Godey's Lady's Book 1850-12: Vol 41 Iss 6

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GODEY’S

PHILADELPHIA, oY’ S BOOK.

paniment to the beautiful plate in this number, representing young cathedral choristers. we

have t zht that nothing better could be written than a sketch of the history and a brief analysis of 1 matter of the magnificent hymn in the church st We Praise O God.” To very many of r readers, what we shall say will be no- thing new but even they will be I eased to see in an accessible form a history of this ancient hymn. And to such as have not before met with any con- nected uccount of the Te Deum, it will be, we are sure, acceptable for the historical, musical, and de- votional interest of the subject. The Christian Church has followed the Jewish in mi | ing songs ol praise a part of its devotional exer- es, i | in this it imitates also the Divine Founder, ’ we are told, closed the Last Supper with a } vas the Jewish Passover cu-tom, before he went out with his d ciples to the Mount of U = Dp s Psalms, and those of other writers the Hebrew Psalter. embrace not praise alone, but all the va us emotions of the devout heart— ifess supplication, Complaint, on the part of the Psalmist. as well as descants upon ( 70d’s works and pe ns, and thanksgiving for His mercies, The Nev nsation opened new themes for the

ance of the worshipers or, as we y more correctly say, what prophets and kings / in their Divine songs the Christians early celebrated as accomplished. Pliny the younger, Governor of Bithynia, writes to Wagan, A. D. 107, as the result of his inquiries respecting the prac- tices of Christians, that they met on a stated day, before daylight, “to repeat among themselves a hymn to Christ us to a God The Te hymns, can be authentically traced back to the time Deum, modeled pe rhaps upon older of Nicetius, Bishop of Triers, to whom its compo- 2 late sition is aseribed. He lived about A. D. 530 Though a still more ancient origin has been claimed for it, and it has been said that it was c ymposed by Augus to the above dat St. Ambrose and sung at the bapti<m of St tine, about a hundred years pr there Is no certainty in this supposition A hvimn ot the same compre hensive spi perhaps the geri of this—may have been used. But, whatever may have been the precise date of its producti m. i stands among the most noble of human composi- tions, and has stirred the hearts of the devout for centuries. Composers without number have writ- ten musie for it. Indeed, we suspect that it would be difficult to find a European composer since the fifth century who has not written a Te Deum a companiment Like many other good things, the Te Deum has suffered from evil ass itions In the rude days, when war was the business of monarchs and the glory of feudal leaders, t lirst t of the victor when possible, Was to ¢ er m the performance of the Te Deum, as if the work of gratifying the ev passions of men l murder and rapine had deserved and received the favor of God During the bloody scenes of the first French Re ution, before the leaders had become so frantic as to deny the existence of a supreme Bein tine iv Deum was several times directed; and once, in the Champ de Mars, where hundreds of priests united in the chant, with adequate instrumental accon paniments, salvos of artillery were fired at particu- lar passages in the music Nothing that the French in those days tou ed escaped the ury of the wi

The sup] ression of rebellions, the discoveries of treason, escapes from faction, all the successes of tho- narchs, good and bad, all the triumphs of despotis! i over ‘he people, and of persecuting bigotry over the I 323

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1 of speec h and of conscience, have been cele ited by the Te Deum—in most cases with as much sincerity as a pagan ordered sacrifices. Thus as we have observed, the ancient hymn had once fallen with many into disrespect \ brighter era has commenced, in which tolerance and mutual } ; charity enable all parties to judge with more dis- crimination, and to admire what is beautiful and holy in itself, without regard to its ancient perver- sions As the Te Deum stands in the Prayer Book of the Protestant Episcopal Church in this country, it 1s } pointed grammatically In the English Book, it is pointed for chanting. In most American churches, it is seldom chanted except upon holidays ; on other occasions, the minister and people read it in alternate verses There are also some verbal alterations, which preserve the same sense, but respect the Thus, modern usage of words ‘ Thine honorable true, and only Son” is changed, in the Book, t Sook, to the signification of honorable, o1 {f not p ecisely American Thine adorable,’ &c. Such was once such, a loftier sentiment was conveyed than is now borne by a word in so common use as honorable. Mortal appropriation of it has made the term of too light signification to apply to the Redeemer in an ascription of praise And, by the way, we may ob- serve in many other cases in the Bible and Prayer Book, as standards, the departures from ancient usage which colloquialism and hyperbole have caused in the employment of words. Some have entirely changed their meaning, or, where they had two or more, have lost all except one. Thus, ove of the prayers in the American Book, commencing ‘Direct us,.O Lord, in all our doings.”’ stands in the English Book, “* Prevent us,’’ &e The original meaning ol prevent is to come or go before ; the in- ferential meanings are to direct and guide. In the far, deep sea, There lies he; Over his bones the sea-weed twines, And branch and blossom water-vines; Around, to ornament his bed, Are trees of coral, white and red And the fish, as they glide to and fro, Look with surprise, From their glassy eyes, On the whitening bones of Joe—poor Joe! The whitening bones of Joe In the far, deep sea, There lies he Never ugnin shall he tread the land, } And warmly press his comrade’s hand; nh bor storm Nor rain nor sunshine, ¢ Shall fill with life his fleshless form; obstruet. The latter has, in common usage, entirely supplanted the former The Te Deum will be found, upon examination to be methodically divided into three parts, the first containing nine, the other two each ten versicles The first nine versicles (originally ten, the opening versicle having been originally written in two) are an act of praise, declaring the homage of al! beings in } ‘ heaven and earth—the living on earth and the sainted ». The next ten form a creed—a conies in heave sion or acknowledgment of faith—** The holy church throughout all the world doth acknowledge Thee.’ Thence the hymn proceeds to specify faith in the ; } I 7 Father, t and to set forth the victory of the Son over death e Son, and the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, the opening of Heaven to the faithful, and the com- ing of Christ in judgment. And lastly, having praised ( Him, the mercy, “We the ants.”’ Thenee to the end, the hymn proceeds in riod and declared the Christian faith in mn changes to supplication for his refore pray Thee, help thy serv- the declaration of worship and prayer for assist- ding in the words of the psaimist, *O be con- Lord, in Thee have I trusted; let me never founded Such is a brief sketch of a composition which, 11 its history and analysis. has employed many pens Its sp rit is that of the G yspel ; many places, verbatim from Holy Writ; its phraseology Is, in and its sentiments are identical with those of the Word of God, insomuch that it may be said to be a blending together of Scriptural thoughts and words Unex- ceeded in majesty, beautiful in simplicity, warm in praise and fervent in prayer, glorifying God, and yet being. in all humility, the utterance of feeble man, the Te Deum cannot be too highly admired as the acknowledgment of the whole Christian Church under whatever name, and in Whatever Jand or time It re poses in ocean below, And nevermore. On the sea or shore, ' Shall be heard the voice of Joe—poor Joe! The ringing voice of Joe In the far, deep sea, There lies he; Yet he shall rise from his watery sleep And shake away his slumber deep, When the angel's trumpet tones are heard, And eart) When the ghosts from above and below nd sen alike are stirred; Hurry along In a sheeted throng, We shall see once more our Joe—poor Joe! The ficshless form of Joe

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~1 , THE CREED. © ‘ BY REV. H. HASTINGS WELD. (Sce Plate.) ¢ ‘* Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.’’—Marx ix. 24. In the Beginning, primal darkness flung } God’s Only Son He left not in the grave, Her veil o’er chaos, void and formless all; ; Nor could His Holy One corruption see. The brooding Spirit o’er the waters hung. $ To justify, He rose,* who died to save— The Father’s fiat moved the empty pall— Through Him we conquer the last enemy. ‘« Let there be Light!’’ Forthwith Creation sprang, His Resurrection blest assurance gave Glad, into being. Thy Creating Love, That we shall rise. Thy Death-subduing Love, Lorp, I BELIEVE! Mine unbelief remove! Lorp, I Betreve! Mine unbelief remove! When man in darkness lay and death forlorn, He sits at God’s right hand. The sun’s bright rays, The Heavenly Love which did at first create, Paling before the Worp, the Source of Light, Caused on death’s shadow a new light to dawn. Foiling the Faithful in their wondering gaze, Once more the Spirit over chaos sate— Changed to « cloud and hid Him from their sight. The Son of God was of the Virgin born, So shall His Coming a doomed world amaze : ‘ Emmanuel, Saviour! Thy Incarnate Love, That those Thy judgment brave, who scorn Thy Love, Lorp, | Betieve! Mine unbelief remove! Lorp, I BELIEVE! Mine unbelief remove! Yet not with man His holiness could plead ; And in the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, } His own familiar friend a foe He found. And in the Church, the purchase of Thy blood, Pagans and Priests uniting in the deed, In blest communion bound, a saintly host— J His limbs they scourged, His brows with thorns they The living here, who taste Thy Heavenly food, ' bound. The Found in Heaven, who on earth are Lost— > "yr wv .¢ y in mocking purple, with a sceptre-reed, All one in Thee. In Thy Uniting Love, ; ‘* Behoid the Man!*’ Thy Patient, Suffering Love, Lorp, I BELIEVE! Mine unbelief remove! Lorp, I BELIEvE! Mine unbelief remove! The burden of our sin upon Him fell— Between two thieves they led the Just to death ; The sun withdrawn, rocks rent, and earthquakes tell The world-weight value of His passing breath. His body to the grave, His soul to hell Thy Saving, Dying Love, Mine unbelief remove ! For us descend. LorD, I BELIEVE! eee That those who seek shall find ‘Thy Heavenly grace, That Thou wilt all the penitent forgive, That in their flesh they shall behold Thy face, That through a Life Eternal they shall live: That, as Thou saidst, Thou wilt “‘ prepare a place’? t— Thy word is Yea—Amen! Thy Constant Love, Lorp, I BeLieveE! My last faint doubt remove! ft John xiv. 2. * Romans iv. 25. “ Love! love! ’ They say that ‘* Love has charms’’— I do not know— And that its object of all faults disarms— An instance show ! I never saw one right in mind and looks— I ve only read the thing in fairy books. They say that ‘‘ Love has eyes’’— Can it be true? And that it aims its darts from yon blue skies— I wish I knew. 31* BY LELIA FONTAINE. Pray what is love? Tell me, oh ye who feel its witchery !”’ I never saw its arrows cleave the air; And yet+they say it is a thing not rure. They say that ‘‘ Love is coy’’— I cannot tell— And yet they say that Cupid is a boy— Oh, very well! But still it is a thing to me most strange That through the world a boy sv shy should range. Oh, what islove? Jt isa name—no more! Imagination gives it life and power

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® See A PORTRAIT without a biography is a novelty; but Mes. Hale insists that her history must not appear in the Lady’s Book while she remains its editor. So we can only give a brief account of her writings, a memorandum merely, without commentary or criti cism. We may say here that, by the death of her husband, David Hale, a young lawyer of distin- guished abilities, Mrs. Hale was left the sole pro- but years old, and that it was in the bope of gaining the tector of five children, the eldest then seven means for their support and education that she en- ged in the literary profession ‘Northwood,” a in two volumes, was her first published work; » volume of poems had been previously printed for her benefit by the Freemasons, of which frater- nity Mr. Hale had been a distinguished member.) ‘ Northwood”’ 1827. just twenty-three years ago. was issued in Boston December, Early in the following year, Mrs. Hale was invited from her native home in the “ Old Granite State’’ to go to Boston and take charge of the editorial depart- ment of “The Ladies’ Magazine,” the first periodi- cal exclusively devoted to her sex which appeared She Boston in 1828, and in America removed to continued to edit the Ladies’ Magazine until 1837, vheu it was united with the Lady’s Book in Phila- delphia, of the literary department of which work she has ever since had charge Mrs became editor of the Lady ’s Book, for several years, In 1841, she where she now resides Hale continued to reside in Boston, after she as her son was in Harvard College removed to Philadelphia, Besides ‘Northwood,’”’ which was reprinted in London under the title of ““A New England Tale,” and well commended in several English journals, published works are, *‘Sketches of American American over forty th her Character; *“* Traits of Life;”? “Flora’s Interpreter,” of which usand copies have been sold (this also has been reprinted in Lon- don); “The Ladies’ Wreath, a selection from the Poets of England and to be Well Alice Ray, a Romance Female and America; “The Way to Live Well, Grosvenor, a Tragedy “ Harry Guy, the Wi ast two were while we Live;”’ in Rhyme;” low’s Son, a Ro- mance of the Sea’’—(the written for charitable purposes, and the proceeds given away - «Three Hours, or the Vigil of Love. accord ngly Poems,”’ and other published in 1818; “A Complete Dictionary of Poetical Quotations, containing Selec- tions from the Writings of the Poets of England and 326 pEeuaA 2 1 te late. America.”’ This volume contains nearly six hundred double column large octavo pages, and is the most work of the kind in the English language compl In addition to the above-named works, Mrs. Hale has edited several annuals, ‘* The Opal,’’ “ The Cro- The Poet's Offering,”’ a variety of books for children. cus,” and written and edited Her last and most important work will soon be published by Harper & Brothers. It is entitled ‘* Woman’s Record, or Bio- graphical Sketches of all Distinguished Women, to the Time. contain about eight hundred pages, illus- from the Creation Present This work will trated with two hundred portraits, and will be the most perfect history of woman and ber influence on society and literature that has ever appeared. In this production, the author has aimed to discover and illustrate the true position of her sex in the mo- ral progress of the human race. She does not give them man’s work, but urges that they be protected, supported, and educated for their own work—that of rightly training children, and inspiring the hearts of men to love virtue and shun evil. Besides these works, Mrs. Hale has found time, within the past year or two, for writing a dramatic story; it is called “* The Judge, a Drama of American Life,”’ Book, commencing with the January number. and will be published, first, in the Lady’s Moreover, in addition to all these productions of Mrs. Hale's fruitful mind, a large number of stories, &c., sufficient to fill volumes, lie scattered am mg the periodicals of the large poems, essays, several These she has decided not to collect and pub- duties. Ot day lish these duties it is searcely worth our while to speak, while she continues her editorial writing, as We are, for the readers of the Lady’s Book, who know so well how thoroughly and use- fully they have been performed. Quite pertinent is Massa2- hands while the following extract from a newspaper in chusetts, which comes timely to our writing. In noticing the Lady’s Book, the edito says: “Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, the lady editor, is one of the most sensible and energetic of all the con- ductors of the numerous magazines that are now published; and as she was the pioneer in this species of literature, no one has had a greater influence, or become more universally popular among her country- women. Her success is richly deserved, and her ener devotion, and perseverance under circum- stances the most trying, afford a cheering example to her sex.” L. A. G

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2 Jn. gre ZZ LSE2 Le. ~_- Z 2D c Y24- ae re Gyer Lg

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A SIMPLE 8° Ir wasn't what you would call a splendid home, that adjective for ace rding to the acceptance of among architects and house-fancie the building itself rs was old and weather-worn, and the grounds about it, though capacious and extensive, bore no evi- } dences of care or kee} fudeed, but for your ying. attention being called to the fact, perhaps you would it was any house there; the trees surrounding it had, have gone your way Wilu observing that there for so many years, been left to flourish in undisturbed luxuriance. Probably, having on closer investiga tion found the house, you would have deemed the discovery scarcely worth the pains, and put it down as one of those old-time mansions unadapted to the refined present, and notable for nothing but their seediness ; and you would, perhaps, have confessed to a sentiment of thankfulness that a short time only could elapse before, like many other deformities of past ages—such as piracy and the belief in witches— it must yield to the potency of “ progress’’ and be removed from the face of the earth And, indeed, if we had looked upon the homestead simply in the light of a somewhat dilapidated old had but circumstances had thrown about it an atmosphere house, the sentiment been a natural one; of holiness that rendered it a sanctuary and an altar where sweet memories dwelt and sacred sacrifices had been made to truthfulness and love. For many a year that old roof tree had sheltered the hearth beneath whose stones its roots had strick- en deeply. Generation had succeeded generation mer its genial shade, and many a jovial Christmas ad been celebrated there. Children had been born and had grown up within its shadow, and going thence to seek their fortunes in some other lands, had returned, as gray-haired men and women, to close their days upon the old familiar spot. There were grass-grown graves within the walls that bounded the domain, and maay mouldering tomb- stones told of those whose lives cn earth had ended there. But ever, as one generation passed away, another took its place, and thus the homestead was never vacant for a day, and ever in the Ingle Nook were gathered groups of happy children listening to the tales of age, or weaving bright visions of their own tuture. It would be Christmas day, but yet no preparations was Christmas time again, and to-morrow for the revels that at Holy-tide were wont to make the old house the merriest in the parish. No spits were turning, no ovens smoking, no cooks, bewil- dered with their various pressing duties, sweltered over pot or saucepan ; but all was desolate and drear. FOR CHRISTMAS. A shadow had tt fallen across the old hearth, and the fruit of the roof tree, that should have ripened at Christmas, was blasted on the branches ! A wild storm raged that night, and, howling about the angles of the homestead breaking in, burglar ously,,at cracks in doors and casements, screaming viciously at key-holes, and making hollow moans beneath the overhanging gables, seemed to rebuke the demon of dreariness that had taken of the bafiled seek the earth, drove recklessly in the faces of possession house. The snow, its desire t in tra- velers, piled itself up in narrow pathways, lodged roofs and trees in great overhanging masses, upon or sought shelter from the angry wind beneath doors and down chimney-flues. It was a wild night, mark me, and so those thought whose fate it was to en- 1 counter its rigors. But still, in spite of wind and snow, in spite of darkness and cold, in spite of slip- pery walks and drifts waist deep, the bells rang out a peal as merry as the time would let them, and lights gleamed in churches, and organs pealed thei: bravest notes, and happy choristers chanted, and men in gown and surplice read out to thankfal con- gregations the cheerful history that marked this as the greatest anniversary among men. And at mid- night the wind, disgusted with the little attention it received, made off, growling with rage, to foreign parts, bestowing as it went a spiteful buffet upon the chimneys of the old homestead But bitter as was the weather and bleak the aspect of the outer air, a far more wintery scene was shown within the house. There was no tempest there, but dreariness and sorrow had made it the the ir home, and storm without was far more lenient than the ‘ slancholy that had settle all 1 gnawing melancholy that had settled on all beneath that roof. In one room of the mansion sat a man whose gray hairs marked him as having passed the middle age, but whose fine face and stalwart frame gave nv indi- cations that time had He sat, leaning dealt otherwise than mildly with him his cheek upon his hand and gazing vaguely at the embers of a half-extin- guished fire. But, oh! the awful desolation of that look! The haggard, woe-stricken aspect of that countenance, with now and then a solitary te trickling from the fixed and glassy eyes. and rolling unheeded down the cheek! The splendid furniture of the apartment, the rows of elegant and costly books, the rich paintings thrown out, dimly, by the uncertain light from the grate, all seemed like spec- the there, and all mocked it by tral attendants upon motionless figure sitting their gorgeous contrast soul within its 327 to the beaten down and humbled

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GODEYS MAGA 328 breast. And triumphing, as it seemed, over the desolation there, the wind, outside, howled in dis- cordant notes. At last, when he had sat thus long after his stern companion, the tempest, had for hours, even wearied of his abstraction, and departed in a huff, the man arose, and, passing his hand across his wrin- kled brow, shuddered and made a gesture, as though he would put away from him some horrid sight. The clock upon the mantel now rang out, in sharp metallic tones, the hour of two, and so complete was the silence of the room that the throbbing of the lit- bell stroke had ceased. died away, the man turned, with a deep sigh, to the was audible for some moments after the Then, as the last tiny pulsation tle door, and with the half-smothered exclamation “I'll sleep on it,’’ left the room. And as the door closed behind him, as if relieved from the presence of some weight or incubus, the atmosphere, so it seemed, became more buoyant and elastic; the fire blazed up more brightly; books, pic- tures, carved furniture, all put on an air of cheerful- ness and joy at the absence of the dark spirit that had brooded over and oppressed them all. Stull brooding on that fixed, unmentionable sorrow, his head bowed down upon his breast and his fingers playing vaguely with the air, he took his way along the dreary corridors that led to his own chamber. Once, in his silent, gloomy course, he stopped oppo- site a door where faint pencils of light were stream- ing from the keyhole and the space above the sill. Here he paused a moment, and, raising his hands in the attitude of supplication, he seemed to murmur a prayer. And the next minute, resuming his solitary way, his form was lost in a turning of the passage. The room to which he had retired was a large apartment, which, when lighted by a cheerful fire, and, more than that, by the bright smiles of ker who now, for the first time since she had plighted her troth to him, was absent from it, at this hour—now, when the fire had died down to a few dull embers, and the hue of suspicion, doubt, jealousy, indeed, was upon and overshadowing every feature of the The huge bed, a ponderous affair of a previous age, place, it became dreary and desolate enough. stately and pompous, with its heavy curtains and drooping fringe, looked lonely and desolate without the tenant whose delicate cheek lie was accustomed to see pressing its great fat pillows. He turned from the bed with a shudder, and, wrapping himself in a mantle, laid down upon a sofa. There was a tall picture hung against the wall, just where the little light from the expiring fire could strike upon it fairly, and upon this picture—a portrait of some ancestor in the family—he fixed his eyes. The figure had on a quaint doublet of rich stuff, with massive silver buttons, and the man, to divert his mind from what had so long preyed upon it, fell to counting these buttons. There must have been a great many of them, or tae light was bad, or the artist had not been very AND LADY expert in delineating buttons, for it was a long time ere the man’s eyes, having accomplished the enu- meration of one row, traveled across the breast of the figure and commenced at the upper end of the opposite one. Here he seemed to meet with the same difficulty, for it was a great while before he arrived at a button half way down the lapel, or im- mediately over the region where tragedians, lovers, public singers, and other persons but meagerly in- structed in anatomy, are accustomed to locate the heart. And when he had arrived at this point, he found his mind confused between two buttons, and so was obliged to return to the top and proceed slowly downward once more. Then, suddenly, he found the buttons on the coat mixing themselves un- accountably with those on the waistcoat, which was preposterous, but not half so much so as the fact that almost immediately the end of the figure’s nose intruded itself upon the reckoning; and in fact, things soon became absolutely absurd when he found it difficult to distinguish buttons from noses, or either from shoe-buckles—at which idiotic and feeble con summation he stopped his count Searcely had he done so, when the room was lighted with a glare that filled it, and illumined every nook and corner plainly as day. The picture, at which he had been looking, turned upon hinges, like a door, and from the outer darkness thus re- vealed there came a procession of men and women, who, without so much as an apology for their intru- He could hear, too, the solemn notes of an organ pealing out sion, proceeded to occupy the apartment. the notes of a solemn measure. So extraordinary was this proceeding, so entirely inconsistent with the usual economy of his well-regulated establish- ment, that the man looked on in speechless astonish- ment while the procession entered, aud, utterly re- gardless of his existence, marched slowly past him as he reclined upon the sofa. Following, with his eyes, the course taken by the intruders, he was puzzled at observing that he was no longer at home, in his own bed-room, but seemed to have been transported to the interior of a church, for the had now seemed an altar, and the organ had ceased to play. procession halted before what Straining his vision to comprehend this wondertul sight, hc was surprised to discover in the two lead- ing figures, which were now kneeling at the altar, before another which seemed a clergyman, a strong resemblance to himself and his wife—that wife whose place beside him on his couch was this night vacant. He started at the sight, but, ere he had time for reflection, the clergyman had begun the service. He heard it read, heard the responses to the interrogatories of the holy man, and heard him pronounce the solemn words ‘‘ What God hath joined, let no man put asunder!’’ Then came ano- ther peal upon the organ, and the procession slowly departed, as it came. Almost immediately, however, the great light which had filled the place abated in its intensity, and the scene changed back from the church to the

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bed-chamber, and there stood agam the picture, its buttons gleaming in the light, just as if it had never been disturbed But before the man had time to re- process, the door of the room sume the counting | slowly opened, and a couple advanced into the circle fire’s rays, and seated themselves by the They were a middle-aged man and a bloom- . cheery-faced maiden of not more than a seore of years in age. She had her hand about her com- panion’s Waist, and was looking in his open, honest countenance Wilh an expression of Col that spoke whole volumes. He kissed her as she sat down, and stood, for a moment, toying with her hair ere he drew a chair to her side. Even in that moment there came across his brow a shade, fleeting as the shadow of a bird passing over a pool, and then a e handsome face far smue replaced il, becoming ul better W hen they were seated, they gazed for a moment each in the other’s eyes, and then the spectator on the sofa saw the lady’s lips move, and listening, as you may suppose, earnestly, he caught the musical accents of her voice ** Oh, dearest, how happy we shall be here, in this ie firesides old homestead! how we will make tl sinile and sparkle with the reflected light of love It sha!! still be our home, and that of our children as it has been that of your ancestors, and the ‘Ingle Nook.’ as your Seotch forebears called this broad hearth, shall be our altar of home! Shall it not, > love ‘The old house has indeed been consecrated to nany a happy family union, and it shall not be my fault if, with my little blooming pet here, the hearths become cold and the ‘Ingle Nook’ dese rted And she will do her best, I know, to make the home a happy and a cheerful one for her old grandfather of a husband and here he kissed her, gently, upon her forehead, but, as he did so, again the gloom passed across his own. unnoticed though by his companion, fond, trusting. and unsuspicious as she was And then at Christmas-tide,’’ the lady continued, ‘show pleasant to keep up the old time customs of bout us the far-seattered scions of the family tree, and setting the your fathers, gathering a m danc ing by the light of the yule log, while [, as mistress and } matron of the homestead, patronize the younger branches and preside over the children’s pudding! And my good old husband, proud of his little old wife, looks complacently on as she pratiles away, proud of her even in her garrulity! Then—don't scow! so, for I feel twice as old and decrepit as you can ever be, and hope to get gray and wrinkled im- mediately, so that you may not be so vain and proud of me as I know you are!’’—and here she tweaked his ear, and covered his eves with her delicate little hand, on which the one plain ring glittered, but only to hide her own blushes at the little piece of egotism she had just displayed. Then, as her husband em- braced her again, a slight mist gathered before the eyes of the listener and the scene had faded But, before he had time to reflect upon those unac- N 329 customed visions, and to associate them with the facts to Which his consciousness could but assign them, the mist again dissolved, and there appeared before him another scene, so truthful, so strongly appealing to the bitterest of his memories, that, while he gazed. nerveless and fascinated, his blood almost ceased its tlow, and great beads of perspiration stood on his hands and brow rhere were two persons again standing within the circle of the fire ht, a male and female, as before, and the lady the same, though time had left slight, very slight traces of his passage upon her familiar countenance. The other figure was that of a young man, of striking personal beauty, and with an honest candor of expression that made it almost lovely They seemed conversing cheertully, as they advanced from The lady leaned contidingly upon lis arm the darkness beyond the picture, and, when they had reached the hearth-stone, the lady pointed to the portrait of a child, suspended over the chimney- piece, and playtu y kissed the cheek of her com- panion, who continued to gaze upon the portrait while his fingers da 1 with her curls At this moment there appe red in the passage through which they had entered the figure of the husband Oh! the inexpressible air of grief—the wotul, hopeless expression ol sadness worn by his face at that mo- ment! It was as if the last earthly tie were severed, and there were naught but despair for the future! Throwing its hands above its head, the figure faded from view And, at this moment, the spectator, till now voice- less, rose from the sofa, uttering a wild shriek, and fell heavily upon the floor Scarcely had the piercing tones of that cry ceased to echo through the quiet passages of the old house when the door of the chamber was burst open, and with a shriek not less heart-rending than that with which he had awakened, a lady sprang to his side— the very counterpart and double of her who had With the accession of strength which comes from any powerful aned upon the arm of the young man emotion, she raised him from the floor, and, placing him upon the couch. by the aid of such gentle re- storatives as blessed woman alone knows how to employ, he was soon made conscious of the real world about him ther spoke time before e | The wife It was a knelt at her husband’s feet, sobbing bitterly, while he. with a look, half of distrust. half of affection, gazed upon her. At last she raised her bead. w ped the tears that had tlowed in torrents from her eyes and spoke ‘] hardly know,”’ she said, “in what words to tell you all I would, or to ask of you all I desir [ owe you many contrite acknowledgments, but how so to frame them that you may understand me best, If you and blame me least, is what I hesitate upon will hear me through with that old confidence which you Were wont to give me before—in—that is, w hen we were both younger, I promise you that. ere | have conciuded. I shall stand acquitted, in your eyes,

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of half the sin you allege, unwillingly, I know, but as you think, rightfully, against me her husband made an inclination of his however, preserving the same look un- the wife went on, “almost ‘*hild in knowledge otf When you took me,”’ years, and quite a « , and brought me to this , from a poor home a contract between us, ne as your wile, there was as you know—born, on my part, out of my fear ol committing, ian my ignorance of the world, some breach of that the world considered proper, and out ot an unlimited confidence and love on yours—a } contract that my girlish ways and unconventional manners Were to count with you for what they really were, and that the world should never have a chance, ugh any rebuke of yours or ill-timed lecturing rid m my romping or gid to scandalize ours as li less, an issorted marriage, and to predict for us a speedy and a hopeless separation Chis contract you have kept, with many pangs, as I have feared, caused by my thoughtlessness; but you have kept it faithfully and to the letter. It has not escape Imy knowledge that sometimes, even in our ppiest moments, you have had a passing fear of what might be the end of ali this joy, and that poor child whom you bad taken to your bosom r i her very childishness, commit some act to bliss of the present into a store of woe for ' re. It has only been a passing doubt, I know, red on the instant by your better nature, and ing no trace of permanence behind ome years passed on, and your pet and play- of a All like those I mention had died with the youth that gave wile became a woman tears such a one as | them birth, when suddenly a freak | not dared to think of while vet a giddy girl, oc- curred to me, and the result is here.’ th that mingled look of doubt el | gvuzing on her W the husband raised her to his side, 1 hderness, nothing farther. My brother,’”’ said the wife, when she had w iped that brother of whom a tear that started to her eye, you have so often heard me speak as lost, years gone by, in a wild storm at sea, returned to find but me surviving of that home circle he had left when he found me alone, me. He anu evil moment we agreed to wth to seek his forts 1 Keep his coming until to-day. Christmas day, when he was to secret break in upon the accustomed revels and make us all happier and more thankful for the thankfulest day of all the year——”’ Changed now that look, indeed! but, gently putting away the hand that would have pressed her to him, the wife went on ‘Pray hear me yet, that our confidences may be The trick and his, my brother’s, and still more unwor- full and perfect Was one unworthy of my ag thy to be played on you, who never had a secret from me for a day But, in our unbounded joy at meeting again this side the grave, to make you feel a part of the surprise it had been and in our wish ew gave no thought to the folly of the act— to us, We to the wrong of the concealment necessary to its sucvess One moment more, my husband, and I shall be done with the narration. At one of our clandestine meetings, held too under this very roof— within this very room you surprised us, and, giving no time tor explanation, but allowing that dark fear, long had slumbered undisturbed, to rise which so and master all your better reason, you sternly or- dered me to my room, and gave yourself up to the contemplation of that dreadful climax which you believed had come upon our many years of calm enjoyment I sent to you begging a moment for explanation, but you retused it Oh, how my heart accused me then—how swift repentance came upon the deed! My punishment I knew that I deserved, } but that you should be involved in the distress I had no right to depreeate for myself, I could ill bear [ heard yout footsteps as you passed my r om-door to-night, heard you even pause before it, and my coward heart dared not bid me fly to meet you there Between weeping and praying | passed the time till now, When, hearing you shriek and fall, I flew to learn the worst of this dreadful mistake. Thank God, you live to know me as your wife, to bear my explanation. and witness my contrition for my folly Tell me, dear husband, that it is forgiven rebuke -but here let me lay my tired head, me as you will and humble myself before you and Him who has brought us once more together.’ And, weeping, she threw hersell upon his breast and received his whi pered blessing And he, whose was more than half the fault, entreated her to forgive him, too. his blindness and stubborn uncharity, and told her of the vision he had seen, and which had been the happy cause of their reconciliation. It vas a bricht and cheerful Christmas morning as ever dawned upon the world. Not a breeze stirred and the sun, as it rose to the joyful chiming of greater and the merry tinkling of the lesser bells shone on a scene of beauty and holy quiet fitting for the day and its memories. Great drifts of snow lay roadside and against piled along the the he uses; trees bent beneath the weight of their white shrouds ; over the edges of the eaves and from the sills of windows hung massive festoons, retlecting the early the « rays of the sun in al olors of the diamond. As morning advanced, drops of moisture began to distil from these fleecy masse and now and then they would become loosened trom their attachment, and, falling to the ground with a heavy sound, would throw up whole constellations of glittering gems The beaten paths c inkled beneath the tread of pe- rhs: mea’s breath runners ot sie destrians and the congealed in fanciful frost-work upon their comfort- lars; neck deep, in ers and coat c boys at work, drifts, shoveling new patus or ciearing the pure snow from steps and walks, found it inconvenient to pelt each other, from the inadhesiveness of the material, but made it up in shouting Merry Christmas lustily to every passer-by! The air was cold and piercing,

