “ At least, let us do no murder! have I your word that you will not endeavor to This will be escape, until we release you? in a week, at the utmost. If you refuse, I shall only be compelled to subject you to greater restraint—in fact, to put you in irons.’ * T can have no objection to make you such a pro- mise, Colonel Walton, in the hope to escape such ignominy “Tt Your limited to the hundred yards on either side of your is then understood. range must be present place of rest. To attempt to pass beyond these limits will subject you to the rough handling of your guards. Good night, sir.”’ With these words the party retired Proctor, however, could still hear, as they went, tte expos- tutations of the angry officer who had threatened his life, against the ill-advised mercy of his superior. He congratulated himself upon his narrow escape from a sharp and sudden death, and wondering at the nature of the enterprise which brought the partisans so near to the city garrison, he sank into slumbers not less grateful because of the rough couch assigned His better than that of his servant John him for their enjoyment fortune Was much The treach- across the river that very erous spy was hustled night, his wrists folded together with bracelets of iron, and a determined trooper on each side ready to shoot him down at the first sign of difficulty. Let us return once more to the cily.

Page 14

208 GODEY’S MAGAZIN CHAPTER XXVIII. Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your buooks.—Much Ado About Nothing. WUILE these events were in progress in the career # Proctor, society in Charleston was not wholly stagnant. The undercurrents, which represent the moral influences of the social world, were in sleep- less motion; and the several parties to our history were more or less moved by their varying influ- ences. The great ball at Cruden’s was yet to take place, and was looked forward to, with eager ex- citement, by hundreds of those who sought in society rather the passing delights than the substantial vir- tues Which make society secure and permanent. The interval, meanwhile, was not unemployed by those who, without being able to emulate the splen-

dor of the intended assemblage, were yet anxious to make some figure in the world corresponding with their proportions and resources. The days were, accordingly, consumed in fétes champetre, and the Parties for Haddrill’s, of Andrews’, nights in lively reunions. Sullivan’s, James’, and Morris’ Islands, were constant occurrence, and drives into St Goose Creek, Accabee, and other contiguous places furnished employment and excitement to merry Ips grou; to the ‘ Under which king, &c.? whom question to the Bezonean, ’ never oflered the slightest annoyance. These excursions were all taken during the daylight, for the autumn season, in the swamp regions of Carolina, did not suffer pleasure lo sport with impunity along the watercourses, unless with At ni les in the city received and welcomed the he sanction of the daylight and the sun ght, ray } yay abot butterfly tribes to whom life offered no aspects which

endered the economy of time desirable Our ex- eellent Mrs. Rivington had her ‘evenings’’ as urely as her “mornings ;’’ and there were a num- ber besides who, if individually less frequent in throwing open their saloons, were sufficiently nu- merous to sufler no night to pass w ut affording a point of gathering for the light and motley multi- tude We will suppose some few days to have passed 1 practices suc h as these, since our last meeting with the conspirators at Mrs. Singleton’s The occasions Were studiously contrived Balfour and his satellites to bring Katharine Wal!ton into com- pany The policy of Mrs. Singleton encouraged her n vielding to this object, however little she may have relished it at heart. But two were 1 at ! t to offend authorities which had the part in the concession It was on!) pru lent iimmes n es come plete vy in their power, and quite as in por nt, by conceding thus much, if possible, to divert suspicion from the secret toils of our feminine Cr nspirators, Accordingly, Katharine Walton moved in a circle which in her heart she loathed, and received the de- votions of those whose tributes revolted equally her ‘ *;. ‘ ? - patriotism and pride. But she preserve er temper in the caim control of her pure and proper thoughts, ATT TANY? _ AWN UD LAL S BOOK and if she was not all that her suitors desired, she at least afforded them no idle provocation to com- In the meanwhile, she has met with and At first, the two maidens were somewhat shy of each other plaint. made the acquaintance of Ella Monckton. We are in possession of the sufficient reason for this shyness on the part of Ella. Katharine’s reluctance arose naturally enough: first, from the knowledge that Ella belonged to the enemy—was of the loyalist faction; and, second, because there was nothing either in what was said of her by others, or in the empressement ot her own manner, to enable her to fix or command the consideration or curiosity of our But circumstances, and occasional com- break the which natural restraints had set up between them heroine. union, served to down first barriers A word, a tone, a look, will suflice where hearts are ingenuous and young, to appeal to the affections; and, very soon it was that, under a shrinking aspect, which the vulgar might consider pride, but which is just as likely to be an exquisite sensibility, Katharine Walton perceived that Ella Monckton harbored the most delicate, pure, and generous of natures. On , Ella of herself, drawn towards her rival, as by an irre- At the ol the other hand somehow, felt herself, in spite sistible attraction. first, language her heart secretly said— “[ do hate, but distresses me, though she does not oflend.”’ not I fear her! She pains and Subsequently, it had another language. “ There is something very noble and commanding She ts a lac

about this lady! ly ; sensitive, yet firm ; laste, without any affectations of pure and cl yet is gentle, too, and sweet, and there the I like her in spite of him; I delicacy. She } is a wondrous strength and mixed, in like her melody, tones her voice and feel that I could love her But there was a reserve even about the mtimacy of the parties, which time alone could have broken down. Of course, Katharine Walton was not aware of any interest which she could have in the affairs of Ella; while the latter, on the other hand, was restrained by an ever-present fear that Katharine would dec pher her secret interest in hers¢ atevery giance ol her eyes and in the tremulous tones of her

every utterance. The fear was idle. Katharine saw nothing in those eyes but the expression of a rare tenderness and delicac vy; and heard nothing in her voice but a soft and touching harmony, which insensibly increased her interest in one in Whom she never once thought to find a riv: But the parties insensi! came together more 1 more with every da\ T it t ercourse between re Widows Monckton and Singleton was gradually resumed through the gr N g intimac between the tw damsels. To t morning at the house of the latter was a not equent thing with Ella: while Katharine easil\ rsuaded t e | work, or her book, to use of Mrs. M | d go into as t { ter < tule e sweet society of the widow r danghter, W e€ crow never came, and where she was seldom exposed t

Page 15

KATHARIN —_— the annoyances which elsewhere invariably pursued her, of a misnamed gallantry, and a devotion which suggested nothing grateful to her fancies. It was one afternoon, while Ella Monckton was on a visit to Katharine, that the gay widow Brew- ton joined the circle. In the constantly increasing round of her social progress, this lady was equally put in possession of the latest ov dit of the city. She had been that morning at Mrs. Rivington’s, where it seems that Proctor, and his command at Dorchester, had been the subject of conversation. “ There is evidently a determination, in high quar- ters,’’ said the widow, ‘to destroy that poor fellow, Pr ctlor.’’ The heart of Ella trembled at these words. “J suspect, Kate Walton,” she continued, “ that vou are to blame for it all.”’ “Me! How? Why?” “Ah! do not feign ignorance. Barry, and his eternal shadow McMahon, were both in full cry against him for his presumptuous admiration of you. It was charged that you are the cause of all his neg- lect of duty ; and a great deal was said of a nature to lead me to suspect that great pains will be taken to establish the facts against him. [But I did not so much trouble myself in relation to his case as to yours. The question was, in what degree you had given Proctor encouragement.”’ ‘‘]T give him encouragement!” “Come, come, Kate! Do not put on that sub- lime look of indignation. Proctor is not a person to pised He is one of the noblest of all these British officers, and, by the way, one of the best look- be des ing A maiden might well give him encouragement t t Without intending it, and might just as easily forge Mark you, I do not say that such has been the case with to shield her own heart against his attacks you; but there were those present, this morning, that did say so, and who brought forward a large number of proofs to conclude what they asserted “And what did you say ?”’ asked Katharine, with a sme ‘Oh! you may guess. I asked, with no little there was any one so stupid as to suppose that you Were going red-c¢ and I turned to M: to throw yourseil away upon a w Barry, and remarked in these very words: ‘ Undoubtedly, major, you are among the handsomest, the bravest, and the wittiest of all your crew—perhaps the very Magnus Apollo Now, pray you, think of Miss Wal- 1, her person, and, last and least of her { e; then, be pleased to wheel about and confront your own image in that grand mirror of M ] gious Having done s and |} ing brought | ir well-known self-esteem to bear upon question, then ask yourself what would be the am it of « 1 and n Which you might urge, if seeking the hand of Katharine Walton.’ ”’ ( l Brew - “| 1 am cle! The te fel- low blu rs until nobody thot to look at s t olf his regimeutais. ud Captuia E ALP PPL LLP PL Pa PP WALTON. 209 McMahon, looking in his face, blushed also—by re- flection, I suppose ; and for a moment the whole squad were silenced. But, with a sort of despera- tion, they renewed the fire, as much, it would seem, to please that brazen beauty, Moll Harvey, as with any other object. The argument was that you were quite too deeply involved with Proctor ever to escape; that Balfour, accordingly, stood no chance ; that whatever might be done against Proctor was to him a matter of perfect indifierence, so long as his life remained untouched; that he was already prepared to abandon the British for the American cause; and that your love, of which he was secure, was sufficiently compensative for all his losses and privations.”’ Poor Ella felt as if she could have buried her face in the earth—as if her heart were already buried there “What a farrago of absurdities!’ exclaimed Katharine. ‘Nay, Kate, upon my soul, I don’t see that. I give you my word for it they made a very plausible story amongst them. Somebody did say something about your onve having drawn trigger upon Proctor, as a proof of your dislike ; but the story was posi- tively denied by others, and Proctor’s own words quoted in dental.” ‘Tt was nevertheless quite true,’’ said Katharine, gravely. ‘True!’ exclaimed Ella, with a convulsive shud- der “ All true,’’ answered Katharine, with increasing gravity “It is one of those things of which 1 do not care to speak. I revolt at myself when I think of it; and no doubt Major Proctor denies it, with an honorable disposition, to relieve me from the odium of having attempted such acrime. But it was ina moment of desperation, almost of madness, that the thing was done ; and having told you thus much, I must tell you all, by way of explanation, that I en- la, to keep the treat you, Mrs. Brewton, and you, E matter secret. My dear cousin, Emily Singleton, was dying in our house: her brother, Robert, was w us, concealed, a fugitive, about to receive | last breath. At that awful moment, Major Proctor entered the dwel z, 5 owed by h S Trooy : lar rested him at the door of my cousin’s chamber m which Robert made his escape by the w w. Major Proctor approaching with the resolution te enter, though I had forbidden it, I seized one of my cousin’s pist ys, and fired, fortunately, without effec for lhadno aim! I knew not what I did A deep sigh struggled forth from the breas Monckton Why. what a desperado you are claimed Mrs. Brewton. “I thought I had wicked ness and wilfulness for an g but I me r one dreamed of the poss ty of my ever atte: ng to shoot down a B h major How did you fee child, when you were g it? when you pulled the u e crooked iron they call the tr er? yben 1 heard sudden bam! bam! and saw

Page 16

a ae a GODEY’S MAGAZIN 210 PP PLL LDL PAL Did you faint? Did less me, the flash? Did you tremble? you not feel like going off into hysterics ? you are, indeed, a heroine! and how the thing was hushed up; for the person—who was it ?—that men- tioned it this morning gave it only as a rumor, and was easily silenced.” “It was too true! I knew not what I was doing— this must be my apology. I owe much to Major Proctor for his forbearance.”’ “And will pay him with your heart.” ‘Never! never! Let me tell you farther, and thus silence your doubts forever, Mrs. Brewton. 1 am the betrothed of my cousin, Robert Singleton ; Major Proctor can never be anything to me but a gentleman of worth, whom I very much esteem.” Could Katharine Walton have seen the bright but With what a bound her little heart rose to her mouth, and tearful eyes of poor Ella at that moment! fluttered there like some captive bird, deluded for a moment with a dream of escape from prison ! Mrs. Singleton entered the apartment at this mo- ment. She heard the revelation of Katharine, and spoke rebukingly. * Katharine, my child, this should not have been told. If known abroad, it may be fatal to your fortunes. It is our policy to keep it secret. Balfour’s forbearance is due entirely to his doubt of your en- gagement. He has, thus far, no reason to believe it. Let him suppose that the affair is irrevocable, and the commissioner of sequestrations keeps no terms with you, and you lose everything.”’ ‘*« Be it so, my dear aunt,’’ replied the other; “but, believe me, I should rather lose all than deserve the reproach of holding out any encouragement to others, which may mislead.” * You are quite right, my dear,’’ cried the widow Brewton. “I much prefer the manly course, my- self.” ‘Nay, she is quite wrong, and yow are quite wrong, permit me to say,”’ responded Mrs. Single- ton, with great gravity. ‘ You are only asked, my child, to keep a secret which peculiarly concerns yourself, and which nobody has a right to seek. In doing so, you hold forth no encouragements to others, The presumption which takes for granted its own merits so long as your deportment is that of a lady. as too potential to be withstood, must pay its own penalties, and is not particularly a subject of com- miseration or concern. If these people assume your freedom, let them do so; if they presume upon it, there will always be a season to interpose and check them, either by simple rejection of their civilities, or by showing, if you think proper, that you are no In your present circum- that longer yourown mistress, stances, there is no impropriety in reserve which simply keeps from one’s neighbor a private history, which is especially one’s own; and every motive of policy insists upon the reserve.”’ *“ My dear aunt, my secret will be perfectly safe with Mrs. Brewton and with Ella.’ The ladies thus mentioned hastened to give their assurances to this eflect PALL LLP PPP PLP PPAR PRPAAPRP PPP P Pt, PL LLL LALA POP Pam Pa PPP Patt dt Pala tact te ALAA LPP A888 nnn nnn nnnnnnnnnennes nnn AND PRPPLP PAARL DALAL LL LADY'S BOOK. “No doubt, no doubt, my dear; but without my warning, you would probably, under the same pro- vocation, have revealed yourself in like manner to anybody else.’’ “It is very like I should. I have been always accustomed to this freedom; and I confess to a feel- ing noways agreeable in yielding to the reserve which you call policy, but which certainly seems to me to lead necessarily to false notions of one’s situation.’ “ Not so; nobody ought to suffer because a lady The gentleman His first approaches, met properly by the lady, are his Everything depends keeps the secret of her betrothal. who seeks a lady must feel his way cautiously last, and there ’s an end of it. upon herself. If she trifles with her situation, that is quite another thing. In your case, my dear, there can be no fears of this sort.”’ The entrance of another visitor changed the sub- ject. Mrs. Ingliss, who now joined the party, was a genuine patriot, and at present under special an- noyance. She had scme of the more foppish of the British officers billeted upon her, among whom was the famous wit of the garrison, so often mentioned, Harry Barry, Esq., Major, &c. But the annoyance was not greatly regretted by her friends, smce her patriotism enabled her upon occasion to turn it to excellent use. Keeping her own counsels, and stu- diously forbearing to offend the prejudices of the enemy, she inspired them with a certain degree of confidence, and they spoke very freely before her. Ly this means she gathered many items of intelli- gence, which found their way to our circle of female conspirators, and were by them conveyed to the partisans. Something was due to this lady, accord- ingly, and it became the policy of our patriots to afford every possible countenance to her mode of housekeeping. She visited the ladies of both par- ties, and they did not withhold themselves from her assemblies. Her present visit was to Katharine Walton. It was the usual formal initial call pre- paratory to an invitation; and the customary pre- liminaries being dismissed, Mrs. Ingliss solicited the presence of our heroine at her house on the ensuing evening. Finding Katharine hesitate, Mrs. Brew- ton interposed— « Of course, she will come, Mrs. Ingliss; we will all come. We know what is due to you, and we shall enjoy ourselves rarely with your lodgers. Barry, you know, is my delicate aversion. I ap- proach him as I would Tom Singleton’s monkey, with the mood to torture him into the antics, with- out which the beast has no qualities. We will come, of course.”’ Mrs. Singleton gave a similar assurance, and the Mrs. Ingliss did not linger long afier this; and when she departed eonsent of Katharine followed. she was accompanied by the lively widow. Ella Monckton still remained, her heart filled with inex- pressible emotions. She had spoken little during the conference between the parties, but her interest had been lively enough io all that had been said.

Page 17

tr Dr. vie rmowWw EFATHARINE WALTON, 911 PAAR AA AAAARAALA APA APAAL IAD APPA PLDPA ALA DAL LPP PPP RARAAARRAAAR IS There was nothing now wanting to confirm that warm feeling of sympathy which she had begun to That the heart of the latter was quite free in respect to Proc- cherish for the character of Katharine. tor—that there was no possibility that the parties should be ever more nearly connected with each other than they were at present—was a conviction too firmly established in her mind, from what she had heard, to suffer any future doubts or misgivings from this source. The poor girl was, for the time, unreservedly happy in this conviction. When she of Katharine, she of the latter, and was about to go, to the surprise threw her arms about the neck passionately kissed her cheek. The proceeding was so unusual—so unlike everything that had hitherto marked their intercourse—that for a moment Katha- rine absolutely recoiled. But, in the next instant, as she saw the face of Ella covered with blushes, while her eyes, gleaming with a most unusual brightness, were yet filled with the biggest drops, she took the tender girl fondly in her arms, and re- turned her kisses with a tenderness only less warm than her own. She could only account for the un- wonted warmth of her companion by giving her credit for a heart of very great sensibilities, which society had not yet tutored into reserve and caution. But the scene, almost without words, united the two maidens in a te very superior to that which ordinarily brings persons of their age and sex to- gether. CHAPTER XXIX. ‘* Fellow, thy words are madness ! Three months this youth hath tended upon me; But more of that anon.—Take him aside.”’ Twelfth Night. Ovr scenes are required now to change with almost panoramic rapidity. The night of the day on which the proceedings of our last chapter took place was distinguished by a grand ball at the well- known dwelling of Court, then occupied by Biddulph, the paymaster of the and expensive habits, who lived in great style upon Mrs. Tidyman, in Ladsou’s sritish forces in Carolina, a person of showy the profits—since vulgarly styled “ pickings and stealings’’—for which his office affurded such excel- lent facilities. The court was lighted up with great splendor, and every apartment of the house was filled to overflow. Hither came all the select of the gar- ! rison, all of the loyalists, male and female, and a very few of the Whigs, but those only who were too timid to refuse an invitation which might rea- sonably be construed into a command. There was one exception, among those who did attend, to this This was Mrs. Miles Brewton, whose talent for repartee general classification of the Whigs present. usually saved her from any annoying assaults on the score of her patriotism, and who found these assem- blages very favorable to her desires, which at once ~~ aimed to conceal her purposes, and to afford them opportunities. It was a profound policy which prompted her desire to acquire the reputation of a mere lover of pleasure; while the boldness with whic she declared her Whiggism aloud was almost a guarantee to the enemy that they had nothing to Here she met fear from her secret machinations. General Williamson, and, to her surprise, was drawn aside by him from the press, and sounded upon various matters which only did not openly trench upon the actual issues between the parties She observed that he was curious and anxious, and that, though possessed of little ingenuity in conver- sation, he yet contrived, through the very necessity in which he stood, to throw out sundry remarks, which, had she been disposed, might have conducted to an interesting éclatrcissement. She had only to seize, with a bold assumption, upon one of the tw« susceptibilities contained in some of his equivoques, to have found the way clear to a complete develop- ment. So, at least, she thought. But, predetermined that he was not to be trusted, and loathing his cha- racter as she did, she availed herself of none of the opportunities which he really desired to afford her. It was while they spoke together, however, that a yourg officer of the guards, named Sadler, ap- proached them, and, addressing Mrs. Brewton, men- tioned that he was ordered to Camden, and should leave the city in two days. He politely offered to take letters for berto Mrs. Motte (her late husband’s sister—aflerwards famous in story for confiding to Marion the bow and arrows by which her mansion house was destroyed) or for any other of her friends in the neighborhood. She replied in her usual spirit— ‘| thank you, lieutenant; I should very much like to write, but really [ have no wish to have my let- ters read at the head of Marion’s brigade.” ‘¢Do you really mean, Mrs. Brewton, that I am in danger of falling into the hands of the rebel?” “ Would you have me prophecy more clearly, sir? The thing is inevitable. It is your fate. [ see it as clearly in your face as if I read it in your palms. Persuade the commandant to send some- body else. Sadier turned off in a huff. His destiny may be otherwise written.’’ But we may venture to pause in our narrative to anticipate the rest of the story. Poor Sadler was really captured by Single- ton, of Marion’s brigade; and, in two weeks after he returned to Charleston, and called immediately upon Mrs. Brewton to thank her for his disgrace He fully believed that she had contrived to convey intelligence of his route and progress to the parti- sans. This event was one of several which final): provoked the British authorities to expel the lady from the city When Sadler had retired, Williamson, with evi- dent eagerness, remarked— “You speak with confidence of the whereabou's of Marion's brigade. Is your confidence the result of shrewd guessing, or do you know —”’ She interrupted him quickly. “It is prophecy, sir. Iam another Cassandra—

Page 18

doomed to tell the truth, and not to be believed when I do sO. When I say so, I obey an irresistible impulse, which This poor lieutenant only goes to be taken. I certainly believe.” “Ah! the days of prophecy are not ours! We should half suspect you of knowing well what you prophecy so boldly. Now, my dear Mrs. Brewton, it concerns me something to know how far you speak from a knowledge of the fact. It will mate- rially affect my habits if I could suppose you know- ing rather than prophetic. 1 propose, for example, to take my usual weekly ride, the next day or the day after, into the country, and ——”’ He paused, and looked exceedingly sagacious and encouraging. She replied quickly— ‘General Williamson, I do not prophecy for everybody. I can only say in your case that, should you be taken by Marion’s men, your chance of being kept lon that of this beardiess lieutenant.”’ g in captivity would be infinitely less than For a moment the significance of this answer did not seem to strike her companion. When, however, the full meaning flashed upon him, his face blackened to a thunder cloud. ‘“ Madam—Mrs. Brewton !”’ He rose abruptly from he exclaimed—then stammered and grew silent. and then returned to it, his features some- Looking at earnest glance, he resumed— his seat, what more composed. her with an you do not You “It is evident, Mrs. Brewton, tiat know me. You still regard me as an enemy. will do me more justice hereafter.” « Nay, General Williamson, if you think that I do not desire, from the bottom of my soul, to see justice done to you, you do not know me.” This was as bad as before. He turned away quickly, saying— “ Very well, madam, very well! But you will yet repent these expressions !”’ She hummed gayly, as he went, the refrain of an old ballad, then quite popular— ‘* And they bore away my bonny boy, And they bore him to the fatal tree; Brief space they gave him then to pray— But his latest breath it was for me.”’ « Jezabel!’? was the single word of Williamson, as he heard the words, and disappeared in the crowd. The widow saw no more of him that night. Meanwhile, the dancing had begun, and the gayly- caparisoned knights and damsels whirled about the apartment, subject to frequent concussion with the densely-packed groups that looked on the while. Mrs. Brewton became the centre of one of these inactive The events of the evening had vexed others as well as groups , but it was no silent one. Williamson. One of these outraged persons was the somewhat famous Archibald Campbell, better known as Mad Archy, or Crazy Campbell, a wild, reckless, harem-scarem soldier, who united a most irregular intellect to a most daring courage—if we may consistently discover, in a deficient mind, the GODEY'S MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOCK. - I fine moral virtue which is described as courage. Archy Campbell was famous for doing desperate things. He was vain, rash, headlong, and presump- tuous, and much feared as a fire-eater. ments upon which he relied, in all discussions, were To stake life and money, The argu- the bet and the duello. equally, on his sentiments and opinions, was his favorite mode of proving himself right, and making himself so. He had his virtues, however—though, by the way, the former were not always considered vices or even defects of character. The woman rather favored him, possibly because the men feared him. He was handsome and generous, and sept a gtg, which was one of the most showy of all the garrison. To drive out a favorite damsel of an afternoon to the “ Quarter’’ or “‘ Eight Mile House,”’ or beyond, to Goose Creek—making his trotter do his ten miles by the hour—was with him a sort of triumph which made him indifferent to the capture of posts or armies. His great ambition was social conquest. To come, see, and conquer, in a sense somewhat different from that of Cesar, was his daily aim. And he fancied himself always success- ful. This easy assurance led him, on the present occasion, into an error in which his presumption was duly mortified. We have spoken elsewhere of Paulina Phelps, as one of the loyalist eles at that time in the city. She was a very pretty girl, lively and intelligent; her charms being duly in- creased in public estimation by the fact that she was the heiress to a very handsome fortune. Mad Archy was not so far demented as to be insensible to this consideration. He was accordingly her avowed suitor and constant attendant. She did not discou- rage his attentions, as she was not the person to be regardless of the devotions of a young, handsome, and high-spirited gallant. Whether she encouraged them beyond proper limits is a question. Jt is cer- tain, however, that he construed her good humor and indulgence into something more significant. On this occasion, just before the dancing had com- menced, and while she was interested in the con- versation of a very graceful gentleman, one Captain Harley, who had recently arrived from New York, Mad Archy broke in upon the party with a bound “Come, Paulina, Miss Phelps,”’ he cried; “ your arm—they are about to dance.” The lady drew up, offended with this freedom, and somewhat disdainfully answered— “You mistake, Major Campbell; I am not engaged to dance with yow.”’ “Eh !—no!— what!”’ he replied, astonished “ Not dance with me !”’ “No, sir.”” ‘‘ You refuse me, Paulina! You are capricious, Miss Phelps ad ‘* And you presumptuous, Major Campbell !’’ *« The devil you say!” cried Campbell, abruptly ; and, turning With a rude stare to Harley, he cried aloud— ‘« Well! Let me see the man who will dance with you to-night.”

