Godey's Lady's Book 1852-07: Vol 45 Iss 1

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GODEY’S Jo td. IX? S PHILADELPHIA, JULY, BOOK. 1852. EVERYDAY ACTUALITIES.—NO. II. ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER,. BY ¢c. T. CALICO-PRINTING. Tue art of impressing in color various figures and patterns upon calico, silk, and other fabrics, is one of great importance to the world, and forms a branch of what is the most extensive of the me- chanic arte. It was the custom formerly to print P. i BS BLOCK-PRINTING. upon linen fabrics; but, since the modern improve- ments in the manufacture of cotton cloths, it is now seldom practised. This arises not only from the expensiveness of linen, but also from the greater facility in printing upon cotton, from the nature of the material; cotton possessing more affinity for coloring matter than flax. The art is of very ancient date in India, and takes its English name from Calicot, a town in the province of Malabar, a district where it has been practised with great success from time immemorial. Homer notices the variegated linen cloths of Sidon as magnificent productions, and Herodotus says that the inhabitants of Caucasus adorned their garments with figures of animals, by means of an infusion of 1* HINCKELEY. ? | the leaves of a tree, and that the colors thus ob- tained were durable. Pliny gives a description of the art as practised by the Egyptians, which bears a great resemblance to the modern method. He says, “ They take white cloths, and apply to them not colors, but certain drugs, which have the power of absorbing or drinking in colors ; and. in the cloths so operated on, there is not the smaiiest apjearance of any dye or tincture. These cloths are then put into a caldron of some coloring matter, scalding hot, and, after having remained a time, are with- drawn all stained and painted in various colors. This is, indeed, a wonderful process, seeing that there is in the said caldron only one kind of coloring material ; yet from it the cloth acquires this and that color, and the boiling liquid itself changes according to the quality and nature of the dye- absorbing drugs which were at first laid on the white cloth. And these stains and colors, moreover, are so firmly fixed as to be incapable of being re- moved by washing. If the scalding liquor were composed of various tinctures and colors, it would doubtless have compounded them all in one upon the cloth; but here one liquor gives a variety of colors according to the drugs previously applied. The colors of the cloths thus prepared are always more firm and durable than if the cloths were not dipped into the boiling caldron.” The cotton chintz counterpanes of great size, eslled pallampoors, which have been manufactured in Madras from the earliest ages, have, in like man- ner, peculiar dye-absorbing drugs applied to them with the pencil, as also wax, to protect certain parts of the surface from the action of the dye, and after- wards immersed in a staining liquor, which, when wax is applied, is usually the cold indigo-vat; but, without the wax, isa hot liquor similar to thw Egyptian. In the cabinet of the “ Société Indus trielle,”’ at Mulhouse, there are many interesting specimens of this curious mode of printing, together 5

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6 GODEY’S MAGAZINE PPP PPA Iw OY _— . AANA with the native implements used for applying the wax and coloring basis. In the same collection, is a sample of an ancient pallampoor, five French yards long, and two and a half broad, said to be the labor of Hindoo princesses, which must have taken a lifetime to execute. Cortez noticed in Mexico that the inhabitants wore garments ornamented with colored figures. The North American Indians have also been long acquainted with the art of applying different-colored patterns to cloth, as may be seen in the various museums in this country. The art of calico-printing was practised in Asia Minor and the Levant several centuries before its introduction to Europe. It was not till the close of the seventeenth, or the beginning of the eighteenth century, that Augsburg became celebrated for its printed cotions and linens, and that city was long a school for the manufacturers of Alsace and Switzer- land. The art was introduced into England, about the year 1676, by a Frenchman, who established works on the banks of the Thames, near Richmond. More extensive works were established soon after at Bromley Hall, in Essex. Printed goods which, half a century ago, were sold for fifty-six cents per yard, may now be had for twelve and a half cents or less; and a cotton print, sufficient for a complete dress, may be had for one dollar or less. It is stated, as an example of the prodigious increase of calico-printing, that, in 1829, 89,862,433 yards of all descriptions of printed goods were exported from England; whereas, in 1841, there were exported of printed cottons alone, 329,- 240,892 yards, The object of calico-printing is to apply one or more colors to particular parts of cloth, so as to represent a distinct pattern, and the beauty of a print depends on the elegance of the pattern, and the brilliancy and contrast of the colors. The pre- cesses employed are applicable to linen, silk, worsted, and mixed fabrics, although they are usually referred to cotton cloth, or calico. There are various methods of calico-printing, the simplest of which is block-printing by hand, in which the pattern, or a portion thereof, is engraved in relief upon the face of a block of sycamore, holly, HAND-BLOCK, or pear-tree wood, backed with deal, and furnished with a strong handle of boxwood. The block varies in size from nine to twelve inches long, and from four to seven inches broad. In some cases, the pat- tern is formed by the insertion into the block of narrow strips of flattened copper, the interstices being filled with felt. The block is charged with color by This gives a very distinct impression. pressing it upon a surface of woollen cloth stretched AND LADY’S BOOK. PLP tl tlt ttt ttt tra Patt ~— PPL PLE PLL LLL tightly over a wooden drum. This, which is called the sieve, is made to float in » tu of size or thick varnish, for the purpose of giving it elasticity. The sieve is covered with the coloring-matter by a child, called the tearer—probably from the French tireur —who takes up with a brush a small quantity of the color from a pot, and spreads it uniformly over the surface of the sieve, and every time that the man presses his block upon the sieve, in order to charge it with color, it is the duty of the tearer to brush over the woollen surface, in order to erase the mark of the block ; for, if this were not done, the block would not be equally charged with color. The calico having been prepared for printing by singeing, bleaching, and calendering [see BLeacn- inc], a number of pieces are stitched end to end, and lapped round a roller, or arranged in folds in the printing-shop, which is a well-lighted apart- ment, the air of which is kept warm, in order to dry the colors soon after they are applied, for which purpose the cloth is passed over hanging rollers, so as to expose a large surface. The printing-table is about six feet long, and is made of mahogany, mar- ble, or flagstone, or any material capable of forming a flat, hard surface. This table is covered with a blanket, upon which the calico is spread, and the block being charged with color as above described, the man applies it to the cloth in the exact spot re- quired, and, in some cases, strikes it on the back with a wooden mallet, in order to transfer the im- pression fully. Thus, by repeated applications of the block, a pattern is produced in one color. Care is required to place the block in the exact spot, so as to make one impression exactly join or fit in with the previous impression; and, for this purpose, the block is furnished with small pins at the corners, which make holes in the cloth, and serve as a guide to the printer. If the pattern contain three or more colors, there must be as many blocks, all of equal size, the raised portions in one, which take up color, corresponding with depressed portions in the others which do nat take up color. In order therefore to print a piece of cloth twenty-eight yards long, and thirty inches broad, with three blocks, each measur- ing nine inches by five, there must be six hundred and seventy-two applications of each.* But, if the design consist of parallel stripes of different colors, they may be applied with one block at a single application on the same part of the cloth, by arrang- ing the colors in small tin troughs, and transferring a portion from them to the sieve by means of a small wire brush, and the color is then distributed evenly in stripes over the surface by a roller covered with * Our engraving of block-printing shows the general arrangements of the printing-room in printing by hand. The printers are working in the discharge style (which will be noticed further on): the acid used to discharge the color is supplied to the sieve by means of an inverted bottle, as shown in the cut, so that the services of the tearer are not required. (See cut, p. 5.)

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CALICO-PRINTING. 7 woollen cloth. In those patterns in which the colors are blended into one another at the edges, in what is called the rainbow style, they are first blended by a brush on the sieve before being taken up by the block. Stereotyping has been applied to the pro- duction of printing-blocks. A small mould is pro- duced from a model of the pattern, and copies are then made by pouring fusible metal into it. A number of these plates are joined together, and mounted in a stout piece of wood, and thus form a printing-block. A machine called the Perrotine, in honor of its inventor, M. Perrot, of Rouen, 1s in use in France and Belgium asa substitute for hand-block printing. It is thus described by Dr. Ure: “ Three wooden blocks, from two and a half to three feet long, ac- cording to the breadth of the cloth, and from two to five inches broad, faced with pear-tree wood, en- graved in relief, are mounted in a powerful cast-iron framework, with their planes at right angles to each other, so that each of them may, in succession, be brought to bear upon the face, top, and back of a square prism of iron covered with cloth, and fitted to revolve upon an axis between the said blocks, The calico passes between the prism and the en- graved blocks, and receives successive impressions from them as it is successively drawn through by a winding cylinder. The blocks are pressed against the calico through the agency of springs, which imi- tate the elastic pressure of the workman’s hand. Each block receives a coat of colored paste from a woollen surface, smeared after every contact with a mechanical brush. One man, with one cr two chil- dren for superintending the color-giving surfaces, can turn off about thirty pieces English per day, in three colors, which is the work of fully twenty men and twenty children in block-printing by hand.” Copper-plate printing, similar to that used in the production of engravings, has also-been applied to calico-printing; but the perfection to which eylin- der-printing, next to be described, has been brought, rendered the extension of this method unnecessary. The invention of cylinder, or roller-printing, is the greatest achievement that has been made in the art, producing results which are truly extraordinary: a length of calico equal to one mile can, by this me- thod, be printed off with four different colors in one hour, and more accurately and with better effect than block-printing by hand. One cylinder-machine, attended by one man, can perform as much work in the same time as one hundred men attended by one hundred tearers. The effect of this beautiful ma- chine has been greatly to cheapen cotton prints, and to create an enormous demand for them, so that, while apparently superseding labor in one direction, it creates a demand for it in all directions. The invention of this machine is attributed to two persons, who had no connection with each other: the one is a Scotchman named Bell, who, about the year 1785, practised at Monsey, near Preston, Eng- rere A on rrr ALPDPALPDPAPAPDL PDP PDD eee land; the other was named Oberkampf, a calico- printer at Jouy, in France. We will endeavor, with the assistance of a diagram, to explain the principle of the machine as arranged for printing a pattern in three colors. The cylinders upon which the pattern is engraved, one cylinder for each color, are shown \ 4\\a in section at ¢c, and a view of one of them. Each cylinder is mounted on a strong framework, 80 as to revolve against two other cylinders, p and e¢: the cylinder e is covered with woollen cloth, and dips into a trough 7, containing the coloring-matter pro- perly thickened, so that as e revolves it takes up a coating of color and distributes it over the engraved roller ec. D is a large iron drum covered with seve- ral folds of woollen cloth, so as to form a somewhat elastic printing surface: an endless web of blanket- ing a ais made to travel round this drum, which serves as a sort of guide, and defence, and printing surface to the calico 8b which is being printed. Now it is obvious from this arrangement, that the cylinder e in revolving must spread the color uni- formly over the engraved cylinder c, whereas it is wanted only in the depressed or engraved parts; the excess of color has therefore to be removed before the roller comes in contact with the calico, or instead of being ornamented with a pattern it would be disfigured with an unmeaning patch of color. The superfluous color is removed by a sharp-edged knife or plate d, usually of steel, called the doctor.* * The origin of this term has been explained by Mr. Baines in his “ History of the Cotton Manufacture :” When Mr. Hargreaves, a partner in the factory at Monsey, near Preston, where cylinder-printing was first introduced, as already noticed, was making some experiments with the process, one of his workmen said, “All this is very well, sir; but how will you remove the superfluous color from the surface of the cylinder?” Mr. Hargreaves took up a common knife, and pressing the edge parallel with the axis of the revolving cylinder, at once showed its action in re moving the color. After a short pause, the operative ex- claimed, “ Oh, sir, you have doctored it!” a common phrase for “You have cured it;” and the contrivance has ever

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Ss GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S PAR wee This is so arranged that the color scraped off shall fall back into the trough i. Each engraved cylin- der is usually provided with two doctors, one called the color doctor, d, and the other the lint doctor, d’. The object of the latter is to remove the fibres which ; BOOK. ror ~ the roller acquires from the calico. Doctors are made of gun-metal, bronze, brass, and iron alloys, as well as of steel, that metal being used which is least acted on by the coloring materials and mordants used in the troughs. MNCKL a CYLINDER PRINTING MACHINE. Our large engraving is a view of a cylinder-ma- chine for printing colors. Some of the machines are very complicated in appearance, as many as eight colors being printed at once by one machine ; but this complication is only apparent, for it is pro- duced by the repetition of similar arrangements eight times over, each engraved roller, provided with its own color trough, &c., revolving against the since retained the name of the doctor. Another account is, that the word doctor is a corruption of the Latin, abductor. ; PL PLD PAPAL LPL iron drum p; but very great nicety of arrangement is required to bring all these rollers to bear upon the cloth, so as to print at the exact spots required for forming a complicated pattern ; but when the proper adjustment is made, a machine for printing eight colors acts with as much precision and regularity as a machine arrenged for a fewer number of colors. As fast as the cai‘co is printed, it is drawn through a long gallery or passage, raised to the temperature of nearly 200°, by means of a furnace flue which traverses its whole length. The upper surface of

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CALICO-PFR LINTING. 9 the gallery is coverec with rough plates of cast-iron A piece of calico of twenty-eight yards is drawn through the which radiate heat uj;on the printed goods. gallery in about two minvtes, during which the colors become dried and set. The printing cylinders vary in length from thirty to forty inches, according to the width of the calico: the diameter varies from four to twelve inches. Each cylinder, A, and in section c, as shown in the following figure, is bored through the axis d d, and accurately turned from a solid piece of metal. For some styles of pattern the engraving is done by hand; but, as this is expensive, it is usual to adopt Perkins’s method of transferring engravings from one surface to another by means of small steel rol- lers, B. The pattern is first drawn upon a scale of about three inches square, so that this size of figure being repeated a number of times will cover the printing cylinder. The pattern is then engraved upon a roller of soft steel about one inch in diame- ter, and three inches long, so as to occupy its sur- face exactly. This small roller, which is called the die, is next hardened by heating it to redness and suddenly quenching it in cold water. The roller thus hardened is then put into a rotatory press, and made to transfer its design to a similar small roller in a soft state, called the mil/. The design which was sunk in the die, now appears in relief on the mill. The mill in its turn is hardened, and being put into a rotatory press, engraves or indents upon the large copper cylinder the whole of the intended pattern. This is, of course, a work of time, and re- quires considerable care to make the numerous junctions of the small-roller exactly fit each other upon the printing cylinder. By this process, how- ever, a pattern may be imparted to a large cylinder at the cost of about one-eighth of what it could be done by hand. By the method just described, a worn cylinder can be renewed and made equal to a new one. The pattern is also sometimes produced by etching, in which case the cylinder is covered with a thin coat of varnish, and on this the pattern is traced with a diamond or steel point. Aqua-fortis is then applied to the surface, which bites into or corrodes the parts which have been removed by the point. This point or tracer is sometimes applied in a manner similar to that of the eccentric chuck of a lathe, by which means the surface is covered with patterns, or a groundwork for patterns of great variety and beauty. The electrotype has also been used for produciag the design on the printing eylin- der. The desiga is also sometimes cut in relief upon wooden rollers; or formed by the insertion of ~ ———ee—————eeeeeeeeeaeEeEeEeeeEeees se flat pieces of copper edge-wise. This is termed surface printing, probably from the circumstance of the thickened color being applied to a tense surface of woollen cloth, against which the cylinder re- volves and takes up color. A combination of wooden and copper rollers forms what is called the union printing-machine. Another method of calico-printing remains to be described, nameiy, press-printing, by which several colors can be printed at once. The cloth to be printed is wound upon a roller at one end of the machine, and the design, which is formed in a block of mixed metal about two and a half feet square, is supported with its face downwards in an iron frame, and can be raised or lowered at pleasure. The face of the block is divided into as many stripe, ranging cross-wise with. the table, as there are colors to be printed. If, fur example, the pattern be made up of five stripes of different colors, and each stripe be six inches broad, and as long as the breadth of the cloth, the colors have to be applied without min- gling or interfering with each other. This is accom- plished in the following manner: The side edges of the table are furnished with a couple of rails similar to a railway, and upon this is a shallow tray or frame, capable of moving backwards and forwards upon wheels. Within this frame is a cushion of about the same size as the printing-block, and by its side are five small troughs containing the thick- ened colors. By means of a long piece of wood, formed so as to dip into all the troughs at once, the tearer applies a small portion of each color to the surface of the cushion, and spreads them evenly into five portions or stripes, taking care not to mix them; but making their breadth equal to that of the stereotype rows on the block. The cushion being prepared, the frame is rolled along the rail- way until it is immediately under the printing- block, which the pressman then lowers upon the cushion, by which means the five stripes of the block become charged, each with its proper color. The block is then raised, the frame rolled away, and the block brought down upor the cloth, which it prints in five rows of different colors. On raising the block, the cloth is drawn forward about six inches in the direction of its length, or exactly the width of one stripe on the block; the tearer again pushes forward the cushion with the colors renewed, and the block is again charged and applied to the cloth. Now, as a length of the cloth equal to the width of a stripe is drawn from under the block at each im- pression, every part of the cloth is brought into con- tact with ail the stripes on the block. Great care is required so tc adjust all the moving parts of the press, that the colors may not mingle and distort the pattern. The mechanical portion of the art of calico- printing having occupied so much space, we will have to give th> chemical portion in our article next month.

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SIR HENRY SIDN Tue following letter was written by Sir Henry Sidney to his son Philip, then twelve years of age, at School at Shrewsbury :— “T have received two letters from you, which I take in good part; and, since this is my first letter that ever I did write to you, I will net that it be empty of some advices, which my naturai care of you provoketh me to wish you to follow as docu- ments to you in this your tender age. “Let your first action be the lifting up of your mind to the Almighty God by hearty prayer; and feelingly digest the words you speak in prayer, with continual meditation, and thinking of him to whom you pray, and of the matter for which you pray; and use this at an ordinary hour, whereby the time itself will put you in remembrance to do that which you are accustomed to do in that time. Apply your study to such hours as your discreet master doth assign you, earnestly; and the time, I know, he will so limit as shall be both sufficient for your learning, and safe for your health. And mark the sense and the matter of that you read, as well as the words; so shall you both enrich your tongue with words, and your wit with matter; and judgment will grow as years groweth in you. Be humble and obedient to your master; for unless you frame yourself to obey others, yea, and feel in yourself what obedience is, you shall never be able to teach others how to obey you. Be cautious of gesture, and affable to all men, with diversity of reverence, according to the dignity of the person. There is nothing that winneth so much with so little cost. Use moderate diet, so as, after your meat, you may find your wit fresher and not duller, and your body more lively and not more heavy. Seldom drink wine, and yet sometimes do; lest, being enforced to drink upon the sudden, you should find yourself inflamed. Use exercise of body, ch per) - oe but such as is without peril of your joints or bones; it will increase your force and enlarge your breath. Delight to be cleanly, as well in all parts of your body as in your garments; it shall make you grateful in each company; and, otherwise, loathsome. Give yourself to be merry; for you degenerate from your father if you find not yourself most able in wit and body to do anything when you be most merry. But let your mirth be ever void of all scurrility and biting words to any man; for a wound given by a word is oftentimes harder to be cured than that which is given with the sword. Be you rather a hearer and bearer away of other men’s talk, than a beginner or procurer of speech; otherwise you shall be counted to delight to hear yourself speak. If you hear a wise sentence, or an apt phrase, commit it to your memory, with respect to the circumstance when you shall speak it. Let never oath be heard to come out of your mouth, nor word of ribaldry; detest it in others, so shall custom make to yourself a law against it in yourself. Be modest in each assembly; and rather be rebuked of light fellows for maiden-like shamefacedness, than of your sad friends for pert boldness. Think upon every word that you will speak before you uiter it, and remember how nature hath rampired up, as it were, the tongue with teeth, lips, yea, and hair without the lips, and all betoken- ing reins or bridles for the loose use of that member. Above all things tell no untruth; no, not in trifles. The custom of it is naught; and let it not satisfy you that, for a time, the hearers take it for a truth; for, after, it will be known as it is, to your shame; for there cannot be a greater reproach to a gentleman than to be accounted a liar. Study, and endeavor yourself to be virtuously occupied, so shall you make such a habit of well-doing in you that you shall not know how to do evil though you would.” THE FIRS m i TRIBUTE. BY REV. H. HASTINGS WELD. (See Plate.) Tre child's first tribute! Surely He who spake His kind approval of the widow's mite Shall hold this “first fruit” precious in His sight! Train up the child to love, for Jesus’ sake, The suffering and the poc:; to feel and know The claims of penury, and the rights of woe. Whoso, the Lord hath promised, in my name The poor, imprisoned, and the sick shall seek, The wounded comfort, and raise up the weak, And, in the fulness of a Christian heart, Blessings to these, my brethren, shall impart, Bearing the cross, and fearing not the shame— The almsdeeds that he doth shall counted be As precious gifts bestowed, through my beloved, on me. 10 ; ? > > 5 > > > > > A small thing that the humble righteous hath Is better than the wealth of godless pride: A cup of water many sins may hide, If given for Christ’s sake, and in modest faith; While he to whom all human praise is given, Whose ostentatious bounty sounds abroad, Finds in that human fame his sole reward, But stands in naked guilt before just Heaven. Oh, rather train the child to seek His ear Who hears in secret, and to court His eye Who marks the humble paths of poverty : Teach him to give—but not for human praise, But seek high witness, and the thoughts to raise To God in Heaven, nor heed what men may see or hear.

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a = SOS FANS. BY MRS. Wirs the aid of literary and historic asgociation, “trifles as light as air” become charmingly import- ant; but perhaps none more so than the subject of our paper, every fold of which is replete with inte- rest, and filled with classic and poetic memories. Incentive in itself to pleasant talk, the fan leads us by the short cuts of imagination to its place of origin, the East, where nature, in the leaves of the fan-palm-tree, seems to have set the type of its fashion, and where, in all probability, these natural screens preluded the use of artificial ones. In the Orestes of Euripides, the Phrygian slave who relates the death of Clytemnestra, was empleyed ‘in waving round the fair shoulders of Helen a fan like a palm branch, or open leaf, when the matri- cides burst into the wretched queen’s apartment; and in the Elgin Saloon of the British Museum, we find a bas-relief representing Hygieia feeding a ser- pent out of a patera, and holding in her left hand a fan in the shape of an ivy-leaf. But these primitive and simple forms appear soon to have given place to others; and from the descrip- tions of Propertius and Claudian, feathers mounted, as well as fans made of linen stretched over a light frame and painted, were generally used. Sometimes we find th made by simply fastening together, back to back, a pair of wings, and attaching them to a handle; but in every case, according to the editor of the “ Dictionary of Greek and Roman An- tiquities,” however elegant in form, or delicately colored, or costly in material, they were stiff and of a fixed shape, incapable of being furled or unfurled ; nor were they carried by the ladies themselves; “ Flabellifera,” or female fan-bearers, forming, when Plautus wrote, part of every fine lady’s retinue. Not that such attendants were confined to women, for the minions of the tyrant Aristodemus at Cuma, are described by Dionysius Halicarnassensis, as fol- lowed, whenever they went to the gymnasium, by female slaves bearing fans and parasols, the use of both of which had been borrowed from barbarian nations. Occasionally, beautiful boys held this office, and in the luxurious passage of Cleopatra on the Cyd- nus, “On each side of her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colored fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid, did.”* * Antony and Cleopatra. Cc. A. WHITE, Even Augustus himself seems not to have been a shade less luxurious than this “triumphant lady,” and the “curled Antony,” for Suetonius describes him in the heat of summer reclining in his peristyle with a slave fanning him while he slept. But though the waving of the flabellum so as to produce a cooling breeze was the especial duty of an attendant, it was gallantry in a gentleman to take it in his own hand and saake use of it in compliment toalady. Fans appear to have had a religious use amongst the Egyptians from a very early period; they were suspended from the roofs of the temples, like the punkas of India at the present day; and were also employed to keep off flies from the saeri- fices, as well as for the prrpose of exciting the sacred fires. Mention is made, in the “ Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities” before alluded to, of a painting of a sacrifice to Isis, in which the priest is seen fanning the fire upon the altar, with a triangu- lar fiabellum, such as is still seen in Italy. Stavely, in his “ Church History,” informs us that in the middle ages fans became part of the church furniture, for the purpose of chasing away flies from the holy elements during the administration of the Eucharist ; and Moreri has described a magnificent fan of this kind, preserved in the Abbey of St. Phili- bert de Tournus, which resembled those used by ladies, but was much larger, and with a longer han- dle. It was richly decorated with images of saints, and bore inscriptions in bad Latin verse, abounding, after the manner of the monks, in false quantities. These fans were held by the deacons on either side of the altar, as they continue to be in the Greek Church during the celebration of the sacrament. In Japan, where Siebold informs us, neither sex wear headdresses to shade the face, the fan is seen in the hand or girdle of every inhabitant, and even priests and soldiers wear them. His fan is to the Japanese dandy what the whale- bone switch is to the London exquisite. Ladies and gentlemen receive and offer presents on them; the schoolmaster uses his in lieu of the ferule; the beg- gar who asks an alms holds out his fan for its ac- ceptance, and it is even said that when presented on a peculiar kind of salver to a high-born criminal it becomes the warrant of his death. But the most absurd service in which we have found the fan figuring is that suggested by a sepul- chral tablet in the Egyptian Room of Antiquities at our Museum, representing Tete, flabellum-bearer to the Sun! ll

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12 GODEY’s It is a matter of question whether the fan came direct to us from the East during the Crusades, in the reign of Richard II., or was imported from Italy in that of Henry VIII., more than a century after- wards. At any rate, it is not until the time of Eliza- beth that we find it popularly used; but at this period, both sexes wore it, and young gentlemen who would have thought it shockingly effeminate to be seen in a coach, made no scruple of carrying fans and feathers in their hands, which in war, continues our authority, “ their ancestors wore on their heads.” In the “ Book of Table Talk,” (a modern work,) we learn that men, in the south of Italy, continue to use them, and that it is no unusual thing, in sultry weather, to see a captain of dragoons, moustached and “ bearded like the pard,” fanning himself with all the graces and dexterity of a young coquette. In a collection of ancient costumes we find the fan making its first appearance in the simple form of a single ostrich plume; out soon after it is formed of three or four feathers fastened into a handle; the more costly of these handles being composed of gold, or silver, or ivory, curiously wrought and occasionally set with precious jewels. Wharton, in the Sidney Papers, mentions a fan presented to Queen Eliza- beth, the handle of which was studded with dia- monds; and Nichols, in his progresses of the same royal lady, in a list of jewels presented to her at New Year's Tide, in 1589, mentions a “ Faune of fethers, white and red, the handle of gold enamelled with a half moone of mother of perles, within that a half moone, garnished with sparks of dyamonds and a few seede perles; the one side having her Majes- ty’s picture, and on the other a device with a crown over it.” This superb trinket was the offering of Sir Francis Drake. broad part of these fans, as we still see them at Du- Looking-glasses were sometimes set in the velléroy’s, in those intended for the use of the ladies of the Harem. They were placed at the summit of the handle just below the feathers, which were very frequently the beautifully colored one’s of the pea- eock's tail. These fabled eyes of Argus had been a favorite material for the flabellum of the ancients; but the Elizabethan form and mode of mounting them was a great improvement on that of the ancients, who, after binding the separate feathers at the base, fur- ther united them by a thread passing along their tips, and another tied to the middle of the shaft of each feather, after which they were attached to a handle nearly two feet long,* and were thus fixed, and except when moved bodily, inflexible. The feather fans of the sixteenth century, on the contrary, were light, graceful, and easily handled ; and we learn from Marston’s Satires that as much as forty pounds were occasionally given for them; a * Some wooden fan-handles, from Memphis, in the R. B. Museum, measure from 1 ft. 5 in. to 1 ft. 6 in. length. MAGAZINE AND APP PPP PPP LADY’S BOOK. PRARALRALR AAR AL AOL PPP —— large sum in these days, but incignificant compared with the price of some modern ones, of which we shall have occasion to speak. In an old comedy of 1610, called the “ Fleire,” it is said: “She hath a fan with a short silver handle, a description which reminds us that the handle of the fan, when Shakspeare wrote, was the most valu- able part of it; and lets us into the secret of Fal- staff’s observation in the second act and second scene of “The Merry Wives of Windsor,” where the Knight upbraids Pistol with the obligation he is under to him, and amongst other matters reminds him that “ when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan,” he “took ’t upon Ais honor HE (Pistol) had it not.” Steevens, in his notes upon this passage, has given four cuts of these fans, one from the frontispiece of a play of 1616, (“ Englishmen for My Money,”) the others from drawings by Titian and his brother Cesare Vecelli, in “ Habiti Antichi e Moderni di tutto il Mondo.” (Venice, 1598.) It is rather singular, that in Herbé’s “ Costumes Frangais,” the fan does not make its appearance till between 1540 and 1550, although it is stated, on good authority, that as early as 1522, the master fan-makers made one of the Companies of Arts and Manufactures of Paris and its environs; a circum- stance which proves that even at this period the business had become one of considerable importance. It was not until many years subsequent to the first East Indian voyage from this country, which was in 1591, that the folding fan of the Orientals superseded the ever-open ones of our ancestral fash- ionables ; and though Herbé has placed one in the hands of a demoiselle so early as the time of Cathe- rine de Medicis, other authors date their introduction into France to the return of some missionaries from China, in the reign of the luxurious Louis Quatorze. The quaint and elaborate carving of the Chinese, till within the last few years, was better known to our sex through the medium of the card-case and fan, than from any other articles of commerce ; and exquisitely as the tiny watch-spring saw used by the French artificers enables them to work the most delicate designs in the bone, or ivory, or mother-of- pearl brins of the French fan, the miracles of mi- nutiw effected in the same space by the patient craftsmen of the Celestial Empire, surpass whatever European fan-makers have hitherto executed in this branch of their art; and, at the present time, China may be considered the only country that prevents the French from enjoying a monopoly in the manu- facture of this article. Madame de Genlis, who appears to imagine the fan a pure invention of French modesty, informs us, that prior to the Revolution it was worn of a large size. and served the ladies who often blushed, at once for a veil and a countenance. “ By agitating the fan,” continues the Mother of the Church,* “ the * “La Mére de lEglise,” a name given to Madame de

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ower @& FANS. 13 female concealed herself. In the present time ladies blush but little, and are not at all timid; they have no desire whatever to conceal themselves, and they carry only invisible fans,” (des éventails impercepti- bles.) Lady Morgan, with her usual archness, reminds us that these vaunted times of excessive delicacy— so far as the fan was concerned—were those of Agnes Sorel, Diana of Poictiers, Mdes. de Montes- pan, Pompadour, and Du Barri; a series suggestive of the pretty hypocrisies of the periods, as well as of the coarseness and freedom of conversation and manners which subjected the fair companions of kings and courtiers to the reality or affectation of such a frequent repetition of blushing. The ladies of the court of our Charles the Second, in whose time as well as that of his successor, fans became very fashionable, if not less faulty dames than Madame de Genlis’s Dianas, as Lady Morgan calls them, wete at least more frank :— “The modest fan was lifted up no more, And virgins smiled at what they blushed before.” Or, if they did blush at the Bull in Vere Street, Clare Market, or afterwards at Drury Lane, at the comedies acted there by Killigrew’s company in broad daylight, it was under a mask. The fan was reserved for less serious business, and became, for all the purposes of flirting, wonderfully potent in the hands of the Hampton Court beauties. The marriage of James the Second with the prin- cess of Modena, maintained for our subject the popu- larity it had gained in the preceding reign; but it was not until the latter part of that of Anne, in 1709, that it became of sufficient importance as a branch of national manufacture, to bring about the incorpo- ration of the Fan-makers’ Company in London. During this Queen’s reign, which may be called the “ golden age” of fan-making, as well av of some other matters, this “ornamental trinket” was used by women of almost every degree, “to hide their faces at church, and to cool them by gently exciting the air, in sultry weather and close places.” It was indeed the high tide of the fan’s fashion, no lady’s dress being complete, whether at ball, or supper, morning promenade, or evening drive, unless one hand held the indispensable fan, which was either painted or composed of feathers. High art was at this period occasionally employed in ornamenting them; and amongst other exquisite specimens with which our researches for this paper have acquainted us, we were shown, at an elegant repository of antique fans, one, the mount of which, representing a Greek wedding, was painted in those days by Wattean. Arcadian scenes, such as the French painters still often choose with which to decorate them, ap- Genlis, on the occasion of her publishing “La Religion Considerée.”—Lapy MonGan. VOL. XLV.—2 weer eee AADAYS ene RS eee nnn pear to have been the most usual subjects; and Ad- dison, in his charming paper on the exercise of the fan,* alludes, in his paragraph on unfurling it, to the effect of this manceuvre, discovering on a sudden an infinite number of Cupids, garlands, altars, birds, beasts, and rainbows. We were treated the other day to the sight of one, that, if not Watteau’s, looked very like his; it represented a trio in a triumphal car in the centre, drawn by lions led by Cupids, with nymphs dancing, with musical instruments before them, and others scattering fruits and flowers in the path. But occasionally, less poetical subjects were chosen, and in the reign of George the Second, we find a fan-painter named Loggan,t} sketching, for his professional purpose, from the windows of his house, at the south end of the walk at Tunbridge Wells, the most remarkable characters that appeared amongst the company; with such fidelity, Richard- son tells us, that they were immediately recognised by their forms. It was in Addison’s time that the discipline of the fan appears to have reached its perfection; the con- stant use of it familiarized ladies with all those graceful and coquettish motions of which the instru- ment is capable; and by many allusions in the writings of the period, it appears to have been al- most as dangerously fascinating in the hands of English ladies then, as it still is in those of the Spanish donnas, “Women,” says the essayist, “women are armed with fans, as men with swords, and sometimes do more execution with them; an expression playfully seconded in his Chapter on the “ Mother of Poetry,” by one or two cases on a list of metaphorical deaths, one of which reports “Tim Tattle killed by the tap of a- fan on his left shoulder by Coquetilla, as he was talking carelessly with her in a bow-window ;” while Sylvius is shot through the sticks of one at St. James's Church. These are precisely such effects (figuratively speaking) as the novelists are fond of giving to the fan in the hands of a Spanish lady, who to a natural grace of action and consummate practice in the use of the implement (which, from her third year, is scarcely ever out of her hand), adds all those piquant arts which the love of co- quetry, and the consciousness of survetl/ance inspires ; and, as flowers in the East, from similar causes, have grown eloquent, so the love of intrigue on the one hand, and the necessity of deceit on the other, have given language to the movements of the fan in Spain ; and ladies are said to make appointments by means of them, the peculiar manner of opening, holding, and shutting them indicating the how, when, and where. After the French revolution of 1789, which introduced Madame de Genlis’s “ éven- * Spectator, No. 102. + He had been dwarf to the Prince and Princess of Wales, and, in spite of his diminutive size, appears to have been a person of considerable intellect. ~~

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14 GODEY'’S MAGAZINE taile imperceptibles,” the manufacture of fans fell almost wholly into English hands, and both the American and Spanish markets were, for the most part, supplied by English makers. The only peculiarities of the Spanish fan are its size and shape (the half circle we at present make use of), and the necessity, in technical phrase, of its playing Without this virtue, however otherwise attractive, it would not please the Iberian dames; who never use more than one hand in practising the fan; its evolutions for the most part being effected by the turn of the wrist, so that any stiffness of the rivet which confines the radiants at the base, would of course preclude this ease of mo- tion, and the graceful effects consequent upon it. The battle of Waterloo appears to have been as fatal to this branch of manufacture in England, as the revolution had been in France. With the peace, this branch of art, in common with others, began to revive at Paris and elsewhere. The scattered artificers returned to their ateliers, and French fans, not only from their elegance, but comparative cheapness, extinguished the English trade. In point of fact, there are no fan-makers in London ; those who call themselves so, simply deal- ing in the article, which is imported from China and France. The largest manufactory in Paris is that of M. Duvelléroy. This house alone employs more than two thousand men, and fans are manufactured in it from the value of a halfpenny to several thou- sand frances each; yet the commonest of these, as well as the most costly, passes through the hands of fifteen individuals, before it is ready for use, or for the retailer. Not only the different parts which compose the fan, but those parts themselves, give occasion for a division of labor; the leaf, which is sometimes simple, but more frequently made of two pieces pasted together, passes through the hands of the printer, paster, colorist, and painter, before it is mounted—this last operation being usually per- formed by women; the process of plaiting is exe- cuted by means of a board, cut for that purpose, upon the principle of a crimping machine, upon the exactness of which the perfection of the fan in folding depends. Beside mounting, the fan passes in the women’s workshop through the hands of the borderer, who fixes the edge; the borderest, who finishes it; and, finally, through those of the ex- aminer, who minutely scrutinizes every part of the work. In the meanwhile, the other portions of the toy have given employment to no less than seven indivi- duals ; the handle or wood, as it is indifferently called, which forms the frame of the fan, and upon the radi- ants of which the leaf is pasted, has passed from the smoother who planes, to the fashioner who cuts it out, then to the finisher who polishes it; afterwards to the carver who cuts the designs on the ivory, tor- toise-shell, mother-of-pearl, ebony, horn, or any other material of which the handle is formed. It is easily. ern rrr > ~———rrrwr oOo AND LADY’S BOOK. then handed to the engraver, who ornaments the metal, after which it passes from the gilder to the riveter, who fastens the two outside ends (which the French call the panache), and the brine, or radiants, with a rivet passing through the base of them all; sometimes set with diamonds or other precious stones, or it may be gold, or mother-of-pearl, or simply wood, according to the price of the article. One most exquisite specimen which was shown us amongst the antique fans before mentioned, had the leaf formed of the most delicate point d’ Angleterre, mounted on carved mother-of-pearl brins, finished with a brilliant rivet; it was at once so simple and elegant, that all we afterwards saw could not dis- place the impression of its superiority. Its superiority, we should remark, was acquired from the lace of which it was composed. The idea, we believe, originated with the proprietor, and we were told it was the only house that possessed any- thing of the kind. In the latter part of the eighteenth century, sun- fans made of green silk, or paper, and of an immense size, were worn instead of parasols, and for a time gave considerable employment to the manufacturers, while the spangled fans so popular in the young days of our mammas afforded a respectable livelihood to numbers of our sex—an income of from fifty to sixty pounds per annum being easily earned at it. Female reigns have always proved auspicious to our subject. It grew into vogue in that of Elizabeth, reached the climax of its popularity with us in that of Anne, and why may we not hope for the revival of its manufacture in that of Victoria, the noblo Patroness of Art and Science ? I’M LONELY HERE WITHOUT THEE. BY CLARA J. H. I’m lonely here without thee, Though others round me are; I miss from day its sunshine, And from the night its star. The green trees look not half so green, The flowers not half so bright; It is thy presence, love, T want, To give them clearer ligh<¢. ‘ Then come to me: my heart awaits, With greeting warm and true, Thy loved caress; it droops without, As flowers for want of dew. I’ve none to tell of all the love I’ve garnered up for thee: My heart will break if it must keep Such heavy secrecy. Then come, oh come! I’m lonely here, Though others round me are; T miss from day its sunshine, And from the night its star.