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but men’s hearts were warm as their hearths, where fires burned brightly and thankfulness abounded jut chiefest of ¢ the wonders of that bright ! was ek i este It l saw t t its eal al eal es tha vent from e p ot Une s gl I i ind ( s 1 the ca es, and I Warm ciotl g It was aw er it et spa ations for the least of the u es t : I mderful the ens, and tl pits, i t ste ‘ pans, and the kettles! W the poultry and ie eggs © past i I ut, t s e le hs, the spices e sauces ind W adel u ( - , ; é nd a be a g ‘ was sam I u ( ‘who pres ied Ove hese pre a Is, Hone rse for th unrest as w of t foregon an t, ] the hap} | e SI g tie Ww cetul conciusion of that sh t P f dreari- ness and woe ( And when. at last, drawn round the merry Christ- s mas board t t had seen so appy returns otf t creat nniversary, they gave hel up to I h an ty, What a hapy viul circle it Was i How y picked out occasions of mirth from every be reumstance occurrence, and how, having found s 1, they gave remsel ve » tot el yinent otf I n and laughed until the tears ran, and then them dry again! a h ther—what a mine and treasury of ‘ th was ' One moment telling a story of an That no shac lian wa r, and the next referring familiarly to ot Grand Lama; now giving his ex] ice among ol the elephants, and then speaking disrespectfully of of the writer! whales. In his eyes the great end of traveling was +2ooe> setupt aia Ma it he never was gui " ¢ a hoe Phat he I 1adrag, ora fork froma " At the ludicrous blunders he ude; fas ns were such as they never had used, I And the ke were the tools of his trade W With filly, and collar, and chain “In Wit With an axe in s hand and a goad, » stumped it, one day, to the forests of Maine Then, having the chain For fuel, to bring up a load I orderec A tree, on the brow of a hill, ‘¢ The filly is nobody’s mope ; He feiled, and it fell the wrong way; Ss And greatly it puzzled his blundering skill But w To manage the rest of the pls hose hearths, and no Before] pe reetved my mistake I stories; and well had his stories nd « ne and hy 6 niate Ww i pe ( 1u at id been | veen eve ! ind i » The ~ s. i 4 ih where the } © « s Was is ey w can | t \ r ttle story ol a hresice I ps b hos } rhap e | t Vii ess 2 d nature be Son qua es t i be » atise it t 1y may rm s eleated And li a ce 1 i s I ess Is s greatest l ‘ 1 ( I 1 aet = i itt ill ition to many a ‘ \ sol ou i come upon the u earnest Wish and praye , oughed in her wake ; foot of the ne ”

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4 TALE OF THE REVOLUTION : SIM 3 THOR O1 THE I $ ‘uM CHAMPE, ‘THE KINSMEN,”’ rHE YEMASs} | t ( ess the ir ISS \\ ( S is. int Clerk’s UO ie I Court e Eastern I Penns (Cor uded from page 298 CHAT ER xxxVIII vat, While Robert Singleton lives and « nues tru s pledges. you w never wed W any W i " IN i e Walton pre sented other t } me ‘ 1 aa Q re% hed 1 a D two t s, m i ‘ \ ew ! pursue by w i ( ed I I dos Can y t e ¢ I — : ; Have - \ 8 : ‘ tld It st voted 1 K ‘ ‘ ‘ 4 joes he st = ‘ D ring him t a \ ] en , aracter, an¢ ls tot his integrity and nob on i t I ‘ i 1 U aiways ‘ t give 1] 1tfo renew to me st ‘ Sole 1 his beha t | lg | \ i change m 1 Submit to me, my child " eve F : t 1 \ t n mind me tha necess sf this procee t ‘ ' a0 W speak to you This vhich ] ugh, then, on that su et M pinion and you have brought me is your dear mother’s She estimate { Robert Singleton | r ng been the has ssed it at usxand times Take t to your fame as yours Your fee gx re iin the same as own lips while I adjure you, and you promise that ever; your engagement must be equally obligatory so long as Robert Singleton lives and without loss And now, Kate, assure me, on your sacred word of character, you will wed no other man, no matter nay, | must have it on the sacred volume, my child what evonts may happen to make it appear politic 2

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bod 333 » re- not | ook l the es, nd? end

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danger. I have spoken of this matter al- Yes, Colonel Balfour, you have; and I trust it it is not for the renev ‘ it communication t you seek me now I cannot believe that, in almer and cooler m u mean to urge nel subiect ruci a supject jut if itbe true? If it be that your father is in peril of his life—is’”’— It is not true! It cannot be true! I cannot ibt that there is humanity enough in the British 10rities in this State—magnanimity, perhaps, I should say—to arrest all such murderous purposes, such as you yesterday expressed.” Balfour shook his he Suppose I tell you, Miss Walton, that you hope gainst hope Are you prepared to listen to the whole truth, and without looking with hate and horror on him who speaks it I know not, sir'—I know n But, at al +} events, speak truth, the whole truth, what- ever be the consequen Have no fears for me. what you propose to me be the truth, it is ist as Well that vow should declare it as another. Only let it be the truth that you speak, and without y such exaggerations of its mischievous import as the very generous of your sex too frequently em- when they would impress the fancies or the | y of. ours. If the truth is to be borne, I must r it and prepare for it as I may You are sarcastic, Miss Walton—very bitter” — ‘Bitter, you say! Certainly a very unnatural savor in the case of one with sucha prospect of weets before her.” ‘The prospect is dark enough, I grant you; but not without its light. If I show you threaten- the g tempest, it 1s possible that I may also show you nd. Be I do SO. I but the little the blue sky and the harbor of refuge bey patient with me, I entreat you, while * i] ; yl * } have to speak ol gloomy and terribie things ; you shall see that I can point you out g m of light which comes up out of the darkness. What I said to you yesterday was quite true. Your father has nothing to hope but from the mercy of his ar ty’s re presentative $3 in Uar He is a med ha man, as he himself must feel; one who, whether justly or unjustly, is sentenced to a for- feiture of life hat sentence might, from the na- ture of the case, be carried into eflect by any Bri- 1 officer who found himself in the possession of ssion. ree of Lord that I { nel Walton’s person. He is in my posse | hold this authority to execute the de« Cornwallis; and what prevails to prevent iould do so? You will prevent ? Ah! You shall hear yet further. We regard these States of Carolina and Georgia as already Your continentals are even now flying holds Marion, iquere d be e Cornwallis in Virginia, and Rawdon undisputed authority and Sumter, with their r ed f Wii soon The your fiather’s c share the fate of mmand. PPP PPP PLP Southern States will all fall into our | > by one. The New England States no longer supply the armies of Washington and his genera I the moment that the war was withdrawn f1 tI barren domain, they abandoned the contest. Th destruction of a French fleet will effectually cut « another of the allies of rebellion; and your Stat of the South will perish under the natural exhau tion which is sure to follow from such an unequ conflict. It is mere de speration to hope that thing can be done for those States of wl Saving we have possession. The struggles of y and such men are simply suicidal.” mvinee him of that.*’ But of the me s of sav ‘¢ You will not c “ That 1im to this conviction, is Ats misfortune. we as one ing him. We must persuade him to renounce th conflict and accept the mercy of his majest Katharine shook her head mournful! ‘« He will never prove false to his country ‘‘We shall not ask him to take uparms. We shall simply require him to lay them down, and r sume the neutral attitude which he kept until, 1 evil hour, beguiled to take the field at Camden “ And if he consents—should we persuade him t this ?”’ ‘¢ Something then will have been gained towards restoring him to the favor of his majesty ; and, u certain other conditions being complied with, | think I might venture to say that his merey’’— ‘‘ Ah, there are other conditions !”’ «“ Yes, Miss Walton; but such as, I trust, w not be found too difficult for compliance In fact, m dear Miss Walton, the rest will depend on yourself. “On me, sir!’ with unfeigned astonishment «Yes, on you, and you wholly! The fact is, my dear Miss Walton—I need not, perhaps, t that, to my diseretion, Sir He nry Cinton has ¢ fided the whole government of affairs in this se Mine is the power to bind and loose, to save ot The My voice, my will can save him; and the gu execute. life of your father is in my hands is, what shall be the influence by which | am to be moved to exert this voice and will ?”’ ‘¢Oh, sir '—Colonel Balfour—humanity alone’’— ‘¢ Won’t do for me! I confess to being rather selfish man; and when I see before me a great trea sure, which I fondly believe 1 may attain throug! the exercise or the forbearance of the power | pos- sess of life or death, I tell you frankly that my self ishness rejects all minor considerations, and insists wholly on the treasure for which it thirsts. not understand me ?”’ ‘T confess, sir, I do not.” «« My dear Miss Walton, you have already heard me declare the admiration which I felt for you, and the passion which sought you as its first and only object. You have treated this passion with scorn, unwisely ; for I am not the man to suffer tamely I gladly forget devotion. On your scorn. I renew my Vows ol! *?? *e more I fling myself at your feet And the action was suited to the word.

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ORDA RAPD si “RR r— ( el B I I cannot suf- er th K e herself rose it he seized her d N y ar Miss W t is 1 you me? ‘ it I must mmke my « ess1on f

N » not say impossible. Do not rash. > ‘ | R met 1e Cire ) inces 1 « 1 You ust fee he necessity f ling friends at this june find such a Ire 1 as myst one who e power and the discretion to y i |} pe 1 to spare id save Be- ¢ u r it ay t word ‘ I = i be re l at W You it try me, ¢ iel J 1 I cannot belie i Vv ol ou s I l T it you W 1 ier’s e depet 11 1a; enter’s lavi 1 sa you ive ie power tI s e him I believ [ upon you—your sense of justice you tI gations t you owe » th | 1 you le, U po V which be c i WwW fi . us mere Y iz the s ess of my passion will not allow me to ste pi l e yout earnestly not to take ¢ ge of the recumstances in Which you a ‘ I cann t afford to be magnan is I see e a treasure, the loveliest most prec l ‘ blessed n il eyes, or Was « trusted keeping; and I feel that, by ‘ exe t 1 res ition, that treasure 7 t be 1 [ cannot venture to be generous I « - not fi way perhaps the only hope upon wh il j ‘ nment of this treasure. You must he | ‘ ie Wa } { not through the ve you h gh that Which you r your fathe ( { t B ir, this is te é s cru it 15 and When u know 1 t impos sil ‘ I ling of e sort! Nay, Katharine Wa I tell vou freely, | know t there is i i = las ial i at ‘ i> \ fa gs upon a read, as f is easily sund s by which the spide ngs ag t the w ,ou e y athe [ know v pre- ‘ ] veen W rs be the nd to sm t t Ww s his ld upon life? Wi t st \ ‘ looms it a pre ls etu eat N el B ur! You ‘ right tot s! Iw earry the gs of this wa ? | ? = p id T' 1 = eq power 1 humanit L¢ uu wa iri y ‘ the throne

LPDLRPL LP

f LTON 335 a sath itattatedianinaiainitainaiiahaiuiiliate tself! and you sha eel, and be made to tremble, n ur turn, at & pow to W h all that you may ast is bu D 1¢ W 10ut either streng r substance ] is i r from this danger consent ) s ex Ww s yalist caj tiv f s own rank, or [expose you to your own suyx : ind 1s thus, m\ ey Ka rine, that defy me, and oppose ur fe e strength to mine? You will expose me to ¢ nwallis and Clinton— W carry your plaint to the foot of the throne itseil! One would suppose, my fair enemy, that you Am ricans had already enuy experienced the ] proli eness ¢ pe is at th foot of the thre id elsewhere W you learn not g from expe- ce? But why dIargue? With the e vor ‘ n l result must prove its Miss Wa ! e case ol ur father W underg nvesl nw n t ee da W hen det l e Cour S$ lnaate I i iva € . \ Meanw et me « umend you toa<¢ I of t whole subject. Katharine Wi you « only eseape me at the peril of the loss of all 1 ul t valu On the w 1 of a soldier and man, your father’s e hangs entirely upon jy speech \ are neither as rn a man, sir, to s} . to me in such language. ‘ sir; I will not belie you: I will not sulier myself t ik that the t aut es Will So (ral ipon a it is precious in humanity, in order that the passions of one bad man sha riumpt You W re e words. You will repe that you spoken the When you rest in! arm is my\ iwlul W Ll wile K n \ Ww ul 1 ior cust t = ( N u 4 W i W n ke i Ww was ye ul hi u | i i eS < nied s I yand manh lto your 1; how should ( ppuied the e} et ol to one W ‘ name you bear.”’ Katharine rose t full height Enough, sir; I have no 1 epithets for yor May I hope that you wv eave me now?” Chis was spoken with a rare m dness of tone and manne It impressed ler visitor His accents were changed and oget ‘You pr ke me unreasonably, Miss Walta ind mine is a temper not too placable. It would alwavs vield to you. I w not trespass long: said is earnest 1bhay i and truly s i ihe facts % all as I have stated them ] ul Ss precist what I have shown lL repeat Ss in your < it The reme wn hands Think upon it mly, for you may be assured of this, that | ed the only conditions upon which your fat Ss sale epends las | ve. I w

sionateiy t ego a res n tl gh whi ‘ may | t d rs i " I With se words eft her, miserable enoug

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Q90c . 600 u . 2 . > 1 Th n, was the secret my fathers ] ~M I irs. Brewton §s 1 he Iam s Vv : 5 { 1it bet t n nrevealedto ¢ to perce 1 t the atmosphere t ( eston es - t caiculat a4 j dare not— . ¥ quite i e with you this seasol Ive 1nTR : aint ' n hawdon Ww | t le ior ( n- re arks ym 1 tesh and ¢ -_ l > u re ton i | | to declare tl ¢ withinal ith anxit 1 you : " 3 interview t ha 1 before the } mere ite that you shali ¢ og ‘ I | \ : 1a pas ] Tt. acco g aah Q | - I Ki hie e | i Ww e re- ¢ I = l re et te « tr\ \ Ons y the worid fe s such matters V pi se def t within 1 ne» twe 1 bmits to the wr ! that trespasses You had better go to the ¢ carec w ‘ t t individual limbs ets. Sti s within « v miles of the cit ] ( 1 her rare eart. com- | he Wido' lor i was ' , > ' ae er f in ( ( | bri- \ ao u ieal she a eng at A ed, i Ss when thre 1 s from the im pet SLY ‘ ‘ t ‘ t ‘ ce tween \ your beauty, your s of t ‘ ‘ s in ( vhen victims were which are in p while you remain t t en aid spoils were » ix ppropria ] She W ild ave expostu ed and out r l . . } 7 wae We ¢ e pr ised | i W W g I yment, to submit t S si I s N Sol CHAPTER XXXIX. cone s of pride and 5 n vain petty t vas not to be ed, and, W 1 a L’ar- | s ew I y 1 rapidit thian arr pare lf departure ; 4 - “We 5 PAD 7 ced for g less ‘ . m ted ’ t su sion « 1 equa F ( ‘ ‘ ] 1 ot 2 ¢ y COE a courage ( ‘ ] i I 1¢ l t ir g ‘ iw e < USI nil red ca . ( nese i e€ expr mit 1 Q

urt t < ¢ rd to the Irom i t surely first have i I ; le re ls under a se . PSRESS « 5 ame it Ie ily to the ! um, you will the e me no credit for } to ¢ ‘ e ( : l save ap 1 \ ! care Which are thus I { wily nly waited — We shall greatly miss | t t } i est. 1 ( n Ww ( ack to us, you W I ‘ . ers | r i the patri- ' 1 be G 1 t Wi 1 were ‘ 1 nig ‘ you tot ] iI e biouse vy to meet s, or effect his a ture Was @ loss to our Col ‘ nad , leet took place nightly at old } § \ It sandeilorts. Seve- l ee. t ] r |} es Dut the cor ri { 1 £ Wwe i en é const ° ilta ‘ pil s only wedt the t I Singleton’s, when Proctor sudd y " 7 ~¢ id at lenge 1 W of res- } ‘ is singieton rece ed I l ne, Tl \\ vas base u 1 a plan f ‘ fing i t | t 1, and « not now take m kK ’ s of his person [ Work brew- low to the vaulted « umber w er we col i- it 1 act e | rt g test pro- med him on a prev us occasion 1 < n n ( : between herself rece ed him hurriedly, ana eviewed Ss Case i .s =~ eton tw } 1 s were bribed s 1e a 1 ess Proc rl iseen | 1 rem é \

i l ry removed the very! t er they | not bee equired to report. The two spoke, ace ! iselves The ¢ ve had t e begun anew y with erence to foregone coin is, Which I with increased « t was ¢ ent that the 1 must take for granted y teves of bail ve their move- I s ming n has ¢ e ¢ t t he s, and the ze und ac t f Mrs. Brewton cou 1 [ ‘ fidavits which he is soon drew down upon h es] tentions of proe t witnesses are all fort g 1e commandant. She was « itu x herself But, ti that I can see and hear, M rl r el ning upon the consid e | ch 1 W ‘ you nothing t is « ent to me m had made int sh se " 1 me st estrov you, and ] Ss we vhom the officers | consid ence ‘ t insidious scoundrel, Vaughan He was s! ‘ ( s, and se, With ‘ mig n. were aiways sus 2 es l{ | | | it el W 1 he i eave her iz in « i is 3 purpose 2 tion ol cumstances Wich Marked your ae

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Wha s and not face the ene —not stand ins ‘ sw to find him Thev se parate this tr ind Singleton mediately hu d back to his k “J no means.”’ mi He « t lw 1 him for ten « fifteen In >! my honor! , minutes, he l that had been done, and ail t

“Ca t counsel you to surrender yourself, bound was doing, and then proceeded to see Katharine hand and foot. into the hands of your enemy.”’ whom he yet dreaded to encounter. She threw he Proctor s} < his head mournfully, and being pro- arms about his neck, as she recognized him, and vided by * eton with the papers for which he ex ned vame, and finding the manner of the latter rather ‘Oh, Robert, you pe ever) g for me—tor hurried and impatient, he prepared to take his de- him! Tell me, can you save him again ?’ parture re Dt could d SC I parties I have « to see and try, Katharine ( l vere surprised by the appear e, even alone knows yet what we may a As yet, I is the r was unclosing for the egress of Proctor ki i e of his « 1 and dangers. Sit f | 1 loyalist acquaintance, Furnes ( est, and you sl t a Proct vA y rejoiced to see him, and old Sin- She did s all that she knew, felt, and feared gleton ‘ W Mrs. Sing 1 did tl Our partisan sh 1 \ l or t were re 1 him lered as he beheld the prospect It was no long t il . F ness, son I Furnes on 1 Wi ia ( ) I ¢ spe! emen c¢ i vhom to k W so We l partis ¢ i ‘ but | did not sufier 5 tur | \ 1 Pre =a yt Sing M \ ppear cons} l he m again within tl ul rhe l Cheer up uid | tis a sad affair; but I man re - str l \ é We must not Be your fi 1 out of the and take spond I us I must hu ~are, | you, that no one sees your backs un- oll at once, id see Uncle Tom ¢ 1. I must le 1 ess be 1 distant son ther | uars | e I can hope to do any W e words, he closed the r upon them, thing [ w try to see you morning; but and rett s guests in the cellar must move Cat isly You re r that I am Furnes rather Singleton, soon told his story still Captain Furness, of t \ ts to P had, within two hours, told it to s, for the tir ended their conference Ba } He prof ssed to have been taken by Ma- the indefatigable partisan hurried off once more rion’s it the defeat of Lieutenant Meadows’ see hh ancient kinsman We need not ask wi esc t l ] +94 s cs 7 sub) cts the\ d Cuss¢ ] = { 1 I he d bok | © from cay t Such was the substance of his nar- sion was without result. Enough, that the m rative Of course, he revealed as tile as poss ble our part san beca aware of tl true nature of 1 3 1, be m xious to hear him cast 1 the rof Walton, the more did its d speak sa\ ing himse T d uis gers m it upon bis im ili W hen } given i ver $ qu es in- N gieton ap} t lim < e terms off d by Ba ‘ \ ‘ { i ‘ s four for 1 ely MW | Ww i l $ wn g tr with t of ( Walton witha bullet. These id been suppressed | and brought against b Singleton Can it be true! 1e eX ied, when he so00n 2 lf 1 the statement, in Pros sown r ered peech ] we fa to resct I case, th 1 ir 1 atti { sey us dange Katharine w ent He d not hesitate to give him the same counsel ‘‘ Never '”’ cried the 1 man, fiercely

Ww 1 g n dTomS§S gleton. Proct ne m t ~ ( ft avo was unw xz to see the matter in so gloomy a mournful reply of Robert Singlet é g l vas evidently deeply oppressed by what pl e necessity more than | 1e will be a neces rtheles In V s iid Singleton I! t ve When told the prescribed by Walt ior t Ss myself, as § l s I she have his daug he ey 1imed— | new supplies from the commandant; \ the same magi us spirit and t and vill only steal away be that time eart! But, should st necessity occur, even d 1 the road, we « find as retreat 1 t h W not l t not to bind her for \ you can be sure ¢ i per tr val Would you have her marry that scoundrel ] é idges. T k of this matter to-night, She must save her father, even at that sa

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ia report a e him of the ibts me—he dis sritish officers ; | nows the interio n eta s N Vy ‘ i I © me Wo i ‘ = if ‘ > ii 9 1 W l i é tog ent ulg h 2 j a I ( a chew- ( ] <weet ‘ } t Our col ed t | ( npanion t t d swilt departure f city; but with was the reply of P Though I W never, by such a e counte- s 1c that ass sm next rning, Db l em were abroad breakfast, Furnes 1 his way to the ‘ } ur We eady men ied 4 1W { ‘ sa é commandant mn Ss ac ure t, f nthel it W he set out with ‘ \ } | } { le iOoWs i A { npiaimnts si sine ( t basing t tt ’ ! t le W e W | ed bes V t i { » WwW r ] *f which 1 riper | | n in t, captain Was in a iy to be ea W ih ba Lh | ( ence ol ri vas | 1 i ul t the seil- puffed-up pare He freely spok sown und pu s, unt t leng VV a Ol was bi i tne ¢ rpet ted the fu par u { sc toa , ’ who exceedingly ‘ 1 the exhil s $el m and 1 Ww " s otf simple curiosity, t y ¢ } Fu 5 n the shoulder, way, c lin, you a the very man to hi this isiness ! vw that I « id ce el? he has to build re 1 successtu ils anger all see and [ will use ents to my d that to-morr 1 in what [ des e. Youare eton had on, all visit Walton in

sna let him know how h pe- r rel n in the back country. the danger s case, and per- ecessity of ul submission. He rusts me—and w doubt all the yut one of his own people, who r, and can report truly how little Wil probal vy be listened to. The alarm his fears and those of his reconciie bimsell to such conces- juire in return for his pardon. I 1 showing these things. I and becon ) myst Now, s v that I do not seek his life; my power take wt, unless he emand You will report to him WwW 1S app ted for his trial Suc- re, Furness [ am your friend n the wi fp tion.”’ it u 1 suppre ng the

eagerness and joy, when told that he was 1 S dunge 1 d colonel! I will do what vou re tis I ean; but I am afraid that ¢ = n Will be as little kely to listen to me, a s to the Bri officers. Besides, I am’’— pooh! You distrust yourself, Captain You are only too modest. You have

better abilities, my young friend, than you yourself suspect; but I have pierced your depths, and see what can be made of you. You will do this busi ness we I feel very certain. Here, let me write the order for your admission to Walton. You will gotonh XK ght, alte ave iett rit Y } row nig Vnen © s i n l rk 1 1ade aware ot his sentence dooms 1 tk ie ga s—you W mMsist upon the only measure which to save him from it Do you ' stand ? VP [ w see him to-night and prepare him f dang ind to-morrow, when what l| ive ] < j have been realized Ww p better able to appreciate bis situat 1 \lean e, I shall work upon the daughter D ur part faithfully, and it is odds but we carry the gai it Where are you lodging? Now e, exactly Last night, Major Proct Ww un I met at Dorchester, gave me a bed at =) ivings Ha! Bewareofhim! He is a traitor Tle ] r Proctor! What! You have not heard? He is about t he tried for otlences Which will drive him frot the army or hang him. Beware of him; but con tinue to lodge with him, if he will suffer you. You can keep an eye on him. Eh? You understand Ido! Isee! It shall be done! What are you doing with yourself t Nothing ? Then drive out at twelve o’clock Hampstead—the ‘ field of honor ;’ anybody will te you where to find it. There is to be a duel t ay between two hot bloods of t garrison, ¢ ady’s favors; Mad Archy Campbell, who capture Cr nie Wa m, a regular dare-dev and ( p Harley, of the rifles, who is said to be a fire-e er They fight with the small-sword. It w pretty passage, and you w be delighted You presence will be no objection. There will be seve- I spectators But do you suffer such affairs ?’ I do not them. I hear of them only whe all ’s over, and then arrive at nothing pos only see when I am not disposed te suffer thet this case, there are reasons why I should n Do you go, and report to me the affair | Ss be inere, Ci me I shall be pl Ss see Should the passage be a short one, drive round, after it, to Mrs. Rivington’s, whose ‘ mornings’ take place at You will see everybody there

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O39 lave é na Vy 1 W I i y ‘ at a ot el t y A ed Q i I a lay i \ Ww e1Vv i I t t ‘ t SI has = g j i é limise f Bi ir 8 sug- I ferred a I ps t l c. 4 pu n ge 1e@ aut He rode out with P 1 m for fils ollences st We repeat that wi | ed { i lan s¢ oO | 2 ( ‘ ill¢ t W wn | ) 1 g m ear ( nthe « y W iout one His PY Inds; bul W ut t assel i any <« precaution had stabled his own steed, with the on our part that the duel should not go on It is ses of those of his best troopers, {in their with the defendant to say whether he will suffer us kee] Within six miles of town, in a close thicket, to quit the field t from e Goose Creek road. A score of his was said with aj 1 gravity. ¢ Ww spectators were already upon the ground. ie the stateliness of a dz} . A hearty laugh fo spot chosen in that day for such purposes was but lowed trom Campbel i little way beyond the lines of the garrison, amidst ‘To be sure,” said he, “I consent; but on one a clump of mingling pines and oaks that covered a col m, that Captain Hark nd his companions adland on the banks of the Cooper. Hither dine with me and my wie to-day Expecting to b came the two combatants, attended by several hurt in the encounter Vv keen a SW isman, ! iends, a couple of assistants, and as many sur- ordered a good dinner, in order that my f1 reons Du ng was then as now, in the same re- should not be I! mv sufferings without some « gion recognized social institution. But it was solation nan aflair of honor, and not, as too frequently The es ¢ is ended an af now, an affair of malice. The solicitude was the of honor of the eight 1century tor secimne por tots simply to maintain the social atti- the « \ in i Ww 1 al re tude Malice, rage, vindictiveness would have He said, w an afiectation of disappointment— been held qt ( entirely inconsistent With the It’s ] vok ! I was in } | t Har gra vd ¢ ilry of a passage at arms between ey Ww ive given 1 your qu then i entiemen 1d to waive all advantages, in favor should ‘ 1 my guineas fan opponent, was always a struggle gracefully, “ Not so,” cried Campbe ‘I prepared against te isilv urged between the parties, even that, and k ] s e ¢ t in the : my fte ‘ Pp iad been crossed. Singleton observed Wile, Who Is the very woman to ]| t te the the scene with much interest. He prided himselt claim, HW only that she might have in her powers upon his own swordsmanship, and anticipated, with rare @ gallant some eagerness, the event. The parties were both “Tam reconciled to your escape and safety,”’ re fine-looking men. Arehy Campbell was in the best torted Stock. “TI have too sensible a fear of the f spirits, smiling and satisfied, habited in a sort of tender mercies of a creditor a zy the sex m y ul ess 1 the most gentiem: fashion of t é Stock, his second, was sulky and satiri- — cal. Harley, his opponent, was cool, courteous, martinet. The time was come, and, CHAPTER XL. , dire¢ of Stock, Campbd threw oll his ‘ st and ¢ t. The spectators THE rest é was employed by Singleton er e as eager for t ssue as ever were t the Ww t ssistance tried friends in ca rs « 1e « nt ge gon a favor- tl city pl l eertain U el ts lor the e! But th were all destine disappoint- use of ( el Walton in prison. The permit whi ment Th point of honor 1 that day did not é bled him to have ee access to t prisoner ( cha ¢ ciusion to the aliair as that which ol ed } I t auite too p t to be f wed When a was expectat 1, the friend of 1 egome He 1 | es, acids, al i rope Harley stepped forward and demanded of Stock, adder, and took them to m that very 1 t, after yudly « ugh for eve ry be lv to hear— Katharir id left 1 pris We ma take for [ t true Mz r Stock, that you P ( is Q nted that ( urged none of 1 arguments ft 1? Walton w Ba 1 1 put int Ss! The “ The devil! Yes! But what a question! True, next day Walton’s trial came on—if that may be to be sure it is’’—then, sotto voce—‘ and the worse called a trial which examined no witnesse Con- forme! But’’—aloud—*“ what has this marriage to viction and sentence were things of course; and the do with the business ?’’ prisoner was remanded to his dungeon with the \ dea sir,’’ repiied the ther, as we assurance t it he Ww wld n four days, ex] te h * will show you hereafter. One other question: Is offences to the crown upon the gallows. I] l