Page 19

Page 20

HAPPINESS.

Page 21

qn At these words, with great ease, dignity, and seli-possession, Captain Harley said— ‘* May | have the honor of being your partner in this dance, Miss Phelps ?”’ The lady, still smarting under Campbell’s inso- lence, instinctively rose and took the arm of the other. The action confounded Mad Archy, who, for a moment, knew not what to say. It was in this mood that he was joined by the professed mischief- makers of the garrison, Major Stock, and others. *“ Done for, Archy!’’ cried Stock, with a grin. ‘Clearly cut—made dog’s meat of, and no burial service.’ “] oath. ‘|| punish her!’’ exclaimed Archy, with an ‘And as for Harley, I ’ll teach him such a lesson as will cure bis love for dancing from now to doomsday. Look you, Stock ; you will take my message to him in the morning.”’ such «“ You will do no thing, Major Stock,”’ said the widow Brewton, who had overheard every syl- lable malice prepense and aforethought, as the lawyers “Tf Archy Campbell will be a fool, with say, there ’s no reason that you should prove your- self an accessory, either after or before the fact.”’ *“?Pon my soul, madam, you are bold,’’ cried Campbell. ‘What! to brave such a fire-eater as yourself? Look you, Major Campbell, if are so totally I you friends as to be able to hear the truth from Let without none but a Wwoman’s mouth, hear it from mine. me tell you that there is no extraordinary renown in being considered the madman, par excellence, ol a very silly garrison of foot and horse. Remember, moreover, that no degree of folly and madness will excuse brutality ‘Brutality, madam,” cried Campbell, fiercely. There is no other word half so You the « Even so, sir approp jate to our present uses have been guilty of a great offence against all pr prieties, and must not make your offence still more enormous. You have outraged the sensibilities of a lady whom you profess to admire, and have presumed upon those very weaknesses of her sex which should have been her securities against offence. You must not proceed farther—you shal/ not—in the same erring direction. You cannot quarrel with Captain Harley without adding still farther to this brutality. He cou!d do no less than he has done under the cir- cumstances; and, if you cannot emulate, at least learn to respect his deportment.”’ “Upon my soul, Mrs. Brewton, you queen it most but, royally! You say I shka// not, and I must not; madam, suppose I say, in answer, that I a//!”’ “Why nature of the animal that I have sought to tame “ Well, that ?”’ ‘¢ A lion, sir; at worst, a royal tiger—”’ ow ell, « And not a bear—not an—’ He spoke— then, sir, I shall only have mistaken the madam, and pray what animal was madam ?—’’ , She paused. «« Not an ass, you would say!” VOL. XLI.—21 ‘Really, sir, your instincts are sufficiently good, whatever may be the condition of your wits.”’ ** By Jove, Mrs. Brewton, you are too hard upon me! But you have courage, madam, and courage like But | and I beg that you will inter- is a virtue—and | you nevertheless. can’t submit to this ; fere no farther. 1 will shoot this fellow, Harley, or pink him—”’ “No you won’t, unless you really have resolved to give up the lady.” “* How?” ‘Take another step in this business, and you lose her forever. Behave like a man of sense and pro- per ieeling, and if you ever had a chance of success you will certainly increase it. Go to her—seek your opportunity—become the penitent—show that you regard her feelings as well as your own—that you are prepared to sacrifice your feelings for hers —and you will make a more favorable impression on her than you ever made before.” He hesitated, and shook his he * Do you really love the lady ?”’ “ Yes, Mrs. Brewton, as the apple of my eye !”’ * Then, do as I tell you, even though you should lose the ap] e of your eye. Proceed to bully her, or her present attendant, and, if she have any spark of feeling or of spirit, she will spurn you with loath- ing from her sight. Go, now, seek your « pportunity —do not despair if you make no progress to-night— better, indeed, not try to-night, but be sure you seek her and make amends to-morrow ; and, by the way, it would be well to make gentlemanly terms with this Captain Harley—”’ “Oh! by Jove, I can’t do that! but I thank you, Mrs. By the eternal! madam, you have the soul of a war-horse ; Brewton, for your counsel. I do! and I honor you, madam, though I ’m afraid of you - * And bee Major Stock had heard the better part of this con- zuse of it,’? she answered quietly versation, though pulled this way and that by some old ladies who wished for refreshments “ Well,”’ when Mad Archy so the widow takes your case in had joined hand. It But she counsels rightly said he, him, * will be well peppered. You can’t call out this fellow Harley, who has only played handsome at your expense. You w// run your head against it, Archy It ’s unfortunate. | think there ‘© no chance with the Phelps, after this! You ’ve lost her, my boy, forever.’ ‘What ‘Il you bet I don’t dance with her to- night ?”’ ‘Five guineas on it!” “Done! Now for another; what ’l] you bet I don’t marry her?”’ “Fifty guineas against your trotter ed Now, look to it; the for, as sure and “Tt ’s an even go. as thunder, I shall have both girl the guineas.”’ ‘«Get the one and you get the other,”’ cried Stock, and the parties separated, each secking different avenues among the crowds.

Page 22

214 GODEY MAGAZIN CHAPTER XX Jus. You took too sure possession of an engaged heart Frank. Which now I challenge. Forp. Tue equally restless and benevolent spirit of Mrs. to Mad Archy Campbell alone the counsels necessary to Brewton was not satisfied to administer propriety. At an early hour, after the interview with him, she sought out the fair object of his tem- porary resentment. ‘Paulina, my dear,’”’ she began, ‘‘ you have greatly irritated Archy Campbell ‘Well, he deserves it,’’ was the reply “T think it very likely; but are you prepared for all the consequences of his anger “| don’t see how it is to affect me “ Well, in regard to yourself I can say nothing. 1 know not in what degree you are interested in him It is very certain that he is greatly interested in you, and I much fear that any unusual harsdness on your I am afraid part will only drive him into mischiet that he will force a duel upon this new y-come gen- tleman, Captain Harley ‘God forbid !” «“ Let me beg that you will forbid also exclaimed the other. Iam sure, unless you are at some ivil to your that u pains to be « suitor such will be the eve You may be quite civil, and disarm his anger, without commit- ting yourself in any way.”’ The result of the conversation, thus begun, was satisfactory ; and, whether Paulina really felt an interest or not in Campbell, she determined to adopt a course less calculated to provoke his irritable na- ture into excess and violence. The consequence of this interposition was made apparent to Mrs. half Major Stock approached her, with no little ill humor, and Brewton within the next hour, wl “no pointing to Campbell and Paulina, engaged in the mazes of the dance, said— “T owe it to you, Mrs. Brewton, that I am five guineas mznnus to-night.”’ Both Stock Mrs enough to discover that Cam » and Brewton remained long pbell was restored to his usual good humor; the behavior of Paulina being pes for the such as to encourage him in the highest hoy future He had won his first bet; that was grum- b ingiy acknowledged by Stock ‘But don’t deceive yourself,’ said the latter. * You owe this only to the good nature of the girl She saw that you were in a devil of a sulk, and knowing what a mad beast you are when in an ill humor, she was afraid that you ’d be venting your fury upon her new favorite. Mrs. Brewton did this for you. I overheard her. But I shall have vour trotter for all that. Ifever woman was taken with a fellow, she is with Harley * Do you think I fear him ?’’ cried Campbell, ex- ultingly. “Ill have her in spite of all the Harleys Wil you go another hundred guineas in Creation. on it?” een DY'’s } K * No,’? was the reply. “I don’t know where you ’d find the The enough for vou at present—and the disappointinent.”’ money. horse will be loss W ith a great oath, Campbell broke away to escort Paulina to her carriage. He returned, afier a few moments, in increased spirits, and in good humor with all the world—being particularly civil to Har- ley himself, whom he found conversing with Stock Harley was quiet, It was and others over the decanters. dignified, and reserved in his deportment. observed that he evaded a good-humored remark made him by Campbe!l, contriving to answer some- body else at the moment. “ You design no quarrel with this man, Harley ? said Stock to Campbell, as they left the house to- gether. “No. fellow was right enough ; and if anybody had cause Why should I?” was the response. “ The of offence, he was the person. I threatened all the world, and looked into his face while I did so.”’ It was while Stock was busy over a late break fast, the next morning, that Mad Archy bounced in upon him. ‘* Look at that !”’ “Eh! said he, throwing down a billet by the powers !”’ exclaimed Stock, reading the billet. ‘“ This is bringing the mill tothe grist! It was a cartel from Harley. The tables were turned ‘ Prompt and cool, eh ‘Who’d The fellow has blood, that ’s cer- ?”’ said Campbell have thought it ? tain.’ ‘ By Jove, yes! A positive demand; no sneak- ing invitation to the pacific. Well, what have you done ? «“ Reterred his friend to you. Major Ponsonby acts for him.’ “Then it is business. Well, what will you have ?”’ ‘* The small-sword, and as soon as you please ; but not within the next three days. “How! It will get abroad. Why not this after- noon or to-morrow? The sooner the better !’’ ‘All true; but I require two days, at least, for my marriage.’”’ “ Pshaw! =T Are you so absurd as to dream of that «Absurd! trotter. or to forego your guineas? No! Do you suppose I mean to lose my no! Stock I shail have my girl and your gold, or hold me a spooney. After that shall Mr. Harley have his desires, not before.’’ ‘** He will find his patience fail in waiting, if you r Paulina Phelps before you fight hope ft: ‘Never you fear! Make your arrangements but not to take effect before Saturday. I insist only on the small-sword. Make the arrangements ac- cordingly — place and time, at his pleasure, or yours.’ “Very good! You are only a shade madder than I Do you go to Mrs. Ingliss’s to-night ? I dance with Paulina in the first thought you “ Where else ? quadrille.”’

Page 23

~ mweinetwes mit mane oO}! EATHARINE VALYTON wiv OOO PPPOE DARED DLE D DRDO LEEPER EE ODOR PREP PPPPEL POOP PDO « And her consent to this has led you to assume all the rest! ‘Look you, Stock, get your guineas out of the What a vain dizzard you are! pay-chest. I shall need them all in two days more. The money is mine, I tell you.” ‘Speak out honestly ; has she consented to the marriage ?”’ “No: “ Pshaw! but J have!”’ Get you gone, and see Francisco at the guard-room. You may need a little exercise with the weapon.” «“ Not a bit of it. JI shall touch no sword, and think of no fight, until I am a married man.”’ ‘“‘Hark! there’s arap. No doubt our customer. Begone ! A servant entered at this moment, and announced ** Major Ponsonby.” “He ’s prompt. That’s handsome !”’ bell. guineas.’’ said Camp- “Good bye, Stock, and see that you get the Campbell and Ponsonby passed each other at the entrance with a bow and a smile; and the former had searcely rounded the next square, before the two seconds had arranged the meeting for the ensu- ing Saturday, at five in the afternoon, swords the weapons, the place a well-known grove, just with- out the lines, on the banks of Cooper River. CHAPTER XXXI. ‘¢T am a fellow of the strangest mind in the world: I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.’? —Twelfth Night. Tuat night, both the principals were to be seen at the party of Mrs. Ingliss, as cool and happy as if their immunities of life were insured in the book of Fate for the next hundred years. It was observed that they treated each other with especial good humor and courtesy. But Harley bit his lip when he beheld his rival leading out the fair Paulina the first into the ring; and his vexation was not a whit lessened to perceive the smiling grace with which the damsel welcomed the attentions of her gallant. Mad Archy could not forbear, in the exultation of his spirit, casting a mischievous glance of triumph at his disappointed enemy. Harley saw and under- stood the meaning of the glance, and he resolved to be as merciless in the duel as his rival was in the dance. He soon sought his present consolations in another quarter of the apartment, and being as cool and courteous as brave—aflecting, indeed, somethin K of the preur chevalier—he very qui kly joined in the measured mazes of the whirling bright eyes kept his own too parties, coupled with a partner whose busy to suffer him to see the happiness which he env ed in his neighbors. ; The scene of festivity on this occasion, the dwell- ng of Mrs Ingliss, is yet ¢ nspicuous, a fine, airy So antique as lofty, in scarcely looking mansion Queen Street, directly opposite Friend, in the vene- rable city of Charleston.* It was illuminated for the occasion from top to bottom. The region west and north of it held but few houses, and an ample gar- den, in both these quarters, was richly lighted up also, cressets and lamps being sprinkled quite freely among the shrubs and orange trees. Beyond this garden, on the south, the view was almost unbroken to the river; a smooth esplanade spreading down to the green skirts of salt marsh which bordered the Ashley on the east. The whole scene was one of great beauty, and the soft airs from the southwest played deliciously among the chambers, in grateful unison with the moonlight and fragrance which sur- rounded them. The company was not in the mood to suffer these luxuries to escape them. They gave themselves up to unreserved enjoyment, or at least seemed to do so; the secret care at the hearts of many being hushed into repose, or disguised be- neath that social mask which so frequently shelters the wounds of sensibility and the voleanos of pas- sion. The lower apartments and the piazza were yielded up to the dancers. The graver persons of the party were grouped here and there among them, as spectators, or congregated in the upper rooms. Some dispersed themselves about the garden, and love and sentiment, and mere humor and _ politics, found each some fitting place or subject for exercise. Leaving the gay groups below, let us ascend to the front or southern apartment in the second story. Here we find Mrs. Ingliss with her more ancient guests. With these are Mrs. Singleton and Katha- rine Walton, both quietly seated, the latter with an admiring circle, small, but dutiful, in close attend- ance. Here was to be seen Colonel Cruden, as her guardian, dignified and complacent. Balfour, to the surprise of all, failed to make his appearance. Here, too, at intervals in the dancing, Major Barry was most obsequious in his service ; and passing from cham- ber to chamber, the gay groups loitered with that restless feeling, a pleasant sort of discontent, which, perhaps, at places of this sort, furnishes the best We shall cer- tainly not seek to detain the reader with such gene- stimulus to pleasure and excitement. ral descriptions as he may readily imagine for him- self, but shall detach, tor his benefit, from the events of the eveuing, such as bear more or less directly upon the progress of our history. We have glarced at Major It must not be forgotten that the house ot Barry among the guests. Mrs. Ingliss was his place of lodging. In the dis- tribution of abodes for the British officers, after the conquest of the city, he had been billeted upon her This lady, as we have seen, was a good patriot ; but she was treated civilly by Barry, and his harm- less vanity, and almost unvarying good humor, in- clined her in his favor. She rather liked him than otherwise, though she never spared her censure ot his conduct whenever it deserved rebuke. It hap- pened, at one of the pauses of the dance this even- * Now in the possession of Mr. William Easton.

Page 24

9148 —-rt - a — 216 ,+O1 i uf AG y ing, that Barry drew nigh to the group about Mrs lngliss, with whom we found Mrs. Siugleton and Katharine Walton. He was then officiating as one numerous cortége of the fashionable widow Hither, famous widow, Mrs of the Rivington. also, drew nigh our other Miles Brewton. Close behind her followed Captain McMahon, Barry’s shadow, who was, or affected to be, very earnest in suppli- eating Mrs. Brewton for some favor or some act of forbearance. But she was obdurate, and broke into the circle of which Barry, though quite petit, was the somewhat conspicuous object. Mrs must positively cut Captain McMahon ‘Fie! Mrs. Brewton !’’ implored McMahon ‘Why ‘* He is no friend of yours.”’ ‘‘ Major Barry,’ observed Brewton, “ you was Barry’s inquiry. ‘I no friend of Major Barry! I am the only friend he has in the world.” Heaven help him, then! The sooner he hangs himself the better. But I speak the truth. He has proved it to me most conclusively.” “ And how, Mrs Barry, beginning to be quite curious. Brewton ?’’ was the inquiry of ‘In striving to hide your light under his bushel.” “In with his big head between you and the candle.”’ « Something that,”’ the “ We all know that Major Barry is both plain terms,’’ said Major Stock, “ standing worse than responded widow. wit and poet. He is continually doing something very brilliant and grateful to Apollo. A true friend would be anxious that the world should be put in possession of these good things; yet here is Captain McMahon studiously suppressing them’’— ‘showing them to *“ Which means,” said Stock, everybody under an injunction of secrecy.”’ Now friend and treachery to the public.”’ Stock ; friend knows al! about it, and the world don’t care a «“ Precisely this is treach« ry to one’s «“ To be sure,”’ sai ‘particularly as the button to know ‘Oh, what a malignant !”’ cried Mrs. Rivington. Mrs. Brewton continued - You world does care to know The it should are mistaken quite, Major Stock Ata protected from painful surprises. Ni. ald ‘ Royal Gazette,’ I cou events, he yw, if Maior Barry’s friend w honestly publish his good things in the | read them or not, at my pleasure ; but when his friend makes me forces upon secret, injury done to me at to the public. a sort of confidant, and me a there is a double The possession of a secret, to a Woman, 1s @ sort of temptation to sin; and I will not be forced to keep that of Captain MeMahon or his friend, Major Here jor’s,”’ holding Barry now, is a new epigram of the Ma- up i paper “ Read it!—read it was the cry from a dozen voices. ‘Oh, don’t !’’ appealed the author, in feeble tones. * Oh, don’t!’ echoed MeMahon, in tones quite as feeble ‘It appears,’ continued the widow, “that Major ROA ~~ eee Ane Barry has been honored with the gift of a pair of slippers, wrought by the fair hands ot— but that is a lady’s secret, and must not be revealed by one of her sex. His acknowledgment for this gilt Is con- tuined in the following very felicitous verses “os t round t e circle, “ Buzz! buzz! buzz!’ went i Barry and McMahon both striving, but very inade- quately, to increase the confusion. “Oh, I won't read till we have perfect silence, said Mrs. Brewton. And, words, the first With heroic manner, she then read the following—epigram, with the our two Arcadians were to stop clear tones, and a mock we suppose, it must be called :— ‘To Miss Pharbe , in compliment for a pair of slippers, wrought by her own hands. * Woman, of old, with wondrous art, Was still content to snare the heart: Sut now her more ambitious goal Is conquest o’er the very soul—(sole ?) ; No more, with understanding sure, Man walks the earth he ruled of yore; On humbler footing now he stands— His footsteps taken through her hands. His sole (soul?) enmeshed, her happy snares At least protect from toils and tears (ares ?); Nor all forgot her ancient art, Still through the soul o’ercomes the heart.’? ‘Ts that all?’’ demanded Stock, as the lady } paused. “All!” “Certainly that > cried Stock. mountain suffered grievously from that mouse ! *¢ Positively, there should be some enactment, some heavy penalty against this cruel repetition of ancient puns I am against Mrs. Brewton. If you can really you, satisfy me that McMahon honestly desired to keep secret these verses when he communicated them, then shall I aver that he was a better friend to Ma jor Barry than Barry himself.”’ > cried Mrs. Rivington too barbarous fora critic, Major Stock.’ “Oh hush!’ « You are «Grant you, ma’am; but not too much so for a friend.”’ ‘Cynic '—But here come the waiters We have need of cordials and alulees to take the bitter from our mouths.”’ And, with these words from Mrs. Rivington, the assault temporarily ceased upon Barry. The circle opened to receive the servants, bearing splendid and massive silver trays and salvers containing retresh- consisted ot | ments. These jams and jellies, pines, bananas, and other West India fruits, cordials and lemonade ; and sundry more potent beverages for the stronger heads of the military It would sur- prise a modern assembly, in the same region, to be- hold, in the centre of such a service, an immense bowl of punch, the chief ingredients of w hich were old Jamaica rum and cogniac, of nearly equal virtue While finally forgetting themselves, the eyes of the com- the gentlemen served the ladies, without

Page 25

ATITART KATHARIN pany were directed, by some remark of Mrs. Riv- mgton, to a good-looking young negro boy of six- teen, in the livery of Barry—a blue ground, with scariet facings. ‘‘ By the way,”’ said the fashionable widow, quite abruptly, ‘‘ where did you pick up that clever boy, Major Barry ‘ The question was so sudden, and Barry’s con- sciousness, at the moment, so quick, that he an- swered confusedly— «“ Me, Mrs. Rivington ?—that boy—where did I get that boy Why, I made him.’’* A solemn hush succeeded this strangely equivocal answer. The elderly ladies looked grave, and the younger vacant. A_ boisterous laugh from Stock added to the confusion. ‘‘A better piece of work, by all odds, than the epigram. I should greatly thank you to make me a hundred or two of the same animal, out of the same sort of ebony.” The little wit found it necessary to put a bold face on Barry had, by this time, recovered himself. the matter, and to exercise his ingenuity for his escape from his blunder. ‘And there would be no great difficulty in the matter if you have the necessary amount of faith. Faith is the great essential. The fact is that, some time ago, happening to be in the neighborhood of Monk’s Corner, I thirsted for a draught of cool water from a neighboring brooklet. But I did not wish to t in getting at it, looked about me; of the wet my fee so | and just before me noted a tract of the bog most ivery smoothness, and as black as jet. ‘ Now,’ said lI, scooped up some of the earth, which was soft and ‘will I see what faith will perform.’ I pliant. 1 moulded it into the form and features of a handsome boy. I then devoutly concentrated my will upon it, and I said—repeating the abracadabra, and other potent formula of ancient magic— Rise up, Ceesario !? and thereupon he rose, a good-look- ing lad enough, as you see him now, and quite cre- ditable to me as a sculptor.” ‘A roundabout way,” said Mrs. Ingliss to Mrs. Singleton, in tones almost audible to the circle, “ of Monk’s telling us he stole him somewhere near Corner.”’ ‘« There ’s no end to Barry’s sorceries. Captain McMahon, your friend needs a new title.”’ “Ah! What, major? “ Henceforth let him be known as the Ethiopian Prometheus.” The name stuck to the major for a long time after- wards—certainly as long as the negro did. A crash of plates and glasses interrupted the scene, and furnished an excuse to Barry for leaving the circle. His newly-created servant, Ceesario, not being bred to his vocation, had allowed the heavy silver tray to slip from his grasp, emptying the en- Mrs. tire contents into the lap of the excellent scenes are mostly true, in fact Smith, who, it was thought, had caused the acci- dent by bearing with too much stress—under a mistake as to the character of its contents, of course —upon the punch bowl. There was great clamor, m the confusion of which, Katharine Walton, takmg Ella Monckton by the arm, escaped intothe garden. Let us leave them for a season, while looking after certain other interesting parties to our story. CHAPTER XXXII. ‘Escaped! so let him: he is hedged too fast Within the circuit of our English pale To steal out of our ports, or leap the walls Which guard the land.’’ Forp, Perkin Warleck. WE left mad Archy Campbell in the full whirl of W hether it was that Paulina Phelps really gave him a pre- a most delirious and grateful excitement. ference in her aflections, or was afraid of giving provocation to his anger, it would not be easy to determine. Certain it is that she treated him with all the considerate solicitude of one who claimed a large portion of her favor. And, to do him justice, he seemed properly careful to deserve it. His behavior was unwontedly gentle, modest, and de- voted. He studiously avoided the language and manner of passion and excess. The coarse phrase- ology in which he was too much disposed, ordi- narily, to indulge, was carefully made to give way to a dialect better fashioned to persuade the senti- and it really seemed as if the eflort had the mad Archy an unusual eloquence. He dently laboring at au object—evidently to us. mental! nature ; to appear more amiable taught lips ol Was @€Vi- It was doubtful if the fair Paulina beheld any other art in her gallant than that which should pro- perly distinguish every lover. From the dance, he beguiled her to the garden, and she was pleased to be so beguiled. She forgot the more sedate attrac- ions of the new-comer, Captain Harley, and, sitting with Archy Campbell in the subdued moonlight, which fell in softest droplets through the leaves and branches of the sheliering orange, the natural lan- guage of the occasion was of flowers, and hearts, the and sweetest and sentiments, all of brightest character. After much harmonious ec mversation, which seemed like musing and reverie rather than discourse, Archy led his companion down the slope of the garden to a spot where the umbrage was less close and massive. The green plain stretched away to the river, the lines which bordered the marsh not and glittering mirror of the concealing the bright wave from the spot on which they stood. Beyond were the dense groves of St. Andrews, the great pines mingling with brooding oaks, and looming out, grandly solitary, in the embracing moonlight. “Oh, how delicious is the picture !’’ exclaimed Paulina. “One feels anxious to escape to it, and be at peace for ever. I detest the crowd, this per- petual hum of tedious voices, that speak nothing to

Page 26

218 G the heart, and leave us perpetually wearied even of our Pp easures (rive me lone iness racnel give me the sad, sweet woods of autuma—the ground strewn with brown leaves, and the winds sighing sadly over their perishing beauties \nd now is the time to see the woods in the very perfection of their beauty | drove out the other day to Goose Creek Churc! ind I was charmed into forgetfulness at every step. Suppose you let me drive you out to-morrow I have the most famous trotter in the world, and my gig is as easy as a cradie But you know them both Take a seat with me to-morrow, and you shall enjoy the luxury of the woods in their tullest sweetness I w was the prompt aflirmatiy Do you k vy I’ve never seen the chure ut Goose Creek Is it possible ? Oh, you willbe delighted! The region is a perfect fairy land. But who comes i t WW n, the new beau I t c<, with ! ! I Do y i hin s ve very I m t think her so if I did not find a much Suin eauuty elsewh was t I the gal- it A sing tenderly, as he spok ito the t gnt yes his companion rit ed her his arm at $ me and they turned upward once more t . er of the garden | its protec g bo we : eing in the mood pparently, to ' re« iV i tion to their compa j a ts ot Mad A iy were greatly creas ne kept a strong 1 upon bis impulses We y add that ne ne nee by any indisere i k or word, forte d rwhich he see ive gained that eve 1 th ist words W 1 Paulina Spoke 1 his leaving he as he es ed r home that A The eyes of Katharine Walton and her compa- nion, like those of Paulina and her lover, were turned longingly to the fair stream before them, and the silent forests that spread away bey lit. They, too, had yearnings which carried them away into the solitude and from the crowd Oh, how those woods recall to me mv home ' the sweet, safe thickets, the venerable shade trees under which 1 played when a child, and where I ' first learned to weep and sorrow as a woman Would I were among them still! I fee! as if all my days of pleasure—nay, of peace and hope—are gone from me, now that I have left them. I teel, F.lla, as if I were destined to some great and crushing calamity My thoughts by day are full of presenti- ments, and by night my dreams are of evil always. Would I w wildering lights and sounds, which speak to me of danger and deceit rather than of merriment or

* away, afar, safe from all these be- love ' “And why is this? Why is it that you, young and so beautiful, wealthy and beloved’’— ‘‘Hush! hush!