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COSTUMES OF ALL Né CHAPTER VIII. THE TOILET IN THE MOGUL AND BIRMAN EMPIRES. Tue dress of the princes and nobles in Homer's time resembled the jama, girdle, and kincob draw- ers, flowered with gold and silver, now worn by the Moguls, as we find by the description of Ulysses in his royal attire; and it is worthy of notice that the custom of making presents of garments, as men- tioned in the last two lines, has continued ever since, and is still prevalent among Eastern nations. In the description of the reception of the ambassadors sent by the Uzbek Tartars to Aureng-Z¢ébe, we read that he commanded there should be given to each of the ambassadors a seraph, or vesture from head to foot—namely, a vest of brocade, a turban, and a sash of silk in embroidery. The dress of Hyder Ali, the most formidable ene- my the English ever met with in the East, like that of most of the natives of India, consisted of a robe of white muslin, with a turban of the same. The vest, which is fashioned much like the gown of a European lady, is fastened at the bod: and sleeves by strings; the rest of the robe hans loosely in fulds, so that the grandees of India, when they walk, Lave a page to support their train. Forbes gives the following description of the dress my ~- c © 2) IONS.—THIRD ERIES. of a Mogul lady: “ Her drawers of green satin, flow- ered with gold, were seen under a chemise of trans- parent gauze, reaching to her slippers, which were richly embroidered. A vest of pale blue satin, edged with gold, sat close to her shape, which an upper robe of striped silver muslin, full and flowing, dis- played to great advantage. A netted veil of crim- son silk, flowered with silver, fell carelessly over her long braided hair, which was combed smooth and divided from the forehead, where a cluster of jewels was fastened by strings of seed pearl. Her ear- rings were large and handsome—the ring worn in her nose, according to our idea of ornament, less becoming. A necklace, in intermingled rows of pearl and gold, covered her bosom, and several strings of large pearls were suspended from an em- broidered girdle set with diamonds; bracelets of gold and coral reached from her wrist to her elbow, golden chains encircled her ankles, and all her toes and fingers were adorned with valuable rings.” The silk-net veil of a crimson or purple color, embroidered in silver, which the Mogul ladies wear, either to cover the face or to throw back over the -shoulders as an ornament, is similar to that men tioned in the “ Odyssey” as being presented by He- len to Telemachus :— “The beauteous queen, advancing, then displayed A shining veil, and thus endearin@ said: ‘Accept, dear youth, this monument of love, Long since in better days by Helen wove; Safe in thy mother’s care the vesture lay, To deck thy bride and grace thy nuptial day.’” The court of Hyder Ali was the most brilliant of his time in India. His company of comedians was very celebrated, both on account of their riches and the beauty as well as the harmonious voices of the Bayadéres or dancing-girls. The dimpled cheeks of these lovely creatures are tinged a yellow color, which, though a strange adornment in the eyes of a European, is much admired by the Orientals. Their black hair hangs in flowing tresses to the ground. Their dress is always made of fine gauze, very richly embroidered with gold, and they are covered with jewels. The head, neck, ears, breast, arms, fingers, legs, and toes, have each their own peculiar orna- ment, and even the nose is adorned with a diamond. Small bells are frequently used as ornaments by these fair maidens. “A zone of sweet bells Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is ringing.” The Sikhs, the most rising people of modern In- dia, next come under our observation. Runjeet Singh, their celebrated chief, like Hyder Ali, had a 15

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16 GODEY’S ee great taste for the adornments of fashion, and was imitated in his love of fine clothes by his whole court, which was in this respect unequalled in all the East. The Sikhs wear a small flat turban, which becomes them well, and a short tunic, which only descends as far as the knee, leaving the rest of the leg ex- Costly brocades and shawls lined with fur The posed, are employed by the great for these tunics. Sikhs wear their hair long; the ladies of the tribe ' knét it at,she crown, and throw over the head a robe, whicti also envelops the body, and gives them a singular appearance. They pull the hair so tight to form this knot that the skin of the forehead is drawn with it, and the eyebrows are considerably removed from the visual organs. The glowing descriptions in the “ Arabian Nights are not more gorgeous than the realities often met ” with in India. A scene which took place at the Maharaja’s court at Lahore is worthy of description. “The hall of audience is built entirely of marble, and is the work of the Mogul emperors; part of the roof was gor- geously decorated by a pavilion of silken cloth, studded with jewels. The Maharaja himself wore a necklace, armlets, and bracelets of emerald, some of which were very large; the nobles likewise dis- played upon their persons vast quantities of jewels, and all the court was habited in yellow, the favorite color of the nation.” The neighbors of the Sikhs, the Scindians, from religious motives, wear garments of dark color, and form their turbans of tight and round folds of cloth. The weaving and embroidery of India are justly The stuffs of Mooltan and Bhawalpoor are now inter- celebrated, and have been so for many ages. woven with gold, and frequently of a purple color; and we read that Aureng-Zébe had a tent lined with Masulipatam chintzes, figured with flowers, so natu- ral in appearance, and of such vivid colors, that the tent resembled a real parterre. The muslin drawers worn by the women in India are frequently most richly and beautifully embroi- dered with needlework, and some of them are of so fine a texture as only to allow of once putting on. Satins and silks are also embroidered in the hand, in great quantities. One of the garments worn by Aureng-Zébe is described as having been a vest of white delicately-flowered satin, adorned with a silk and gold embroidery of the finest texture and the brightest colors. In this country men as well as women devote much time to embroidery; and it is not unusual to see several of the former seated cross-legged on a mat, employed in a manner that in Europe would be considered effeminate, and quite below the dignity of the nobler sex. But in India the needle does not belong exclusively to woman; her prerogative is there invaded; and the most delicate patterns of tinted flowers, or muslins fine as the spider’s web, MAGAZINE ARAL are ornamented in gold and silver threads by these industrious workmen. * * * With the Birmans many articles of daily use as well as of ornament indicate the rank of the pos- sessor. The shape of the betel-box, which is carried by an attendant after the people of distinction; the ear-rings, cap of ceremony, horse furniture, and even the metal drinking-cup, all indicate the differ- ent degrees of society; and woe be to him who assumes the insignia of a rank to which he has no legitimate right! The common dress of a man of distinction con- sists of a tight coat with long sleeves made of mus- lin, or of very fine nankeen, and a siik wrapper fastened at the waist. The court-dress of the no- bility is very becoming: it is formed of a long robe, either of flowered satin or velvet, reaching to the ankles, with an open collar and loose sleeves. Over this there is a scarf, or flowing mantle, that hangs from the shoulders; and on their heads they wear high caps made of velvet, or silk embroidered with flowers, according to the rank of the wearer. LEar- rings are an indispensable part of the attire. Some of them are made of gold tubes about three inches in length, expanding into a ball at the lower end; others consist of heavy masses of gold, the weight of which often drags the ear down to the extent of two or three inches. The Birman women have their distinguishing ornaments as well as the men: their hair is tied in a bunch at the top of the head, and bound round with a fillet, the embroidery and jewels of which mark their respective ranks. Their dress consists of a short chemise, and a loose jacket with tight

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REAPING. LLL LLLP sleeves. Round their waist they roll a long piece of sitk, or cloth, which reaches to the feet, and some- times trails on the ground. When women of distinction go abroad, they put on a scarf, or shawl, made of silk, which they throw around them with much grace and eJegance. Wo- men in full dress stain the palms of their hands and their nails of a red color, and rub their faces with powder of sandal-wood, or of a bark called eunneka. Both men and women tinge the edges of their eye- lids and their teeth with black, which in the latter case gives them a disagreeable appearance. The lower class of females often wear only a single gar- ment, in the form of a sheet, which, wrapped round the body and tucked in under the arms, descends to the ankle. Men of the working classes also wear a very limited quantity of clothing; a mantle or vest is, however, highly prized in the cold season. Their neighbors, the inhabitants of Siam, wear very little clothing, which may, perhaps, be ac- counted for by the excessive heat of the climate. People of rank tie a piece of calico round the waist, and allow it to hang down to the knees. The lower classes wear a garment that resembles breeches. All have a muslin shirt without a collar, and open in front, with large loose sleeves, and no wristbands. When the weather is cold they throw a piece of painted linen over their shoulders, like a mantle, and twist it round their arms. The women’s dress is much the same. They wrap a cloth round the waist, and let the ends hang to the ground; they also cover the neck and shoulders, but never wear any ornament on the head. They cover their fingers with rings, and wear numerous brace- lets and immense ear-rings. All classes have very pointed shoes, but no stockings. The king is distinguished by a vest of rich bro- caded satin, with tight sleeves to the wrist; and it Q* —SONNET. 17 OLR LLLP tnt tattered tne PRA is unlawful to wear this dress unless it is presented by the sovereign as a mark of favor to a subject. The court wear red dresses, and the king a cap shaped like a sugar-loaf, surrounded by a circle of precious stones, and fastened under the chin. Offi- cers of rank have coronets of gold or silver. In travelling, hats are used, but in general no covering is worn on the head: the hair is very thick, and both sexes cut it quite short to the ears; the women make it stand up straight from the head. Beards are never worn in Siam. REAPING.—TO A. C. BY CAROLINE CHESEBRO’. His harvest is not yet, who, long ago, Went scattering broadcast the small seeds of truth; And thou, bethink thee! faintest in thy youth, Complaining that to suffer is to know! What if thy cup with sorrows overflow, As Mis did? What if, in extremest need, The «trong world passes o’er thee for a weed? Or, if thy feet are set on heights of snow? For every prayer thou shalt have blessing sure ; For every deed wrought out in humble faith Sweet answer, in a good that shall endure— Thou canst not be an idle, fruitless waif: Build of the snow, if need be, pyramid; Or—in the mines work there—thy deeds will not be hii! And, if thy hans be soiled, it is not clay That will pollute; stains that the eye can see Are not the proofs which will dishonor thee ; Such broken cisterns yield, to wash away: But, murmurings of sloth in face of day, And plaints of pride, and wails of selfishness, And words (the falsest tokens of distress), Leave record difficult to wash away— Give pestilence to the air which circles round The feeble heart—give sorrow to the weak— And stumbling-blocks to youth ; wouldst thou be found Reaping such fruitage? Well! thou needst not sock Harvest of coming Harvest out from Thee; What fruit thy heart bears now, thy Future’s All wil! be ' SONNET.—THE COUNTRY. BY WM. ALEXANDER. DeLicHtTrvt is the peasant’s peaceful lot, Permitted o’er the fields to roam at dawn, When early dew-drops sparkle on the lawn Around his lowly, ever-happy cot: For him, Life’s vale is ever decked with flowers; A tuneful cho'r sharms him in every shade ; Birds sporting merrily in every glade Make pass in love and harmony his hours. Here let me dwell, from folly far away, Till old age steal the roses from my cheek : Here let me calmly live to show “I seek That upper country” where ne’er comes decay ; Where golden clouds forever deck the sky, And Heaven's fair flowers bloom everlastingly.

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orien arene mk F oan. inet & —— we eee PROVIDENTIAL: OR, THE FIRST WEDDING. BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE. “ Thow didst not leave them, mighty God! Thou wert with those that bore the truth of old Into the desert from the oppressor’s rod, And made the caverns of the rock their fold, And met when stars met, by their beams to hold The free heart’s communing with Thee—and Thou Wert in the midst, felt, owned.” “ How did you say the young man was named ?” inquired Mr. Zechariah Long, gently touching the elbow of Governor Winthrop, and directing him by a glance of the eye to the object of his curiosity. “His appellation is master Oliver Temple,” re- plied the governor. “ A kinsman of Sir John Temple of Devonshire ?” pursued Zechariah Long, raising his forefinger to his nose. “T do not know his family,” returned the gover- nor. “The young man was introduced to me by the worthy Mr. Johnson, who said the youth had letters of recommendation from a pious friend of his, as one who wished to leave all for righteousness’ And truly, since he hath been on board, his conduct hath been very seemly.” sake. “T saw he showed the courage of a true soldier of the cross when we were preparing our ship to give battle to the Dunkirkers,’ , observed Zechariah. ‘*T never noticed him before or since except he had a book before his face, or was otherwise leaning on the railing of the vessel as at this moment, and looking as if he was watching the clouds or counting the stars. But when the word was given that the Dunkirkers were at hand, how he bestirred himself ! I think he must have been a soldier, governor. I marvel Mr. Johnson does not communicate to you who the young man is.” “Tt may be such course would not be prudent, Mr. Long,” said Governor Winthrop, calmly. “The young man may have reasons for not wishing to have his family known. This is the time when a man’s foes are often those of his own household; when great sacrifices must be made for conscience’ sake. You know who hath sail—‘he that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me.’” “Ah! governor,” responded Mr. Zechariah Long, again raising his finger to his nose, “you are a learned man—learned to expound the law spiritual as well as the law temporal—but there are signs of the times and signs of the heart which those who are, like myself, but as babes, and to be fed with the milk of knowledge, may nevertheless understand. Though the countenance of Governor Winthrop 18 was mild, it had usually an expression of deep gra- vity that many mistook for sadness; but now, in spite of his apparent efforts, a smile curled his lip, and the spirit of mirth glistened in his eye, betray- ing that the infantile comparison of Mr. Zechariah Long was not, even to his accustomed ear, wholly divested of the ludicrous. Zechariah boasted that he was the tallest man in the company’s service, being six feet four inches in height—and seldom was the point disputed, as his upright and rigid air gave him the appearance of being even taller than he asserted. He was long-limbed, and large-jointed, with a spare, sinewy frame, that looked as if it would have required a ton of flesh before the sharp angles would have been rounded into any resemblance to the dimpled beauty of an infant’s form. Then his face, it was long, lank, lean, and covered with a skin of the color and apparent toughness of parchment; his features were large, the nose in particular standing out with a curve as bold as Cwsar’s—and his eye- brows thick, black, and overhanging, beneath which his small gray eyes gleamed out with a brightness that gave animation, indeed somewhat of interest, to a face otherwise repelling. The smile of Governor Winthrop seemed checked involuntarily as he met the glance of Zechariah Long’s eye, and, with a tone of more deference than even Christian humility would seem to prescribe to one so much inferior in ctation, he inquired what might be his opinion of the person in question. “Tf you ask my opinion, governor, I am bound to answer faithfully,” responded Zechariah, drawing himself up to his greatest altitude, and speaking very slowly—“ I have observed the youth carefully ever since, as I told you, I noted his bold bearing when we prepared for the battle that by the goodness of God was not to prove unto our hurt, but the rather to our joy, inasmuch as we found friends where we expected enemies; but, had it fell out otherwise, I am persuaded the young man would have been of great assistance, and therefore I would that he was truly as we are.” “Wherefore would you cast suspicions on the stranger ?” inquired the governor, regarding Zecha- riah rather sternly. “Tam not prone to evil-speaking, governor,” re- plied the other in a tone so calm and assured that Mr. Winthrop actually felt rebuked. “TI am not one who watches for matters of accusation ; but I confess I have watched that young man, and this is my judgment, that his motives for joining us were not all dictated by duty or conscience.”

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— = ew YY | ed ~~ oS we a we wT a we eS ES THE FIRST WEDDING. 19 “What then did induce him ?—or perhaps your vision does not extend so far,” observed the go- vernor, rather dryly. Zechariah’s small quick eye shone with the lustre of a certain triumph as he replied: “ His passions, governor, his earthly passions have prompted him to go forth in search of a resting-place ; but, verily, unless he does become more heavenly-minded, I fear he will be of little comfort to us, or enjoy little comfort himself.” Zechariah then walked slowly away towards the steerage, and soon the deep peculiar twang of his voice was heard joining in a hymn which some of the passengers were singing. Governor Winthrop was left alone standing on the larboard side of the deck, nearly opposite the young man who had been the object of the colloquy ; and who was, by the conclusion thereof, represented as obnoxious to those suspicions which are not the less forcible for being indefinite. The longer he pondered on the circum- stances that had hitherto come under his observa- tion respecting the said Oliver Temple, the more mysterious they appeared. And yet the sagacious governor could not believe that the young man would be found a deceiver. There is something in the countenance of an ingenuous youth that so ill accords with the subtlety of the crafty manager in- tent on stratagems or crimes, that the heart of a good man will be slow to tax such an one with enormous guilt. Folly may be predicated of the young, but vice seems too gross to be harbored in the soul so simple as to receive pleasure from the thought of a flower, or the sight of a bird. And Governor Win- throp had seen young Temple smile, and it was the only time he had seen him smile, while assisting the Lady Arabella in arranging some flower-pots containing specimens she was carefully transporting to the New World, but which had been nearly de- stroyed in the preparations made to give battle to the Dunkirkers. And he had heard him, too, re- monstrating with a passenger who wished to shoot some of the birds that were continually flitting around the vessel. “ He showed a merciful spirit, and such shall ob- tain mercy,” thought the governor. “And yet I wish I knew his history. The Lady Arabella can perchance inform me. She once observed that she thought I would like him, and that she thought he looked like me. He is nota wicked youth. Zecha- riah Long is a zealous saint, but he is sometimes prone to be suspicious—a fault for which he must be reprimanded. I will seek the Lady Arabella, and endeavor to learn who Oliver Temple may be.” Thus resolving, he descended to the cabin appro- priated to the ladies, purposely passing in his way thither near the place where Oliver was leaning on the railing of the deck, his gaze steadily fixed on the setting sun. There was a calmness on his countenance that seemed more like resignation than happiness ; yet no one would have called him mise- PPAR AAR AAA AAA Imm ~~ rable; nor was he, though he had endured, in his short career, more real distresses than a novel-writer would invent, unless his imagination were very pro- lifie of horrors, to prove the fortitude of his hero. The history of Oliver Temple was briefly this. He was the only son of a gentleman of ancient family, but small fortune. His father was a younger brother, and the title and a large estate were ex- pected to descend to Oliver, as his uncle, a decrepit old bachelor, seemed as unlikely to seek for a part- ner as the man in the moon. So his nephew was bred with the expectation of becoming in due time Sir Oliver Temple. He was a gay youth, but never- theless possessing a good deal of that decision of character which is imparted by a consciousness of integrity of purpose. He was also an excellent scholar, fond of poetry, and, as his father often boasted, an adept in history, particularly in what related to ecclesiastical polity. This mood of mind was no doubt fostered, if not engendered by the character of the times, as religious opinions were then, and had been for many years, the grand lever by which the whole Christian world was moved and agitated with a power that shook the foundations of civil society, and threatened to overturn or alter many of the most important forms of the existing govern. ments. Oliver’s relations were ali loyal and ortho- dox defenders of the kingly pr»: ogative and priestly habiliment. Yet Oliver sometimes, in his own mind, doubted the expediency of punishing men because they did not wish to wear a square cap, a scholar’s gown, a tippet, and a linen surplice. And as Oliver grew in stature and reason, he doubted still more, and all the arguments and invectives he heard urged against non-conformity only confirmed him the more in thinking the Puritans a very unfortunate, if not injured people. Till he was eighteen, he had never heard them mentioned except with contempt or execration. At eighteen he saw Rebecca Welden. The seeming chance that first introduced them to each other was one of those events which, appearing casual, perhaps trifling, have yet an influence on the fate of the in- dividuals concerned, which in those days was re- corded as providential. The parents of Rebecca Welden were non-con- formists, and had died martyrs to their religious belief. They were not literally burnt or beheaded ; but fell victims to the thousand tortures which a persecuting spirit, when armed with arbitrary power, has the means of inflicting. Fines, stripes, impri- sonment, and the confiscation of their onee ample estate they suffered, till finally their hearts were broken, and they both died within a few days of each other, leaving two children, Robert and Re- becca, who had been for some time under the care of an aunt. This lady, though a Puritan, was a very prudent woman, and she managed to compromise the matter between her creed and her conscience by reflecting that if she boldly avowed her principles,

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GODEY’S 20 ~e —_— —_—— and suffered in consequence, the poor orphans would lose their only stay. So she attended a regular church on the Sabbath, and spent the week in pray- ing that her sin of lip worship might be forgiven Put, as if to atone still further for her own ets she believed, she la- her. lax observation of the te bored to instil them, in their mosi severe and un- compromising spirit, into the souls of her nephew and nicee. She succeeded, and when Oliver Temple first became acquainted with Rebecca Welden, and her broiler, they were as strict and stern Puritans as the Rev. John Robinson would have desired. With a young man of Oliver Temple's feelings and temperament, the persecutions these young peop'e had endured in the persons of their parents would make an impression favorable to their cause ; and Robert Welden was, like most of his sect, well versed in the theory of his religious opinions, and above all well acquainted with the history of the shy. peculations corruptions and eppressions of ths Ciera: Tt would be impossible, without m than we have time to pursue, even co guess whether Rebecea’s virtues and beauty, or Kobert’s zeal and eloquence, had the most effect on Oliver Temple. Be that as it may, he soon became a thorough con- vert to the peculiar creed of the non-confurmists, and what would of course be foreseen, a suitor for tebecca’s hand. An application to his father for consent to the union revealed to his parents not only the state of his heart, but bis faith. The quotation that “ the course of true love never did run smooth,” would but poorly portray the storm, the tempest, the whiriwind that seemed loosened to work its fury on the devoted heads of these young sufferers. This result is all that can be told. They were separated. Oliver was sent into Northamptonshire, there to abide with a friend of his father’s, as was reported. But he was carried to a castle and kept in the close confinement of a prisoner, not being permitted to see or speak with any one except his bigoted jailer, who thought the crime of daring to differ from the established form of church government was the most heinous and impious a subject could commit, except to question the divine right of his king. Young Temple was confined in his apartment, which might very properly be styled a dungeon, nearly a year, as he could not escape, and would not purchase his freedom by the only alternative offered, which was that of taking a solemn oath to abjure forever the abominable heresy of non-conformity and Puritanism in all their forms. This oath he was resolute in rejecting, although threatened with But at last his father, as if convinced that severe mea- a worse punishment than imprisonment. sures were of no avail, wrote to him very kindly, and after telling him of the illness of his uncle, who was not expected to continue long, and hoping that the time he bed spent in solitary reflection had con- vinced him of his errors, &c., informed him that a earriage had been sent, in which he might return to PALPLPLPL LLL PLL LPP PPP EP MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. his home and his friends, who were anxious to see him. To the poor youth who had so long been detained from all intereourse with the world, the privilege of returning to his family appeared such a favor that for a time all the resentment he had felt for the wrongs he had endured was nearly obliterated. He almost resolved tc take the oath his father had pre- seribed, and probably would have ve!lunt.«;rily offered such a pledge of obedience to his par —so much more easily is a generous mind subdued by human kindness than by threats of human vengeance—had not the recollection of Rebecca, and the hope that they might meet, and be one day united, operated to make him resolve still to hold fast the faith which was dear to her. His parents received him with every demonstra- tion of gladness, and no allusion was permitted to be made to the unhappy subject of his banishment. But Oliver was not long in discovering that, though he was ostensibly at liberty, yet a strict watch was kept to prevent him from bolding any communica- tion with the obnoxious party he was supposed to His solitude had not been idiy or unprofit- ably spent. He had been fr-nished with books and writing materials, and then the daring plans he had formed, and once or twice nearly executed, to obtain his freedom, had given him the habit of depending on himself, which his father considered as a very dangerous sentiment for a young gentleman to en- tertain. So he took him up to Lordon that he might acquire the tone of flattery and obsequious- favor. ness so necessary to those who would shire at court. Oliver had made repeated inquiries concerning Rebecca Welden and her brother; but had never been able to find a person who could give any in- formation respecting them. He learned their aunt was dead, before he left his confinement; but what had become of her heretic nephew and niece, none of the loyal and true believers could be supposed interested to know. In London, Oliver Temple passed several months, occupied with the usual pursuits and recreations of his age and station, apparently seeking happiness in society, but in reality searching for some clue whereby he might discover the place where Robert He did not This truth was Welden and his sister had retreated. dream that retreat was the grave! at last revealed to him. He saw accidentally, in London, a gentleman whom he knew was acquainted with the Weldens. After several unsuccessful efforts, he at length obtained an interview with the man, who told him that Robert Welden, in a desperate attempt to escape from a prison where he had been thrown for his religion, had wounded his jailer, as it was thought dangerously, and that, to avoid an ingnominious death, which he knew awaited him, he committed suicide. “ And Rebecca, what became of Rebecca?” ex claimed Oliver, clenching his hands and drawing in

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THE FIRS his breath with the deep gurgling sound of a drown- ing man. “She died the day after her brother.” “ A self-murderer was she ?” The gentleman looked at Oliver; the veins of his neck and temples were swelling with the tide of passionate emotions which he could scarcely restrain from bursting into the violent paroxysm of insanity. He went to him, took his hand, and said in a sooth- ing tone, “ Mr. Temple, this is a sorrowful business; but to the Lord we must resign ourselves and all that we hold dear. willingly afflict.” “Then she did not kill herself ?” “ No, no—she died of a fever, calmly as an infant Remember, the Lord doth not fails asleep, and is now an angel in heaven.” Oliver’s joints relaxed, his countenance lost its stern expression of passionate grief, his lip quivered, his eyelids drooped—one moment he struggled to suppress the outbreaking of his sorrow—-but it might not be; nature triumphed over manly pride, he sank into a chair, and, covering his face, wept and sobbed as audibly as a child. From that time, Oliver Temple was a changed man. There was a solemn severity in his counte- nance that announced, without the form of words, the Puritan in spirit. to the pleasures and hopes of this life, and the in- He considered himself as dead tensity of his thoughts and affections was directed how to secure the heavenly inheritance. To advance the cause for which Robert and Rebecca Welden had suffered was, as he believed, the only motive But in his own family he could hardly hope his efforts would be of any avail. to the New World, that was to be undertaken by that induced him to wish to survive them. He heard of the expedition godly men who went forth in the faith and strength of the Lord of hosts, to found a nation where man should be free to worship according to the commands of Scripture and the dictates of conscience. In the mood of mind Oliver Temple then cher- ished, the expedition of the Puritan colony was just thé one he would have chosen to join, rather than He wrote to Mr. Johnson, of whom he had heard much have been proclaimed ruler of the whole earth. good, and communicating the most important events of his life, besought his aid to enable him to escape from the temptations by which he was surrounded. In short, he wished to join the expedition unknown Mr. Johnson, though he would not have advised this step, did not think it to his father or family. his duty to oppose it. The young man was, by the civil law, of age to act for himself; and though the parental authority was highly venerated by our an- cestors, among themselves, yet, like all who have «a particular creed to support, involving what they consider the eternal welfare of its believers, they were sometimes too intent on advancing their Mas- ter’s kingdom to attend to the minor point of earthly claims. “‘ He that loveth father or mother more than WEDDING. 21 me, is not worthy of me,” was a favorite text with the Puritans. “Oliver Temple is willing to leave father and mother, yea, and houses and lands and title, for Christ’s sake: shall I discourage this zeal, or throw obstacles in the way of its immediate accomplish ment, which may in the end prove a stumbling-block to this young Christian, even to the peril of his soul ?” said Mr. Johnson to his wife. She agreed with him that such would be sin for those who professed to be willing to endure every cross rather than disobey God. Oliver Temple was accordingly admitted secretly on board the ship, in which Mr. Johnson and his wife, with Governor Winthrop and others of the most important members of the emigrating company, sailed in the spring of 1630. There was no point of faith in which our ancestors were more fully established than in the firm belief of an overruling progpience, which watched in a particular manner over them. In all their conver- sation, this belief was apparent. Neither was it, as some may suppose, the language of cant, or mere form of words. The faith that enabled them to en- dure unrepiningly the terrors and hardships of the The thought that God demanded the sacrifice of every selfish consid- wilderness, was that of the soul. eration animated them to endure privations; and though now, in these days of peace and plenty, lib- erty and liberal principles, we may sometimes feel inclined to smile at what we are pleased to term the credulity of those primitive Christians, yet the en- ergy and consistency of their conduct, and the glo- rious results that have followed those labors they endured for their faith, should awe us from ridicule. Indeed, if we would but call up the scene when those self-exiled men bade adieu to their homes in that pleasant land where their fathers had dwelt, and severing the ties of soul, which seem the sinews of our life, embarked on a wide and gloomy ocean in search of a resting-place in a new and almost unknown world, we should feel that they needed the high and holy excitement of a “faith that could , remove mountains.” They were not driven forth by the necessities of temporal want. They moved in obedience to the dictates of what they felt assured was the Spirit of God; and no wonder, therefore, that their language should be imbued with those thoughts which filled their hearts. Hence arose their frequent inference that Providence, in a par- ticular and especial manner, directed their path; a sentiment which, if it cannot be deduced from philo- sophiecal principles, was, in their opinion, far more conclusively proved than mere human reason could have established—it was taught in the Bible. “ All things shall work together for good to them that love God!” was pronounced in a triumphant tone by Governor Winthrop when he would animate the ship’s crew for the battle which was expected momentarily to begin. The odds were fearfully

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22 GODEY’s against the Puritans, yet the band of Leonidas was not more determined on victory or death, “It is the will of God that we should be tried,” continued the governor; “if our faith faint not, the crown of victory, either of life or death, will be ours.” There was not a pale cheek or lip among the men, nor a tear seen, or a cry heard among the women and children. That Providence would direct the issue for their best good, all believed, trusted; and when they discovered those they had mistaken for Dunkirkers were indeed their own countrymen, the good Providence that had sent the trial, and yet shielded them from injury, was still more apparent. And it was thus every event that marked their pas- sage to America was iuterpreted. Did fair weather and fair winds prevail ?—how providentially it was ordered that they might have a quick voyage when so much depended on their arrival early in the season! If they were retarded by storms and contrary g@Jes, God had seen that it was good for them to be afflicted; and by a dis- pensation of his Providence was testing their pa- tience ar.d submission. And thus, when Governor Winthrop had, from Mr. Johnson and his wife, learned the particulars of Oliver Temple’s history, did he discover, in every misfortune which had befallen that young man, some particular bearing on his future destiny, on the part which Providence was fitting him to per- form. And he felt persuaded that Oliver was to become a distinguished Christian, a shining light in that sanctuary from persecution, that pure church, which was to be founded in America. Yet the go- vernor was not a visionary; he calculated with the shrewdness of worldly prudence when worldly things were under discussion; and he calculated that Oliver Temple would be a more active, and consequently a more useful man, could he be aroused from the torpor of sorrow which seemed to benumb his facul- ties, and was evidently preying fast on his health. But the sagacious governor did not trust to argu- ments merely to effect his purpose. He knew that words were never more idly used than in endeavors to combat by reasoning the indulgence of those griefs which the mourner’s heart has consecrated as sacred. But he calculated that, if he could interest the young man’s affections, those sensibilities which bind the human heart in fellowship with its kind, he would soon appear soberly cheerful as became his age and character. The governor communicated his views and feel- ings on the subject to the Lady Arabella and her husband. They both agreed it would be judicious. “Tf it is practicable,” said the governor, “what do you think of promoting a match between this young man and your friend Lucy Perry ?” The lady smiled with that kind of meaning whica argued satisfaction. “T have marked her modest deportment and pious attention to religious duties with much approbation,” MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, continued the governor, “and I own I have felt that the young lady must make a great sacrifice of in- clination to duty in going thus solitary to a strange land. I know she has excellent and dear friends in your 1. Jyship and Mr. Johnson, but still I do think a kind protector, one of our strong and firm sex, is peculiarly necessary for the support of a delicate woman who ventures to be a sojourner in the wilder- ness.” The Lady Arabella looked on her husband with that expression of trusting love that told on whom she depended; the smile that answered her appeal spoke how fondly her confidence was appreciated. The governor raised his handkerchief, as if clearing his eye of some mote that pained him, but the pain was at his heart; for at that moment the thoughts of his own wife, whom he had left, perhaps never to be united again, rushed so tumultuously on his mind, that, firm as he was, it unmanned him, and he strove to conceal the tears he could not restrain. “T think Lucy Perry will make an excellent wife,” observed Mr. Johnson. “And I have no doubt Oliver Temple will be a kind husband,” said the Lady Arabella. “T believe their meeting thus together on board the vessel was providential; and that we shall be in the way of duty to endeavor to promote a mar- riage between them,” said the governor. So the affair was settled, and, though nothing like a modern match-making was undertaken by the go- vernor or his coadjutors in the plan, yet they con- trived sometimes to bring the young people together, either to join in singing a particular tune ir which it had been remarked their voices harmonized won- derfully, or else Lucy sat by the Lady Arabella as a listener, while Oliver was persuaded to read a chap- ter in “ Precious Consolations for Weary Souls,” or some other of those quaint and devout books that formed the light reading of our ancestors. Day after day thus passed, and though Oliver Temple had paid no more attention to Lucy than the ceremonious civility of those days, which was most conspicuous in the frequency and flexibility of the bows of a gentleman, required, yet the governor was firmly persuaded of the success of his scheme. He conferred with the Rev. Mr. Wilson respecting it, and his approval seemed still further to stamp it as designed by Providence. And Zechariah Long’s opinion was a coincidence that appeared almost mniraculous, or at least prophetic. The governor had thought it his duty to confer with that somewhat stern and peculiar, but yet esteemed and pious man, concerning Oliver. He found the suspicions of Zechariah were first awak- ened by hearing Oliver sigh and groan repeatedly in his sleep, as if his mind was burdened, and then he overheard him one day iamenting, in bitter terms, to the Lady Arabella, for the death of some person. “ And so,” said Zechariah, “I found his sorrow was for the decease of some one, and I thought it could --~

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- ae WF — 2 4 averolUlUhCOOrhlCOCU OCC“ S|] THE FIRST WEDDING. 23 ~~ PDP not de a relation, as he was not clothed in mourning garments, and he had come on beard privately, and no person knew him saye Mr. Johnson and his lady, and so I inferred that he was a son of some of their friends, and that he had in a quarrel—such things happen among the children of this world, and are called honorable—slain a man, a friend perhaps, especially as I thought he showed guilt with his grief.” “You judged hardly,” said the governor. “T do repent me of it, since you have told me his history. And I wish we could devise something whereby the sadness of his countenance might be changed.” “T can join in your wish,” said the governor. Zechariah raised his finger twice before he spoke; as if the weight of his subject required deliberate pondering, then he came close to the governor, and said, in what he meant for a whisper—it might have been heard three paces— “T have a thought; if it may be spoken, governor, to you I will say it. Would it not be well if the young man should find among us a companion who would comfort him for the loss of his first love? There is Lucy Perry; the maiden is comely, and seems heavenly-minded.” Zechariah paused, fearing he had said too much on so worldly a subject; but the smile of the other reassured him. “Tf such is the will of Providence, it would ex- ceedingly rejoice me,” replied the governor. And from that time he felt assured it would be the will of Providence, and even spoke confidently to the Rev. Mr. Wilson respecting the marriage which he might hold himself ready to solemnize. Their long voyage at length drew to a close. The cold winds of spring, that hitherto had chilled the passengers, were exchanged for the warm breath of a summer gale laden with the perfume of fruit and flower, as if to welcome them to the shore where such treasures of the earth abounded. It was the season when the approach to our then wild country was the most inviting. The forest foliage was suffi- ciently expanded to conceal the rudeness and deso- lation that a leafless mass of trees presents; and it had not that dense, dark aspect which, in its full maturity and verdure, made it look frowning and almost impenetrable. Some of the wild trees, the dogwood in particular, were in bloom, and their blossoms contrasted beautifully with the bright green of the young leaves, thus softening the majesty of the scene. They had been for more than two months confined on board a crowded ship, and the idea of liberty to range abroad on the shore before them was of itself sufficient to bring rapturous excla- mations from almost every tongue. But there were higher and holier considerations that called for re- joicing. They had been preserved amid the perils PAPA PLP PPL LLL OP a of the deep; the land they had sought as their place of rest was reached, their home! “There, my Arabella, must be our home; can you be contented to dwell there ?” said Mr. Johnson to his wife, as he pointed to the sea of forest that stretched in the distance, far as the eye could pene- trate. The tear that was gathering in her dark eyes did not fall, it only brightened their expression, as she met her husband’s gaze, and calmly replied, “ It will be home to me wherever you dwell, my husband.” “T wish the young man had better improved the opportunity that so providentially placed him in her society. But we must be content. It is, however, impressed on my mind that you will shortly be called to bless his nuptials,” said Governor Win- throp to Mr. Wilson. They were both regarding Oliver Temple, who seemed, as he stood gazing on the shore, so rapt in the contemplation of the new and strange scene before him, that he was totally unmindful of the questions and exclamations his companions were pouring forth, as a boat from the harbor approached the vessel. Mr. Endicott and some others were in the boat. “ Welcome, welcome to Salem,” was the greeting. Oliver did not regard it. His eye was caught by a young man who remained in the boat; the ery of “ Robert Welden! is it you?” burst in a shriek from his lips; and the next moment they were in each other’s arms. Robert and Rebecca had escaped. The tale of their death was an invention of Oliver Temple’s fa- ther, to efface, as he hoped effectually, the romantic dream of his son, that he should ever obtain the sister. “ How providential it was that this young man and Lucy Perry did not fall in love!” said the go- vernor to Mr. Johnson a few days after they had landed. “We may see by this how easy it is for the wisdom of man to be turned into foolishness. I thought I had laid a mighty prudent plan; but lo! I now see my folly. We must submit ourselves and all that we have to God. He will in his good provi- dence order events for our best happiness.” When the fleet, that brought over the colonists, had all arrived safely, a day of thanksgiving was appointed. This was July 8th, 1630, and on that day of rejoicing Oliver Temple and Rebecca Welden were married. This was the first wedding celebrated in the colo- ny that laid the foundation of Boston. There was great joy and many congratulations, and none of the guests appeared more disposed to kindly feel- ings on the occasion than Mr. Zechariah Long. His suspicions were all removed, and he stood so erect that his superior altitude was never afterwar's a matter of question. “How beautifully everything is ordered by Pro- vidence !” said the governor.