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walt 1 Ka i t He was the first to report the de 1 of the court ‘y ither s C $ in you! wn hands, Miss Walt Mercy! mercy!” she shrieked, fi before him mercy for

mer \ Sl l ids, pleading dumbly. “As w Katharine Walton, these are the only conditions !”’ he answered, sternly. She sank forward gasping, and lay without sign of life upon her face. He raised her up in alarm, and called for Mrs. Singleton. She hurried in and relieved him of his burden ‘Why do you linger, sir?’’ she asked. “You have done your work effectually, for the present, at least. Leave us now, sir, if you please It will take some time be er her.”’ An oath rose to Balfour’s lips, which he found it i somewhat d ficult to suppress. He seized his cha- pea was and hastily d sappe ired, without saying a word. Hurrying to the Provost, he left instructions Miss Walton should not mitted to see her father. there that day be ad- that This was on the plea of ss for her feelings, and

tenderne » her sympathy wit situat But, in truth, the policy was dictated by 1 desire to work upon her anxiety and fears, to make her feel, in every possible way, how arbitrary Meanwhile, f the place were mov ind entire was his power the native citizens « ng. A memorial, in 1¢ d » Whig inhabitants behalf of Colonel Walton, was prepared and sig by all the chief people among the f the loyalists signed it also Several! and the signa- tures of the ladies were numerovs. A committee of these presented it, and the petition was enforced by the personal entreaties and tears of those pre- The answer of senting it. It was without eflect Balfour was a cold one. It is to the credit of Gene- ral Williamson that he earnestly added his efforts to those of the citizens. “What!” ‘You, too, Do you so soon forget your own recent escape from said Balfour. general ! the clutches of this insolent rebel ? ‘No, sir: and it is this prom; is my et that now but for which saved recollection treaty. I cannot forget that, the interposition of Colonel Walton, me from the tender mercies of his subordinates, I should certainly have tasted of the terrible doom which now threatens him “And which he reply We some of its conspicuous leaders.”’ That must suffer!’’ was the conclusive “The public safety requires this sacrifice. must rebuke rebellion by the punishment of day Balfour took his dinner alone at his r ata late hour , and after many fa- and excitements which, to a mind like his, were not unmixed with pleasure. He was rioting n power. He was not without a hope of realizing Ist st selfish objects At length he had persuade l i¢ pe eof C iriest i 1 K ne W ton 0 partic of the earnest purpose which he enter- . ‘ . ‘ _ ,. ae 4 > io s =~« tained. She, at length, felt that her father’s life was really in danger. She had already begun to seek and to sue, in tears and gloomy apprehension. She had paid him a visit, in order to obtain permission

> which, as we He had avoided her, and he conjectured the extent of her agony. to see her father again; a priv have seen, he had that day denied Gloating over his convictions, he drank freely of his Madeira, and Alfred the adjoining room, where he wrote, and communi- was already at the close of his feast, when Monckton made his appearance from cated the arrival of Major Vaughan from Dorchester. He had been summoned down to attend the trial of Pr ctor, “Send him here which was assigned for the ensuing di ’ said Balfour, and Vaughan instantly ushered

o the presence of the poten welcome at

‘“ You are welcome, Vaughan, doubly

this moment. Sit, and fill yourself a glass. We are at the harvest time at “Yes, Colonel, and a full harvest shall we ive of it. I bring you news which shall strengthen the evidence a nst s arch-trait

merrier, though we scarcely need it. We have quite enough, in this late affair, for his full conviction. But what’s your news?” ‘Such as will startle you. You remember fell

yw that palmed himself off upon you the ?? in

? “ How kn *“ By the true Captain Furness himself, wh »W you this just escaped from the guard assigned for his safe- keeping among the rebels. He made his way to the post at Dorch I have brought him here, ¢ luce him By the Lord Harry, but this is excellent! And Proctor knew him at Dorchester? from you to intros Dp , ' “pring bim in “ Intimate ly -” “ And tl ment, and occupy the same lodgings ‘Indeed! then ey are intimate together here, at this mo-

we have them! Here, do you say?’ ‘Here! here! and the rebel has imposed upon me thrice. Shall he not swing? But bring in the venuine (re you sure of m? Quite sure! His proofs are beyond quest ind he brings a great deal of intelligence Bring him i ng himin! Singleton,eh? Jer lover, her betrothed! The audacious rebel! We the venge hall be sweet in degree with the in- solence! N iing st save /; ! She sl ay for }; 1 vain she can pu chase ut the e ol one, at r ‘ ist be her father. Ha! well He is \ d ging in t true Furness He was ! ich in size and person like the

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Page 24

i Ww hit } hid | i t ist ot h 1 Ww } i w ( it p \ ' his } 1, al was ns p n nse } } ou “ exe es! tt if tT ng HH t ‘ itt Wu 4 ‘ \ ) \ I i Va s « n I l l D T r i ‘ i 1 t ‘ l { el ery n | L " t started i ul eton It is al +} * ti t from the same pen that wi mous wa re fda l ‘ i lial u \ ] ere " rw hea } ! ures of the Vi ! led Proctor, eagerly i—Kila } L eve ew but ot t here 1K rt eton I i Vv i elt i j ne e deceived you! { 1 \ | bt Tie 7 et i? I ! ! ! th “t« | Old ‘I k " ‘ foral t ‘ ‘ I ] ve r 1 \ i hye ¢ ne her ‘ i ‘ ‘ Il jue i what is to | \ ‘ ? ° ' ». the house wy \ } 1, is on th lI een nm come u a And the next que ton out without be een byt eve Now my notion I | \ tw » forth toe we fi | ‘ u We may go forth < 1 then se parate W he 1 off the sp ur kinsman here unt { shape for himself an ‘ \ his ifety, We must ! t I will e Robert to 1, when I parate fror ek | 1. The rest reafter dt t rr dinner ? ‘ up bh it on the instant ‘ i v words to our pi the forme H wed at » tte { departure Robert 8 et ‘ ind, obeying the instructions of ook + route in a northeastern « y in i to the Governor’s Bi ‘I vere generally quiet. He met but v | but one or two of the mi itary Tl ‘ lite warm, and it was just that tim t lint being over mostly 1 ¢ ( the people were in the I It l mary si t mingle ttle not nd congratulated | ‘ Ww ef that ul been seen by no one 1 trov Thus advancir he a lt r ern } n of the city st " Vv the nes W id irter from ] Neck.”? The tid hulk t nded be the whart \ I t, was a rude | e of palme ’ ary

Page 25

n ‘ were pa g ‘ tlic ore i ~ i al ‘ mcied < i ilk s i Iie he w " clwe e P , ] et t “ I re e exe , ne could ve key t ‘t kept w nh CAVE covered with ‘ it of JV é Lock we 1 office l ‘ Ci t 1? 4 ' 1 t i il t tt ns of ¢ } } ua ‘ vil i sat el \ i up to vl i we may re l me W t ia we pass Street } g ed ab t said 1’! lor W hat r that u uld1 k i the 1 ‘ I t you en mentt u jon ‘ i ! ( i shou le id if you need help of a u WV ll it no Prov ve must | / ’ iy ula | ‘ I | suf , uffer Lay t Ilad u ti n the « ' season it do you w of M } Prov brunt iow her! | know everytl f 1 an ! v her m ( Knew hel ther “he is of good lam 4 of the best in counts s not bea il ill N but very sweet id ve world of beauty in her ic Is TI ch! I did not t k of it Humph! a very singular om s] ke for granted that your s his eye upon and t ff in e Oj ite direc

w, rve ton just

\ the eve { } } i ‘ ‘ rnc 1 did eves ¢ { the w w M l 1 1 te new pulse fast ‘ juize but the tl in th manner, | ‘ n i moment, t man ted n\ int have riven to t have never sough ] whom | ive f t tand t ll beaut r I ! tor’ | I ya Dutti« 1 WwW I ! peak to her the tl my heart! She, } lee A | ty ‘ plant s sad flow He ked round ir Che etreat { m of sight Proctor went brought him to the do He raised the antiquate conscious of the } ved from tl 1 CHAPT

ER cCKEeT X LI and was scarce!

I e ancient Mrs. Monckton, and left alone by the se tor, for the first tin began to refle« the motive of his visit He had sim impulse But that ulse, When he I deliberate th lg he s n ¢ cover from a just recognit } t J ne ran over very ra the Wi I grateful interest whi w knew) } t had taken in his fortur The bh ust been made ft shed 1 clue train of services whic wed to t re iled her to him as al f ne ble nature, whose de to | fe so long and delicate concealed, was varmer feelings tl those of mere gene recalled hurriedly what he knew of he what he had heard her say—her looks general manner; and his interest in her character sensibly increased in conseq re ew When, aga he remembered

n neu u nol nts Ty awe lige \ A if ‘A ‘ Vliss ' Vi bro upon i | eyed an dt H 1 | ' r ! mit i that ’ 1 me ! nor / t of t He ni ne nd _

Page 26

> 344 ‘ K secret 1s ul t enerous me these es of flight that I n é ct ! When, at | ] ‘ mysell al myse¢ { this ily ] ipa e was p ch un- I must ene es—and must pe 1s P t on n I l covered her face \ 1 her hand ut t i tions \ wa 1 8 ri ered A slig S¢ er ed her, ¢ 1 Prot 1 the nec « y rred but 2 ‘ t s ste ¢ through her 1 He | tremt , f eart was was l side her on the sofa Ur 1 zlow , eV 1m t ] ' his arm en | her waist , 1 wnder another W ae of crati- pre st So strange to me, a bly tude ex s ~ t His heart was deeply vaped her. It was her only answer. He continue t w 1 sympa : ‘Had I but known in season! Had I but su \ CX ed I cannot h you. I pect l the source of these secret is of my\ must! > 1 ¢ me N l s guard } ang Ww h would hav eht me ot 1 \ rt ved - secret dangers! Had I but given them the heed t ts A t would be u s ‘ which they deserved! Regret is hopeless now hon ln t ave and face 1 ‘ ( 1 enemies are about to triul I 1 in the toils thoug esee that N rw ! \ her thev will ler ; [ see n , s of escape But s u I tl 4 ) re! 3! ” | tf 1 if I perish, Miss Monckton eve me, the thought é ng ! would; | n of you erest in my fate, the feeling of a most shame W . . ; levoted gratitude within 1 S Ww be the last tem] suc pect. W ‘ ‘ : consciousness which W eave my spirit.”’ T ui c ‘ . | by ou . . [ She murmured, rather than spoke— M t at fd Oh! do not sp ik thus—do not speak of perish- ; J ! allies md me W . = w. Surely, surely, Major Pro uhave means 3 Bot break [ must iat? lhe annerese — ee ; She answe = ments < ct ~ stroy me. Circumstances of the most cruel sort ; It is a Te si I con 1e against me, and afford proof which w § can pursue | . COURS t even be conclusive to any court ot w il W be declared were cert an ls me ¥ . my guilt and treason. They will find me guilty, and tain not t ’ Had I liste 1 sor shame will fasten upon my e, 1 if the tvranny swe . ’ F t couns= dike , under which I suffer shall forbear my life.”’ , season W [ was deaf and blind to 1 I ‘ But you may escape. You are still free. You whi ted atm eels! Ah! had I N I will fly from the city and avoid this trial !”’ then, Miss Monckton, as I k Vv you now | ‘« That will be as fatal to my fa » as if I were to me !’’ he ex¢ med pass nately 5 me, Miss inger here and perish That is what mv enemies Monckt I : t worse than ! I s en desire. !t is for this reason that, « ved asIam 3 to such a de ition from one W ae mys w most ¢ ’ | eaves me stands upon t < ol the pre “ ut ls. He pretends t sforbear- { ible f ' ve and pre] t ul i due reg it m ' e ri \ 1 s Ilear me it . t, that I w ee myselt tf n 1 1s ut Ww 5 & hope and dreams , ne vs his power to cony rds fru 1 the wild d ra I

Page 27

KATHARI would gladly live, if it were only te offer you a heart which enshrines your image as its most pre- cious treasure !”’ A de ep- ) spoke, more than Her head rested upon his shoulder. drawn convulsive sigh and sol any words, the passionate delight with which her heart received a declaration which was not the less assurance that it gratetul because it came with the was made hopelessly and in vain. He continued— I feel that I do not deceive myself, Miss Monck- ton. I feel that I do not make you an idle assur- ance. You ve not shown this long-continued and devoted interest in my fortunes without being con- scious of nobler and warmer sympathies than belong , , Sil t 1 f d p in z you i N 1O | deve e myse == , ? a . r elf witl ild ery bre t, 1 her there, « ‘ pre 1, Ww 1 em s seemed to kindle a new being in his { i were i « rh unite l. not Ss not va this pre IS COn- S¢ S, « though I dic »T w! You must pot die!” she sa i quick, but Ww red accents. “You must dive now—vou u - rest of the sentence was spoken in a | { not for yours f ul I ; = 1 i r blushing face in h n. Anew ne I I ent to him Whatever h SS | di ermine, she at ist must be spared r u é pal'g she mu be enc iraged i esent W a hope, even if he indulged in ! ) i And he | ex knew not ex- i What to liy, to ‘ » p a e which l } lanew value tob it passionate, but flee g ervieW He | used | to elude the moc at wl 1 he weil knew was but a | s go the ict 1toa u I ‘ 1 ¢ though \ 1i0ut really entertaining t i} | « But her tears, and sown te ier- vade |} ' } oes i I I ww hlin readuy jy i ) it reaty he could find no other way to answer. W hy rey pon the scene? Enough that Proctor iself away from the maiden whom he had happy ¢ wretched in the same moment— veet response toa sympatl which ri iw elses a l wretcl ] Wilh fears t » dash the cup of joy from her lips nt when its d us waters had Pro« tor had been gone but fifteen Monckton was on her knees, before had left her, when she was i and sudden rap at the door he servant, and the vis with- 1 into the passage, and darted at or, the way to W ch he seems to well known. Ella looked up to behold in the truder the person of Major Vaughan, the enemy ‘How now, sir!’ she exclaimed, starting to her feet, her face all flushed with indignation. “ You VOL xur.—33 PLP LLL LLL PPP PPP PPPOE DD WALTON. 345 here! By what right, sir, do you presume thus to intrude upon me? His eyes searched the room. He did not instantly answer, and her question was repeated with increas- g indignation. It was evident that he was disap- pointed—that he did not expect to find her alone; but he put on an air of confidence, and the sneer that mantled his lips was of the most provoking insoience. ‘He has gone! he has es iped; but only for the present. Did you suppose, Ella Monckton, that it was on a mission of love that I sought your dwell- as Ing ‘If it were, no one should better know than your- s tsu amis Was 1n vain Ah! is itso? But I will spoil the love of others! It was ate that brought me to your presence. It as for the purpose {a delayed vengeance If I cannot find the way to your hea: ho er sna In that I defy you, sir! You are too late! This was said with a e exultation of a heart for the first time secure in a requited aflection. [ know it zow! But your triumph shall be a short-lived one. Look! I hold in my hands the au- thority for the arrest of your minion He shall be in bonds before the t er. To-morrow brings his trial as a traitor, and ian twenty-four hours he dies an ignomit 5 dean Ha! do you Seel—do ind oe Fea ‘] I s¢ you Hence, sir, and leave me. You ha ! t here—none to insult me with i ' presence. You may trium] i 1 shall have no triumph over 1 Were | elf decreed to perish, instead ri n i iid be those of loathing and of scorn for } , Wi ig n ‘ec, he shook the warrant a hi Know, at least, that your faithlessness to me, and your silly passion for him, have doomed hin uld lure me to your feet once. Could you now prostrate yourself to mine, it would be unavail- ing for his safety. The gallows shall clip the neck that your fair hands have striven to environ!’’ ‘‘Liar and craven! I deny that I ever offered a lure to your affections. Your vanity, alone, con- founded the courtesies of a lady with another feel- ing Begone! Were you not utterly base, you would seek your enemy with your sword, and not with the base artifices with which you have striven And were he not already convict, I should seek him now with the sword. But that were a poor revenge for me! No! Ella Monckton, I shall not now balk the sweets of a perfect vengeance by giving him an h morable death Away! and meet him if you dare! You but cloak your cowardice under this miserable plea of ae vengeance Vith a lurid grin that lighted up his features with

Page 28

GODEY'S 3416 MAGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK a Satanic expression, he once more shook the order taking the prisoner into safe keeping. Vaughan was for arrest before her, and, striking it with his hands, exclaimed— “When this has done its work, Ella Monckton, you may look for another visit from the man whose affections you have outraged. Till then, I leave you to your very pleasant meditations.”’ Once more, the maiden was left alone. Let us drop the veil for the present over her sorrows. CHAPTER XLIII. Tue secret of Vaughan’s sudden appearance at Mrs. Monckton’s is easily made known. The trea- cherous servant of Proctor had tracked the latter to the spot. Vaughan had instructed him to commu- nicate to himself, in particular, whatever novements Proctor might make; and the spy, having seen him sale y housed, had hurried off to his employer with his information. Vaughan, in his long interview with Balfour, had drunk freely. Though ordinarily a temperate man, cold and circumspect, he had been taken off his feet by the peculiar influences working upon his feelings. He was about to enjoy a long delayed and vindictive passion. The prey was al- most in his grasp, and the doom was about to be spoken. This conviction greatly excited him, yet this was not the sole cause of excitement. He was still unsatisfied. He would obtain revenge—he would atone to wounded pride; but there was a lurking left his pride sense of shame and baseness which in need of far other sorts of soothing. Besides, Ella Monckton, the object, at one time, of far more grate- ful emotions, was as far removed from his attainment as ever. There was one thing which promised con- solation It was in the belief that, as vet, the feel- ings with which Ella regarded his enemy, were totally unknown to the latter, and | ocked up from all knowledge, except his own, in the single bosom of But even this assurance was He had just left Bal- four, and returned to his own lodgings, inflamed with the maiden herself. about to be taken from him. wine and gnawing passions, when the traitor, John, made his appearance hurriedly, and informed him of Proctor’s appearance at the residence of Mrs. Monckton. in his excitement he lost his coolness and circum- the Thoroughly roused by the information, spection ; and. congratulating himself on pre- caution which had provided him with Balfour's warrant for the arrest of Proctor, he hurried in search of him, with the hope to take him in the His evil rendered him insensible to the brutality of such a We have porary disappointment very presence of his mistress passions proceeding seen the results in his tem- The event of the interview did not greatly improve his temper or his prudence. When he emerged from the dwelling of Mrs. Monck- a ton, he found the spy in waiting with a cx iple of Hessians, who had been brought for the purpose of not willing to forego their eervices. “You must recover trail, John,’’ he said to the Spy. “Must have time for it, major. We must get back to his lodgings and see if he’s gone back I left a pair of eyes on the | n that quarter, and can soon know. But it won’t do to be there: ay ook-out i going inacrowd. These men can follow us at a yearing to follow, and you had These re- distance without apy better keep a good bowshot behind me. bels have their spies out as well as ourselves, and ? they whisper, from wall to wall, who ’s coming.” “As you We must have him by the neck and heels before night!’’ The party distributed by the spy pursued their ' will,’ said Vaughan—“ only hasten! way, bat with considerable intervals between the They reached, at length, the they several divisions. neighborhood of Proctor’s lodgings. There ascertained from the subordinate who had been left to watch the premises that he had reappeared, en- tered, and again gone forth, not ten minutes before. The direction which he had taken was pointed out, and the pursuers again resumed the chase. For a long time they found it fruitless. Proctor, it seems, had set out to seek for Singleton, alias Furness. His mind had taken a new direction since his recent interview with Ella Monckton. Strange to say, the feeling of despair and complete resignation to his fate, which had weighed him to the earth not an hour betore, had given way entirely to a new senti- ment of hope and life. He scarcely yet grasped fully the vague intimations of his thought; but, for the first time, he felt how much wisdom there was in the counsel of his friend, which warned him to fly from a trial in which he was already and unjustly condemned. Proctor had not yet fairly determined to adopt this advice, but the earnest desire to see and talk with Singleton once more vaguely contem- plated this very necessity, and the means for em- ploying it. Besides, we must do him the justice to say that a very considerable feeling of anxiety for the safety of the latter entered into the desire But Old Tom Singleton had, very properly, given him no that if, knew, Proctor was under espionage, it would only conduct which he felt in respect to his own aflairs. how to seek the fugitive was the question! clue; being very conscious as he the pursuers on Robert Singleton’s track to suffer the former to find him out. We have seen where the latter had found shelter. It was sunset, and the dusk was rapidly approaching, when Tom Singleton left Conover’s Hotel in Queen Street, and pushed up East Bay. He was suddenly encountered near Col- onel Cruden’s (Pinckney) residence by Proctor, the last man de d stopped him, but he pushed him by, saying abruptiy, esired The latter would have to see as he passed— ajor Proctor, if you would not do mischief, walk over to Ashley River, and forget that you have seen me.’”’

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KATHARINE ~nnnennenenn* (PRPRAPLADD AAAARABRAAALL «But I would see my friend Singleton—I have something to say to him.of very great importance. “Say it to your looking-glass! Dig a hole in your garden, as the barber of Midas did, and bury your I tell you, sir, that you will mar everything—that you will only bring secret from the winds the enemy upon our footsteps.”’ Proctor paused, half piqued at the rudeness of the old man, and half impressed by the reason of his He fered him to make his way as he pleased. and suf- Old Sin- suggestion. stood as de, accordingly, gleton pushed forward, and, for a moment, Proctor watched him. The old man looked back, and see- ing that he was watched, darted aside into Pinckney Street, pursuing a due west direction. Proctor con- tinued up the bay, walking slowly, and fast forget- ting the external world in his inward meditations On a sudden, however, he was startled by the re- appearance of Tom Singleton, who crossed the Bay from one of the streets at right angles with it, and hurried rapidly down to the wharves. Proctor’s desire to see and speak with Robert Singleton was immediately revived within him. He looked back upon his own footsteps. He saw nobody, and the dusk had objects only at a small distance. now so thickened that he could distinguish “This old man,’’ he said to himself, “‘ exaggerates the danger. There is no one after us now; and if there were, he could see but little.” ' He came rapidly to his determination, his desires prompting him to make light of all causes of appre- hension ; and, Wheeling down the wharves also, he kept old Singleton’s retreating figure constantly in He little from the Bay into another street, he placed himself thought that, when he wheeled ls eye. under th which he flattered him- If he had self h rad self he hac verve splonage plonage eluded, and which, indeed, had failed, It was ) to this moment, to come upon his tracks, in this very street that the keen eyes of his trea- cherous servant, John, still followed by Vaughan and the Hessians, had caught sight of old Singleton. The same treacherous scoundrel now instantly de- tected a somethi@® in the air and gait of the new- comer which reminded him of his master; but the dusk was now too great to enable him to reduce this to certainty, unless by a nearer approach, which, not Vaughan as he knew his master’s temper, he was careful to make alone. He waited, accordingly, ti came up, when he expressed his belief that Proctoi was just before them, a space of not more than filty yards. ‘Why, then, do you stop?”’ demanded Vaughan, “Why did you not dart upon him ? eagerly. ‘‘ He will fight like a devil, major.” « Push on with me! ‘* Hadn't we better hold on till the Hessians come 90 “ Yes, sir; but old} ‘And he is too old to give us any trouble But do vou run back and hurry on the Hessiaas. I wiil Inan in sight. puso on a vd keep Our AARAAARARAA ~— PPPPIPP PDP DPD PPPs WALTON. 347 AAAAAAAAAAAAY AW MAAR lie was obeyed. Alone, he pressed forward, and with such speed as brought Proctor again in sight. The route led to a lower wharf—that in which we have seen Robert Singleton concealed. Something, which Vaughan could not see, prompted Proctor suddenly to increase his pace. It was now grow- ing difficult to distinguish objects at thirty yards. Vaughan’s impatience would not allow him to de- lay. He knew but of the single enemy before him, and reasonably calculated that all that was neces- 7 sary Was to retard his flight for a few moments un- til the arrival of the spy with the Hessians. He quickened his walk, already hurried, to a run, and * the suddenly found himself almost at the head o wharf, with a gre up of shadowy figures upon it and a boat on one side, in which several persons were to be seen. Proctor was speaking with one of the in the boat. The sound of his voice was persons enough to bring out all the vindictive animosity of his pursuer. He pushed at once for the group, which opened as he drew nigh, leaving Proctor con- but Vaughan seized upon his arm, exclaiming, as spicuously before him, with his back toward him. he did so— ‘‘ You are my prisoner, Major Proctor! Here is the order for your arrest from Colonel Balfour.” Proctor wheeled about, shook himself free, and with a sudden blow of the fist, delivered fairly in the face of his assailant, he sent him staggering back. But Vaughan instantly recovered himself, drew his sword, shouted to the emissary , John, with his Hes- d to be close behind him, At eton’s voice was distinctly heard sians, Whom he suppose and rushed with mortal fury upon his enemy. this moment, Sing to say— ‘This determines it, Proctor; you have no alternative.”’ ) , Proek Vaughan the r had drawn his sword the moment he had given blow. Their weapons now crossed; and the group on the wharf, seeing the ap- proaching Hessians, with the disappeared over spy Vs the sid comy etely concealed in the shadows of es, hulk that lay there in the wharf, and on the old Vaughan announe the marsh. heard the ery of the treacherous servant his approach, and he called to him, while still fighting ‘Seize the boat! The rebel, with Proctor— Singleten, is in it!’ The Hessians, with the spy, at once jumped upon to the stern of which the boat was fastened. had they were seized by unseen enemies and violently thrown the hulk, Searcely done so, when the two former down upon the deck. John, the spy, however, con- tinued to seize the fasts of the boat, and, stretching over, laid his hand upon the prow. A single blow } from Robert Singleton with an oar, which he caught up suddenly, delivered roundly upon the head of the fellow. stunned him, and falling between into the di | kk down like a stone, and never reap- he went Meanwhile. the contest between Proctor and Vaughan was continued with fearful violence. e wounded, though not dangerous- in some degree, of the wel aughan, aware,

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MAGAZIN 348 ——— eee . ~~ GODEY’S capture of the Hessians, and no longer hearing the voice of the spy, was losing all his caution in the fear of losing his prey. Proctor was never cooler in his life. The desperateness of his situation seemed to bring out all his character. Meanwhile, Singleton leaped ashore. Lights are moving down towards us, and they are waving We can take and “We must put an end to this, Proctor. torches upon the eastern bastion. tie this worthy gentleman, and either leave him on the wharf or take him with us “A moment !—only a moment more !’’ was the reply of Proctor, who felt his advantages It scarce- ly needed so much. Almost while he was speak- ing, a desperate lounge of Vaughan threw wide his guard, and the prompt weapon of Proctor found its received the he 1s enemy, sheath in his bosom. the as He leaped up thrust, and upon | fell forward the = off short at hilt. $ stooped to the body, which was utterly lifeless. “It “You have resisted the arrest of your supe- sword breaking ingleton is done! And your flight is decided,’’ said he. rior, and your fate is sealed if you remain!” Proctor offered no resistance ; but si enuy suffered boat. himself to be led away to the It was pushed off the moment he was seated. The mmates were six in number: Singleton, himself, Lockwood, the boy George Spidell, and two faithful negroes. The four last took the oars; but of these little use was made, exce pt to direct the course of the vessel, as the tide, 1 the re- quired direction. now nearly at the flood, bore it i: ‘“ These stars are shining Lockwood, “ and may give those fellows on the bas- tion a glimpse of us. We must strike over for Had- drill’s until out of sight, then take the tide for the marshes of Town Creek You persist, ( re Singleton, 1 ng on the west side of the river? n gol “ Yes, certainly My horses are hidden this side of the ‘ Quarter,’ and such a course will be totally unsuspected. They will naturally expect us to strike over for Haddrill Og ‘Oars, boys,”’ said Lockwood; “we must use them for awhile, at least, t Wwe get fairly |! id the range of sight from that bastion. They are waving torches. They see some g, that is cer- tain ‘« Yes, indeed; and design to make us see some- thing, too,”’ said Singleton, as the roar of a twenty- four pounder shook the welkin. The grape, a thick shower, hustled over the heads of the t 1 ves

“A civility designed for us! e _ «They will not see us long,’’ answered Lock- wood. ‘One or two more lusty pulls, my good boys, and they must aim at random.”’ Another and another shot f wed ; but they were vite wide of q the object *“ Enough, boys; that w answer. Thev see us no longer, and we may leave everyt ¢ to the tid All that need be done now may be t to that pad ” dle Hand it me, Ge ER bal) r AND LADY’S BOO The night deepened, and under its shadows the little boat once more approached the western banks The received them, and they were already within of the boats of the Cooper. channel called Town Creek the

marsh when they sav gorges numerous setting forth from th suit, and all taking the route for Haddrill’s. ‘Safe for the present, colonel,’’ said Lockvror d; i ‘and the sooner we part the better. You wi no other help? I can put you higher up if you des . “No! no! take care of yourself now I trust you will find that easy. For me, nothing is more so l have horses at hand, such as none in garrison could overtake, unless. perhaps, Archy Can | bell’s, and no one will look for us in this quarter. Wh 1? do, Lockwood “Give yourself no concern about me. Daylight ll probably tind us up the Wando.”’ The parties separated ; and, before dawn, Sin wi 1 £ic- ton and Proctor, with a few followers, were rapidly approaching the heads of Cooper River CHAPTER XLIV. WE may imagine the fury of Balfour at the events of the night. Two of his victims had escaped, and one of his allies had perished in the very moment that he cde ed his vengeance certain But there Was one victim still in his hands, and pe haps two At ¢ events, t c nmandant of Charleston was resolved that the fate of Colone! Walton should be sealed beyond redemption, unless with the sacrifice of h daughte! We have already mentioned at the trial of Walton had taken place. The whole proceeding was a miserable mockery of justice The w Sses Wwe unsworn, and the « irges, ac- cording to the plea put in for Walton, were denied to furt t unds for a criminal prose i) He d ! liction of the «¢ irt, and ollered a protes g st its J roceedi s, Which Was not re ceived. | ppeal lay to his c@gitry only, and the patriots { her battles to do justice to his me In and ave ge his cause He was found gu ty, as a matter of course, and condemned, within twen- tv- 1 hours, f expiate his a ged treason upon the g 3 | < zens of Charleston we whelmed with consternation and surprise They searcely could ieve that anything more was de- signed by the e mmandant and his court than si py to oce na whole » sentiment of terror They prod led, as we have said, by memorial, to lore the erey which they did not doubt would be ac- c led them They were to be terribly undeceived in this expect 1. The ladies presented this peti- tion in person, and were repulsed with austerity The vene » men of the city, including numerous valists ¢ rank. a g Whom Was ex or Bu 1 public character greatly esteemed | i parties, renewed pet 1, and a - cess In Ba urs Gwe g Katha r \\ ou