~ —_—_——~

‘‘ Yes; why should you be unhappy “Ah, you see not! You know not what I dread and what I deplore “Indeed, I know not. Before me the prospect appears very bright. Yet a few days ago it was ‘‘[t is because you hope. I fear! You look for- ward. It is upon the past only that I cast my eyes with any satisfaction. The future wears nothing but doubts and clouds upon its face. God forbid, a, that it should ever seem to you what it now

seems to me ‘Ah, Katharine, but for you mine would have been such a | spect ‘ But for me? “Yes! But 1 dare not tell you now [ must re- serve the confession for another time, when I have more courage. You little know how much I owe

you Katharine expressed her surprise and curiosity ; but, though treml g to untold her companion, E!la found herself unabl more nearly the subject Which made rhus musing together, and contrasting the bright d cloudy in their several horizons, the two maid- ens continued their walk until they were again shrouded among the g ves olf the gat len Here they paused, and seated themselves in an arbor heltere by th es and the dense tf ige of the lemon, the orange, and the gardenia. While they it, speaking occasionally only, and then in such subdued accents as could reach no other ears, voices were suddenly heard approaching them, and enter- ingg an adjul or COps€ ‘It is Balfour,’ said Katharine, in sterner tones than Was her wont * Let us go to the house Stay! replied Ella, in a whisper. “We ca

not now move without being detected 1 Meanwhile, Balfour and Cruden entered the rove, only separated from the two maidens by a bushes of the gardenia and the rose. They Cc ump otf : seated themselves directly opposite, and proceeded to converse as if upon a subject already fully broached. Balfour, it may be said, had only just reached Mrs. Ingliss’s. He had been delayed |

business. His manner was still hurried, and his tones indicated some excitement. ‘“ Well,” said he, “of der we ean speak here- She shall not always avoid me! But what ! »? of your loving nephew after Have you heard nothing recently of Major Proctor?” “Nothing. What of him?” “ Do you not know that he has disappeared ?” “ Disappeared! I have not seen him for a week. He would take none of my counsel, so I let him take care of himself.’’ T him

vat is right. You can neither serve nor save «“ But what do you mean by disappeared ?”’ “Tle has left the city suddenly. Gone to Dor- chester, it appears, where we have the last traces of him

Page 27

“ How do you know that he went to Dorchester «IT sent his man, John, after him ‘What! Asa spy upon his master ‘How can you suppose it? But, hearing that he went off suddenly and strangely, I thought it best that the servant should attend the master, and gave him permission to do so.”’ “ Balfour, this was not right. You should give my nephew fair play.” ‘Pooh! pooh! It was only a measure of proper precaution. If I had been disposed to deny him fair play, be should have been closely in ward, well * And why has not his trial taken place ° ‘For the very reason that I wished to give him fair play, and waited for the arrival of new officers from New York- persons who know nothing of the affair, and have no interest in the case one way or the other.”’ ‘Well, and what do you hear of my nephew since he lett the city ?”’ That he went to Dorchester, and made inquiries tnt : ) . “ane of old Humphries and Pryor in regard to the escape of Colonel Walton It appears that he cou d get nothing satisfactory out of e her of them, and the 1¢ turned his back they denounced You hear all this from Vaughan, and Vaughan Pshaw, Cruden, men are their own enemies. They will do well enough if they never have any worse than themselves. Dismiss this notion from your mind. The result of all is this, that Proctor eft Dorchester the next day, and has not since been heard o ‘Even so! And this makes the case look worse than ever. My purpose was to put him on trial as soon as he returned to the city. The charges were all prepared. He has probably taken the only mode of es« aping conv ction How! What do you suspect?” ore “ That he has tled to the enemy Katharine Walton felt her hand convulsively grasped in that of Ella Impossible! I will never claimed Cruden W [ am atraid you will part of missing find it true. The strangest he affair is that his servant John is also ‘* Well, should that surprise you ?”’ retorted Cru- den, wilh a sneer ‘Ts it anything Strange that so E WALTON. 219 faithful a servant should cling to the fortunes of his master ?”? ‘Come, come, Cruden, that won’t do. We know each other too well for sneers of this sort. There is no denying that John was in my pay, and I teel sure that we should have had his report before this but for the fact that he has been made way with He has, perhaps, attempted to arrest his master in his flight, and has been shot down for his pains “ Monstrous! What do you take John Proctor to be ?”’ ‘A traitor to his king and country, and a fugitive in the camp of Marion or Sumter! Such is the ap- pearance of the case Le spairing of defence, he has fled, and has probably put to death my emissary ‘ And rightly enough The dog deserved a dog’s le i ‘‘ Very like ; yet we must not say this.”’ ‘What is to be done? Not e! Let m go You will believe me, Cruden, when | say that I do not desire to bring J r ne} iW to disgrace: sti l less to see nim shot as a trait I preter that he should fly He saves bn th of us some shame and trouble ZT ere Ss only one thing to be said We must see that Katharine Walton does not escape also. She may or may not ke him I cannot yet fathom treat But de likes her ; and both together in the rebel can p, a mutual Kin~g might not be so diilicult, the fellow being good-looking enough, and—not unlike his uncle.”’ The smile which accompanied this sentenc might have been a sneer Balfour continned— To render this impossible, I must thrive in my own Woo! g, and you must give me more help than you have done. I have some plans by which t secure opportunities, of Which you shall know here- after. Enough for the present. Let us now go to the house. I must play the gallant, and do the amiable to her, with all the grace and spirit I can muster In silence sat the maidens till the two had walked away. Both of them had heard much to deepen and to occasion anxiety. ‘‘Do you wonder now,” said Katharine, “that my future shonld seem so gloomy to my eyes ?”’ ‘No! no!” replied the other; ‘and my star has also grown dit all of a sudden.” They returned to the dwelling, but only to endure two hours of mortal weariness, surrounded by mu- sic and revelry which inspired loathing only, and pressed with the attentions of those whom they equally dreaded an ] despised. (Te * continued.

Page 28

BY T. ELLWOOD Ir was not in a ball-room bright } I saw the beauteous maid, ; It wast in the crowded street 2 Of Fashion’s promenade ; $ She did not at the playhouse shine In histrionie blaze— § 5 ’T was on the Banks of Brandywine, Remote from public gaze She wore no bracelet on her arms, No jewel But Nature and no gem, s modest, winning charms In Virtwe’s diadem Her beauty owed to mimic art No feature and no grace ; The truth of an ingenuous heart Was pictured in her face. But just above the medium size She stood—a rural fair, With most expressive light blue eyes And brig Perfection’s print in all her form test auburn hair Proclaimed the work divine— Art could not copy or adorn The ** belle of Brandywine Her high and intellectual cast, Her noble, graceful mien, Surpassed the classic pencilings On Fancy’s forest queen Nursed in a simple farmer’s cot, She radiant glowed with health; Gay Fashion’s dazzle heeded not, Nor gave a thought to wealth. The pride of Fashion's gilded halls, When Flattery rules the hour, Is not more truly beautiful Than this fair forest flower The glare On a mor of chandelier ne’er fell lovely form ; "Twas Nature's se And Ar if that made the be ild not adorn Her riches we rd her valued self, And all she Were Beaut ind gentle birth owned on earth y’s torch and Virtue’s star, Her grandsire, on the battle plain, ’Gainst British foemen stood, And on the field of Brandywine He poured his noble blood. A few short paces from the stream Is shown a lonely mound, Supposed to be his resting-place— To her’ tis sacred ground : ern enn ew GARRETT. And there, upon that mound, she stood, And gazed, with sorrowing brow, Upon the earth that drank his blood And hid him from her now e gazed upon the waters clear, : That once were dyed with red ; And who could blame the pearly tear Just starting from its bed ? It seemed her hist’ry to reveal, As from its crystal cell It trickled down upon her cheek To ease her bosom’s swell. ’T was all unseen I took my stand Beneath a willow’s shade, And Of th heard the sweet soliloquy is fair country muid : It breathed a patriotic tone— A conscious pride that she ** Was the solitary scion left’? Of a storm-beaten tree And, though his face she had not seen, r Sh an image see Ot what her fancy Had pictu What caused the Much sympat Was that he fell, in Upon his own broad lands. *s youngest dream ed him to be damsel deepest pain, j ' demands, battle slain, With victory within his grasp, Awaiting freedom’s boon, He b In view of peaceful home thed away life’s lingering gasp In the same field where he had toiled With sickle, s¢ Without a friend to mourn for him, His c ythe, and spade, ld remains were laid His cap and plume, by some mischance Were left upon the plain Until some neighboring peasant passed, And knew the warrior slain Now nothing marks the soldier’ But wild thyme, growing fait d none can tell of how he died A Or who interred him there So much I learned from her sweet lips— Was melting at the tale— When she resumed her evening walk Adown her native vale: Unseen, I hastened to the spot, And found a written leaf On which the maiden fair had told More fully of her grief.

Page 29

A ‘[N WI} 3. — IE ILD ANI TH DEW-DROPS 221 The path lay near the wa { ‘* My grandsire’s brother, where is he? Her sir : cottage stoc He sought for laurels too: Embowered in vines and evergreens, He tempted oft the stormy sea, Behind the dusky wood And died at Waterloo Like some queen of the sylvan realm, My only brother chose to go Or Naiad of the stream, From home and friends away, She fay ed my admiring sight, And found a grave in Mexico, Then vanished like a dream. é Betore proud Monterey I stood, and fancied that I hear« ‘© T ’m now alone in the wide world, Her mellow music votce, With social feelings strong ; I é 1a f night's famed sing! -bird, And none to love but those 1 ’ve lost— \laking the groves rejoice l was not pared them long rhen all was silent Echo slept Oh, would some bard embalm their names Wit her cavern bed; In verse of generous praise, ! Al with a soul-stirred sympathy, Fame would reward him for his pains Phe fol lines I read :— And treasure up his lays !?

ch were the lines she left behind,

‘Fatherand mother, both are gone

I have no earthly friend rhrough negligence or wil! No staff to lean my youth upon— But for my sight they seemed designed, No hand will suecor lend ! And IT have tried my skill My father died ere I his name If, when these verses meet her eye, Or loving features knew! The maid discerns her face, My mother shortly followed him! I ask within her memory My little sister too! A high and lasting place. ~~ -<-—-7eo+ fa A 4 L ‘ On, wild are the winds of the Autumn time, O’er the plain they spread with their chilly breath,

‘ As they madly rush from their northern clime, nd eonsign all its bright-hued blooms to death ; And whistle along on baleful wing, Through the forest boughs they roar along, With a blight on all the children of Spring! Shrieking of Summer the funeral song Through the mountain gorge, with redoubled force, They enter, unwelcome, the fair lady’s bower, They wildly rage with their howlings hoarse ; With the kiss of death for each lovely flower, Adown the ravine in mad haste they roll, And all that is beautiful, bright, and gay Like a torrent which naught can guide or control Withers and fades, and hastes to decay. Up the mountain’s side, o’er its rocky heights, Oh, sad is the change that, on Nature's fair face, Where there’s naught to feel their withering With the cold breath of blight and destruction t blights, trace! They climb till they reach the topmost steep, Her smiles, at their coming, all quickly depar hen, on wide-spread wings, right onward sweep. ) And leave her the visage of a sorrowing heart -~<7-7eor 7, T T a AT TY \ TT J BY MES. A. A. BARNES A BEAUTIFUL child, one morning at play— ‘¢ The sparkling showers of dew on the flowers, Too good for this world of ours— Whose loss you wept o’er, my child, Was grieved that the dew-drops did not stay

sparkle upon the flowers ; a iay be seen, in the emerald sheen, [ ind sapphire dves i For the scorching gleams of the bright sunbeams They are flonting above, where no footsteps . s ll the fai ems away On the soft and s ner skies That clittered g in the morning light, On the and tlowers gay. ‘* And so shall it be, my darling, with thee, If early dost vanish from earth; But a rainbow above, the ‘‘ type of God’s love,” Like the dew drops, love, thou shalt shine above Appear and the fa 8 “d :— A gem of the est worth

Page 30

BY KATE [ANY years ago, when railroad cars were un- known, and even stagecoaches were confined to omparatively circumscribed, the little inn of Buttonwood village was thrown into no slight com- motion by the arrival of a person who informed Mr andiord of the inn, that his name was st son, the epre and that he should like to be accommodated Mr. Jel- e listening to this announcement, regarded with board and lodging for several weeks the stranger with a keen eye, for there was, as he

imagined, something singular, if not suspicious, in arance. His form, which was well knit and muscular, was far trom being symmetrical or grace- ful, yet there was an ease in his movements which atoned for these deficiencies. His dark, and his without any pretensions to beauty, with the excep- in a measure complexion was features irregular, tion of his eyes, which were dark and uncommonly brilliant. His mouth was too large to be handsome, but this defect was atoned for whenever he spoke or smiled by the display of teeth so beautiful that even our modern dentists could not surpass them. There t was one thing which the female part of Mr. Jellison’s family regretted the moment they had time to ob- serve him, and this was the manner he wore his hair, which was coal-black in hue, soft and glossy in quality, aad most abundant in quantity. It was the fashion in those days to brush the hair up from the forehead, so that, according to its flexibility, it either rose upright like the “ quills of the fretful por- cupine, rgracefully waved like a warrior’s plumes, Mr. Stepney, in violation of the prescribed fashion of wearing the hair, suffered his to fall over his fore- head so as generally to nearly or quite conceal it. as a matter This, which at first was regarded merely of regret, soon became ot The in- habitants of Buttonwood village had heard that in ther countries criminals were sometimes branded

on the rehead, and the subject was discussed among t ps, old and young, t they began to se isly belies that Mr. Stepney wore his hair in the 1 t mentioned to conceal some 1 mark of infam The bright eves, as we is f <e in no wav remarkable f I tness which were consequently busy ev Sunday at church in trying to pry into any minute opening which at any time happened to be detected between the flaky locks « ering the f t region ot his phre gical organization, might most unduly have flated his vanity had he been a vain ‘ i used iis ap revert s hi ¢ heen agi fy one that is, it he had observe the The truth is, he did not ot e them, his attention on those IN V & BAG. SEYTON sten- occasions being either very much absorbed in ing to the sermon or in communing with his own thoughts. A certain spinster, who had more than her share of verjuice in her disposition, said she had “ watched and watched him, and could tell by his looks that he was studying out mischief instead of listening to the preaching, as he ought to.’ The only person who ventured to oppose the opinions formed to his disadvantage was Kate Ren- wick. Some persons said that they should not won- } if er if Kate should permit him to pay her particular attention; but, as he never by the most vigilant watchfulness could be caught paying her any particu- lar attention, there seemed to be no means of settling the question. It did seem strange that Mr Stepney could pass her by with the same slight regarc that he did the most ordinary woman in the village. ‘Surely, no other man of twenty-seven that ever existed could behold her beautiful face, the expres- sion of which was sparkling, piquant, or tender, ac- cording to the varying moods of her mind, and appear as unmoved as when looking on the counte- nance of hergrandmother, with whom she lived,’’ was the opinion expressed by many of the young men, who felt themselves happy to receive from her a word or a smile As for Mr. Jellison, the landlord of the inn, when he found that he punctually paid his board every Saturday night, and that he was moreover very quiet, and never complained of his accommodations or his mea ther said anything to his disadvantage s, While he said nothing in his praise nei- Suspicion concerning him, however, continued to grow deeper habit of taking s« and darker. He was in the tary walks, when he always carried with him a brown eanvass bag, which uniformly appeared light and lank distended with some heavy su when he set out on his perambulations, and hstance when he re- turned. One person, who had met him in one of his daily outgoings, Was certain that the outlines of a sma pickaxe ¢ uld be distinetly traced in the de- flections upon the surface of the bag Would not this,”’ he asked himself, “furnish a clue to the mystery?’ He st no time in communicating s discovery, and it was unanimously agreed that, f the bag did indeed hold a veritable pickaxe, far from being in a measure cleared up. was only made the more profound, unless it could be ascertained what use he made of sucha the e had the hardihood to follow If only one of number could have him to his secret

Page 31

my 4 < H bed fr BROWN be a necromancer’s wand, and as no one present had ever had opportunity to see the magic powers of such a wand tested, it was voted to be a dangerous experiment to venture within the sphere of its influ- ence ’ Nahum Nubbs, « 1 ’ve half a mind to follow him some time, «Dangerous or not dangerous,’’ said and see what he is at.” « And if he takes the precaution to draw a magic circle, and you should get inside of it before you know it, there is no knowing but you would turn into an ape, or a donkey,” said one. “Or he might raise a tempest, and you might be spirited away, nobody knows where,”’ said another. But Nahum Nubbs had got it into his head that Mr. Stepney, by some means, had been so fortunate as to find some hidden deposit of gold; and as Na- hum, ever since he could remember, according to his own confession, mortally hated *‘ to shell corn, turn the grindstone, and work,’’ he was determined to run the risk of being transformed into a monkey, or of even being spirited away to some place, nobody knew where, as it might be the identical place where, instead of being obliged to work from morn- ing to night for the sake of three shillings and three indiflerent meals, he might have ambrosia to eat and nectar to drink upon free cost. As to what these were, he never had exactly made up his mind; but he entertained no doubt that the one was equal to roast turkey and plum pudding, and the other to good warm flip. Nahum was not so foolish as to whisper his sus- picion of hidden treasure to his neighbors; the most that he ventured on was to inquire of Mr. Jellison if Mr. Stepney generally paid for his board in gold or bank bills. ‘Gold, generally speaking,’’ replied Mr. Jellison. « But why do you ask ?” “Only ‘cause,’? said Nahum, stammering, “ | thought as how he might, if he paid you in paper money, get off counterfeit bills on to you.” ‘* ] guess he couldn’t get counterfeit bills off on to me—me who handle more money than all the rest ” of the village put together,’’ said Mr. Jellison, in a tone which told that he was slightly offended at the implication as regarded the acuteness of his discern- ment. “ If I hadn't been a real friend to you, I should held my ‘J meant no offence, squire,’’ said Nahum. tongue and not cautioned you.” Nahum Nubbs, now that he had learnt from the landlord that Mr. Stepney was in the habit of paying for his board in gold, felt more sanguine than ever respecting the hidden treasure. The contents of the brown canvass bag, when its owner returned from his daily excursions, were, no doubt, golden guineas, or perhaps—for he suddenly recollected the sharp, angular edges which sometimes seemed ready to poke through the sides of the bag—there might be a mixture of lumps of gold “as big as a piece of chalk.’’ Nahum, as this brilliant idea flashed upon his mind, involuntarily cut a caper, Which made the PAARAARRAPRARPAAAAAL 990° ~~ landlord conclude that he had taken a glass too much, and prevented him from offering him a good job of chopping wood. At this moment, Mr. Stepney descended the stairs and went out at the front door with, as usual, the mysterious brown bag in one hand and a stout walk ing-stick in the other. Nahum slipped out at the end door, and, planting himself at the corner of the house, fastened his eyes on the bag in order that he might, in his own mind, settle the mooted point touching the identity of the pickaxe. “ Anybody with half an eye could see that it was a pickaxe, or a hammer, or some such thing,’ sax he, mentally soliloquizing. “If he ean turn me into a monkey, or a donkey either, by flourishing that round my ears, why let him do it, I say In order to keep Mr. Stepney within eye-shot, he was obliged to exercise his locomotive powers some what more briskly than comported with his usually sluggish habits. «“ ] should enough sight sooner think that he had or the seven league boots I ’ve heard tell of than tha: said he, he ’d got a magic wand in his bag,”’ Wipins the “ beaded drops’ from his brow with a blue an “What any person can want to walk at such a rate for, wher white cotton handkerchief. civilizec there is time enough and to Spare, goes past my m genuity to contrive.”’ As Mr. Stepney was naturally of an obliging dis position, he would, undoubtedly, had he known how Nahum Nubbs As he was conducive it would have been to comfort, have diminished his speed. entire ignorance on this point, however, his clain to suavity remained unimpeachable, notwithstanding the angry innuendoes to the contrary which Nahum muttered to himself, as he one minute scampered ‘o'er brake and o’er brier,”’ or leaped a ditch, and the next dodged behind some rock or tree to prevent being discovered. Atter Nahum had thus followed in the wake of Mr. Stepney a mile or more, the lat- ter entered upon a wild, barren spot. over which Here he commenced walking more leisurely, and soon were strewn large, irregular masses of rock. came toa full stop. Nahum crept behind a huge pile of granite, on one side of which some pendent blackberry-vines afforded a convenient screen. through the openings of which, wondering at his His soul was in his eyes, causing a most unnatural dis- own temerity, he cautiously peered whole tension of those orbs of vision—at all times more remarkable for breadth than brilliancy—when he saw Mr. Stepney prepare to open the canvass bag ‘« Now, if I had only thought to put a horse-shoe in my pocket,”’ said he, mentally, as he watched the unloosing of the knotted strings, and recalled t mind the wonderful virtues, both repellent and nulli- ficatory, prescribed to that oblong semicircle oi steel, when brought to bear upon witch and wizard spells, instead of the sole of a horse’s foot. When the operation of untying the strings of the bag was completed, Nahum relieved himself by taking a long breath, and then said, half audibly,