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VEGETABLE BY HARLAND Wuen we examine the various plants around us, and notice their phenomena, we at once see that all are subject to certain fixed and immutable laws, which operate with as much constancy and regu- larity as the laws governing the motions of the pon- derous worlds that roll in the depths of space. Thus all plants have a definite period of life assigned them, more or less limited, during which time we see them, as it were by successive incre- ments, slowly elaborated out of the earth and atmo- sphere, arrive at the full perfection of their growth and beauty, reproduce themselves, and then die. With the cessation of life plants become disorgan- ized or chemically decomposed, decay, and disap- pear, the materials out of which their fabric was constructed being reunited unto other bodies by the influence of that mutual attraction which subsists not only between worlds, but amongst atomic parti- cles of matter, however small. The law of material attraction may be thus ex- pressed: Matter may attract matter at all distances, This with a force varying directly in proportion to its from zero to infinity. attraction takes place quantity and inversely as the square of the distance. Now when matter collects into masses, as we see it has done in the case of the starry heavens and pla- netary bodies, the bodies thus mutually attracting each other separate sometimes to distances all but infinite, but according to fixed and determinate laws which may be calculated by the higher mathematics, the distance increasing in the ratio of their respect- ive magnitudes. We call the name of this species of attraction gravity. But when matter retains its elementary condition and exists in the form of those invisible particles called atoms, two or more mutually attracting particles must be brought by the same law infinitely near to each other before they can exercise any mutual influence; and we give the name of chemical affinity to this kind of attraction. To apply this philosophy to plants. They are the result principally of the atomic or chemical affinity, combined with other agents, and are a beautiful pile of matter borrowed from the atoms in the earth and air, and united together by the operation of natural laws for a little space of time. Fabricated by nature as material for the building up of higher organic forms, they perform their part in the ever-shifting scenery of life. Some of them become incorporated as food into animal bodies; others retain their state as plants, and are the instruments used by nature to extract fertilizing principles from every falling shower and passing breeze, which they impart to the 24 COULTAS soil on which they finally decay. The end of being accomplished, these beautiful and evanescent forms decay, they become disorganized, the pile of matter falls, and is restored by the influence of secret, in- visible affinities to the air and earth from which it was borrowed for a little while. The period of time during which these phenomena take place varies according to the peculiar organiza- tion of each species. Thus plants whose organiza- tion is very simple, as ferns, mosses, and many of our flowering plants, come to perfection, reproduce themselves, and then die, and this all in a single season. In those, however, whose organization is higher, the duration of life is proportionably longer. sut the forest tree, lifting its massive stem for cen- turies to the light of day, has an appointed period to its life as regular as the lowly moss that grows The duration of these pheno- The phenomena themselves are precisely analogous. The growth of the humble moss with its beautiful little reproductive mechanism beneath its shade. mena is alone different. is only a simpler expression of the same law which A few months, however, suffice to perfect the one, whilst operates in the production of the forest tree. many centuries are required by nature before she can build up the other. It would seem from this that the study of the simple plants ought to take precedence of those whose structure is more complex and intricate. It is these plants which first clothe the surface of the barren rock. They are the first settlers on those new lands which, after unnumbered ages, according to geologists, rise from their parent waves. Successive generations of these plants die, and form by their decay a humus for the growth and nutrition of higher plants. We will take nature for our guide. the footsteps of her successive creations. satisfied that the plan and structure of her higher We will follow We are organizations may be successfully studied in detail in the humbler. Let us begin at the beginning. How can we possibly comprehend what is intricate when we stumble at what is simple? It is a philo- sophical as well as scriptural truth that “all flesh is as grass.” We depend on plants for the materials of our own growth; the development of our own being is closely connected with that of the vegetable world; and, if we know nothing of wild flowers, how is it possible that we should know anything properly of ourselves? The highly organized body of man ean never be thoroughly understood unless the whole series of forms of life beneath him engages his atten- tion.

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ARISTOCRACY. Tue world has been frequently entertained with descriptions given of the manners of the great, by fortunate individuals who, with the help of “letters of introduction,” and the practice of suave obsequi- ousness, have climbed to the “summits of refine- ment” in Europe, and in wondering admiration have surveyed, from the height, the world of “ white Kid- dom” around them. Intoxicated perhaps by the “thin air” which pervades those regions, their de- scriptions of the aristocracy have become tinctured with a kind of servile amazement—an envious idola- try—which will provoke the quiet contempt of wise men, and excite wonder and imitation in the foolish. A young tourist—fresh from a republican country— visiting for the first time the land of his ancestors, and mingling with the nobie and the high-born, is apt to be dazzled by the glare that surrounds him, and to forget that tinsel glitters as brightly as pure gold. He cannot perceive in a match-making countess the practice of arts which, when stripped of their fashionable cloak, a green-grocer’s wife would spurn—nor detect under the bland smile of conventional coldness, a wreck of good feeling, a blight of genuine nature, and a frigid selfishness, that are too often to be found in their withering perfection among these envied classes. We listen to his excited narrative—some with delight and others with charitable patience. In perfect good faith he assures us how that, one fine morning, he sat with Lady X. in her ladyship’s boudoir; how that her ladyship was attended by a sky-blue page who handed her a scented note on a silver salver—he becomes learned in millinery, and minutely describes her ladyship’s dress, and informs us that in the important téte @ téte he enjoyed with her ladyship, she said that “she was fond of Ameri- cans.” To all this we attend with laudable gravity ; we bless the penetration of our tourist, and Lady X. is immortalized in our thoughts. Lady X. does not tell him that she is voted a bore by the clique at Almacks—that her life is spent in petty intrigues—that her expenditure exceeds her income, and she condescends to be mighty humble to plebeian creditors, and coax French milliners with fashionable scandal. We have seen gentlemen of this kind who have left home, plain citizens and good men, and, during their sojourn in Europe, have merged manhood in fashion, and native goodness in second-hand foppery; drowned nature in fastidious- ness, and sacrificed nationality to puerile imitations of foreign follies. There is an aristocracy of the country as well as the town, and in this paper the writer will endeavor VOL, xLv.—3 s | | | ; | ¢ 4 * woods and lawns. to portray the manners of the class in their rustica. tion, both of those whose permanent residence is in the country, and those votaries of fashion who visit it during the interregnum of the London “ season.” The residences of these great people in England are in the vicinity of small country towns, in which no manufacture is carried on, and whose inhabitants are supported in fact by their trading with them. Their houses embrace every style of architecture, from the modern mansion with its three or four hundred acres of land, to the old turreted castle, embosomed in its wide domain of hill and dale, These establishments during the greater part of the year present a dull and desolate appearance. An over-fed butler with a pompous housekeeper exercise a despotic viceroyalty over a troup of inferior domestics. The coach-houses and adjacent offices are hermetically locked, and no signs of life are visible except among grooms “ breathing” the horses, or a dozen dogs leaping to the extreme length of their chains from their kennels, to fright an intruding stranger with their aristocratic yelping. The mantle ef command descends at these intervals from the proprietor to the butler, who makes the most of such opportunities to impress the lower servants and the towns-people with an immense idea of his importance. The dreariness infects the towns, and the shopkeepers grumble away their mouths in de- ploring the badness of trade, and the degeneracy of things in general. But a change comes o’er the spirit of the seene in September and October, when parliament is pre- rogued and “all the world” flies into the country to slaughter domesticated game, and destroy hecatombs of tame hares in fashionable batteus. The Marquis of A., an old peer whose park wall bounds the town on one side, whose trees pry into the windows of some of the houses, and whose rooks keep up an ete.ial clamor above the streets, returns from his ar- duous parliamentary duties of dining at his club, and sleeping his dinner off in the House of Lords, to the halls of his ancestors. He is accompanied by his two sons, the Earl of B. and Lord Frederick C., his right honorable daughters the Ladies C., and a high- bred gout, of very ancient pedigree, yet lively withal, aristocratic, imperious, and yet painfully eccentric. The Marquis’s arrival is soon followed by that of other noblemen and gentry who reside from two to seven miles around ; and the dosing townsmen, whese respect for rank is hereditary and extreme, shake hands with each other in fervid congratulation, and invite the servants of the establishments (who have profitable patronage to bestow) to snug evening 25

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26 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. on anne parties in the taverns, where they make laborious speeches and drink solemn toasts. The quiet streets are distracted with mounted horsemen in gaudy liveries, who are dispatched for perfumeries for la- dies-maids, and physic for horses, fish-sauces for the cook, and boluses for his Lordship’s gout, letters and lozenges for her Ladyship, and dog-lashes and horse- girths for the stables. The Marquis (who may be taken as a sample of the whole tribe) is invisible for a few days, and the townsmen shake their sagacious heads and propa- gate dim rumors among themselves, that “it’s the gout,” or that “there ’s a screw loose up at the Hall,” “things have not all gone right in his ab- sence,” and such like, while he, good gentleman, is overhauling the accounts of his steward, learning of defaulters in rent, or prosecutions for poaching. The young sprigs of nobility are examining the shrubbery and gardens, listening to the feats per- formed by one or two favorite thoroughbreds, or trying the scent and training of a few young point- ers. After business is attended to, and a few days immurement in the hall has proved a bore, the dif. ferent members of the noble family begin to emerge from their splendid solitude, to make morning calls upon the surrounding gentry, and condescend even to go “a shopping” on fine mornings. The reader has perhaps some crude notion of shopping, but I doubt if he (or she rather) have any just idea of the mysteries of that important science, as practised by these classes. Let us suppose an elegant barouche of » light-brown color, pricked out with dark-green, with a full-grown coat of arms sur- mounted with a coronet upon the panel. To this vehicle are attached four “ bright bays,”each seven- teen bands high, glittering in silver-mounted har- ness, arching their shining necks and snorting in contemptuous pride as they spurn the ground. These animals are managed by two boys (one boy to each pair) of fourteen years old, clothed in small tight green jackets buttoned up to the chin, and display- ing in front three rows of round gilt buttons, two of which pass over their shoulders and penetrate a short distance down their backs ; they have faultless white gloves and silver-handled whips, their legs are bound in stainless breeches and Lilliputian top boots, and their business is to look straight before them without moving a muscle of their necks, and rise and fall at the same moment in their saddles, with the undeviating regularity with which infantry soldiers, on their own horses, “keep step.” At the back of the carriage is a tall human being, who has cheated Nature by forsaking the sphere of usefulness for which he was sent upon earth, and voluntarily torturing himself into that biped anomaly—a foot- man, or flunkey—there is some excuse for a bear that is compelled to learn the art of dancjng, but no apology can be formed for a rational animal, who submits of his own free will to the tricks of lackeyism. This gentleman is superb in flaming livery and eee a ADAM APD PPP PPPS eevee shoulder-knot, and sublime in white siJk stockings, into which he has inserted two false calves making —with one real one—a total of three. His duties are to hold on to the carriage, to preserve a stolid gravity in his face, a small frown of importance on his brow, an unwrinkled state of spruce erection in his white cravat, to leap from his stand when the carriage stops, to touch his hat.whenever he is looked at, and to treat the lady’s maid with a kind of deferential familiarity, which he wishes to impose upon the wor'd for love-making. One would naturally suppose that this brilliant equipage was called into action to do honor to some important occasion of infinitely greater consequence than shopping; but so it is. In the carriage are two young and handsome ladies of eighteen or there- abouts, reclining in attitudes of Eastern voluptuous- ness, and a young man of unimpeachable moustaches and cravat, lolling luxuriously back, smiling and biting a rose-bud, in order to show his white teeth. A young gentleman invited “down” probably, on some speculation of alliance, perhaps merely because he has gained celebrity as a “din. z-out,” and has a happy knack of saying smart things at a dull season. At his side on cushions are seated two Blenheim spaniels; and an Italian greyhound, with a sil- ver collar and chain, is standing “rampant,” with his two forefeet upon the carriage door, barking with a tiny snappish voice at foot-passengers. The car- riage is also accompanied—by way of foot-guards— by two large spotted Danish dogs, running one on each side of it. The elegant “ set out” now stops at an apothecary’s shop, the tall fellow behind leaps from his standing place; and, walking to the door of the carriage, as- sumes a demure look, and touches his hat. The pro- prietor of the shop, in his haste forgetting to remove his white apron, runs to the carriage and shows a shining bald head to the ladies, as he bows obsequi- ously. They order him to send a few bottles of eau de cologne to the Hall; this he promises to do, with a profusion of compliments and thanks for their pa- tronage. You may observe, while they are stopping, half a dozen fellows who were talking gossip in a group about forty yards distant; three of them has- tily retire to their shops in expectation of a call, and the others instinctively “hem” to clear their throats, although they have no idea of speaking, and walk with a sanctified gait past the earriage, merely to have the gratification of lifting their hats to the great people. You may perceive, also, that every horseman, and every other passenger, ease their consciences by performing the same action ; and you may notice likewise, if you are a person of acute observation, that a couple of beggars (one of whom is blind, and led by a young girl) who have assailed every person they have met with importunities, leave off begging, as if by some tacit agreement, as they near the carriage, and hurry past it like con- victed criminals. To all these obeisances the young

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= = a oS ea Tew VF FF &| eS wee rwZT lh S.hCUP a. ed THE HEIRESS AND HER WOOERS. 27 _——~ gentleman lolling in the carriage returns a lazy nod, and the young ladies a stare which, from such charming creatures, would be acknowledgment enough, if it were only accompanied by a smile. The Marquis himself rides out on horseback, at- tended at a respectful distance by two mounted grooms, and surrounded close at hand by half a do- zen hounds. He makes a point of dressing very plainly in a black coat and velvet waistcoat; the only remarkable portions of his attire being a starched muslin cravat tied @ la Brummell, and a pair of Hessian boots with aristocratic tassels. He is altogether a jolly-looking fellow, and his manly cheeks gracefully protrude over his shirt collars, while his countenance exhibits that appearance of dignified nobility and ill-temper which is the im- memorial perquisite of overwhelming ancestral hon- ors, and eternal—remorseless—gout. The Marquis has learned that one of his best tenants requires some repairs done to his barn; and, being a man of busi- ness, in these rabid anti-cornlaw times, he deems it best to conciliate all men by a display of incredible condescension, and pay a visit to the farmer, to in- spect the premises in person. He therefore arrives at the homestead of his tenant just at one o’clock, when the farmer is at dinner; and while his footmen are flogging away his hounds, which have commenced a furious attack upon the dogs in the farm-yard, the old farmer hurries from his dinner with his head bare, and his wife, to the utter dismay of the labor- ers, sweeps away all vestiges of the unfinished meal, and commands them to retire, lest “his lordship” should condescend to enter the house and find it ; | ; ; Q é 5 ; ? ; A in an uproar, from clowns having perpetrated the enormity of eating. Now, as the farmer was never behindhand with his rent, the Marquis, addressing him by his sur- name, lowers his dignity so far as to ask him about the state of the late crops, and the markets, and the old man is enraptured ; but still the old fellow—who in his heart does not care a great deal for a Lord, so long as “he is able to pay his way”—obstinately informs him that times are “dreadful bad,” and an honest man can’t live, and reminds him of the state of his barn, whereupon the Marquis assures him that he has given orders to his steward to have it repaired, and humors the old farmer by asking for a glass of his “home brewed.” If he is in an extraordinary good-humor, he will dismount and enter the house ; where he will finu “the dame,” who has hastily donned her Sunday cap and a clean apron, with her daughters in the same articles of dress recently adopted, courteseying lowly, and silent with profound respect, until he familiarly accosts the old lady, and jokes the young ones upon matrimonial matters, in a short, abrupt manner, finishing every sentence with an “eh, eh?” not giving them time to answer him, which, indeed, they are too much “ flustrated” to do: so he just sips a little of the ale that is brought to him, and, wishing them a condescending “ good morning,” mounts his horse, and canters home, dis- missing them from his thoughts for another six months. This slight sketch may serve to give the reader some idea of the manners of the great when rusti- cating. THE HEIRESS AND HER WOOERS. BY MKS. ABDY. “As the Diamond excels every jewel we find, So Truth is the one peerless gem of the mind!” A yew tragedy was about to be brought forth at f lady! Adelaide Linley was an accomplished and the Haymarket Theatre. Report spoke toudly of its merits, and report touched closely on the name of its author. Either Talbot or Stratford must have writ- ten it; those regular attendants at rehearsal, who seemed equally interested in every situation, equally at home in every point, throughout the piece. Some said that it was a Beaumont and Fletcher concern, in which both parties were equally implicated ; and this conjecture did not appear improbable, for the young men in question were indeed united together in bonds of more than ordinary friendship. They had been schoolfellows and brother-collegians ; each was in the enjoyment of an easy independence, and their tastes, pursuits, and ways of living were very similar. So congenial, indeed, were they in taste, that they had both fixed their preference on the same | | pretty heiress, who, fortunately for them, was the ward of Mr, Grayson, an eminent solicitor, with whom they had recently renewed an early acquaint- ance. Rivalry, iewever, failed of its usual effect in their case, it created no dissension between them ; indeed, the manner of Adelaide was very far removed from coquetry, and although it was evident that she preferred the friends to the rest of her wooers, she showed to neither of them evidence of any feeling beyond those of friendship and good-will. The night of the tragedy arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, their ward, and two or three of her “ woo- ers,” were,in attendance before the rising of the curtain ; they were just as ignorant as other people touching the precise identity of the dramatist about to encounter the awful fiat of the public. Talbot

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28 GODEY’S MAGAZINE and Stratford were sheltered in the deep recesses of a private box; had they been in a public one, no- body could have doubted which was the hero of the evening. Talbot’s flushed cheek, eager eye, and nervous restlessness, plainly indicated that the tra- gedy was not written on the Beaumont and Fletcher plan, but that it owed its existence entirely to him- self. The curtain rose; the tragedy was admirably performed, and many of the speeches were beauti- fully written ; but it lacked the indescribable charm of stage effect, so necessary to stage success; the last act was heavy and uninteresting, great disap- probation was expressed, and finally another piece was announced for the succeeding evening! Adelaide was much concerned; it mattered no- thing to her whether the play was written by Talbot or Stratford; she wished well to each of them, and sympathized in the disappointment of the author. Talbot, who had anticipated stepping forward to the front of the box, and gracefully bowing his acknow- ledgments to the applauding audience, now found himself under the necessity of making an abrupt exit, muttering invectives on their stupidity; and Stratford repaired to his own lodgings, aware that Talbect, in the present state of his mind, was unfitted for the society even of his favorite friend. The next morning, Stratford had half finished breakfast when Talbot entered the room. Stratford was about to accost him with a lively remark, that “he hoped the severity of the audience had not spoiled his night's rest;” but a momentary glance at his friend told him that such a remark would be cruelly sarcastic ; it was quite clear that his night’s rest had been spoiled; it was quite clear that what had been “sport” to the public had been “death” to the dramatist; it was quite clear that the “Russian Brothers,” although they had ceased to exist on the stage of the Haymarket Theatre, were still hovering about, like shadowy apparitions, “to plague the in- ventor !” “ Read these papers,” said Talbot, placing four or five newspapers in the hands of Stratford, “and do not wonder that I look and feel miserable at having thus exposed myself to the derision of the world.” Stratford hastily finished a cup of coffee, and pushed away w just broken egg; it seemed quite unfeeling to think of eating and drinking in the presence of so much wretchedness. He turned to the dramatic article of one newspaper after another, expecting to find his friend victimized, slande.ed, and laughed to scorn ; but in reality, as my readers may perhaps be prepared to hear, the critics were very fair, reasonable critics, indeed ; and it was only the sensitiveness of the author which had converted them into weapons of offence. “T am sure,” said Stratford, after the scrutiny was concluded, “the dramatic critic of the ‘ Times’ speaks very kindly of you; does not he say that PAARL LL DLS AND LADY’S BOOK. ~~ there is much beauty in many of the speeches, only that the drama is unsuited for representation ?” “ Exactly so,” replied Talbot, dryly; “the only defect he finds in it is, that it is perfectly unsuited for the purpose for which it was written !” “But,” persisted Stratford, “he says that he is certain you would succeed better in a second at- tempt.” “ As I shall most assuredly never make a second attempt,” replied Talbot, “his opinion, or that of any one else on the subject, is of very little import- ance to me.” “Sarely, however,” said Stratford, “it is better to receive the commendation of writers of judgment and ability, than the applause of the one shilling gallery. Arbuscula was an actress on the Roman stage, who laughed at the hisses of the populace, while she received the applause of the knights.” Talbot only replied to this anecdote by a muttered exclamation of impatience. And here let me give « few words of advice to my readers. Whenever you condole with those in trou- ble, do it in the old-fashioned cut-and-dried way ; it is true that your stock-phrases and tedious truisms may cause you to be called a bore, but thousands of highly respectable, condoling friends have been called bores before you, and thousands will be called so after you. But if you diverge at all from the beaten track, and attempt to introduce a literary allusion, or venture on a classical illustration, depend upon it you will be cited ever afterwards as an ex- tremely hard-hearted person, intent alone on dis- playing your own wit or wisdom, instead of properly entering into the sorrows of your friend. “The ‘ Morning Chronicle,’” resumed Stratford, “ speaks highly of the scene between the brothers at the end of the second act.” “Yes,” replied Tal>ot, “and the ‘ Morning Chroni- cle’ winds up its critic by advising me never to write another drama.” “Did you not say just now that you never in- tended to do so?” asked Stratford. “ How I wish, Stratford,” exclaimed Talbot, im- petuously, “that I could make you enter into my feelings. How very differently you would think and speak if you were the author of a condemned tra- gedy !” “T do not consider,” said Stratford, “that if such were the case, I should in any respect think or speak differently. I should fee! far more pleasure in . knowing that I had written a work which deserved to be successful, than mortification at the want of good taste in a mixed and misjudging audience, which had caused it to fail of success.” Stratford, having been unfortunate in his previous attempts at consolation, had taken some pains to devise a pretiily turned speech ; but he little thought how completely successful it would prove; the coun- tenance of Talbot actually lighted up with pleasure.

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THE HEIRESS A} IPP LPL “ Are you really sincere in what you have said?” he replied. “I have aparticular reason for wishing to know; do not reply to me in a hurry; take a few minutes for consideration.” Somewhat surprised, Stratford began the course of mental examination prescribed by his friend ; and the result of it was that, although he had only meant to speak civilly, he found that he had been speaking truly ; for Stratford had a great admiration for ]iie- rary talents, and a great wish to possess then; he also knew that Adctaids Linley was a warza admirer of dramatic poetry; he could nvt doubt that her judgment would lead her to approve of the “ Rus- sian Brothers ;” and, in regard to its condemnation, she, like every other intelligent person, must be fully aware that the plays that read best in the closet are often least adapted to the stage. “T have considered the matter again,” said Strat- ford, after a pause, “and I repeat what I previously said; I should be glad to be the author of the ‘Russian Brothers,’ even although it has been con- demned; but after all, Talbot, how useless is this conversation! no good wishes on your part, or as- piring wishes on my own, can make me the author of a drama to which I never contributed an idea or a line.” “Yet,” said Talbot, “I do not se> why the busi- ness might not be arranged to our mutual satisfaction. You wish to be known as the author of this play; I, perhaps foolishly and irritably, repent that I ever wrote it; no one but ourselves is aware which of us is the author; why should you not own it? I will most joyfully give up my claim to you.” Stratford was a little startled at this propo- sition. “ But should the deception be discovered,” he said, “people will allege that, like the jay, I have been strutting in borrowed plumes.” “ Not at all,” replied Talbot; “your plumes are not borrowed, but are willingly bestowed upon you by the owner; besides, how should any discovery ensue, except from our own disclosures? You, of course, will not wish to disown what you consider it a credit to gain; and, for myself, I give you my word that, should the ‘Russian Brothers’ be des- tined to attain high eelebrity at a future day, I shail never assert my rights of paternity—they are the children of your adoption ; but, remember, you adopt them for life.” “ Willingly,” replied Stratford ; “and now let us pay a visit at Mr. Grayson’s house. Doubtless the fair Adelaide will be impatient to pour balm into the wounds suffered by one of her adorers; pity is sometimes akin to love.” “Tt is more frequently akin to contempt,” mur- mured Talbot, in too low a voice to be heard; but nevertheless the friends proceeded on their way, talking much less cheerfully, and looking much less contented than might be supposed, when it is con- sidered that they had recently entered into a com- 3° ; 2 ? : ? | 29 LPL ~ HER WOOERS. pact so satisfactory to both of them. I wish I could say that conscience bore any share in their dis- quietude, and that each felt grieved and humiliated at the idea that he was violating the sacred purity of truth; but such was not the case. Either Talbot or Stratford would have shrunk from the idea of telling a falsehood of malignity or dishonesty; but the polite untruths of convenience or flattery were as “household words” in their vocabulary. A dim foreboding of evil, however, now seemed to over- shadow them. Talbct had something of the same sensation which a man may be supposed to have who has cast off a troublesome child in a fit of irri- tation. His tragedy had been a source of great dis- appointment and mortification to him; but still it was his own; it had derived existence from him; he had spent many tedious days and nights watching over it before he could bring it to perfection; he was not quite happy in the idea that he had forever made over all right and title in it to another. Stratford also was somewhat dispirited; he could not help thinking about a paper in the“ Spectator” concerning a “ Mountain of Miseries,” where Jupiter allowed every one to lay down his own misery, and take up that of another person, each individual in the end being bitterly dissatisfied with the result of the experiment. Stratford had laid down his lite- rary insignificance, and taken up the burden of un- successful authorship; should he live to repent it? This in the course of a little time will appear. Adelaide Linley sat in the drawing-room of her guardian, eagerly awaiting a visit from her two favorite admirers. She was not alone, neither was one of her “ wooers” with her. Her companion was a quiet-looking young man, whose personal appear- ance had nothing in it to recommend him to notice, although a physiognomist would have been struck with the good expression of his countenance. His name was Alton, and he was the confidential clerk of her guardian. He had never presumed to address the heiress, save with distant respect ; but she valued him for the excellent qualities which had made him a high favorite with Mr. Grayson, and always treated him with kindness and consideration. On the pre- sent occasion, however, she was evidently somewhat out of humor, and accepted the sheet of paper from him, on which he had been transcribing for her some passages from a new poem, with a cold expression of thanks. Alton lingered a moment at the door of the room. “ There is peculiar beauty,” he said, “in the closing lines of the last passage.” “ There is,” replied the heiress, carelessly; “but I should scarcely have thought, Mr. Alton, that you would have taken much interest in poetry: why did you not accompany us last night, to see the new tragedy, although so repeatedly pressed to do so” “T had a reason for declining to go, Miss Linley,” said Alton. “ Probably you disapprove of dramatic represen- tations,” said Adelaide; “in which case I approve

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30 your consistency and conscientiousness in refusing to frequent them.” Alton would have liked to be approved by Ade- laide ; but he liked to speak the truth still better. “That was not my reason,” he replied; “I do not disapprove of the drama, nor could I expect anything that was not perfectly excellent and unex- ceptionable from the reputed authors of the tragedy in question—I had another reason.” “ May I beg to know it ?” said Adelaide, half in jest and half in earnest. Alton’s cheek became flushed, but he replied, “I am not in the habit of withholding the truth, when expressly asked for it. I never go to public amuse- ments, because I object to the expense.” Alton could scarcely have made any speech that would more have lowered him in Adelaide’s estima- The young can make allowance for “the good old gentlemanly vice” of avarice, in those who have lived so many years in the world that gathering gold appears to them as suitable a pastime for age as that of gathering flowers for childhood; but ava- rice in youth, like a lock of white hair in the midst of sunny curls, seems sadly out of its piace. Ade- laide knew that Alton received a liberal stipend from her guardian, and that he had also inherited some property from a cousin; he had not any near rela- tions, he was doubtless hoarding entirely for his own profit; he was a gold worshipper in a small way, accumulating the precious metal by petty economies in London, instead of going out manfully to dig it up by lumps in California! She therefore merely replied, “You are very prudent, Mr. Alton,” with a marked and meaning intonation of the last word, which converted it into a severe epigram, and took up a book with an air of such unmistakable cold- ness, that the discomfited economist was glad to beat a retreat. Adelaide’s solitude was soon more agreeably enlivened by the arrival of Talbot and Stratford. Talbot quickly dispelled all embarrass- mont as to the subject of the tragedy, by playfully saying, “ < Lring with me an ill-fated author, who I am sure you will agree with me deserved much better treatment than he has met with.” Hereupon Adelaide offered words of consolation, and very sweet, kind, and winning words they were ; indeed, Stratford deemed them quite sufficient to eompensate for the failure of a tragedy; but then, we must remember that Stratford was not really the author of the “ Russian Brothers ;” his wounds were only fictitious, and therefore it was no very difficult task to heal them. Possibly Talbot might have felt a little uneasy at Adelaide’s excess of kindness, had he been present during the whole of Stratford’s visit ; but Talbot had soon made his escape to his club; he had several friends there, who suspected him of having written the tragedy of the preceding night; a few hours ago he had dreaded the idea of meeting them; but now he encountered them with fearless openness, expressing his concern for the failure of tion. 5 2 2 5 $ 2 5 2 4 2 2 i ; < } 4 2 2 ¢ 2 é 5 é ‘ , ‘ GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK.