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KATHARINE ee ew ~~ threw herself at his feet in a vain entreaty for her father’s lif “Jt is in your own hands,”’ was the only reply— ‘you have but to speak to save him. You know By the God of Heaven, Miss Wal- the conditions! ton, you shall have no other!” She was taken away swooning. Colo- nel Walton was taken from the vaults of the Pro- The day came assigned for the execution. vost, and carried up stairs, in the same building, to the north-east chamber, in the second story, where he was permitted to see his friends, and to habit himself properly for his painful public exhibition Hither his daughter found her way at the earliest possible moment. There was a sense of utter deso- lation in her grief that left her almost speechless. But we shall not attempt to describe the agony, which needed not, and was indeed superior to the necessity for, any words to declare its intensity and extremity. There are some sorrows, over which the judicious painter always draws the veil, despair- ing to depict them. Such is our policy and neces- sity. At length, the moment came for parting. At this moment, Balfour appeared in the dungeon. He approached Katharine. ' ‘It is not too late!’’? he whispered in her ears. «You have yet time! You may yet save him!” The voice of Walton immediately followed the whisper of Balfour. «“ Katharine !”’ She looked up through her tears. ‘‘Remember, my child! your oath! your oath!” She sank down at her father’s feet. ‘Colonel Balfour,’ said Walton, “this is very unmanly. Do you not see the misery which you inflict? ‘T would save your life!” You embitter the last moments of my life was the answer. «You eannot do it by this process.” «There is then no other!’’ was the savage reply, and with these words, Balfour left the chamber. As he was about to depart, Katharine half rose with the purpose of arresting him, but her father grasped her by the arm «“ My child, to save the short remnant of my life by my Kate, remember! Do not think of yourown. Remember your oath! Ii is my last command, my child, that you never wed this man!”’ We forbear the rest of the scene. The moment came for separation, and with one ag brace, one convulsive kiss upon her quivering lips, nizing em- Walton tore himself away from his swooning daugh- ter. For a moment after, she lay unconscious in the arms of her venerable kinswoman. Then, us she heard ‘he roll of the melancholy drum without, sig- nalizing the movement of the sad procession, she started to her feet. ‘Let us go,” she cried, ‘I cannot endure this agony and live “To whom, my child?” “To Balfour! Mrs. Sing ' ” [ must go to him! to htm My father must be saved"’ eton did not oppose her. It was impos- Tv) hi e two hurried to the carriage, S3* sible to do so rere OOeESremmmmmrmmrrrorwmnwnr oO O000°8” OOOO™'w™T™" WALTON. 349 PPL ALD LAL LLL APPL PLL P Pn which was in waiting, and it was driven with al! speed to Balfour’s quarters. Katharine, leaving Mrs. Singleton in the vehicle, hurried into the house. Without noting who was present, she exclaimed, as she entered the room in which hitherto she had found the commandant— ‘« Spare him, save him, Colonel Balfour—I consent to all you require! She was answered by Alfred Monckton— ‘Colonel Balfour is not here, Miss Walton,”’ : Where is he?”’ ‘* I have to go to him, even now, upon business,”’ “Oh! my God, do not tell me so! was the reply—‘‘ I will conduct you to him.” ‘Thanks! thanks! But hasten, or we shall be too late.’”’ The young man assisted her into the carriage, and took a seat on the box. He ordered the coach- man to drive at once to the Misses Harveys, whither Balfour had ordered him to bring certain papers. The horses were put to their speed, and were soon at the residence of that rival beauty whose charms had only failed with the commandant when Katha- rine Walton entered the scene. Balfour, after leaving the Provost, had hurried te Here he had left a few orders; then, mounting his horse. his residence, full of rage and disappointment. he had galloped up to the dwelling of the beauty he had so much neglected of late, seeking that consola- tion from the one damsel! which he had failed to ob- tain from the other whom he most aflected. His steed was fastened at the entrance, and he entered the house. As he did so, Moll Harvey cried out from the upper story, bidding him take a seat in the parlor, and promising to be down directly. She had not made her toilet; and now proceeded to this plea- sant duty with a full sense of the situation of affairs, and a full determination to make herself as irresist- ible as possible. It was while she was engaged in this employment that she heard the carriage which bore Kate Walton drive up to the door. Looking through the lattice, she saw her alight and enter. The servant conducted her into the parlor, whither she was followed by Alfred Monckton. Mrs. Sit The m iw that he had ec nquered, s from Monckton, and told oining room The hurried gieton remained within the carriage. ment she appeared, Balfour s He hastily took the pape him to wait in an adj words of Katharine, meanwhile, had announced her resignation to her fate ‘I consent, Colonel Balfour— only save him— hasten, before it is too late !”’ You will be mine, Katharine ?’’ “Yes! O yes! anything—only do not waste these precious moments.” AT ] Meanwhile, Moll Harvey had descended to the lower story. She was standing beside the half-closed door as the words were spoken. She heard all that was said. She knew al] that was determined upon Through the crack of the door, she saw Balfour approach a tal Py le, and, with a pencil, hastily pen a few words on a scrap of paper; then, as he came

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350 G YS M herseil W na el Ba ur « re the ad rr I 1, putting the pa } ls of A I ide him ta and g p 1, Ww iste, to the s tion H was ord 1 te put e | hands of Major Fraser, commanding I t I done, Balfour retur t menut W e hel ! ft Katharine Walt

was ult to m t the rse¢ [ ba vey ran out to him mne ca il r hands lonckt she cried, appre om Ba I $s you this i must i m 1 pel su I N \ s t as \ wW be t ‘ l “

() A t ‘ w Diile ' ' sine i $ and sheltered nuit, ente ed per into the house, and ur, when ed a lo ded

in mers that he has sent thisempty paper I could have wished it otherwise, gentlemen,”’ he re sed, turning to Ramsay and the ot inxious friends of the condemned * But it only ts with me to dot duty They expostulated with him, and insisted upon the evident intentions of Balfour in sending a mes- senger im such hot haste the blank bu F r Was evi- | . | ' > dently some mistake user shook his head

but firinly ‘‘Gentlemen, this blank paper means everything! mmands me to do and shows me that no orders are designed to arrest it. Let near mourntuly, my duty, It especially the prisoner prepare himself. The minutes are usted y exn When Balfour, having dispatched

leant upon the arm of the sola She was ent, but, at ‘ ervals, drew ng convu ] t took the work of sox ig; l task required the agency of finer sens s than a n | ession. He either annoyed suf- ferer, or failed to make any impression on her sense W hen, however, his pertinacity fixed her atte astily started up and excla — Let me go now, Colonel Balfour, my aunt is in waiting, and I—I—should be at home. I am very SICK & i very wear'\ ~ Mrs. S ton has already gone home, dear Miss W n, having left the carriage for you.”’ ty e' and I am here alone!’ she ex- Cli ! \ i some urp se a l ann yance And t. mv dear Miss Walton? You are not é t \W » sl | better assert the r t to prot 1¢ fort you than he to whom you have given so ] us a rim ?’ ( t! comfort! Oh God, have mercy upon me! My fa vhen will he return ¢ \ te ke!”? } « cr \ i i i pr 1 WwW i ir W t } ‘ r r 4 ¢ t 5 { \ ! . } } soft tones, and ho ed asst ces ‘ ( whe wi ] have « ed her P ' r t resist She j i t ' ‘ ( 1 it. } ne he self »< 7] t to ron, at least \ 1 ) te 1 time. whicl e felt on, ten ted , ind full of xieties It was as most pre a ir wa | xy and * ‘ « } ta 1 { } il n or “ ¢ 1 ’ \ ‘ t ry n ?

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PRA RAAARAAAAAAAAAAn ns ns

“Tt is a signal!’ she exclaimed Tell me—tell me, Colonel Balfour! Can it be—can it be that’”’— She could say no more. Breathless, with hands extended, she advanced towards him, while, evi- »yed and confounded, he approached the window and threw it open. His evident dently ann disquiet increased that of Katharine, who now 1npeluously appealed to him in respect to her father’s safety ‘He is safe!’? he answered. Miss Walton At this moment, Moll Harvey threw wide the “Quite sae, dear He will be here directly.”’ door, and, dressed in the most splendid style, sud- denly appeared before them. Katharine looked up at her, but without any feeling of interest or sur- prise—with eyes, indeed, of vacancy. Balfour re- coiled from the unexpected vision. M Harvey addressed herself to her unconscious rival. Her accents were full of scorn and fire. He tells you that your father is safe—that he will be here direct y ! He tells you what is false! He i mself a living falsehood! Your father is dead—he w be here only in his « 1! That can- non announced the moment when the executioner scream, Katharine With one

wild

Fiend !”’ cried Balfour, “ what have you done ?’ ‘Spoken the truth! I have saved er and pun- hed you! You wonder that Walton perishes

WALTO? B51 -_ ‘ sanntuinithiaied the bottom of my heart (way now ! leave her to me I will recover her Iw Se she is restored to her but nor e] voman. And, Balfour, in leaving this hou ‘ u do not enter it aga unless you desire that | uld spit upon you. I have been weak—vicious, per- haps; and know that [ deal with pas s which are quite too powerful for me They w le oy me yet. That I know; but destruction—death it- self, for and with one whom I could honor as wel! as love—nay, shame itself with such a one—I should not dread to we me. But with you! No! no! Nesbitt Balfour— Ip sible!” Balfour evidently quailed in spirit ore that of the fierce Woman whom he d roused to fury

The was a stor ela Ww h we have | ti = rea i str ot t ‘ s is v row wis \ Why w you ‘ 4 onger any | ‘ succeed \s for me, if you a so Col to-morrow, 1 uw f and t me t l I ] while you ret ;

ns between them, I e her the van- She probs good expres Balfour r \T | > with Miss Walton t < me, [ e me } ' }aare iV beg ne, am only fit lor Curses

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352 GODEY [AGAZINE ND LADY'S BOOK. PPP PIPPI ILI I portraits, have mostly a traditional, if not an histo- son prisoner, as described in our story. He himself rical origin. We may add that many of the details | Was captured under the very circumstances given in im the narrative of Colonel Walton have been bor- the case of Walton; and the details of the execution rowed from those in the career the celebrated } are gathered from the lips of living witnesses. Colonel Hayne. It was Hayne who took Wi!liam- 5 ~w7~eeor -—- — WINTER. BY GEORGE JOHNSON. Op Winter, cold Winter again is here, { Old Winter is here with his frosty beard, Wit s snow, his ice. ¢ iin, Wit s sleet. his hail, and rain, The rest old fe v of 1 ’ Ay s breath, the keen north wind, is heard, Wevw me hit Kk again ; As it sweepeth along o’er the plain; For he br eth ( st nd New Year times, A f nd wide is his snowy face, When e happy and guy. 0 read over valley and hill, And gladder f irts W merry ¢ nes \ l p in his icy embrace Of the chur ells 1 Are rive streamlet, and rill The snow | d honsa it on the sr Ww, The icicle hanes from the cottage eaves, And chirrups a met ng And the ice-drop shineth there— And on the old tree the saucy crow And the shade trees, stripped of their verdant leaves, Is cawing all the day lor Are cracking away in the air The skaters are out on the ice i stream, The curling smoke from t e old chimney VW ling a and it u up, up, up trom the earth— Hark! hark! with o’erfra t they scream I t ppy, I ween, is the company Aud laugh, and | 1 \ i cotta heart! j Hurrah for old Winter, so shar lbold! Old Winter, cold Winter is here once more, Again he is here wi ¢ \" is snow s sleet, and hail, Hu for old W R cold! \ with his locks all hoar, I e¢ is none so merry a ’ iss in, and wail. The s \ e, I ween, A ey s er thie val VN ! s pure and white, W | the I y \ i and trosty sheen— Keep tiu t s ( \\V i chty old Knight Ont in their sleich are t ! H r old Winter! we ll shout and sing, I r Lis tw We i und ride! The lover v a he ‘ on ( \\ 1 re season’s ki g, Awnay the for a le! f \\ the se i’s pride Awny and away eed the sno I f Vi so cold and sere! Cross fields. o’¢ s, nnd t } 3, \W leet, and hail, and rain— And mingle their s! ts and songs as they go The t old fellow of all the year, With the merry chimes of the bells We wel e him back again! { a ————-_ ~ @e@er - —_— ‘ " i QON NPT Y 7 A mT tT ’ X ‘ - a» 4 - BY WM ALEXANDER, Neath stalks remcreclessly "mong living n And populates his renlm, dark, dread, sublime; His iron voice reverberating | ] Thy e beautif the brave, O’er ear a sepulelir r What king so proud It vast ¢ van, continuously pour Fer held such wide-spt t ty? A \ n Through S § iw, darksome, adamantine door, Whi nh levin-spe¢ ’ acT > ¢ re T r ; rir ’ itv. the @ ave He hasted, | Sin t | t t H VI 1riot only stays, Wherewith he pierces now all human hearts, When comes the J e—the ‘‘ Ancient Oncof Days. ’”

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A Vo M ’ BY AL! «On, tell us all about it!’ exclaimed a dozen eager voices, as a party of gentlemen entered the parlor. It was eleven in the evening, the night of Jenny and our friends Now interest, for Lind’s first appearance in America, had been eye-witnesses to her greeting m- der that eve face was flushed with had the day previous, t ry nothing we heard, since leaving Philadelphia ut the name or the praises of this Even politics the wonderful woman gave place to this all-absorbing topic in crowded ears. Sober- looking business men were calculating the net pro- ceeds which Barnum would pocket, as the list of prices bid for seats was read aloud from the Herald. Young men who patronized tartan plaids were in ager discussion of the various portraits which have 1 one appeared, anc of them sat aud smiled in silence over Barnum’s Parnassus. Even the little peach girls, at the various stations, were infected with the preva ig iferes and listened, wide-mouthed, for- getful of 1 tempting fruit. But, once in New York, the « isiasm we had heretofore observed seemed the coldest criticism to that which per- vaded all whom we met The weather had no chance in ¢ ersation, and one’s health, usually so tenderly inquired for, seemed of no consequence at all Have vou seen Jenny Lind?” “ We are going to hear her! Have you got tickets ?”’ «“*« Who was al ?’’ ««7 saw her carr wwe to-day Hote ke??? was all at the rehe front of the “ What is she | } at in ‘You don’t say !”’ that one could he yy? iron every side. Each movement of the distinguished stranger was chronicled. Every item of her con- versation was jotted down by some _ industrious penny-a-liner; and, acting upon the proverb, ‘love mv ¢ the pet spaniel, presented by me, love rovaltv, came It had been for a large share of public attention

lionizing. The Hung:

had ceased have t charm of novelty. G.P.R James was found very sensibly to decline any pub- demonstrations of “‘a nation’s admiration,’’ and was left the manner of his favorite “ solitary horseman to wander at his own sweet w General Paez had had a short but br int reign over p ynular curiosity, and now the morbid appetite of a hero-worshiping Community was roused to its ful arrival of this wonder of ihe world of sor And I lest capacity by the

eneath this froth of excited curiosity and vulgar sight-loving, there was an under-current of genuine admiration and interest for the far-famed cantatrice. For the past few years, her name (

come across the broad Atlantic coupled with the highest praise for her powers as a vocalist, her character as a woman At first. we did but know of her wonderful voice, its clearness, its br ancy; that it had « r charms than the cold beauty of mechanical skill We were told of the immense audiences which she attracted, and of the syren song which enchained them: and then she began to he known as a woman. The struggles and sorrows of her early childhood were revealed, and we learned that she was born in the obscuritv of a Swedish peasant life, and inured to the harsh ex- periences of a home of poverty But the beautiful talent was there—the gift of Heaven, which the world could not take away ; and then came the story of its gradual devel pment We loved her for the trials which she encountered in the very ontset of her career, for the pang f many a disappoint if, for the sickness of hope deferred, and the noble energy of character which | 1 baffled | <- couragen nd surmounted every obs e which fate and fortune had ] her ) rd} We are not as! 1t.) v1 t tears came to reyes as we read t ple and toucl ! her a iy When er 1 s was «at v de- Dp ad af the + r p tion had borne so mu 1} hless pl v t was as sudden! . D te thes We do not w a der that | ver\ heart sang for \ n tr t of triumph And then, when all was once more f when she became world-renow 1, and even kings delighted to honor her. the brightness of prosperity cast no shadow over her hea 1 life, and she still walked serenely onward d upward Ss had not f : ten the sorrows ¢ early years; she re I= bered the pains of poverty, and, after she had pro vided for her kindred, she gave liber t se who had no claim upon her bounty but the tie of a common humanity So we had all ec} 1 the “God bless her!” of those whom she |] 1 re ved, and had longed with i strange interest for the tir when she should be n our midst Now she was ar us. no matter by what means her feet had been turned to our shores; while here, as we have said before, were those who h id heen witnesses to the most enthusiastic welcome ft] in

the course of a *rful triumphs, she h ever received. Our friends were as much excited and as eager as we, in 1 recital to which we stened. They d bed the t audience, their breathless an f her coming, the shouts

353

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354 fAGAZIN which rose from parquette to dome. And so we sat questioning, and lJistenmg, and wondering, until a murmuring sound, which broke into loud cheers, rang upon the midnight air ; and we trust our readers will pardon the unusual movement, when we tell them that we went out into that delicious moonlight to listen to a serenade from Dodworth’s band. It was drawn up scarcely a stone’s throw from our parlor windows, directly under the balcony of the apart- ments occupied by Mademoiselle Lind. The torches of the attendants gave a most picturesque effect to the assembled crowd, and any one who has ever stened to this admirable company of musicians can imagine the exquisite strains to which we } stened. Presently, one of the long windows opened, and we could distinguish a mutiled figure coming out into the glare of mingled torchlight and moon- light. She moved slowly forward, bowed her ac- knowledgment of the cheers which drowned the music, and then we first saw Jenny Linp. How vividly the tableau rises in memory !—the eager, upturned faces of the crowd, the strange light which fell with broad masses of shadow around, and the gentle, graceful woman leaning over the balcony and keeping time unconsciously to the melody fleat- ng around us. Once, when a strain was finished, she bent eagerly forward, clasped her hands like a little child disappointed at the sudden ending of a great pleasure, and the “so!’’ that we have since oticed as so peculiar to her, escaped her lips; while he crowd, de light ‘d with the approval! of their favor- , shouted her name again, a she had been the queen of this noble land, and they her most loyal sul yects. We were to hear her on the second nicht of her that the appearance. It seemed scarcely poss hle dream of years Was about to be realized. Even the s 8 of pasteboard that were t adinit | us to her pre- sence assumed a mysterious They were mecert. Morn- and told of the lnport wniike any other Is of any other ¢ unlike any other cards of any other ¢ k at tl ng visitors asked to look at them crowds of purchasers that were gathered in front of the museum. ‘* Time and the hour’’ had at length arrived, and we entered the long avenue which led to the grand saloon of Castle Garden. This hac b en se ected, n I -cause it was acces- sible or fashionable, but that it could accommodate a larger audience than any hal! in New York. Those who have visited that city w recollect its situa- on beyond the Battery, and cradled, as it were, npon the beautiful bay which bears the vessels of so many nations. The entrance was thronged by parties of elegantly-dressed people, lad and dainty gloves, es with soft- tresses gentlemen ly braided bearing the large lorgnettes that were to be leveled y them at the stage, or bou juets that, ere the even- ng was passed, would be lying at the feet of the The ored lamps, each shade point cantatrice hall itself was brilliant with co- out to the ticket holders the direction in wh they were to look for their seats. Ushers, bear Ts of office, with a gay knot of ribbon to mark their positions, were i AND LADY'S BOOK. flitting here and there, all smiles, politeness, and kid So, almost in the centre of the parquette, with ample white gloves. at last, we were seated leisure to look round upon the sea of faces, the like to of which chance see again. Seven thousand persons were computed to be pre- Wwe never may sent, and yet we have heard the hum of conver- sation much louder in an ordinary Musical Fund concert. Every one seemed mute with expectation We watched the entrance of the orchestra. Bene- dict, whose music we had long been familiar with, took his place as leader, and flourished the baton knowingly. We have no doubt the overture was remember nothing but the crash of the Belletti’s appreciated by those whose thoughts were centered fine; we Nor was rich musical utterance finale. in the Casta Diva that was to follow. There wasa moment of almost breathless silence ; then the whole audience swayed forward, moved by the same irre- sistible influence, as a light footstep was distinctly heard, and, in a moment more, the figure which we had seen before was bending in acknowledgment of the storm of applause which awaited her. It was then we first saw her face, lighted with the grateful glow of feeling which could but rise at such a welcome m a stranger land. The broad smooth brow, the eyes so full of varying expression, the childlike ripple of her golden hair—all that we had heard of her attractions and her grace was realized. But, although Casta Diva was given w a pre- I nderful, apart from the peculiar qualities of voice which it the in cision and delicacy that, of itself, was wi not so fully displayed, we were impressed with clearness and flexibility of which we had heard so much, until we listened to the celebrated flute trio, composed by Meyerbeer, it is said, expressly for the compass and power of Mademoiselle Lind’s voice The story is of a young peasant girl, who, with the aid of her lover, conceives a project to warn Frede- rick of Prussia of a plot against his life. The king,a brilliant performer upon the flute, plays a favorite air, Which her fine ear hascaught. This she teaches to her lover, and, the next time that the king is heard to play the strain, she sings it in his hearing, while the lover accompanies her. The king, surprised, joins in the air, thus making the trio. With this explana- tion, our readers can see what ample scope was found for the birdlike trills and passages which the composer has introduced, and which the fine voice of the cantatrice renders so admirably. Her action was remarkably graceful. Now she bent down, as timid catch the strains from the royal tent, and sent them if to encourage her lover, then listened to echoing back again. Sometimes it was almost im- possible to distinguish her voice from the flute ac- companiment; and then, like the skylark’s song, it the We could but exquisite description of rising above clouds. Miss Lady Geraldine— seemed think of Barrett's ‘* The silence round us flinging A slow arm of sweet compression, felt with beatings at the breast,

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When she brake out, on a sudden, in a gush of wood- land singing, Like a child’s emotion in a God—a Naiad tired of rest. ‘« Oh, to see or hear hersinging! Scarce! know which 18 Civinest ; For her looks sing too—she modulates her gestures in the tune; And her mouth stirs with the song, like song; and, when the notes are finest, Tis the eyes ti swell t ut shoot out vocal light, and seem to tem on.?? We have heard it said that there is an icy cold- ness in the execution of Mademoiselle Li at there 18 no soul, no emotion in the Mechanical utter- ance which is so perfect. True, there is none of the extravagant gesticulation, the tossing of and re g of eyes, which the Italian school seems to think necessary to the expression of passionate emotion, be it of joy or sorrow ; but every one who has heard the thrilling strain of “(Ou ido la occasion, Lascias listened on another if voice and Normandie,’”’ to which we must, indeed, be strangely stoical un- moved by the melting pathos of her manner. The Swedish herdsman’s song would, perhaps, be by by study or a cultivated ear, with the Italian school. It is the m better understood those who are not familiar, st Wonderful, as an exhibition of vocail- zation, of all that she has yet given. The harsh ery with which it commences, the echo, which seems to awaken n voices in response, crossing and entwining the sound, as it were, until the ear is be- wildered ; , that low, delicious clos- ing caden too mute for sound, and yet sh rwiih Ws musical V a tions But we were fortunate enough to see Mademoi- selle Lind in the retirement of het own apa rents, and to know her as a woman as well as a canta- trice. She had heard that some gentlemen, who compose a somewhat celebrated quartette club, “ What, said she, “ that were contemplating a serenade. gentie- men sing in the street! Oh no,” must not be!’ So an evening was fixed for thei reception, and we were present on the occasion Mademoiselle Lind, with Benedict and Bellett the were the « drawing-! occupants ol oin as we entered, and some little time was passed in conver- sation befor 1. The > the quartette party arrives guests were received with the ease and politeness which would belong to any well-bred lady, and so little was there in her air or manner to mark the heroine, that we could searcely believe that we were conversing quietly with one so widely known, so truly admired. We marveled at the composure with which the gentlemen gave their song of wel- come in the presence of such a trio, blending in admirable harmony, and their uttera their voices nee as distinct as though but serenading some lady fair, who knew no more of compliment of the knowle¢ } The poem was most gracefully ac- music than ourselves. lged to the author, who was present; and then, When animated conversation had relieved the natural cons ediy to wee was ail bered by fervent farewe We « sug tl « \ ¢ press pt traint of all parties, she listened delight- ‘ral beautiful glees and choruses, that ted by those present Altogether, it ‘musical festival’ long to be remem- present; nor have we yet forgotten the ire oF tae and which accompanied the Linb. “annot better close this little sketch of per- sonal reminiscenve than by quoting the welcome song above alluded to. The deserved and grace- fully expressed tribute is from the pen of Wim. C Richards, who has also given to the public several that have appeared on the voice and style of Mademoiselle Lind. \ Its « Ny Cru B Y D A In Vv Cre The « N But a C1 THE GREETING. ert ben i foreign sky, { ns around thee thr ng, ei nigh, sits on every tongue. \ wel 1¢ to the shores VW e Pear ‘ ichest gifts outp s! ir inmost souls, t é ry sense; I v 8 ice the ri ve I v me! fort song gel liy ught weil belong! matchless song alone e rare magic of thy tame; rell « bosoms own which adorn thy name en W me, we me to our hearts, \ ie dies or t uce departs! s crowned thee Queen of Song, if ty to thee i heart the task belongs i thee Ques f Charity! e welcon welcome, welcome be, right Qlueen of Song and Charity

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Ml XS SS =s = S35 Y Rt FOF ry tat.) + LECTION; OR, THE HISTORY OF PATRICK MURPHY’S RETURN TO HIS POLITICAL FRIENDS, AND FINAL ABANDONMENT OF THE PARTY IN DISGUST, BY T. Ss. ARTHUE THE SEQUEL. $ The fact is, Biddy, darlint,”’ said he, as he sat over his I itatoes and cotlee—the dollar a day had ‘Tue victory gained; now for the spoils.”’ If not supplied as many wants as it should have done these very words were not used by some hundreds —‘ the fact is. I don’t belave it’s just right till put of the country’s “ devoted friends’’ on the morning me aff wid a beggarly place in the post affice, at five that such thought was in their bearts. Murphy, he arose from Through his important aid—of thi R followed election day, it was not because no As for Mister his bed a proud man. and others had assured him over and over again—the great victory had been achieved; and he, of course, was sure of his reward 3056 ) or six hundred a year. I that, so he does A man who has served the party as have desarves betther thratement nor «“ Plaze goodness," responded Biddy, in a voice and I ‘d be thankful for 1 and n’ Yees got y’r idees slightly troubled, “ hat, niver think o’ ca it beggarly. a little too clevated, Pathrick.”’

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BEFORE AND AFTER “ Niver a bit, troth! I knows my desarvins, and {’ll git them. They ’ll not put me aff wid the crumbs o’ the table, I can tell them.”’ ** Have yees ony money, Pathrick ?”’ asked Biddy. ‘“ Niver a rid cint, darlint. I spint ivery farthin’ yisterday in buyin’ up the votes; but I ’ll see Mus- ther R—— the mornin’.”’ « But will he pay yees onything more, now that "lection is over, Pathrick ?”’ Isn’t he under an iver- ? Didn’t he say that, ‘And why not, sure? lastin’ debt o’ gratitude to me if I’d do me duty as he knew that [ could do it, he ’d niver forget me while the breath was in his mortal body ?”’ ‘But what are we to do for dinner the day, Pathrick ? more in the house. “Och! And can’t yees jist git a little trust at Mrs. Mulligan’s for the day ? ney when I see Musther R- There isn’t a loaf of bread nor a petatee The childther must have food.” I ’\l git plinty o’ mo- ” «| don’t know,” replied Biddy. ‘ We owe four dollars there now; and Mrs. Mulligan said, the last time I was there, that [ needn’t come for ony more thrust till the ould score was paid aff.”’ “Och! But do you tell her, Biddy, darlint, that we ’ve bate the bloody nabobs, and that I’m to have an office, and Bad cess till her stingy ould sowl! that we ’re going to have hapes o’ money, and that Jist that, Biddy, and she ’|l open her store till yees.’ we ‘ll dale wid her for iverything. say all Biddy was not so sanguine, however, and doubted the effect of this particular mode of argumentation ; whereupon Patrick called her an old fool, and started from the table in disgust. After scraping off his wiry beard, and sprucing himself up as well as he could, Murphy sallied forth fellow-victors, and To meeting about nine o’clock to meet his rejoice with them over the party triumph. he Dozens head-quarters repaired, in hopes of R—. he found assembled there, who, like himself, had come to seek for some particular leader or leaders, and who were ready to shake hands with him, and exchange congratulations on But all It put no money in the the “glorious victory.” this shaking of hands amounted to nothing. empty pocket of our friend Murphy. ‘Have yees seen R——?” he inquired of one and another. Some had seen the successful candidate and some had not. was extended, he received in reply this interroga- Of one individual to whom his inquiry tion— ‘«R——? And pray what do you want with him ? An office already, Pat Murphy!” ‘Do yees mane to insult me? responded Mur- phy, angrily. ‘Oh no!” laughed the other. “ But I'd like to give you a piece of good advice.” “Wull, what it?’ inquired Murphy, evincing no little impatience. «“ Why, just this, mv friend: If you ’ve got any at) work to do, zo and do it, and be thankful. and 18 VOL. xLI.—34 ] | NEXT ELECTION. 357 HE «¢ What do yees mane?”’ Pat’s fists were clenched involuntarily. This was an insult he could ill bear. ‘*] mean,’’ was replied, *‘ that you ’II fiad it more profitable than running alter an elected candidate, or seeking for an otlice. R—— don’t care three buttons for you, now that he ’s gained the day.” R entered the room, and Just at this moment, passed so close to the Irishman as almost to rub against him. Pat started forward, extending his hand, and saying, in a voice of exultation— ‘“* Me congratulations, Musther R——!”’ But, from some cause, R did not hear the Irishman’s voice nor recognize his person ; and he was so quickly surrounded by his many “ friends’ that Murphy could not get near him. This fact, connected with the “ good advice’’ he had just re- ceived, threw rather a damper upon the poor fel- low’s feelings. This state of mind was not im- proved by the severai ineflectual attempts made to obtain an interview with R , who was too much engaged with other and more congenial spi- rits to think or care for an obscure Irishman, whom he had duped into becoming an efficient tool for the accomplishment of his ends. With troubled feelings, Murphy at length saw R depart. He followed him out quickly, and, forcing his way up to the carriage which stood at the door, and into which R—— had just entered, said, in a somewhat agitated voice— “ Musther R yees ?” ‘“ To Colonel L as if he had not heard Murphy. 1\ Can I jist get a spakin’ till to the driver, s,”’ said R Then, waving his hand to the little crowd on the pavement, and bow- ing and smiling as the driver spoke to the horses, he swept away, with as little thought or care for the poor Irishman as if he had been one of the bricks in the pavement. Crest-fallen, and with a_ heavy weight on his feelings, Murphy walked slowly away. Still, he was willing to believe that R—— had not recognized him, and that, as soon as he could obtain an interview, everything would be done that he desired. He did not go home at dinner- time; for he was afraid to meet Biddy, with his empty pockets, and no prospects of filling them ahead. And as he had not, to use his own words, “a rid cint to bless himself with,’? he was com- pelled to go without food until his return in the evening. In going from place to place, familiar during the progress of the canvass, and in meeting certain in- dividuals with whom he had been hand and glove for weeks, he found that he was a man of far less consequence than before. Instead of cordial greet- ings and fine compliments, a cold ‘“‘ How are you Murphy ?” «Still loafing about, Pat ?”’ or some sucli address, met him at every turn. Occasionally, an individual about as important as himself would seize his hand and half wring it off. But he would have willingly dispensed with these particular con- gratulatory manifestations. About three o'clock, Murphy repaired to the resi-

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or —_ ’ : 358 E wennnane = dence of R——, and sent his name in by the servant, who brought back word that the gentleman was particularly engaged Tell him,” said the Irishman, “ that Mr. Murphy would jist like to spake wan word widhim. Jist wan word and no more, and won’t kape him a minute.”’ servant went back, and, afler a rather pro- ed absence, returned and asked Murphy to Take a seat. Mr. R—— will be down in a little while,”’ said the servant, as he opened one of the parlor doors and motioned the Irishman to enter. A quarter of an hour elapsed, and then R—— made his appearance. His face d 1 not wear a very cordial aspect. It is true, there was a smile upon is lips, but it was a forced smile, fading quickly. ‘Well, my good friend,” said he, coldly, “ what He did not even say ‘“‘ Mr. Murphy.” The Irishman was chilled by the manner of R—., and felt himself strongly repulsed. “TI ’ve worked hard for yees,”’ said Patrick, ina humble voice You did your duty to the good cause; I ’Il give you credit for that, friend Mu phy ; and you ll get your reward ‘« But how soon, Musther R——?” All in good time ill in good time,’’ was an- swered, with some impatience

Ye knows, Musther R , that I gave up my siteation’ At hod earrving? Oh yes, remember. Well, Pat, you ’ve hada pretty easy time of it for a couple of 1 iths, and can go to work now with more spi- rit, sustained as you w be by the reflection that you have served your adopted country like a good and true citizen I sijteation, Musther R——,”’’ said the Irishman. in a distressed tone of voice. You must find another, then, my friend. You can’t expect to in idleness. Every man must This was said in a tone of stinging rebuke “T ’m not afraid to work,’’ returned Murphy. «“ But I’ve got no work You promised me’’—

Office hunting alread Why don’t you know, man, that I shal

not take my seat in Congress for a year? I’m still on private citizen.’’ A year !"* stam ed Murphy, in a husky voice. « A year did vees say Certainly I did. The member’s term, in whose niace I have been elected, doesn’t «¢ xpire until the When I take my close of the present ( gress all. I will d Lean for you. But, until r “ that time, you must goto work like an honest, indus- , a = trious citizen. Your rew: will come; never fear. lurphy had arisen from his chair when R—— entered the room, and was stil! standing in the floor, the member el not having invited him to resume his seat ‘And now,” said the latter, “ you must excuse me. I have several! friends awaiting me.’ RARAAADA AD And he bowed in a wavy that said “ be off almost as distinctly as if he]

Confounded, and utteriy cast down under a sense of mortification and distress, the Irishman turned away and retired in silence. ‘Remember, William,”’ he heard R say to his waiter, as he was passing to the door, speaking with some anger, ‘I’m not at home to any of these le ws Outside of the door, as he opened Murphy

found two mea of his own class, one of Whom said— ‘Can I see Mr. R——?”’ ‘He ’s not at home,’’ said the servant, appearing at the moment. «‘ When will he be in ?” was inquired “T can’t tell,’ shut in the man’s face. ? was answered, and the door was “It’s a bloody lie!’’ said Mury half to himself and half aloud.