Page 32

994 GODEY MN +AZIN ~~ on weer ew Who ’s afraid ?’’ himself to bear with calmness what, after all, might This was by way of fortifying prove @ startling discovery It was with difficulty that he suppressed a shout of exultation when the * Didn't I tell indeed! But bag was fuirly opened and emptied em so? A mecromancer’s wand what puzzles me is, if he’s goin’ to dig for gold, what does he want of hammers, amd pickaxes, and such kind of things. A spade would do twice the sarvice Good gracious! if he aint hammerin’ away on them ’ere rocks as if he ’d beat ’em all to sinash Yet, notwithstanding the manful efforts which Nahum made to “ throw fear to the winds’’ while he thus sat peering through the blackberry- vines—the blackberries were, as yet, quite as green as Nahum was—he was conscious of some mis- vings as to what micht possi ly happen. He, therefore, oceasionally glanced his eyes over his verson to ascertain if he were still Nahum Nubbs— ] the veritable Nahum, who, for the seven and twenty years he had been an inhabitant of this mundane sphere, was the only living being he had ever cared straw for, or if by some mysterious process he was not gradually being transformed into an ape or a donkey, the deplorable consequence of his temerity as hinted at by some of the acute denizens of the village Ile could see very plainly that his hands and feet remained the same as ever, and by the help of the former, he could also assure himself that his organs of hearing retained their original form, nor seemed to threaten to change into a pair of those sleek and amiable ears’’ which, attached to the head of Bully Bottom, bed on a certain moonlight night so delighted Queen Titania. He also found that the mandible portion of his face retained its usual form, and his nasal organ its usual promi- nence; as yet showing no symptoms of melting harmoniously into the upper lip like that of the monkey When, after repeated trials, he found that his face had parted with no curve, wrinkle, indentation, or protuberance natural and proper to his phy slognomy, and that those fibrous cartilages which had always graced each side of his head—every crook, turn, cranny, and corrugation of which were as familiar to him as the road to the tavern—showed no tend- ency to approximate to the peculiar shape, or to increase to the generous size, of those useful organs when attached to the head of the animal still more stupid and far more useful than himself, he began to feel as confident of his safety as he was vain of his superior sagacily. Nahum now felt quite comfortable, and putting his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the rock, he watched the proceedings of Mr. Stepney at hrs beisure. As to that place, distinguished by the appellation ‘*‘ Nobody-knows-where,”’ it having never been delineated on map or chart, he had a right to suppose that it was a very fine place, and he was If he was destined to be conveyed thither, as the price of his not going to worry himself about it. curiosity, he would, without doubt, be whisked aw T - s S BO Kr we along in atrice right through the air, and not have to go plodding on foot, as he was obliged to now, because everybody was so disobliging as not to be willing to lend him their horses when he wanted to When arrived there, he felt determined that he would be have a little bit of a harmless “ spree governor or nothing—* or perhaps,’’ he added, re considering this hasty resolve, “I may be coaxed to be capting of the light infantry—no, I mean the troop,”’ recollecting the fatigue attendant on the exercise of his locomotive powers Mr. Stepney now commenced examining the frag- ments which he had separated from different masses of rock, a part of which he deposited in the canvass bag. Some of them, as they glanced in the sun- beams, sparkled in the eyes of Nahum, like so many diamonds, and these, he had heard it said, were more valuable than gold. Nahum kept perfectly quiet till Mr. Stepney turned his face towards the village, and then stealthily stole to the spot which had been the scene of operations “What if he ’s left some evil sperits to guard his ’said Nahum. ‘1 heard him mutter over something about Mikey and another treasure while he is gone,’ name that had an outlandish sound that I don’t re- member, and maybe they are the names he calls ’em by.” While Nahum Nubbs was straining his opties in search of some stray diamond, Which he hoped Mr. Stepney had overlooked, that gentleman was rapidly leaving the region of rocks and brier-bushes behind him. Taking a more circuitous course in returning than he had in going thither, afier fifteen minutes’ walk, he found himself in a green, winding lane, where Kate Renwick was gathering wild-flowers, a profusion of which gemmed the borders of the way. Although her face was familiar to him, it had never before struck him as being much handsomer than the faces belonging to the other girls of Buttonwood village. But now—perhaps it was owing to those beautifiers of the complexion, exercise and the fresh morning air—he thought he hud never seen so charming a countenance Kate, on her part, could not help casting a few furtive glances at the canvass bag which was such Whether he ob- At any rate, a mystery to the whole village. served it or not it is impossible to say. he rested the bag upon the green turf and delibe- rately untied the strings. ‘‘Have you ever turned your attention to mine- ralogy ?”’ he inquired. “T never have,”’ she replied, considerably abashed at being obliged to answer in the negative ‘T have discovered a fine variety of mica about a mile from here,”’ said he, and he showed her some distinct prismatic crystals implanted on feldspar and shooting into quartz. ‘I had been told,’’ he added, ‘that a variety of this description might be found near this village, and as I was anxious to make my cabinet of minerals as complete as possible, I came here for the purpose of procuring some of it. I have been richly rewarded, as | have found speci-

Page 33

mw >) “rr > mens, equally fine, of several other minerals which { wished to obtain The mother cottage inhabited by Kate and her grand- W hen Kate thought she could do no less than was situated at the head of the lane. arrived there to invite Mr. Stepney to go in and rest afler his long walk. He readily accepted her invitation, and when he took off his hat, feeling, for the first time since some anxiely as to the appearance of his physioguomy, he brushed the ' hair had always professed total indiflerence in regard to that he was a resident of the village, his forehead Kate, although she from part of his countenance, did feel rather pleased when she found that it not only exhibited the bum} 8 raid to be expressive of a fine intellect, but (as well it } from the influ- ences of sun and air) that it proved to be remarkubly might, alter being so long shielded tair and white Mr. Stepney, although he had acquired the repu- tation of being very taciturn, liked to talk when he fell in company with persons that plea ed him No wonder, then, that he indulged a little on the present occasion, and that, consequently, time went by with Mrs. Ren- wick was an exceedingly good listener, and hate, winged rather than with leaden feet. though Still the house affairs would draw her thence,”’ was able not only to catch the greater part of what was said, but to throw in a word once in a while, which, somehow, was always much to the purpose The noontide hour had arrived, and Mr. Stepney was not a little perplexed—imagining it to be still quite that a goodly early im the morning—to perceive ivor of viands was mingled with the scent of roses and honeysuckles which came in at the open win- He to stay t dows was easily persuaded by Mrs. Renwick dinner, and during the two additional weeks which he remained in the village, the green lane, by some means, was always in the range of his daily walks Nahum Nubbs, whom we left hunting for stray diamonds, felt in no very amiable mood at proving Mr lived together with several others neither lauda- anger bestowed on Stepney the epithets of “ mean-spirited, low- unsuccessful, and in his fellow,’’ tory nor complimentary. “T “Il pounce right upon him, next time,”’ said he, and make him go halves with me But Mr. Stepney, having, as he believed, obtained rpecimens of all the minerals of any value which that region afforded, did not revisit the spot Where Nahum, day after day, lay in wait for him behind the blackberry-vines Exasperated by continual disa ypointment he grew reckless. «I didn’t mean to expose him,”’ said he, “but now [il He'‘s no right to rob the airth and rocks of treasure, tell the sillick men of his carryin’s on, I will when blow and smite is the order of the day from xLI.—22 VOL week in to week out for poor folks like me, who have a nat’ral right to it ‘cause we were born here and who hate work worse than pison Nahum did not wait but went, at once, to Mr: for his indignation to subside Overeye, the first selec man, and entered his complaint . said Mr “It must be looked into, Overeye, and he immediately sent to notify his two coadjutors to meet him in his own domicil at ten o'clock the et sulng morning, on business of great iM portance They did not fail to obey the and found summons, Mr. Ove reye ready to receive them in what he termed the settin’-room. Somewhat to their sur prise they found that Nahum Nubbs was present but they considered him a person of too little conse quence to be entitled to any notice fr m them “T] ve, gentlemen, you don’t see Mr. Nubbs said Mr. Overeye, who observed their neglect. hus admonished, Mr. Fliskett, who was next to Mr. Overeye in dignity of otlice, said, «Oh. I bes ] irdon 1 hv pe to see you well Mr. Nubbs; while Mr. Damper merely said, “low are you, Nahum ? Gentlemen suid Mr. Overeye, as soon as M 3 kett and Mr. ] imper were ce miorably seate« you know the man that boards at the hotel—tha is, you know him by sight said Mr him at certain ti “ To be sure we do Iliskett “And you ’ve seen nes carrying a brown canvass bag hand.”’ To be In fil sure we Mr out of have again responded My wife and I saw him come the lane where the widow Renwick lives, one day with the canvass bag in his hand.’’ last week, And what do you suppose was in it ?’’ said M Overeve “ That couldn’t make out. ’s the very thing that my wife and [ Indeed, as you know, what he carries in that bag has been a puzzle to the whole village.” “ Well, the day you and your wile saw him come out of the lane, it was full of diamonds.’’ “ Diamonds !”’ said Mr. Fliskett, opening his eyes wide with astonishment. ‘Yes, Mr. Nubbs saw him when he picked ’em up, just as cool as you or I would pick up a hill of potatoes.” ‘If, on investigation, there should prove to be no mistuke, Mr. Nubbs will prove to be a public bene said Mr. Fliskett > said Mr Nahum’s self-complacency, which factor then,”’ ‘ Just so,’ Overeye. had h-water-mark, would now have been im before risen to h danger of overflowing, if Mr. Damper had not re marked that ‘* All is not gold that g!istens 3 Mr Nahum if he was sure that what he saw Mr. Stepney pick up is induced Fliskett to ask were diamonds ?”? suid Nahum, indignant that there shouid ‘* Didnt ’ Sure be any doubt expressed on the subject they flash and sparkle so that they near upon blinded me ? ’ “Oh! I didn’t know that,” said Mr. Fliskett.

Page 34

25 Tr A P - It is my mind,” said Mr. Overeye that a committee be chosen to wait on Mr. Stepne and ser ) matte Best call a meetin’ of our fe w townsmen then said Mr. Fliskett \\ pot « ose a committee among ourselves? uid Mr. Overeye We should not give too much ) vt t lair of this nat ¢ \ it said Mr. Fliskett and I nominate ( ereye as the first cot ittec in to stitute vr measures to secure certain treasure ! the it of Buttonwood village—said treasure ofed. m the P Sse n ot said village, who is known it this time a resident ol by th e of Stepney Will you not second the mo 1, Mr. Damper Mr. I per did not speak, but gave an assenting It was then put to vote; those in favor of choosing Mr. Overeye holding up the right hand. He was m ired by Mr. Fliskett to be unanimously elected Chey then proceeded to choose Mr. Flis- kett d Mr. Damper, and three committee-men D iw de ed, according to precedent, to be the v ate number, M: (vereye prope sed Mr. Na- 1 Nubbs as a supernumerary. Nahum, who did und ind tl meaning ot the word, but im- u ed that it meant something about supper, was i s ol the comlort as Well as the honor which I upposed it involved He, therefore, that there might be no doubt as to his acqulescence, lmime- ,uleiy I t Gentlemen,’ said he, “ I, for one, are unanimous to be « : And when it was put to vote, that his sincerity might not be doubted, he heid up both hands They then agreed that, without loss of time, they would wait on Mr. Stepney When they arrived at the inn, he had, Jellison informed them mt returned from his morn- ing walk. Mr. Overeye very formally announced to Mr. Je son that the were a committee chosen to wait on Mr. Stepney relative to a matter of great unportance I should think it must be importan t one of the committee,”’ said the landlord M Nubbs is not one of the mmittee,”’ said Mr (vereye: but circumstances make it desirable that he should be present Yes,’ said Nahum, «I'm to be speaking confidentially to the to the supper, hostler, who stood list- ening to What was said Please let Mr. Stepney know that we intend doing ves the honor of visit ing him in his room that, Ure 1 ’m doubtful whether be ‘Il consent to said Mr. Jellison, “ for he don’t like to have people go into his room, and always locks the door when he goes out for a walk Nahum whiie Nubbs winked at three Mr. Fliskett the wink by a desperate attempt to Upon this, the ymmittee-men, acknowl L- OOK assume a x profound wisdom, which eventuated in a most unnatural contortion of countenance ~~ A} T'S BOOK. DARPA Our business is of such a nature,’’ said Mr Ove 1 answer to Mr. Jellison, “that it is . eas nd ver that we should see him in his wh roo! We speak to him about it,’’ said Mr. Jel- or ! e room tor that purpose Atter an absence of a few minutes, he returned Ir. Stepne said he, ** w ild preter to receive \ t pa r but says i the t S any sjx Cial reas« r Wishing to see m in his rool that he 3 » particular objec n Walk is wal en . Just as Mr. Overeve, who was next to the land 1, re ed the threshold, he saw Mr Stepney take t myste us canvass bag from the table and slip it into the _ and, after a few cursory remarks for them to make known the object of their visit A profound silen re ed for several minutes, except that M ( ereye § ] «* Ahem,’’ w ch was re sponded to in like manner by Mr. Fliskett. Mr. Overeye, after a second attempt to clear his throat, remarked that Buttonwood village was very poor The meetin’ use, town-house, and sch house,’’ said he, “all want repairing to make ‘en any way decent and comfortable, and we should have done it before now, only we lacked the means I begin to understand the object of vour calling on n now said Mr. Stepney You wish 1 subscription to defray the repairs you mention. [seldom put my name up a subscription paper; but if this will do you any good’’—and as he spoke he | aced a fifty dollar b upon Mr. Overeye’s knee—* it will give me mu pieasure If you Wi accept it Mr. Overeye, not knowing exactly what to say remained s Mr perament more pugnacious as well as vivac Mr bought off s« Mi oe Indeed should be gi ent Fliskett, who was of a tem lous thar Overeye, said, ‘“* We ain't to be Stepney | Mr. d to ve twice that sum; gentlemen,”’ said Stepney, “ but the truth is, having prolonged my sojourn in the village much I at just now beyond what first intended, I can’t well spare any more Mr from the somewhat defiant What we are after hid slyly into the closet as I was stepping into the ‘“* We ain’t after your money,” said Over eve, cathe ring courace air assumed by Mr. Fliskett brown canvass hag you away so is that room You are very welcome to the bag,’’ Mr tain what is said ‘ Stepney, “if you will permit me to re in it ‘ Without doubt.” the contents of said Mr. Fliskett, the bag ‘but, unfor- tunately for you are exactly what we want, and, what is more, exact!y what we intend to have before we leave this room Not without my consent, | presume,”’ said Mr Stepney

Page 35

“ Yes, sir, we do, if you show yourself disposed to withhold your consent,’ said Mr. Fliskett. That would be somewhat hard,” said Mr. Step- ney, after all the fatigue and trouble I have en- dured in order to obtain them.”’ > said Mr. Fliskett, ‘‘T would have you know, sir.’ “that th

depredati ms belongs to the v and that ; llage of Buttonwood, ny treasure found thereon should by right be appropriated to the improvement and emolument of said village.” ‘¢ Undoubtedly,”’ said Mr. Stepney ‘Then, why do you persist in retaining the trea- ?”? asked Mr. Fliskett. ‘] have found no treasure, there or elsewhere,’’ sure you found there he replied ‘‘ Fortunately,’? said Mr. Overeye, “there ’s a y person present who was an eye-witness, on one I I : Mr. Nubbs, you saw Mr. Stepney gather up a quantity of diamonds occasion, to your proceedings. which had originally been imbedded in certain rocks, end put them into a certain brown canvass bag ?”’ “ Yes, sir, I sot peepin’ through some blackberry- vines ever so long, and seed him go through a whole string of his manauvres.”’ ‘Mr. Nubbs is not a mineralogist, I perceive,”’ said Mr. Stepney, “ or he would not have mistaken some specimens of mica, which I was so fortunate as to find, for diamonds,” and, taking the canvass bag from the closet, he emptied its contents on the table. “Are these what that numskull took for dia- said Mr. Fliskett ‘‘] apprehend so,”’ replied Mr. Stepney. monds ?”’ “When you arrived, I had just finished selecting those which I thought worth preserving from a

quantity, which, if you will take the trouble to look, you will see lying upon the closet-floor. “ You won’t make me believe,’’ said Nahum, ‘that any man that has his reasons, and might be settin’ cool and comfortable in the tavern, would walk the matter of a mile. and then pound and ham-

mer away a whole hour at a time for the sake of such a mess of rubbish as that ’ere 1s. 1 wouldn’t, I know.”’ . This was said to Mr. Overeye, whom he had drawn aside, after which, lowering his voice still more, nothing cou d be heard but the words and others of

wizard,”’ harm,’’ * bewitch,”’ similar import or What if he ’s cast a mist before our eyes said Mr. Fliskett, who together with Mr. Damper ck be fore "em twice as soon,’’ sa d But Mr. Fliskett, whose region of bump« logy ex-

hibited so remarkable a devek pment of marvelous- ness, that, in « iparison, the bumps of cautiousness almost hid the diminished Is, Was too 1 i absorbed in the subject under discussion to pay any attention to this disdainful remark, He even became aS YF so forgetful of Mr. Stepney’s proximity as not to land which has been the scene of your NVASS bed > Q o~ —~ take the precaution of speaking in the suppressed tone of voice which Mr. Overeye, and even Nahum Nubbs, thought it prudent and proper to speak, when discussing a question in that person’s presence. The consequence Wa that Mr. Ste pney discovered that he was supposed to be on better terms with a

certain personage more renowned fer craft than honesty, than was becoming in a person who pre- tended to have any claim to mingle with respectable society. As he had no taste for contests of any kind whether gymnastic or argumental, and found that the heat of their discourse, Which was greatly in- tensified by the de preciatory exciamations of * fiddle- stick !”’ **nonsense!”’ and others of similar import, y rising to a dangerous point, he discreetly forbore adroitly thrown in by Mr. Damper, was rapid!

any attempt to clear himself of the startling, and what to him appeared the novel, imputation. He bethought himself of what he deemed a wiser and more pacilicatory course Having, on more occasions than one, observed that the fumes of excitement and angry disputation frequently subside and vanish, as it were, amid the cloud of steam rising from a well-spread board. he

slipped out of the room and requested Mr. Jellison to cause dinner to be prepared for his uninvited guests, of the best the larder afforded, and in the When, some time afterward. Mr. Fliskett looked at his watch, and, to his asto- best possible style. nishment, found that it was two o’clock instead of twelve, as he had apprehended, Mr. Stepney took the opportunity to invite them all to stay and partake of the dinner, then in course of preparation, which he had, as he informed them, ordered expressly for The eyes of Nahum Nubbs twinkled with delight at this announcement, but Mr their entertainment. Overeye and Mr. Fliskett thought it incumbent on them to make sundry excuses. When, however, they descended to the dining-room, the sight of the good cheer proved a temptation not to be resisted. The three committee-men—the supernumerary included—proved, before they rose from table, that their entertainer was right in supposing that a broil of tender steak may sometimes prove a good remedy for a tough embroilment, and that the emollition of any little asperities of temper may frequently be more successfully achieved by tickling the palate with well-seasoned viands than by tingling the ear with highly-peppered arguments. Hence, should it be desirable to convert an oppo- nent into an ally, if his gastronomical tastes be found to pred minate over his intellectua!, it would be better policy to levy upon the larder than lungs. as the former might, at least, aflord materia! for a good hash, while the latter might only give 1 sonance to harsh words This method might be recommended more particularly to those persons who are en to it is < ed “arguing the case t being plain that, in most cases, it would afford a much better chance of gaining the case

Page 36

228 well to the village of Buttonwood. The iyhabitants, with the exception of Kate Renwick and her grand- The V; at the supposed it to be a final furewe wever, found themselves mistaken, as the of six weeks he returned, when there was a wedding at the cottage which stood at the head of As for Nahum Nubbs, his hallucination respecting the diamonds unhappi J did not prove a lesson from As he continued, not only to which he gathered wisdom. he had always been in the habit of doing, exercise his ingenuity, but frequently to labor very hard, in order to find some way by which he could live without labor. he green lane. 2 didnt — A L[EGMATA: OR, THOUGHTS IN LUMPS AND ARROWS SHOT AT VENTURE. BY B.D. PETTENGILI Essence oF THOUGHT We have essences of Mystirication.—If your aim in writing is to give flowers, essences of spices, and even essences ol Why cannot some of our writers give thought? Would it ? meat usa ttle of the essence of not be more valuable than the otter of roses Reapers.—The present generation of readers s eminently a superficial and thought-hating one. like to be excited, astonished, and mystified Chey more than to be benefited. They cannot be brought to pay the least attention to instruction unless it 1s edged in through a story or a wilticism. Latent TaLent.—A popular writer contends that talent is always sure to find its proper level— that, when it really exists, it never fails to emerge rom its obscurity; but another author, and we think with more sagacity, observes that, if a man will et fame alone, it will be very content to let him uo0ne _ Fame.—Fame is bread and butter, money and friends, a specific against the pangs of despised love, the vulgar man’s insolence, and the proud man’s ontumely. It brings a place when wanted, atten- tion when needed, respect instead of scorn, civility instead of rudeness, and honor instead of disgrace. Chis is an answer to those who ask what is the use of lame. Lire or Gentus.—The swifter anything moves the quicker it arrives at its end; the hotter the fire, the sooner it burns out; and the greater the genius (other things being equal), the shorter the life Sry_e.—A writer’s style should not be the mirror of himself, but of his subject. Versatility, or the faculty of adaptation, is the quality most essential to a good writer. true glory in the ol Outp Trutus.—There is more elucidation of old truths than in the invention new errors. be is to gain a reputation with the vulgar for profundity, instruction as clear as possible; but if your object you may mystify a little. TRANSLATION.—A great majority of the didactic treatises, Which are constantly issuing from the the ot preceding writers into different language; but they press, are merely translations of thoughts are not, by any means, on that account less useful than many books which are more original. OrictInatiry.—Lunatics and idiots are the only Ali others, sometimes at least, think, speak, act, and persons who are at all times perfectly original. write like other people. PriaGciarisM.—However disreputable plagiarism may be accounted, plagiarists have at least this to console them—that there are few great writers who } cannot be proved to have been guilty of it; and it is at least questionable whether the two greatest poets i I ’ of the Homer and Shakspeare, have not derived most their fame from a wholesale appropriat of this it nfust, however, still be confessed th ion labors of their should be ad- predecessors If mitted at they showed remarkable good taste in their thefts, which is more than many authors do Wr the union of clearness with profundity is the rarest, PorvLaR riInc.—In_ philosophical writing, the most difficult, and the highest of achievements. Those writers who have so much to say against a popular style are either those who find !ucidity beyond their powers, or who know their need of obscurity to hide their shallowness Wit.—How wit, which in its legitimate use is simply a particular method of reasoning, and is in- ably nessent ile ement of every truly logical mind, should have come to be, by so many persons, regarded as a species of trifling and folly, is more than I could ever make out.

Page 37

THE GREAT WHITE COCKATOO. Tuts bird is of the size of a common fowl, being seventeen inches long. The beak is blackish, the ‘ere black, the irides brown, the circle around the »ves bald and white. The entire bird is white with the except ! on of the pinion feathers, and the utermost feathers of the tail, of which the basal half on the inner side are of brimstone color. The crest is five inches long, and is raised or depressed at will It is a native of the Moluccas. It is usually kept like other parrots, mm a wire bell-shaped cage, arched above and furnished within with two trans- ring of Or it above these a movable fond of verse perches, and wire; in this ring they are sitting. may be chained to a perch, as in the engraving, and on a warm sunny day be suffered out in the open air. They require the same treatment as the rest but this 1s very fond of all kinds of of the parrots ; nuts, mealy seeds, and pastry Buffon gives the following account of its habits, which render it a desirable chamber bird. He says, of which there are about the cockatoo parrots ( nine species, and all of which are distinguished by the crest) learn with difficulty to speak, but they are 228 ~asily tamed. Thus, in some parts of India, they domestic birds, making their lity resuit hecome tractable the have nests roofs of the houses. The faci with which they may be in which they surpass almos upon reared appears to from their docility tall They listen more attentively, under- But they end the parrots vor stand better, and obey at a sign. in Vain to repeat that which is said to them 1 this defect, it would seem, they strive to compensate by other expressions of feeling, and by tender fond Their beauty is much enhanced by th In May Paris, a couple, male at of their their crest, saluted with the head, touched ling agreeable and gentle demeanor. 177 was exhibited, at the there female, which, command master, raised objects mentioned with the beak and with the tongue, answered questions in the aflirmative or negative, by certain signs, and by a repetition of signs 1 cated the number of persons in the room, the hour They exhibited a strong affection for each other. Although like the rest of the parrots, make use of of the day. and the color of clothing, &e cockatoos, their beaks in climbing, yet they have not the same awkward motion; on the contrary, they are quick, and make small and lively jumps.” 229 bold, alert,

Page 38

BY |! CHAPTER 1 ‘Hler eyebrows’ shape was like the ne ] w Her cheek, all purple with the bean th, M it time to a transparent WwW As \ sranl tnu she Poss ur, and gras by no means common, I hat 1dumpy woman l night Not the soft and moonlit hour in which poets delight to bask and dream Not the summer night. with its jeweled canopy, and its woo iz zepl I ln iti nes ut which ers so mt and rave This is a tierce and frantic night he pa ke clouds hang Ww ind no heaven main m the bright realms afar pierces the lense ! ivy drape ry Lisi i 1 < 1, and te this mght, upon which the moon re sc ‘ und the timid stars dare not look The w ] veep through the g and primeval forest, and tl ta trees bend their gia forms, and reel in the relentless blast The sullen winds lull and whisper low and distantly and then they gather strength and rush onward with redoubled fury The dead jeaves shiver in the forsaken pathway and run wildly on. A lonely wanderer draws her ik more xely, and she, too, rushes reckless on her way Oh! the fierce storm comes on, and in he darkness she is lost! Hush—some one comes she shrinks into the corner of a dilapidated fence, and prays it may be he P at last The rseman draws his rein W goes there ?’’ he asks A poor be nighted woman,” replies our wan- lave you lost your way kindly nqu red the horseman, struck by the plaimtive tone of the be nighted one Il am a stranger, sir, and look for shelter from the storm Then you get up behind? you had better come with me. Suppose My anima! is gentle and trusty. hough unused to the sex The wanderer trembled, and hesitated ‘Come!”’ said the man, impatiently, “I am in a hurry If you remain here, you may die of cold before morning He dismounted to assist her. Thank you, sir; thank you kindly, but Pshaw! Where is your hand? Just get on the fence, and jump this way The female, with difficulfy, got on the fence, and extended her hand 230 The gentleman lifted her up PATCH He started, and muttered something rthe hand was a jeweled hand, and velvet wrappings enveloped the person Who ca ed herself “a poor be ed woman Humph!” said the horseman, adjustir elf on his saddle Are you securely seated ; You will have to waive all ceremony ue please and just pass your arm around my w t This was very politely spoken The coy lady clasped the burly form of that emine | Dr. Jack Hinton, and away they went Over and ile, 1 1 qua es d ‘ creeks, while th now, blown in nu eddu covered the we of the « " A 1 t t mered betore em nad the od ste hi al master’s We snown ite Dr. Tlinton ed tl unknown lady dow and « ed her into varm and we ‘ ‘ Tlere the ed our astonished host a perfect treasure of a man The doctor stood transtixed before the radiant ben whose cheeks were WwW not from the rather severe tn i | l received from his very entia anima Hle becat contused Hle bustled about drew some « pulled the be poked ire coughed, and really seemed very much put to his trumps lo tell the truth, the doctor was n dies man—and he actually did not know what it best became him to do under exist eireu tances Per ceiving his discomfiture, and most h peless emb rassment, our heroine exerted herse to relieve lim She threw off her black velvet « k and hat, ane adjusted her ringlets, and, with inimitable era thanked him for his kindness. She sat down, drew off a dainty pair of India-rubbers—and was much more at home than her worthy host Dr. Hinton stood bewildered. He twirled his watch-key con- vulsively, and finally bounded from the room Heigh-ho!”’ cried the lady, “I surely have not driven the good man from his own house At first the doctor was despx ate, and recklessly resolved to abandon the premises altogether; but, having madly cleared the passage, better feeling: came over him, and he relented Instead of rash going to Jericho, he went to the kitchen, aroused old Silvy, the cook, and ordered a supper which would tempt a princess. Having effected this, he began to return slowly to the room in which he left his guest. Ile could not summon the resolution to face her again, and yet the doctor was mortal, though a bachelor, and a fine face and flashing eyes had charms even for him ‘“ Pshaw,”’ said he, as he loitered nervously on the way. ‘Iam not afraid of her, not I. I have