Stratford’s tragedy, and remarking that “the poor fellow was so terribly cut up about it, that he had advised him to keep quiet for a few days, and let the affair blow over.” Talbot and Stratford dined together; both were in good spirits; neither of them had yet begun to feel any of the evils of the deceptive course they were pursuing. A week passed, and the sky was no longer so fair and cloudless. Adelaide’s pity for Stratford was evidently far more akin to love than contempt; she was an admirer of genius, and was never wearied of talking about the tragedy, which had really made a deep impression upon her. She requested Stratford to let her have the rough copy of it; the request was not so embarrassing as might be supposed, for Stratford had been obliged to ask Talbot to give it to him, that he might be able to answer Adelaide’s continual questions as to tho con- duct of the story and development of the characters ; the handwriting of the friends was very similar, and the blotted, interlined manuscript revealed no secrets as to its especial inditer. ‘“ Remember,” said Ade- laide, as she playfully received it, “that I consider this as a gift, not as a loan; it will probably be in- troduced into various circles.” Talbot was present at the time, and felt a pang of inexpressible acuteness at the idea of the offspring of his own brain being paraded in “ various circles” as the production of Stratford. any opposition to Adelaide’s intentions; but he re- venged himself by constant taunting allusions to the mortifications of an unsuccessful dramatist, shunned by the manager, scorned by the performers, and even a subject of sarcastic pity to the scene-shifters ! These speeches hurt and offended Stratford, espe- cially as they were always made in the presence of Captain Nesbitt, another of the “wooers” of the heiress, who shared Talbot’s newly-born jealousy of Stratford, and consequently was delighted both to prompt and keep up any line of conversation likely to humiliate him in the presence of his lady- love. A short time ago Talbot and Stratford had been generous and amicable rivals; but they had ceased to walk together in peace from the period when they entered the crooked paths of dissimula- tion. When Adelaide had attentively read the manuscript tragedy, she transcribed it in a fair hand ; she had already fixed on a destination for it. One of the oldest friends of Adelaide’s late father was a fashionable London publisher. Adelaide had kept up frequent intercourse with him, and waited on him with her manuscript, secure of being kindly received, even if he did not grant her request. For- tunately, hos.ever, for her, he had been present at the representation of the “ Russian Brothers,” and had been extremely struck with the beauty of the dialogue, and he readily agreed to print it. When the proofs were ready, Adelaide, quite sure that she should be giving great pleasure to Stratford, an- nounced to him what she had done. He could not offer

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oT" ome ins = = rt *- eh

THE HEIRESS AND HER WOOERS. 31

PILLS Stratford nervously started, and gave a hurried, apprehensive glance at Talbot. “ Tt will be certain to be a favorite with the read- ing public, will it not?” said Adelaide, addressing Talbot. “Yam sure it will,” answered Talbot, with anima- tion, forgetting for the moment everything but that he was the author of the ‘ Russian Brothers,’ and that the ‘ Russian Brothers’ was going to be printed. “ How well the scene will read between the brothers at the end of the second act!” “Tt will, indeed,” returned Adelaide, with an ap- proving glance at Talbot, whom she had lately sus- pected of being somewhat envious of the genius of his rival ; “ really, we must try and inspire our friend with a little more confidence. I don’t think he is at all aware of his own talents.” “T don’t think he is, indeed,” said Talbot, with a distant approach to a sneer. “But my favorite passage,” pursued Adelaide, “ <8 the soliloquy of Orloff, in the third act. Will you repeat it, Mr. Stratford ?” Stratford began to repeat it as blunderingly and monotonously as he had been wont to repeat “ My name is Norval” in his schoolboy days; but Talbot quickly took possession of it, and recited it with feeling and spirit. “ How strange it is,” said Adelaide, “that authors rarely give effect to their own writings! But how beautiful is the sentiment of that speech—more beautiful, | think, every time one hears it. How did you feel, Mr. Stratford, when you -yrote those lines ?” Stratford declared, with sincerity, that he had not the slightest recollection how he felt; and Adelaide asked Talbot to repeat another speech, and praised his memory and feeling, in return for which he praised her good taste. Poor Talbot, he was some- what in the position of the hero of a German tale ; a kind of metenipsychosis seemed to have taken piace in relation to himself and his friend, and he did not know whether to be delighted} that his tragedy should be admired, or angry that it should be admired as the composition of Stratford. All contradictory feelings, however, merged into un- mistakable resentment and discontent when the tragedy was published ; it became decidedly popu- lar; the Reviews accorded wonderfully in their commendation of it, and the first edition was speedily sold off. Stratford’s name was not prefixed to it, at his own especial request: he did not want to plunge deeper into the mazes of falsehood than he had al- ready done. But Talbot had proclaimed with such unwearied perseverance that Stratford was the au- thor of the condemned tragedy, that his name on the title-page would have been quite an unnecessary identification. Poor Talbot! he certainly had much to try his patience at present. Stratford received abundance of invitations, in virtue of his successful authorship; he went to many parties in the charac- | : ; ; | | |

ORE EAE EE ter of a lion, where he was treated with much solemn reverence, and his most commonplace remark was evidently treasured as the quintessence of wit and judgment. These festivities Talbot did not wish to share. But frequently Stratford was invited to lite- rary, real literary parties, where everybody in the room was celebrated for doing something better than it is done by people in general; and were any half-dozen guests taken at random from the assem- blage, they would have sufficed to stud an ordinary party with stars. Here Stratford was introduced to brilliant novelists, exquisite poets, profound scholars, and men of searching science. Here, also, he met with literary women, as gentle and unassuming as they were gifted and celebrated, who wore their laurels with as much simplicity as if they had been wild flowers ; and who, so far from possessing any of the old-fashioned pedantry which has aptly been defined as “intellectual tight lacing,” were ready to converse on the most trite and every day subjects— casting, however, over every subject on which they conversed, the pure and cheering sunshine of ge- nius. All these new acquaintances of Stratford’s were extremely kind and encouraging in their manner towards him, inquiring into his tastes and employ- ments, praising him for that which he had already done, and encouraging him to do more in future. Such society and such conversation would have realized Talbot’s earliest aspirations, and he could not willingly cede those privileges to a man who had never written half a dozen lines to deserve them. Yet Talbot was not a vain nor a selfish man; had Stratford been really gifted by nature with superior abilities to his own, he would have been quite satis- fied that he should have reaped the harvest of them. But that Stratford should be distinguished at once by the notice of the gifted ones of earth, and by the smiles of Adelaide Linley, and that he might him- self have been occupying that doubly enviable posi- tion, had he only kept in the simple path of truth— it was indeed a trial to the nerves and io the temper. At length, one day, when the rivals were alone, the smouldering fire burst forth. “Tam very much surprised, Stratford,” said Tal- bot, flattering himself that he was speaking in a re- markably cool, self-possessed tone, when in reality his cheeks were flushed with excitement, and his voice trembled with irritation—“I am very much surprised that you can continue from day to day to enjoy literary celebrity to which you must feel that you have not the shadow of a claim.” Stratford did not return an angry answer to his friend ; he w*s on the winning side, and successful people can always afford to be good-tempered. “I do not see,” he repiied, “how I can possibly eseape all the marks of kindness and distinction that are shown to me.” “Have you any wish to escape them?” asked Talbot, sneeringly.

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82 GODEY’S' MAGAZINE “Before you reproach me,” said Stratford, “I think you should remember at whose suggestion the deception was first entered into.” “TI did not foresee the consequences,” said Tal- bot. “ Pardon me,” said Stratford; “ the consequences were foreseen by both of us. I remarked that I was unwilling to strut, like une jay, in borrowed plumes ; and you replied that if the ‘Russian Brothers’ at- tained the greatest celebrity, you would never assert your rights of paternity.” “You certainly possess an excellent memory,” said Talbot, sarcastically, “whatever other mental attributes you may be deficient in. I remember the promise of secrecy to which you allude, but no pro- mise was made on your part; therefore if you are inclined to descend from your usurped position, and give it up to the rightful owner, there is no cause why you should refrain from doing so.” “ And can you really,” asked Stratford, with sur- prise, “expect that I should expose myself to the censure and ridicule of society for the purpose of reinstating you in rights which you voluntarily made over to me?” Talbot paused some time before he replied. “I feel,” he said, “that I have expected too much. I rescind my proposal. I will only require you to make known the truth under a strict promise of se- crecy to one indivicual.” “ And that individual is Adelaide Linley, I con- clude,” said Stratford. “It is,” replied Talbot; “let Adelaide but know me as I really am, a. d I do not heed—at least I will endeavor not to heed—the opinion of the world; besides, Stratford, recollect that if you marry Adelaide, she must certainly find out the deception eventually; she can never believe that the fount of poetry has suddenly dried up within you; no doubt, indeed, she has already begun to wonder that you have not given vent to ‘a woful sonnet made to your mistress’ eyebrow.’ ” Stratford returned no answer, but the conversation left a deep impression on his mind; and he felt that it would indeed be the most honest and apright course thet he could pursue, to confess the whole truth to Adelaide, and then silently to withdraw himself from the literary society of which he was so little calculated to be a member. Nor was this reso- Intion of Stratford's so great a sacrifice as might be imagined; he had for some time felt himself very little at ease among his brilliant new associates ; he was aware that he was only “cloth of frieze,” al- though circumstances had for a time matched him with “cloth of gold.” He could not respond to the literary quotations and allusions constantly made in his presence. He had heard some wonder expressed that he had no scraps in his portfolio to show con- fidentially to admiring friends; and the editor of a leading periodical had kindly suggested to him a subject for a tale in blank verse, which, if written at all in the style of the tragedy, should, he said, re- > AND LADY’S BOOK. ceive immediate attention from him. Then, in other circles, young ladies had requested contributions for their albums, and Adelaide had more than once expressed her wish to have new words written for some of her favorite old airs. Stratford, the morning after his conversation with Talbot, sought the presence of Adelaide, resolved that, if his courage did not fail him, he would make a confession of his misdeeds, and an offer of his band and heart before he left the house. He found Ade- laide, as he had wished, alone; she was reading a letter when he entered, and it dropped on the ground as she rose to receive him; he lifted it up, and re- cognized the hand in which it was written; it was that of Captain Nesbitt, and the letter appeared to be of some length. Stratford felt disposed to be rather jealous; Captain Nesbitt was well connected, remarkably handsome, very lively, and had, like Captain Absolute, “an air of success about him which was mighty provoking.” “Do not let me interrupt your perusal of that letter,” he said, rather coldly and stiffly. “You have doubtless,” said Adelaide, with a smile, “seen the handwriting; you do not prevent me from reading the letter—I have just finished it; and although your visit may cause my answer to it to be delayed a little while longer, the delay is of no man- ner of importance, since I shall only write a few lines of no very agreeable purport.” “T pity the poor fellow from my heart,” exclaimed Stratford, and he spoke with sincerity; he could afford to pity Captain Nesbitt when he knew that Adelaide was about to reject him. “ He does not deserve your pity,” said Adelaide. “Can the gentle and kind-hearted Adelaide ex- press herself so harshly?” asked Stratford, feeling more and more generously inclined towards his rival, when he saw how much he was disdained. “T must explain myself,” said Adelaide; “for I should be very sorry that you (and the delighted lover actually fancied that he detected a slight em- phasis on the word you) should believe me to be hard-hearted and unkind. Captain Nesbitt has considerably fallen in my estimativn during the last few days. I have received abundant proofs that he does not always love and respect the truth.” Stratford began to feel rather nervous; he had a particular dislike to conversation which turned on the subject of leve and respect for the truth. “Captain Nesbitt,” continued Adelaide, “when he first became scquainted with me, informed me that, although his present property was but limited, he expected to execeed to the estates of an old and infirm uncle residing in Wales. I was lately in company with a family who happened to live in the immediate neigk borhood of this wealthy old uncle ; he has indeed large estates, but he has two sons in excellent health, to inherit them.” Adelaide here paused, expecting to hear an ex- $ elamation of indignant surprise from Stratford; but

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THE HEIRESS AND HER WOOERS. ¥3 it was not uttered. Stratford was by no means trou- bled with an over development of conscientiousness, and it appeared to him that Captain Nesbitt had committed a very venial offence in keeping two Welsh cousins in the background, who might have interfered so materially with his interests. “ Doubtless,” he at length remarked, “ this sub- terfuge on Captain Nesbitt’s part was owing to the excess of his affection for you.” “T doubt it very much,” said Adelaide ; “ affection is always prone to overrate the good qualities of its object; now Captain Nesbitt must have greatly un- derrated mine, if he could deem it likely that, pos- sessing as I do an ample sufficiency of the goods of fortune, it could make any difference to me whether the lover of my choice were wealthy or otherwise.” “Could you not in any case deem an untruth ex- cusable ?” asked Stratford. “In none,” replied Adelaide; “but there are eases in which I deem it particularly inexcusable: the falsehoods of pride or vanity, the assumption of being better, or richer, or wiser than we really are— these are, in my opinion, as contemptible as they are reprehensible.” “ Men of the world,” pursued Stratford, “are apt to think very little of an occasional deviation from truth.” “ Pardon me,” said Adelaide, “if I entirely differ from you. Should one man of the world tax ancther with the violation of truth in homely, downright phrase, what is the consequence? the insult is con- sidered so unbearable, that in many cases the of- fender has even been called on to expiate his words with his life. Now, if a departure from truth be so mere a trifle, why should not the accusation of having departed from truth be also considered as a trifle ?” Stratford was silent; his shallow sophistry could not contend with Adelaide’s straightforward right- mindedness, and he was rejoiced when the entrance of visitors put an end to the conversation. A téte @ téte with Adelaide had on that morning no che:ms for him ; he lacked nerve for either a confession or a proposal! Perhaps, however, it would have been better for Stratford if he could have summoned courage to have outstaid the visitors, and revealed everything to Adelaide; for discovery was impend- ing over his head from a quarter where he could not possibly expect it, inasmuch as he was ignorant of the very existence of the person about to give the information. Every one must have been repeatedly called on to remark, that in society there seems to be a mysterious agency perpetually at work, bearing news from one quarter to another apparently quite unconnected with it. In every class or set we meet with some person who makes us cognizant of the sayings and doings of another class or set, from which we have been hitherto removed at an immea- surable distance. Often the information thus gained is desultory and uninteresting, and it passes away from our mind almost as soon as ws receive it; oc- i ; : casionally it strikes upon some connecting chord, and we eagerly listen and respond to it. When Adelaide Linley left school, she had, like most young girls, a favorit> friend, with whom she kept up a regular correspondence, at the rate of three sheets of rose-colored note-paper a week. Emma Penryn, however, lived in Cornwall; and as year after year passed by, and the friends never met, the correspondence decidedly slackened. Still, however, it was never wholly given up, and Adelaide had written to her friend shortly after the introduc- tion of Talbot and Stratford to her, mentioning their names, and speaking of them as likely to prove pleasant and desirable acquaintance. The day after Adelaide’s interview with Stratford, a letter arrived for her from Emma Penryn. She apologized for her long silence, and gave an excellent reason for it; she had been receiving the addresses of a very desirable admirer, who had at length proposed, and been accepted; he was a Cornish man, and his property lay within a few miles of that of her father. After entering into numerous details regarding the carriage, the trousseau, and the marriage settlement (young ladies in the nineteenth century are very apt to talk and write about the marriage settlement), the bride-elect continued— “T am quite sure you will hear an excellent char- acter of my dear Trebeck, if you mention his name to Mr. Talbot; only think of their being great friends; indeed, Mr. Talbot was quite confidential with Trebeck a year ago, when staying with him in the country-house of a mutual friend, and actually was so kind as to read to him the beautiful tragedy of the ‘ Russian Brothers,’ to which he had just put the finishing stroke. Mr. Talbot did not let any one else know a word about it, and in fact extracted a promise of the strictest secrecy from Trebeck ; the reason was, that he meant to produce the tragedy on the stage, and had a terrible nervous fear of fail- ure, a fear which was unfortunately realized by the event; I suppose because it was too good for the audience to understand. Trebeck kept the secret most admirably, never breathing a word of it even to me, till the brilliant success of the published play of course took off the embargo of silence, and now we tell it to everybody; and Trebeck, I assure you, is not a little proud of the confidence reposed in him by his literary friend.” Adelaide read this part of the letter with incredu- lous surprise, imagining that Emma was under some misapprehension ; but when she came to reflect on past events, she could not but see that it was very likely to be true; she had several times been much struck with the inconsistency of Stratford’s conver- sation and his reputed literary talents, and had felt surprised that he should so invariably have resisted all persuasion, even from herself, to give any fur- ther proof of his poetical abilities. It might seem astonishing that Talbot should so freely have ac- quiesced in this usurpation ; but Emma’s letter threw

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34 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. ee light on the subject, by alluding to Talbot’s nervous ; bell” to the eager ears of Talbot. “ Dearest Ade- horror of failure, and Adelaide’s quick apprehension soon enabled her to see the real state of the case, and to become sorrowfully convinced that Captain Nesbitt was not the only one of her “ wooers” who had shown himself regardless of the sacred laws of truth. Reluctantly, but steadily, did the young heiress prepare herself to act as she considered for the best under the circumstances. She wrote to Talbot and to Stratford, requesting that they would each wait upon her at the same time on the following day. Neither of them suspected the reason of this sum- mons; Talbot had indeed almost forgotten the ex- istence of the silly, good-natured Trebeck; he had read the “ Russian Brothers” to him, because, like most writers, he felt the wish, immediately after completing a work, to obtain a hearer for it; and because, like some writers, he had a great deal of vanity, and had been flattered by the deferential admiration of a man much inferior to him, and from whom he need not fear any distasteful criticism. Talbot knew Trebeck to be perfectly honorable, and if he had ever thovght of him at all, he would have remembered the promise of secrecy he had exacted from him, and would have felt quite at ease. It never entered his mind that circumstances might happen which would induce Trebeck to consider himself absolved from his promise, and that, as the * Russian Brothers” had been published without a name, it was perfectly natural and probable that the Cornish squire might be ignorant that the Lon- don world of letters imputed the authorship of it to Stratford, and not to Talbot. The rivals were punctual to their appointment, anticipating nothing more important than that they should be invited to join a party to a flower-show or the opera-house. Adelaide did not keep them in suspense, but said that she wished to read to them part of a letter which she had recently received. When she had finished, she told them that she had considered it right to make them acquainted with this statement, and asked if they ha? anything to say in refutation of it. They looked confused, and were silent. Stratford was the first to speak. my seeming assumption of talents not my own,” he said; “and remember that my motive was to save a friend from the mortification of acknowledging a defeat.” “T cannot conceive that such was your only mo- tive,” replied Adelaide; “you evidently took pride and pleasure in your new character. Did you at- tempt to suspend the publication of the drama? Did you shrink from the distinctions that followed it? No; you courted popularity, and enjoyed it, knowing all the time that you had done nothing to merit it, and that the whole of the applause that you received was in reality the right of your friend !” Adelaide’s words sounded a knell to the hopes of Stratford, but they seemed “merry as a marriage- “Forgive me for eer ns eens * Mr. Talbot,” replied Adelaide. laide,” he said, “how kindly, how gratifying do you speax of my talents! They are entirely dedi- ‘ eated to you; all the laurels that they may hereafter gain for me shall be laid at your feet !” “Do not trouble yourself to be so very grateful “You will be little obliged to me when you have listened to all that I have to say to you. Your talents are undoubtedly great, but I do not consider that vividness of imagi- nation and elegance of composition constitute a man of really fine mind, any more than a suit of regi- mentals ard an acquaintance with military tactics constitute a brave soldier. I may continue the par- allel. You entered the field of battle by your own choice, knowing that it was possible you might meet with defeat. Your first defeat came, and what was the course you pursued? Did you resolve to try again with added vigor? No, you determined to conceal that you had tried at all; you deserted the noble ranks to which you belonged, to sink into the mass of commonplace beings; and should your conduct ever become generally known, rely upon it that all literary men who sit in judgment upon you will unanimously sentence you to be cashiered for cowardice !” Stratford breathed a little more freely during this speech; it was a great relief to his feelings to hear his friend so severely reproved. “T will not,” pursued Adelaide, “dwell upon the offence that you have mutually committed in depart- ing from the straight, clear, and beautiful path of truth; you well know my opinion on the subject. I could never feel happy in a near connection, or even in an intimate friendship, with any one who did not know and revere truth as I have always done. I shall probably occasionally meet again with both of you, but we must meet hereafter only on the footing of common acquaintance.” The disconcerted “ wooers,” now no longer rivals, took a speedy departure: they exchanged a few sentences an their way, in which there was much more of recrimination than of condolence, and then coldly separated. Their friendship had long been at an end; and, in the midst of all their recent mor- tifications, each felt consoled at the thought that he was not compelled to cede Adelaide to the other. It was easy for Adelaide to avoid future intimacy with her two rejected lovers, without causing any remark among her circle of acquaintance. It was now nearly the end of June; Mr. Grayson was quite a man of the old school: he did not stay in London till the middle of August, and then re- pair to Kissengen or Interlachen. He had a pretty country-house a few miles from London, and always removed to it at midsummer. Mrs. Grayson, who enjoyed nothing so much as her flower-garden, was delighted to escape from the brown, dusty trees of a London square; and Adelaide, although she liked public amusements, liked them as “soberly” as

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THE HEIRESS AND HER WOOERS. 35 Lady Grace in the “ Provoked Husband,” and al- ways professed herself ready to rusticate as soon as the roses were in bloom. Three days after her in- terview with Talbot and Stratford, she removed from the bustle of London to a region of flowers, green trees, and singirz-birds. The former friends—now, alas! friends no longer—travelled abroad. They had each studiously contrived to depart on a diffe- rent day, and to visit a different point of the conti- nent; but they happened accidentally to meet on a mountain in Switzerland. They passed each other merely with the remarks that “the scenery was very grand,” and that “the panorama of the Lake of Thun, at the Colosseum, had given one a capital idea of it!” Stratford returned to London in January: Cap- tain Nesbitt was the first person of his acquaintance whom he encountered. Now Captain Nesbitt pos- sessed an infallible characteristic of a narrow-mind- ed, mean-spirited man: he never forgave a woman who had refused him, and never omitted an oppor- tunity of speaking ill of her. After having anathe- matized Adelaide and her coquetries for some time, he proceeded— “ Her marriage, however, will shortly take place, and it is, I think, a fitting conclusion to her airs and graces. Perhaps, as you have only just arrived in England, you are not aware that she is engaged to her guardian’s clerk ?” “To Alton!” exclaimed Stratford. “To that quiet, dull young man! Impossible! She used to ridicule his unsocial habits, and also was very severe on his propensity for hoarding money.” “ However that might be,” replied Captain Nes- bitt, “he has proved himself not too dull to devise and succeed in an admirable matrimonial specula- tion: and, as for his system of hoarding, perhaps the fair Adelaide, although she objected to it in an indifferent person, may not disapprove of it in a husband. Heiresses are always terribly afraid of marrying men who are likely to dissipate their mo- ney.” “When is the marriage to take place?” asked Stratford, with affected carelessness. “T believe in a few weeks,” said Captain Nesbitt ; “ that is, if nothing should happen to prevent it. I think I could set it aside at once, if I took interest enough in Adelaide to make it worth my while to do so. I could communicate to her something re- specting Alton which would decidedly lower him in her opinion.” “Indeed!” exclaimed Stratford, eagerly. “ Has Alton, then, been guilty of any deviation from the truth ?” Poor Stratford! “He that is giddy thinks the world turns round ;” and he had no idea that a lover could offend in any other way than by deviating from the truth. “ I do not know that Alton has told any untrath,” said Captain Nesbitt; “bat I have reason to think that he has kept back the truth.” That may do quite as well,” thought Stratford, “when one has to deal with se scrupulous a persor as Adelaide ;” and he requested Captain Nesbitt to explain himself. “ Alton’s father,” said Captain Nesbitt, “did not resemble the father in an old song of O’Keefe’s— ‘Who, dying, bequeathed to his son a good name!’ He was, like his son, a confidential clerk—not, how- ever, to a solicitor, but to a Liverpool merchant. He repaid the confidence of his employer by embez- zling sundry sums of money, which he hazarded at the gaming-table. At length, the frequency of his losses occasioned him to commit a more daring act than a breach of trust: he forged the name of the merchant to a banking-house check; discovery en- sued, and he only escaped the punishment of the law by committing suicide. This event happened five years ago, and is fresh in the remembrance of many persons in Liverpool.” “But do you not think it likely that Alton may have revealed these facts to Adelaide ?” asked Strat- ford. “T do not think it in the least likely that he should have proved himself such a blockhead!” replied Captain Nesbitt. “ Adelaide would never marry the son of a man who only escaped hanging by suicide !” “They do not hang for forgery in these days,” said Stratford. “So much the worse,” said Captain Nesbitt. “It is a crime that cannot be too severely punished. I remember hearing that, many years ago, a man was hanged for forging the ace of spades: I wish those good old times would come back again.” Stratford was silent; not all his pique, nor all his jealousy, could induce him to think that it would be desirable for the times to come back again, when a man was hanged for forging the ace of spades ! The next day, Stratford called at Mr. Grayson’s, and found Adelaide alone in the drawing-room. She looked a litile surprised at seeing him, but received him as she would have done a common acquaintance. Stratford congratulated her on her future prospects, and uttered some forced commend- ations on the excellence of Alton’s character. “ He affords a convincing proof,” he said, with a little trepidation, “that the son of an unworthy father need not necessarily tread in his steps.” “There are so many similar instances of that fact,” said Adelaide, “ that I think there is nothing astonishing in them. The good or bad qualities of a father are not, like landed estates, entailed upon his son.” “Then you do know,” said Stratford, “that Al- ton’s father was an unworthy man ?” Adelaide looked at him with ‘rave, earnest sur-

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GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. LL LALLA prise. “ You have chosen a strange subject of con- versation,” she said; “but I have no objection to satisfy your curiosity. I heard of the circumstagce to which you allude from Alton himself.” “T conclude,” said Stratford, “that Mr. Grayson insisted on his being candid with you, previous to your engagement being concluded ?” “You are quite in the wrong,” returned Adelaide. “Mr. Grayson is much attached to Alton—whom he is on the point of taking into partnership—and was very desirous that he should propose to me. He enjoined him to keep secret the melancholy circum- stances connected with his father, as they could only tend to give me uneasiness; and it was quite certain that no one else would be so deficient in kind feeling as to mention them to me.” Stratford felt rather embarrassed and uncomfortable as Ade- laide uttered these words. “ Alton’s strict and honorable love of truth, however,” pursued Adelaide, “led him to disregard this counsel; some weeks before he proposed to me he made known to me every particular of his father’s trangression; and I assured him, in reply, that I did not consider him in the smallest degree lowered in excellence by having become good, conscientious, and truthful, without the aid of parental precept or example.” Stratford was determined to discharge a parting arrow at the provoking heiress. “ You have shown yourself extremely liberal in your opinions,” he said; “and you have the very comforting reflection that, from Mr, Alton’s known and remarkable habits of frugality, he is never likely to fall into the same snares that proved fatal to his father, but will dis- tinguish himself rather by saving money than by squandering it.” “As you appear,” said Adelaide, “to speak in rather an ironical tone concerning Alton’s economy, I think it due te him to enter into a short explana- tion of his motives. When Alton first paid me those marked attentions which I knew must lead to a proposal, I sometimes rallied him on his strict fru- gality, and sometimes gently reproved him for it: he was not only sparing to himself, but I felt grieved to remark that, although ever willing to devote time and thought to the poor, he rarely assisted them with money. He assured me that he had a reason for his conduct, and that he was certain that I should not blame him if I knew it. He added that the necessity for economy would soon cease, and that he should then have the pleasure of indulging his natural feelings of liberality. I was not satis- fied with this reply: I required him to give a direct answer to a direct question, and to tell me what were his motives for saving, and why they should exist at one time more than another. “Tt was very merciless of you,” said Stratford. “Not in the least,” replied Adelaide. “ Alton had given me sueh proofs of his truthful and honor- able nature, that I knew, if he held back any com- munication from me, he could only do so because it PP LPP LPL LPL PP LLLP LPP IPO IPL ttt stata tren at was creditable to him, and because he wished to avoid the appearance of boasting of his own good deeds ; and so it, indeed, proved to be. Alton had for five years been denying himself every enjoyment suitable to his age and tastes, for the purpose of saving the sum of money of which his father had defrauded his employer. When he first began this undertaking, it seemed likely to prove a very tedious one; but, two years ago, he happily received a legacy from a relation, which more than half rea- lized the amount that he required; still, however, he did not slacken in his laudable energy; and, shortly after the conversation to which I have al- luded, he was enabled to pay over the whole sum, with the accumulated interest, to the Liverpool mer- chant, who sent him a letter full of the kindest ex- pressions of approbation, concluding with the assur- ance that he should make his noble act of atonement generally known among all his friends. Therefore, by this time, every one who has censured the faults and frailties of the father, is engaged in landing the honor and honesty of the son.” Stratford had heard quite enough; he tock a hasty leave, sincerely repenting that he had ever thought of troubling the bride elect with a morning call. Alton and Adelaide were married in the course of a few weeks: two years have elapsed since that time, and I am of opinion that the unusual happi- ness they enjoy is greatly to be attributed to the truthfulness which is the decided characteristic of both of them. I am aware that many of my read- ers will say that it is of little importance whether a married couple, whose interests necessarily bind them together, should mutually love truth, or mutu- ally agree in sanctioning the thousand and one lit- tle falsities of worldly expediency; but I think that those who hold such an opinion cannot have had many opportunities of closely observing the domes- tic circles of their friends and neighbors. Had they done so, they would have been aware that the begin- ning of matrimonial unhappiness repeatedly arises from the detection by one party of some slight vio- lation of truth on the part of the other. Often such a violation is committed with no ill intent; nay, often, indeed, is it done with the kind motive of sparing some little trouble or anxiety to the beloved one. A trifling trouble is concealed, a small ex- pense kept in the background, the visit of an intru- sive guest unmentioned, or a letter read aloud with the omission of a short part of it, which might be supposed to be unpleasant to the listener. These concealments and misrepresentations, in themselves so seemingly slight, become of terrific account when frequently repeated; confidence is shaken; and, when once that is the case, conjugal happiness is soon atan end. Adelaide and her husband aze on the most confidential terms, because neither of them ever thinks whether a true remark or communica- tion is agreeable or not: they speak it because it is

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INTERVENTION. 37

P< LL LL LP

the truth; and, if a moment’s pain be thus given, the passing cloud breaks almost as soon as it is per- ceived ; no tempests are suffered to gather in the distance, and the heiress constantly congratulates herself that she chose not the handsomest, the cleverest, or the most fashionable, but the most truthful, of her “ wooers.” Of these wooers I have but little to say. Captain Nesbitt is on the point of marriage with a middle- aged widow of good fortune; he was successful in impressing her with the belief that he must ulti- mately inherit his uncle’s property; but she was more cautious than ladies of fewer years and less experience might have been, and made so many in- quiries about the state of health of the old gentle- man, that his nephew was obliged to improvise an | ; ; ; ; ; ; 4 apoplectic fit for him! This intelligence caused the widow to fix the day; but she is providing a very limited trousseau, since she anticipates the “ melan- choly pleasure” of giving large orders, in the course of a few weeks, at one of the “ Mansions of Grief” in Regent Street! Talbot and Stratford seldom meet; indeed, if one becomes introduced into a family, the other almost invariably ceases to visit there. However, there are two points in which they show great sympathy and congeniality of.mind. They particularly dislike to hear of the failure of a new piece at the theatre ; and there is no work for which they feel such un- mitigated detestation, as one which still engrosses much of the public notice—the tragedy of the “ Rus- sian Brothers !”

INTERVENTION. A SEQUEL TO “PLEASING THE PARISH.”* BY THE AUTHOR OF “MISS BREMER’S VISIT TO COOPER'S LANDING,” “GETTING INTO SOCIETY,” “WOOING THE WIDOW,” ETC. “Tr you don’t like it, let it alone,” is a very ex- cellent and pithy aphorism, when the advice can be followed. In politics now, your non-interventionists are having the game mostly to themselves, and, as we write, are spending the money contributed by the sovereign people for the specific purpose of law- making, in very flourishing, and, for the most part, eloquent, denunciations of a course no one ever in- tended to pursue ; enlivened or relieved by an occa- sional pause to pass the appropriations of the afore- said funds to their own especial pocket-money. In fashion, moreover, the system answers very well. There is that recent innovation, the vest, with its close fitness to an elegant figure, the coquettish roll of the collar, the jaunty pockets, the richly jew- elled or enamelled buttons. Whatright has Prudery to deny its assumption by our sex, or to urge that it is unfeminine to imitate any garment that has been sacred to the wardrobe masculine heretofore? Are not the close corsages still left to choice? Has any one denied the shrinking conservative free election? And society, with its sparkling current of wit, and beauty, and style; who has a right to point out the quicksands of wasted time, and the wreck of repu- tation, the detraction and sarcasm that barbs the arrows of repartee, the selfishness that lurks under the blandest proffers of service, or the honeyed flat- teries that fall so soothingly on the ear of the novice? If the cavillers have looked beneath the surface, and cannot have the heart or conscience to remain one of the gay throng, society will not miss their withdrawal! Their places can be easily, and

* See “ Lady’s Book” for January, 1852. VOL. xLv.—4

perhaps more pleasantly, filled! Society is impa- tient of strictures, and has no leaning towards the reading of homilies. It is a system in which no Lent is recognized, and the mad revellers of the Carnival do not chose ashes for their adornment. So says the mere observer; and yet one cannot always follow the advice so complacently offered. The rector’s wife found it so, when she would gladly have stepped aside for the retirement of her home, the simple round of domestic joys and pleasures. Her son—for the nursery had its cradle now; her pretty Etta, full of all winning, childish ways—her husband, with his ever-affectionate marmmer, and their united tastes, gave all that she could wish of interest and variety to her life. Particularly when she found so little pleasure in the formal visiting which she was expected to pursue. The frigid morning calls; the tea-drinkings, rarely enlivened by music or rational conversation, and never by dancing; but, nevertheless, the weary round must be gone through, or offence would be given; and, where the congregation was so large, invitation fol- lowed invitation with never-ceasing regularity. The Christmas week at Mrs. Lovel’s had been an oasis in her social existence. Her host and hostess, in themselves delightful, had gathered a pleasant circle about them, and, in this charming domesticated inti- macy, each seemed to contribute their utmost to the general enjoyment. Mrs. Stone had particularly liked Miss Lovel, and Dr. Howell and his young wife, the last a niece of their host, and, when they separated, had said that she hoped to meet them often, as they were both residents of the city. She had breathed a c@mgenial atmosphere, more like that of her own home, and her new friends promised

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38 PPL PLP PAP LPL LPP ~~ to see her frequently. She returned to —— Place, invigorated and refreshed by change of scene and society, and quite prepared to do all that was right and proper in her difficult position as the rector’s wife, to bear the affronts of Mesdames Jenkins and Skimpton with sweetness as well as composure, and try, if possible, to regain the good-will of the offen3- ed parties. It is the work of Sisyphus to keep up a large round of acquaintances in a city. No sooner do you begin to congratulate yourself that you have nearly paid a list of owing visits, than you find half of them already returned by people that have more leisure or fewer acquaintances than yourself, and the toilsome labor is to be recommenced. Mrs, Jones reminds you that you have owed her neigh- bor, Mrs. Smith, a call since before Christmas. Mrs. Brown’s gray beaver recalls her sister-in-law, Mrs. Green, and her friend, Mrs. White, to your recollec- tion. Mrs. Thompson offers to go with you, and return visits in her set, which you had overlooked when you were in that neighborhood; and, though you are fully aware that neither Mrs. Smith, Mrs. White, nor Mrs. Green care one whit to see you, or would do more for your memory than a ceremonious call of condolence on surviving relatives, you are equally sure of their displeasure and its gossiping effects of unpopularity, if you do not keep up the acquaintance. Therefore, as we have said before, Mrs. Stone could not “leave it alone,” much as she “did not like it.” “ Popularity was a duty with her,” said Mrs, Skimpton, the first visit she paid to the offend- ed lady, with all sincere desires for pacific measures, and & consequent humility of deportment. “ Her husband’s usefulness depended on it, unity in church measures depended on it,” she urged still more vehemently, emphasizing her remark with a decided tap of her gold thimble upon the work-table before her. “For the good of the church, every clergyman’s wife ought to sacrifice her own private views to popularity !” Poor Mrs. Stone! How little she had realized the vast responsibility thrown upon herself by her hus- band’s aceeptance of the call of St. John’s Parish ! Mrs, Skimpton held her hand to the light, and took up the stitches of the thin place she was darn- ing. Mrs. Skimpton considered economy s chief virtue, and therefore mended the stockings of the household; she could not trust it to any one else; and the parlor window-seat was therefore frequently adorned with a heaped-up willow basket of ungrace- ful hose. “ Speaking of that reminds me,” she continued— though what was the train of association Mrs. Stone in vain attempted to discover—*“ that the reason I advised you to have the Venetian, pattern on the stair-carpet, is that the threads are so much closer, and it wears longer. But I no@fieed, the last morn- ing I called at your house, that it is beginning to : | GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. go.”—(No wonder, with the multitude of feet that trod the way to Dr. Stone’s study, where he was never secure from interruption.)—“ When you have it taken up—lI suppose you will begin to clean in April—you must go over it carefully, and darn all the thin places, being particular to use worsted of the same color in every thread. Just now I ob- served the hall door open, just before you came over; it was when Dr. Jackson was let in, you remember: Mary often leaves the docr open for ten minutes together. She is a careless creature ; I would never put up with her. Any one might have gone into your parlors, and carried off dear knows what all. But, as I intended to say, the oilcloth seems to have worn very badly. You should have chosen one of the last year’s patterns. The colors have had time to dry in, and it wears twice as well. Inever chose a fashionable oilcloth for that reason.” Mrs. Skimpton seemed to forget that she had urged Mrs. Stone to this particular purchase, assur- ing that “stune colors wore better than any others, and were the most fashionable for entrances now.” However, she had condescended to offer her ad- vice once more, and Mrs. Stone saw in it an omen of good. Mrs. Skimpton had used her eyes in all her late visits at the rectory, but had closed her lips in a painful, but, nevertheless, firm silence with regard to what she saw. But Mrs. Stone asking her advice about the baby’s cloak, in the commence- ment of her call, had somewhat molified her; the fair had been numbered with “accomplished ef- forts,” and their unusual success, realizing nearly two thousand dollars, and a vote of thanks from the committee to herself, for her active superintendence, had made her more than usually forgiving. Besides, withholding advice was really too great a self-denial, involving a miracle of self-control, particularly with the constant opportunities her neighborship to Mrs. Stone presented. Miss Angelica Tuttle also renewed her visits when she heard the Lovels had become friends of Mrs. Stone; for she had always wished to be intimate with them, not that she exactly liked their society, but that it was considered exclusive—a far greater charm than a lavish display of wealth and luxury. Miss Little, who was now devoting all her energies in behalf of the “ Female Auxiliary Society, for the Evangelization of Southern Italy,” condescended to eal) and solicit the aid of the rector’s wife in this important undertaking; and, as the summer ad- vanced, there was a truce at least to hostilities. Mrs. Stone began to be sorry that she had troubled her husband with any of the past discomforts, and to think she “ might be happy yet.” Autumn came, with the return of the birds of passage, the opening and cleaning of houses, the putting down of carpets, and the putting away of brown Holland covers. Mrs. Stone had paid a short visit to her own home, and found much to occupy her in housekeeping on her return. She