‘* He zs in, then ?”’ exclaimed one of the men. ‘ Be dad, and he ’s iist that! ‘Have you seen him?” ‘ Vis ‘“ Well?” And got a bit of cowld com ‘ort for my pains; jist what ye ’ll git, if ye’r after ony And, with this, he turned away, in no very piea- sant mood of mind. As he was w: x along, with his head bowed down and his eyes upon the pave- ment, some one sa d— Hi, Patrick ! On looking up, he recognized one of the clerks in Mr. P——’s store. ,? is this you Where have you been keepir urself, Pat- rick? We spent a whole week some time ago in t ng to find you. Indade '”’ Yes. The man we got in your place ti 1 out badly We changed two or three t | then Mr. P—— thought he ’d give you : trial. if

you were inclined to make a you at work carrying bricks and mortar, and said he couldn’t help pitying you.” ‘I’m obleeged till him for his Murphy, at once elated in prospect ’ a return to

his old place. ‘“ Musther P—— isa jontil I must say 11 was a fool iver to have | his employ- ment. I ‘ll go back wid pleasure Ah. but, Patrick,”’ replied the you man, ina tone of regret, “it is too late now We couldn’t find you, and so filled the place wit! ther man, who is all that we could want.”’ It’s all bad luck!” exclaimed the Irishman, voice of distress. “I’ve a mi t £ and < vn meseil But where were you, Patrick? We left word at your house for you to come round t <tore Where was Il, d'ye say? Faix d I was mindin’ other paple’s business instid o’ me ane. «“ Indeed !’ ‘ is. I was promotin’ the election of R—, bad cess till him !”’

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éGomemene ; at “Ho! ho!” laughed the young man, in spite of the sadness “Well, you are a fool! What good did you expect to gain from of the Irishman’s face. his election « He prot ‘Did he? That’s rich! ised me a siteation in the post affice.’’ What has he to do with the post office ?”’ ~ I d’no’. warded.”’ But he promised that I should be re- “As he promised two or three hundred besides, as big fools as you are. He ’ll have nothing to do with the post office. In fact, he won’t take his seat in Congress for over a year; and then his influence, He ’s got too many others to reward with the few crumbs it if he have any, will not go in your favor. may be in his power to dispense.” The Irishman ‘Good m groaned, but made no reply. “¢ And never put rning, Patrick,’’ said the clerk. take with you this piece of good advice : any faith in the promise of a politician, made on the eve of an election, for he’|! be sure to deceive you With this, the young man moved on, and the [rishman was t still sadder than before Of the t and struggle through which the hum- bled Patrick Murphy, again shrunk down to his rea dimens ssed d i the long, hard winter that fo ‘ nd of the sufferings endured by his poorly clothed, warmed, and fed wife and children, we will not speak. They were severe enough. In - *K to ce r-d the spring, he went igging and hod- carrying worked until fall, when he was sought for again by his old po itical friends, who knew the value of his services, and again wheedled by promises into taking the bit into his ' mouth. This me, however, he was a little wiser, and took care not to neglect his daily work. In the spring, a new party, triumphant at this election, were to come into power, and Murphy, a little bet- ter instructed than before, now understood that he must wait a few months before the time came for a distribution of political favors in the shape of com- fortable offices; so he wisely accepted, for the win- ter, the place of coal-heaver in a coal-yard March at length came around, and a new party came into power. Then followed a general system of removals from office, and the appointment of new There daylight ahead of him, and his He was an applicant for office, and pressed in among the men. Murphy’s time had at length come } was a broad gieam ol heart beat high again with anticipation crowd, eager as any to secure the reward of party service \t first, his ambition led him to select the ; post of inspector of the customs; then he changed t rom that to a clerk in the post office; and after- wards a letter-carrier. But, as he could get no one to sign him a recommendation to either of these places, he upon the advice of one for whose opinion he had some respect, filed an application for the ht inspector, or, in other words, custom house watchman. The running, coaxing, be ng, and all manner of humiliation attendant on getting up his recommendations, were E NEXT ELI I " 359 even Murphy’s rather obtuse sensibilities, and he more than once felt like giving up the effort in dis- gust, and falling back, for life, upon honest, inde- pendent labor. As the signature of _R——, the party member to Congress, was considered of im- , With portance, Murphy strove hard toget it. R whom, after various trials, be at length obtained an interview, promised him a his influence to secure him the place he wanted, and said that he would make it his business to see the collector in his behalf that very day He had made the same pro- mise to about sixty or seventy different office-seek ers.) Murphy asked his signature to his recom- mendation; but this R—— declined giving, on the ground that he was called on every hour for such certificates, and that he could not sign all, and, therefore, signed none It was in vain that Murphy urged his valuable aid in securing ,R——’s election; the member could not be brought to sign the paper and the Irishman went away with some righteous indignation in his heart Still, for all this, through singular good fortune, Murphy got the appointment he sought, and felt at he was “a made man In his elation, he was stimulated by certain individuals that were instant- ly attracted around him, to give his “ friends’’ a regular “blow out.”’ So he invited them to a supper at had a particular re gard McPhelin’s tavern, a place for which he some twenty choice spirits resp nded to this in- Vitation, and not only ate and drank the oysters and brandy he had provided, but ordered champagne and sherry by the dozen; and, in conelusion, broke up about two o’clock in the morning by breaking all J furniture in the room. Sober and serious was Patrick Murphy on the next morning—Patrick Murphy, newly-appointed I night inspector to the custom house, with a salary of five hundred a year. On that day, he was to enter upon the duties of his office ; or, rather, on the evening following that day. Touching the doings of the night before, he did not feel very comiortable McPhelin’s bi be larger than he had for the supper would, he was afraid, ntended to make it; and thea the breakage of furniture might give him troul A was quiet for about a week, during which time Murphy discharged his duties as an oflicer faithfully, and kept away from McPhelin’s. But the evil in search of us is sure to find us out MecPhe- lin’s bill came at last, and proved to Murphy worse than all his fears. It stood thus— ‘For supper and wines, - - - $49 For breakage of furniture, - - 30 a7’? * Poor Murphy, already in debt some eighty or ty dollars, besides two quarters back re nine result of his electioneering diversions, was con- founded by such an unexpected bill. But there was no evading it. He had ordered the supper, and, under his sanction, the wines had been added. Moreover, the party introduced by him had broken

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77 .NT 4 aN 360 GODEY'’S MAGA the landlord’s furniture, for which he very confi- dently demanded payment. A day or two after the receipt of this document, the L[risiman sat alone in one of the offices attached to the custom house, meditating on what he had gained and lost by polities, and feeling in no very elevated frame of mind, when the messenger came in and handed him a letter. He broke the seal and read, with dismay, his dismissal from office, ample testimony having been received at the “ depart- ment,’’ so said the communication, ‘‘ that he was a drunken, turbulent fellow, and not to be trusted by the government, which sought for sober, orderly men to fill its responsible stations.”’ This was too much for Patrick Murphy to bear patiently. Here was the result, after between two and three years’ devotion of himself to party inte- A pleasant mor- drawn rests. Thus was he rewarded! sel placed before his eager lips, and then hastily away! In the excitement and indignation of the moment, he tore his dismissal from office into a hundred pieces; and then, seizing a chair as his frenzy increased, dashed to fragments a plaster bust of the chief magistrate of the nation that stood the only witness to his disgrace. *“ Murphy, my good fellow, how are you?” ex- claimed an old party leader and driver, who had obtained good service out of the Irishman in former times.—This was at the opening of the next political canvass. Murphy, when thus addressed, was standing in *s store, back into which snug quarters front of P- he had found his way again. «“ Purty well, I thank yees,”’ returned the [rish- man, coldly. E A wT ranwre nor ND MAVIS AARARALA LALA (PPP ‘« We want to see you down at head-quarters to- night,’’ said the man, laying his hand familiarly on Murphy’s shoulder. “ We can’t do without your valuable aid.’ ‘‘Be dad, and yees won’t see me there!’’ re- turned Patrick, showing his teeth and knitting his great shaggy brows. “Why not, my honest friend?’’ inquired the party leader. * Don’t honest friend me, if ye plaze! doned yees all in disgust, so I have, bad cess till I’se aban- y’r politics! They’re only got up to chate and de- save the honest, hard-workin’ paple into votin’ for nabobs, who don’t care a ha’pence for them.”’ ‘*« But, my friend Murphy,” began the other, in a soothing voice. “ Yees nadent frind me,’’ quickly retorted the 2 Trishman. A burnt child dreads the mornin’ till yees.’’ And, with this, away and marched into the store. “ It’ll do no good. fire. I’se got enough of politics. So good the ‘‘disgusted’”’ elector turned The man, half amused and half angry, stood for a moment looking in after Murphy, and then moved on, saying to him- self as he did so— **Confound the fellow! Well, we must fill his place with There I guess He isn’t so green as | thought him. some Green Islander of a later importation. are plenty of them about ready to be caught. we can spare him.’’ And, with this consolation, the party leader went onhis way. Doubtless he found it an easy matter to fill the gap left by Murphy’s breach from the traces ; for, We say it more in sorrow than in levity, “ all the fools are not dead yet,” ar ur M tL BY PARE Sane out, my lamp, with welcome ray, Thou fair, domestic planet, shine! For something dearer than by day Is shown in this sweet light of thine. My books, which, by the shadowy pall Of evening, hidden were from view, Look from their shelves along the wall, Each clothed with a serener hue. My chairs and tables, like old friends, Stand round, as if rejoiced to see That Time is making some amends For what his wings have swept from me; Bestowing joys of ripened age, Loves, friendships, intellectual hours, Thoughts that maturest minds engage, Fruits rich as youth’s anfolded flowers. And better forms than these thy beams Endow with beauty; kindlier looks Yield to my soul diviner dreams Than all the golden stores of books— BENJAMIN My lamp! and well thou know’st how bright Their smiles appear, when, like a sun Set sudden on the vauit of Night, Thou shin’st to cheer the saddest one. 2 My best companion! reft of thee, What were my happiness below ? Half gone; for dearer far to me Than daylight’s is thy gentler glow. Since daylight shows the real scene; But in thy lustre Fancy flings A purer gracc, a softer mien Around earth’s frail and common things. My evening lamp! still mayst thou burn As constant through the coming years, When towards the tomb my footsteps turn, And Love’s fond eyes are wet with tears; Still may thy radiance through the dark Shine on with hope and comfort rife, Till thou hast seen the latest spark enn nnn Fade slowly from my lamp of life.

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THE BOHEMIAN WAXWING. Tuts bird is very rarely brought to this country. It is found in all parts of Europe, chiefly preferring the northern latitudes. It lives in forests, especially of pine and fir. It is a migratory bird, although not in the strictest sense of the word, being found in the southern parts of Germany all winter. rized on account of its very beauti- It is chiefly p ful plumage, which is thus described by Bechstein It is about the size of the Redwing Thrush, eight inches long; the beak black, short, straight, conve: above, and broad at the base, so that the mouth opens widely; the irides red brown; the feet black, and almost one inch high; the plumage is entirely of a deiicate and silky nature; the feathers on the vertex are elongated and form acrest; the head and upper part of the body are of a reddish ash color, passing into gray at the rump; a black stripe ex- tends from the nostrils over each eye to the occiput; the forehead chestnut brown, as the chin black; well as the vent; breast and abdomen of a bright 34* MMT Te purple chestnut brown; the small coverts of the wings brown, the larger ones, most distant from the body, are black, with white tips, and these form a I bar; the pinion ‘eathers are black, the third and fourth have externa a white tip, which is vellow on the five following; the shorter are ash colored, with white tips to the external margin; besides this, from five to nine of these feathers terminate the shaft with a flat horny ova! appendage of a bright scarlet color: the fema'e, at most, has but five, but the male has from five to nine on each side: the tail is black, with brimstone yellow tips; and in very old males there are also observed some narrow, horny, scarlet appendages. The female has the black spot on the throat small er, and a narrower and fouler bright yellow tip to the tail; and the tips of the wings are only yellow- ish white, and at most five small narrow appendages to the pinion feathers, and sometimes none at all. This is a very hardy bird, easily reared, and well adapted to be a cage bird for this country because Bohemian 361 he is so well inured to a cold climate.

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(Bombycilla Boheumica, male, Waxwings, or Chatterers, as they are sometimes called, suffer from artificial heat. Even a small de- gree of heat becomes insupportable to them; and, f an apartment becomes in the least warm, they immediately droop. This is a proof that a very cold climate must be their summer place of resort. I should advise those to put them in a cage who dis- like a room being soiled by birds. The cage must be one similar to that used for the Thrush, but the floor should be covered with sand, as these birds are leanly. ln spring, he feeds like the Thrush, upon various very un sorts of flies and insects. In autumn and winter, it eats all kinds of berries, service, misletoe, buck- thorn, viburnum, and juniper berries, and, in case of need, the buds of beech, maple, and fruit trees. The universal food proves a delicacy; and it will even content itself with mere wheat bran steeped in water. It swallows everything in large pieces, and eats roll with avidity. He is besides no epicure, and swallows all eatables thrown to him, such as greens, potatoes, and even raw salad, and all kinds 5 ¢ 4 g ¢ ¢ 5 ¢ ) of ripe fruit. It is fond of bathing, but only sprin- kles itself, and does not wet itself so much as other birds Its beauty and rarity are its chief recommenda- tions as a cage bird. ‘In the chamber,”’ says Bech- stein, “ where it will live for twelve years upon the most miserable fare, it does nothing but eat and sit still upon its perch. His song consists merely of some lightly hissing and trilling notes, like those of the Redwing, but still more gentle; and whilst ut- tering them he crouches so closely that the throat is scarcely observed to move, und at the same time elevates and depresses his crest. But he sings both summer and winter. His comportment, whilst ut- tering this very uumelodious music, shows that it is no pleasant task to him. When angry, which hap- pens only at the fvod trough, he snaps loudly with his beak. He can be tamed without any trouble, but affords pleasure to his possessor, as I have be- fore stated, only by his colors. On account of the very gluttonous and filthy habits of this bird, its cage will require daily cleansing.”

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BY Waar is tarboggining, and what is a tarboggin, is a questi We shall endeavor to describe, first, the yn that naturally arises in the mind of the reader tarboggin—secondly, the manner of using it. The tarboggin (which is something on the prin- ciple of a skate in its construction and object) is made by the Indians of thin flexible boards curled up at one end like a Chinese slipper, or the petal of a tiger lily, It varies in length from four to eight feet, that it may not be impeded in its pro- gress being from a foot and a half to nearly two feet in width It fustened across by two or more transverse sticks, is usually made of two pieces of wood, stitched on with strong catgut: a twist of the same Fi- nally, a couple of rods are tied along the edge, that ligament secures the end, which is turned up. the tarbogginer may the more easily remain in his place during a rapid descent; for, if the snow-shoe is of use on level ground, or in the ascent, the tar- boggin is equally so in effecting a swift passage down an inclined plane; and the Indian with his snow- shoes, a smailer allowance of regimental necessaries than Sir Charles Napier considers indispensable, and a few days’ provisions, will undertake a long jour- ney, using his tarboggin as a means of transport for his goods and chattels, and, when the state of the ground will permit, for himself. W hat is inaispensable to the savage ofien becomes merely a source of amusement to the civilized being, and the stranger who visits Canada may derive con- siderable recreation in tarboggining down hills, how- ever severe the exercise of walking up again may become. We shall now betake ourselves, with a select circle of acquaintance, to the Island of St. Helens, opposite Montreal. It is about noon, and a more lovely day of the kind we could not have The sun shines like silver in a sky of the ] The snow chosen. palest blue, unstained by a single cloud on the roofs and in the street, and the gigantic icicles which hang from the eaves of the houses, dazzle the eyes of the beholder, who, muffled in fur and im- bedded in the the enlivening scene as he is drawn smoothly and bearskin robes of a sleigh, gazes on swifily down Notre Dame Street among shoals of his fellow-creatures similarly caparisoned and equip- ped. People are all alive and brisk; and who could feel dull or apathetic in sucha stirring scene? Horses with beards of ice, full of spirit, are pouring forth steam like locomotives. Sleighs, with their orna- mental robes of every color sweeping behind, are whirled along without cessation. Foot passengers in every description of fur cap and greatcoat hurry along the pavement. Truly the most fashionable drive in the English metropolis was never more bril- FITZ-GREENE liant, gay, or enlivening than the main street of the Canadian capital is to-day. But we must leave it behind us, and traverse the road across the ice tothe [sland. Blocks and jagged points of ice appear above the surface of the snow, emerald giving forth the hues of the sapphire or the undulating island, about half A barrack, ngs peep Before us is the a mile in length, covered with leafless trees. some cottages, and a few government build Behind us cathedral towers, and tin-covered roofs and spires, And now fifteen out. the town, with its market dome, shines dimly in the frosty haze. sleighs, with many a fair occupant, wind up the The clear note of a cornet-d-piston sounds the halt « ppo- ] | steep road towards the tarboggining ground site the mess-room of the Lords of the Isles, and presently the belles of Montreal are gently handed out of their sleighs and escorted, with much solici- tude’ to the salle-d-manger. Let us take a look at them as they cross the moat which surrounds the barrack. Enters, first, the portly Captain Bluebottle, in a blue blanket-coat, his full-moon face somewhat azure with the cold, beaming from above a huge fisher skin boa, and from under a mink cap. The captain is in the meridian of life, the zenith of favor with the fair sex; yet we believe he never contem- plated matrimony, although following the exclusive ealling of a ladies’ man. Leaning on his arm, and a head and shoulders taller, is a gigantic lady in a brown stuff gown. The extensive red wig which she wears is surmounted by a small velvet bonnet The masculine character of Mixs Mannings is stamp- ed in every line of her physiognomy, in her erect carriage and bearing, in her firm decided step. She is ever the first to venture the tarboggin, and to lead a dangerous descent. In summer, she rides a tall iron-gray to admiration, and in the winter ball-room she is ever the last to leave, and her fiery head beams like Ben Nevis at sunset, in the “‘ Post-horse Gallop.”’ But stay—W hat a contrast! A lovely and interesting girl, as feminine and graceful as her predecessor was masculine and angular, appears before us: her blue eye rivals the clear winter sky in all but its coldness, and in every wave of her dress there is ‘‘a nameless grace.”’ At her side is a figure in a blue blanket coat, adorned in the usual manner with Indian beads and scarlet trimmings. This is the good-natured Mr. Elbon, who prides himself upon his decision of cha- racter, a quality which his most intimate friends, however, have not yet discovered in him. I envy him his partner, the charming Miss Lovelace. Fol- lowing in their wake is a rather heavy-looking young man, whose thoughts appear to be in the sky above 363

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¢ . re f 364 J 5 A him, aud he tumbles upon our notice by falling at full length on the snow and dropping his fur cap, a rt of skate walking-stick, and full gaunitlets, I itou amusement of @ young gentlieinan and t in the rear, Who nevertheless failed to ob-erve th catast he at first, as they seemed to be mu- tually absorbed in each other. Certainly the gen- tieman’s taste is not so bad either, as regards the ot hil ompanion, or of his blanket coat White, turned up with blue). The bright haz s ” th tle lady sparkie with merriment as she wakes the glossy black ringlets from her prett ce, we set olf by the cerise trimmings of her mnet The door of the barracks swallows all we ' mentioned, and gapes to receive the rest; and it length, as many as the mess-room will hold are seated round the table, or line the walls All is es, hilarity, chat, clattering of knives, and pop- Several noisy gentlemen do the work ni entertaining the rest, and the blanket coats hurry hither and thither in search of wine, plates, or what- ‘ver their fair Companions may be in need of We vill not, however, detain the reader, but allow the company to go off as briskly as the champagne. Now see a wooden blockhouse rising high snow-covered hill, our friends also rising to the where tarboggins in heaps await their arrival progress is tedious, and often assumes the appearance of a retrograde movement; for beneath the fair sur- f of the snow there is an insidious coating of ice, formed by a recent thaw, and no footing can be ob- tained; a kind of stamp duty must be laid on by the gentlemen, and, crushing the ice with their heels as they proceed, they manage to draw the ladies after } them. Miss Mannings, disdaining assistance, arrives before any of them; while the pretty Miss Lovelace s the last, and vows she never will be able to reach the top; but at length the sly De Vilaine, a French count, who speaks excellent English, and who prides himself upon distancing all competitors where a lady $ concerned, persua les her that he knows the ground, snubs her partner, and, chuckling inwardly, seeks, with Miss Lovelace, a more easy ascent ‘Are you ready?” says Captain Bluebottle at the top of the hill, as the lady with the red wig, having wked in the last fold of her dress, sits up on the \ tarboggia in a most determined manner. “All right, arbogg says Miss Mannings; a push from a gentleman with 4 raw nose and a pair of spectacles; and away go the captain and his partner down the hill. Straight yw, fierce as a rocket plunges the tarboggin ; as an ' ut Miss M., her black veil flying straight out, like w pennant of a man-of-war in a gale of wind, sits firm and collected. Captain B. gives the word “ port”’ or ‘‘st trboard”’ to himself as the occasion requires, but it is the work of a moment, and Miss Mannings bounds along the more gradual descent at the bottom like a dolphin, alone, for her Palinurus has slipped oil behind, and has come to an anchor fifty yards in the rear, with his heels in the air. As he is strug- to rise, Sir Rufus Mufflechops, the swaggering ging ~vlonel of the th foot, comes down “with a run’? sideways: Mr. Slokells, an ensign, who, witb confidence in his powers as a steersman, sat s shot off, and the tarbogzin righting imme- diately, Sir Rufus goes clear over the prostrate form of Biuebottle, jumping several yards, and continues his course with steady rapidity t he bears down upon a very thick bush, where he throws himself out. A roar of laughter from the height f{ wed this explo , accompanied by loud cries of ** Bravo! Slo- kells' Well done, Mufflechops!’”? But a continued hissing, caused by the friction of descending tarbog- gins, now announces that the sport has run l earnest: one after another parties of solo periormers are in all the horrors or delights of this first of pas- times. The grim satisfaction exhibited by some of the gentlemen as their timid fvres are taken down in the swift day-coach lead a couple of English , matrons to imagine that it is a dark plot, conceived by malignant spirits, for the purpose of en the lives of their daughters; and Mr. Erebus, a tall and demoniacal-looking person with dark eyes and compexion, who is taking charge of Miss Elvina Tendertree, a slight and pretty girl, with eyes and hair resembling her protector’s in color, endeavors, by hints darkly thrown out, to strengthen and aggra- vate the impression. bus ? ‘Are you sure you won’t upset me, Mr. E I’m so dreadfully frightened!’ says Miss Elvina ac Do take care of me: do you know, I m very “Yes?’’ says Mr. Erebus, al nervous, indeed !”’ b- stractedly and interrogatively, ‘oh, I'll take care of you.”’ Here Mr. E. gives a grin six inches wide, and the poor young lady is presently at the bottom, trembling like an aspen, as she shakes the snow from her dress and ringlets, while her conductor, who had finished by purposely oversetiing his charge, sitting on the tarboggin, takes a capacious bite out of a monster sandwich which he produces from his pocke Se ‘«¢ What care he’s taking of her!’’ remarked Mr. oudy gentleman who rests on the Sinnick to the ec top of the hill, as being the nearer his favorite ele- ment Two ladies under a tree, one of whom was afraid to go down, and the other afraid of not being asked, agreed that tarboggining was not an ar sement for ladies; while a stout matron, with a most comfort- able physiognomy, at the same moment was per- suading her daughter to try her fate w a young gentleman of property, Mr. Wiseacre Away goes the Count de Vilaine with Miss Lov e, steering I l “How with that graceful ease peculiar to himself ridiculous that fellow is!’’ quoth Sinnick, who was universally snubbed by the ladies. Mr. Elbon seats himself on the piece of mechanism (which our read- er must now be getting thoroughly tired of), taking Miss Eldurlie with him. i Mrs. Goodbody observed, “is taking The amiable down all the old maids.’ ‘Because he can’t get any one else,’ hints Mr. Sinnick. little agitation and a good deal of persuasion at the All goes on smoothly now—a

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} l i I lision in the de- ill; an occasional co blushes at That fine-looking fellow, Hilde- top of the scent; smiles and the bottom; pretty faces every where. brand Howard, has committed himself to-day with that lovely girl, Ellen Hawthorn, I’m quite certain ; indeed, her blushing confesses it Well, I wish them many happy years, with all my heart. There OR, THOUGHTS IN LUMPS AND BY B. D. I T CaLAMITIES.—The best use we can make of ca- § lamities is to turn them into blessings. Our losses, } if properly improved, will enrich us; our afflictions § comfort us, and our failures elevate us. PROBLEM OF THE AGs&.—In regard to property, society may be divided into three classes—First, those who have more than they need, the overplus being positively to their detriment: Second, those who have a bare competency; and Third, those who Now and have less than the necessities of life require the great problem to be solved is, how safely justly to transfer the superfluity of the first class into the pockets of the third. The man who shall devise a practicable plan for the solution of this problem shall be crowned with never-fading laurels, and be furnished with old white coats at the expense of the public during the whole course of his residence upon this mundane sphere. QUALIFICATIONS OF A TEACHER.—A teacher should be a man of great and varied qualifications. | He should be actuated by the loftiest purposes and the purest aims, and have no other motive in pur- He should possess the authority of a general in com- suing his calling than the desire to be useful. manding, the sagacity of a statesman in legislating, and the impartiality of a judge in awarding justice He should be as patient as Job in trouble, as meek as Moses under provocation, and as zealous as Paul in the discharge of his duty. He should be a perfect gentleman in his manners, as neat as wax, as pune- tual as a clock, and as orderly as the solar system. He should i quene es, ll have the eye of a hawk to detect delin- } ado 1e Wis of serpent to avoid gi g | Nn Vu m a olfence, the firmness of a roc In maintaini the , 5 +~seeer- 365 is one gentleman with black eyes, raven hair, and handsome but rather delicate features, who has been He wandering about all day on the top of the hill. seems little interested in the proceedings ; his thoughts are no doubt far away in that distant land where mine would also be, O gentle re ader, were they not kept in Canada by the tarboggin i ARROWS SHOT AT VENTURE TENGILL. right, and the gentleness of a dove to all around him. He should be always pleasant, and ever wear a smile upon his face, even upon a rainy day, and when afflicted the He love with toothache. should have a great fondness for children, and all children equally well. He should be a religious man without any sectarian bias, and have a thorough acquaintance with political affairs, without any leaning to any individu- particular party. Those children, whom ally their parents are unable to control, he should be with the glance He sh u d be to govern all boys without force, and to attend to all able to awe collectively of an eye and the movement of a finger. able He should be { things at once without distraction. equally interested in all subjects, and capable of ex- citing an interest in all. He should understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and be able to answer, without a moment’s consideration, all questions, grammatical, geographical, historical, chemical, bo- tanical, mathematical, ethieal, theological, political, astronomical, geological, chronological, meteorolo- gical, and mythological. He should be a complete { a of intellectual, ai for, how can he make models of his h In fact, he combine in his single person all of the exce model all virtues, moral, phy- S1Cal; pupils uniess he is a model himself? should encies and none of the faults of a Washington and a Frank- lin, a Howard and Martyn, a Crichton and a Magli- iu abechi. g all these qualifications, and who } A man possessin ean do all these things, and he alone, is fitted to be- come an instructor of youth, and may count upon being rewarded by a generous and enlightened com- munity with a salary of twelve dollars a month, wit the privilege of taking his meals in the basement story with Betty the kitchen-maid.