Page 39

seen black eyes before in my life, and ringlets, too— but—but—ahem! He was now fairly in the room, and there was no retreat Alter tive minutes olf pre found silence, he madam, and will | I have have it served up here, madam—if—it ordere d supper, it meet with your ap—ap—probation Atte ly stummering speech he pr weeded to examine his little finger nail closely, and to look like You are very kind, my dear sir | have not ‘ d, and assure you a little supper would be adly welk ed so clearly and calmy said, and the wdy see I so anxious to be free and easy, that the doctor wished his manuvartse honte tar away, and sat down betore the fire. He magnanimowsly resolved to be quite as sell possessed as the lady herself, and he bravely commenced in this wise Ile crossed his right lew over his left, and closely examined his hoot This ta to inspire due confidence, he un er edt e¢ miraculous extremities, and threw the eft ib over the right During these highly in- terest preliminaries, the lady’s eyes twinkled merri and, had the doctor only ventured to look, he m ht have seen one ol the prettiest dimples diving about ber mouth and cheek that ever bewildered a bache rv. Mrs. Hinton is not at home?” said the lady, with difliculty suppressing a smile “No; not exactly, madam. That is to say, I am a bachelor, madam, but sincerely hope, miss, you will not allow so unimportant a fact to—to—cause you—to—”’ ‘Refuse your hospitality,”’ said she, seeing her entertainer completely Hors du combat. “I believe the houseless and homeless are not generally so fas- tidious, doctor ‘But you have frends, | am quite sure, madam though there Very many friends, | am convinced ; are not many Who could feel more highly honored than myself in having the privilege of entertaining you.” Hurrah for Dr. Jack ! pled corporeal feats, he had delivered quite a snug By dint of sundry unexam- little speech to the lady, and he felt better, con- siderably better, afterwards If my reader would like to know exactly the phy- that Dr sical condition of estimable man, Jack Hinton. she apparently co d, unsealable, and highly dangerous to must first imagine a colossal iceberg, T ferric the high seas. to be inwardly consumed by a fierce voleano avigation. She must then imagine this iweberg, standing menacingly out upon which boils, and spits, and rages, and tries fran- tically to let off steam, while it is held in durance vile by the strong, consolidated ice of ages Thus, Dr. Jack, sat and fascinating guest. He was dying to be agree- able to her; wishing and praying for something iceberg, before his fair that realiy nice to say to her, so anxious to thaw, and be 231 genial and hospitable, and yet looking more like a polar bear than a benevolent man, whose heart was teeming with every noble quality the world ad- mires A servant brought in a tray laden with delicacies The doctor and his guest sat ets-d-ris Never chatted lady so del ghttully over her tea, as did the fair creature opposite Dr. Linton She saw his dif- fidence was the only bar to their sociability ; and so she was easy, and winning, and cosy, and comfort- able, but, unlike the great Lamartine, not contiden tial The doctor finished his meal, and conversed two hours with the fairest and most bewitching of her sex, Without ever learning Who she was, or whence she came, and whither she intended to go This bachelor, upon Whom our adventurous he- rome had so fortunately stumbled, was a strange anima He was what is called a woman-hater Not one of the fair sex had he ever rewarded with the least degree of toleration Thev were, to him, a band of frisky, giggling, unstable, and silly crea- tures, unworthy the consideration of a man of sense Like all old bachelors, who ensconce themselves in high dudgeon in old, dingy, uncomfortable, rat- infested dwellings, he knew nothing of the sex He was astonished to find, upon close inspection, that the ladies, or that, at least, our heroine, was not the bugbear he had conjured up. He had heard them called vexatious, hard to please, overbearing, mulish, pettish, obstinate, given to the sulks, and liable, at times, to wheedle a well-disposed man out In had was the dear, of his seven this behef he led a life, harmless creatures than of an army with banners Behold he | presence of one likely to overturn all senses wretched and more afraid of was now thrust, by Providence, into the his precon- ceived opinions of the better and fairer portion of bland, short, the creation. She was gentle easy, vielding, conversable, affable, in very personifica- tion of an ideal which had once infected the doctor's had arto youth heart, and which he firmly believed was only an illusion pecul But who is she ? who is she ?”’ asked the doctor of himself a hundred times that nig his she a wretched spirit ht, as he pitched bed. Was ent to beguile him and to lead that last, for whom, through boy- and tossed upon heretofore downy him into all sorts of difficulties? Or was she good ang come al hood, manhood, and old-hachelorhood, he bed, Ile tossed, and reasoned, and asked strange now, Upon his lonely acknowledged he had in secret sighed questions of himself, until day, with its sober gray, cooled the fever of his brain W ithout one wink of sleep, he arose and consulted He shaved, he sighed, he tied his neckcloth and adjusted Was of He had never found himself so hopelessly ugly his mirror with eager and unusual anxiety his shirt-collar ever man so out sorts ? Being disgusted with himself, he of course fell into a passion with everything about him. He flew out violently at Dick, his valet, stormed at old Silvy,

Page 40

232 GODEY'S MAGAZIN ' ry } K1iCchen, After stamped and raved, turned up Jack in the kicked two hounds, and upset a grave cat which, he sauntered about his ground Of course they prese ed a pleas ng pr t. In g covered vith ice and snow. In an oblivious moment, he idly in his fingers through his hair Merciful Knox !”’ [le « untered a bald piace about the size of half a ar! Horror-stricken, he whirled around, and re stood his fair guest, like Hebe, in the back porch Good gracious!”’ n the doctor, as he approached. ‘She is as fresh and blooming as an pening rose this cold morning. (ood morning, idam,’’ said he, drawing near This idea of calling that fair. dazzling creature madam could only have originated with a bache- wr. No married man would have been so ungallant Che lady bowed and smiled. Oh, sucha smile! lt danced upon the doctor's heart like sunshine on a brook ‘‘ What sweet flowers !”’ she said, pointing to some sickly, rickety plants which the doctor had co pe d up m a dismal green-house | suppose these were gotten up merely as an experiment, to relieve ennui Ha! ha laughed the get }, nervously. I dare say you think ennui cannot be t but it 1s not so dull here, he premises, madam, but upon wie rd , Not dull lady, drawing her shawl my »’* said in cold, snowy, sleety weather the sometimes He g No, madam, upon my word. I—I think old fast, madam ; Time almost strikes a trot eS SO indeed, he does ‘« He never flies, | am sure,’’ replied the fair one, turning into the house Our hero—for Dr. Hinton ts our hero—humbled and chagrined, fi llowed her. You are from the city, perhaps, madam ob- served the M.D., deferentiall No fire flashing not from the city, from her eye Ahem—you—a—extended your walk too 1 presume, last evening ; and was surprised to find it so late when | overtook you, I dare say, madam N I had not walked very far. I knew it was What a cunning lady was the etor’s guest! She had no more idea of letting m know her mame and destination than she had of flying to the moon. The curious host, fairly bafiled, asked her in to breakfast: and once more the fair, dashing nrilliant beauty and the quaint old bachelor sat 7 a-vis. Gracefully she poured the coffee the honors for him. She chatted away, too, most pleasingly, and made the doctor laugh outright at some of her drolleries. Behold, in her fairy pre- Her flowed refresh- sence, Elysium opened unto Dr. Jack Hinton ! conversation, like milk and honey, ingly into his ears, and he leaned back in his chair and was thankful. His coflee was as nectar, and while he quaffed the fragrant cup his eyes roved en- raptured over a face radiant, and beaming with intellect and grace. Such a breakfast he had never eaten before He looked back into the past, and found it all a blank com} ared to this delicious mo- Ile ] ] ’ | coming days and years actually menaced him lie looke d forward Into the tut and the sank back into the present and listened to the soft, cooing voice, and looked upon the fresh and youthful face, and forgot all things else b s L | ty head is protruded in at the door, a ‘ speaks thus to our eminent practil “Miss H ens says as how de baby is wuss De truck what yu gen it warn't no manner use ; and she wants you to ride over thar jest as quick as you ken ‘Good gracious '"’ exclaimed the doct« turning fiercely upon the intrude: Do Mrs. Higgens children never get better—never sleep—never allow friends or foes one oblivious moment It do not s cep, marster—dat it don't It it slept a wink for more ’n three nights hand running and it keeps constant crying and crying, untwe mistess she don't know what upon the yearth to do Vell do te Di k t » get the | ack ik re said the good man patient! The fair nyt 1 sm ed and dropped her fauitiess lids, and bade the doctor go to see the poor Woman’s child But you W l be alone Pr he Sa ] Oh, that is nothing. I can just sit here, at your W ndow, and await your return ‘And you will be glad to see me coming ?”’ a ced the doctor, a g us thrill rushing to his he: The lady was silent do not mind saying so, for pity’s s he cried a 1Ww have a pleasant word ri when | returt ] i smuic and | can ga Dp ver the hills with a new heart My dear 1 sir, you certainly value ‘ and a pleasant word most highly Surely, 1 s smile when I see you again Is there any \ great favor in that ? ‘I don’t know,” said the doctor, making a panse and musing But a cheering smile anda | face at one’s favorite window, and a pleasant d voice as one enters benumbed with cold, ing to contemplate Upon my word, they revive one’s spirits wonderfully, madam The lady was silent, and the long ped on her delicate. rose-tinted cheek Before taking his departure, our hero opened the doors of his « e library to h fair guest Lhe laid before her his objects of vertz, his draw s skulls, fossils. and curiosities of all desc t S Some splendid paintings we uncovered, : e lady found herself in a suite of rooms, surrounded by objects worthy the attention of a connoisseur that her shy aud diffident host was a n taients She discovered man of no mea and acquirements. His re- very tongue seemed suddenly loosed when conve ing on his favorite topics. He forgot his mauvatse

Page 41

h/onte, and was an entertaining and highly cultivated amateur. ” Now these rooms are at your service, madam. My Just make yourself at home, servants Pray command everything I have. re ready to obey you and you will confer a favor,’’ said the doctor, draw- oves ing on his g ‘ Thank you, sir ; you are very kind.” ‘ But you will not leave while I am away ?”’ said the gentieman. ‘Do not scruple to remain here. I shall return in about two hours; and hope you vill allow me to offer my house and all it contains ) you, so long as you can remain contented.”’ Again she thanked him; but she did not say she would stay Poor Dr. Hinton could scarcely tear himself iway. He feared the fair vision would vanish in his absence, and he lingered yet a little while near her. Finally he went; and in two hours he returned He was not natural y Ho! had reared within to find his innamorata gone m furious man; but this made |} he the last twenty-four hours lay at his feet a shape- ess mass ! passionate i pa ale | the fine, elaborate castles He had been elevated but to be dashed Jown ; he had been cheered only to feel a deeper gloom Hie must return to the old routine. and live during the long, long hours unloved, unsoothed, un- heered. He ranted and raved, cursed the hour he He his was born, and also Mrs. Higgins and child »wn his fur cap, and crushed it with Ile pulled Dick by and when old Silvy, according to custom, threw d boot heel as he would a viper the ears ; civilly asked him what he would have for dinner, he bade her “get out!’? Having composed his nerves in this masterly and scientific manner, he to be deliberately sat him down and resolved us miserable as possible. w lay cold and unmoved upon the bosom earth. All nature was congealed. Night ime, and with it came also the blue-devils to haunt and harass our bachelor until bed-time. Oh, he was so supremely miserable! and, during the long. st hours, such thoughts as these came mart r up like spectres to beguile him in his sadness :‘— It is not good for man to live alone. Behold how I eke out life! The sands drop slowly, and each hour brings its own discomfort. 1 see men, no more formed or fitted to be loved than I, sur- rounded by hale lads and blooming girls, and the lols of sweet, confiding creatures, who carry hea- see brutes be gentile bosoms I -d by angels. I see all happy and begirt by ten- der ties but myself ; § Ho! | despise mveeil Wish was dead and decent \ interred this very ' ute ' Chu > sat and mused, all solitary and alone, and was on the verge of suicide. Had a gentle wil but ran fingers through his hair, or a prattling bo i ibed uy his knee, there would have been © Se « s No murmurs against fate—n R. 233 wae AAA LPDLAPPLPAAL PPP L LAPP Morning, noon, and night the form of his mysteri- He and his jealous ous visitor haunted the mind of the bachelor. had sketched her a hundred times, heart treasured up every grace and beautiful line which distinguished her above all others of her sex The large, flashing eye; the | p, and the changing dimple which coyly lay near it; the midnight tresses, and soli V arched brow ; the peculiar sav Srotd ; the easy and graceful address, spice 1 wil a little piquant boldness, which, of all things on earth, he admired; the imperious toss of the haughty head, and the majestic carriage, and the soft and witching tones of her voice, all, all were conjured up by his too memory, and he em- balmed them in his good, pure heart, and there they lay as all he had ever known of beauty and of love. Life became now a burden to our bachelor friend. kind j avily, SLOWLY, Time did not even strike a trot, but groped Oh, the along and oppressively } long, long hours of that dreary, hopeless winte r! Who can measure them ?—who can tell how pain- fully they passed away I cannot, I am sure; for I love old Winter, with its heavy frosts and bridal ‘venings and cosy nights, and roar- its long snows, ing, cheering fires I have heard old bachelors talk about the horrors of these; and my imagination will sometimes sketch them as they yawn, and smoke, and con and twirl their fingers, and poke the fire, sult their creeping watches, and wish in vain for something on earth to do. I do not like to dwell) NotI. I up the married man, who upon their miseries. had rather marshal returns from his office, ter the busy day, to meet the baby’s eager greet- ing and his wife’s glad kiss at the door—who finds his paper ready aired, his slippers and his gown all waiting. the fire briskly burning, and a welcome everywhere—who in sorrow finds a comilorter, and in joy finds others happy through him, CHAPTER II. DR. HINTON’S PLANS, ETC. Ix the course of time, our hero became desperate, and ruthlessly abandoned his hermitage, leaving Mrs Pr wvidence Higgins’ interesting family in the hands of He determined to venture out boldly world: for hope whispered of his tairyv unknown and into the vision careering about in those dread- ed realms Accordingly, the faithful narrator can trace him to the city We find him taking lodgings at the fashionable hotel; but we can glean no in- formation concerning the mysterious unknown, for whom he so ardently sighed. Being at onaire, and a man known for his talents and aequirements, he was taken in hand by the “ upper ten Though timid and coy, he frequented the highest places and looked in at partic and was quite a catch fora season But, I must confess, he could not swell with the city beaux. He could not ratue away for

Page 42

934 rn nro 7r A AP? TN, ~? 4 ae 4 nours Without a subject; nor could he manage his hat so a la mode ; but he or adjust the folk his cloak so gracelully Was a man for ail that—a man worth twenty f gs and as many polka dancers. He starmmered and blushed before the ladies, but nong men of sense his words seldom fell unheeded his profession, a scholar a lover ol poe- try aud the fine arts, a connoisseur, a m erate and well-read politician, filled with knowledge of no yrdinary kind, he was « steemed DY all those whose esteem was worth having But he was no companion for giggling misses in their teens and fashionable belles, and, consequently, iy great and good man concluded there was no good in him. He would gladly have exchanged who could en- with any moustached da counter a lady without a blush. There seemed to be a great (hinese Wali, or some such ich impervious structure, built round about him, from which the fair sex fled in consternation. It really was provoking Jack, rich in the goods of good friend Dr this world, with a deep heart of th uld ladies were purest and holie 8 ngs, sh pine rie-blessedness, Ii Sing while nice young running off with im- pertinent clerks, and giving their fair hands away who knew no great Koh-ee-moo to rough, surly, un zed fe ws more of their worth than of the ‘ing in Rome, he determined to do as Romans, and, tailor, wrdingly, Dr. Hinton consulted acct a fashionabl who faithfully promised to make an Adonis of him in four-and-twenty hours. A hair doct preparation, attacked the bald place about the size yr was also called in, who, with a potent of half a dollar, of which we hi: before made honorable with zeal ive This barren, spot was rubbed mention I and vigor, until it shone like burnished plate ; and further this deponent saith not. Finally, Dr. Hinton was seen to purchase a handsome light carriage and a dashing pair of bays. Soon after this, he left town for a place called Belgrave, the residence of Colonel Vernon and lady, who were We amazement of the only relatives he had in the world cannot describe the wonder and Colonel Vernon, lady, and family, when they saw their rela- tive descend from his glittering carriage and ap- proach their door “Come, my dear, do let’s go and meet him,” sried the lady, running to the door and falling into the arms of her cousin Jack. Bless my heart and soul!’’ cried the doctor receiving her embraces as best he could, while the tears stood in his eyes. ‘Oh, why have you not thought of us before said the lady, while Colonel Vernon th grasped, v great fervor, the hand of their est red, but still dear relative They led him into their comfortable parlor, gave him the seat of honor, and the little ones pressed round him There was so much real warmth in the welcome, and so much pleasure beam from their eves, that the isolated bachelor was overcome He did not know there was so much warmth of heart in the world. His good heart expanded ‘neath the genia spitable glow He fondled the chal- dren, he chatted, he grew merry, and, to his sur- prise, he began to be like other men Where is Clara?” inquired Mrs. Vernon of her eldest “She is up stairs,’’ said John, “and will not come down Did you tell her, my son, that our cousin, Dr Hinton, sie was here, and that I particularly desired j should make his acquaintance ‘* Yes, mamma; but she said she had an engage- diately the doctor had ment, and must go home imme During this conversation, which Searcely noticed, he Was occuy ed with the baby. He was making himself highly interesting to his in- capa ity He had, secund out his watch, held it to baby’s ear, whereupon he, fantine im artem, drawn with great glee, clapped his tiny hands and cried out, “ Tick! tick! tick!’’ to the wonder and delight of papa and mamma. Finally, he took the baby to he window to show him all the “ pretties ‘Call the chickens for cousin Jack,’’ entreated mamma, anxious to arouse some more surprising talents, which she knew lay dormant in that re- markable baby’s cranium. But he, like all other babies, would not exhibit his accomplishments when particularly requested ; but, it appeareth, was far more extraordinarily gifted away in the nursery, when no one was near save the reliable witness But what cared cousin Jack at this critical ? He breath, a tremor seizes his compact fram moment for babies or their wonderful feats gasps for », and his | eyes start, like bullets, from their proper spheres Everybody run here! for, behold, upon the lawn trips the fairy figure of the mysterious unknown! The flashing eyes are turned towards the window, and once more the doctor drinks in the strange, thrilling light which had robbed life of its quiet bachelor pleasures, and made his home a blank She tripped rapidly on «Stop, madam !” cried the doctor, dropping the baby into unknown space, and springing out of the window. ‘Stop, madam! a word with you if you please ! A laugh rosy, mm ck ng as clear as a be rang out from those ps, and the doctor’s innam I rata sped before him like an arrow. Such a race has seldom ‘olonel Vern ym and been seen as was witnessed by ( family from their drawing-room window. The re- nowned Dr. Hinton, whose fame as a practitioner extended far and near, whose dignity and reserve were prove rbia running like mad after their es teemed and highly-refined guest, Miss Clara Mx ton. The fair girl ran nimbly on, her jetty « S streaming ) the breeze The pet ! he with coat-tails in a gentle flutter, tore on beh puffir ea comotive She was f vards aneu 1 I] ! n cried our desper d r Stop, for ITeaven’s sake, ar do let me have a word w you, if you p-l-e-a-s-e, madi

Page 43

Another pealing laugh came back upon his ear, and, courage with a muttered oath, he picked up and galloped on again. He had despaired of ever seeing her again, and now he was determined to overtake her if it cost him all the breath in his body. He fel a mighty eff t like it was now or never, and, with wt, he redoubled his speed He fore- saw a turn in the road, and he made a frantic rush alter his fair prey. He struck his foot against a fe ra and was down upon his nose in a twinkling Jack’s length With a bruised wounded, this Another laugh, and cousin was measured on the ground. heart and battered person, and feelings sorely worthy practitioner gathered himself slowly up and beheld In the rear, he " ! 1lOOK «d cautiously around. Before him, he the fairy vision fleeting still away. beheld his cousin’s family standing in mute wonder and surprise. He saw the servants gathered in curious groups, and impudent urchins holding their He hung h Ss head, from his palms, and returned to with laughter. | avel sides and rolling Pp ked the g the house a wiser and a milder man. ‘And may I ask what was intended by that sud- den one mile heat ?”’ inquired Colonel Vernon, smil- ing, as our bachelor, begrimed and chagrined, returned among them. \ groan and a sigh were the only response, and t victim used his bandana vigorously. At last a h l ve seenthe young lady before, I believe.’’ And that is the way you c/atm your acquaint- inces observed the colonel, still laughing. vo, my dear sir,’’ said the doctor, as the colo- nel’s mischief-loving eyes twinkled upon him. Pray spare me. [n a moment of hallucination, I bounded trom the window, and’’— Ran her fairly off the premises. Oh, you bache- '—dear me, how you take {ter the girls [ wish she rd not been so fleet of foot; for, upon closer inspection, our neighbor, Miss Clara Moreton, s quite enough to turn as wise a head as yours, sorry for having treated the so lady usly,’’ said the now humble and con- But, upon my word, there is a mys- ' ; be cleared uy ry which must | Colonel Vernon stretched his eyes, and his lady her finger slyly at cousin Jack. Our bachelor ro bore their hints, and innuendoes, and teasi - quite as meekly as any married man or widower Not ! word adventure uld have done another escaped his He sighed mournfully, and concluded that he must ever J fleet damsel, concerning his with Clara ps rsue and never overtake this and nimble while the bald place expanded daily, and threatened to take avery bold stand indeed upot his crown After the Hinton became we have alluded, Dr taciturn to which chase rather and melancholy. Miss Clara was timid and coy, and durst not ven- ture out for fear of another advance from the ene- ‘ ACHELOR. 235 my. The doctor kept on the alert; but she gave him no opportunity to cla Matters weeks, her acquaitance remained in this for some uneasy state the doctor could endure it no longer until was observed t Mrs One cold, raw afternoon, he grow very fidgety and nervous Vernon had her eye upon her eccentric cousin, but » kept ve quiet. After watching her for some minutes, and finding her wholly absorbed in her sewing, he ar threw on his cloak and hat, and walked away. Tle M With stolid the plain dila- heart fluttered, for within creature dwelt, and ed. The grave servant, not suspecting the state of his heart walked directly to Parson oreton’s indifference, he raj ped at the door of His Vy Walis the Pp dated parsonage. those ding faires was to see her the doctor said he had ca opened the sitting-room door, and the doctor fou All color his face, and he was about to behave most cowar himself in her very presence ! forsoo ly, when the fair girl arose and greeted him with a cordial, heart-beaming smile, which restored tlhe circulation immediately. She was the same flash ing beauty, and about her mouth the same merry dimple played at hide and seek, and dived now i its rosy bed upon h ‘r cheek, and now in the de about her mouth. “Pray, be seated,’’ said the lady kindly. & he wheeled up a chair, stirred the fire, and did a thor Ue attentive lit Winning things, while the doc tor stood with his eyes in a fine frenzy rolling, and could have fallen down and worshiped her. * | believe this is not the first time we have met ?”’ said Clara, dropping her lids, and smiling ‘“ No, voice, madain,”? said the doctor, in a choking Poor Dr. Jack! his mauvatse honte was upon him like an incubus. ‘[—I madam can never forget that singular meeting, Clara smiled. She had never been so pertina- ciously be-madamed betore ‘‘Nor can I, I really my dear sir. You were very kind to me when needed your services, and I should have explained the circumstances to you before.”’ doctor, earnestly, * | No expla- I on! -ame to niy came the » solicit your confidence ‘I assure you,” cried me t ome t did not ce nation beg is necessary, upon my word permission to renew an acquaintance s0—so es sential to my hap—pi—ness * And you spare me all revelations ?”’ she asked «“ Yes,”’ said the doctor, mastering his diflidenc: “provided you do not run from me again «“ | was not running from you, doctor.” [ beg your pardon; but you ran from me most fleet! «Oh, 2? no; | only from a denouement. [ feared I should ran have to explain matters, and I inglo- riously ran The doctor langhed, and a pause ensued. Clara tapped her pretty foot, and hummed a low tune mus- ingly. She was so free and natural, so unconscious