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INTERVENTION. 39 ~~ looked over the card-basket in dismay, at the accu- mulation not only of cards, but notes of inquiry, and notification, and invitation, that awaited response: “The Union Benevolent would hold a meeting for the election of officers on October 14th.” “The Evangelical Society had chosen her as Secretary.” “The Treasurer of the ‘Seaman’s Friend’ would be obliged for her aid to assist in soliciting sub- scriptions.” “A special meeting of the Directors of the ‘ House of Industry’ was earnestly requested.” “Mrs. Tuttle’s compliments, and would Mrs. Stone fix a day for visiting the ‘ Foster Home ?’” Mrs. Jenkins solicited a subscription for the silver pitcher about to be presented, as a mark of respect, to the lady of “ our lamented pastor,” the widow of Dr. Naylor’s predecessor. “Mrs. Smith’s compliments, and would Mrs. Stone be so good as to look over the pamphlets re- lating to the shocking atrocities of the Thugs of India, and return them as soon as possible? Mrs. 8. would be pleased if Mrs. Stone could prepare a short and pithy abstract of them for the next week’s ‘Church Witness.’” Mrs. Jones would call an afternoon early next week, to finish visiting the district assigned to her in the Dorcas distribution. “ Mrs. Jones was sure Mrs. Stone would feel it a great privilege to become acquainted with some of the pensioners of this admirable church institution.” A subscription was solicited by the committee appointed to report on the expediency of establish- ing a “ Church Home” for colored orphans. Mrs. Stone spread out the communications in dis- may; she had not yet opened half of them. It is 80 wearisome to commence an accumulated round of duties, when every day has its “sufficient evil!” Yet there was Mrs. Skimpton’s warning sounding in her ears, as distinct as when first uttered: “For the good of the church, every clergyman’s wife ought to sacrifice her own private views to popularity.” But there was one invitation she was not at all disinclined to accept: “ Mrs. Howell would see a few friends very socially at tea. She must beg Mrs. Stone not to disappoint her.” Miss Little had fixed on the same evening for a meeting of the managers of the “Female Auxiliary,” at her house. Yes, it was the same date, “Thursday, October 11th.” Mrs. Stone compared them twice, and then sat in deep deliberation. She had always liked Mrs. How- ell ; she was sure of meeting a pleasant circle at her house, like that of Elmwood. Perhaps Miss Lovel would be there; and she should so enjoy her music! On the other hand, she had never approved of Miss Little’s society, thinking the “Evangelization of Southern Italy” a work the ladies of Philadelphia were not specially called to; at any rate, while there was so much ignorance and destitution imme- Jiately around them. It had always reminded her of Sidney Smith’s celebrated retort, “Madam, the Fegee’s are at your own door!” If she accepted the membership and managership at all, it was as “a sacrifice” to the Moloch of “ popularity,” which, gaunt and spectral, ever rose before her. Besides, she had opened Mrs. Howell's note first, and men- tally resolved to go. Could not that be considered “a previous engagement?” We cannot much won- der at Mrs. Stone’s affirmatory decision ; neverthe- less, as often as a thought of it came to her mind, it was accompanied by an uncomfortable feeling of disquiet, not very unlike a conscientious scruples, which destroyed all the pleasure of anticipation. But, seeing that “ Harry” was comfortably asleep, and charging the careful nurse with two unneces. sary cautions at least, kissing Etta’s rosy cheek, turned towards the light, as she lay with one little arm embracing the rounds of her crib—Mrs. Stone descended to the parlor, to await her husband’s lei- sure as escort. But, in the hall, she was met by Mrs. Skimpton’s maid Eunice, who shared in many of the peculiarities of her mistress, either from na- tural sympathy or the power of association. “ Mrs. Skimpton had sent over to see if she should ¢all and take her to Miss Little’s, where the committee met ; she thought Dr. Stone might be engaged, as there was a light in the study, and she knew Mrs. Stone would not like to be disappointed in going.” The sharp eyes of Eunice seemed to pierce the unhappy lady through and through, as she said, in a faltering tone, that it would not be possible for her to go to Miss Little’s that evening. She was sure a full report of her toilet would be given to Mrs. Skimpton, and it certainly was not one intend- ed for a quiet evening at home. The bang which the departing Eunice gave the street door thrilled every nerve with a dread of “ evil to come.” Sitting with hood in hand, awaiting her husband, Mrs. Stone half resolved not to go; but she was glad she had not given way to it, when the warm wel- come of Mrs. Howell and Miss Lovel laid all thoughts of Mrs. Skimpton and her displeasure at rest for the evening. There were about twenty present, all inti- mate family friends, except the young bride of Mrs. Howell’s cousin, to whom the company was given. The entertainment was tasteful, but simple, conver- sation lively and agreeable. Mrs. Stone forgot her “popularity,” and seemed to grow young again. Dancing was proposed at the close of the evening ; but neither Mrs. Howell nor Miss Lovel played quadrilles, and none of the young ladies could be spared from their partners. Mrs. Stone could play at sight; “would she be so very good?” begged Jeannie Howell, the doctor’s sister. Before her marriage, Mrs. Stone had been in general request at all their little gatherings as musician, the marked and excellent time which distinguished her style being so well suited to the lively measures. Cer- tainly; Mrs. Stone would be very Lappy to oblige

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40 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. them. She rose at once, and, going to the piano, commenced a favorite set from recollection, every note recalling the pleasant days of her girlhood, and the associations which bad brightened it. Then Jeannie Howell placed a new polka before her, and some of the young ladies were soon circling in the lively dance. A Schottish followed by Jeannie and her brother ; none of the others had learned the then new figure. Mrs. Stone played this also, still read- ing at sight, and was warmly thanked for her good- nature. On the whole, it was a delightful evening; and Dr. Stone was pleased by his wife’s good spirits, when she came home escorted by young Mr. Houw- ell. He had been detained on parish business, and found it impossible to return for her. “Southern Italy” did not cross the mind of the rector’s wife, except as a geographical existence, until she saw Mrs. Skimpton going to market the next morning. The new board of managers for the society was re- ported in the “ Church Witness” the following week. Mrs. Stone saw, with a feeling of relief, that her name was altogether omitted. She little knew the storm it portended in her horizon. Through cold and snow, Mrs. Stone pursued the weary tenor of her visits and engagements. Often a whole morning was lost by a continual succession of visitors. She was obliged to be ready to receive them at an instant’s notice. Once she placed it upon record that, from nine in the morning until ten at night, there had been visitors in the house; but it was not a solitary instance. Thouzh able to snatch but few moments for housekeeping, it was always necessary to provide for dinner company. It can readily be seen that, with the time occupied in societies and calls, there was little left for the nur- sery or sewing. It was well her old nurse, Etta’s nurse, was so entirely trustworthy ; after the morn- ing’s bath, accomplished usually before breakfast, poor Harry saw very little of his mamma. It must have been the same, if her place had been filled by an untrained Irish servant-girl. Sewing she was obliged to’ give out; but here she always made it a point to seek those in need of employment, and to pay them liberally. It was not so much physical fatigue—though this was all Dr. Stone dreaded, as he often insisted on her taking a carriage, when he saw her consulting a formidable list of people who lived at the extreme ends of the city—as the mental anxiety or harassment, lest something should be neglected, some unintentional offence given. Scarce- ly a Saturday night but that was shaded by a part of the week’s engagements unfulfilled, and Monday brought its own duties in addition. Mrs. Skimpton seemed to have passed over her neglect of Southern Italy ; but Miss Little was still unforgiving. This Mrs. Stone was especially re- minded of by the second annual report, in which was stated that, “notwithsteading the discourage- ment and cold neglect which the society had met with, even in high places, and where it was least ex pected ”—the italics as pointed as printer’s ink could make them—* they had been prospered far beyond their humble deserts and expectations.” Mrs. Skimpton, by repeated attacks upon Mary, Mrs. Stone’s waiter, by special settings forth of her many delinquencies, with which she seemed unaccountably acquainted, bad induced the rector’s wife to dis- charge her, and take a sister of Eunice, highly re- commended by herself, in the place. Judith was indolent and a slattern; but Mrs. Stone did not dare io discharge ier, or even complain. She charitably supposed Mrs. Skimpton to be in ignorance of these faults; but as Judith, whenever most wanted, had “run over to see Eunice a moment,” she had the pleasant apprehension of being always under her neighbor’s surveillance. In this she was not mis- taken; with the range of front windows, and the full daily report of Judith to her sister, Mrs. Skimp- ton was in ignorance of very few facts relating to the household economy of the rector. “T don’t see how she can reconcile it to her con- science,” Mrs. Skimpton remarked to Eunice, as she stood looking over a tray of clean clothes that had just been brought up from the kitchen. “Such neglect is as bad as downright robbery of the poor: —just hand me that shirt, it wants a buttton on the waistband. Dear knows what would become of my house, if I let things go on so—one, two, three, four, five; there’s one of these fine napkins wanting, Eunice. Put Miss Jane’s clothes in the left-hand side of the upper drawer. Doesn’t count the wash ? I shouldn’t think she would know when she had a clean pocket handkerchief—there—not the other side, and put the stockings in my basket. As long as I’ve kept house—twenty-seven years, next April —lI never saw Monday morning without counting my clothes. A minister’s wife ought to set a good example—there, just look ; is not that young Sidney Howell ringing over the way? The second time this weck. She ’s never too busy to see any of that family ; and they Presbyterians! Well, all is—— my goodness, Eunice, don’t fold those pillow-cases so! I should think you ’d been with me long enough to know my ways—and he ’s gone in, of course.” Mrs. Skimpton’s chamber commanded a view of the rector’s parlor. Eunice gave one curious look, following the example of her mistress, who seated herself at the stocking-basket, as her handmaid removed the empty tray. Mr. Howell had gone in, and Mrs. Stone just appeared from the back parlor to welcome him. In justice to Mrs. Skimpton, we must say that Eunice did not go over to borrow the pattern of her sister’s cape, ten minutes after, at her suggestion. Mrs. Stone was preparing for a tea-party at Mrs. Green’s one evening late in February. The long and busy winter was almost through, and she was jaded in spirits and weary in body. Etta had been attacked with croup frequently of late, causing her

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INTERVENTION. 41 — constant alarm; and not a day passed but some fresh domestic trial of temper arose, from the negli- gence or impertinence of Judith. She was weary of misapprehension from those around her, of half real, half imagined slights, and unkind remarks. A half finished report of the “Evangelical Society” lay on her writing-desk, beside a letter from home which she had just received, and watered with her tears. It was an exertion to dress and go out, still it was expected of her, and she must make te effort; though she would gladly have passed the evening in a dressing-gown in her own nursery. She did not anticipate any pleasure from the visit ; she knew the stiff and formal circle she would meet, and she dreaded lest any should be there that she had offended by look, word, or deed. Dr. Stone did not seem to notice her dejection when he came in. His own tranquillity was disturbed. There had been a meeting of the vestry that afternoon. She longed to beg him to take her home ; she had often checked this impulse; for she knew she had no right to attempt to influence him, when he was useful and satisfied with his choice of duty. As far as it was possible, she had spared him the knowledge of her own grievances, since her first lesson in “ popu- larity.” Mrs. Green’s guest-chamber, the reception-room, was filled with square and massive black walnut furniture. Nothing was out of place; for nothing looked as if it could be moved. There were stone- colored Venetian blinds at the windows ; everything stiff, formal, and precise. The mistress of the placs was the presiding genius, as one could see from her dress and manner, when she came in to welcome her guests. Cold, square, and undemonstrative, the visitors were ladies of her own heart, middle-aged, and many of them in mourning, with black kid gloves, as if it were a funeral, instead of a social gathering—an adornment at once unnecessary, and in bad taste. Gloves have no place out of a full- dress party, and those mourning ought never to in- trude. They sat in a stiff, unbroken line about the stereotyped parlor, the exact counterpart of hun- dreds we pass daily with Venetian blinds at the windows. The panel wall-paper, the mirrors, the eandelabras, the chairs, the heavy sofas, the “ what- not,” and the angular gas fixtures, are all there, if the blind was but drawn up. The very portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Green in the recesses, in their square gilt frames, would not be amiss in the parlor of Mrs. Brown or Mrs. Jones, having that family resem- blance in coloring and posture which all portraits by third-rate artists bear to one another. They talked of the weather : it was always freely discussed at Mrs. Green’s tea-parties. Then the ladies who sat next to each other spoke of the bishop’s lest charity sermon, and commended his course, with frequent allusion to Bishop White and his mild paternal sway, the spirit of which, however, minds like theirs never could appreciate. The 4* alterations in St. Stephen’s, the last “ Church Wit- ness,” in turn suggested the topics of conversation until tea came in, with the best china and the new silver service. Mr. Green, a small, rather retiring gentleman, went around with the tray, and made the same formal inquiry of every lady present, “Black or green?” The toast was uncommonly hard, the crumpets crisper than crumpets were ever known to be before; but that was in their favor, every one agreed. It was such a relief from the dire necessity of keeping up a conversation! The solemn silence was broken only by the click of tea- spoons, or an interjectional “ Thank you,” “If you please,” “Quite sufficient!” Every lady seemed to consider herself fully employed in the onerous task of balancing her tea-cup, so as not to deluge her own or her neighbor’s dress. Mrs. Stone enjoyed the respite particularly ; she had not been able to extract one gleam of intelli- gence, or to call up one fiush of animation from her right-hand neighbor. It was such a relief, as she turned to deposit her empty plate on the tray, to find herself seized on conversationally, by a lady she had not noticed before; one of those who never weary of discussing one theme, and require only a good listener to be perfectly contented for the even- ing. How she had happened to be admitted to Mrs. Green’s solemn convocation was a mystery; but Mrs. Stone gladly resigned herself to be talked to for the remainder of the evening. Mrs. Campbell was one of those people who, out of mere indiscretion and goodness of heart, make more mischief than any other members of society, the professed evil-speaker not excepted. She heard everything, notwithstanding she talked so much; but she never heard things quite right. In her repetitions, she always managed to be mistaken either in the words or the circumstances of the occurrence. Her particular forte was telling her acquaintances what others said of them—always from the kindest motives—either to warn them, or to show how she had defended them. She always did take the part of the slandered one, the very warmth of her defence often doing more harm than the passing unkind remark she caught at; for that might have passed unnoticed, but for her zeal, which, of course, fixed it on the memory of the listeners. “ Why, I had no idea that was you, Mrs. Stone! I was admiring your collar while you were talking to Mrs. Lea. It’s a lovely colar! I saw one at Levy’s, the very mate to it, at four dollars,” was Mrs. Campbell's first remark, which naturally sug- gested the second. “TI shouldn't have noticed it, only Angelica Tuttle was with me, and she said—I remember now—that you had one like it. Yes, I recollect ; and how provoked I was with her at the time for calling you extravagant, as I told her it was none of her business if you chose to pay ten. But she said a minister’s wife ought to set an example to the whole parish, Mrs. Skimpton said; and it

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42 GODEY’s was well known how wasteful you were in housekeep- ing, and how extravagantly you dressed. Mrs. Jenkins: was by, and said, ‘Yes; poor Dr. Stone goes actually seedy, and they never can afford to subscribe to any charity. No wonder!’ I took it up for you, of course, and told them if Dr. Stone liked to wear an old coat in his study, it was no more than my husband did in his office ; and, as for your housekeeping, you were a little young thing, and couldn’t be expected to be as saving as us. It does provoke me to hear people talk about their neighbors !” Mrs. Stone’s face flushed deeper and deeper. She was mortified, indignant. She did not know what answer to make. Mrs. Campbell ran on. “T shouldn’t have minded that so much, only Miss Little always has something to say, when your name’s mentioned, about your finding no time to do good, and going to parties, and dancing, and all that. As to the dancing, I always said I didn’t believe you did; not that J see any hurt in it; but, you know, it would make talk, and I think it ’s best to avoid even the appearance of evil. And, if Sid- ney Howell does choose to visit you, and escort you about, J can’t see any harm in it. J believe An- gelica Tuttle has been making love to him herself, and I as much as told her so.” “Sidney Howell! I dance! bell, I do not understand this !” “T never would mind it in the least, my dear; I wouldn’t let it trouble me an instant. But I sup- posed you knew people said you danced the polka with Sidney Howell, and that he was at your house quite too often! I always take your part, and always will.” A great consolation, certainly, to a wounded spi- rit! Who wishes to know that their defence is ever needed? Such sympathy blisters rather than heals. Mrs. Stone moved mechanically for the rest of the evening; the tumult of shame and bitter feeling was scarcely typed by her cold exterior. Should she tell her husband, and beg to “go home” like a weary child? Should she meet her accusers face to face, and challenge them to substantiate their charges ? or was it best to suffer silently, “ bearing all things, enduring all things ?” “T am troubled, Mary,” the rector said, as she entered the study, after a visit to the nursery. He had not taken off his overcoat, and stood leaning against the mantel. “ There was a meeting of the vestry this afternoon; I could not tell you about it before we went out; but they do not seem pleased with my measures, or satisfied with the present suc- eess of the church. Mr. Tuttle says there is a great falling off of pew-holders this year, and Mr. Skimp- ton remarked the quarterly collections were much less than formerly, and no formal account had yet been rendered of their appropriation. I meant to have carried it in this afternoon ; and it pained me alittle. Not so much the words as the tone and Why, Mrs. Camp- | | } > | MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. POO nnn eee manner. Perhaps I am too sensitive. But lately I grow more and more disheartened in trying to please my vestry and do good t) my people. I look back with envy at the quiet days of my professor- ship, when I was accountable only to my conscience and my God. I am almost tempted at times to resign.” “ Oh, if that could be!” Mrs. Stone said, involun- tarily, clasping her hands in half entreaty. “I have not complained, have I? But I cannot bear it any longer. I would not mind it, if I could do right; but to be censured when I don’t deserve it, to be bringing slander on the church and on you! Oh, if it was right to resign !” Great was the wonder excited everywhere when Dr. Stone gave up the charge of St. John’s Parish! Now that he had done so, he began to find that his efforts had not been all unavailing; many there were whom he had comforted, and who sorrowed that he would come no more among them. Defend- ers, unlike Mrs. Campbell, took up the cause of his long-suffering wife. Mrs. Lovel conquered her dis- inclination to general visiting, and went everywhere reducing the mountain of charges to its proper mole- hill level. Judith confessed that Mrs. Skimpton always wanted to know how things went on, and, when Mrs. Stone had reproved her for any fault, she had always thrown the blame on her mistress. Miss Little, with the air of an injured woman, shut her mouth as closely as the steel clasp of her reticule, and contented herself with an ominous shake of the head, when the matter of the dancing was explained to her; and Angelica Tuttle said, “ How was she to know Mrs. Lovel had sent Mrs. Stone the collar from Levy’s, when purchasing one for her daugh- ter?” There was a meeting of the parish called, which refused to accept the resignation, and resolutions were passed commending the account which Dr. Stone had rendered, at the same time, of his labors among them. But the late rector was firm; his in- experience in parish matters generally, his wife's health wasting, in the routine of city life daily, de- cided him to resume the more congenial dutivs of his professorship. He read that they who provided not for their owa households had “ denied the faith,” and he could not see the “light of home” dying from its once steady radiance. Not that he shrank timorously from trial and responsibility, but there were other laborers in the harvest-field better fitted, by longer experience, to “ bear the burden and heat of the day.” St. John’s was crowded when his farewell sermon was given; but it breathed only of love and peace; and when, at its conclusion, he read most fervently a collect for his successor, many a heart inwardly promised he should tread a pleasanter path among them than Dr. Stone had ever known.

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THE PHANTASCOPE. Proressor Locke, of the National Observatory, Washington, has invented an instrument to which he has given the above name, which illustrates very prettily and with simplicity many of the phenomena of binocular vision. It consists of a flat board base, about nine by eleven inches, with two upright rods, one at each end, a horizontal strip connecting the upper ends of the uprights, and a screen or dia- phragm, nearly as large as the base, interposed be- tween the top strip and the tabular base, this screen being adjustable to any intermediate height. The top strip has a slit one-fourth of an inch wide, and about three inches long from left to right. The ob- server places his eyes over this slit, looking down- ward. The movable screen has also a slit of tke same length, but about an inch wide. A few experi- ments, which we will describe, will illustrate its use. First. Let there be two identical pictures of the same flower, say a rose, about one inch in diameter, placed the one to the left and the other to the right of the centre of the tabular base, or board, forming the support, and about two and a half or three inches apart from centre to centre. A flower-pot or vase i \ a ] is painted on the upper screen, at the centre of it as regards right and left, and with its top even with the lower edge of the qgen slit. Experiment 1.—Look downward through the up- per slit, and direct both eyes steadily to a mark, a quasi stem, in the flower-pot, or vase; instantly, a flower similar to one of those on the lower screen, but of half the size, will appear growing out of the vase, and in the open slit of the movable screen. On directing the attention through the upper screen to the base, this phantom flower disappears, and only the two pictures on each side of the place of the phantom remain. The phar ‘om itself consists of the two images painted on the base optically superimposed on each other. If one of these images be red and the other blue, tie phantom will be purple. It is not unfrequently that people see single objects double ; but it is only since the es- tablishment of temperance institutions that it has been discovered that two objects can be seen as one, which is the fact in the phantascope. Z\, N | | Experiment 2.—Let part of a flower be painted at the left, and the supplementary part to the right, on the lower screen; then proceed as in experiment first, and a whole flower will appear as a phantom. Experiment 3.—Let a horizontal line be marked on one side of the lower screen, and a perpendicular one on the other; then proceeding as in experin.ent first, a cross will appear in the opening of the upper screen as the phantom. This might be called the “ experimentum crucis.” Experiment 4.—If two identical figures of persons be placed at the proper positions on the lower screen, and the upper screen be gradually slid up from its lowest point, the eye being directed to the index, each image will at first be doubled, and will gradu- ally recede, there being of course four in view until the two contiguous ones coincide, when three only are seen. This is the proper point where the middle or doubled image is the phantom seen in the air. If the screen be raised higher, then the middle images pass by each other, and again four are seen receding more and more as the screen is raised. As all this is the effect of crossing the axes of the eyes, it follows that a person with only one perfect eye cannot make the experiments. They depend on binocular vision. All these effects depend on the principle that one of the two primitive pictures is seen by one eye, and the other by the other eye, and that the axes are so converged by looking at the index or mark on the upper screen that those separate images fall on the points in the eye which produce single vision. To a person who has perfect voluntary control over the axes of his eyes, the upper screen and index are unnecessary. Such an observer can at any time look two contiguous persons into one, or superimpose the image of one upon the image of the other. This apparatus will illustrate many important points in optics, and especially the physiological point of “single vision by two eyes.” It shows also that we do not see an object in itself, but the mind contemplates an image on the retina, and always associates an object of such a figure, altitude, dis- tance, and color, as will produce that image by rec- tilinear pencils of light. If this image on the retina can be produced without the object, as in the Phantascope, then there is a perfect optical illusion, and an object is seen where it is not. Nay, more, the mind does not cuntemplate a mere luminous image, but that image produces an unknown phy- siological impression on the brain. A similar and superior instrument to this has been long known to the public and artists—the Stereo- scope of Professor Wheatstone. But so many beau- tiful experiments may be made with this simple contrivance of Professo: Locke’s, that we are certain this description will he acceptable to our readers, 43

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THE MAIDEN WOOED AND WON. BY T. BIBB BRADLEY. A MAIDEN sat at eventide Beside a flowing stream— Majestic stream, with flowery banks, And waves of golden gleam: The maiden sure is in a dream, Her hazle eyes so pensive beam ! So young, so fair, why sits she there With melancholy mien! So motionless, her shadow still Within the waves is seen: The dusky twilight soon will come— The maiden then should seek her home. The maiden dreameth on; and sad The waves’ low music-swells Upon the ambient atmosphere With softest cadence dwells: Just sad enough the waves’ refrain To link her thoughts’ harmonious chain. The maiden dreameth on; and lo! Upon the river rides 4. boat of gorgeous golden prow— How noiselessly it glides! See! through the twilight’s dark’ning fold, How gleams that burnished prow of gold! Hark! loud above the waves’ refrain, In right commanding tone, Full tender, yet as proud as if Demanding but its own, A lordly voice the maiden hears And these the words that reach her ears :— “Thou meiden fair, of raven hair, Of melancholy mien ! Within my dreams thine eyes’ soft beams Have long ago been seen: I vowed it then to leave my home, In quest of thee o’er earth to roam. “T*ve kept my vow, roamed o’er the land, And sailed upon the stream ; My cynosure the hazle-beam Years since I gazed on in a dream: , Oh! sail with me towards the sea, Where wealth and honor wait for thee “ Where broad baronial lands extend Beneath a peaceful sky, My palace rears its marble walls In grand serenity: Within the hall my slaves await Thoe, maiden, tnee to share my state. “Wilt come? If thou wilt be my bride, Upon my turrets gray The earliest sun will shine, and e’er The softest moonbeams lay : A word, a sign, will e’er command All that thy slightest wants demand.” “Tt may not be,” the maiden said; * Sai, on unto the main! Not wealth, not power, I crave for dower, But heart for heart again. Float, golden boat, unto the sea: And leave me portionless, but free!” 44 The maiden dreameth on; again Mute, motionless is she; Again the waves’ low music swells, And soothes her reverie : Upon her ear sweet accents fell— Her guardian-angel murmured “ Well!” The maiden dreameth on; and lo Upon the river rides A boat, whose keel the waters kiss— How gracefully it glides! Although it boasts not prow of gold, Its course how stately doth it hold! Hark! chiming with the waves’ refrain, A voice, as low and sweet As music’s tone, steals gently on, For ear of maiden meet : Those wooing words of softest spell Her heart within will ever dwell. “Thou maiden fair, of raven hair, Of melancholy mien! Canst tell me why the des’late swan, On lake of sil’vry sheen, Though limpid waters lave his breast, Will lowly droop his pensive crest? “Thou maiden fair, of raven hair, Of melancholy miea! Canst tell me why the dove doth mourn In mead of brightest green? Why plaintive song, the woods among, The lonely bird doth e’er prolong? “ List, maid! the mystery I solve By art that love believes: The dove, upon the withered bough, For absent loved one grieves. Apart they mourn iu lonesome grove— Together live, together love. “The swan upon the silver lake His wand’ring mate doth moan ; His shadow is no company— His shadow makes hig lone. Shall I, while gliding doWn this stream, Behold a single shadow gleam? i mmr “See! one by one bright stars appear T’ attest my solemn vow: I swear alway to cherish pure The love I offer now: Oh! sail with me towards the sea— A loving heart awaits but thee. “Our souls will yield us sigh for sigh, While sailing to the sea! Our shadows, floating on with us, Shall keep fond company : In storm or calm, our hope is loye— Our trust is in our God above.” The boat glides down the stream of Life, Soft downward to the main; The waves’ low music swells aloud In tuneful nuptial strain. Two souls there love, two shadow: gleam : God guide the boat safe down the stream ! ween

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PIONEER LIFE IN OHIC. BY A WESTERN CONTRIBUTOR. ELIZABETH HARPER.* E.vmzaBeTH BarTHOLOMEW, one of the pioneer band who made the earliest settlement in north- eastern Ohio, was born in Bethlehem, Hunterdon County, New Jersey, February 13, 1749. She was the sixteenth child of her parents, and had still a younger sister. She was descended, on the maternal side, from the Huguenots of France, and her ances- tors were persons of wealth and respectable rank, firmly attached to the principles they professed, and willing to surrender all, and yield themselves unto death, rather than give up their religious faith. They removed to Germany, after the revocation of the edict of Nantz; and there is a family tradition that the graadmother of the subject of this notice, then a child, was brought from Paris concealed in a chest. She married in Germany, and in old age emigrated to America. In 1771, Elizabeth was married to Alexander Harper, one of several brothers who had settled in Harpersfield, Delaware County, New York. At the outbreak of the revolutionary war, these brothers immediately quitted their peaceful occupations to enter into the continental service, Alexander receiy- ing a commission to act as captain of a company of rangers. The exposed situation of that part of the country, and the frequent visits of Indians and to- ries, made it necessary for the whig families to seek the protection of Fort Schoharie. Mrs. Harper re- paired thither with her family, including the aged parents of her husband. In time of €omparative security, she lived at the distance of about a mile from the fort. Here, when there was a sudden alarm, she would herself harness her horses to the wagon, and, placing in it her children and the old people, would drive with all speed to the fort, re- maining within its walls until the danger was over, and then returning to her oceupations on the farm. As peril became more frequent or imminent, the old people were removed to a place of greater security, while Mrs. Harper, with her four children, and a lad they had taken to bring up, remained at home. One night they were startled by the sound of the alarm- gun. The mother took the youngest child in her arms, another on her back, and, bidding the two elder hold fast to her clothes, set off to escape to the fort; the lad running closely behind her, and call- ing to her in great terror not to leave him. The fugitives reached the fort in safety; and for the present, Mrs, Harper coneluded to take up her abode * Written for Mrs. Ellet’s “ Pioneer Women of the West.” eee there. She would not, however, consent to live in idleness, supported by the labor of others; but un- dertook, as her special charge, the bread-baking for the whole garrison, which she did for six months. During her stay, the fort sustained a siege from a party of tories and Indians, commanded by British officers. Messengers were dispatched to the nearest forts for relief; but while this was slow in arriving, the commanding officer, in opposition to the wishes of all his men, determined on a capitulation, and ordered a flag of truce to be hoisted for that pur- pose. The announcement of his intention created a dissatisfaction which soon amounted almost to rebellion. The women, among whom Mrs. Harper was a leading spirit, had on that day been busily occupied from early dawn in making cartridges, preparing ammunition, and serving rations to the wearied soldiers, and they heartily sympathized in the determination expressed, not to surrender with- out another effort to repel the besiegers. One of the men declared his willingness to fire upon the flag which had been ordered to be hoisted, provided the women would conceal him. This they readily agreed to do; and, as often as the flag was run up, it was fired at, while the commander was unable to discover the author of this expression of contempt for his authority. The delay consequent on this act of insubordination and the displeasure of the soldiers, prevented the capitulation being car- ried into effect, till the arrival of reinforcements caused the enemy to retreat. In the spring of 1780, Captain Harper availed himself of an interval in active service to look after his property in Harpersfield. While there, with several of his friends, they were surprised by a party of Indians and tories under Brandt, and taken prisoner, an invalid brother-ir-law being killed. Harper and Brandt had been schoolfellows in boy- hood, and the chief did not fail to show a remem- brance of the days thus speat together. The Indian captor of Harper treated him with great kindness, taking him, however, to Canada. Here his ex- change was effected soon afterwards; but he was not released until peace was concluded, being offered, meanwhile, large rewards by the British if he would enter into service on their side. Mrs. Harper re- mained in ignorance of his fate during the time of his absence; and supposing him killed, mourned for him, while she did not suffer grief to paralyze her efforts for the protection and support of her family. All her characteristic energy was devoted to keep them together, and do what she could to- wards improving their shattered fortunes. 45

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46 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, ALDRL PPP DL In 1797, a company was *ormed in Harpersfield to purchase lands in the country then called “ the far West.” Besides Alexander and Joseph Harper, the company consisted of William McFarland, Aaron Wheeler, and Roswell Hotchkiss; others joining afterwards. In June of that year, these individuals entered into a contract with Oliver Phelps and Gideon Granger, members of the Connecticut Land Company, for six townships of land in what was then called New Connecticut, in the Northwestern Territory. Three of these townships were to lie east, and three weet, of the Cuyahoga River. The Connecticut Laad Company drew their lands in the same year, and the township now known as Har- persfield, in Ashtabula County, was one of those which fell to the company formed at the town of that name in New York. In September, commissioners were sent out by tiem to explore the country. They were much pleased with the locality called Harpers- field, and selected it as the township most eligibly situated for the commencement of a settlement. On the 7th of March, 1798, Alexander Harper, William McFarland, and Ezra Gregory, set out with their families on their journey to this land of promise. As the winter’s snow was upon the ground, the emi- grants came in sleighs as far as Rome, where they found further progress impracticable, and were obliged to take up their quarters till the first of May. They then made another start in boats, and pro- ceeded to Oswego, where they found a vessel, which conveyed them to Queenstown. Thence they pur- sued their journey on the Canada side to Fort Erie, being obliged to take this circuitous route on ac- count of there being no roads west of Gennessee River, nor any inhabitants, except three families living at Buffalo, while a garrison was stationed at Erie, in Peansylvania. At Fort Erie they found a small vessel, which had been used for transporting military stores to the troops stationed at the West, and which was then ready to proceed up the lake with her usual lading of stores. This vessel was the only one owned on the American side, and the voy- agers lost no time in securing passage in her for themselves and their families, as far as the penin- sula opposite Erie. As the boat, however, was small, and already heavily laden, they were able to take with them but a slender stock of provisions. Having landed on the peninsula, the party was obliged to stop for a week, until they could procure boats in which to coast up the lake, at that time bordered by the primeval forest. After having spent nearly four months in performing a journey which now occupies but two or three days, they landed, on the 28th June, at the mouth of Cunning- ham’s Creek. The cattle belonging to the pioneers had been sent through the wilderness, meeting them at the peninsula, whence they came up along the lake shore to the mouth of the stream. Here the men prepared sleds to transport the goods they had brought with them, the whole party encamping that night on the beach. The next morning, Colonel Harper, who was the oldest of the emigrants, and was then about fifty-five, set out on foot, accompa- nied by the women, comprising Mrs. Harper and two of her daughters, twelve and fourteen years of age. Mrs. Gregory and two daughters, Mrs. McFar- land, the colonel’s sister, and a girl whom she had brought up, named Parthena Mingus. Their new home was about four miles distant, and they fol- lowed up the boundary line of the township from the lake, each carrying articles of provisions or table furniture. Mrs. Harper carried a small copper tea- kettle, which she filled with water on the way to the place of destination. Their course lay through a forest unbroken except by the surveyor’s lines, and the men who followed them were obliged to cut their way through for the passage of the sleds. About three o’clock in the afternoon they came to the cor- ner of the township line, about half a mile north of the present site of Unionville, Ohio, where they were glad to halt, as they saw indications of a com- ing storm. The women busied themselves in strik- ing a fire and putting the tea-kettle over, while Colonel Harper cut some forked poles and drove them in the ground, and then felled a large chestnut tree, from which he stripped the bark, and helped the women to stretch it across the poles, so as tc form a shelter, which they had just time to gather under when the storm burst upon them. It was not, however, of long continuance; and, when the rest of the men arrived, they enlarged and inclosed the lodge, in which the whole company, consisting of twenty-five persons, great and small, were obliged to take up their quarters. Their tea-table was then constructed in the same primitive manner, and we may suppose that the first meal was partaken of with excellent appetite, after the wanderings and labors of the day. The lodge thus prepared was the common dwell- ing for three weeks, during which time some of the trees had been cut down, and a space cleared for a garden. The Fourth of July was celebrated in the new Harpersfield by the planting of beans, corn, and potatoes. The next thing was to build log- eabins for the accommodation of the different fami- lies; and when this was done, the company sepa- rated. The location chosen by Colonel Harper was where he first pitched his tent, while his brother-in- law took a piece of land about half a mile east of Unionville, near the spot now occupied by the Epis- copal Church, and Mr. Gregory put up his dwelling close to the river, where Clyde Furnace was after- wards built. The settlers suffered from the sickness peculiar te & new country, when the season came. A hired man in Harper’s service was taken ill in August, and soon after the colonel himself was seized with the fever, of which he died on the 10th of Septem- ber. They had been able to procure no medical aid, and a coffin was made by digging out the trunk of a

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PIONEER LIFE IN O8IO. 47 tree, and hewing a slab for the lid. This melan- choly ovent was a peculiar and distressing affliction to the little band of pioneers, and its effects on them would have been paralyzing, but that the firmness and energy exhibited by the widow, who now found her exertions necessary to sustain the rest, restored the confidence and hope which had nearly been ex- tinguished by the loss of their leader. Although the principal sufferer by the dispensation, she would not for a moment listen favorably to the proposition made to abandon the enterprise. When an invita- tion came from friends in Pennsylvania, for herself and daughters to spend the winter, both she and her eldest daughter, Elizabeth, declined; knowing how necessary was their presence to keep up the spirits of the little community, and that their departure would discourage many who had intended coming to join them in their forest home. The magnanimity of this resolution can only be appreciated in view of the hardships which they knew it would be their lot to share. In the fall, another small vessel was built for use on the American side of the lake, and two of our pioneers were sent to Canada to procure provisions for the winter. They dispatched four barrels of flour by this vessel, and waited some weeks for the other, the captain of which had agreed to bring pro- visions up the lake for them. Disappointed in this expectation, and hearing nothing of the vessel, they were compelled to return, when the season was far advanced, without supplies; finding, on their way home, the remains of the vessel, which had been wrecked near Erie. They found, also, that the ves- sel which had on board the flour they had pur- chased, had been driven into the basin, and was too fast locked in ice to proceed. They were obliged therefore to remain till the ice became so strong that the flour could be removed in sleds. They at length arrived at home just in time to bring relief from absolute want to the settlers, who had lived six weeks without any kind of breadstuffs, substituting salt beef and turnips, the supply of which was just exhausted. Some grain had beef raised at Elk Creek, in Pennsylvania, but there were no mills in that neighborhood, and the wheat procured there afterwards was brought in hand-sleds on the ice to Harpersfield, and ground in a hand-mill somewhat larger than a coffee-mill, which the pioneers had brought with them. By keeping this constanily ia operation, enough flour was obtained for daily use, mingled, of course, with the bran, from which they had no means of separating it, but having a relish and sweetness which such necessity only could im- part to the coarsest food. There were no deer in the country at that time; but large droves of elk, the flesh of which resembled coarse beef, were frequent- ly seen. The flesh of the bears was much more oily, and really very palatable; raccoons also were abundant, and easily obtained, and were much used by the settlers; although, in after years of plenty, they lost all relish for “coon meat.” Hickory nuts were also abundait that year, and were found a valuable article of food when other provisions failed. It is worthy of notice that, in the severest straits to which the settlers were reduced, the utmost harmony and friendly feeling prevailed among them; and, whatever game or provisions chanced to be obtained by any one family, was freely shared with the other two. Towards spring, the men were again sent for a supply of wheat; but, by that time, the ice was growing tender, and the weather tended towards thawing, so that they were detained on the way much longer than they had expected; and on their arrival at home, found the families reduced to the last extremity, having been without provisions for two days. In this time of distress, the fortitude and energy of Mrs. Harper aided to sustain the rest; she was fruitful in expedients, and for the last days they had lived on the wild leeks she had gathered from the woods and boiled forthem. Their troubles did not terminate with the severity of the winter. As soon as the lake opened, the men set out for Ca- nada in boats to procure provisions; but found so much ice as they went down, that they were unable to reach Buffalo without much detention. In the mean time, new difficulties arose in the little settle- ment. The mill, on which all depended, was broken beyond hope of repair, and there appeared no way of grinding the wheat, which they could not pound so that bread could be made of it, and which, when prepared by boiling, proved unwholesome food. In this extremity, some relief was afforded by the ar- rival, at the mouth of Cunningham’s Creek, of Eli- phalet Austin, who came to make preparations for a settlement at Austinburgh, and gave the pioneers what they needed for immediate use from his sup- plies of provisions, thus preventing them from suf- fering till the return of their messengers. About this time an accident, not uncommon in this forest life, occurred to Mrs. Harper. She went out one morning to find the cows, which had strayed away; but, not having yet learned to tell the north side of a tree by the difference in the bark—a species of woodcraft with which she afterwards became familiar—she lost herself, and wandered all day along the banks of a stream that ran through the depth of the forest. Her family, of course, became alarmed at her lengthened absence, and blew the horn repeatedly ; but it was not until the shades of night had fallen that she heard the signal, when she managed to light upon the township line, and fol- lowed it to the clearing. In the summer following, her sons were obliged to watch closely the hogs they had brought from Canada, on account of the bears, which were very numerous and destructive to stock. The men being occupied in clearing and working the land, or pro- curing provisions, various outdoor employments were cheerfully assumed by the women. One evening,

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48 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK.