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: eu = : . A Iv LN z by ; e BY R. J. DE CORDOVA. Mr. James ANGLESEY Tor sat inalarge cushioned { mysteriously smile in patronage upon her guests, and arm-chair before a blazing fire on the afternoon of tell them one and all, in confidence, that she did not the 29th of February, 18—. Mr. Tot had just dined believe there were more than two hundred and in the society of his amiable wife and daughter, and eighty persons present, though she had invited over was comfortable and happy—very much so indeed three hundred and twenty This, between you and And why should he not have been? Mr. Tot was me, was not the most rigid adherence to truth which what is termed “ well to do in the world;’’ Mr. Tot Mrs. Tot could have displayed—but never mind! in fact wealthy; Mr. Tot enjoyed uncommonly If the lady of the house whose cream you eat and good health; and moreover Mr. Tot had just dined whose music you dance to is not at liberty to exag- ou this the anniversary of his birthday. Mr. Tot gerate a very little, and make herself great at the was not a liberal, nor a generous man. He might expense of ever so little veracity, what js to become with equal truth be said to have been rather mean of society and genteel fiction, I should like to k W? and stingy than otherwise. But 9n his birthday he Mr. ‘Tot’s quadrennial ball was, therefore, to take ever ma " bjection to his general rule. Nature place that evening, with unusual splendor, and Mr had stinted him—the general stinter—in the matter Tot prepared to take his after dinner nap before he of anniversaries. She had sent him headlong into went up to dress for receiving Company; a process the world on the 29th of February, a day which which should always be gone through in patent lea- comes only once in four years; but when that day ther pump boots, and a white waistcoat, as in duty lid come, Mr. Tot was determined to make the most bound. of it As a boy, Master Tot looked with sorrowi Everybody in New York knew Mr. Tot perfectly eyes on the hard fate which brought him birthday well. He was an honorable man, because he never presents only once in four years; and it was a hard wronged anybody, and would not, perhaps, if he had case, When you come to think of it. For three con- had the chance; and moreover he was a wealthy secutive years Master Tot would gradually approach man, which circumstance would have covered a nearer and nearer the day of his ambition. On three multitude of sins, if even he were not ex is he days in as many years he seemed to stand on the ought to have been—which I decidedly declare he very brink of it—so near, indeed, that he would was not—because, although he never did an irm, almost fancy he saw it coming. As the evening of he never did any good. He was always high and the 28th set in, he would sit in his cold dark room mighty to the poor, but he never relieved 1! ne- and wonder why the night was not ca l the 2 th, cessities out of his superfluity except W il ared if only to establi a proper equilibrium. On one that his refusal to do so would be vn, and that occasion, indeed, Master Tot went so far, in the in- he would feel ashamed ace 9 Hle was, in tensity of his outraged feelings, as positively to refuse short, what is genera ly termed a “*hard man to write Ist of March’’ in his ¢ y-l k, insisting Anvb nly would have been glad to be Mr. 71 s cre- that it was t wh of Februarv, and if it were not, ditor; nobody liked to be his debt It was very it ought to | t afternoon, at least. Whenever, pleasant indeed to go to his balls, but one quite therefore, he did succeed in finding a birthday he chilly to go into bis counting-house, ex pt one was was determined to make much of it, and the feeling quite independent of the proprietor grew with his growth and strengthened with his Now Mr. Tot’s only daughter Mary had actually strength so greatly that, even now t he was fitly —it is a silly and a stupid thing to tell \ of—but years of age, and had a grown-up daughter, who she had actually fallen in love; and that was not the wanted to get married only he would not let her, worst of it either She had overlooked the pride Mr. Tot regarded the day with so much solemnity and dignity of her house, and had gone ; ved—I 1s to give a ball on the occasion Now mind—a blush to tell you—a poor man! It is tru it Wil- ba not a mmon made up party of two or three iam Kinglee was a handsome young fi vy (he was dozen people, where one gentleman comes without § said to resemble Schimmelpinnick, the Dutch minis- gloves exp ng not to meet anybody”’’ (as if ter, but he was not proud of it), and an amiable fel- thut Was not always a st and where young 2 »w. and a noble-hearted fellow, and that he loved iadies Come in d dresses Ww ch have done service 2 Mary Tot very dearly ; but what had a hat »> do ever § inv times before 1s Varieties of Way+— with it? Was not William poor ; And what right oh, no!—the 29th of February Ball of Mr. Tot was had a poor man to marry rich Tot’s daugater? no such matter as that It was what is vu'garly Pshaw'! nonsense! ealled a “stunning affair,’’ and the hostess would 3 So, at least, argued Mr. Tot with his weeping 366

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daughter on the afternoon of his birthday, and intro- duction to the reader. ‘“ Now, Mary,” said Mr. Tot in conclusion, “there’s a good girl—(Mr. Tot real y loved his daughter, and intended this remark of approbation and consolation)—don’t annoy You think you love He therefore he won't do for you. to convey allection me any more on this subject. hasn’t a cent, and this lad, but I know better You will, no doubt, ery a little to-day, and a little more to-morrow, and so on for a month, but you ’ll soon get over it, you may dk this Very well You say he ’s coming here yon. it. pend uy afternoon, after his business, for my answer? —but don’t disturb me on his account; I am going to sleep now, and shan’t go up stairs to } dress till seven o'clock ve Having thus summarily disposed of his daughter’s happiness, Mr. Tot threw himself back in the cush- ioned arm-chair aforesaid, let loose two buttons of his capacious waistcoat, laid his feet upon the fend- er, and iell asieep and a marriage Mr while Mary Tot ig hard at the time It was snow party of poor people passed by Tot’s large nouse happy, } ous, and grateful, sat weeping at the feet of her sleeping father. Mr. Tot went off to sleep, but not to rest; for he had scarcely subsided into forgetfulness more than five minutes when a stranger stood beside him and looked him full in the face. Tot felt his eyes open and He and he seemed luence of the new-comer’s gaze; and dream ) under the in he stared long at the intruder. Was a strange man to look at, he wa to know and to disdain to be ashamed in conse- guence., His face was very ye low, and seemed so hard that it might have been cast in metal. His hands were also of the same hue, and his dress was » of scraps of printed paper, which, as Mr. Tot mbled bank notes, caused his in- they rest } rude to the stranger to diminish gra- eunation to db yw who I am?” said the yellow man, and his voive had a clear bell-like sound, as the ringing of co * Do you know me?” “Well, [’m thinking,” said Mr. Tot. But he Ep ke not tru for the life of him he could not think, nor do anything else than listen to and answer his visitor. ‘I’m thinking; but really can’t say I have the pleasure of your acquaintance. Perhaps Mrs. Tot has you ’re too early, iterrupted the yellow man; “I invited you to the ball to-night—but and——’’ ‘* Peace!’ am the Genius of Gold ‘I beg your pardon,”’ said Mr. Tot; “the how? ‘« The Genius of Gold,” replied the phantom. said Mr. Tot e a good situation, sit ‘Bless me in his astonishment— “it ought to | “Is not everything good that is connected with _ gold «Ts not every- thing bright that it touches? everything holy and answered the yellow man sacred that it comes in contact with? Come! I will show you the birthplace of gold—it shall be your birthday gift.’ 3 367 The idea of coming away from the proposed visit Tot was a Mr. Tot to freely with a large ingot under each arm (Mr stout man and knew his strength) caused He could “You ’re very kind, sir,’’ but is it start think a little more now said he, ‘very kind, in- deed ; far from here? because, you see, I give a little entertainment to-night (he always spoke of his great balls as little entertainments; he thought it sounded humble), and I should not like to be late back, you know.”’ ha! “ITs it far?”’ repeated the yellow man. Ha! ha! Is it not near and far? Is it not here, there, and everywhere? Where is the monarch whose W here who has his votaries so near as I have mine power extends so far as mine? is the king > They are always around and about me, mortal, and I tread oh! But, come and them down, ofien, in my path. see the home of your deity—come!”’ ‘* But it snows very hard,’”’ remonstrated Mr. Tot, ‘‘and I can’t go.”’ He told another false hood here, for he got up and went, but why he knew not; he the Ge- The ow eves, reflected British gui- the desire to stay, but the power of Gold had all nius of was much too great for him stranger looked at him with his staring ve in the pupils of which Mr. Tot’s face was ion of the monarch on a Mr how they were to go, and whither like the meda nea, and he was forced to go Tot wondered But words can- not portray his astonishment when he, Mr. Tot, found walking, or rather gliding, without n himself ise or ence, through the mirrored wall of his own The struck would have proved by far the more respect; ble mode neonven house idea him that the street door of egress; but what was the use of coming to this wise Tot cussion conclusion? Where the yell W man went Mr. must follow, and there was an end of all dis- Mr or a hinge, or a piece of m ave been caught in his Tot wished in his heart of hearts that an old nail, yrtar, would coal pocket as he passed through, and so detained him. But no! he passed through the wall after the stranger as easily as though it had been oiled for the purpose, and went out upon Yes, of the upon the air. Mr. Tot was deeply sensible fact that he and the unknown had no resting- t, and yet they stood At he saw the avenue in which he lived— place for the soles ol the r fee Mr. Tot could not understand it. his feet, as he looked down his own avenue, as he used to call it, for a great part of it was his property. He saw and recognized it, and wondered what the neighbors would think if they were to see him perched up there in such ques- But Mr. Tot had little thought, for his new friend seized him by that por- tionable company time for tion of the body which is politely denominated the «“seuff of the neck,’’ and bore him away through the air and snow with the rapidity of lightning Mr. Tot had completely lost his breath before he arrived on the summit of a high hill, which looked very dark and very gloomy. It seemed to be quite uninhabited, too, and sterile, and Mr. Tot’s heart failed within him when, as he was set down

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. x 7TN mAGAZIIN on this unfriendly spot, he found that the earth sank before him, and that he stood with his fiend like guide on the edge of a deep and dreary precipice— oh! so deep! Mr. Tot looked, and wondered why earth, if he were still on earth, he had been The result of Mr. Tot’s mental on brought thither? inquiries was the conclusion that this was not ex- actly the kind of thing, and that, as an influential and a wealthy merchant of one of the first cities in the world, he ought not to stand it, and he would not. He turned round boldly to say so to the stranger ; but, as soon as he encountered those horrible yellow eyes, their proprietor put his hand on Mr. Tot’s head, the earth gave way under them, and Mr. Tot tum- bled head over heels down a height of some miles, according to his calculation—and we may add that he possessed a singularly infallible acquaintance with Mr. Tot’s anguish of mind was great as and, at last, when Cocker. he rolled over and over in space ; age, he did so with felt the d in his chair by he once more reached a landing-p! such a bang that his corporeal existence shock by sympathy, and struggle the fire. ‘Tf pa does that again,’’ said Mary, as she ob- served this extraordinary convulsion on the part of her sire, “if pa does that again, 1’|l wake him—posi- tively it’s dreadful.” But her father’s physical en- tity was perfectly calm and tranquil again, and she suffered him to sleep. Poor girl! she fancied that that was her father sitting before her there, with his chin on his chest and his hands in his pockets. She knew nothing of the fact that the author of her amiable existence was in reality at the bottom of an unknown pit, the Lord knows where, at that precise moment. Mr. Tot’s first care on arriving on terra firma was to ascertain where and in how many places he had been injured by his fall. But he found, to his inex- pressible satisfaction and surprise, that he was per- fectly sound in limb, how much damage soever he might have received in wind. His yellow friend took him by the hand and led him into a cave where everything was dark at first, but where the light gradually grew stronger and stronger until they arrived at the base of a huge rock, the top of which seemed naturally cut into three ridges, which were coarse and rugged. From the base of this rock a liquid spring of pure gold bubbled into a small but beautiful basin, whence it spread into a large and a simal! stream. « This,”’ said the strange guide, “ is the souree of wealth. The rock from which these streams spread 1s called the Rock of Labor, and those three ridges on its summit are named Industry, Talent, and Per- We will explore the country through which these rivers pass.’’ Mr. Tot looked in amazement. was bright, pure, and tranquil. trees of which the leaves were formed like cornu- severance. The smal! stream On its shores were copize or horns of plenty, and exuded continually Instead of fruit, they 4ore human faces, which smiled, drops of the precious metal. ern, Oe Sa eee and looked happy, ; cheerful, and contented. regard Tot with a kind of pity, which was very disagreeable to its object ; and Mr. Tot turned away These faces uppeared to to regard the other stream, which spread far away to the lett. This was a noisy, swollen, and tempestuous flood. Huge masses of metal, resembling iron and brass commingled, intercepted the course of the yiver, and made it boil and roar. It coukd not foam by reason of its density, so that all was darkness and confusion. The trees on this side were all stunted and withered, and bore no leaves; but human heads were on the branches —oh! such hideous, wrinkled, cunning, spiteful faces as it was quite dreadful to behold! and they grinned with a savage joy when o!d Tot looked at them, as though they said “Hurrah! we have another chum to taste our splendid misery.” « Mortal! stream shall we follow in its course Mr. question, as became a rich merchant. ’ said the yellow man, “choose! which p0) Tot reasoned within hiraself. on hearing this ‘What mat- ters it,’’ thought he, “if these people are ugly, and the stream noisy ; there is more gold here than in the little river;’’ and as he thus thought, he turned again to glance at the smaller stream; but when he en- countered those looks of pity, almost of contempt, with which he was regarded, his mind was made up at once. “A pretty thing, indeed!” thought Mr. Tot, “that a merchant of his years and standing, and with the balance which he had at his bankers’, should be looked at in that sort of way by people who, if they did have gold to bathe in, were letting it drop through their fingers every minute.”’ Poor fool! he could not see that these very drops which fell from the leaves shed brightness and health all around them, and created the stream of sap which, mounting through the trunks again, imparted health and happiness to the human fruit which these blessed and blessing objects bore. He could not see all this, and he therefore chose the larger stream. “Til to his guide; “there ’s more gold there.’’ said the yellow man. “ When said he go on that side, sir, if you please,” ‘ Listen first to me,” this rock was first discovered, the little river on that side existed, and this did not. The country in which you now stand for the first time was then all beauty, hope, and promise. No sigh was heard to mingle with the soft and temperate breath of the free air; no groan of misery or croak of avarice intruded on the happy stillness of these peaceful groves. But man, who labors ever for his own misery, sought to steal the precious liquid for vile purposes. He was industrious, clever, and persevering; but these qua- lities were all abused, and made to pander falsely to his darling wish. Murder, rapine, robbery, and lust mingled with industry, talent, and perseverance ; and though the rock was forced to yield its gold, the streams refused to mingle. The river on the right has been produced by industry, talent, and perse- verance, guided by honesty, benevolence, and the fear of God. That on the left by industry, talent,

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A DREAMY 1! UR I} alenuisiindnenenpibuiteiainliahiaticunatainiian and perseverance, forced by cruelty, dishonesty, and indifference to the happiness of God’s creatures. This is a larger stream than that, because there are in the upper world more cruel than benevolent men; more unjust than just men; more irreligious than God-serving men. Now, mortal, take your choice.” Mr. Tot had regarded the yellow man with open eyes and mouth during this description, and his bet- ter nature W hispered that the smaller was the more desirable stream; but he could not be contemned and pitied by anybody, and least of all by men who grew on trees; so he chose the withered garden of the larger river ‘It is perhaps better so,’’ said the yellow man. ie ('¢ me He shoulder, placed his hand, as he spoke, on Mr Mr. Tot turned with some regret from the pure river on h A frightfully discordant chorus shouted rather than seng the fi and led him forward. and followed his powerful conductor lowing lines, as the material and immaterial! beings the dreary confines of the stream of ' passed into gotten gold 18 great, He may sigh for the heaven he knows to ll sell his God for gold 1 enter the land of the fiend of gain, And learn, ’mid its stores of pelf, That ex Whi ld is not worth half the sorrow and pain h you bring on your worthuess self. Mr. Tot would have turned back when he heard these uncomplimentary remarks, but it was too late He was in the yellow man’s grasp, and the profusion of gold was very tempting. ‘‘Here,’’ ] to speak very loud, on account of the roaring of the said the yellow man, and he was oblige river, ‘are re-enacted many scenes which occur in the material world. It is the torture of those whose after life is spent in the contemplation of their for- mer deity.”’ said Mr. Tot; Oh! that “It is very foggy and damp here,” “and, you see, I am in my slippers. Tot! he began to be afraid now small The yellow man waved his hand, and a portion of the mist, which hung about the trees like pendent glue, cleared off at the Mr. I mute command. } } ot Was more surprised than he cared to own to see a carpeted room, and a fireplace, and desks, and stools which he knew well; for in one corner sat his friend, Silas Heitresgelt, peering over a huge and a man and a woman standing by him. ledger Tot could hear, too, all they said, and that fact struck him as being truly awful. “ You see, Mr. Heitresgelt,”’ said the man, “ Lizzy and | had been married only a year when this tor- nado ruined us. We were doing very well in our little business when it happened, and, although I do not owe any man in the world a dollar, you know how | ird it is to get a start in business again unless VOL. XLI.—35 THE GOLD REGIONS 369 we have a friend to help us. I have lost every cent, and now that Lizzy is about to become a mother, it makes me almost mad to think of our destitute con- dition “Poh! poh!” interruptea Mr. Tot’s friend, the merchant, ** you had no business to get married at all—humbug !”’ The man did not heed the interruption, but went 08 .-— And as you are my only relative, being my poor dead 1 her’s brother, I thought I would apply to you for some trifling assistance.”’ It’s all very well, you know,’’ said Mr. Hei- tresgelt; “but your mother never did anything for me. I have just taken a porter, and he seems to answer very well for alt I want, or I would have the place: but as to money. you know | given you realy cant The young man did not give him time to proceed Taking up his t, he 1 his wife out of the room, and shut the door. The must again fell over the scene, and M Tot turned to the Genins of Gold. tree in the dark avenue renius ; “he will soon be here.”’ Mr. Tot shuddered at the ‘« Heitresgelt his friend coolness of is a very honest man,” said Mr. Tot, as it might be in demurrer. ‘What is honesty said the yellow man as they proceeded. “Is it to act as the laws of man compel and force you? Is it to save yourself from shame to rules which make and ignominy, by conforming you yield to man that which is man’s, on pain ol name and fame? Is honesty, that noble word, iosing comprised in only this? or, is it not also to do unto your neighbor that moral duty which no law can force? Is it not also to assist, by every means with- in your reach, in that great aim of the Creator, the happiness of His creatures? Pshaw!’ Mr. Tot thought that five hundred dollars or so would really not have been any great matter for rich Heitresgelt to lend his poor relation; but the mist ' f th Ou OF tilt » ground, at the com- The scene next presented to his astonished view was a rer por went off an | mand of the Genius, and Mr. Tot said nothing. stock-broker’s office. He knew the proprietor well “ This is bad news, indeed, Didler said Mr Bubblebrook t Ss partner “this is very bad news; we are large holders of stock in the Pawnee Monki- jaket concern, and, by the time this affair becomes blown, the stock will go down to almost nothing What is to be done? For my part——’ “Tush! said Mr. Didle ‘some one is at the door. Come in.’ The first part of his observation was addressed to his partner; the second and last to the person outside A man whe ike a country farmer entered the office, and told the partners how he wanted to s of many years in a safe and pro- his children invest his earn fitable manner, that might enjoy the was gone ller.”’ said Mr interest when he Well, see that w Bubblebrook. «I rod really, D don could recommend our g friend

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GODEY'S MAGAZIN 370 we Mr. Timblooze anything safer than the Pawnee Monkijaket stock. What do you think?’? And Mr. Bubblebrook put on an appearance of deep consider- ation and sympathy. “ Well,” replied Mr. Didler, “1d we could; but there will be some difficulty m’t know that in getting any of that, won’t there? You know everybody is anxious to obtain it.’’ “T think, though, joined Bubblebrook. ” I know where to get it,’’ re- ‘Smith has some, and would, no doubt, oblige me, though I don’t think he would do as much for any other broker in the city Be- sides, [’m sure that our good friend Timblooze would not mind paying a little extra commission for the purpose of investing safe Mr. Timblooze intimated that he certainly would not “ Have you the money with you?”’ inquired Mr. Didler in a whining tone, which was intended to be patron zing. The former replied by laying down a pile of bank bills before the pious broker. “Quite right,’’ returned Mr. Didler, ‘ Ill just run round at once and buy the stock; you quite right; can wait till Treturn.’? Saying which, Mr. Didler put on his hat and greatcoat, as for a long journey, and went into the back office to get his own certificates, and to chuckle. He returned in ten minutes, quite out of breath, and the bargain was concluded. ‘“ What do you think of that, Tot?’’ inquired the yellow man. Think!”’ said Tot—“ why, that they are two scoundrels, and that they ought to be hanged.” ‘So they will be, all in good time,”’ replied the in that dark Tot turned and beheld a miserable hovel, in which virtue was Genius; “their place will be yonder, cave. But see, here is another scene.’ vainly struggling against poverty \ poor widow light of a sing sat plying her needle by the e candle, and without fire, though Mr. Tot could see the flakes of snow as they were driven against the glass panes An old } her, le: of her miserable window. man, lean and sullen, was standing before uning on the back of a broken chair. The poor widow was in tears. “ You must remember, Mr. Tycpibble,”’ she said, “that, long as I have lived here, not even since John died, have I ever owed you a penny of rent beyond the regular time; and this time it would not have been overdue either, but for illness. I have been near death’s door, and all my spare money has been used.’’ And she wept again said Mr. Tot; and the Genius It was the first time since they had been «“ Poor creature !”’ led acquainted, and Mr. Tot thought it quite out of place. sm “That may be all very well, madam,”’ replied the landlord, “but my rent I must have. I’m not so rich as folks take me to be, and I want money quite as much as other people. Hav’n’t you any trifle of spoons that you could put in pawn ? ‘Oh! the wretch!”’ thought Mr. Tot I have not, indeed, sir,’’ said the widow; “ eve- rything went to purchase medicines for me, and nou- E ND T N 1 iu —eeeeeer PL — er rishment for my young ones; but, if you will wait for eight or ten days, this work will be finished, and I shall then have means to pay you, if not the whole, at least a part. Do not, pray do not distress me, sir. I am ill and weak, and scarcely able to sit up; but you shall soon be paid—you shall indeed!” “You told me the same story yesterday,” said If I do not receive the money by noon to-morrow, I must apply Mr. Tycpibble, “and I am not paid yet. to the proper oflicer.’? He turned, as he said this, to quit the room, and as he did so the widow fainted and fell in his path. He stepped over her as though she had been a log in his way, and quitted the house. “Here ! Tot, **I’ll pay the bill—come back and pick up the you shameless old thief!’’ shouted Mr. poor creature.”’ But drooped down again to its old place. as before, and the mist Mr looked on the noisy river with some disgust, and, as the scene closed, Tot now he thought of the quiet stream on the other side, he could not but acknowledge that he really deserved the pity of the human fruit on the golden trees. Further down in the damp and foggy walk, the yellow man showed Mr. Tot another scene. lt was a sort of warehouse, and a tall, stout, sour- faced man stood leaning against a counter, in dis- dainful conversation with a poor cripple, who stood before him. ‘Now what have you come for?’ inquired the large man. ? What Th) “Is everything going to bother me to- day do you want? What is it? Can’t you speak “It’s about my poor boy, Mr. Hichester, that’s all,”? answered the cripple. “Of course it’s all about your boy—J knew that— you are always troubling me about that boy of yours; I’m sure he isn’t worth his salt. What is it >»? and now ‘Well, he complains dreadfully, poor boy,’’ replied the cripple, ‘about the heavy loads you make him carry, and indeed all your neighbors say they are more fit for cart-horses than men, much less for such a delicate child as he is.”’ ‘*Oh! they say that, do they?’’ broke in the large man with a horrid oath; **then I'll tell you what it is: they had better mind their own business—d’ ye he ar? had more money than they have, that’s a and so you. It’s only envy, because And Why, when they were grand l’ve how did I make it? and would employ carts, I saved the money and used the boys.”’ ‘But you will kill my boy, Mr. Hichester,’’ be- gan the cripple; but he was interrupted by the sa- vage whom he addressed. « Well, and suppose Ido? There are a great many more boys, I suppose; and it will be all the better for you, too, when he’s gone, for he’s only a bur- den on your poverty: and if you don’t like, put him somewhere else, if anybody will have such a sickly milksop; and if you won’t do that, let him stay with me, or starve.”

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Tot to tl On: ¢ ne away,” said Mr 1e Genius ; “this 1s dreadiul; that Hichester is a demon Quite ue,”’ rep d his Companion ; ‘but there are many here who were very much like him once. He will be here too, by and by Ti t i iss | ni i in scene to scene un Te be = gan to quite uneasy. He recalled his past lile and tried to ree ect i he ad ever done any par- ticular g 1 to any particular perso but for the fe of he could not think of anything to soothe him. He « red to console himself with the convit he had not done any particular harm ; but this was poor consolation. What had he done Ww ey ever so many yt ars! What good mig done with istead hoarding La , a to iet Swe t ove ii tu t li ] Ww ‘ i I WW = “ teri ‘Better, far | ‘ Mr. ‘J one’s gold tor t dvancement of hum 1 to keep it up as one would keep a sacred r ° no go not even to one’s self, but « causing U d anxiety Oh no! said M only wait till I get back again, that’s all Mr. Tot seemed certain that he was g ¢ me again. | I been in his situation, I s ld have doubted but the G us of Gold s ed upon him favorably, and led him on to other pictures, Which taught Tot ssons in religion and humanity which Tot had never known be At leng i ne ¢€ ky « r the 1 t cleared off, and LW s own break | r, ¢ ning the ve 1 Wherein he had just dined. There were tl! ts « im se i 1 Mrs. Tot, and curt s 1 the « Z overalls ever t ] t them H ( ld ( \ doul é I g cou rt of his i wn sf l wn daughte ‘ was § Vi i if h vVto be W Kingl I 1s ed Mr. 7 this 1 be ¢ ve \V itt sis 1 Is Te I hoy tg to——W Mary! he's ctu ‘ : I This . nation was drawn m Mr. Tot i nt i i i } t fh ihe 1 f \ iar is to | li Ss r Waist 1 ye r- form t \ i I reported in the heig t { nt W s lid not ¢ d i er fi ’ ily I d t ss you ot W » them (as could re A y V A ¥ h - 1a 1 « s Ww +} g to, | for her v Was s and mus I 1 f “And says \ s Mary t he se . ' - wi ir vu t COCaAUNE A ive hol sit and that Oh! what pear 1 Wi - That R IO} 371 > Ww give you his answer this afternoon. [am sou ippy and so miserable —’’ s lary said W uin; “that’s just ' . ik Ine down completely If coud you be r, | wouldn't care half so much but 4 { g unhappy makes me e, ver serable indeed Poor dear we do? If I could only pick up » sta 1 business, how I would vl would labor! But it’s no use put our trus 1 God said little Mary ; so! as she laid he head on ler and sobbed anew, that I believe ce would have wept had it not st 1 don’t know what we t iuse pa says I must not see 1 know it would be sinful in me to dis- | s lreary when I think of it you P I | dare say it was mut Was, however, quite i i t i i ie Tot’s | t smote him. “Whata to speauk i uld I think that S evening he muttered, * 1 forget the boy whom she so fondly W . 1 tm vhim? Be gold? Ha! i wughed Tot. “a ed! Wl s to enjoy MY money t 1 cs l t? { ] nm wi “dl hs \nd old Tot again repeated creat and ratl a sudden alterat 1 es W had st wrt ¢ 1 ppv face on the P \ | lers ¥ s vl at 1 he poor 1 ‘ . ' \] us t Deal Tot T? ‘ ite this ‘ | | ' \ i a it , s vy man Be firm, 1 a little more | firt in! You, who | first time 1 his | = m with a sneer— d cked up in bonds and there, that I should have

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372 GOr Y'S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BO K 7 ~ AARRAARAAARARPAPAP PSR APIIODS P taken by the hand and helped, is reading me the les- ; would appr h him. Suddenly, however, he lost s it | hear now? § sight of her, and he heard, or thought he heard, her ; ] eads on the trees gave a ere reech when fuotsteps at Dis back He tried to turn and look at old Tot said this, and the river roared more angrily 2 her; but, for the life of him, he could not—when, than ever, as vexed at the obs« at but the old suddenly, her face leaned over his form behind and man did not care for that. He had found out the use $ Called him gently “ papa. of gold now, and every g might shriek as it 3 ‘hat name seemed to unbind the spe!l that held please l vhat did he care? > him; for he turned and looked ber in the face. But, «You must not say those things .’ said the § When he did so, he found that the trees, and the Genius If these are ir sentim vou should river, and the Genius were #!] gone, and that he and have taken the path on the banks of t smal! river, his daughter Mary were alone in his own parior. where you would have seen far more agreeabie For an instant, old Tot could not utter a word, so sights than these Here, your new doctrines are not great was his astonishment, and so feeble, as novel- we me to the company ists say, Were words in which to express it But, 1' you may sneer as much as you please at the next moment. he set up a shout that might about my new doctrines,’’ replied old 7 “T know have been, and probably was, heard in Jersey, call- € new. but then none the worse for that I ing tor W am Kinglee.”’ see, now, that I’ve been a fool.”’ * Why, p ipa '’? stammered poor Mary ‘Worse, mortal, worse,” said the Genius. but nothing could stop old Tot. He bawled for You ’ve been a bad man William Kinglee until he was quite black in the ‘ Well, if vou come to that, you know,” said old face. aad until that young gentleman, who heard his Tot, who was g courage 1 | | tion as his name pronounce d in stentorian tones as he was heart became more human—* if you come to that, going out at the street door, made his appearance in ot bad ei r the parlor Bad,”’ returned his guide, “in that you have “So you ’re going to sea, are you ?”’ inquired Mr. 10t done good Tot. “And old Tyepibble is going to turn the Not worse than n neig replies widow out of her house, too, ain’t he? And Hi- dete l to ficht for $ reputation to the ; chester is going to kill that poor boy, too, I sup- at any rate pose,eh? Why, [ shouldn’t wonder if that poor Perhaps not,”’ dryly obs edt Genius. “But fe w down in the West that was ruined by the who are vour ne bors now? Look at them on tornado goes to sea, too, and leaves his young wile .e trees around vou. But pea ur daughter that’s going to be a mother. I shouldn’t wonder’’— bids her young lover a sorrowful farewe Whatever Mr. Tot should not have wondered at, \ll the time that the Genius and old T id been the fact is certain that the young people did wonder talki the latter had not taken his eves off his very much at his starting up out of his sleep, on his laughter, though s own veh _ id prevented birthday, too, and talking so incoherently The im from h if What Was pass Now he was probability, too, of his doing the same thing all the n silent and attentive, and he found that Wil- vear round, having established the precedent on his um, in his inexperience of the w | proposed bit \ further, that, having a birthday only wuld » to sea, al Vhere |} l golden rive You look as if you « it b eve me are I J er, I But never ! 1 All t t I have got to say is this Mr. Tot would ve threatened s r very W Kinglee, | “t vour father t w, and deood doubt: but he dis< ’ 1 I take care that you ’re set up in business; and first ne pi ] atte ni it if you parents ive no objection, you sh marry wa ard It was there e eep regret Ma be re my next birthday And v | must that ie iw V m move towards |t ( fora go and dress Mary, you had better do the same vagu i struck him that 1 ght go on Marv d not go up that very 1 ite l her did ! ship at that \ stant, and nm William Kingle g way) u hiate but never d t put it » Sea He strugel i to mind! What the staved tor is not I business make elf heard, when, at | e saw his any more han 1! c They had tl right to do < ! ears, as best sh 1 nd come what the pleased ! d th did it for’ t, indeed, as thous ‘ ] Old Tot was tru int that: lle said so ’ tas u was only in ie W and she $ many good things, and was so kind to p re

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nee and did have tions, so many amiable things, that nobody known him again. In fact, he could not help being good, would he was so happy; or perhaps it was that he could not help being happy, he felt so good. Indeed. the old gentleman went so far as to dance on the occasion. A rather plain and unfash- ably-dressed girl, who had been sitting almost alone tl whole evening, attracted his attention, and he mentally resolved that she should dance He’ was looking for a partner for her when a voice exclaimed that they were waiting for one couple in the next room. There was no use waiting, and so Tot up, a perfect marvel to set your l her to dance, and there they both stood ashe N 373 ld Tot seemed to be s have seen danced!. It was a He indistinct idea that the sy should treat. zed with a hazy and t of the third figure per- i then he was constantly diving through everytl and holding everybody by the hand, and setting to everybody, and, in fact, treading on every ly And yet, witha there never was such a happy quadrille, nor such a merry set ol people And, at that supper, when old Tot pl blicly declared his daughter w years, there was such a clapping of hands quit fearful. ~v2eer _— —T. Tr ATTTT rr . A MELODY Y T. A. WORRALI M should our hearts fe« 1? 2 And the € x nev fly Our eyes be red with weeping ? : Till e’s smile we sever Hopes as bea 1 2 é As in s es when sleet r On we ¢ P T € } } 1 fir I d; If shad s track r earthly way T el re er yet T ss the i s ess Like ra ws ids have shade Heave n ¢ e the cest day In ever 8 golden S W S st t is first to fall, The s s in sadness; Swift pass the woes we fe i Love, w s iddens Like winds a ve t : Ma \ t m ess ! Hopes, like our dreame, w steal Aro the hardes ul The f t dies in its own ht, Youth hangs a w ered stem 2 Ss 1 sf ts glow t, Of bu , wers now perished, y Like gems on withered roses Or lesa broken gem W hose light is all it ’s cherished. ? Ww sho r hearts feel dull? { Our eves be red with wee; ? Life as some sweets not born tod e: Il pes s] y s beantiful Some charms lie wrecked for ever As infants’ smiles when sleeping ) —~+ 2 2 © > — -- ~ 4 Vs BY MRS s WBRAY. Wt S esterday I toiled s rd, Then st not Inte t, dear J : As ' sewives d Oh, st , et t! M nx s looked w d, The ! t : stay : } \ it t waess T iv ¥ u Yet sta aie { 2 ¢! Oh, y not Inte to-night, my John! Oh, stay not late to-night! They tel su ts porte Though folly bids you stay, dear John, The death of those we see; Yet stay not late t it! May gracious Heaven from ill defend, With joyful heart, I ope’d the door, d gazed around the street— m *s bosom never more Pucu weight of anguish meet For it was surely thee! Then stay not late t in! Oh, stay not late t Whate’er may | iin, Ah, stay not late to-night!