Page 44

wr rare beauty, so naive, and at times as sil iple indeed, her manner was so piquant and that the doctor was ever on the qui vive a newer grace to rivet his poor heart more Closely What a snug retreat that is of yours, doctor !”’ she said, looking up ito his face Bah! abominable, a perfect bore; I assure you vas worse than the great Desert of Sahara afier Vou tel [laving made this speech, the doctor actually began to stroke his young moustache, and to look unuiterable things The Rubicon was passed, and hem e good use of his time after that \ ut you are a bachelor I dare say Para- “t \ ] e been al I ( » Yo ind the r E Cc i , t Not so fast, if you please s. We do not ‘ vi id I as you ~ +s they A n permit us to cull i i ndly ac- et They seem to a u And some- said the doctor, b ' 2 voice to lo I word y rt ! 1us as fast us [ie can, madam, though th ire need we \ poor excuse, doctor said ( 1, laughing I am sure you bachelors are 1 ed e other met i i have estimabie mothers a sisters, from Whom you can learn how to estimate the sex But one’s mothers and sisters are not like other “ | was called a dutiful son and aflectionate ther, and yet | have always been afraid of the Had 1 met one poss¢ your admirable t and address, miss, I dare si the whoie current my life would have been cl l Thank you; you are decide compliment You should have said that, as none of your acquaint ance passessed my assurance and sang /roid, they did not violently invade your cast and, « quently, you were left in profound ignorance, &« Ah! that visit that visil cried the doctor, raising his eyes to the ceiling ‘* It was too short aud sudden, making too much brightness and leaving o much darkness, to paused you Whi c but ever dear me.’’ He and then said ‘Let me umbly beg that mdescend to look in upon me again in nations surmne of your eccentric peres Hush!’ said Clara That visit must be ez- tre nous. You will force me to run again if you allude to it in that way.”’ Pray, pardon me!’’ remarked the doctor, in a state of alarm Indeed, I would not mention it aaa eee again for wor'tds Our bachelor, having enjoyed a conversation of two hours’ length with the captivating lady, arove to leave. It was like tearing his great heart out, and he was very loath to go, ‘Sut daylight was de- clining, and etiquette, and very many other con- siderations, bade Will extending her hand him take up his cross and go you come again to-morrow sa d Clara, e ROOZ Oh! may I come nd—yes ; come to-morrow yuld beg you to do me a favor if you » to-morrow.”’ Come cried the doctor, his enthusiasm now soaring above that of all the knights that ever sought the favor of t fair—‘*‘ Come! Yes, I will core though it rain pitchforks and cannon balls. Come Ye I w come, through fire and smoke, throug wehter and scorn, through hail and snow, thre rivers and torrents, through’’— Why not come quietly along the turnpike, ar avoid all those dangerous routes said our Clar wi in odd smile The gentleman smiled a ghastly smile. and, lay his hand upon his heart, began-—— Oh w I in r hours ot ease { . ind ito] Be &e., which ( ted with tragic efh O ») Was Waxing so eloquent, and soaring f t evel of ordinary men, and knock abou » tremendous!y among the stars, that | t r rec d him to his senses by saying be ved her papa was coming \ slow and measured step was heard in the ha and the Rev. Jeremiah Moreton, with a melanch visage, entered Whom ha we here, Clara?’ h nquire s ng his tall, thin form to and fro ‘| hope you are well, sir,”’ said the reverend ge tleman, extending his hand. “I hope you are we this raw, inclement evening, While so mal ot ¢ fellow-creatures are perishing of hunger and cold Pretty we thank you,” replied Ciara’s enth Siasti ove eyeing his future futher-in-iav strange, angular figure curiously It rains, | | : lieve, + Ye ful we should be a sleet is driving pitilessly I zs] for fireside joys and a forts of home, while thousands wander to and fr » not where to lay their heads I am thankful, my dear sir; very—very ful,’’ responded our bachelor, giving Clara a loot whi showed his rapid progress in the a ol ve Lut how do we show that thankfulness ?” » quired the most reverend gentleman, drawing chair, stretching his long limbs over the fender, : moving his toes up and down, gravely, until his es squeaked out a doleful gecompanim what outward sign do we give of our > Do we visit the sick, clothe the naked, feed the hungry, and fast and pray contin ally? Do we deny ourselves daily? Are we in love and charity with all men? Does not the sun go down upon our wrath ?” ‘For my own part,’’ answered the doctor, for the ‘I endeavor to good man’s eyes were upon hiin,

Page 45

~ ) mo)

act conscientiously in these matters. I have never was spread. After a long and eloquent grace from sent the beggar away empty, neither do I wrangle Hezekiah, they sat down and ate in silence and with my neighbor thankfulness But do you fast and pray ¢ 1 fois All this time the doctor was bewildered He had Not I,”’ said bac Ol l e good cheer ie clergy, and he feared and seldom fast when I can help it; and I pri eeyes of his fair lady-love when : tm mie ! re these learned divines ] l 1 sig I would ha had ou y edified by the reve- : yocu gt ul | 1 ATT TVN a } + Ne BY MRS I ( ABELL On, I love thee, Autumn, A en S¢ the ripened ; rt ights that t g I f t tree et plaint melodies— ly pes ¢ 1 a well sj t e thee more than Spr Ripe for eternit ] sul t irik rale i 4 1 ( hr ter ‘ I vy ; ft pas { the dying things of earth Vie te store Like transient smile of w I love tot t ‘ twill last | ri rime no more I love the deep, the ng sound I t rh on ¢ written change, Of wind, of wood, and 1 ~ there , Ws I mem'‘ries of the past they bring, As fixed w ¢ é 1 range Al 1 b m And changele ist tu 1 love to see the uf I read there mar i t And I love im f rome Ir t I ov Thus early to prepare. ) VOL. XLI.—23

Page 46

Page 47

ou ‘)

. wr the sed 1 i i I ¢ | and 1 h latent « ty in ) l ! It wa 1 in it ead i y il I a 1 ‘ s vn t erin me ex y 1 p but | tw “ iw 1 weird, uneart! sound e longed to be h e i but { e- ws purel e ested tl d » you t N | Jones e 1. tt g ‘ ‘ y eot . . Vw v f ) low that 1 shite j ' ' e’ rn dt the reception of ttv a little King it ‘ and ot ve vas more } 1? ] a} thar nr ¢ ‘ r turned the lau 1 | e] t him when he came t » his 1 W n of mon ner nd I didn’t want t } = sara f . a a e , ‘ ‘ , ‘ ned l . t srt It y e ber, a ) 3 ( . | , ! vou ver would sad in the bed ey! and w ta ' ik t Shaw being sentimenta as about it. He was a bach you see, and

Page 48

lived here with only his servants. They said it was disease of the heart or something; but we always suspected fou. play One them men I never id bear sight of. He wasn’t known to go l e a meeting-hnouse ¢ t while he Was h und took h elf oll minute his master was buried 1 can’t un . | t disease of the heart, particuiariy in an oid ba —how any- body can g bed at night we wake up dead im the norning ind what | it understand | can tt t but, nurse, there are no | ple so toc sh as to believe 1 ghosts nowa . 1 \ It must have been me tree striking ag t the house that we heard There ain’t no tree on iat s the house but the plum tree, and that don’t come within a yard of the No, minute I heard it window twas a death-knock, | knew the I didn’t tell you about that last higatl ‘What was it, nurse ?’’ said Mrs. Shaw, in a feeble tone, impelle d by some st ge fascination to linger on a subject that had evidently harassed her through a tong tw ght re t We I thought it wouldn’t scare you. Let me beat up this pillow and fix you up a little. Then perhaps you ‘Il go off to sleep So the old lady accomplished ‘these little sick- room ollices with a dex t ! kened the prot ual attendant, and then putting a lamp into the fireplace W eams served to make th irk MIULLy t K herseil i I I and o-Work It wa a picture f 1 old legend rhe hea ! ws cast by the faint lig upon the frail vi ey cre ire, | ped up a | s w-white | é h r drawn back 1 the blue- ve i torehe ing her eyes tixed, with a half- {i tened, half-{ I 1 ¢ nestness, on her compa- n ometime ul r W la x Of inetiabie love and tenderness wa eeping infant at her and the with epresse inxiety. to the open W ww, where p d glittering flash f sum i hining revea fitluliy the out- es « the trees and Is were the most ent objects in the landscap Then the pie- le figure f the I it untique cap With it voluminous borders, the well-balanced spectac 1 the tidy check apren, which guarded be dress ! m rude « itact L’y itofthe na ‘ s,’’ she observed as she | I U I sheath to her sick md irve\ p gress of he! cl ae | ling it up be Veen herseit id the ht to count the round | must say, | hain’t been ve us us lay, What between you and fhe ba oul, ti vey lL know I’ve given you 1 deal of trouble Mrs. Jones I ’ve t ce elf since last nig murmured the poor fa ipologetin \ ‘and patien Uh, don’t Worry yourself a tit; you couldn't LADY'S BOOK. help getting frightened, of course. But I was going to tell you about a death-knock. It was a long time ago, When I was not mor’n seventeen. We lived ia the house with Elder Jones then, though ’twas c before I had any notion of marrying his John John always kind of pestered me so, we didn’t take at first, somehow, like Joshua and Il. Joshua was one of the steddiest fellows I ever did see But about the knock. Father was very sick with a bilious fever; 1 was the oldest girl, and, of course, had everything to see to. It was a curious thing He took that fever from eating three green apples lf he had only et four now, it wouldn’t have hum him a mite. I’ve noticed that uneven numbers lways make people sick. | eat seven choke pears, even when [I was a little girl, and like to a died As i was one night I *d been up very late gettin’ say n’, I had everything to look after, and supper lor the watchers I had sot it all out in the best room old cc and cup-cake ~~. rn beef, a custard pie, and green apple pie, We was Oh, and cheese and crackers always did ve watchers good suppers. It Watchin’ now ain’t half Why, young § lt girls used to like, of all things, to watch, and expected in those aays the fun it used to be I remember when we the person wasn’t very sick and there wasn’t much Such talks as Solly Ann Vanderbrugh and [ used to have! and then the beaus always took us there, and sot awhile in Elder ‘rr that room and Deacon Wells sot up with fat kitchen again, though it was most twelve o ck 1 felt pretty down- hearted, for it was just a year that night since mo- ther died. All at once, 1 heard a knock, just as plain as that, on the kitchen door close by me. I In’t move, for I thought it was Joshua come to k how father was. So says I, ‘Comein" But there wasn’t any answer. So I tened, and that time there was two knocks—so That ’s you, Joshua?’ says l. ‘Come in.’ But nobod iswered, With that I got up ! went towards the door. Just as I laid my hand on the latch, there came three l ' P P KNOCKS (hal ma me jump, they were so sl loud. But I opened the door, and nobody was there [ took up the candle and looked out into the entry here wasn’t a soul. All at once it flashed acer me, ‘Death knocked and I let him in.’ I knew from lat minute father In’t get well.’ “ Did he d A week from that very night. I was sittin’ just there—I had kind of forgot about it—when John came to the door, and says he, ‘ There ’s a change.’ Sure enough, father was gone before I got into the m Mrs. Shaw turned her face to the w and was Silent it ! nt She tried ! I combat e und pers mus fe hat was creep & t M iw i t I { \ it ve rt - i Ss ft dis 1 were a 1, i ze gh t \ yw and extingu 1 the

Page 49

It se ] irs before Mrs. Jones could that had hung motionless an hour before, as 1 the 1 irs. Shaw instine y clasped her creaking branches shri 1 in impotent wrath hild er t until the feeble light again ‘It’s an awiul night!” said Byron Olmstea ( uct r ’ tu g¢ from the window to Deacon W ams, wh l ! per Flouse as | went to the was pacing the ejaculating from time to ' sto Q nd | hay ed to speak of our me sentence Ww ler and alarm to his « i times spirits lt between twelve and vas ( n ] > l a. vy | 1 | ‘ lt t eled sh t ght; and Miss n't 1 | with heard tf n cay these two wet ° , ‘ . \V it ‘'s 4 iC ited 1 ‘ r In his! i iread Walt W 1D 1 ' 1 to bunleisl, her was ‘ ed woul vful thing if the Ma ‘ 1 ‘ I ( N , I vvyel KHOW ( l go N dd A 1 N \ ind |e t x . I . \ i W 1 f s a : A d On } f: and Mister A fa 1 i 1 i L 1] i them to excuse you, of course “It's Kind : 1s ACS in . Dhey it going to light the big lamp, though I tears, that B Cvents ¢ s s told [knew you wouldn’t have any objections, sponded Deacon Williams ‘How grateful w only a idle for the lawyer, who’s going to ‘ re- oughter be t proves so in this case If Capen port about it for the Herald of Freedom aud I’m Shaw is never to return to the bosom of h Any taken wn for one ot the witnesses Dear me, and these signs and tokens is given to comfort the vho eht it?” sur ors! urse said the young mother, trembling And the good man drew a long and solemn sigh vith US excite nt. ‘ please don’t ave iby that re-echved tl gh the room, quite unaware that and e! I’m sure something has happened t he had pronounced s neighbor’s death to be a Robe that awful storm last night, and so many cause ol nkiuiness Vesst ut! Oh, if he should be drowned !”’ ‘*]t was just about this time last night,’’ broke in Poor soul! There, don’t work yourself up Mrs. Jones. ‘Good gracious, there it is! | Why I ‘ve known three just such storms night afer And their hearts almost stopped beating, as a rap, night There was one summer when they came rap came against the wall, not far from where the up just as regular as the moon--the year my John deacon was leaning. It was no deception of the vas Chere. don’t take on s 1 she patted enses ; the sound v ear and d t ab er ¢ upon e shou is she would |} e noise Of the storm as HM One « had ovca ’ tl 1 V ifant I l n torm was advancing with fearful “Oh! oh!” said Mrs. Jones, “three times l ra] Al re \ 1e sky was covered with a pa think i shouid a ear tha ircadiul Warnilig f e, thunde is clouds, rifted here and there , : a am of , ng moonlight, and the rain ] g ! fixed with horror and amaze ne wn int ‘nts to the parch land wait Fe lit iLVe By 1 { stead g ew iiear ’ [Lith vere had been no wind, but now pirits jn a ely house, In . st of such t zust came cur g up the quiet tide of the ~ Was a thing from conversing W a the river vy. pnt t lashed against the cliffs with a a < vded ntly hted draw room du 1 t 1,and then it caught the branches ms hee be 1 me an ped th deac - of the w vs t grew near the sloping beach ig with a gaz cuse ter sirecliy into the and tossed and whirled their long, floating tresses $ !#%dlord’s face 23%

Page 50

242 3 rs MAGAZI} «“ Knock! knock !”’ lt was so distinct, you c uld have thought some person standing concealed there had struck the biows, and then came a duller repetition of the ke Knock! knock! knock !”’ N es threw her apron over he! head, us if ! iut t rightful visi 1, and rocked back- 1 and forward as only old nurses can rock upon iry ill Knock! | ck \\ mebody look fthe w low ?? whis- | l i \ armed at the sound wv ‘ us tap oe W his ¢ ply Vus i t hit ! bad ud ie | y grew more l ‘1 \ ! ‘ m 1 i i cy i m é i I \ ] ) the clouds we i ste | ! ! " Z \“ N b een v l v, . ' | he wv - ! 1 vad revived eou fe s riit a" y y m Hlam ‘ l speak to 1 lig b ed 1 Very i- definite pronoun t e myste Is s I : ° lene 2 ed the dea Iw dn’t have be ed it I hadn’t a heard it with my own ears,” said the landlord, forgetting tbat he had expressed the most decided faith when relating the tale to the judge that morning. On rushed the wind to f er « It was trighttul in itseiul to feel t cm { that Viewless p e ot the ai as it ed down the « ging vines id even prostrated the sentine ke poplar that kept solemn guard before the door ‘Knock! knock! knock! But now they were more prepa ed for it. and Mrs. Jones forbore to blind herself again, and sat upright as Byron Olmstead rose to question their mysterious visitant. You must always ask questions that can be an- swered ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to,’”’ he said, whispering un- consciously. “Two knocks means yes, three knocks means no. If there ’s five or six without stopping, the spirit doesn’t mean to answer.”’ \ succession of double knocks seemed to intimate the displeasure of the spirit at the intention of the young gent an to place himself ex rapport, as if was by no means a gossiping spirit, and had pri- ‘ ections to being catechised | ill now n gz que n, and then we w pass on to particulars ‘Are you disposed to converse With us on important topies The young lawyer spoke very loud. as if it was a somewhat aged and deaf spirit, who had come AND LADTZ'S BOOK out unprovided with an ear-trumpet. A sullen effirm- ative responded, as if it still harbored objections end couldn’t surmount them. The audience were all standing, and their faces would have been a study for Hogarth ‘‘Ask it if it knows us,’’ said the landlord. ‘* And who will be the next president,” suggested the judge. Or whether it has anything to do with the cho- lera, and what ’s the best thing to take.”’ This was suggested by the ruling passion of the nurse. But to none of these queries would the ob- stinate bd | rit respond, except by a successiog ol rappings, that seemed to indicate it might say a great deal if it only chose ase \re you sent as a warning inquired the speaker at last, on his own account. \ distinet “ yes’’ was the first direct response that they had h 1. They looked at each other, and ‘ ‘on’s face grew visibly longer, while Mrs J ‘ i 1 “poor thing !”’ but whether the ! v was the object of her commise " ! ir . con wed the questic ler gs e, and a feeble “‘no’’ could be el } \-1 : 1 the deacon, evidently I he Was ho tj -meeting m € ex ment dy in this house ?”’ was the next tion Which the spirit seemed to think worthy of a reply, and it came with a violence that threaten a direct entrance into the apartment, ane then another succession of double rappings, the | ful spirit, that did not like telling bad news ! ‘One thing more; is the owner of this house alive ¢ and a figure shrouded in white, that had stolen unobserved How breathlessly t ey awaited the reply to the door of the adjoining apartment, crouched more closely to the floor, as if from deadly fear or teebleness. ‘Knock! knock! knock!” Slowly, lingeringly, but with awful distinctness came the dreaded negative, and then an unbroken silence, save for the rushing rain and the low quick breathings of every one in the room The poor young wife, for it was she who had stolen trom her bed, unable to resist the mingled fear and morbid anxiety that filled her heart, cou not remember how she regained it and laid down exhausted by the side of her child. She did not faint, for there was a fearful, pressing conscious- ness of what she had heard, an aching sense, as if the bereavement thus prophecied was more than certain. She lay in a kind of waking dream, so horrible, and yet she could not close hereyes. She heard steps on the gravel walk, as if the visitors were departing in the pause of the storm here Tell the widow that she has our prayers, and | shall fee my duty in the morning to call and offer

Page 51

s al tion. This is past ling be startled at so strange an apparition as he pre ss v I 1, Vi Jones; ay - ited in P| - ( Then it - H Ws y ! ered face | . t the f N y than a thousand other hum s that « ind She saw pe ha 1 frightened out of their wits la t \ og sky en bat g \ 1 should | e s« 1 those men l fou | el waves la sl king, bu l - th ire! i e ( per House, te oh rose on 1 it en el ed them town abou next mort Deacon Williams was but e shriek burst from her own lips on his way comfort 1, I believe, and tha vas e pale ead fa | vad seen her jacksniy i ve la fu ecount Vv press l Bench a ea t 1 f es ILxe ] } 1 he Ss W Ss o I ve ‘ nore n i 1 were so s§ a 1 | re ried, | it wonder ; ¢ that f h \ un | ere ' 1eip me ! —Save ) W l was en {rig en \ 1 to dea y l g in a d Ke ens}! \ sc such g 1 care « i » ie re lie ing el it down, \ I hers \ vy days passed before sl was conscious Kiss the one 1M is do nesl gx ¢ r ol anything that was passing around her, and then her heart woke to find her husband kneeling by her bed- ? See the little fi ‘ e, and clasping hand with a warm, loving ‘ : lat Made he eart suund once more with tain di p f hope 1 happiness when her strong resemblance in the inexpressive and 1 4 Is cou el d her child onee more, as SI e face to his own stri izlv-marked features { ted by the strong a sof one she loved he thought it was a remarkable child, there I t i 1 the explanation of all her doubt « hat, and he said so, too, qu “ ' ring fe Lobert Shaw was almost t in- enough to delight Vary He stood a v » S| K s liv as | hould have done g at the pretty picture which ey i t — - SONNET.—WOMAN BY WM ALEXANDER life’s ocean stream Where r *mid bre ers play, we Makes saddest s \ < of her hopes . 1 WwW an \ eas t ¢ I 1\ es— | intoms © I S 8 \ s And f mixed wit The eds eer her w Seems w n's me n Wi ness like t I is iin Jovi in t g I s light way To ekon t ivens of t G sense ar eve eens, shal ee ecay

Page 52

Tuts design, of which Fig. 1 is the elevation and Fig. 2 the und-plan, is in the Scotch style, cha- racterized steep roofs, slated, and with the gable walls furn d with what are called crown steps. The ground-plan contains a porch, @, adjoining which | e staircase; a kitchen, 4; best room, c; bed-room, ¢@; back kitchen, ¢; pantry, f; dairy, g; poultry-house, or oven-house, £; and cow-house, 7. This design may be considered as an example of the Scotch style, ennobled by the grandeur of the pro portions, and by the projection of the chimney from the gable wall, a feature never seen in the unim- proved Scotch cottage, but one which is es to architectural expression.