RA Mrs. Harper, with her eldest daughter, went to look up the hogs, taking the path that led to the nearest neighbor’s house. Presently, they were startled by seeing a small bear’s cub cross the path just in ad- vance of them ; it was followed by another, and the old bear composedly brought up the rear, taking no notice of the females, who made their way home with all speed, unmindful of the pigs, which came to their quarters directly, unharmed. So frequent were encounters with wild beasts, that the men never w2at beyond the clearing without firearms. In July, 1799, Major Joseph Harper, the colonel’s brother, joined the colony with his family, while a relative of the same name, with some other families, commenced a settlement at Conneaut, some thirty vuiles down the lake. This year wheat, corn, ete., were raised sufficient for consumption; but there was a scarcity of meat, the severity of the preceding winter having killed several of their cattle, and many of the hogs being devoured by the bears. They were under the necessity, therefore, of depend- ing on wild game, and the ease with which they secured it in traps, or by the unerring aim of their rifles, with their iron strength for the endurance of fatigue when ranging the forest, might well entitle them to be called “mighty hunters.” But they were heavily laden with daily cares and laborious duties, which even the pleasures of the chase could not induce them to neglect: the clearing of the land and the culture of grain and vegetables demanded inces- sant attention, and the grinding of the grain was a matter requiring the exercise of some ingenuity. Corn they soon contrived to pound in mortars scooped in the top of oak stumps, with pounders attached to spring poles; but they were obliged to send their wheat in boats down the lake as far as Walnut Creek, in Pennsylvania, where a mill was erected this year. The families of the new emigrants suffered consider- ably in the latter part of the summer from sickness, and Mrs. Harper went down to the settlement at Conneaut to offer assistance in attending to them. She remained some weeks occupied in her ministra- tions of kindness, and was not ready to return home till the last of November. Travelling in open boats and on horseback were the only modes practicable among the pioneers. The season was too far ad- vanced for the first, and, accompanied by her rela- tive, James Harper, our benevolent heroine set out on her homeward journey, the only road being along the lake shore. Fording the streams at their mouth, they had rode some fifteen miles when they came to the mouth of Ashtabula Creek, across which a saud- bar had formed during the summer, but had now given way to the increased force of the waters, which flowed into the lake. Harper was not aware of the depth of the stream, into which he rode without hesi- tation, and presently found his horse swimming. He called out to warn his companion; but she was too anxious to reach home to heed his remonstrance, and followed him fearlessly. Both reached the other

5 ) side with some difficulty, Mrs. Harper wet to the shoulders, and in this condition she rode the remain- der of the way, arriving at home before midnight. During the fall, there were some accessions to the colony; Judge Wheeler, who had married a daugh- ter of Colonel Harper, came in October, with his family, and Harper’s eldest son, who had been out the year before and returned. For a year and a half after the settlement was commenced, they were not visited by Indians, though they frequently heard their dogs, and learned afterwards that they had not escaped the observation of their savage neighbors, who had counted them, and had noticed <ll their oc- cupations and new arrivals. The winter of 1799 was remarkable for the depth of snow upon the ground. In consequence of this, game could not be procured, and the Indians suffered severely. Some thirty of them, unable to procure anything to satisfy the cravings of hunger, came to the settlement to ask relief, and were treated with the most generous hos- pitality. They remained six weeks, sheltered and fed by the pioneers; and when the snow melted, they found plenty of game in the forest, which they showed their gratitude by sharing with their white friends. In March, 1800, Daniel Bartholomew brought out his family, accompanied by that of Judge Griswold, whose destination was Windsor. They came on the ice from Buffalo, arriving only the day before the breaking up of the ice left the lake clear as far as the eye could reach. In the winter preceding, the whole Western Reserve had been erected inte a county, which was called Trum- bull, the part of it comprising Ashtabula being then included in one township, and called Richfield. In May, there were still further accessions, in cdnse- quence of which a scarcity was experienced of pro- visions raised the previous year, and designed for the use of a much smaller number. The settlers were again compelled to send to Canada in an open boat, in June, for fresh supplies. In August, an election was held for the purpose of sending a dele- gate to a convention appointed to be held at Chilli- cothe in the ensuing winter, for the purpose of taking measures preparatory to the admission of Ohio asa State into the Union. The winter of 1800-1801 passed without any remarkable occurrence, the country being healthy and provisions abundant. In the following June, other families were added to the number of inhabitants, and the summer was signal- ized by the erection of a horse-mill, the first built in the county, and the only one, till others were built in Austinburgh. The sufferings of the settlers from scarcity of food and other privations were now over, the advance of improvement developing the resources of the country, and the farmers were able to enlarge their cleared lands, and cultivate the soil to better advantage. Their friends from the East continued to join them, and Mrs. Harper had the satisfaction of seeing her elder children setiled around her. In 1802, a school was established in the settlement—

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WAYSIDE STRUGGLES. 49 supposed to be the first on the Reserve. The scho- lars came from a distance of two miles and a half; and as the reputation of the institution extended, they were sent from Windsor and Burton, twenty and thirty miles distant. The same year regular meetings were established by the “Lovers of Good Order,” and the year following saw numerous acces- sions. In about three years after the commencement of the settlement, the Indians began to visit them pe- riodically. They were chiefly Ojibways, and be- longed to Lake Superior in the summer, but came down every fall in their bark canoes, and, landing at the mouths of the streams, carried their canoes on their heads across the portage to Grand River, seven miles from the lake. Here they took up their quar- ters for the winter, returning west in the spring. They showed a friendly disposition towards the white men, and as the pioneers gave them assistance in sickness and destitution, they endeavored to show their gratitude by bringing them portions of such large game as they killed. Many a choice piece of bear’s or elk’s meat, carefully wrapped in a blanket, has Mrs. Harper received from her savage friends. One day she saw a party of drunken Indians coming towards her house when the men were absent; and she had just time to conceal a small keg of liquor under the floor before they came in, demanding whiskey. They were told they could not have any, but, insisting that they would, they commenced a search for it, and finding a barrel of vinegar, asked if that would “make drunk come,” as, if so, they ; | | | would take it. Finding it not the right sort of stuff, they insisted, before leaving the house, on treating the women from a calabash of muddy whiskey which they carried with them. During all the privations, trials, and sufferings which Mrs. Harper was compelled to undergo, she was never known to yield to despondency, but with untiring energy exerted herself to encourage all within the sphere of her influence, teaching them to bear up against misfortune, and make the best of the home where their lot was cast. Her own family knew not, until the hardships of pioneer life had been overcome, how much she had endured—how many sleepless nights and hours of anxiety she had passed in the days of darkness and disaster. She found her reward in the affection and usefulness of her children, several of whom filled important sta- tions in their adopted State. During the war of 1812, the country was exposed to all the dangers of a frontier, liable, on every reverse of the American arms, to be overrun by hostile Indians. In time of peril, Mrs. Harper’s advice was always eagerly sought, as one whose experience qualified her to decide on the best course in any emergency. Her granddaughter well remembers seeing her engaged one day at the house of her son-in-law in showing a company of volunteers how to make cartridges. Her life was prolonged to her eighty-fifth year, and she died on the 11th of June, 1833, retaining unimpaired, until her last illness, the characteristic strength of her remarkable mind. WAYSIDE STRUGGLES. BY KATE CAMPBELL. CHAPTER I. “We might have been !—these are butommon words, And yet they make the sum of life’s bewailing ; They are the echo of those finer chords, Whose music life deplores when unavailing— We might have been!” Ovr first chapter opens on an afternoon in early September, and upon a group in one of our western cities. The windows of a large and cheerful apart- ment looked upon the deep and rapid Muskingum ; and, at the open casement of one, a girl of about twenty was seated, on whom the attontion of the party within seemed riveted; from the mother, who sat in her comfortable rocking-chair, and occasion- ally looked up from her sewing, to the fair girl of sixteen, who flitted restlessly about, pausing oft- times beside her sister, to throw her arms about her neck with ardent affection. “Frank, you must not go!—you shall not go !” VOL. XLV.—5 she exclaimed, at last, impetuously. “What shall we do without you?” “Well enough, Carry, I dare say,” replied the girl, withdrawing her eyes from the prospect witb- out, and returning her sister’s caress. “ Well enough, now that you are home from school, and mother will not be lonely ;” and her gaze sought that of her parent with fond solicitude. “ Well, I do not see how !” answered Carry, impa- tiently ; “and you are just as calm as theugh going for six weeks, instead of six months. No one knows what may happen in that time: only this I hope and pray of all things, that you don’t get married !” Unconsciously, Frank glanced at the figure of a handsome young man, who was seated opposite her, with his arms resting upon the table before him, and his hands supporting his head; while, with his keen, forward, pressing eyes, he followed every movement. His lip curled now, and Frank blushed slightly, while she laughingly replied—

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50 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. “ How selfish, Carry! Before I come back, I shall be twenty-one. Itis high time to look out for a husband.” “TI do not think so,” cried Carry; “ at least, not there.” “ But I, now, have an especial fancy for an eastern beau,” Frank answered: “they are so much more intelligent and cultivated than our cavaliers, and”— “ Polished fools!” muttered Philip Arden, rising suddenly as he spoke, and overturning the small table with a crash. “Oh, Philip! you have broken sister’s beautiful vase, and all her beautiful flowers, too !” “ Confound them !” was his only answer, striding off towards the window, where Frank no lenger sat, but stood pale and breathless. “ Frank, come and walk with me; I want to talk to you! Nay, you must come!” he continued, as the girl proudly withdrew the hand he had taken, and turned away. “ Must!” murmured Frank Cushman, slowly, through her closed lips, and fixing her glittering eye full upon him, Mrs. Cushman rose and left the room with a troubled air; and, at a sign, the light-hearted Carry followed. Frank looked around, to find herself alone with a man with whom, the day before, she had parted in passionate anger ; vowing, as she tore a sparkling gem from her finger, and dashed it into the rapid river, that the memory of Philip Arden should perish in her heart as that diamond in the flowing Muskingum! Now the color rose to her brow, as she questioned the reason of his unwished presence. “Yesterday, I told you we were parted forever, and to-day you are here again, with your ungovern- able temper, to destroy the small remnant of happi- ness left !” Philip Arden’s eyes flashed. “ Frank, you never loved me!” “ Perhaps not,” she said, with withering coolness, though her lip trembled the while. “ Oh, madness! madness!” cried the young man, traversing the room with passionate gestures. “So to love! so to lose !” “Yes, Philip; our love has been all madness, all fire, and consumed itself by its own intensity. It were better, far better, to part thus, and now, than to have wedded, and waked to find ourselves victim- ized forever. So much alike—how could we ever love so madly ?” “ Frank! Frank! do not talk thas; you will drive me frantic! I am so now, I believe!” And he dashed his hands wildly against his high and burning brow. Frank sank upon her chair and hid her face ; she dared not look upon such passion. Once again her hand was taken, and Philip Arden knelt before her. “Oh, Frank!” and the scalding agony dropped from his brow upon her hands, “ muut it he so—as you have said? Can you not try me once again? | | | If years of probation are needful, still give me hope at last !” Now she spoke hurriedly, and with more softness— “ Philip, I have vowed, before high Heaven, that wed I will not, as we now are! Love is not immor- tal; it cannot stand such shocks as you have given mine daily by your constant, causeless, watchful jealousy. I lose my respect and trust when you thus degrade yourself; and I would not dare to marry without respect. Now I will tell you, while I am calm, my resolution. I will go to Philadel- phia, as I have promised; and, when there, I will mingle constantly in society, and not seclude my- self: that shall be the trial of my love for you. If I love not there—if, at morn and eve, at noonday and midnight, my thoughts turn homeward to you, then I shall be faithful—I shall know, indeed, my love is lasting. But, remember, I would not bind you with a hope, a chance; you also may change; but we shall know, when first our eyes meet on my return, whether the breath of the world hath been upon our hearts. If it be of one only, the other must be content to suffer; if of both, what matters it? But, if both are still the same, then” She stooped down, and, imprinting a fervent kiss upon Philip Arden’s forehead, passed quickly from the room; while still he knelt, and gazed upon her vacant chair, as though she still were present. CHAPTER II. “ Thine is a face to look upon, and pray That a pure spirit keep thee !”—Wiuus, “Gres! girls!” cried Fanny Ashton, rushing into the parlor of a large and handsome house in the western part of our own good city, where half a dozen maidens sat engaged in earnest conversation, “T have seen her! I have seen the beautiful Frank Cushman! Lend me your ears, and I will give you such a description !” “ Quick, then, quick!” cried many light voices, impatiently, and eager glances were bent on the new-comers. One was a showy, dashing girl, with few pretensions to beauty ; but the other, her sister, was exceedingly handsome, though, at present, a tinge of melancholy obscured the radiance of her beauty. “Well, then,” cried the former, throwing down her bonnet and fanning herself violently, “this same Miss Cushman, about whose beauty and attractive- ness such a commotion has been made for the last month, turns out to be just nothing at all! No style, no beauty, no pretensions of any sort, that I can discover; and I don’t think I’m quite blind.” “ Not beautiful ?” exclaimed the blooming con- clave, with universal surprise. “J think she is,” half murmured her sister; but so faintly that no one heard her.

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WAYSIDE STRUGGLES. 51 “No; that’s a positive fact! Sarah and I were just going by Clara Hastings’s, and she beckoned for us to come in; and who should be in the parlor but her sister! She arrived last night. Clara in- troduced us immediately ; but Miss Cushman was so reserved and quiet, that Clara and I had the con- versation to ourselves, after all.” “Well, that is very singular!” observed Amy Bryan. “Clara was forever talking about her sis- ter. What did you think, Sarah ?” “Oh, don’t ask Sarah! She is desperately taken with the lady, and thinks I have grown blind. She will rave, if you only give her a chance.” “Oh, that is delightful !—the very thing !” cried Amy. “I thought there must be two sides. Sarah, now for your description.” The girls laughed. Sarah laughed, yet spoke enthusiastically. “JT do not wonder Clara praises her. I think she will queen it most decidedly. There is a sort of spell about her; you cannot be with her five mi- nutes without feeling it, whether you acknowledge it or not.” “ But tell us what she is like, can you not?” cried Amy Bryan, impatiently. “Yes; only wait one moment,” Sarah answered, with perfect good-humor. “ At first, do you know, though her appearance was striking, I said, ‘ Why, she is not pretty!’ but, the next moment, I had changed my opinion. She is not very tall, though you would think so at first, her figure is so slender ; and her face is not round nor oval, nor any partic ular shape that I can describe, and her mouth is decidedly large; but, at either corner, lurk two of the most bewitching dimples! She cannot smile or speak without disclosing them, and they give such an innocent, loving expression to the lower part of her face, in itself so far from beautiful; but the upper part, that is perfectly exquisite! Her fore- head is purely Grecian, with a profusion of dark hair parted plainly over it, and woven in a loose plait behind; and her eyes! I thought, at first, they were black, but they are gray, with those large dilating pupils and long, black lashes, fairly sweep- ing her cheek.” “ And her complexion ?” asked Amy. “Tt is very white; but not a particle of color: but you never think of that.” “Oh, I’m sure I should!” replied Amy, herself displaying, at the moment, two round and rosy cheeks, which were justly the envy of many a pale- faced maiden. “ But go on, go on!” “T have finished,” said Sarah, laughing. “ But I do not think, after all, that Frank Cushman will trouble us much; I do not think she will become one of us: she conveys the idea of a superior being. Even Clara, accomplished as she is, and so much older, too, seems to look up to her in some things. Oh, girls, I warn you; we must look to our laurels !” Come, PJ : | CHAPTER IIlI. “ And can young Beauty’s tender heart Nurse thoughts of scorn?” Mrs. Hastings sat at her writing-desk, directing a pile of invitations on the table beside her. She laid down her pen to speak to her sister, who sat quietly on the sofa, with her head thrown back and eyes half closed. “ Frank, dear, don’t you think I had better put off this party, after all, till you are better? I don’t think you are at all well.” “Oh yes, I am, Clara, perfectly so; only some- what fatigued with my journey—jolting over the mountains.” “You do not look well, at all events, and I had just as leave put it off; only say the word.” “That I will not. I dare say society will revive me, and be the best possible thing, after all.” But a weary sigh followed the assertion. “Very well, then, if you think so.” And Mrs. Hastings resumed her employment. “ Frank,” she said again, after a while, “how did you like Sarah and Fanny Ashton ?” “Those were the girls who called here yester- day ?” said Frank, languidly. “Yes; the same.” “T like the beautiful one—Sarah: is that her name ?—but not the other. I should dread her rattling tongue.” “Oh, as to that, Fanny is nice enough, and her tongue most amusing, when one has a fit of the glooms, or feels indisposed to converse themselves. But Sarah has half obtained my ill-will; for I fear she will disarrange my pet plan with regard to you.” “ How ?” asked Frank, with more interest, un- closing her fine eyes. “Why, you see, the state of the case is this: Sarah Ashton, with her beauty and various accom- plishments, has more than half succeeded in capti- vating the lion of our set{/ whom, in my heart, I had laid out for you to exercise your powers upon. Is it not provoking? He is just the man for you: no one else can appreciate you, or enter into your high-flown feelings, or in short, Iam thoroughly provoked that he should make such a goose of him- self! Why could he not wait?” “ What is his name ?” said Frank, with a smile. “ Quite a romantic one—Percy Bryan; and he writes verses, and sings enchantingly, and plays, and is most eloquent! And, to descend to vulgar particulars, is very handsome, and rich, and all ‘hat sort of thing, you know.” “Oh yes; I know,” said Frank, with an amused expression of countenance. “He writes sonnets, does he, and ‘strums the light guitar,’ and perhaps dresses @ la Byron, and has floating locks, and

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62 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. a white hands? Ah, poor me! how sorry I feel! Is there no chance for me yet, think you?” “ Never mind, Miss Frank,” said Clara, biting her lip with vexation; “I "ll be revenged for this: just wait! I only hope you will fall desperately in love with him !” “T hope I may,” said Frank, laughing. so long for some excitement !” The bell rang ere Clara could frame an answer, and a servant entered with a card. “ Percy Bryan, as I live, Frank !” “ The old saw verified,” remarked the girl, quietly. “ For shame, Frank! Did he ask for me or ‘ tho ladies,’ Thomas ?” “The ladies, ma’am. He mentioned Miss Cush- man” “There now, Frank! you must go and dress; only be quick, there ’s a darling.” “T shall do no such thing,” was the composed reply. “I might dress for a lady ; but for a gentle- man—oh no, thank you!” “Why, Frank, that is too bad!” cried Clara, angrily. “ Perey Bryan is the very model of ele- gance, and fastidious toadegree. Only just imagine yourself going down in that horrid wrapper, and your hair in that plight!” “ My dear Clara, the wrapper was not considered horrid at breakfast, I believe. On the contrary, if I recollect rightly, Mr. Hastings particularly ad- mired it; and, as for my hair, really I thought I had arranged it quite nicely.” And Frank walked towards the tall mirror and smoothed, with her small fingers, the raven mass parted so plainly on her fair white brow. Fanny Ashton had been wrong in her assertion that Frank Cushman possessed no style; she had a very decided one; and, when she had finished speaking, she took from the arm of the sofa a crim- son cashmere, and, folding it about her graceful figure, calmly followed Clara into the drawing-room, tw be introduced to the irresistible Perey Bryan. She saw, at a glance, that she had formed a wrong idea ; but, with somewhat of perverseness, perhaps, seated herself at a distance, and answered in quiet monosyllables, a lurking smile just betraying her dimples, now and then, as she could not but see how worried, how angry poor Clara grew. Percy Bryan might, indeed, have typified ex- tremest elegance; for every movement of his fine form was replete with unstudied grace, and every word he uttered told flatteringly upon the ear; every feature of his handsome face beamed with subdued vivacity when he spoke, with the utmost deference when others were speaking. Unlik* some men, who convey by every word and motion how far beyond the rest of the world they deem they have gone in the art of good-breeding, and whose constant aim is to produce on all around an over- powering impression, Percy Bryan no sooner entered an assemblage than the atmosphere of perfect ease, “T do which he carried about him, seemed to diffuse itself through the room, to the comfort and self-satisfac- tion of everybody. Then he was, as Clara had said, gifted and talented, and fascinating ; and, when we have enumerated all these various and excellent qualities, we were a most ungrateful member of society to pronounce him hollow-hearted. But what was all this to Frank Cushman? What mattered it that his speaking eyes constantly sought hers, so resolutely veiled beneath their sweeping fringes that, on her merest remark, his fine head bent towards her with marked deference and pro- found respect? Perfectly independent as regarded her own actions, it suited her now to be silent; and silent she was through the whole of that rather long morning call. Percy Bryan had been so accustomed to be courted, to see bright eyes grow brighter, and sweet smiles sweeter, on his approach, that, perhaps for the first time since boyhood, he experienced the sensation of amazement, in thinking over the hour just passed, while pursuing his way to call on the Ashtons. “Singular, very, this Miss Cushman! Remark- ably collected and cool”—as a cucumber, he would probably have added, had Percy Bryan ever im- agined such an inelegant comparison. “ Not beau- tiful, certainly ; and yet she is, when she lifts those splendid eyes, or speaks. I must see more of her,” was his concluding reflection, as he rung the bell at Ashton’s residence. Sarah Ashton was alone in the drawing-room. It had become quite an understood thing for the family group to scatter, when Percy Bryan entered the front door. She was sitting at the piano, and trying to look cool, and seem absorbed in the song before her; still, before she raised her head to greet the visitor, who had not spoken yet, the warm color stole up to her temples, and down to her snowy throat, just disclosed by the gossamer fold of lace about the neck of her simple, yet exquisitely becoming morn- ing-dress. Sarah’s beauty was of that superior kind which asserts its claims instantly. No one could presume to dispute that her complexion was not faultless, that her large and liquid eyes were not matchless, that her features were not all formed with the most chiselled exactness, and her figure with perfect symmetry. Still, her style was not peculiar; and, though few equalled her in the purity of their charms, many might be found, the character of whose beauty, more or less, resembled hers. She was intelligent and amiable, with a large dash of romance in her composition, and somewhat singu- lar, withal, from the warmth and simplicity of her nature ; she had felt the world’s breath, but had not received it, and this had formed her attraction in Perey Bryan’s eyes. For the last few days, he had almost been tempted to launch his bark on the un- tried sea of matrimony; but the preceding half

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WAYSIDE RAAAAAARAAAAAAA AA RAR AAAI ne hour had startled him somewhat; he shrank back from the dreaming house, passed but so lately. He said to himself, “Do not be in too great a hurry: wait awhile.” CHAPTER IV. “Oh, much I fear thy guileless heart, its earnestness of feeling, Its passions and its sympathies to every eye revealing; I tremble for that winning smile and trusting glance of thine, And pray that none but faithful ones may bow before thy shrine.”—J. G. WHITTIER. “ Joy for the present moment! joy to-day! Why look we to the morrow ?”—SarGent. Fanny Asnaron, with her own toilet completed for Mrs. Hastings’s party, stood by her sister’s dressing- table assisting, advising, and chattering. “ Percy Bryan not going with you, Sarah! That’s odd, very !” “T do not think so,” said Sarah, laughing faintly, as she fastened a rose-bud in her beautiful hair. “ Why should it be more singular than that Cousin Harry, or Tom Stephens, or—or any of the gentle- men we know, are not going with me ?” “ Why, indeed? I’m sure I cannot tell, if you do not know. Of course, you understand your own affairs best. Only” “ Only what?” “ Oh, nothing ; only that lovers are generally more attentive than the one in this instance.” “A lover, Fanny! How perfectly absurd! No one but you would make such a speech!” said Sarah, reddening angrily. “Well, my dear sister, we won’t quarrel about terms; only, if he is not, in my humble opinion, he ought to be! I hope you have more spirit than to allow any man to trifle with you.” Sarah was silent. She would not for the world, and more especially at this time. have betrayed her feelings ; so she choked down the rising emotion resolutely, and affected to be oblivious to her sis- ter’s insinuations. Fanny Ashton had no idea how keenly her words struck home. She was indignant at Bryan, disgust- ed at what she supposed a proof of his fickleness : her anger exhausted, she became calm again, and offered her sister the loan of Tom Fenton’s spare arm—Tom Fenton was her acknowledged lover— and Sarah laughingly accepted it. Still, when Fanny found herself in the dressing- room at Mrs. Hastings’s, her vexation returned. “Ts it not too bad, mamma, that Sarah should have no attendance? She, who has always made her entrée with such éclat, to be deprived of a beau to-night, because of that hated Percy Bryan’s ca- prices! If he had not been so constantly in wait- 5* STRUGGLES. 53 ing lately, it would make no difference; but now there will be a world of remarks, particularly as I happen to know he is here to-night, and alone !” “ How do you know that ?” “Oh, never mind, mamma; trust to woman’s wit to find out all she seeks to know.” “Well, dear, it cannot be helped; and really I do not see that it matters. I can make an excellent - chaperone; and, once in the room, she will be sur- rounded: that must always be, with her beauty.” “Oh, pshaw !—I beg pardon,mamma. But, if we were not in a crowded dressing-room, I would de- liver a long dissertation on the evils to which Bryan has subjected poor Sarah by his trifling. No one likes to play second fiddle—no one likes to be very attentive to a girl who has been jilted.” “Fanny, I am ashamed to hear you talk thus! Who has been jilted? Not Sarah Ashton, I am sure!” replied Mrs. Ashton, all a mother’s pride in arms. “What on earth are you talking about?” said Sarah, coming over to the dark corner where they stood. “You cannot see to do anything here, I am sure ; and, Fanny, Tom will be tired waiting.” “Let him wait, then—till I am ready,” Fanny replied, applying herself slowly to the arrangement of her toilet. It was not a conspicuous position, by any means, that Frank Cushman had chosen; nevertheless, be- fore the sisters had greeted their hostess, both had remarked her slight, graceful figure seated on an ottoman, and, standing beside her, the tall form of Percy Bryan. “There!” Fanny exclaimed, involuntarily, and her penetrating eyes encountered her sister's. Her exclamation, her look, touched the prideful heart. Sarah drew up her stately figure, the beautiful head erected itself haughtily, and the short, red upper lip assumed its regal air. “Bravo!” Fanny whispered; and Sarah could have smiled, bad not her heart weighed down so heavily, when she caught a glimpse of herself in a splendid mirror. Five minutes after, her merry laugh floated on the fragrant air. She started, it sounded strangely, not part and parcel of herself; and so it was with every word she uttered, every laugh that broke from her lips that evening. Many were round her, and soft and earnest the tones ministering to her vanity ; but their idle compliments wearied her, and con- stant were the efforts she made to reply to them, to carry on the farce commenced. Once she disen- gaged herself for a moment, and stood quiet and alone. Her sister’s voice aroused her. “Well, I give up, Sarah; she is pretty; there ’s no denying it—fascinating! But I do not like her, for all—prejudice, perhaps—but I think her vain: only watch her !” “Who ?” “Who? What a question! Frank Cushman!

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GODEY’S MAGAZINE 54 AND LADY’s BOOK. ~~ And you are looking straight at her, and ask me who.” “TI beg pardon, sister; but I did not hear what you wero saying. Some one’s dress” —— “Oh, pshaw! Why you are crazy to-night, Sarah !” The fair girl colored vividly. “ What did I say? Iwas absent. Have I made myself ridiculous ?” “No; as it was only to me you were speaking. But prenez garde, I implore you!” she whispered, as Percy Bryan moved towards them. Little Amy Bryan stood under the chandelier, with rosy cheeks, and chattered volubly to a knot of admirers. “Oh, I think she is superb! How can you say she is not? Sarah Ashton said she was beautiful : but I didn’t believe it, because she declared she had no color, and none of us could fancy beauty wiwout that. But it’s just as she said; you never think of it. How desperately smitten Percy seems! How nice it would be to have her for a sister ¥’ “So, Miss Amy, you do not contemplate the pos- sibility of your brother ever being an unsuccessful suitor ?” “Oh dear, no!” replied the little lady. “ Why, if Percy were to make love to an angel, she would have to return it! Why, though I am his sister, I am sure I shall never like another man like him.” Then, of course, followed various gallant lamenta- tions over such heart-rending intelligence, in the midst of which some one observed— “ And Sarah Ashton—what has happened there? I thought Percy was all devotion.” “ What nonsense !” cried Amy, reddening. “That was only a flirtation.” “TI wonder,” said the same gentleman, smiling, and glancing at Frank Cushman, now thoroughly animated, and talking to Percy Bryan with great spirit—“I wonder if that is only a flirtation? and, if so, which will win the game, Miss Cushman or your brother ?” “No one can excel Percy, when he chooses to exert himself,” was Amy’s reply. “Ah, that is the thing; any one can do that which one exerts one’s self to do. But Miss Cushman seems to have the power to win her will without any extra trouble. What she is, she is, because she cannot help it; and she does not look as if any mo- tive could be sufficiently strong to tempt her from her originality. I like her exceedingly!” And the gentleman sauntered off towards the object of his remarks. Fanny Ashton had been fearful that her sister would disclose her wounded feelings in a conversa- tion with Percy Bryan. She was therefore sur- prised at her perfect composure when he addressed her; nothing in her tones, looks, or words which could convey to the spectator that they were on other than the most indifferently friendly terms. Then, with the impetuosity of her nature, she went to the other extreme; she was thoroughly vexed that Sarah had not been more dignified and re- served—had not shown plainly her full appreciation of his conduct. She was wrong, and Sarah right. The impulse of a noble woman guided Sarah cor- rectly ; her feelings, regulated and subdued by true pride, were too delicate to obtrude themselves: she was almost the same as she had been in the early stages of their intimacy. The one sad thing in this was not perceptible, but, nevertheless, existing. She had not only taken a step forward in life, but, in so doing, some of youth’s fresh bloom was lost from her spirit: inevitable consequence, and a w'se one, perhaps; but sad, for all. She was glad, after he had gone from her, that she had met him: she suffered, but she was calm ; her delirious, flighty gayety exhausted her: now she moved about attended by her full faculties; before all was confusion. Yes; she was glad she had conversed with him. Frank Cushman talked peculiarly. There was nothing conventional in her form of conversation ; it differed from the current coin, in that its tone was higher and superiox; still, no one could have accused her of pedantry ; indeed, there was much more of sentiment than of intellect about her. She was not affected either; both her language and man- ner were perfectly simple; one only felt a pervad- ing sense of the beautiful diffused, as it were, through the air around her, through her being. Besides, Frank was both independent and de- pendent in her nature: not such an anomaly as it may seem. Independent in her thoughts, her views, her line of action, so long as her spirit stood alone, from a consciousness that there was nothing on which to lean; but ready, the moment such a stay offered, to yield all and repose. The yearning of her life was for repose: should she never find it? Perfect trust must be so delightful; yet she had never felt it. Though, as a girl, she had devotedly loved Philip Arden, she had never for a moment felt that she could give up the direction of her life to him. What! a man who could not govern himself a fit support for her? Absurd! And yetshe loved him, and not as a brother, she felt assured ; the stream of tenderness ran too deeply. “ But I do not re- spect him sufficiently,” she said. “I know him too thoroughly. If he could only conceal from me his faults of disposition !—but no; all is open to me as the day.” Yet she could not but acknowledge that, if ever he learned to govern himself, then Philip Arden for her against the world! One thing was certain though—she would not marry him unless he did. Percy Bryan she liked ; but she could never love him. He might be more elegant than Philip, more intellectual, perhaps—he was also less strong. He might lead many through life with happiness, and