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DESIGNED EXPRESSLY FOR GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK BY P. H. CABELL, ESQ. & COTTAGE IN THE SWISS STYLE. Ax 7 = Below, there are three good rooms and a kitchen; above, there are three rooms. The kitchen is only Tars cottage is arranged to suit amoderate family one full story high, with an attic above it. It is The rooms above are larger than the rooms below, surrounded on two sides by a portico. on account of the projection of the upper story. } Fig. 1. Perspective. WM MARS MBSA Q rv RA " OVO . WY SSSA MY SAA pats X SSE RES SSSA MAMA CLE 374

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HA Y LAN 375 Fig.2. A G rd-Plan. — W, windows; JD, brick, stuccoed and roofed with slate. The win- doors; H, ha A, parlor; B, dining-room; C, dows should be glazed with diamond-shaped glass library; EK, kitchen. § The roof is very projecting, and supported by sculiar Characteristic ol Fig. 3.—C, chamber; ZL, lodging-rooms. 2 brackets, which give the This cottage should be constructed of stone or 3 this style of architecture. i: CITADDY T oo HA! ; aoa as Whose genial skies and bounteous fields Where Scotia’s lakes are warmed beneath Whose shores, like sun-hued arms, extend Where greet a 1 the Briton’s ear I t s sea The € 8 S sire And hope, ar i und safety lend Where Germa nchecke fear, To struggling Libe lo free 1 tunes her lyre W 1, like Charity, ¢ i take Where breathes the Swede his own pure air; Whate'er their creed or race. Their rugged peaks of s W A land of which, in ages gone, Where bloom the orange ves of Spain Or this wherein we live, Beneath the palms of Greece, Nor ancient bard nor present one 4 And France’s vine-wreathed hills sustain A counterpart can give: ; Saxonia’s snow fleece I 1, star of eve, In peaceful union n; appv land! Where order and equality te verse I weave, Harm isly combine in artless hand A land where laws, though mild, yet just, ; nt 1 st thou be, Impend o’er low and great, w t lart | the wealthiest in the dust ver of Liberty, im of poor estate: Freedom's art! A land whose sons of danntless soul ire, one seamless block, Like lions rage in war; of eart t, when the drum has hushed its roll, re ach tempestuous shock Become as children are: rings to birth! Whose daughters pure like lilies bow, ) And, as great Nature’s varied scene When peace breathes o’er the land ; Looks brighter from the shower, Yet, when the blasts of danger bl Ww, So mayst thou glow with purer sheen, As mountain cedars stand. } When ’s past the stormy hour.

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PURSE FOR GOLD. Materials. —Two skeins of blue, one crochet silk; one skein of fine litto of white, f l/ twist, and a ound gilt top; Pen lope crochet No. 3. Witx gold, make a chain of six stitches, unite, and work three rounds, increasing in every stitch in the first, and in every alternate in the second round. ‘ontinue throughout to increase in the same stitch. 3d round (blue and gold).—1 blue, 2 gold; repeat seven more times, ) 4th round (blue and white).—2 blue, 2 white; re- peat ‘th round.—1 blue, 4 white; repeat. 6th round (white and gold).—4 white, 2 gold; re- peat. 7th round.—5 white, 3 gold: repeat. | Sth round.—3 white above the centre white stitch- oth round.—1 white above the centre stitch of white, 10 gold; repeat. 10th round (gold, white, and blue).—4 blue above the white; 1 white, 6 gold, 1 white; repeat 11th round.—6 blue, 1 white above first stitch of gold, 4 gold, 1 white above last stitch of gold; repeat. 2 gold, 4 blue, first gold, 2 gold, 1 white above last gold; repeat. id .—A4 blue, 2 gold, 2 gold, 1 white; repeat 12th round.—4 blue, 1 white above 13th ror i blue, 1 white above white 14th round.—3 white above gold, 13 blue; repeat. Lith round.—All blue Then crochet the two together, leaving sufficient for the This completes one side. Work a second top. With gold, work the following edge round the sides :— lst round.—7 chain, miss 4; repeat 2d round.—1 long, 2 chain in every stitch, miss- . 376 ing the stitch which unites the 7 chain to the edge and the adjoining stitches. 3d round.—9 chain. Make a circle by working a plain stitch in the fifth chain; 4 chain; unite to third long stitch ; Sew on the top. It preferred, gold or steel beads may be substituted repeat. for gold twist, and will look equally well. CROCHET FLOWER WORK. FANCY FLOWERS FOR CAPS. ( For directions, see March number.) Take two shades of floss silk, of any color you , netther ple re ; they must both be of the same size too fine nor too coarse. With the darkest shade make a chain of seven stitches ; cut off the silk, make a loop on your needle with the lighter shade, and work round the chain; the first two stitches, and the last two, in double crochet—the remainder in long stitches (putting three stitches in the top loop); some leto must be worked in the edge; this completes one petal. Three similar ones must be made, and the four petals twisted, or tied together securely, after hav- ing placed a few little white stamens in the centre. Cut off all the wires but two, which forms the stem ; cover this with a bit of green floss silk, split \ Leaves.—) I Iake a chain of nine stitches, with a pretty shade of green floss silk—it should be rather dark; then, with a lighter shade, work a row of long stitches round it. the first and last two stitches being in double crochet; a wire must be worked in the edge, leaving a little bit as a stem. These little flowers have a pretty effect, and are very quickly done. They can be mounted accord- ing to taste. Three or four flowers and three leaves will form a nice little spray.

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rt Or the various employments for the fingers lately introduced among our countrywomen, none 1s, per- haps, more interesting than that w hich we are about j to describe, viz., hair work; a recent importation Germany, where it is fashionable from Hitherto manufacturers of hair trinkets, ver y 1 to professed almost exclusively confine this work has now s elegant and annoyances and ol become a drawing-room occupation, a as free from all the yjections of litter, dirt, or unpleasant smells, as the much-prac- ticed knitting small handkerchief will at any time cover the appa- , hetting, and crochet can be; while a ratus and materials in use. By acquiring a know- ledge of this art, ladies will be themselves enabled of 1 to manufacture the hair beloved friends and rela- tives into bracelets, chains, and de- that rings, ear-rings, vices, and thus insure they do actually wear the memento they prize, and not a fabric substituted for it, as we fear has sometimes been the case. DIRECTIONS FOR PREPARING THE Harir.—Sort the be juite straight with pack-thread, tress, Which is about to used, into lengths, tie the ends firmly and ¢

saucepan put the hair into a small I with about a pint and a half of water, and a piece of soda of the size of it for twenty minutes; take it out, shake off the superflu- a nut, and boil a quarter of an hour or ous moisture. and hang it up to dry, but not near a fire. When it has become perfectly dry, divide it into strands containing from twenty to thirty hairs each, according to the fineness of the hair or the directions given for the pattern about to be worked. It must be observed that every hair in the strand he same length, and the strands should should be of t

be all, as nearly as may be, of an equal length. Knot each end of each strand, then take the requisite number of leaden weights, weighing about three quarters or half an ounce each, and affix about a quarter of d of pack-thread to each of a val lav them down side by side on the table. and to the other ends of the pack-thread affix the strands of hair already prepared, knotting them on with a sailor’s knot; care must be taken all Wweaver’s or this time to prevent any entanglement or derange- ment of the hair. The other ends of the strands must now be gathered together, firmly tied with pack-thread, and then gummed with a cement com- posed of equal parts of yellow wax and shell-lac melted together and well amalgamated, and then We table and the arrangement of the strands on it. The ace the directi rolled into sticks for use. now come to the ympanying eut (Fig. 1) will exemplify To the a loop of ons we are now about to give ends attach to tied and cemented cluster of pack-thread, and hook this on the small hook in the hole in the centre of the table; then lift each strand gently and sey all smoothly and eve f. {} i Fit [ f| “i Ta Et

parately oli,

and arrange them table in the pro- niy round the oe » 1} rand a brass of the be we rked tube or wire pattern about t he centre, with one end of it pack-thread and the w s ready to be having been first exam- ined to see that no loose hairs hang about When the pattern is completed, the centre or balance- weight must be detached, and then the pack-threads holding t other weights should be gathered to- gether and cut ofl \fterwards, smooth the short ends of the strands of on the tube and tie them tightly down to it with thread; then cut off the cemented end, and tie those parts also down in the same way Take the tube and immerse it in scalding water, and t it simmer there, with the ha r work on it, ertlu shake off the suy for abx ut ten n thdraw it, isture, and hang it up 377 ous mi

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378 601 PPP PPL PDL ALLL

to dry, not too near a fire; when thoroughly dry, the work must be gently and carefully slid off the tube, each end separately cemented with the before-men- tioned composition, care being taken to gather up every hair, and the pattern will appear complete and ready to receive whatever clasp, snap, or slide it is thought proper to affix to it. The table is very simple in its construction, and costs a mere trifle ; the chief thing necessary is that every part of it should be perfectly smooth, as the least roughness or inequality would be liable to tear the hair, and thus destroy the evenness and beauty of There are two varieties of the table; the stands about thirty-two or he second stands nearly four feet high, and is used by the opposite sex. For latter; for, although it the work first, or “ ladies’ table,”’ thirty-three inches high; t our own part, we prefer the may be more fatiguing to stand than to sit, more command of the work is obtained; besides, ladies’ disturb the weights and their respective strands, and if one tab dresses, when sitting, interfere with and stands to work at the small for even a few moments, tl We will now proceed to give some of the pat- 1e fatigue of stooping is very great. terns A PaTrern For a Cuarn orn Guarp. (Fig. 2.)—For this pattern, sixteen strands, each consisting of about twenty hairs, are required. These must be arranged in pairs on the circle of the table, at equal distances, ind so that the opposite pairs shal! be in direct lines with each otber, thus: Number them with a piece Fig. 2.

i | 4 . e ~ \ / . 2 4 NY i I al 1 ° : e < n chaik, as in ) i ve dia im Fig ence Working vs Take up the 1 1 stra fig ure d re move t t m ol pair over the « ire 1. | t tha oppos pair to | e « e just remove ~ | nt strands over the nat | ire and it Su manner lift them i ) es of the stran ‘ 1 , figure 2 t yr these latt ; W ork EY’S MAGAZINE A

APP PPP LLLP Pate ALD PAP PPL LLL LPP eee WD ND PRALDALAAAADAD De over figure 3 and figure 4 in the same manner, lift- ing those from the right hand side over to the left, and bringing the latter back. Then recommence at figure 1, and repeat this pattern until the hair is worked up; remembering never to cross the strands, but simply lift them over gently and without jerking from one side to the other. This chain may be worked in pieces of three or four inches each, and then united with gold slides, or in only two or three portions, or in one continuous length; but this latter plan would require the hair to be longer than we can usually obtain it, namely, from fifteen to twenty inches or more in length. It should be worked on a brass wire of about the size of a No. 15 or 16 knitting needle. A PaTTERN FoR A BRACELET. strands of twenty-five or thirty hairs each, accord- For this pattern the (Fig. 4.)—Sixteen ing to the fineness of the hair. strands must be arranged in fours, and numbered Take the strand which Jes on figure 1, at the thus : Fig. 4.

bottom of the diagram (Fig. 5), and 1 e it to- wards the left, and into the place of the next figure l st id fing that and carrying it to the top of figure 1 strand, while this latter in its tu ist be removed to the place of the right hand figure 1 strand, which goes to fill the vacant placé of th e first lifted at the bottom Proceed now figure tl bottom group, and work the strands nt ed I und nthe same way, al d in Tne sa t lirect n The next strand to be raised figure 3 bottom group, and this is to be worked in the s way, but in the pposite directi V1z., towards rignut and into the place of strand n the right e x, MW t i Sturn goes totl », and eto the ke Ww e that from the t hand g comes to the vac it figure a e bott I e 4 is Ww ed in the same way and direc s ees; then re rence iti The point to be served is to move the s and twos tow ds 1 ft.and the threes a irs to-

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HAIR ——— eee ee - wards the right; always beginning from the bottom group. tube of the thickness of an ordinary lead pencil, or This pattern should be worked on a brass rather larger; and it looks very well over another and closer plait—such, for instance, as the one we first described. Each must then be worked sepa- rately, and when finished and perfectly dry, the smaller one should be passed through the larger, and the ends of the two cemented firmly together. For such purpose, we should advise that the Fig. 2 pat- tern should be worked on a larger wire, perhaps of the size of a No. 10 knitting needle. CHAIN OR Patrern. (Fig. 6.) —Ten strauds only, of about twenty hairs each, are required for this. They must be arranged thus: Take figure 1 from the bottom, and move it round in the direction GUARD Fig. 6. a we pointed out by the arrows into the place of figure 1 at the top, bringing that round and down to the bot- tom; so on with the twos, threes, fours, and fives, always working in the direction pointed out—name- ly, lifting the right hand strand into the place of the left, and that round to the right: they should be lifted round, and not crossed over. A wire about the size of a No. 15 knitting needle will do best to work this on. Bear in mind that the strands are to be worked in the order in which they are num- bered. A very pretty bracelet may be made with this pat- tern by increasing the size of the strands (putting from thirty to thirty-five hairs in each), and working on a tube of the size of a No. 6 knitting needle. Three lengths of the pattern must then be made, and twisted together so as to form a kind of rope or ah! cable, and firmly cemented together at the ends. WORK. 379 A Braceret Partern. (Fig. 8.)—Thirty-two § strands, of from twenty to thirty hairs each, and arranged in groups of fours, as evenly as possible, 3 are needed for this pattern, which may be worked 2 onatube of the same size ordered for Fig. 4 pat- ; tern, or on a flat brass mesh about half or three- ¢ quarters of an inch in breadth, or on a mould large 3 at one end and diminishing towards the other. In ; this latter form, it constitutes the fashionable snake PPP PPPPP PRADA RAARARAAnnnnnnnrnnernrernnnmnmnnw APPA PPP APD DDD bracelet. A cross must be made with crayon chalk to indi- cate where the pattern always commences; and the strands must be kept as much Fig. 8. } as possible in their places. Com- mence thus, working towards the left: Take the outside right hand strand of the first group of four im- mediately on the left of the cross, and pass it over the one next to it; strand of take the outside left hand } l this same group, aud pass it over the two next to it; repeat these movements with this group, and then proceed to the next four, and work them in the same way; and so on all round the table, until you again come to the cross. This forms the first part of the plait. Then take two strands from the right of the cross and two from the left of it, to form the group of four, and re-arrange the fours al! outsid round, taking the e twos of each neighboring set to form the fresh grouping. Begin as before with the four imme- diately on the left of the cross ; take the two middle strands, and pass them over the outside ones, and then under them, and so into the middle again; cross the left hand middle strand over the right hand one, then pass the right hand outside strand left hand 1 to the over the two middle ones, and then the outside strand over the three others ; procee next group of four and work them in the same way, and so on all round the board. The pattern is now complete ; the strands must be restored to their original places and groups, and we recommence with the first part of the plait. In working this pattern, great care must be ob- served in the altering and restoring the arrangement 1 of the strands in their several groups at each change of the plait The opposite groups must also be kept as much as possible in parallel! lines, as the symme- to these trv of the work depends on attention nice- ties. In our next paper, we shall give instructions for rings, ear-rings, and various other devices.

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w : ~ mY), yA G i Were ete, Ww this number of the Book, our f -first 1 e and the ear 1850 The rapid progress of « country in all arts and sci- ences, whi t te a rh state of civilization and great indiv mi prosperity, is beyond precedent in the history of nat What is the pre minant cause of this result? De T f e, i s work the United States, ascribes the spiring pr ple American greatness t the s r character of the wome And so 1 ist be 8] gress 1é ition is of the true | ‘ 1 on the morality of the I ‘ Woman is thea eserver of w eve Sf ! and pure and true She t first teacher Every ! na « tte t f the pr | WwW t seions take rf t, ira r rec es s bia Il e condition of w the standard | Ww esti ite the true cor n ar character of t natior The women of Great Britain have now, in some re- spects, marked distinctions er the ger branch of female Ang Saxondom rhe est rank in the State is there held by a woman there is als given by birth and rank, toa certain number of the sex. power and wealt which, if used in r lw id mark them as public benefactors. Then the annals of the Old World offer a rich field, w fe ale genius may c vate to great advantage; and thus. in authorship, Er h women are now superior to those of America But in the highest office of the sex, that of mothers, no womer n earth can ¢ ul the Ar n tor devo- tion to their duties; and theirs the educa- tion t ssa for t lice, t the entire nation into an t s great and Also as teac! s of children and it women have here reached a dig- nity nowhere else accorde to the sex. They are icknow rect he etter fitte nat efort S portant f ‘ moral ir if mer In Massa- chusetts, where pt ec s s e most perfeetly organize there were, last ir, S163 teachers; of these, 2126 were males, and 57% ear three to one females The Hon. Horace M who has carefully watched the ] cess, says I e there w soon be an entire nanimi 1 pul er t 1 regard- i fer is superior to 1 e tea g for young « lrer 4 To advocate this great object of educating Amer can women, and placing in their hands the profession of teacher for all the children in the nation, has been the cherished air f the editors of the Lady’s Book This has given distinction to our Journal, and kept it far in advance every other literary ] tion in our land We have sought to elevate the iracter of women not to] them forward into the arena of the w compete r the places of men, but ra higher and more portant aim—that they r t rightly appreciate and pe their own duties, and thus fit men to dis- charee theirs And he ve close this first half of the nineteenth cen- tury, di gy the last twenty years of which we hare led i ¢ terature that has now such ¢ ° “19 ay) r JA wv o aA manding iuence on society md that we f le the n er of subscribers Ww 1 any other monthly can show, 1s p f that we are sti eading. To sustain wort this great and increasing poy uri the edi- tors ha made arrangements by which the highest talent of our eountry is secured for the Lady’s Book; and t tT l and rel is literature s d be tos- tered wi 1 s! eh care as the departments of tancy and taste, we ive several eminent clergymen, of dif- ferent « itions, engaged as contributors. The Script plates, engraved expressly for our wok,’? are ¢} f n orig | Gesigns or taken trom the ori l es in Europe No other periodical has thes ind sacred mementos Our “ W rable,’ whic nique, will show f é ear at least a « en new varicties of In sv Much care will be estowe n this use- ful a iceful department of the true lady’s educa- tion W give, in addition to the monthly fashions v i care ly improved from European models to suit the « ster standard of Ame in tust the ‘* Cost es of Women of All Nations,’’ whi is of much 1 eas well as interest, because through these fas t { irc racteris 8S ol the erent nat s ma P re In short, the L s Book shall be mde w y of its one hundred thousand pat Need we say more? Ye one request we would whisper to our friends before we say farewell to the vear 1850 We feel sure the vill a nus us through the con r seasons, and et none ot these triends do we sny tare- w t we would whisper to those who ve appa- rent t tten t t friends have rec pr eal duties— ‘We do wi each and al » have not paid for the *‘ Lady’s Book’ would transmit the amount due before the oper of the new year.’’ To CoRRESPONDENT The f wing a es are acee ind on f for insertion as soon as we ive r ! But writers must have patience No one who sends a munication should expect to see any allusion t e about it under at I three months from the time we receive it. The immense edition printed renders t necessary to keep our literary mate ils selected ar irranged two or three months in adv e; those who se contr tions marked to be inserted n the next number the I v’s Book MV be disap Nor ive we time tow e let n re- ply t fav s; but we trust this list wi satisfy our s that we do not forget them ‘The Let- ter » be inserted in April, 1851), “* Deo Gracias,” To t Sun ‘The Old Belfry,’’ “* Think Me,”? SAKECT ) sa not. Life has no Pleasure Hi pe on, Hope ever Egeria The Life of Mar “My been Wander- nto the We rid, Seam-

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E ITORS’ f IK TABLE —_ an ee Renee - 7 rentine Flowers’’ will understand us when we eav her JIS We as ive notice tl is been disposed of as she requested at we will not undertake to If accept- ‘‘Tt is not reasonable to send an article to an editor, without intimating whether he shall transmit it in case he does not print it, and demand its return a week or more afterwards. It is far easier for you to keepa copy

return | the writer must keep a copy ed, it w e seen in our Notice to Correspondents. If { of any but a long article, than for him to keep track of ected, no notice istaken. When sending prose, writ- } it and hold it subject to your call In all cases where ers will please be particular and mention if they wish ; you tail to give directions for its return when u send, it returned. The following, from a New York paper, { he understands that you do not intend to reclaim it. It is to the point :— } the article is short, you should always keep a copy —<+o EDITORS’

adelphia :— AND OTHER rmerly Miss From Lrnpsay & BLaxtston, Phil THE BROKEN BRACELET, POEMS By Mrs. C. H. W. Esling (f Wate A neatly eontainir

iges, volume of the nan) printec 288 ps numerous selections from writings of this p lar and gifted writer, all of which are strong- ly marked the peculiarly chaste and sympathizing characteristics of the author. These poems, which

found great favor as they passed through the periodical

press, now in a form for preservation, which their varied merits entitle tl to from the literary public THE BRITISH FEMALE POETS: with Biogra- phica rd Critical Notices By George W. Bethune In this work, the author has presented his readers with numerous extracts from sixty of the female poets of Fi i ( encing with the rest known, Juliana Bern 1d ending with Miss Charlotte Young, the lates ile att n, whose first vol- ume, The tint, and other Poems,’’ has t peared. The volume is embellished with twelve er ivings, among which is a portrait of Hon. residence of Mrs in unison lalso a view of the The t | raphy and the binding are best specim With the From Harper & Bretuers, New York, through Lanpsay & Buakiston, Philadelphia :— HEALTH, DISEASE, AND REMEDY, Familiarly and P tically Considered, in a few of their Relations to B l By George Moore, M. D., Member of the Ro ( eof Physicians, ete. ete. The object of the write in this publication, has been to assist the unpr s nal reader to form a sober estimate of phy- sic, az n the fulfilment of this object the medical stu- cant has not been forgotten THE LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE OF RO-

BERT SOU THEY Edited by his Son The present is t part of this interesting work It will be cor t part six ADELAIDE The Wilming- LIBRARY LINDSAY Edited by the author of tuns,’’ ete. ete GIBBON’S ROME. Edited by Milman. We have received the fifth and sixth volumes of this valuable work, which is now complete THE RECENT PROGRESS OF ASTRONOMY; Espect United States By Professor of Mathematics and Natural of New York, The author of this vol- in the Elias Loomis,

Philosophy in f the City and author of athematics.’’ A Course of M XLI.—36 BOOK TABLE. ume has fully accomplished his design of exhibiting in

popular form the most important astronomical disco- veries of the past ten years. The work will afford par- ticular gratification to the American reader FIVE YEARS OF A HUNTER’S LIFE IN THE FAR INTERIOR OF SOUTH AFRICA, with No- tices of the Native Tribes, and AnecBotes of the ¢ us of the Lion, Elephant, Hippopotamus, Giraffe, Rhinoce- ros, § By Rouleyn Gordon Cumming, Esq With illustrations. 2 vols In these volumes, the author proves himself to be an expert hunter, a brave soldier, and as expert with his pen as with his rifle PICTORIAL FIELD BOOK OF THE REVOLU- TION. By This truly work has reached its seventh number, and continues to Benson J. Lossing Awerican } ni

rest encomiums of the press merit the

THE COUNTRY YEAR BOOK; or, t the Forest, and the Firesid By William Howitt, author of ‘* The Book of the Seasons,’ ** Rural Life in Bingland,’?’&c. This work. we are tol the ithor, is the result of many yenrs’ del tful er yme of the country. It is written in the same sp is that which pervades ‘* The Book of the Seasons it w every care possible not to go over the ground already oecu- lume pied in that y PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT. A Novel

Trollope, author of the ** Re ee in America,’’ ete HISTORY OF XERXES THE GI By Ja- cob Abbott The object of the author of the se s of volumes to which the present be! s has been to adapt them to the purposes of text s in s Is In this effort, we think he has mira succeeder very handsomely il The maps and six « work 18 t) r Lucr ¢

From T. B. Peterson, 98 Chestnut Street. Phila- delphia :— THE IRON MASK By Dumas. T is ¢ f the continuations of the ** Three Guardsmer ! } one of the best of the series. There is a fa ion about these works. If you commence one, y ust go through with it—tact and fiction are so wdmirably blended KING RICHARD III. No. 25 of the Boston edition of ‘*‘ Shakspeare’s Dramatic Works.”’? The illustration wn this number is a beautiful engraving of Lady Anne JACK HINTON. THE GUARDSMAN By Charles Lever. New and revised edition THE ORPHAN CHILDREN By T. S. Arthu

a Tale of Cruelty and Oppression One of our author's

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882 GODEY'’S MAG, nn AA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA RAAARRAPRPL ARAL DLS most effective works, full of feeling, sentiment, and charity. SHAKSPEARE’S DRAMATIC WORKS. We have also \rough the same publishers, the second and third parts of ‘‘ King Henry the Sixth,’’ Boston edition, with portraits of Queen Margaret and Lady Grey. nson, Fifth and Arch Streets, Phil- Christianity and In- H Re or, fid ity Contr i in the Last 4 urs of markable Persons. By the Rev. Erskine Neal,M.A. From the third Lor n edition We need searcely add anything to the tith this book wavy of attracting the atten- tion of the ¢ stian and inquiring reader. The inten- tion of the author is plain, and his contrasts are evi- dently drawn from the best aut ticated documents. nen From Lipprncott, Gramso & Co. (successors to Grieg, El tt & Co.), 14 North Fourth Street, Phila- delp! 1 LONZ POWERS; OR, THE REGULATORS. A Roman f Kentucky, Founded on Facts. By James Weir, }. 2vols In this work, the reader is treated with various descriptions of primitive society in the West, mar f which are but melancholy records of vices and crimes incident to all ear settlements. But in all that he has written, we here sav the author may justly claim that there is no page or sentence in his work which 1 not be read wit ita blush. THE IRIS in Illuminated Souvenir for 1851. Edited by Professor John S. Hart. This is the first appearance of the Iris as a gi k, and a most bril- liant appearance it makes in the f ament of litera- ture N that taste and art, and the most refined literary a ities, could accomplish, has been omitted in the eff t to render this its name and of the patronage of the American public It has, in all, twelve superb embellishments, four of which are printed each with ent « rs, vying in bril- liancy und beauty wi the delicate tints of the rain- bow. The remaining eight embellishments are of the finest stvle of le engraving These represent, in a most spi! manner, various scenes calculated to im- press the mind and the heart with a proper sense of the literary contrib ns they are intended to illustrate. The embellishments were executed in London by the best masters As for the contributors, they are all of the highest order of merit, gifted, pure, and popular; and, take the I is one of the most ele- gant, chaste, and brill literary productions we have seen this season. From Mason & Law, New York, through Lipprn- coTT. Gramso & Co., Philadelphia . MELODIST. A collection of selected, THE popular and social and By songs, original and harmonized ~prano, alt ,and b James Webb and William Mason. CANTICA LAUDIS; or, the Church Music. By Lowell Mason and Webb - is a lection ancient arranged for s , tenor 188s Voices George Book of George James imerican ge from the most classi¢ au- is thors, and modern, fur choirs and singing echools From Joun 8. Taytor, New York, through T. K. Couuins, Jn., Philadelphia: RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. By J.T. Headley. ADAALS D LADY'S BOOE RRR AAR AAA A portrait of the author accompanies this work, which contains much interesting reading matter. LUTHER AND CROMWELL. By the Rev. J. T. Headley. Reformers and reforms, history, criticism, und progress, are the themes of this volume, which is illustrated with the portrait of the author, and with er and Cromwell SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS volume by the Rev. J.T portraits also of Lut Another Headley, which will prove in- teresting to the biblical reader It contains a picture hlehem AND HIS is work is of Ruth, and on the title-page a view of Bet BIOGRAPHY OF THE SAVIOUR APOSTLES With a Portrait of each » also from the pen of Rev. J. T. Headley, and addresses itself in SACRED MOUNTAINS the same prolific author, the title of which is well cal- a peculiar manner to Christian inguirers Still another volume from culated to arrest attention toits merits. It has several beautiful illustrations HUGO: a Legend of Rockland Lake. This work, which the author dedicated to J. Fenimore Cooper, was found amongst the papers of the late Ernest Hel fenstein, whose mind, it appears, delighted in the meta- nd of the spiritual, and apt to indulge in It is edited by Mrs. E mn, handsomely bound physic, was f speculations Oakes Smith. Second editi From E. H. Butter & Co., Philadelphia :— We are greatly indebted to the enterprising pub- lishers, Messrs. Butler & Co., for copies of the follow- ing beautiful works and forthcoming annuals There in number, and we may truly say that richer or more costly specimens of the arts we have never se@n. The outside embellishments are at once substan- tial and elegant. The illustrations, which are exqui- sitely fine, and from the best artists of our count are numerous and appropriate, while the varied contents f the several volumes, fresh from the pens of the most popular and successful writers of prose and poetry, are preserved in the fairest and brightest efforts of rra- phy that have ever fallen from the Ame n press These works, it will be observed, are particularly in- tended for those who desire to makea pure, instrt ive, and beautiful to relatives or friends during the memor festivities of the proaching season truth is, no American library, public or private, should be without these volumes; for, taken altogether, they are in every respect worthy of being preserved as the most valuable specimens of our national progress in polite literature and in the arts that yel appeared The first of these beautiful works, which we pro- their pose, for the present, simply to notice by a brief statement of their contents, is FEMALE POETS OF AMERICA Biogra Notices, and THE Portraits, hical 2 and S; imens of their Writings By Thomas Buchanan Rena The fourth edition, with additions an itfons In this large and elegant volume, there are biographival no- tices of no less than eighty of our gifted ex wo- men, with specimens of their writings, together with portraits of ten of the number, engraved un the superintendence of the editor, himself an artist and poet THE LEAFLETS OF MEMORY 1851 Edited by the seventh \ lume of An Reynell C Illumine Annual for ates, This thirty articles fr is the series. It contains guished m the pens of distir wri and has twelve illustrations.