Page 53

CARRIAGE SLIPPER ree Oz of 8-thre wl drab or stone-color wool: loz. white 4-thread ; 6 skeins of black 4- if ] Vo ) or 12, Boar’s Head cotton I ¢ wet hook Vo. 16 Pair of ste l pi s Vo. 18 Make a chain of 30 loops, turn back, a row { long stitches Turn back, a row of long stitches till ys s the end, increase twice by mal g » 1 loop, then 1 long into next DP, u ext, finish with long and turn back \ slipper is worked in long stitches, the n of tl words “long stitches’? will be ed “ r every ne eased SLL ] ne » be 1 int e next loop .—Turn back, take the last 2 loops t rinl w Turn back, till the end of the row, ¢ > crease at l row. *°—Turn back, a row without Turn k, inerease as at 2 Tu back crease 1 prey “ es ’ Turn back, a 1 Ist stitch ine e \ 7 ’ ¢ | cre l » A ] Q the next p betwee 1 each in- a titch rou Turn back till wit 1. loops of the increase 10th row.—Turn back, after the Ist long increase ‘e, and when within 5 loops of -end increase 2. ’ , 9 11th row.—Turn back, increase 3, increase 2 at e end back, increase 1, increase 3 at row.—Turn 13th row.—Turn back, increase 2, not increase at the end. 14th row.—Turn back, 4 de, the remainder till within 7 of the er Cut off the wool and dr make another piece cutting the wool off the st piece, crochet t ‘ corresponding points of the pieces togethe A this, the wool must be cut ¢ t¢ y row L5th row.—2 de, the Ist on ¢ stitch, th long t the centre wu Lhe re tie } Th " /, where make 3 long into 1 loop, t long till the 5th long of last row from the end, 1 2de 16th row de, the Ist into t po row. then all long, working 3 long into the et le ot th > creased stitches. then a ” the 6th loop of e last \ de 17? ’ = ‘ ast row 1S¢/ le, t Ist to the 36th t! cent o mm ft to 7 1 ] rng crease 3as | r 4 ng, 2 dk cent titeh, 30 g ‘ e 3, 30 2 de 07 2d lst ) e * i op centre titch im last ‘ | increase j —s t u Same as last w ’d row.—Begin on Ist ig stitch, and work the same l row 2 de, the Ist ito the 2d lo pt centre stitch, 20 long, increase 3, 20 | > de 24th row.—2 de, the 1st into the 21st loop from centre loop, 19 long, increase 3,

Page 54

2 de, the Ist in the 17th loop from 15 long, increase 3, 15 long, 2 de For the next stitch, ft wool on the right hand needle. ghtly round the 2d finger of the |

bring the wool t hand, place it between the needles as before, <

a ) knit it off with cotton; now knit 1 black stitch, white, 1 black, 2 white, 1 black, 2 white, and 2 plain without wool. The next row, knit it plain back with cotton, kt stitch together, then al \itting off a cotton and wool

cut the loops, comb and lightly shear each row, now knit 2 rows of white, knitting between each row plain, with cotton only, the 1 row black and white continue this till there is suthic it to trim . when knit 2 plain rows and cast off, now r it evenly, and sew round the boot, t down t if It witn Cerise ribbon With the addition of a gutta percha sole to the cork, this will make an admirable snow boot

26th 7 2 de, the Ist in the I4th loop from entre stitch, 12 long, increase 12 long, 2 de. Work a row of de along the foot of the slipper, \ cing inthe ends and working 3 stitches into the » at the point of the slipper l ip well, and press between linen under a \ it, then line with Cerise silk, and sew i round a cork sole I I [RIMMING ROUND THE LEG AND INSTEP. » cast on lo stitel knit 2 plain rows, ‘ vays to slip the t ch Slip 1, knit 1, place needle through the next stitch, wse the ‘& wool d e, place the white wool tw i points of the 2 needles, knit off the i with cotton; this will bring both cotton and LEMAN’S COMFORTER IN CROCHET ‘ 4 hook, No. 16, or fine wvory hook, 3 , rlet 4-thread Berlin wool. the licht- est to tense scarlet, each of the 2 others dis- t t ¢; 32 skeins of the lightest shade, 8 ft the 2 ind 9 of the darkest, and 32 skeins of tw st row.—Darkest shade, commence on a founda- n SO ches, turn back and work a row of de jt is rv to observe t the work may be irned e'\ row Turn back, make | ng, or 3 ch which 18 ¢ valent to 1 lor 2 gz into next loop,* ————rrrwrn 1 chain, 3 long into every 4th loop, repeat from the last ing on till the end, when make 1 chain, 1 de stitch. } 3d row.—Same shade, 1 long or 3 chain as bet 2 long into next loop,* 1 chain, 3 long, 4th loop, re

peat till the end, when make 1 chain, 1 long on last lor observe to make every 3 long come into t] 1 chain between the long stitches in the pre ling row. Every row is the same ith row.—Tie a very neat knot in the woel in joining, work 2 rows with the middle s work 2 rows of scarlet, work 1 row of white, work ‘ of darkest work 1 rowm t l row s¢ t, work 1 row w ec, WwW l ‘ work 1 row middie k 1 row .% k 1 row W e, work 1 row t, work 1 row w

Page 55

7 t 217 work | scarlet, work 1 row white, work 1 row Petats.—Make a of seven s sw scarlet the darkest shadk wool, zot sp work rou [luis FORMS THE Borpt —Then work 7 rows the chain fifteen g stitches (putting three stit« white and 7 rows scai alternately, t there are 1 the top p), With th ght shade of wo tis “s of wh id 5 of scarlet, then commence } ch it at tl top, to make the petal ap; the rder, making both ends alike pointed as possib nd cover the stem with Fk rHE f NGI Cut 09 skKeins of s et and 5 green Wor ota ye Vish ¢ r, W I of white onc then divide t ength { cul spit with a large rug needle draw in two threads of Leaves.—Take a th of wire I s< t | p, dou the ends even, and a it filty stitch 1 double croc t. le tie them it a close knot; d » every alter- or three inches of wire at the end, « alk nate p, making a spaced nge of 4 scarlet and 4 this wire in two at 1 twe V-filtth s \ Ww P W it t | ( 9 nto a j ms the leat; twistthe wires of the ste tog i u ieh trom torme 1com and cover it with wor it and « t eve Pre Is to Worki ntl fringe, ¢ u but equally, and JERUSALEM STAR la I en a 1 iwith a weight u " l iy De 1 doub fort purpose ake 1 Ve ! s d of scarie = 1 ‘ fine s eto), and ste ( Lt nec t r . } ¢ 9) , CROCHET FLOWER WORK ceca eae ane \N\ kK i liilteen st smd r JONQUIL twist the two ends of the wire togeth ng it For dir ns. 8 Ma b meee ) e bit at ¢ 1 end of * work I s ring « the scarlet stitches yust then l . ong J ev Berlin 0l—o f, place your crochet needle on the ¢€ ! d the other a dee : yr, but not oO bend the wire down towards the centre « erit Form a » of wire mr le and work in it ne y to the bott which will is f a : twelve g stitches with the deep shade of yellow petal of a heart pe Work fi more close these stitches in a round, by work UNS ‘ ls her | of and finish as | ‘ \ two ¢ the | OP s of the preced- ust thus 1 f 1 ‘ g 4 k off the ome distance from t e the flow | ; work. You will then have the ttle which tied or twisted , 1 fre forms the centre of the flower rhe j l itself small yellow stamens in the centre , is composed of six peta separately made, and Li a s.—Take a light shade of green split wool taste 1 round the cup, either by twisting the wires Make a chain of twelve or fifteen stit fasten together, or by sewing them round w a ru this off, and work one row of long stitches all round need fixing down, at the same time, the ends of it with the same wool; cover the little stem. wool left in finishing the top petals ~-<eo lr } c N FAITH BY EORGE FE, SEUSENEY. , “ Once I love ad a love l 82 f Now I ar ‘ \\ « A i nd her R ot the air , , . But a ) ees l espalr 4 4 e \\ r f F alle T ‘ t VW ' \

Page 56

’ expensive, the m s Very lillie chang sed with knots of ril ? le is of the e vn can be drawn in tos Fig. 24.—Embroidered Swis novelty being the arranger iich form the trimming t acetul, but is new Although it is conceded that n ming to a young Wile than ip, there is one objection offered lerate means to their use. Of i Variety to suit the color of dresses, and it is urged tl the end of the year. But any } ve sun, which, all her glowir } Delighted, marked his ardent g radiant ¢ sh, With tempe worth ‘ wes her ope T t More What tho t \ ee ild wreat W ur degree of taste, and a little id beauty now doth rest >a lor arrangement the aps. Inorning r Swiss ' cad lace rosette upon ticed that ih the top of n, the princi- rosettes particularly g can 1g a lerel be more breakfast of mo- must t morn- a heavy charge , with an ordi- servation and In- Vet, throuch the soft enfolding air, practice, can soon become t partment of millinery, and she will find that the terials cost very tle. All that is necessary piece of ribbon wire for the foundation, a yard } ess of plain illusion, or whatever lace is to be u The pattern cap should be ca ' ft measured, the ribbon wire cut to match bent to the proper shape. The crown is first over a block, or the living model of some lad the family, and pinned upon the frame. The de of whatever kind, may be adjusted, ar thing remains to be done but arrange the trimr of ribbon or foliage, as best suits the fancy of wei > \ great de al of taste may\ be exerc S| ‘lection and arrangement of the decorat 1d quite a variety of caps produced at a very expense There could be’ no more ¢ gant or tt fem 1e employment than the arrangements ¢ bon and lace, in which every woman’s he lights, and there are very few ladies who « soon learn to be ‘own cap makers. Fig. 3. Fig.4 Figs Band 4 are children’s worsted gaiters although there is really thing of the gaiter about them. They are intende to defend the feet and ankles in cold weather, n that the foolish fashion of very short dresses and no pantalettes is so much in vogue _+2ee o____ — the sheen Of rubies gleams, in gold and silver set. Dear mother earth! all things invite to rest Yet who w | seek to slumber on thy breast t l é swith hea tears are wet, VW their de ftr ed gaze, the whil pet y y ec Ne , frp ? ] ey ] ? t 1 nt I ] f quite expert in this de

Page 57

JA ¢ an EBITGR In the July number, we gave the title* of a new ww work, on which we are now engaged, and also some extracts. We hope to complete the work soon; but the great care and research necessary to bring together materials so widely scattered as are the notices and memorials of eminent women, will somewhat delay the publication. A large portion of the field we have ex- was never before rendered accessible to the The American know of plored American reader. women of Italy, for instance, what does an the gifted daugliters of that lovely and oppressed land? Yet we have found quite a number of deservedly distinguished women among this people. The Italians are proud of the talents of their women, and in no other country is the iterary excellence of the sex so openly recognized and rewarded by public honors. True, they lie under one overwhelming disadvantage: they have not the Bible; of course the literature of the women, as well as of the men, must be confined to subjects of taste or philo- Where Bible is a sealed book, woman’s moral influence on be but 1e cause of improvement when her taste is sophical disquisitions, or religious reveries the literature can feeble; still, it is something gained to t cultivated and her talents encouraged in their develop- When the time of religious and civil freedom shall selves w rthy to be the *“‘ mothers of men for Italy arrive, her daughters will prove them- > We give the notices of three of these gifted Italians. “HELENA LUCRETIA CORNARO, A learned Venetian lady, was the Baptista Cornaro, and ed Gio icated in a very different man- daughter of ner trom her sex generally she was taught languages, ‘aeunke of sciences, and the p phy of the schools, difficult as itthen was. She took her degrees at Padua, and was pe ips the first lady who was made a doctor. She was ulso admitted to the University at Rome, where she had the title of Humble given her, as she had that of Unaltera at Padua She deserved both these ap- pellations, since all her learning had not inspired her with vanity, nor ¢ d anything disturb her calmness d tranquillity of mind. She made a vow of virgin- it ind though all means were used to persuade her to marry, and dispensation obtained from the pope, she remained immovable. She exercised upon herself the discipline of flagellation, fasted often, and spent nearly her whole time in study and devotion ‘* Persons of note who passed through Venice were more desirous to see her than any of the curiosities of that superb city The cardinals De Bouillon and a’Etreés were commanded by the King of France to call on her, on their journey through Italy, and examine wiether what was said of her was true; and they found that she fully equaled her high reputation all Her severe stt n 1685 over Eur idies impaired her health, and she died ** As soon as the news of her death reached Rome, the * “Woman's Record: Distinguished Women XLI.—24 or, Bi °&e wraphical Sketches of Vol ar) AMY w IN BMY ww Cc MBO Me nw academicians, called Infecondi, who had admitted her to their society, made innumerable odes and epitaphs to her memory. They celebrated a funeral in her honor, in the college of the Barnabite friar with the highest pomp and magnificence the academicians made a funeral oration, in expatiated on all her great and valuable qualities. She was not the author of any literary producti “ MARIANNE MARTINEZ Was the daughter of a gardener of Vienna. One day the poet Metastasio met her in the street, when she was a very little chiid; she was singing some poy lar and air. Her voice and her vivacity pleased the poet, » educate her. They accepted Nothing was young girl an artist. She h he offered her parents t his proposals, and he kept his promises neglected to make thie the good fortune to receive lessons in music, an the harpsichord, from Haydn, whose genius was not yet famous; and Porpora taught her the art of singing and the science of composition Her progress was rapid; she played with neatness and grace; she sang beautifully, and her compositions showed a vigor ol She re- Dr , Speaks of conception together with extensive learning united the qualities of many distinguished artists 177 Metastasio bequeathed to her Burney, who knew her at Venice, in admiration In weekls her with all his property 1796, she lived at Vienna in aillu- her house, where Dr many of her sonatas, and her ence, and gave concerts at she received all the musical celebrities. Burney high eulogy, Metastasio cites, with cantatas on words of She composed a miserere, with orchestral accompaniment. Gerbert had u mass and an oratorio written by her.”’ * CARRIERA ROSALBA Was born in 1675, at Chiozza, near Venice, and was instructed by Giovanni Diamentini, from whom she learned design, and also the art of painting in oil. In that kind of coloring, sl the works of the to miniature with extraordinary diligence, being ambi- 1e copied several of best masters; but at last applied herself tious to arrive at such a degree of periection in it as might enable her to contribute to the support of her parents. She succeeded to her wish ; but, after prac- with great reputation, s) tising miniature painting quitted it for crayons, which art she carried to a de- gree of perfection that few artists have ever been able to In 1709, Frederic IV., King of Denmark. ing through Venice, sat to Rosalba for his portrait, of attain. pass made several the ployed her to paint twelve portraits of Venetian ladies, which, by his orde she copies, ver highly finished. Soon after, same monarch em- which she performed so much to his satisfaction that he showed her particular marks of his favor, and, be- sides gifts of great value, paid her with a truly royal She visited had honor to paint the munificence France in company with Pelligrini. who narried her sister; and at Paris had the nobility, and other persons the royal family, with most of of distinction During 249

Page 58

GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK PPPPPPROPOPPPPORPDRDRDDD puinnciinsanniinuanaiininigt ne ieuuncananeanieuinnndiditn meinen her residence there, she was admitted into the academy, tints clear and well united; and she generally gave a tow ¢ presented a picture of one of the muses. graceful turn to the heads, especially to those of her On her return to Venice, she continued her profession female figures.’’ e was seventy, when, by incessant application, e lost her sight. She died in 1757. The portraits of i Rosalba are full of life and spirit, exceedingly natural, Note TO CoRRESPONDENTS.—Our engagements have vl in agreeable resemblance to the persons repre- prevented our usual attention to the favors of our lier coloring is soft, tender, and delicate; her friends; but next month the report shall be given. EDITORS’ From Dersy, Mituer & Co THE FARMER'S , Auburn, New York :— EVERY-DAY BOOK; or Sketches of Social Life tin the Country With the I ilar elements of practical and theoretical agri- culture, and twelve hundred laconics and apothegms relating to ethies, religion, and general literature; red receipts on hygeian, domestic, and By the Rev. John §S rural econ B e, D.D There ne sno explanation of the design of this book; well told in the title, and well and truly accom- plished by the learned and excellent author. It is a t k which should be found open on the table around which the farmer’s family are grouped in the long win- ter evenings It isa library of “‘ useful and entertain- ing knowledge,’’ such as has never befure been so easily accessible From A RUTH EMSLEY, THE A Tale ter, author of * Hart (late Carey & Hart), Philadelphia :— BETROTHED MAIDEN. Wm. H. Carpen- Rebels,’’ ete. A the d of the Virginia Massacre By Clairborne,’’ ‘* The well-written and touching story of ingers, priva- and bloody calamities endured by 1622 The Historyand Phi- tions the early set- tlers of the colony THE PHANTOM WORLD of Virginia, ir losophy of Spirits, Apparitions, §c. This is atransla- tion from the French of Augustine Calmet, who is represented to have been a learned and pious Bene- dictine Monk of the last century, with preface and notes by the Rev. Henry Christmas, Librarian and Secretary of Sion College It is a compact volume of four hundred and forty-four pages, and contains enough of the marvelous and supernatural to gratify the taste of even the most credulous, of whom there are nota few among those claiming to be well-informed in our own enlightened day and generation. The good monk, however, has taken care not to vouch for the truth of revelations, but his readers to his historical permits altogether, accord- But believe, to doubt, or to reject then ing to their own best judgments marvelous and incredible as all his historical statements are, they are really not more to be wondered at than those which unre detailed as the ghostly proceedings of the knives ind the pokers in the house of a re spect ble clergyman in Hartford, or of the knockings and sepulchral revela- tions of the ghosts in New York, or in the fascinating movements of the animated pictures of the Madonna in the vicinity of Rome. It has been our boust, for a few years past at least, that our railroads and locomotives were hurrying us on in our onward | ess far beyond the ages of darkness and s rstitic ind out of the reach of their fatal influences; but, on comparing notes with the past, will it not appear to many that our pro- gress is sometimes backward as well as forward? BOOK TABLE. DIES BOREALES ; or, Christopher under Canvass By Professor John Wilson, author of ‘* Noctes Ambro- siangw,’’ The su ‘ Recreations of Christopher North,’’ &c. &c title and the authorship of this work will be a ficient recommendation to all who have learned to e the classical beauties and critical acumen whi Wils THE MENTOR: a@ Magazine for Youth Hastings Weld, editor. The le work contains six illustrations, one of whic! distinguish the writings of Professor Rev. H number o second this Hard Word,’’ a steel plate, is one of the best s we have ever seen of a quiet and unpre hee j mtents, Which are spread over r pages, are worthy of the head and the heart rend editor. THE INITIALS. A Story of Modern Life. Thisis a most interesting book of its class, the author of whict of the reve has cl osen for the present to keep his name a secret It has been recommended as equal t« but, if of from the public we are not greatly at fault i our conception its merits, it will be considered by many to deserve a much higher encomium. The plot is well sustained to the end; and, although there but few exciting incidents in the narrative, its noble sentiments, its flashes of wit, excellent humor, anc masterly delineations of character, male and feinale, are all admirably calculated to retain the reader’s atte tion. Independent of its merits as a novel, it is wort) of perusal for the many lively descriptions it contaims of scenery, life, and habits in Germany, where the action is laid. MOSE AMONG THE BRITISHERS. Witha pro fusion of colored engravings. Price 50 cents NORVEL HASTINGS; or, the Frigate int Price 25 cents e Offine A nautical tale, and an excellent one. From Linpsay & Briaxiston, Phil: A SECOND BOOK OF GREEK: win containir syntar reading lessons in prose prosody and the d lect lessons in verse, forming a suffictent By John M’Clintock, Languages in Dickin- s, with reading Greek reader, with a vocabulary D.D., late Pr son College fessor of Ancient his is a valuable publication, and is presented to the publ antees of ic under the highest guar its correctness and usefulness as an elementary work THE LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE OF RO- BERT SOUTHEY. Edited by his son, the Rev Charles Cuthbert Southey, M.A. A cheap edition « a work which will, of course, be sought after by the friends and mirers of the poet and excellent author by Harper & Br in six parts isnow in the course of publica thers, New York,

Page 59

— eee —— GIBBON’S ROME. Edited by t y the publis ers with the third ind seen presented fourth volumes of this valuable wo It should be in the hands of » believes that republics ind kingdoms lividuals, may be warned by the examples of hist LATTER-DAY PAMPHLETS. Edited by Thomas Carlyle. No.7. Hudson’s Statue. There has been about this work among the politi- iments as . as well in regard to its sent to its style. With them, we must leave it for the present SKETCHES OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY. By Syd- ney 8 h. The wit and eccentricity of this author, le} ent of the fact that Lord Jeffrey acknowledged, a few days before s death, that he did great an rrievous injustice to the m ese lec res, | was ( e wrong in d 1ad publication, will cause the work to be eagerly sought after by American readers; and, in our opinion, no American reader of intelligence will rise from their perusal without ac- knowledging himself highly gratified PICTORIAL FIELD-BOOK OF THE REVOLU- TION r Illustration hy Penand Pencil, of t His- tory, Scenery, Biography, Relics, and Traditions of the War f Ind nd By Benson J. Lossing With six handred engravings on w 1, chiefly f 1 l 8 the This work has re ed its , or, and « es to evince the beauty and the sj ‘ ia 1 so mu itter whi t first ma its t It is a ra ( t to fix the atter not t \ thful student and trivt tl the 1 1 it and pat MEMOIRS OF ELLEN MAY WOODWARD. the Rev. George D. Miles, A.M. This little volume is inser by its reverend author to the children of St Stephen’s Sar Ss 1, Wilkesbarre, Pa., where the Sl ect of the narrative, with two other you h by falling through the F 1 Harper & Brotuers, New York, through Linpsay & Briakiston, Philadelphia :— THE DALTONS. No.2. By Charles Lever, author f ** ¢ irles O’Malle THE OLD OAK CHEST. A Novel. By G. P.R. James LATTER-DAY PAMPHLETS. No. 6. ‘ Parlia- ROMANCE OF TIE OCEAN: a Narrative of the Voyage of the Wildfire to California. Illustrated with s ies, anecdotes, et writer of this work has very carefull and with at modesty, concealed her real name under that of Fanny Foley. This will bea great disappointment to the reader, who will prot be able to find in the volume some very pleasant amusing incidents of a sea voyage, which may assist him in whiling away a few of the tedious hours of a s i y passage to the Pacific Ocean, should he hay to be going that wa THE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE OF THE REPUBLIC m the French of Alphonse Translated fre i De L ne This isa rapid, but gra tlly written review of the condition of the people of France for the last six ears ider all the changes of their govern- ment also of the ur s ul cessful efforts at im} ¢ nt and progress Ar rot chapters at the Los the work are v ed to an exar ition of t ‘ niversal 8 e, and to the question of 1K TABLE. 251 a — . . PEPER eee aes ment fearfully agitating the people and the governmer ly cates the abolition of the ballot by general ticket, 1 aavo- ot France In these chapters, he strenuou recommends universal suffrage by electoral divisions of fifty thousand inhabitants. He insists also that, as the electoral law has ceased to exclude any class of cilizens, rich oF \4 1, from the personal right of taking part in the sovereignty and direction of loyalty, it nevertheless, the right and the duty of the law to p1 pound certain questions to every man who comes 1 ward to vote, in regard to his dignity and manhood, 3 country, his freedom a is in cretion his caps ity his rig s duties; his residence and moral responsibilities to t people with whom he votes; in regard also to the fluences under which he votes; and whether he is a vagabond re irities of life, a beggar by volun- t and habitual idleness, or has ever suiflered cial inflictions. These, and numerous other c ted W l taxation, education of the peo- ple, &c. & ‘ no d t, cause this work of the ec ! wu € ix sly sou tafter by poli- t ns 8s V € class of rea Ss W ) n interest in e eff s of enlightened hur ty to throw off the ke imp¢ rance and despot- ism of pa es We } received from the same publishers the se- cond volume of the New York edition of GIBBONS’ ROME, edited by Milman. From Lea & Biancnarp, Philade ia :— IMPRESSIONS AND EXPERIENCES OF THE WEST INDIES AND NORTH AMERICA IN 1819 By Robert Baird, A.M. The contents of this work will, nk, be found | ly interesting to s 1 of our “un readers as desire to know what European travelers say of us and our institutions. The author writes like an Englishman who modestly prefers the peculiarities of his own country to those of every other civilized country on earth This trait is natural with ourselves t, at the same tur he writes like a l ral-1 ed observer, who is anxious to give the t in evidence on eve question which he ttempts to controvert or to confirm. In this he probably excels most, if not all his predecessors From T. B. Pererson, 98 Chestnut Street, Phila- delphia :— MOHAMMED, THE ARABIAN PROPHET d Acts By George H. Mills. To the Tragedy, in Five author of this play was awarded the prize of one thou- sand d s, olfere some time since by Mr. Forrest, for the best pr« ection in that department of literature which should be produced by an American author 1’? was selected from nearly one hundred veautiful and striking competitors, and contains many t been deemed suited to stage re- be read wi pleasur admirers of pure und lofty sentiments poctically and ci caliy express¢ m the same publisher, we have received the fifth \ me of the story f THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. By Cl With notes by the Rev. H. H. Milman aries Gibbon This is the 1 edition Phi s, Sampson & Co rhe ap- pearance t me te re us 1s equal to that of its predecessors, W een ful noticed ADVENTURES IN AFRICA DURING A TOUR OF TWO YEARS THROUGH THAT COUNTRY.