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WAYSIDE STRUGGLES 55 command their respect, too; but not her, with her strong mind, and strong feelings, and deep capabili- ties. What was love without respect—almost vene- ration? She could not conceive of it. When the last guest had departed, and Clara would fain have detained her in the comfortable lounging-chair by the fireside, to talk over the events of the evening, she hastily bid her good- night, and ran up to her room. She threw on her dressing-gown and seated herself before her toilet in a large arm-chair; taking the comb from her hair, and suffering her magnificent tresses to fall over her neck and shoulders, she leaned back in abandonment. She felt so weary; as if life was such a farce, and its actors so pitiable! She often felt thus, but was not wont to give way to her emo- tions. She knew that such thoughts were opposed to religion; that religion which her excellent mo- ther had striven so long to instil into her heart. She blessed God for a pious mother, without which she thought she had been in danger of straying into those easy paths which an imaginative, speculative mind lays out so constantly and involuntarily. She felt sometimes that she was like a perverse child— every way but the right way. She had imposed on herself this trial, this going from home; now she shrank from it; she felt herself looking forward to the future. After all, Philip might not be changed! What was there to alter him? And, then, what was to be done? Frank forgot Divine agency, which directs and controls human agency; she was giving up to her usual unbelief and unresisting nature. But, after all, it is very hard for the natural human heart to see a way for the accomplishment of its hopes. We may not condemn her. She was sleepless that night; the struggle between impulse and principle wearied her, yet, at the same time, drove repose from her. Taking up a pencil, she strove to release herself from the troublesome bondage of thought by committing it to paper. “T do not see why I should feel it incumbent on me to destroy my happiness with mine own hand— to leave scarcely a chance for brighter days! And yet I cannot shake off my mother’s influence. She bade me ask my own heart if, in the face of Heaven, I could wed a man who feared not his Maker, and thus, by my actions, dare the misery sure to follow? And, when I did so, my heart answered, ‘I would dare anything ;’ but my conscience—that it was which restrained me. “ But oh, when I think, it seems so calculating to love environed by such restraints! My impulse bids me become Philip’s, and trust to fate; my princi- ples bid me reject him, and trust my happiness to Providence ! “Why are my nature and my education made to war so constantly? And yet I shame to ask the question : I should rather bless God that it is so! “Oh, how solemnly i declared my intention to forsake him! I know I could not do so now; but, just then, the passions of the heart were still, sub- dued by the effect of a mother’s prayer. Just then, all I desired was to do right, and leave the rest with Heaven. It hath passed—that momont; I fear I shall never feel so again.” CHAPTER V. “ Her face was hidden in her hands; but tears Trickled through her slight fingers—tears, those late Vain tributes to remorse.” “ My desolation does begin to make A better life !” Tue next few months were passed by Frank in a whirl of gayety. Her sister, Mrs. Hastings, was a fashionable woman, living handsomely, frequenting excellent society ; giving, herself, many extravagant parties, and called upon, in return, to bestow the light of her countenance on the assemblies of her friends— so called. Frank was somewhat bewildered ; she forgot her depression in constant excitement ; right and wrong were not so clearly defined as they were wont to be. She was new—she queened it, as Sarah Ashton had predicted: she ever did that for which she had always expressed the most supreme contempt—she flirted! and with Percy Bryan! With the young ladies she was therefore unpopu- lar; but the gentlemen, according to custom, adored her, or professed to adore. Her style of dress was pronounced whimsical and outlandish by the ladies ; by the gentlemen, unique and refreshing. “Would you believe it?” said Amy Bryan, one morning, quite confidentially, to a knot of girls who had gathered around her—“ would you believe it? I went with brother yesterday to call on Miss Cush- man—a formal morning call, mind you Well, we eaught her in the drawing-room! Caught, I say, because she looked as if attired for some tragic representation; her long hair curled, I suppose Percy would call it, but I should say waving upon her shoulders, and a shawl thrown around her. Then she was seated in a lounging-chair, with her eyes closed, and humming some sentimental song ; and the strangest thing of all was, that she didn’t express the slightest apology, or show any confu- sion, but got up, looking as pale and composed as though we had found her in the most elegant négligée. Well, what do you think Percy said, after all? That he admired her dress a thousandfold more than mine! Than mine /” Amy repeated, glancing down at her rich silk dress and elegant velvet cloak—at her costly sables, and most re- cherché and becoming little bonnet ! “T left Percy there,” she continued, after the various comments had been expended. “He grew

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56 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. 80 empressé, that I was frightened lest he should make a declaration while I was present !” Amy possessed all her brother’s fickleness ; she had early taken a jealous dislike to Frank Cushman ; and, while she was pouring forth what she had seen, and heard, and thought, Percy was making the offer of his hand to the unconscious object of her remarks. And how Frank started! She had trod the same ground before ; but never to feel the acute sting of conscience rising up to tell her how weak she had shown herself—how she had departed from her standard of right! “Is it possible that I have given enough encou- ragement for this?” she said; and then she could not but answer, yes. A vivid recollection of how her time had been spent for many weeks presented itself with unpleasing distinctness: the long morn- ings lounged away in Clara’s own quiet sitting- room, where the suntimental song blended with the breathings of the harp or guitar, beguiled the swift- footed hours. Or the books which he was constantly bringing to read to her, while she busied herself in some quiet feminine occupation, listening to his deep, rich voice and animated remarks. Then the noonday walk or drive, and the evening meeting again at some crowded party or showy concert, where many eyes were upon them, watching her undisguised preference to his society above all others. And now, after all this, she was to say “No ;” for instantly she felt it could be no other word; and tears of shame and contrition were aching in her eyes, which must not be shed. He heard her quietly, not calmly, and left her. Perhaps he felt he deserved her rejection ; perhaps he remembered—for, in his heart, he felt he had been trifled with—that on him, also, the charge might be laid. Dashing away the blinding tears, Frank rushed from the room: on the stairs, a servant handed her a letter; closing her door, she threw herself on her knees and tore it open. Well she knew the hand- writing ; but she read it slowly, for her eyes were dim, and she could not see the lines her tears were blotting so sadly. It ran thus:— “You forbade my writing to you, Frank—dear Frank !—but you must forgive me that I cannot obey. What was it that you said to me that took from me my life, and strength, and energy—which placed an obstacle between our union which I feared could not be overcome ? “ You could not marry me as I was; one who had so little control over self: I must be changed. “ * Hopeless!’ I said to myself. ‘Has it not been my constant, unavailing effort, since childhood, to keep my temper in subjection, and now, at five-and- twenty, what encouragement have I to proceed ?” ; ee - a te “For weeks after you had gone, Frank, I was mad, wild; and my temper, the very thing which had sent you away from me, was destroying me! “Frank, did you ever thank God that he had given you a pious mother? That, morning and evening, through all your life, one had knelt to plead for you, to call blessings on your path? Oh, if you have not, do so now! “ They did not tell you how the fever in my veins brought on delirium; how days passed in ceaseless agony; or how one knelt by my side and prayed for me. How, through all my madness, that kneeling figure haunted me; and, when I woke from that long, dreadful dream, still it was there, with its calm eyes and heavenly peace. It was your mo- ther! When I looked on her the fever stayed; when I listened to her words a holy yearning was born in me, and over the struggles of my soul, be- yond hours and days to come of combat and trial, lay the strength for which I had wished. It was still in the future; but what of that? I had re- ceived the deep, the sincere desire to possess it, and that, with the help of Heaven, must prove its surety. “ And oh, how different the motives with which I regarded the future struggle from those with which, in former days, I strove to subdue my passions! Be not offended, Frank, when I tell you higher, purer motives now animate me. My thoughts before were, ‘ Give me Frank, and I have Heaven!” Now I feel, ‘Give me Heaven, and I shall win my Frank !’ “‘T said to your mother, ‘Now I have found the way to conquer; but you must aid me still by your prayers, and Frank also. I will write, and ask her not to forget me in her morning and evening peti- tions to Heaven.’” Frank dropped the letter with a feeble, wailing ery. “While he has been struggling, what have I been doing? While he was lying in sickness, in pain, where was I? Oh, Philip! you have been faithful, but I’-——— “Frank, I am well now; I am mingling again with life, and find how hard it is to be in the world, yet not of it. But by my side an angel walks, and your memory makes me strong. In the evenings I go to your mother, and she is ever ready to aid me by her cordial converse. Sometimes I ask her if I am changed—if Frank can respect and trust me now? And then she smiles, and, pressing her hand upon my shoulder, says, with inexpressible affection, * My son!’ “Do those words convey to your mind all that they do to mine? ‘Such fulness of joy, such serene, unclouded hope ? “You see, I do not write as though I feared a change in you. When a doubt obtrudes, I think of your last fervent kiss; I feel it now. I measure you by myself: less devotion I could not believe you capable of.”

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WAYSIDE STRUGGLES. 57 PARP LLL LLLP “Oh, Philip! Philip! how you sting me!” cried Frank, wildly. “Oh, Father above, it is J who have been weak! What have J been doing? While I fancied that Philip was not strong, not perfect enough for me, I have been descending, descending, till I fear I cannot reach him f”’ It was a bitter hour for Frank Cushman, but beneficial: she learned that even the strongest fail when trusting in themselves. Now she must write to Philip; not much—she could not trust herself—but a few lines, just to show him how far she was beneath the Frank he pictured. “Dear Parip: I am glad you disobeyed me. I am glad you wrote. Your letter has saved me, I trust. I had sadly departed from your ideal; you would no longer have recognized me. Iwas dream- ing, and the bright flowers in my path were luring me on to a dreadful vortex! A few more steps, and I had been lost to you forever, unfit for your new- born self! You will wonder at this; well you may; but I cannot explain till we meet. A few weeks more, and I leave this bewildering maze for a purer atmosphere—for my home! I am stretching my arms to it now. I dong for it! Can that assurance comfort you?” “ Frank,” said Clara, coming into her room some hours afterwards, “I fancied, somehow, that Percy Bryan had offered himself this morning. Am I wrong? Your swollen eyes would seem to tell a different story.” “ Dear Clara, you have touched on a painful sub- ject. I shall never marry Percy Bryan.” “If you do not, it is then because you have already refused him. Frank, you cannot deceive me; and yet I thought you loved him: you have given him every encouragement.” Frank put her hands before her face and wept bitterly. “You never would have imagined, then, that I loved another while thus trifling? Oh, faithless! faithless !” “ Loved another, Frank “Yes; and one the noblest—the noblest! And I left him because I fancied his temper warm, and that it would be imprudent to marry him! Left him to come here and trifle and debase myself! to mingle in scenes of folly and dissipation, while he was striving to make himself my ideal—a guide and protector; and now he has risen, and I have fallen —oh, so low! Clara, dear sister, there is nothing so hard to bear as the condemnation of your own heart !” “Frank, don’t talk so! " What have you done? Nothing, I am sure, to distress you so severely. It is not wrong to join in innocent gayety; and, as for flirting, it is what every one does who is beautiful or disengaged.” What comfort for a remorseful heart! Frank could only shake her head and continue to weep. Clara continued— “ As for Perey Bryan; you need not trouble your- self about him! Men always recover from affairs of that sort; and, after a while, he will go back to Sarah Ashton, who is dying for love all this while ; and then there will be an end to his trouble.” Frank heard but one sentence: “ Sarah Ashton dying with love for him !” “Why, you know, I told you Percy was despe- rately enamored befor you came; and every one thought it would be a match.” “Oh, Clara! Clara! have I caused all this misery, too? You spoke so jestingly of his attentions to Sarah, that I did not dream of their truth; espe- cially as I never saw him with her.” “No; that is the thing. From the first moment he saw you, he was fascinated. So cheer up now! How could you know that you were whiling him from another?” “ He was not worthy of her; so false, so fickle !” eried Frank. “TI do not believe she will hold that opinion long,” was Clara’s reply. “Tf she is what I suppose her, she will scorn him !” Frank answered, with spirit; and there the conversation dropped. CHAPTER VI. “Good-by, proud world! I’m going home; Thou art not my friend; I am not thine: Too long through weary crowds I roam— A river ark on the ocean brine, Too long I am tossed like the driven foam : But now, proud world, I ’m going home!” “ How still Frank Cushman has become lately !” said Amy Bryan to Fanny Ashton. “Ever since Percy went to New York so suddenly! I declare, it is too bad for Percy to flirt so outrageously !” “And Miss Cushman will go back to Ohio with- out a husband, after all !” remarked another maiden, with somewhat of glee at the thought. “Well,” exclaimed Fanny, with her usual impet- uosity, “ I despise a flirt or a flirtation from my very heart! At first, I disliked Frank Cushman, I own it; I misjudged her; and, latterly, her spells, which Sarah was so eloquent about, have charmed away my dislike. It does not strike me, moreover, that she looks like a victim.” “No, indeed!” cried Sarah, enthusiastically. “Her appearance rather conveys to my mind that her thoughts are far away from the gay scenes around her; she looks chastened and subdued, but not sorrowful. I should say that her spirit was merely waiting for some future happiness—for some great joy, which yet she feels she does not deserve.” One and all laughed at the beautiful visionary.

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58 ——eeee “My dear, good sister,” said Fanny, good- naturedly, “I cannot pretend to follow you through your misty imaginings; I confine myself to com- mon sense, and it is hard enough to get along with that sometimes.” And Sarah smiled—perhaps a little contemptu- ously—and whispered tq herself, as many a young enthusiast has done before, hugging her ideal world still closer, “ They cannot understand me; we feel so differently !” “ Who in the world, Frank, would believe that it was the end of March already? The winter has passed so quickly! I wish you would stay the sum- mer out, and go to Newport with us; we shall have such a splendid time !” Frank lifted her expressive eyes reproachfully. “Can you press me to stay while Philip waits ?” And Clara laughingly allowed the omnipotence of the apology; only, as she observed— “Tt was so intolerably stupid, Frank, for you to love Philip Arden! I wish he had been at the bot- tom of the Dead Sea, and then you would have mar- ried Perey Bryan, and I should have had a sister near me. It is too bad to think that all my family are contented to live away from me! when I was a pet at home.” I remember “ Well, of all women, you are the most difficult to please ! than your husband’s love? What in the world could you want more And did you not leave all for him? Yet now you quarrel with your destiny !” “Oh no! no! I would not exchange it for worlds !” cried Clara, with a merry laugh. “ Harry Hastings for me !” “And Philip Arden for me!” Frank answered, zealously. “ What in the world are you quarrelling about ?” said Mr. Hastings, looking up from his newspaper with a comic grimace. “ Nothing ; only Clara is running down her hus- band,” said Frank, demurely. “Oh, Frank, you wretch! what a story!” cried Clara, with a horrified expression of countenance, kneeling by her husband's side, with her arms about his neck. “ Do you believe her?” And, though he laughingly expressed his entire faith in Frank’s statement, she did not cease her caresses; and he forgot, while pressing his lips to his young wife’s brow, the “ arrival of the steamship Britannia.” Mrs. Hastings gave a farewell party to her sister. Never, perhaps, parted a beautiful young maiden from a gay and brilliant circle with such perfect delight. Frank was like a stream of light; wher- ever she moved, the merry laugh rose on the air; wherever she stood, the crowd besieged her. For once, she had given up to Clara the direction of her dress. What was dress to her now? They might make a complete figure of her, for ar=ht she ALLL tt POO OO TOTO TOOT COCO OOO OC TOO OOO T OOO TOOT OCCT TOOT OC CO OCT T TOOT C COUT OTT GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK PPL LLL cared! But Clara knew better; and her attire was the admiration of the room. Once a flower dropped from her bair, and she ran up into the dressing-room: Fanny and Sarah were there. “T declare, I never saw you look so beautiful in all my life!” said Fanny, bluntly. “No one would imagine you were suffering from Percy Bryan’s fickleness. Pray tell me? Do you feel badly ?” Frank opened her bright eyes. Then she com- prehended the whole, and laughed heartily. “Poor Miss Cushman! how much she is to be pitied !” she said; then, recollecting, with a pang, what Clara had said about Sarah, she spoke gravely, “T presume it is quite I am looking, however, at Fanny. sufficient to tell you I left my lover in Ohio! going back to him.” Fanny stared. “But Perey Bryan! no woman, who has the slightest regard for hee happiness, will marry him! Believe me; I have studied him thoroughly. I know he is talented and fascinating ; but there is no strength in his character—in his soul. No one could be happy with him through life, unless weak and heartless. One might for a time, but not last- ingly.” She did not once look at Sarah while speaking; but the fair girl grew pale while she listened, and sank into a chair behind her sister. “Darling! darling!” said Fanny, after Frank had gone, kneeling, and fondly embracing her; “did you hear? Oh, believe her!” “Yes, yes, I heard!” cried Sarah, convulsively ; “and I believe! Sister, I have made a resolution: one can conquer one’s self; don’t you think so?” looking up appealingly. “ To be sure !” murmured Fanny, stoutly. “There needs but the will; and I know you have got that, sister !” CHAPTER VII. “ And I said, ‘My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me; Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee!’ ” “On her pallid cheek and forehead came a color and a light, As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night.” —TENNYsoN. Sue had been clasped in a mother’s embrace, and met fondly a sister’s kiss; had wept and smiled by turns, and heard their loving weleomes; and now Frank Cushman stood alone, still in the centre of the room, but with her small hands clasped and her eyes drooping. She well knew the rapid step which sounded in the hall; but she did not raise her head, and her cheek grew blanched from deep emotion.

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WAYSIDE STRUGGLES. 59 ~~ Philip Arden threw open the door, and rushed towards her; but then he stopped before he had received the wished embrace, frozen with a name- less terror. He remembered her last words: “ We shall know, when first our eyes meet, whether the breath of the world hath changed our love.” But she did not look up. Did she fear, then, to show him she was changed ? “ Frank,” he said, huskily, “is it so ?” Still she bowed her head, growing perceptibly paler. “ Frank, oh, speak !” he continued, hoarsely, with a convulsive spasm about his chiselled lips. “Fear not to look on me; for the worst must be better than this horrid silence.” It did seem as though she tried to obey him; but the full lids might have been marble, so coldly, so immovably they fell over her dark eyes: she passed her small fingers over them once or twice, as though striving to dispel this nightmare rigidity, then gasped painfully. Instantly he came near her, though with a broken, uneven step. He passed his arm supportingly around her, and her beautiful head sunk upon his shoulder, still with its pale and suffering features, with its drooping lids and long black lashes resting on the wan cheek. “Be calm, Frank,” he whispered; “I forgive you.” And he touched with his lips her cold brow. That touch! Now, at last, her eyes slowly un- closed, and she raised them to those sad ones above her, and in them, though at first he shrank, fearing to know too certainly his misery, he read a tale which sent back the warm blood to his heart, and lent new strength to his nerveless frame. And over Frank Cushman’s face there seemed to steal a light, swiftly and more swiftly lighting up the wild, dark eye, the pale cheek, and marble lips, which were parted now to give utterance to her broken words. “Oh, Philip, I am true! Look upon me and say—but I am worthless. There was a cloud upon my hopes; I could not look, though I strove to. Oh, it was dreadful—that feeling—that anguish ! I feared you would leave me, while I could not raise my eyes; and I thought, ‘Must I lose all, when happiness seemed certain, with one so noble and so true?” “ Dearest, how could you? Oh, faithless!” Philip whispered, fondly. “T could not help it. I did strive; but the mad- ness, the wildness stole upon me so suddenly; all seemed so vague, so unreal! I knew that you were there, and I so undeserving—but oh, to lose you! And will that not be, after all? Can you still love me when you hear all my weakness?” And Frank, relieved by this brief expression of her feelings, wept freely on his shoulder. In the soft twilight hour of that day, a happy group once more assembled in the cheerful parlor AAADRARA LS overlooking the Muskingum. The good, the pray- ing mother was there, peaceful and serene; and Carry, who had protested so loudly against the long visit, which was now accomplished, flitting about restlessly as usual, and smiling whiles upon her sis- ter, who looked so beautiful, so peaceful, so full of repose at last. And beside Frank was Philip, just as handsome, yet not quite so stormy-looking as six months before. Now, his “Spirit had to manhood grown ;” and knowledge had for once brought happiness. What saith the best of books about he who ruleth his own spirit? Frank knew, else she had not smiled so sweetly, so confidingly, upon her chosen husband. CHAPTER VIII. “There is a gentle element, and man May breathe it with a calm, unruffied soul, And drink its living waters till his heart Is pure: and this is human happiness.”—Wius. “ We are not made to wander on the wing! But, if we would be happy, we must bring Our buoyant hearts to a plain and simple school.” “ Frank Cusnmay,” cried Carry, rushing into her sister's home, some months later—“ Frank Cushman, here is a letter from Clara! Quick, read! mother wants to hear the news, and I ’m appointed re- porter !” “ My name is not Frank Cushman !” replied her sister, half playfully ; yet with a little pride, too, in the new title which she had borne for two whole weeks—the wife of Philip Arden: and the happy wife, the trusting, the respecting wife; for each of these feelings mantled on her glowing cheek and beamed from her expressive eyes. Carry laughed, and tossed her bonnet aside as she did so. “T declare, you are so snug, so comfortable here, Frank—Mrs. Arden, I mean—that I could spend the evening, only mother was peremptory. So read, quick, read !” But Frank was already absorbed in the epistle before her, and nothing could arouse her, save her husband’s step upon the gravel-walk before the house. “ Oh, Philip !” she cried, springing to meet him, with the letter in her hand, “ only think—poor Percy Bryan! I declare, itis too bad! I almost pity him! See what Clara says !” resigning to his hands the let- ter she was too modest to read herself. But we will not withhold from our readers the part which con- cerns our heroines :— “Well, Frank, I dare say you are happy—of course, I can’t disbelieve your protestations: but

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60 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. you know your old cavalier; I am dying to tell you about him! I said he would not break his heart: are you not sorry he did not? You had not been gone a month, before he returned to his former flame: quite desperately, every one said; the more so, that he had a rival, one of the finest men you ever saw—every inch a man, as my loving husband said when hesawhim. Well, Frank—don’t laugh— but last week poor Percy took another trip to New York; and, what is more pitiable, or amusing, whichever you choose to consider it, people seem to understand much more generally the cause of this second journey! Frank, you were too delicate by half! Not one person in twenty would conceal such an offer as you received. Not that I mean to say Sarah Ashton enlightened the public as to hers; but her sister Fanny proved an excellent reporter. Sometimes I feel disposed to give the folks an ink- ling of your conquest; but Harry hushes me up, adding an incomparable compliment to your incom- parable self. “T fancy Percy will be somewhat at a discount, if he returns, which is not at all certain. A com- mon man may be refused a dozen times, and no one think the less of him for that; but let one of your starry throng suffer such a désagrément, and he is used up completely. “Sarah Ashton looks more beautiful than ever, with the health entirely restored, which no one but me ever noticed was injured. So much the better for her prospects, then, which promise brilliantly, with this Boston celebrity at her feet!” “Poor Perey! are you not sorry that he did not break his heart?” Philip repeated, half seriously, half mischievously, when he had finished reading. “TI ought to be, I know,” Frank answered, with equal mischief ; “but,” and her eye exchanged its ? sudden sparkle for a look more loving, “somehow, my heart is too full of happiness to admit one sad sentiment.” And then she was silent, in her perfect joy, till startled by her merry sister’s voice. “Well, Frank, you make a beautiful tableau, doubtless, you and your bonny husband; but please ? recollect that it is past seven o’clock, and your mo- ther waiting all this while for news from the wan- derer. Dear, but I’m glad, after all, that I’m not married! I’m sure I couldn’t sit still so long. Are you not tired to death, Frank ?” LASTING ATTACHMENTS No records are more interesting than those which tell of the attachments of men of genius—attach- ments often suddenly formed, and yet as remarkable for their constancy as for their fervency. Years may still speed on, but imagination supplies every charm of which they may have robbed the beloved one; the grave may have withdrawn her from other eyes, but still her pure spirit lingers by her lover’s side, in the haunts where they so often met. Love at first sight was exemplified in Raphael. His window overlooked the garden of the adjoining house, and there he saw the lovely girl who amused herself among her flowers; he saw her lave her beautiful feet in the lake; he fell passionately in love. He soon made his feelings known; his love was not rejected, and she became his wife. He is said to have been so p tely ed of her beauty, that he never could paint if she were not by his side. The lineaments of that fair face still live in some of his sublime productions; and thus while she gave inspiration, he conferred immortality. Though among poets the most remarkable in- stances of ardent and enduring attachment may be found, their marriages have not, generally speaking, been happy. Milton failed in securing the felicity of wedded love, which he has so beautifully apostro- phized. Neither the home of Dante, nor that of Shakspeare, was one of domestic happiness. Ra- way to every heart. OF MEN OF GENIUS. cine’s tender sensibility met with no responsive sympathy in his partner; and Moliere experienced all the bitterness of the jealous doubts and misgiv- ings which he has so admirably depicted. Yet the poet is of all, perhaps, the most capable of strong attachments. His warm imagination throws its glow over all that he loves; home, with all its fond asso- ciations ; “the mother who looked on his childhood ; and the bosom friend dearer than all,” are so im- pressed upon his feelings that they mingle with every mood of his fancy. True, some critics, of more ingenuity than judgment, have doubted the real existence of the romantic attachments by which some of the finest poets have been inspired; and endeavor to explain as ingenious allegories the im- passioned and pathetic effusions which find their Beattie—of whom we might have expected better things—sees, in the ardent expressions of Petrarch’s devotion to Laura, the aspirings of an ambitious spirit for the laureate- crown ; and Dante has been said to have allegorized his energy in the study of theology under the guise of a passion for Beatrice. But the great charm of Dante’s poetry is its deep earnestness and truthful- ness, and those touches of tenderness which are scattered throughout his sublime work, like the wild flowers of home unexpectedly met with in drear and remote regions ; the facts of an imperishable attach-

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LASTING ATTACHMENTS OF MEN OF GENIUS 61 a~Teen e ment can be traced throughout his whole poetry. It is the custom in Florence for friends, accompa- nied by their children, to assemble together on the first of May, to celebrate the delightful season. A number of his neighbors had been invited by Folco Portinari to do honor to the day. Dante Alighieri, then a boy of nine years, was among them; young as he was, he was instantly attracted by the loveliness of one amidst the group of children. She was about his own age, the daughter of the host. Through all the vicissitudes of a long and eventful life, that early impression was never effaced—he loved her ever after with an intenseness of passion and unshaken constancy that gave a color to his whole existence— in the various paths of life which he was destined to tread, her image was ever present, inspiring the desire for distinction; their early intercourse, like the sweet May morning on which they had first met, was bright and happy; the purity and artlessness of youth made it so. The young companions of Bea- trice rallied her on the devotion of the youthful poet, and the gay sallies with which she herself treated the ardor of his-love, only served to make her the more engaging in his eyes. She was induced to bestow her hand elsewhere; more, it has been said, in accordance with duty than inclination; for it is supposed her heart was not insensible to the love of the gifted youth, whose devotion, purity, and intel- lectuality might have found their way to one harder than hers. Dante fell sick and slowly recovered ; whether her marriage was a subject of which he could not bear to think, it is certain that it is not once alluded to in his poetry. Beatrice did not long survive her marriage ; within the year she was borne to her grave. The anguish of Dante was so intense, that it brought on a fearful illness, in which his life was long despaired of. Boccacio mentions that he was so altered by grief that he could scarcely be known. Beatrice occupied all his thoughts; on the anniversary of her death, he sat alone thinking of her, and portraying “an angel on his tablets.” The influence which she had over him was as pow- erful in death as it had been in life—still to be worthy of loving, and of joining one so good and pure beyond the grave was his constant aim; all that he desired in renown, all that he wished for in fame, was to prove himself not undeserving cf having devoted himself to her; in the eamp—in the - highest diplomatic positions, this was his great ob- ject in all his trials, and they were many and se- vere ; this inspired him with » lofty dignity, and supported him under insults and injuries which would have broken many a proud spirit; but sub- limed above the concerns of earth, his affection was such as might be felt for one translated to a celestial abode. By continually dwelling on but one subject, his mind became utterly estranged from passing events, and he often fell into such fits of abstraction and despondency that his friends, fearing that his reason would be completely upset, anxiously sought VOL. XLV.—6 ~~ to give him some new interest in life, and at length prevailed on him to marry. This made him still more wretched ; he could not if, he would, detach his mind from dwelling on her who had been his early and his only love, and to all his other misfortunes that of an unhappy marriage was added. Like tlie attachment of Dante for Beatrice, that of Petrarch for Laura was the result of a sudden impression ; he had hitherto ridiculed the notion of the power of love, but he was yet to experience ‘it in its most extreme intensity. He was twenty-three when he first saw Laura de Sade, then in her twen- tieth year; he has himself recorded over and over again the exact hour, day, and year; it was at six in the morning on the 6th of April, 1327; it was at the church of Santa Claire at Avignon. Every- thing connected with that memorable meeting has been dwelt on with fond minuteness by the poet; the dress which she wore, the green robe sprigged with violets; every movement, every look was for- ever treasured in his memory; the celestial beauty of her countenance bespoke the purity for which she was so remarkable in that age of licentiousness, and in contemplating her loveliness, reverence for virtue mingled with admiration. Petrarch and Laura often met in society, and became intimately acquainted ; he was charmed with her conversation; she appears to have been in every way capable of appreciating Petrareh, and deserving of the influence which she possessed over him, which was exerted only to ex- alt his sentiments and strengthen his principles; though unhappy in her marriage, true to her vows, she preserved all that purity of thought which gave such an unspeakable charm to her beauty. The chivalrous spirit of the age encouraged a devotion io the fair sex, and platonic attachments were the fashion of the day, so that the dignity of Laura was not compromised when Petrarch made her the object of his poetical devotions, and the celebrity which he gained by this homage to her charms may have gratified much better feelings than those of vanity ; the faith which she had pledged, though to an un- worthy object, she held most sacred; she repressed the feelings of the enthusiastic poet whenever they appeared transgressing the bounds of friendship. Once, when in an unguarded momeni he ventured to allude to his passion, the look of indignation with which she regarded him, and the tone in which she said, “I am not the person you take me for,” over- whelmed him with shame and sorrow. The hope- less passion, of which he only dared to speak in song—and even the allowed indulgence of thus giv- ing it expression, had a fatal effect; his health gradually declined; he grew pale and thin, and the charming vivacity which had been the delight of his friends utterly forsook him; he estranged him- self from the society of his former companions, and was no longer met with in the circles of which he had been the darling. At length he made an effort to conquer feelings that were too powerful to yield,

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62 GODEY’Ss MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, and sought in foreign travel and the pursuit of lite- rature to dissipate the inquietude which was con- suming him; but still the image of Laura haunted him through all his wanderings, and inspired that poetry whose purity, fire, and tenderness, have been the admiration of the world. He returned to Avig- non, but again fled from the presence which was so dear to him, and sought in the solitudes of Vaucluse, to regain the peace which he was never to find. Shut in from the whole world by the rocks and hills, he found that solitude was “no cure for love;” through that sweet valley, among its shades and by its fountains, he sung the praises of Laura. And thus years passed on. It was during this seclusion that he got Simon Memoni, a pupil of Giotti, to take Laura’s likeness. So delighted was the artist with the beautiful subject that the same lovely face was recognized in several of his pictures of saints and angels, On the 24th of August, 1340, Petrarch re- ceived two letters, each with an offer of the laurel crown; one from the University of Paris, the other from the Roman Senate; he decided on accepting it from the latter. He valued the honor as the meed of his celebration of Laura ; all selfish considerations were lost in the one desire that the lover of Laura should be renowned and distinguished. The feelings with which Laura must have heard of the honors paid to the one so long and so devotedly attached to her have not been described, but they may be conceived. Thirteen years had now passed since they had first seen each other. When Petrarch and Laura met, time and care had wrought their changes in both. Petrarch’s locks were already sprinkled with gray, and the animation of his countenance was saddened by sorrow; the bloom of girlhood had passed from Laura, and the traces of melancholy which an unhappy lot had left were but too visible ; but all the tenderness and sympathy of other days remained. The jealous disposition of M. de Sade prevented Petrarch’s being received at his house, but they often met and conversed together; and Laura would sing for him those songs to which he had so often delighted to listen; there was a tender sympathy in this intercourse, soothing to both. Petrarch’s allusion to their last meeting is very affecting; he found her, as he describes, in the midst of a circle of ladies; her whole air betokened dejection, and the sorrowful look with which she regarded him, and which seemed to him to say, “Who takes my faithful friend from me?” made an indelible impression on him—his heart sank within him ; and they seemed to feel at that sad moment that they were to meet no more. In the following year the plague broke out; Petrarch, who was at Parma, heard that it had reached Avignon; he was haunted by the recollection of the last moments that he had passed with Laura; it seemed to him as if the hand of death had been on her already. The most cruel forebodings tortured him by day and by night; his dreams represented her as dying or dead. The dreaded news reached him—Laura was dead! An attack of the plague had carried her off in three days ; she had died on the anniversary of that day on which they had first met. In all the bitterness of his grief, he recalled all that had passed at their last meeting; the melancholy solemnity of her adieu seemed to his memory as that of one on the confines of eternity ; every kind word she had ever spoken, every kind look she had ever given, was dwelt on ‘ith passionate fondness; and the hope, the belief, that he had been dear to her was the only thing which could soothe. His dreams previously to her death appeared to his imagination mysteriously linked with that event; he has most touchingly de- scribed one of these visions, when he believed her pure spirit was permitted to visit and comfort him. His pathetic lamentations were heard throughovi the world with the deepest sympathy, and wrung the heart of many a one who had in happier days shared “ swéet counsel” with him. The misfortunes of Torquato Tasso commenced in his early childhood; he was but eleven years old when political events obliged his father to quit Na- ples, and seek refuge in Rome. It had been settled that Torquato should follow him. The banishment from home, and from a mother on whom he doated, were sad trials. Some lines of touching tenderness commemorate the parting, and show how bitterly it was felt. They were never to meet again; in eighteen months after they parted she died. He was indeed a child that must have been regarded with the fondest tenderness and pride. To wonder- ful acquirements for his age, were added what can never be acquired—a feeling heart, and poetical genius of the highest order, which in all his wander- ings, in all his trials, had magic influence to charm a world which had nothing but misfortune for him. His mother best knew how much his sensitive nature required the tranquillity of a home, and the sympa- thy and endearments of those who loved him. But his lot was to be cast among strangers, and some among them proved implacable enemies. A life of stranger vicissitudes is scarcely to be met with; sometimes courted and caressed, the companion of princes; at other times wandering in almost ex- tremity of want; inspired by a sacred love of liberty, yet condemned to long years of the saddest captivity ; with charmg and graces to win the love of the fairest and the best, yet destined to feel all the pangs of a hopeless passion! A being more to be admired and more to be pitied than Tasso surely never existed. He was but twenty, when he received the most flat- tering office of employment from Cardinal Luizi d’Este, brother to the Duke of Ferrara, who was anxious to secure the services of one possessed of such genius. Though a connection with the D’Este family opened a brilliant prospect for a young man, yet the friends of Tasso, dreading for him the dan- gers of a court, endeavored to persuade him to de- cline the proposal; but it was too flattering to be

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LASTING ATTACHMENTS OF MEN OF GENIUS. 63 refused, and he hastened to Ferrara, in compliance with the Cardinal’s wish, who received him with every mark of distinction, and on occasion of his being appointed legate to France, introduced him at the French court, where he was received in the most flattering manner by Charles the Ninth, who was a warm admirer of his poetry. At Ferrara, Tasso be- came acquainted with the sisters of the Duke, who, intellectual and accomplished, could appreciate the gifted poet. is hours passed delightfully in their society. He has described the effect of his first inter- view with these fascinating ladies, in a rhapsody given to Tirsi, the character meant to represent him- self in his “ Aminta,” in which the terms of goddesses, sirens, nymphs, minstrels, and luminaries are liber- ally bestowed, and show at least that the young poet was intoxicated with delight in their presence. On their parts they enthusiastically admired him and his poetry. But there was one among them emi- nently attractive, whom he soon loved with all the passionate earnestness of which his ardent feelings were susceptible. Many of Tasso’s biographers say that she was not insensible to the varied graces of the youth; in truth, his personal advantages, his rare accomplishments, and, above all, the enthusiasm of genius, so captivating and so winning, made him | a dangerous companion for the young princesses. Leonora was the youngest of the three sisters, : and just nineteen when she and Tasso met. The princesses interested the Duke of Ferrara in his favor, and he appointed him to a situation in which he was exempt from duty, that he might devote himself exclusively to poetry. There was a hand- some salary annexed, and apartments in the ducal palace. An inmate under the same roof with Leo- nora, the predilection which the young people felt for each other could not but increase. Confessions and vows may have passed between them, or Leo- nora’s heart may have kept its own secret; the delicacy of Tasso’s affection is clearly proved by the mystery which rests on those passages of his life in | which she was concerned; for while allusions ex- pressed with infinite tenderness, found throughout his poetry, discover the state of his own feelings, there is not one word which can furnish asuggestion + relative to hers. He had ventured, in accordance with the custom of the times, to celebrate her praises in verse; this, or some other circumstance, awakened the suspicions of the Duke; the intercourse of Tasso with the princesses was abruptly terminated, and they were not suffered to meet. The duke, to put an end to any vague hopes which he might entertain, pressed Tasso to marry, and suitable matches were proposed and declined. He withdrew for some time to Rome; on his return he felt that he was inces- santly watched, and his sensitive nature could ill brook the want of confidence which this betrayed, and he left Ferrara again and again, wandering, while absent, reckless and restless, from place to > place; and then, impelled by his passion for Leo- nora, he would return, notwithstanding all his re- solutions to the contrary, and regardless of the suspicions and machinations of the duke. His me- lancholy increased, and his imagination continually represented that plots and designs against him were in agitation; he became irritable, and one day, in a fit of excitement, drew his dagger on one of the attendants ; but he was instantly disarmed, and was confined, by order of the duke, within the precincts of the palace—he was, in fact, a prisoner; but on expressing the regret which he felt for the intem- perate act, the restraint was removed, and the duke affected to treat him with his former kindness; but Tasso’s feelings were too quick to be deceived; he felt that he was the object of the duke’s dislike and displeasure. Unhappy and irresolute, he sometimes wished to retire te a convent for the remainder of his life; but thoughts of his early home and happy days would often recur to his mind, and he longed to see his sister, the companion of his childhood, whom he had not met for years; and he resolved to leave Ferrara secretly, and find his way to her. His sister was a widow, living at Torrento with her two children. One evening in the summer, as she sat alone, having sent the children out to amuse them- selves, a shepherd brought a letter, which he had been directed to put into her hand—it was from Tasso, and told that he was in the midst of enemies and dangers at Ferrara, and that, unless she could devise some means to save him, his death was in- evitable. She questioned the messenger ; his recital confirmed the intelligence, and represented the misery to which her brother was reduced in such terms, that, overcome with anguish, the lady fainted away. When she revived, Tasso discovered himself, and in those moments of affectionate recognition, he told her that he would never leave her for a world of which he had had too much; but his re- solves were of short duration; Ferrara and its at- traction could not be withstood. It was on the occasion of one of his returns from his restless wan- dering that he saw Leonora; the surprise and de- light of being again in her presence were 30 great that he uttered an impassioned exclamation; this gave the duke the pretext for consigning him to St. Anne’s Asylum for lunatics. “ None but a mad- man would dare to act so!” was repeated over again. So hardly was poor Tasso dealt with fur having in- dulged a hopeless, and it may have been an unre- quited passion. At that time, and for very long after, the insane were treated as if they were not human beings, and the receptacles for them were under no regulations but those of caprice and cruelty. Tasso gives a most’ appalling account of his suf- ferings to his friend Gonzaga; it ends with these affecting words: “Above all, I am afflicted by solitude, my cruel and natural enemy, which even in my best state was sometimes so distressing that often, at the most unseasonable hours, I have gone in search of company. Sure I am, that if she who