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THE CABINET OF MODERN ART. Acollection ot twenty-five s ects from modern asters, engraved in the highest style of mezzotinto. Illustrated by forty- nine ay »printe articles in prose and verse CHRISTMAS BLOSSOMS AND NEW YEAR’S WREATH FOR 1551 By Uncle Thomas. The con- tents of this attractive volume comprise fourteen arti- cles on Vv s subjects, with six illustrations from the best printers and engravers. THE SNOW-FLAKE: a@ Christmas. New Year. and Birthday Gift for 1851. This volume is a continuation of a work which in former years has been a pub fay te. Its contents embrace thirty-nine articles from the pens of celebrated authors, and nine i stra- tions engraved by Sartain from pictures by the first A with ie above, we have also received from the same shers a large and a small edition of PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY : aB k of Thought and Arguments, Originally Treated. By Martin Far- quhar Tuppe Esq..D.C. L., F.R.S., of Christ ¢ h, Oxi 1. The largest of these editions contains sixteen charact strations, the smallest twelve hey elegant specimens of the arts of printing and as well as of binding. Fr Street, THE HEMANS m Henry F. Anners, No. 48 North Fourth > ad POET “yon ICAL WORKS OF \ With a Critical Preface. Dp AX _ FELICIA Four volumes intwo. So much may be found in these volumes which has alre endeared t nory of the amiable and gifted aut r to American readers, we feel be almos I fence to their g taste an attempt to recommend this complete collection of her works to their consideration. Mrs. Hemans was pro- nounced, igh literary authority in her native land, ‘*the most touching and accomplished writer of occa- 4) sional verses that our literature has yet to boast.’ What effect her ‘‘ occasional verses’? may have had in stimulating some of our own accomplished female writers, we cannot venture to determine; but we havea private opinion that her example, and the encouraging influences of her genius, have pron ited many an effort that w wise ver ive een made These volumes wv prove an acceptable offering, and a bright memorial of love or friendship to those who expect to make and to receive such offerings d zy the approach- ing holidays We have received from the same publishers copies of the following splendidly bound and illustrated annuals :— THE GIFT OF FRIENDSHIP: a@ Token of Re- membrar for 51. This tasty little volume, besides by us T interesting subjects, in tale s on vari Arthur, contains thirty-eight articles prose and poetry, and six elegant illustrations by the best engraver THE REMEMBER ME: a Token of Love for 1851 This wor! tains thirty-three articles, tales, poetry, etc s s beautifully bound and printed, and con , With six finely engraved plates illustrative of the most interest- ing subjects THE HYACINTH; OR, AFFECTION’S GIFT. A Christmas, New Year, and Birthday Present for 1851. There are five beautiful illustrations in this volume, and the contents comprise thirty-eight articles of inte- rest and instruction, particularly adapted to the condi- tion of the youthful and inexperienced. ) eee TABLE. 383 TALES OF DOMESTIC LIFE The T.S. Arthur it By hon and virtuous sentiments e practi ks of Mr. Arthur, are conspicuous in the contents of this volume. cal good sense which pervade al! the wor J. W. 18 Philadelphia : ILLUSTRATED TEMPERANCE TALES From BRADLEY, North uurth Street S$. Arthur. With an autobiography of the author. It may be justly claimed, in behalf of the 1th f these tales, that none of his cotemporaries have ed witk greater zeal, or With greater success, in e cause ot human s social reforn I ed, every sentiment ot is bene ient heart nd ev effort of his untiring pen, have been emp ed in rendering homage to virtue, and in depict vice colors % powertully true to nature is not only t ruard the nwary against its te ‘ s, but even rescue those who had unha ily falle nto its prac s We say this confider of t he has wr n, and can therefore confider recommend the be ] volume before us to the attention of all who feel an terest in the elevation and purity of morals No better or worthier present could be made to the young, no offering more pure, charital *, and practicable ce Id be tendered to those who are interested in e truly be- nevolent reforms of the day. In addition t e portrait of the author, the volume contains eight fine illustra- tions and twenty tales, comprising, iv 320 pages From Baker & Scripner, New York, through A Hart, Philadelphia :— GRAHAME; OR, YOUTH AND MANTIIOOD. A Romance $y the author of ** Talbot and Vernon.”’ ANNALS OF THE QUEEN OF SPAIN work embraces a period from the conquest the Goths down to the reign of her majesty, I present with the remarkable events that occurt ing their reigns, and anecdotes of their courts lume be- fore us is the second of the vividly detailed the events that occurred during the reign of Isabel, the Cathol INDIA AND THE HINDOOS: being a Popular View of the Geography, History. G rn it, Manners, Customs, Literature, and Religion of tncient Peo- ple; with an Account of ¢ ran Mi is among them By F. D. W. Ward, late Missionar Madras and Member of the American Orie s ety The American reader, unacquainted wi t ( acter and habits of the natives of that d nt ¢ e, will fin much to interest and instruct hi the ¢ nts of this lume. THE PARADISE vi LOST notes, explanatory and ¢ rl Ecite ! the Rev James Robert Boyd, author of Elements Rheto- ric,’’ etc. Not having had the leisure afforded us to ex- amine this edition of Milton’s w ks. we ca nly refer to the statement of the editor, who assures us that the work embraces, besides much other matter, al! that is excellent and worth preservation in those of Newton, Todd, Brydges, and Stebbing ; compreher nl se some of the richest treasures of learned ar Inge is criticism, which the Paradise Lost has called into ex- istence through the pages of many volumes of reviews and miscell THE HOME; OR, FAMILY CARES AND FAMI- LY JOYS. By Bremer. Mary Howitt. Thisis the author’s edition. which will commend itself to the reflective, the truthful, and to all aneous literature. Frederika Translated by

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w “an Ay ute the a le sentiments and pure les s : t so greatly distinguish the writ- ir Miss B f SUCCESS IN LIFI THE MECHANIC By Mrs J.. ( I l A valua W iN ‘ x the duty of regard t the l pr sion or eir sons, \ imany ex 8 drawn trom ( of ¢ of irs sin! um t rin w their ¢ nence was established i ( im inces I. B. Wo & Co., 72 Chestnut Street, Phila- a NA E MAGAZINE De- w 4 n Prine $ Li ] n This i f numbe ’ w W K. ¢ ¢ v Robert M. 1 W pr esto ha luence { od i From Samvet It on. New ¥ _ VW ve rece t f S | sevent l- THE Cc ANS Townsend, New ladelphia :— " P AN OLD COUNTRY HOUSE i Novel. By the thor of “* The Gambler’s Wife,’’? “The Rectory uest,’’ etc. Cheap edition. From Wits P. Hazarp, 178 Chestnut Street, Phi- elphi = PICTURES FROM THEBIBLE. By Cousin Alice This little volume, neatly bound and printed, and con- taining twenty-eight illustrations of Scripture sub- jects, forming a complete narrative of the principal events int life of the Say r. is from the graceful pen Mrs. Alice B. Nea I es are all very bea 1 engraved from the r rrec priate designs while the such as wi fix the atte n el te the tender minds of the class of readers for whos rusal the vol- ume is especia designed. B e readers cf the La sB Kare s. We i i t ( n Alice —with gentle and affect ite s and benevo- lent efforts in behalf of religion and virtue—that we feel we mays v leave these pi es ) their approval Ph Ii! through A. Grorce P. Purnam, New York, P ” a:i— LAST OF THE MOHICANS of The L Fenimore C a Narrative of the second volume ther- oper, revised by , with a new introduction, notes, &c From Rosert Martin, No. 30 North Tenth Street, iladelphia :— THE POETICAL WORKSOP THOMAS MOORE. strated with fifty magnifcent steel engravings AND LADY's I x The first ar secor irts ¢ betore us e assu nee t nished with an elegant and st ot the poe 8 Ol a tavorite at OUR PRINTERS. APPT T t e season—the conclusior f the twe ‘ e of the Lady’s Book— as a fit nanumber nt r the alt 1 sk I Mrs. i! we dete ed to make m s, the B s ( nd their e WV 1 the Lady’s B \ en so “ t ten years. The Messrs. ¢ ns i s ar f ihed W es ss f I t f serv be known by ail its t I is to their mechan il ! t ¢ ! een possession t est I é e worl Ni r. K. & P.G Collins are practical nters t 8 t department of their div urt of T eP elphians by } P " ere t earta s of their trade in t \\ yr was done in the n, old- { t re ping, steam-presses, and ‘ s were know They have wever, Hiv t Ss I verments ¢ the most ex 10T mary k | erfected, until y ng s be ( f st a new art Being ex lent | ica \ the old way, the new methods, as e u ed, soon became familiar to them as} € ind t now ml in a pos t r we their business in the United States. W I \ le exece I e Messrs. ¢ ns are p rie- tors the largest ite printing esta rent in this ‘ try A w k through it isa one of the mos ful that can be nceeived, as it shows how g¢ ita the enuity, skill, and enterprise in the nine- ntur i establishment of the Messrs. Collins is situate a the per portion of iwin’s building, on the north side of Lodge Alley, above Seventh Stree the s nd, third, and fourth stories of whic together Ww smaller side rooms, ware-r t ee &c., are Vv eX ely occ ed by the Phe bi ing is in t rm of the letter U, the furt S i iir to the several a nts, with rows of wu ws also on the Lodge A tront The extent of the printing office may be ee I the following :— composition rooms, are 1 the upper st s, and s lll t | r by 18 feet wide, with « ( } ) t The ess rooms are precise f the sa ne ns In the composing rooms, the stands, ecnses, stones racks, distributing boards oof-readers’ ¢ es, &e. are all nicely di The quantity of type in cor stant use exceeds thirty tons in weight, and the annua cost for new type averages from three to four thousand dollars In these rooms, there are from fifty to sixty hands constantly employed in the various branches o type-setting, imposing forms, reading proof, &c The second floor is devoted exclusively to press- irteen power-presses, all driven by steam, constantly ¢ together with seven hand- presses. Of the power-presses, seven are Tuft’s patent, large size, one of which is a ** double-ender ;"’ five of Adams’ improved patent, three of the mammoth size, nearly double double-medium; and one of Hoe’s lass

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~~ - ~~ improved single cylinders. The sheets are put on and taken off these presses by girls. Good practical p nters are employed to superintend them; while one hand is constantly occupied ‘¢ wetting’? paper, another ‘‘ turn- ing’’ it, and a third in making rollers. The seven hand- presses are worked by men; th requires but one hand, as the rolling is performed by * iron 1 roller-boys, worked by steam. These rolling machines are a great improvement, and of incalculable advantage in an ex- tensive establishment like the Messrs. Collins’, where large forms of cuts, like those used in the Lady’s Book, have to be struck off at onetime. By a simple contriv- ance, the iron roiler-boys will ink the form as often as the pressman desires, and as they are continually shift- ing on the cylinders, the distribution is perfect, and the ink rsheet. T used for color must be even, as is taken eve hand-presses are small forms, and the finest works only The hree thousand dollars ink used on the presses costs over per annum, a portion of which is imported from the manufactory of Messrs. Shakel & the celebrated establishments in one of most [What w Lyons, London | some of our printer friends, do not estimate the cost of ink, think of this item ?] The sheets, when printed, are conveyed from the presses to the drying-rooms, which are 70 by 18 feet, and from thence to the wareroom, of the same dimensions, on the rear of the first floor, where the work is done by men, girls, and boys, with aid of "Phe sheets are | Beggs steam steam power. pressed in ans’ patent screw- By power is applied to the screw-presses by means press I ’ an famous hydraulic a neat contrivance, of a belt, which greatly increases the pressure, and re- lieves t labor of the hands. A side room, 55 by 17 feet, is used for storing paper, stereotype plates, &c In the cel or basement, the engine and boiler are located hey are of ten horse power, and drive all the machinery in the establishment. Attached to the boiler is a copper kettle, in which all the composition for rollers is boiled and prepared for the mould by steum—a saving process, and decidedly preferable t the old system of boiling on furnaces. Having gone through this extensive establishment, we begin to wonder at its cost, the amount of 130 r annually printed there good it does by the employment of over hands, and the large quantity of pape Surprising as it may seem, this extensive office has struck off the past year (being the one in which the Lady’s Book has attained the largest subscription list ever known) one hundred and one thousand seven hun- dred and twelve (101,712) reams of paper—an average of three hundred and twenty-six reams To the Br Vv. others Collins it is almost unnecessary for llnd us to allude further than we have d at the commence- ment of this article For their wealth they a in- debted entirely to their own indomitabl ! le energy, indus- try,and business talent. The senior partner, TiLLin nAsT K. Cotuins, is known throughout the Union for his efforts in the cause of religion Being a distin- Methodist d anxieties of business member of the Church, guished Episcopal he finds leisure from the cares an } o do much wherever Puivip G. good to his fellow and men ; known he is cherished for his beneficence the junior, divides with his brother the ho- nors He 1s getic in his business relations, and manages with sur- CoLLINs, and rewards of the world very ener- prising dexterity all the details of their immense esta- blishment have won the good opinion of al] brought into contact The 36* Their punctuality, integrity, and urbanity with them, whether the employed or employer. 385 $ brothers Coll ns are, in a word, just such men as de- serve to thrive and ”y the good things of this world, We take pleasure in being able they are doing en to say that we believe bot} t i in accordance with their deserts. Long may they continue to do so § STEAMBOATS AND RaILroaps.—In no part of our country do the railroad and steamboat lines enjoy a greater share of public confidence than those whi accommodate the traveling community between this $ city and New York and Baltimore. The steamboats on the Delaware, connecting with the cars running to both the cities named, are of the first class, and richly deserve the preference and the patronage they have re- ceived » excellent accommodations afforded by the lines belonging to the Camden and Amboy Company, under rintendence of Wa. H. Garz- the general supe MER, Esq., are not equaled, or, to say the least, are not excelled, by any similar modes of conveyance in the world. The assurance of perfect safety, which is felt and acknowledged by the thousands of travelers who are continually over the several routes, fully passing ] s attests their confidence in the careful m inagement of all the details of the vast machinery upon the correct performance of all which their depend and lady feel as perfectly at ease for the re- comtort “Twi said a to us a short time at I coul their lives since, ** th maining part of m irney west, as I have felt while occupying a seat in the cars, or on board the steam- boats, of the Philadeiphia and New York lines.”’ But hers was notan isolated wish. Almost all who have witnessed the careful ond quiet operations of every one connected with these lines, of the principal and subo nts, ot ne nductors the dinate ag engineers, ce &c.—who have ene the trar qt il countenances of passengers, and their composed demeanor during their rapid flights over the land, or through the beauti- most be reminded, by lady ie confidence and pleasure they have them- —will only that ful waters of the Delaware such truthful declarations as made by our friend, of tl selves experienced. PotiticaL Evitrors.—Having but little taste for po- litics, and less experience in party contests, we are fre- ecture how some of our friends quently ata loss to cor can continue from year to year to mingle in their ex citements, and still retain that gentleness, suavity, an complacency of manners which have ever so greatly One might well imagine that the distinguished them contentions of the ambitious, and the jealousies of the ispiring, would disgust and sour the minds, and so deep- ly wound the hearts, of ‘sensitive and magnanimous, that it w be impossible for them to labor day after day in their vocations as editors, and not feel the blight of misanthropy sooner or later hovering over their path- way. But, happily for their own peace of mind, ar fortunately, perhaps, for the progress of truth and of honorable principles, this does not always happen to be the We have instances, in al! the political par- f the result countrymen divided, « ties into which our are strongest attachments among gentlemen of opposite most liberal interchange of senti- views, ments among those who are incessantly and energetic- ally employed in establishing the principles and policy of the several subdivisions to which they are attached For the present, leaving ourselves free to give other instances at our leisure, we will take the liberty to re- fer particularly to the editorial courtesy and amiable disposition manifested upon all occasions by our friend

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— x. LADY’S BOOK. AGAZINE AND 386 GODEY’'S Rorert Morris, of the Pennsylvania Inquirer. Amidst a ——er aaa aa sre something about Mrs. Hale. but Mrs. H. We have said elsew We could have said more; was not willing all the harassing perplexities « s station as a poli- tical editor, he never once permi nself to lose his that anything like eulogium should be pronounced upon temper, or to speak ungracefully or discourteously ofa her ina magazine of which she is the editor. The like- I poli i] rival or controversialist, no matter how great ness is lifelike, and the engraving one of Armstrong’s may be the provocation. We say this without pretend- happiest efforts any political or partisan opinion what- n pronounce | ever. We say it of the man, whose editorial course Ovr Fashion plates are, as we have often stated, true has been marked with the true dignity becoming the portraitures of the prevailing fashions; and are really American press, and whose exertions in behalf of mo- the only true ones, as all ladies in the northern cities rality, virtue, and patriotism, and for the elevation of are fully aware We believe this fact is fully estab- the minds of his readers, have always distinguished him lished. from the mere politician. Sut we have other instances, which we will take occasion to present to our readers Ovr Jannary number will surpass any former issue; hereafter. und, as a present for the season, will equal anything in — the ‘* Gift’’ line that will be issned for the New Year We would, in closing our volume for the year. simply The cost will be something less than anannual. There ask our subscribers whether we have kept the pro- will not be that difference between the January and in the commencement of the year. We be- other numbers, which is too often exhibited in many mises made jieve that we have never used any deception in our publications. We have published 70,000 of the Novem- prospectus, nor made a promise that we did not fully ber and December numbers. The next year we presume our edition will be 100,000 keep. We would also ask whether the has not improved, every year of its exist > If we have been believed so far, and have fully performed our Ir will be perceived that we have abolished the odious part, then may we now be believed when we state that and humil premium system; and that the price to the Lady’s Book for 1851 shall s ass that for 1850. e] is raised The difference will be made We have the ability and the inclination to make an up to the subscriber in the superiority of the interior unequaled periodical. Many persons subscribe for a of the Book Another advantage we gain. We can magazine upon the strength of a prospectus; but would answer our orders more promptly: all previous delay it not be as well to make some inquiry before so doing? was caused by the premiums. To be sure, it does take Many things, we are sorry to say, are promised in a some little time to get through some three hundred let- prospectus of which the publisher could give no in- ters a-day—about the number we usually receive during formation if inquiry were made of him direct. As the busy season we have stated, we use no deception: when we pro- — mise engravings, we state what they are. We use Tuose who have doubted our capability of improv- steel plates, engraved expressly for us, and those that We to the expense of original designs, and for some time past have The ind other numbers have never before appeared have gone a number engravings in November, given two and three in the September, October, give evidence of what we have done; and our future numbers will bear us out in the assertion that no maga- zine, in any country, can equal the Lady’s Book in the We are now and morality of its engravings fully prepared, having been fifteen months in making heauty the preparation, with a corps of unrivaled engravers. Most of our engravings will be line plates; but we shail give mezzotints ‘‘ We praise thee, O {'?? and the Creed, are both line plates; one of them some Gor ing on every preceding number, we refer to the en- gravings inthe present one. Are they not finer than the plates in November? Yet those were pronounced by the universal voice of the press the best that have ever appeared in any magazine of any country. Supe- rior even as the present are, those in the January num- ber will eclipse all that have preceded; and such is our intention in every future number of the Book. AN error occurred in our Table of Contents of the Novem On the cover was printed “A Colored Fashion Plate.’? It should have been A Vase of Flowers, Coloret. r number. 1, | designed, and both engraved expressly for the Lady’s PoRTRAIT OF THE LATE Dr. Hartsnorne.—Welch, Book. 2 the engraver, has presented us this engraving. The oo > likeness is perfect, and the head we pronounce the very We cannot forget that we are American born, and 2 best specimen of mezzotinting we haveever seen. Har- have a very decided prejudice for writers and artists > rison, publisher, Eighth Street, above Chestnut of our own country; and to those we shall always give 5 — the preference. We believe that ours is the only maga- Srncrarr, 101 Chestnut Street, has sent us the neat- zine that exclusively employs American authors and est specimen of printing in colors we have ever seen. artists. There is also another subject; but we will let ° It is a portrait of Jenny Lind—the pure, the talented, the writer speak for himself and charitable Jenny Lind. ‘« There is one matter which the public and the press — do not take into consideration. The literary matter in H. Lone & Brother, of 43 Ann Street, New York, a work is praised from the names of the authors, with- have issued a prospectus containing a large assortment out reading the articles themselves. Now it happens, > of most excellent works. L. & Bro. will supply the im many instances, that stories and poetry that have country trade with all the serials of the day; and in not celebrated names attached are oftentimes better { the newspaper line Dexter & Brother, in the same than those that have. If articles are only to be pub- § building, are always at home. lished from well-known writers, how is the rising ge- $ nius of our young countrymen and women to be prought out??? refer to our prospectus for 1851 for a Tist of en- There is not a wood Wer gravings now ready for Godey.

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+ 3 = , 4 DESCR On the contrary, they are all Be not engraving among them. by the most eminent artists. steel ¢ avings, deeeived by a promising prospectus. Ir will be perceived that we are now publishing on- ginal d-signs for Model Cottages. prepared expressly for us; and also have several new styles of Needle Work in preparation. Cuvs subscribers for the new year will please notice they are but slight, yet it itly in their favor, in the improvement it the alterations in the terms: will be gre will enable us to put upon the magazine. Subscribers shonld remit direct to the publisher, if they wish to in- sure certainty in the receipt of their numbers. We be received into a club unless all arrearages are settled. notice In time that old subscribers cannot rive ArtTHUR’s Home Gazetre.—The universal welcome with which this new literary paper has been received, both by the press and the public, is an admirable indi- cation of the widespread popularity which Mr. Arthur has acquired by his writings, and a convincing proof that a weekly periodical, addressing itself peculiarly to the hearts and homes of the people, could not fail of meeting with the warmest and most enthusiastic en- couragement The success which the ‘‘ Gazette’’ has met with has perhaps been seldom equaled in the annals of periodical : literature ‘hat this prosperity cannot be evanescent, is evident from the universally favorable notice of the press, from the h tone of the Gazette itself, and from the circumstance that a weekly paper of the choicest literary character, blending moral instruction with rational amusement, supplies a want that has long been fe It by numerous individuals and families through- ont the country. The great and early popularity which the Home Gazette has acquired doubtless also arises arantee which the character of Mr. Arthur's previous writings gave to heads of families that nothing } t nicest morality would be introduced offensive to the into its columns In the numbers already issued, this condition has been rigidly fulfille torial supervision appears to be conduct- and from the extreme care with which the ed ed, we have not the least doubt, that while the literary excellence will be sustained at, or even beyond, its pre- sent elevated standard, there will be nothing admitted that does not Most cheerf tend to foster a pure and healthy morality illy, therefore, do we endorse the numerous encomiums of the press upon this new candidate for publie favor; and we say emphatically to such of our lers as desire to sunhseribe for a weekly paper of wr literary excellence, and of an nunexceptionable moral tone, that we can sincerely and unhesitatingly recommend ‘‘ Arthur’s Home Gazette.’ USEFUL RECEIPTS, OWN GATHERING VARIOUS &c., OF OUR To CLeanse Sittver.—Silver, when tarnished, ean be cleaned by first washing it well with soap and wa- ter; then rub on a little finely-powdered whiting, wet- ted with sal volatile: when dry, rub it off with clean polishing leather. To Ice a Caxe.—Bent up the whites of five eggs to a froth, and put to thema pound of double-refined sugar, powdered and sifted, and three spoonfuls of orange- 387 lemon } Keep beating it all the ven, and, the moment it comes flower water and Lice. time the cake is in the out, ice over the top with a spoon. Be careful to keep the sugar clean. To Remove Ink Stains From MARBLE, nee the fol- — Mix lye with a painter’s brush, | lowing method unslaked lime, in a very powder, with strong make it pretty thick, and, the it on ma remain for two months; then wasb it off, and have boiled dy a fine thick lather of soft s in soft wate dip a brush in, and scour the marble with the | This and good rubbing will give ita beautiful polish. Clear off the soup, and finish with a smooth brush ; peat this till the stains are removed. To MAKE A CHanTILLy Caxe.—Cut a piece out of the top of a Savoy cake, and scoop out all the inside; put it on the dish or plate in which it is to be sent to table; pour Lisbon wine into the cake, and as the wine soaks Out pour it over it again with a spoon when it has absorbed as much wine as it can, pour the remain- der off the dish, pour custard down the sides, and some in the middle; whip up some cream the same as for a trifle, and put it in the middle of the cake; blanch some almonds, cut them in quarters, and stick them round the edges and on the sides of the cuke. It is adish for a supper table To MAKE A DaTE oR PRUNE Puppinc.—Take a quart of milk, beat six eggs, hal a pint of ! little salt f the whites in half the milk, and four spoonfuls of flour with a and two of beaten ginger; then by degrees mix in all the milk and a pound of dates, tie it in a cloth, and boil it an hour: melt butter and pour over it. Damsons are very nice instead of the dates or prunes. To PRESERVE Furs From Motnus.—Let the fur be ocensionally combed while in use, and the woolens be yrushed and shaken when not in use; mix among them 1 the apothecary’s in small muslin bitter apples fron bags; then sew them in several folds of linen carefully turned in at the edges ALABASTER ORNAMENTS —Be careful to all the To CLEAN lust, then put them ina vessel dlow off lightly twelve of cold water, where they are to be kept for hours; after which take them out, wipe as dry as you can with a clean cloth, and put them todry in ana not in the sun. or where they are likely to This is quite lat Fl pl ice, but get the dust sufficient to clean them The been successful. receipt was obta rence, and has alwnys Tue FINEST Coswetic we know of is early In eating an exercise in the open air, temperance ing, cleanliness, and last, though not least, perpeton good humor. BrEswax may be bleached by remelting and running times into very thin eakes: these mi it several suffered te cool, and exposed to the influence of the air and sun. This process will render the wax perfectly white. DESCRIPTION OF COLORED STEEL FASHION PLATE Fig. 1st.—Walking-dress of purple velvet, made plainly, of course, as the material is very rich. The

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MAGAZIN le is of black velvet; the skirt plain, and edged lot satin s | } end- | muslin ie velvet Close w! bonnet, with small ide, and | Walking-dress of green cashmere. almost | m of merinos. The mantilla is of a | form, known of course as the Jenny Lind. It iret-e lvet, th two flounces of lace ws of satin piping st the mantilla closes from right to ery small agate buttons reen uncut velvet, the shade to match the dress. CHIT-CHAT UPON PHILADELPHIA FASHIONS FOR DECEMBI Or course now t Ameri re commence there was no wery, Street, or Eighth 1 in Phila- Jenny Lind pl , coml ear-rings, rk basket bonnets nd even ns were adver- ised and recommended Now, t nd no legitimate claim to the title, inasmuch as we d elieve Made- moiselle Lind had ever seen, much worn, the arti- cles in question. It was a barefaced pkeeping ruse, but nevertheless it succeeded: and American public are now wiping their heated brows with Jenny Land pocket-handkerchiefs, or dressing their hair with Jenny Lind combs. But, there is one article that has a more legitimate claim to the title—the riding hat—a ce scription of which we promised in our last. The first one of the style was presented to Mademoiselle Lind, on her arrival in this country, by Genin, the celebrated Broadway hatter. who, as every one knows, did p at compliments, but paid a good round sum to And, more- ever, it Was worn by the tar ia er morning rides, and is thus fairly entitled to the appel n of the Jen- ny Lind Riding Hat We have before us an exact du- plicate, and will try to give our lady readers some @ its style. It is of black beaver, and brim of moderate width, tur side The principal beauty of tl w velvet and satin ribbon encir« nan oval rosette a little to the left heavy black plume, made to float backwards could be more t ly arranged in a rapid ea im the sa habits, : i J t lly; the heavy fol rt One of the new styles has a smal! i with silk, behind the corsage; } sn g ‘eful, and ap- proaches too much t ne that is so die- agreeable in a ridi ywers inside the | in woolens that is now imported, It will be no- tonnet AND LA BOOK. ~ ene ee The Jenny Lind bandeau, which is a very bad imita tion of the ¢ : ild-like curl or ripple that disti: guishes ceantatrice, is made by the pro- fessional co 1¢ following way rhe front hair is divided in three parts; the upper one put back, whik the two beneath are frizzed close to the head: the up- ' per portion is then rolled smoothly over, or rather over and then under, these ns, and twisted around the ends that are left t The entire hair thus makes a smooth roll, filled or stuffed by the frizzed portion Grecian braids and twists are now much more in v wue than the French en casqu his gives the bonnets quite a different air, the brims flaring up; while the high French twist gave them a downward inclination And this brings us to the subject of bonnets There is nothing decidedly new. The materials areas they have been for several winters past, velvet, uncut velvet, silk, and corded satin Blonde is used in trim- j ming more than it | been of late, and several bridal hats have been made with deep falls of blonde from the brim. There are very few plain bonnets, and those are ’ j mostly cove ¢‘ illusion shirred on, which has a very soft ] inteflect. Casing bonnets are still in lined with s t Miss Wilson's opel ng. n ticed Louise blue hats, lined with pale orange, ‘Dp straw color; some of deep apple green with a delicate pink Others have the contrast only in the face trimming and strings; as black velvet, with orange-colored knots of ribbon; or white, with broad scart-like strings of pink satin All trimming inside the brim is now made very light, as the hair is so dis- posed on each side the face as to make very little neces- sary. Curls, puff or braid, are arranged to fill the brim, and have a youthfal, graceful nit A simpl lof rib- bon is sometimes all that we see; and others still prefer tulle caps, and flowers, snch as have always been worn All artificial flowers come this season in loose careless sprays, instead of formal wreaths and bouquets, whether intended for the hair or for bonnets. Garlands are worn to intermingle with the hair, and are much more grace- ful than the stiff wreaths in a crown upon the foreher Evening dresses are more simple than usual. One of the neatest we have seen is of simple plain white cre; de Paris, made without ornament trimming of sort, save folds of the same on the sleeves walking dress may ensily be converted into an eve dress by taking out the long sleeves, and putting a li lace or muslin edge in the caps. These short under sleeves are quite indispensable Another pretty evening dress is plain white moussel mere, embroidered or trimmed with silk braik , they are especially nice for th se wh >nre ; 2 nke cold t rails t y changing from a thick i ume dresses, the In promenade pen sleey y are seen, and the under- sleeves of muslin are de t is possible to wear Were they . k or enshmere would have ungraceful a rret leal may be now so ess that not the clove and | skirts of dresses en entirely plain have three bunches « velvet ribbon, five rows the skirt. St ther style is: I ! . or alternate fol dente le i 1 each the front t stead of fri the tof the bodice. We shall speak of evening dresses more particularly next month

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