Page 60

orc sAnrTyT 7 TNO 952 Y VE. 2ilNG By Major W. C. Two mprising a vast deal of valuable information respect- little kn ten editions in handsome volumes, Harris. untry so wn. The work has run ing the c and will doubtless be London, wr nere. SHAKSPEARE’S DRAMATIC WORKS. Boston ‘ ion. This elegant work has reached the twenty- tr er. which contains King Henry the Fourth, . beautifully engraved portrait of Priacess Katha- rance. From M. W. Dopp. New York, through J. W. M g, Philadelphia :— rHE HOME ALTAR. By Rev. Charles F. Deems. This is a well written appeal in behalf of family wor- ship, with prayers and hymns for family use. It isa h lsome and useful volume. From Henry F. Anners, Philadelphia :— S HAND-BOOK OF GAMES BOLI From Samvet Hveston, New York :— rHE ILLUSTRATED DOMESTIC BIBLE. By Rev. Ingram Cobbin, M.A. We have received the e first numbers of thrs work from the pnobiishers It will be completed in twenty-five numbers. From J. 8S. Rent New York :— rHE RIGHT SIDE OP NATURE; AND GHOST-SEERS. By Catharine Hopley,” ete. This is another of ELD, OR, GHOSTS Crowe, author those = n vorks about ** warnings, dreams, ted houses,’’ &c trances, apparitions, t led spirits, he &c., which have popular among the credulous of this progress- ive but mystical age. From Grorcr P. Pctnam, New York, through A. Hart, Philadelphia :— RURAL HOURS. sent us a copy of this work, w By a Lady hich is affectionately in- The publisher has scribed by the author to J. Fenimore Cooper, in whose name it was entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 1850. From H. Lone & Brotner, New York :— THE STEWARD. Complete. A novel by the author of ‘‘ Valentine Vox,’’ most fascinating that book of true fun. NEW MUSIC, From T. C. ANDREWS :— Happy Home Waltz. Ravel Dance La Jota Arragonaise. Rosine’s Dream Waltz. Opera Polka. The Spring Garden Polka. From Messrs. Huntington & Savage, New York, we Von Heeringen’s celebrated have received a copy of Instruction Book for the Piano Forte, containing the principles of his newly invented notation, to which we ulled the attention of our readers some time since. It is an elegant book, and seems to have been got up with- out d 10 expense. There are so many merits at this new system that it is but justice to the euthor that it should be fairly and candidly investigated Our readers will be highly interested in an examination of it, and we trust they will obtain copies at once. Our AND LAI Y's own opinion is not yet decided enough to venture on its public expression, but we have no hesitation in vouch- ing for an immense amount of interesting and valuable matter in this volume Voodbury’s We have also, from the same publishers, * Youth’s Song Book,’’ arranged after the stem new sy Also several pieces of sheet music, arranged as above, one of which e mares the old system with the new The ‘*‘ American Musical Review’’ is publishe monthly by Messrs. Huntington & Savage, under the editorship of Mr. Woodbury. It is a capable and valu- able journal. From our old and valued friend, W. J. Wetmore, Esq and , of New York, we have received two of his new and of New Shane,’’? a magnificent bal- tiful productions, one the ‘** Jeannette Jeannot Quickstep,”’ p shed by Vanderbeck, York, the other ‘‘ Norah M lad, published by Firth, Pond & Co sustain the author’s great reputation. Ovr Encravines.—In the September number, we ' commenced the display of our very superior engravings and henceforth nothing but first class plates will ay pear in the Lady’s Book. This is one of the good effects of abolishing the premium system. The money heretofore wasted on outside pictures is now spent on inside ones, and the p lates, as the public no doubt saw in the September number, and now see in this, are of a Not that are bett superior kind. our former plates were not good, but th cr, owing to our having an American abroad to pick up every novel } as it appears; besides this, he t 1as Opportunities to see the original pictures, and to put in the finer effects di- rect from them. Look at the list of plates that we are about to publish. The Scriptural plates are in number to illustrate the Bible, and of our other plates their name is legion. Of our colored engravings, We give an example in this number, and will also give one in November. To WIsconsIN AND Iowa SuBscRIBERS.—We believe that the grez places were destroyed by er portion of our July mails for the above the burning of the mail steamer. We have supplied duplicates to all whohave notified us of the non-receipt of that number. We were greeted last week with a sum of money from a patron of the Book, constituting himself ‘a life subscriber.”’ We were much more pleased with the time during the compliment than the money. At no twenty years that we have published the Lady s Book have we received more complimentary letters from all parts of the Union than at present. This is cheering, and induces us to believe that we shall next year reach the much coveted 100,000 subscribers The Christian Advocate says the home department of the Lady’s Book } is valuable to the ladies, and its Model Cottages are seen copied along all the thorough- fares of northern travel. “© J. H. H.’’ will please accept our thanks for the prospectus sent us. It is a great curi silty. usual GRAHAM ¢% favor of ** Art mes out in his foreible ir’s Home Gazette.’’ Mr.G.is anone- cious man, and is proba ip the publish

Page 61

DTrarT Vi OX iu

‘*ARTHUR’s GazETTE.—We take great pleasure in ng the attention of our readers to the prospectus

: s newspaper. ’s name is a household word the Union

over his stories have penetrated every Vv ige of the c and are read with delight for thei gh moral tone and eminently practical character. The title is eretore very fitly chosen, and we shall be much mis- tuken if the Home Gazette is not welcomed from the tart at thousands ot hresides, as a chosen and familiar friend ‘* Capital—a very necessary article in starting a new

Mr with the editor’s industry and

enterprise—h we are assured by hur, been abundantly secured, and, , there can be no such word as fail

“Mr cess—to charge such a price as will really e1 Arthur has discovered the true secret of suc- to make a good paper—to make it so in all and then to advertise so as to let the publiie Know that

he has a first-rate article for sale at a fair living price. If he allows no temptation of & mporary s

n the just business ground thuss tin of ultimate and permanent prosper as he can be of any problem in mathematics—a simple business secret that

i great many publishers we know of have yet to learn.”? Mr. Graham is correct; thousands, we are informed,

have already greeted Mr. Arthur with their orders. If not mistaken, this paper, in the course of one year, will have the largest circulation of paper in

the Union. The first number has been issued, and isa beautiful sheet—fine white paper, and clear, large type

that can be read by every person without « AN OFFER TO TALE WRITERS.—The proprietors of the ** Dollar Newspaper’? have offered five hundred dollars in premiums for the eight best stories written for that paper, to be awarded as follows: Two hun- dred dollars for the story decided to be the best, one hundred dollars for the next best, fifty dollars each for the two next, and twenty-five dollars each for the four

next best The merits of the several contributions to be determined by a committee of literary gentlemen, to

be chosen after all the st the names of the ries are sent in, committee to be made known when the award is announced; thus, as far as possible, avoiding all col- committee

lusion between writers and the offer The the discretion of writers. condition of the is, that the scene of the story shall be American length and subject are left to The stories must all be sent lay of October, and t award will in before the first

be made as soon thereafter as the committee can come committee ‘ News- to a decision laving served as one of the

under a similar offer by » proprietors of paper,’’? we can bear testimony to the er with which the proposition was then carried out, a have no reason to doubt the same honorable course un- der the present offer. —The been has A PROPOSITION time when ladies

ced a peculiar preference for gentlemen attached to the brave corps of the army and navy, and for the glories of the -field and tl an But that time appears to be rapidly passing away, and the prefer- ences of the ladies are evidently tending towards the modest and retired members of the corps editorial, ind for the bloodless glories of the quill and the scissors Unfortunately, however, quite a number of our friends appear not to be conscious of the great price that las

ICES, ETC. 2 253 been set upon their worth and intelligence, and of the astonishing ris¢ those commodities have taken whk in the matrimonial market But, as we think, we can that all that many of

countrywomen require is a personal introduction to enabie them decide their choice; and, as that is not always convenient or prudent, we propose to our tance to send us their portraits, which rrange in our ** editorial gallery,’’ 60 that ail ir sweet and discriminating visitors nay judging and selecting for them-

—Although, as lers are fully our rea > never intertere in the

discussi litical not p questions—mere party questions—yet we hold it to be I t, as we is our duty, to notice such developments of our beautiful system so here? Because ours is a government of equal rights, would ims of blood, and shaken government to its very foundations. And why is and a government of laws, and because our people are a law-abiding and a law-keeping people know which they themselves have placed on tl because they and feel that their own laws are the restraints

r OWN pas- sions, and that it is only by obeying these laws that iintained ! May such their equal rights can be m ever be their spirit! If so, we may well say of the repub- lic, not ‘és ty} g? 98 a,’ but ‘est perpetua! recedented Mrs

success of this lady in one of the most difeult departments in the art of painting—that of securing expressive and natural likenesses of children-—has been frequently noticed by our cotemporaries, but is not less worthy on that ac- ( t of being notice iin a again. She has the ippy faculty of portraying the countenance of the child most perfectly, while engaged in its studies or

Page 62

24 GODE PARRA PDA IIIS amusements, and when perfect! u sus of the presence of the artist. This is, indeed, a most desir- le feature in her artistical skill, and one which will mend her to the patronage of all such parents as efer a true and natural likeness their child toa ff! and formal arrangement of fe res, such as we nerally find in the portraits of the y« g and beauti- We saw an instance of the « ectness of Mrs. »°s likenesses, a few days since, in the country A ly Was seen examining countenance of a child vith great intenseness and curiosit was h urd to exclaim, *‘ Surely, I have seen that face be- e;’’ and, thinking a moment, she added, ‘‘ Oh yes, I nember now; I saw it in a window in Chestnut Street.”? We We copy the following from > paper would suggest the perusal of it to every subscriber vho receives his Book f ed All that has to be done s to get another subscriber, and t 0ks will be ived without being creased by f ng SinGLE Packet Svescriners.—We have on r iil books scores of what are te ’ called, in the ‘single packets,’ that is, where or ne paper es toa post-office. These ‘ packets’ have the name f the subscriber, with that of the s fice, W ten pon the wrapper, and not the p he wrappers Y irected first, to save na e | ers p nto m afterwards. Whenever, therefore, a su $ a paper with his name wrapper, his is a single cet. What we le packets doubled, trebled, quadrup! yr more, if se single We 1il nearly as lesome to send ou might be. It is troub ickets—too troublesome to proportion the gains in fix up two or three papers for the m n as we can one Besides, we always realize a feeling of anxiety in regard to these little packets, in nding one paper away by its so far We feel for em in their lonely and uncertain journey As to the irger packets, the very b ymmand some re- spect for them from post-oth But these sol tary little fellows, in their seeming insignificance, may pr bly be kicked into some corr miss their way nd be lost among the hills and h Ws A small package does not arrive so certal t its destination s a large one. We havea remedy to propose for this ite of things. Let each subscriber who gets a single packet, obtain another subscriber or tw whose paper ay go along with his for compar It is a pity to uve one paper take such long journeys, as some do, solitary and alone.’ Give them company ey will travel more swiftly and reach their d yn ” ore surely RECEIPTS, &c., GATHERING USEFUL OF OUR OWN VARIOUS Cocoa-Nut Puppine.—To half a pound of finely- ited cocoa-nut put the yolks of ten egcs, beaten very t with a gill of rose-water; six ounces of refined rar After the eggs and sugar are we beaten, mix -ocoa-nut and put it into a dish with puff paste e « yund it; the oven not too hot, and ready for the pud- g¢ as soon as mixed. To REMOVE THE OpoR oF ONIONS FROM THE BREATH it will effect- E ually remove it. it a little fresh parsley or orris rcnup.—The following, from | ng expe- be the best rece ipt extant lor mag- one bushel of tomatoes, and boil them until they 1eeze them through a fine wire sieve, and Half a gallon of vinegar; One pint and a half of sait; Two « ices of cloves; Quarter of a pound of allspice ; Three ounces of cayenne pepper ; Three tablespoonfuls of black pepper ; Five heads ga , skinned and separated. Mix together, and il about three hours, or until re- Then! CoLor! FOR GRAVIES AND RaGovt lake four ounces of sugar t id set it over the fire in aclean stew-pan or earthen pipkin; when the s r is melte and looks frothy, raise it higher from the fire that it I not keep st it all the time till itisa fine brow I s ered wi t r e it does not boil es I 2eha r1few cl s i i t ten I tes pour it 1 basin; when cold, put it into a bottle well corked MarkineG Inx —One drachm of lu iustic, half ar ounce of gum Arabic, half an ounce of salt of tartar dissolve rum in a teacupful of warm water; then take a de sp l of the gum-water and mix w tic inap ng it in the sun wo s x cork, the remainder of the gu wa to be mixed with the lt of tartar. First wet the linen to be marked with this solution, and, when quite dry, write upon the place with the caustic. A REM FoR TootTHacne.—One drachm of alum reduced to an impalpable powder, three drachms of nitrous spirit of ether; mix, and apply them to the tooth on cotton , effectual cure is extrac- tion, Which operation can now be pertorme d with very little pain. Soap For Cia ea fa pound of Windsor soap in a pipkin, pre 1 cover it with soft water; pound a q ter un € of camphor with a littie rum, one sperr ce und half a tablespoontul of hone Add it the soap in the pips und place it in the chimney-corner 1 til melted, when it will mould into balls w t issist ance of almond powder DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION PLATE. Fig. 1st.—Walking-dress of green broca moire d’antique,a floral pattern, very large and ele- gant As it is so suitable f u ner ss, the sieeves are very 8 rt, with al "4 m 1 under- sleeve, gathered close at the wrist I s extremely becoming to the arm and hand. The sacque is some- thing in the pelisse f le violet K, fitting quite ¢ se to the hgu I t ’ ery are all in one piece, a v K ed W 1 plain Mantua tr 1 the s e shade The ing is of point d’applique, a ri n, and s f Bon- net of W or the paiest strawe , trimmed w 1 dro zy ost Fig. 2d.—Dress veivet, the s e usually known , and one that will be very fashionable this

Page 63

aa ON OF winter. Mantilla of the same, of a round, graceful pat- tern, trimmed with two falls of dentelle de Cambrai, the lower one headed by three rows of narrow silk 1. Blue short plumes on the braik silk bonnet, covered with tulle, with two left side of the brim, tied closely under the chin by broad ribbon strings. SECOND FASHION PLATE Fig. 1st. —EVENING-DRESS FOR HALF MOURNING, of white cashmere, spotted in black; the triple skirts are secolloped and bound, or edged with black braid, the sleeves and folds of the corsage trimmed in the same way. Hair arranged plainly with a jet comb, and a ing black and white flowers Skirt small bouquet of drooy Fig. 2d.—Dress of d very full, and trimmed in a most novel style. It is irk-green ture satin, the satin, tacked down by Above lace, divided edged with two full folds of the knots of ribbon at short and regular intervals. this is a very broad flounce of Honiton nequally by a fold of the satin similar to that upon laborate, and the dress is very Nea- the hem. This is very ¢ pretty, dispensing with the flounce altogether politan cap of white lace, fastened at the side with knots of ribbon. CHIT-CHAT. Tue changes of fall styles are as yet few and unim- portant Our long, delicious autumns are so warm that heavy shawls, mantillas, or bonnets would be juite out of Later in the month, the open- » shall mmence, and in our next chit-c ists WIIl ¢ put our lady readers in full possession ot the secrets of the r win » silks thus far are very elegant in texture, though in pattern or color as for the past few silks, reproduced, and meet with great 1owy Chinée s0 fashionable some seven years or more ago, are favor from those who are not yet prepared to venture upon the extreme simplicity of the solitatre or one- hued Mantua. The last we consider as decidedly in the best taste; they are, moreover, the most service- able silk, as there is ‘‘ no up nor down”? in making, and they may be turned to look quite the same as new. Dark fawn, stone color, green, blue, and brown are the favorite hues, and are becoming to all extremely fair or brilliant complexions Skirts are made quite full, long behind, but short enough in front to show the slipper or boot. Some prefer the skirt stiffened in the hem, by tacking a nar- row braid of straw on the inside; this is a Parisian mode for showing the ample folds of the skirt, and is quite becoming to tall figures. There is a method of e skirts of silk dresses which will be very dentelle de to the hem. se par ited trimming tl! generally adopted—a double row of laine ; dice or worsted lace) from the be by a narrow bund of * piping These are placed flat upon the skirt, and beneath them rows of the silk pinked This may be doubled or trebled, according to the required width Dentelle de Cambrai is the name of a new kind of lnece that will be very much used for trimming dresses, mantillas, ete. It is made of silk, and, like the dentel de laine, of any shade and hue. It is manufactured in the town of Cambrai, where it gives employment to fifteen hundred poor young girl Some very beautiful shawls have been made from it, ond an entire dress, inuch admired worn at a Parisiin soirée, was Ver PDADAR ADDY E FASHION 255 PLATES. The newest style pocket-handkerchiefs have rounded corners, With the edges scolloped. ‘Those that are em- broidered have close opaque patterns, instead of the | Aig it, open designs formerly so much worn The edge may be finished with plain button-hole stitch, or a bor- der of deep lace. Some are embroidered in colors, with introduced, instead of the one had Cc rt, seems to us quite oi several different tints blue or red that we have jlored embroidery, or indeed, embroidery of any s« of taste upon this article of a lady’s toilet, although s handkerchief of common. A may be as fine as possible the wearer but ornamented with rows open stitch, if please, and finished with button-hole stitch ; em broidery, except a cipher in the corner, is a useless outlay of and form are very used, the hanging Nearly all « Undersleeves every variety much sleeves making them almost necessary f them come close tothe wrist in a band, and are finished by a narrow insertion or border lace falling over the hand. Puffs, separated by rows of insertion, are also in favor, and some are rich ly embroidered. Lace, embroidered, spotted, or plair ' I tulle, is much used, and, fora pretty arm, is extremely becoming. The plainest dress, provided the material is good, may be made elegant by tasteful undersleeves collar h are those minor points chemiusette, anc which tell so much ina lady’s dress, but which are often neglected. Like the shoe or glove, they betray the good or bad taste of the wearer. For the amusement of our readers, we copy from a L dresses made to order in Paris for the new Empress of Hayti. We shall see some n report of the modes a description of the style of her sable majesty ‘“'The splendor of the articles,’? says the corre spondent of the journal, **may be estimated by the price of one the dresses, which was valued at £156 This was owing to the fine dentelle d’or (gold lace) use« in the trimming One pair of the shoes cost as muc! as twenty of an ordinary kind. The dress above alluded to is composed of crimson satin, the skirt trim- lentelle med with ad’ or, twelve inches d’ or, the unces of two fl in depth The berthé is entirely of dentelle sleeves short and trimmed with the same ** Another dress is of white moire antique (a rich This dres train and the brocade), embroidered with white flowers has a very long train, the e sleeves of the dress ornamented with beautiful en ake ! broidery of gold A third is of pink satin, embroidere« with white and pink flowers, the under skirt of plair pink satin, trimmed with frills of white blonde lace and l Or of satin ribbon two court mantles, of li bows one is ht blue velvet, richly embroidered around compose | the edge with a wreath of flowers in gold; the body « the mantle is figured with bees with outspread wings also in gold. The other is of crimson velvet, edg with a row of superb black lace, the pattern worked i gold Both these mantles are lined with white satir What the extravagance rank! a ~alth ! ot But the w a satire on what a useless waste of w le course of this new emperor and empress has been such as throw ridicule on the time-honored fooleries of court usage What gold or purple could have added dignity or grace to the gentle lady who last winter did the honors of the White House, with such modest elegance and ease? Her toilet, simple often to plainness, no gems, no gold embroidery, she moved among the guests nation an admirable example to the women ut

Page 64

SCRIPTURAL, HISTORICAL, AND OTHER ENGRAVINGS, IN LINE, STIPPLE, MEZZOTINTO, AND GEMOGRAPH. In the “ Editor’s Table”’ of the August number, we published a hastily made out list of plates and an erro- neous estimate of their cost. that we have printing and in the hands of the engravers. We now publish a cor- rected list. The cost of the plates, for engraving, printing, coloring, and for paper, will exceed FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS!!! NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS. That those who now take the Lady’s Book, and those who intend subscribing for it, may be aware of the rich treat in store for them, we give the titles of some of the MOST MAGNIFICENT ENGRAVINGS EVER PUBLISHED IN THIS OR ANY OTHER COUNTRY. They are decidedly, in every sense, the most superb collection of engravings ever offered to the public. In consequence of the large edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book, and the ditliculty in getting plates of the requisite character, and engravers sutliciently skilled, it is necessary to have the plates engraved so far ahead. The original designs are most beautiful, and will far exceed annual plates both in engraving and originality. A majority of the above are from ORIGINAL DESIGNS by CROOME, ROTHERMEL, TUCKER, PEASE, AND DALLAS. Search the Scriptures, $ May and December, The Creed, in five tableaux, § Midsummer Night’s Dream, ) ;

Plymouth Rock, in tableaux, The Lord’s Prayer, containing eight figures, The North, the South, the East, the West, im tableaux, The Four Eras of Life, in four tableaux, four separate plates, The Creation, in seven tableaux, The Miracles of Christ, in four tableaux, ¢ Dress the Wearer, The Parables of Christ, in five tableaux, Dress the Maker, ‘« We Praise Thee, O God !”’ containing three figures” $ Portrait of Mrs. Hale, ‘We Beseech Thee to Hear us, O Lord!’ containing? The Guardian Angel, four figures, § The Schoolmaster in Love, ‘* Good Lord, Deliver us,’’ containing three figures, ¢ The Water Lily, Christ and the Woman of Samaria, § My Eye and Betty Martin, Christ Entering Jerusalem, § My Own Fireside, Christ Healing the Sick, $ The Little Family, Christ on the Mount, § Morning, ‘* How Beautiful are Thy Tabernacles, O Lord!”’ ¢ Evening, The Acts of the Apostles, in tableaux, from the cartoons; The Pleiades, of Raphael, Sour Grapes, John Proclaiming the Messiah, ? The First Discovery of Steam, The Separation of the Apostles, § ‘* Which is the Mother ?’’ ‘We Praise Thee, O God, from whence all Blessings} Good Counsel, , The Infant Saviour and St. John, flow,”’ The Merry Thought, § Memoirs of the Past, *» And Ye shall Walk in Silk Attire,”’ § The Little Figure Merchant, Hallowed be Thy Name, 2? The Mourners, The Church Porch, Sunday Morning, 2 Spring, The Intercepted Letter, 2 ** My Boys, Sir,”’ Memory, § Way-Side Gossip,’’ Piety $ Interior of a Cottage, Mignon and her Father, § Magpie and Maid, Miuna and Brenda, Girl and Gold Fish, Jonuary.and May, , The Blind Harper. The Approaching Footstep, § Who Speaks First? The Farm Yard Gate, 2 Fortune Telling, The Soldier’s Dream of Home, 2 The Morning Ride, The Evening Star, 2 Cupid’s Offering, The Beau of the Village, > Defender of the Crown, Evil Counsel, $ The Pawnbroker and his Victim, The First Tribute, > The Reaper. ‘+ Lord, have Mercy upon us!”’ § Going to Church, ‘Suffer Little Children to Come unto Me,’’ § Children and Bubbles, The Four Seasons, § The Return of the Dove to the Ark The First Lesson in Charity, § Contentment, Backwoods Worship, 3 The Nose Out of Joint, Constancy, in tableaux, § Dining Out, Courting, in tableaux, < and a host of others, among which will be found SOME OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL COLORED ENGRAVINGS EVER PUBLISHED. LO LOLOL LOLOL LOLOL LOO LOLOL OL OL OEL OL OAR OAL OL OL LOLOL RL lh TERMS OF GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK. MAGNIFICENT AND EXPENSIVE PREMIUMS, Subscribers to a Club, or single subsoribers, may choose different Engravings.

One copy 1 year, $3, with any Two of the following splendid premium plates: ‘“ Death-Bed of the Rev. John Wesley,” “‘ Wesley Preaching in the Gwenap Amphitheatre,”’ “‘ America Guided by Wisdom,”’ ‘‘ General Tavlor and Old Whitey,” “ Likeness of the Rev. John Wesley,” “‘ Do. of his co-laborer, the Rev. John Fietcher.’’ The last two, though separate engravings, We count as only one premium. Two copies for $5, and any Two of the above prints to each subscriber Five copies for $10, and an extra copy of the “ Book,” and any Two of the above engravings to the person sending the club Eleven copies for $20, and an extra copy of the ‘‘Book,”’ and any Five of the above engravings to the person sending the club Any person sending $5 in advance, subscription for 1850 and 1851, will be entitled to anv rovr of the above engravmgs

Page 65

Page 66

Page 67

Page 68

a a eee ane -@- —— oo. | = : teepolleen ——o a 4 te — a L—o—_C ef a et eee ae --@-@= aS e— — Se gg Knees MEER: NS NC ais ae ou MOUS SUIY -qQmyT ony, 4qF1q pus pes Sf P[IOM oT} [[® Mey AA 8180} UT oq eg - OY prnoys cy pape Rte ee rt her SE | === = Sar =Ssrire=s === — @— = — « - a -_ ° e@ ee eo @ - " — eas eee eer ee peepee epee seen os pea CS eS SS @___ - -—- f id @ rT% ‘Te T ae a eee) saree ee I - ee ei eo " " ‘ ) \ OLY THdOW RoE 4 ato C6 af r-f e| capri one chen =o nt y ee eee, eee. eo = } o o4” —_——— wad -6- ——————— | ‘3 na Re alte ee | 4 —— — — ——— “MOOd S.ACV'I SAAGOD UOd ATSSAUMKA NALIIUM d ‘W ‘AYONLAM ‘fA AM OISAN ‘NOLUO ‘Uf AM AULIOd ‘SUVAL NI AX VSOU MINOHS AHA ‘O

Page 69

‘ourgy {[a0 puv Suyy ure | 107 oul 40§ [fy PfNoYys away Aue yeqy, Saya 428 NOY} eur 8{]93 41 ysnoqity ‘oq 30u ysnur 44 ‘dn 44 Sap ‘Oo “asuz, og

“yrealq 9MuU9d yey} Jo Bujawoy oy, ‘2804 Zafaoj 4wyy Jo Zurpryo ouL $900iq UY | Our 8119) 31 YFNOUIY “a¥oq youuws | ‘mou 31 Lap yng “ESUsA az

sie — aa rane te ll a a =a

r | jour} A] + uo —_ ——— ——- fe —— ~ ae = ‘auty} our

— queen eo = _ +4-° ¢ aS oe em me “he ee rw -—t Vl puy ‘Avm -e sqqnop fur 1104 wy ot 104 Ghawel =—--9-—- 1? ——--— --— p21. o%e ee aan ao fe a a 3 = ee | ~> bb jt! ae we —e o--—,—o— @ — QE “a setae eh awn os feulzys 841 ott,

mommmmcos | eel : lL eemaiel aiden monies <. Sa ee" ee a ee | 7 ~ a —j— - —o=} +; ee : ~ a ao 2

8014 — . - —e em ae = ea ers Pee rs — fy "-0- _ mane se = Sr on os a a A apes — em) doip _

token ennai

Page 70

Page 71

| 1

Page 72

wi = Fashions for Pourmier.

Page 73

Page 74