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64 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BCOK. ~~ AA sae so little has corresponded to my attachment, if she saw me in such a condition, and in such misery, she would have some compassion on me !” Even this abode of wretchedness could not ex- tinguish his poetic fire, and from his solitary cell poems of surpassing beauty found their way to the world from which he was utterly shut out; they were read in every circle, and the genius of the au- thor extolled ; but his misfortunes found no helping hand for seven long years: at length, through the intervention of his friend Gonzaga, he was released. During his confinement Leonora had died: sorrow and sympathy may have had their share in bringing her to an untimely grave. Cruelty had done its part; the young and beautiful sank beneath its weight, and the gifted mind had received a shock from which it never after thoreughly recovered. Tasso left Ferrara never to return; like the troubled spirit, he could find rest nowhere; but at length he took up bis abode at Naples; his mother’s property, which had long been unjustly withheld from him, was restored. The beauties of nature please when nothing else can, and they may not have been with- out their gentle influence on the stricken heart; but the haunts of childhood must have been mournfully contrasted with the dark scenes of after days. Tasso received an intimation from the pope, that a ee ~~ decree had passed the senate, awarding the laure crown to “the greatest poet of the age;” “the honor,” added the pope, “is to the laurel, and not to Tasso.” Tasso accepted the honor with deep melancholy, and left Naples with a foreboding that he should see it no more. Though affliction had not extinguished a spark of poetic fire, it had not left a vestige of ambition; those that would most have delighted in his fame, and taken pride in his triumph, were in their graves, and he longed to be with them. The most gorgeous preparations were in progress, not only in the palace and capital, but in every street through which the procession was to pass. Tasso, with a prophetic spirit, declared the preparations were vain. Affliction, and his long confinement, had anticipated the work of years—the infirmities and languor of old age had overtaken him before their time; he fell ill—medical aid was unavailing—he was apprised of the approach of his last moments; he received the intimation with perfect calmness—all earthly concerns were lost in heavenly contemplations, and the only crown to which he aspired was that unfading crown which awaits the blessed in heaven. The crowds were still collecting—fresh flowers were gathered to weave into the garlands that were to deck his triumph; but ere they had faded away the poet was dead! HOME EX We only repeat an established truism, familiar to us all, when we say that there is nothing which con- duces so much to the health and consequent happi- ness of our fair friends as moderate exercise, or voluntary labor. We very naturally compassionate the condition of those who are compelled to work at some sedentary occupation from “early dawn” to the mid-watches of the night, for a mere subsistence, shot in from the freshness and healthfulness of the morning and evening breeze; from the brightness of the sun, and, at this season of the year, from the enchanting loveliness of nature. And yet, we can searcely feel less compassion for those who volunta- rily fall into ille, listless, and enervating habits, which not only destroy the buoyancy and elasticity of the mind, but absolutely deform the beauty and paralyze the energies of the body. However unfashionable the sentiment may appear to some of our more than usually romantic and fas- tidious readers, we shall not hesitate to confess the fact, that we seldom meet with a more agreeable sight on a bright sunny morning, as we trudge to our daily labor through a fashionable part of the city, than to behold the daughters of some of our opulent citizens dusting the sills of the windows, R iv C 4 E SES. brush in hand, or, with broom in hand, sweeping the hall or parlor carpet. There is that in the bright eyes, and in the rosy flush of their cheeks, as they sparkle and bloom from beneath the closely drawn bonnet or hood, which to us are irresistible evidences of health and cheerfulness. There is something, indeed, in such a sight, not merely encouraging on account of the assurances it gives of the practical wisdom which pervades the whole family circle—the assurance that industry, comfort, peace, dignity, and purity of mind reign over all within the /ittle repub- lic—but it also affords us some assurance, amidst the prevailing strife for riches and aristocratic glory, of the perpetuity of all our great, yet simple repub- lican institutions. But besides a class of fashionables who may not choose to take regular exercise at the brush or broom handle, there is another unhappy class, the members of which, either through ignorance of, or inattention to the requirements of their bodies, or through forced mental labor while yet in their childhood, have in fact lost the muscular power to apply themselves to such voluntary labor as we have been describing. To both these classes, with whose necessities, infirm- ities, and prejudices we have been made somewhat

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PPP eee familiar, we propose to recommend for their consideration, and for their adoption, should they follow our advice, a series of practical exercises which, we verily believe, will have the most beneficial effects on their systems, whether diseased, deformed, or simply suffering from the absence of those physical ener- gies, and that buoyancy of spirit, which exercise scarcely ever fails to reproduce in those who apply themselves to it prudently, in time, and with a will. The annexed figures are Nos. 1 and 2 of a series, by means of which we shall endeavor to illustrate to our readers the use of an instru- ment formed of two elastic bands, which is furnished with a hook and handle, or a catch, and can be fixed upon any object, either in or out of doors, and be at once ready for use without delay, such as the corner of a table, the handle or frame of a door, window-sill, or bed-post. The hook acts somewhat in the manner of a “claw,” or pair of “dogs,” viz.: the greater the strain the firmer the hold, and out of doors can be attached to the top of a wall, railing, or branch of a tree. The exercises to be performed by it are varied, numerous, entertaining, and exciting. They may be increased to upwards of two hundred, and have been recognized in England, where the instrument was first in- troduced, as the most conducive to- wards the full development of the bodily frame, and the increase of muscular power. In the future illustrations of this subject, we shell avail ourselves of the opportunity which will be af- HOME EXERCISES. 65 EBB eee forded of impressing upon our readers not merely drawn from unquestionable authority, and will be the importance of the exercises it embraces, to tho interesting to parents as furnishing the means of healthy, but to those who are laboring under diseases prevention, as well as affording to the afflicted the of the chest and spine. The information in relation most probable moans of relief, if not of cure. to the origin and formation of such diseases will be ? 6*

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OUR TALENTS. BY HADDIE LANE. Mavxy a smiling face grew sorrowful, and many a bright eye filled with tears, as the little band of school-girls assembled for the last time in the old school-room at Woodside. It was a beautiful even- ing in June; the gentle breeze wafted through the open window the perfume of thousands of flowers, and seemed, as it played with their sunny curls, to woo those fair maidens out on the scented lawn and into the balmy air which it was such luxury to breathe. What charm could there be in that dark, low school-room, with its long rows of dusty desks, and quaint, three-legged stools, its sombre blackboards and frowning maps! The fair earth was smiling around them, glad voices were calling from without, and yet those young girls lingered there, silently and tearfully. And well might they twine their arms around each other; well might they cling to that dear old room, for, “The morrow brings their perting, And they may not meet again.” It was their last day at school. Hitherto they had been petted and cherished, and, though their school life had had its showers, it had also its brilliant rainbows and glowing sunshine. Now they were to go forth into the world, to think for themselves, to act for themselves, to be judged by themselves; and what wonder if they shrank from the dim future with timid hearts, and longed to be children again ! Some there were, indeed, who had been building gorgeous castles, and picturing to themselves bright visions of womanhood; but even these forgot their gay dreams in the sad reality of the last day at school. In the midst of the little group sat a lady in the meridian of life. Her sable dress and widow’s cap betokened that she had seen sorrow; but there was such a sweet expression in her placid face, such a motherly look about her, that you would never in the world imagine her to be a schoolmistress. And in reality she was not a schoolmistress to the little group around her, not one among them ever thought of herassuch. No, she was the dear “Aunt Susan,” who soothed their troubles and shared their joys, their confidante in many a girlish freak, and their idolized teacher, not only from books, but in the wiser and better lore they gathered from the gay birds, the smiling flowers, and from their own young hearts. On this evening, Aunt Susan had been talking to them even more earnestly and seriously than was 66 —— nnn nnn her wont. She had been telling them of woman’s high and holy duties, of her numerous and glorious rights, and she was urging them never to let the cares or the vanities of the world steal into their hearts, but to keep them forever bright and pure, and dedicate to their “Father in heaven.” She told them of the “talents” which that Father had bestowed upon them all, and warned them not to suffer them to rust or tarnish. “Oh! Aunt Susan,” cried Fanny Wilmer, a merry hoyden of sixteen, “do tell each of us what our talents are; I am sure I don’t know what has be- come of mine, if I ever had any. I guess I was forgotten in the general giving out.” “Your own hearts will tell you all, if you ponder a moment; but since some of you, like Fanny here, seem never to have thought of such things, I will remind you of them. I will begin with Fanny, as she is the youngest among you. Your talent, my Fanny, is your wit. Happily for you, as yet it has been exercised only in funny speeches and good- humored rallying with your schoolmates; but when you go out into the world—I tremble for you, my Fanny. Your sparkling sayings and brilliant repar- tees will doubtless make you admired and flattered in the gay circle among which you will move, and you will be able to give the tone to that conversation in which you are so capable of shining. I implore you, Fanny, to keep that bright talent of yours un- sullied. Ridicule the follies of your friends, if you will, but their weaknesses or deformities never. Above all, never employ your wit in ridicule of sa- cred things; never turn the gift against the Giver. Though it may appear pleasant, as it is so easy to let fall the bitter sarcasm or the sharp retort, remem- ber, that if you will toy with the bright, edged tools, you must not expect to escape unscathed. And now, Fanny, a word as to the improvement of your talent. You have a gift which will enable you to cast sun- shine on many a dark and dreary path, and to brighten many a gloomy day. You can chase care from many a loved one’s brow, and can strengthen many a fainting heart by your cheering, happy words. Yes, Fanny, it is in your power to become either a universal blessing, or that dreaded and hated being, a female satirist. There was a pause. The gay, light-hearted girl, subdued into silence by Aunt Susan’s solemn man- ner and still more solemn words, drew a deep breath, as if half frightened at the thought of the good and evil destinies which waited her decision. “And what is my talent?” said a silvery voice;

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OUR TALENTS. 67 and a little head, half hidden by a shower of golden ringlets, was laid caressingly on Aunt Susan’s shoul- der. Very beautiful indeed was Lizzie Randolph, and very fascinating, too. Though all accused her of vanity, and not a few of downright conceit, yet when she looked into your face with her bewitching blue eyes, or pressed her rosy lips to yours, it was impossible to refuse anything she asked. There was a spice of vanity in the question, for all knew that in mental or moral endowments, poor Lizzio was sadly lacking. “Your glass has told you, Lizzie,” Aunt Susan calmly replied, “if your flatterers have not, that you have the gift of beauty—a dangerous gift, Liz- zie. I see in you the future belle of the ballroom, courted, caressed, and almost idolized. You will doubtless have crowds of sighing lovers at your feet, before your first winter in society is over. But, Lizzie, beauty fades. Improve your talent, then, while it is yet in your power. The acknowledged queen of the festival, what an influence will be yours. A smile from you will work many a mighty spell; a word from your lips may accomplish that which hours of patient pleading and volumes of so- ber reasoning may have failed todo. The sparkling wine-cup, when proffered by your fair hand, could hardly be refused; and few causes but must triumph, if you be their leader. See, then, Lizzie, that the causes be righteous. Never suffer any one to come within the circle of your magic influence, without rendering him a nobler, wiser, and better man. Lizzie, you must answer at a solemn tribunal, whe- ther your talent has been employed in rendering men holier and happier, or sinking them deeper in dissipation and crime; whether it has led them to heaven or plunged them into perdition.” Lizzie’s tears were falling fast as Aunt Susan end- ed, for, that very morning, she had been telling of the conquests she would make and the hearts she would break when she made her déb@t in the gay world; and here was a masterly sketch for her of the good or evil she was to work therein. “T need hardly remind you, Helen,” Aunt Susan continued, “of the nature of your talent.” Helen Ashley, a grave plain girl in the deepest mourning, bowed her head in reply. She was an orphan, without one friend in the wide world. Her guardian, who had the absolute control of her im- mense wealth, was a cold-hearted, selfish man, whose whole soul seemed to be absorbed in the pursuit of money. Helen Ashley had never known a mother’s gentle influence, or a father’s kindly kiss; and what wonder that she was cold and sad, and deemed all the kindly attentions of her schoolmates were paid to her wealth alone. Her early misfortunes had cast a gloom over her spirit; she shrank from soci- ety, and always looked on the darkest side of the picture; as Aunt Susan used to say, “Helen always saw things through a thick black veil.” Generous she was to a fault, but too often when her hand was giving the gold, her heart was far away. As Aunt Susan spoke, Helen drew her chair still farther from the little circlo, and listened in haughty silence. A slight shade crossed Aunt Susan’s brow at this determined frigidity, but she went on:— “T fear, my dear Helen, you look upon your wealth rather as a burden than a talent; but such it is, and it depends upon yourself alone whether it be ren- dered a curse or a blessing to yourself and all around you. You are proud, Helen, sadly proud, and as the sole representative of the Ashleys, will soon deem it ine@mbent upon you to support that name with all due honors. You care not how your money goes, so that you are not troubled with it, nor brought into too close contact with your fellow-beings; and your cold heart will doubtless be better pleased with lavishing thousands on a jewel, than by giving one hour’s attention to the wants or sufferings of a poor family. But, Helen, this is al! wrong. You were not placed in this world, dowered with immense wealth and gifted with a warm heart to aid you in dispensing it, for no other purpose than to shut yourself up in a closet, to crush every glowing. im- pulse of sympathy and affection, and to squander your gold in pomp and luxury. No, Helen, your heart is not your own, your wealth is not your own; the one should beat true to God and man, the other be recognized as God’s gift, through you, to man. Think on it, Helen,” Aunt Susan proceeded more gayly, “think what it is to be a ‘Lady Bountiful ;’ to have the blessings of the widow and orphan rest- ing upon your head; to bring sunshine and glee into the dwellings that poverty had darkened; to see the eareworn countenance light up with smiles at your approach; these are boons a monarch might envy. Perchance this is not your ambiticn. Certainly your pride would be more gratified were you mis- tress of a superb mansion, your table groaning *neath the Ashley plate, and your carriage scutch- eoned with the Ashley arms, and you yourself much more at your ease in a magnificent library, revelling in ancient lore, with not a footfall to break the silence, not a voice to remind you that you are a dweller of the world—a world of sin and suffering, it is true, but still a world watched over and cared for by God, and peopled with his creatures—but look beyond, Helen, to a time when the Ashley arms will cease to give you pleasure, and the luxu- rious carriage ease; when your lordly library will be asa sealed book to your dimmed and aching eye; when you will be dependent upon your hated fellow- beings for the attentions that smooth your dying pillow. Then, Helen, if not till then, will you see the whole folly and misery of the life you lead. Then will the torturing thoughts of a lifetime wasted, a heart neglected, a world despised, and a Maker forgotten, crowd your brain. ’Tis a sad picture, Helen, and, I trust, not atrue one. May your dying

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68 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK hour, when it does come, be sweetened with the memory of the good you bave done; may friends, real friends, surround your pillow; and may your happy spirit take its flight to its Redeemer, and lay at his feet the talent intrusted to your care !” All who heard Aunt Susan’s solemn appeal were in tears—all save one, and that one was Helen Ash- ley. She sat erect, as cold and still as before; but the heaving of her bosom and the restless glances of her eyes betokened that she had not heard those fearful words unmoved. At length she rose and said, in a voice tremulous with emotion, “I wish, how I wish, I was poor!” As she hastily quitte#the room, a light figure darted in through the window, just in time to hear the concluding words. “Poor! Who is talking about poverty? I defy any one to show a purse as empty as mine,” was the merry greeting of Carrie Carleton. “Here I’ve been racing up stairs and dewn, through wood and lawn, over creek and mud puddle, in search of you all, and I am fairly tired out.” As she threw herself upon the floor at Aunt Su- san’s feet, her cheek flushed and bosom panting with the- exercise, a gentle hand was laid on her disor- dered ringlets, and a mild voice said— “We were talking of our talents, Carrie, and I would have you be chary of yours, and not take such long walks or use such violent exercise.” “ My talent!” said the almost breathless girl, look- ing with surprise at the sad faces of her schoolmates. “Yes, dearie, the exuberant health which God has bestowed upon you. You are one of the favored ones, Carrie; you have never known an hour’s sick- ness, and laugh in derision alike at the headache and the horrors. You are always in a good-humor, because you have never known the temptation to be eroes, which an aching brow or a wearied frame pre- sents. You live always in the sunshine, for you have never had the hand of disease or pain laid heavy upon you, to dull your spirits and embitter your temper. Guard your health, then, Carrie, as a pre- cious jewel, for now it is in your own keeping. As a school-girl, our simple fare and early hours have preserved your talent in its purity; but you are a school-girl no longer. I warn you, Carrie, that, in the gay society you will soon enter, a year, a single year of dissipation, will deprive you of your jewel forever. Blooming cheeks and buoyant spirits are incompatible with midnight revels; bright eyes will grow dim when they open only to candle-light; and pure, fragrant breath will grow labored when drawn in a crowded, heated atmosphere. A single year may convert our joyous Carrie Carleton, with her bright face, light footstep, and merry laugh, into a haggard, worn, and almost old woman; her move- ments languid, her roses artificial, and her very laughter forced. A single year may find our Carrie a drooping invalid, her cheek wearing the hectic “But that is not the lot I anticipate for you, my Carrie,” Aunt Susan went on, as she noticed the startling effect her words had caused; “no, it is a brighter and far different picture I love to look upon. You often talk, Carrie, of your invalid brother; of his weary nights and days of anguish; of his petu- lance and odd fancies. Now you are the nurse na- tere has designed for him; your healthy frame can endurs nights of watching and days of patient care. You ean move through his sick room like a minis- te>"ug angel, supporting him with your strong arm, and cheering him by your happy words, until he will forget his suffering and his impatience and bless the Heaven that has given him such a sister. The sick room, Carrie, is woman’s appropriate field of action; there she is perfectly at home. Her gentle atten- tions are necessary to the invalid, and if his sick- ness be ‘unto death,’ her whispered words of hope and faith will quickest reach his ear. You, Carrie, are eminently fitted for this most onerous and yet dearest of woman’s duties. You have a constitution which smiles at fatigue, and a bright, cheerful spirit. You will be unwearied as a watcher, and a perfect magician when low spirits era concerned; they will flee at the glad sounds of your voice; and oh, Car- rie, may that voice also be employed in leading the sufferers to their Saviour, in telling of God’s boun- teous gifts and wondrous mercies! “Should poverty come nigh your dwelling and your loved ones, then again your ‘talent’ will be in requisition. With your strong arm you could drive the demon away, and cheer with your smiles your humble abode. And if it comes not to yourself, re- member that thousands of your fellows are bowed down to the earth by its curse, and let yours be the hand to relieve them. You can trudge through snow and rain on an errand of mercy, and your words of cheer will work a mightier charm than your gold. Carrie, Carrie, keep your talent well.” A perfect contrast to the joyous face and blooming figure of Carrie Carleton, was the girl on whose lap she leaned herarm. Mary Lee was a dark, sallow little creature, without beauty, genius, or any of the gifts of her more brilliant companions. A disease of the spine had stunted her growth, though it had not deformed her figure; and her sufferings had made her gentle and mild as Aunt Susan herself. Her large brown eyes had something startling in their expression; you were fascinated while you gazed; and these eyes were now fixed upon Aunt Susan’s face, as though to read her thoughts. “They tell me, Mary,” said Aunt Susan, smiling, “that you are the father confessor here, and therein they have pointed out to me your ‘talent.’ There is something very winning about you, I own, and you steal our secrets ere we are aware. You seem so gentle, so quiet, that we regard you as a second self, and talk to you accordingly. There are few flush, her frame racked with a convulsive cough— { among you, girls, but have confided in Mary Lee, and may leave her in her grave. when you would have suffered any penance, any

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OUR TALENTS, a privation, rather than intrust your secrets to another. Your talent, Mary, is your influence. All who ask your counsel, follow it implicitly, and a few words of your sweet, low voice will work a mightier spell than volumes of reproof, or weeks of punishment. Even when you speak not, your actions tell, and loudly too. Your sway in our hearts is so gentle, we dream not you are ruling us, and submit as though you were born our queen. And it will be ever thus, Mary, unless you learn to speak loud. Even then, you love so to get people into corners, that you always make them confidential. “Yours is a glorious talent, for there will be secrets told you which had been whispered only to the stars; plans will be unfolded for your approbation, which had long lain hidden in the depths of the dreamer’s soul; and the hopes and aspirations of dawning wo- manhood will be told to your ear alone, while the maiden blushes at revealing thoughts she heretofore deemed so delicate and sacred. Yours is a mighty influence; see that you use it well. To you they come for approbation and advice: let it be given wisely. The triumphant coquette may perchance seek your ‘corner’ to tell you how wretched she is, though crowds are sighing at her feet; how dissatis- fied she is, though her glass reflects a perfect form and face, and her diary tells of countless lovers, ready to die at her behest. One word of yours may pierce the ice which long years of flattery and folly have bound round her heart, and send her on her way, an humbler and sadder being; one of your long talks might make her a devoted Christian. “The skeptic, too, may be beguiled by your sweet tones, and take a seat at your side. He may unfold to you his doubts and fears, and you, mighty in the cause of truth, will have strength vouchsafed you to combat and overthrow them. You may soften his flinty heart, and lead him, a devout follower, to the feet of the meek and lowly Jesus. Even though you may not give him argument for argument, and meet his sophistry with words from the book of trath, your actions, even your silence, may go far to convince him. “?Twere small need, methinks, to caution you against tarnishing your talent, against evil influence; but I warn you, and indeed all of you, my children, to be upon your guard. A smile, a look, is all-suffi- cient. Our influence is a fearful talent, which all of our sex possess. May it ever be exerted to purify and exalt our fellows, and may we all act and speak so as to remind men of the grea eternity whither we are tending, to be spent in bliss or misery; and may naught but good influence be laid to our charge at the great day!” “And my talent, Aunt Susan,” said a quiet voice in the corner; “I am not dowered with Helen’s wealth, or Lizzie’s beauty; I have neither Fanny’s wit, nor Mary’s influence; what can my talent be?” The speaker was an orphan, a recipient of Aunt Susan’s bounty. She was a plain quiet girl, very AL PAPAL PLD DD PPP LP LLP LLLP LLL LLL POPP PPP OP plodding, but not overly bright. Still, everybody loved Anne Allen, for she was one of the most oblig- ing creatures that ever breathed. Nothing was too much trouble for her, if it could give pleasure to the smallest or feeblest of God’s creatures; and all the little ones called her their “dear dood Anne.” “You have drawn rather a forlorn picture of your- self, Anne,” Aunt Susan replied; “but your talent, though not quite as showy, is as useful and precious as the others, You are alone in the world, Anne, and your talent is your time. There have been no claims upon it as yet, save the trifling offices your schoolmates have required at your hands. Now it is at your own disposal, arid it rests with you to spend the long life which I trust is before you, in the ser- vice of its Giver, or in violation of his express com- mands. There is many a noble deed to. be wrought, many 8 glorious triumph to be won, before this world shall pass away, and with the thousand voices call- ing within and around you, can you sit down with folded hands? Is your time, your precious talent, to be frittered away in idleness or pleasure, when there is so much work to be done, and you so fit to do it? I would fain see you a missionary, Anne, for you have no tender ties to sever when you part from your native land. You long for sisters and friends: among the destitute heathen you may find them. Would that you would devote yourself, body, soul, and spirit, to those that sit in darkness! A lifetime could not be more gloriously dedicated, nor a talent better employed. Your patience and energy are grand qualifications for a missionary, and, Anne Allen, a missionary you should be. Imagine for one moment your earthly pilgrimage over, and your beatified spirit, surrounded by the souls it had res- cued from destruction, at the awful bar of God. At that moment, if you could, which would you choose, a life of pleasure, gayety, or indolence, or one spent in toiling, suffering, though always in rejoicing, over the good you have wrought in the land and the hearts of the heathen.” There remained but one in that little band with her talent untold, but it needed not the telling. You could read upon her high, broad brow, and in the flash of her dark blue eye, that she had the gift of genius. Catharine Sunderland was a poetess, and that of no mean order. Her brilliant talents had long made her the idol of her teachers and the “headman” antong her schoolmates; but these were distinctions she cared not for. She loved to roam the woods, portfolio in hand, and pen down the bright thoughts as they crowded into her brain; and she had acquired the sobriquet of “Corinne” trom her talents as an improvisatrice. She smiled faintly and proudly as Aunt Susan’s eye rested upon her. “Well, ‘Corinne,’” the good lady began, “you are the last, I see, and had I chosen your talent for a climax, I could not have found a happier one. You are public property, Kate—at least you will be in a

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70 eee eee year or two—and it were well to reflect a moment ere your character is established in the literary world. You are writing not for a month or a year, but for eternity. You are writing not for yourself or for a chosen few, but for the world. Pause, then, over each brilliant effusion, with the question, ‘ Will this piece of mine make any one happy or wretched? will it be arrayed on the side of virtue, or on that of vice? and more, does it give God the glory?’ “Yes, pause, Kate Sunderland; a magic rod is in your hand; will you wield it fur weal or woe? Shall GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’sS BOOK. your talent be kept pure and holy in the service of its Giver, or shall it, like the notes of a siren, lure men to death with its singing? “And now, my dearest children, my sermon is over. To-morrow we must part; and though we may never meet again on earth, when we come be- fore the judgment-seat, may I hear the words ad- dressed to each and all of you, ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thor into the joy of thy Lord.’” HISTORY OF BOOTS AND SHOES. No. I.—ON THE MOST ANCIENT COVERING FOR THE FEET Ir we investigate the monuments of the remetest nations of antiquity, we shall find that tho earliest form of protection for the feet partook of the nature of sandals. The most ancient representations we possess of scenes in ordinary life are the sculptures and paintings of early Egypt, and these the investi- gations of travelled scholars from most modern civilized countries have, by their descriptions and delineations, made familiar to us, so that the habits and manners, as well as the costume of this ancient people, have been handed down to the present time, by the work of their own hands, with so vivid a truthfulness, that we feel as conversant with their domestic manners and customs as with those of any modern nation to which the book of the traveller would introduce us. Not only do their pictured relics remain to give us an insight into their mode of life, but a vast quantity of articles of all kinds, from the tools of the workmen to the elegant fabrics which once decorated the boudoir of the fair ladies of Memphis and Carnac three thousand years ago, are treasured up in the museums of various coun- tries. With these materials, it is in no wise difficult to earry our history of shoemaking back to the earliest times, and even to look upon the shoemaker at his work in the early days of Thotmes the Third, who ascended the throne of Egypt, according to Wilkin- | 5 son, 1495 years before Christ, and during whose qu y, reign the Exodus of the Israelites occurred. The first of our engravings contain copies of this very curious painting as it existed upon the walls of Thebes, when the Italian scholar Rossellini copied it for his great work on Egypt. The shoemakers are both seated upon low stools—(real specimens of such articles may be seen in the British Museum, London)—and are both busily employed in the formation of the sandals then usually worn in Egypt; the first workman is piercing with his awl the leather thong, at the side of the sole, through which the straps were passed which secured the sandal to the foot; before him is a low sloping bench, one end of which rests upon the ground: his fellow-workman is equally busy sewing a shoe, and tightening the thong with his teeth, a primitive mode of working which is occasionally indulged in at the present day. The tools and manufactured sandals lie — and are here represented: they a OoUUy bear, in some instances, a resemblance to those used in the present day; the central instrument having

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HisTORY OF BOOTS AND SHOES. 71 the precise shape of the shoemaker’s aw] still in use, so very unchanging are articles of utility. In the same manner, the semicircular knife used by the ancient Egyptiaas between three and four thousand years ago, is precisely similar to that of our modern curriers, and *s thus represented in a painting at GN Thebes of that remote antiquity. The workman, it will be noticed, cuts the leather upon a sloping bench, exactly like that of the shoemaker already engraved. The warmth and mildness of the East rendered a close, warm shoe unnecessary ; and, indeed, in the present day they partake there more of the charac- ter of slippers, and the foot, thus unconfined by tight shoes, and always free in its motion, retains its full power and phiability ; and the custom still retained in the East, of holding a strap of leather or other substance between the toes, is represented in the Theban paintings; the foot thus becoming a useful second to the hand. Many specimens of the shoes and sandals of the ancient Egyptians may also be seen in the British Museum. Wilkinson, in his work on the “ Manners and Customs” of this people, says, “ Ladies and men of rank paid great attention to the beauty of their sandals; but, on some occasions, those of the middle classes who were in the habit of wearing them pre- ferred walking barefooted; and in religious ceremo- nies, the priests frequently took them off while performing their duties in the Temple.” The sandals varied slightly in form; those worn by the upper classes, and by women, were usually pointed and turned up at the end, like our skates and the Eastern slippers of the present day. Some had a sharp, flat point; others were nearly round. They were made of a sort of woven or interlaced work, of palm-leaves and papyrus stalks, or other similar materials; sometimes of leather, and were frequently lined within with cloth, on which the figure of a captive was painted: that humiliating position being thought suitable to the enemies of their country, whom they hated and despised, an idea agreeing perfectly with the expression which so often occurs in the hieroglyphic legends accom- panying a king’s name, where his valor and virtues are recorded on the sculptures—“ You have trodden the impure Gentiles under your powerful feet.” The example selected for Fig. 1 is in the British Museum, beneath the sandal of a mummy of Har- | sontiotf; and the captive figure is evidently, from feature and costume, a Jew: it thus becomes a curi- Fig. 1. —S ous illustration of Scripture history. Figs. 2 and 3 delineate two fine examples of sandals formed, as above described, of the leaf of the palm; they were brought from Egypt by the late Mr. Salt, consul general, and formed part of the collection sold in London, after his death, and are now in the British Museum. They are very different from each other in their construction, and are of that kind worn by the poorer classes: flat slices of the palm-leaf, which lap over each other in the centre, form the sole of Fig. 4, and a double band of twisted leaves secures Fig. 4. Wy and strengthens the edge; a thong of the strong fibres of the same plant is affixed to each side of the instep, and was secured round the foot. The other, Fig. 2, is more elaborately platted, and has a softer look ; it must, in fact, have been as a pad to the foot, exceedingly light and agreeable in the arid climate inhabited by the people for whom such sandals were constructed: the knot at each side to which the thong was affixed still remains. The sandals with curved toes alluded to above, and which frequently appear upon Egyptian sculp- ture, and generally upon the feet of the superior classes, are exhibited in the woodevt here given: and in the Berlin Museum one is preserved of pre-

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72 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. va aaa cisely similar form, which has been engraved by Wilkinson, and is copied in Fig. 1. It is particularly curious, as showing how such sandals were held upon the feet, the thong which crosses the instep being connected with ancther passing over the top of the foot, and secured to the sole between the great toe and that next to it, so that the sole was held firmly, however the foot moved, and yet it allowed the sandal to be cast off at pleasure. Wilkinson says that “shoes, or low boots, were also common in Egypt; but these are believed to have been of late date, and to have belonged to Greeks ; for, since no persons are represented in the paintings wearing them, except foreigners, we may conclude they were not adopted by the Egyptians, at least in a Pharaonic age. They were of leather, generally of green color, laced in front by thongs, which passed through small loops on either side, and were principally used, as in Greece and Etruria, by women.” One of the close-laced shoes is given in Fig. 3, from a specimen in the British Museum; it embraces the foot closely, and has a thong or two over the instep for drawing it tightly over the foot, something like the half boot of the present day: the sole and upper leather are all in one piece, sewn up the back and down the front of the foot, a mode of construc- tion practised in England as late as the fourteenth century. The elegantly ornamented boot here given is copied from a Theban painting, and is worn by a gayly-dressed youth from one of the countries bor- dering on Egypt: it reaches very high, and is a remarkable specimen of the taste for decoration, which thvs early began to be displayed upon this article of apparel. In Sacred Writ are many early notices of shoes: when+ Moses exhorts the Jews to obedience (Deut. xxix.), he exclaims, “Your clothes are not waxen old upon you, and thy shoe is not waxen old upon thy foot.” In the Book of Ruth (chap. iv.), we haye a curious instance of the important part performed by the shoe in the ancient days of Israel, in sealing any important business: “ Now this was the man- ner in former time in Israel, concerning redeeming, and concerning changing, for to confirm all things ; a man plucked off his shoe, and gave it to his neigh- bor; and this was a testimony in Israel.” Ruth, and all the property of three other persons, are given over to Boaz by the act of the next kinsman, who gives to him his shoe in the presence of witnesses. SPA a PPP PPP LPL LLL tein te te tt ttt ttt tt ane en nese The ancient law compelled the eldest brother, or nearest kinsman by her late husband’s side, to marry a widow, if her husband died childless. The law of Moses provided an alternative, easy in itself, but attended with some degree of ignominy. The woman was, in public court, to take off his shoe, spit before his face, saying, “So shall it be done unto that man that will not build up his brother’s house ;” and probably the fact of this refusal was stated in the genealogical registers in connection with his name, which is probably what is meant by his “name shall be called in Israel, the house of him that hath his shoe loosed.” (Deut. xxv.) The editor of “Knight’s Pictorial Bible,” who notices these curious laws, also addz that the use of the shoe in the transactions with Boaz are perfectly intelligible ; the taking off the shoe denoting the relinquishment of the right and the dissolution of the obligation in the one instance, and its transfer in the other. The shoe is regarded as constituting possession, nor is this idea unknown to ourselves, it being conveyed in the homely proverbial expression by which one man is said to “ stand in the shoes of another ;” and the vulgar idea “of throwing an old shoe after you for luck,” is typical of a wish that temporal gifts or good fortune may follow you. The author last quoted says that, even at the present time, the use of the shoe, as a token of right or occu- pancy, may be traced very extensively in the East; and, however various and dissimilar the instances may seem at first view, the leading idea may be still detected in all. Thus among the Bedouins, when a man permits his cousin to marry another, or when a husband divorces his runaway wife, he usu- ally says, “She was my slipper, I have cast her off.” (Burckhardt’s “Bedouins,” p. 65.) Sir F. Hen- niker, in speaking of the difficulty he had in per- suading the natives to descend into the crocodile mummy pits, in consequence of some men having lost their lives there, says, “ Our guides, as if pre- paring for certain death, took leave of their chil- dren; the fathor took the turban from his own head, and put it upon that of his son; or put him in his place, by giving him his shoes, ‘a dead man’s shoes. In Western Asia, slippers left at the door of an apartment denote that the master or mistress is engaged, and no one ventures on intrusion, not even a husband, though the apartment be his wife’s. Messrs. Tyerman and Bennet, speaking of the termagants of Benares, say, “ If domestic or other business calls off one of the combatants before the affair is duly settled, she coolly thrusts her shoe beneath her basket, and leaves both upon the spot, to signify that she is not satisfied :” meaning to de- note, by leaving her shoe, that she kept possession of the ground and the argument during her unavoid- able absence. From all these instances it would appear that this employment of the shoe may, in some respects, be considered analogous to that which prevailed in the ,”

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HISTORY OF BOOTS AND SHOES. ee Middle Ages, of giving a glove as a token of investi- ture when bestowing lands and dignities. It should be observed that the same Hebrew word (naal) signifies both a sandal and a shoe, although always rendered shoe in our translation of the Old Testament. Although the shoe is mentioned in Genesis and other books of the Bible, little concern- ing its form or manufacture can be gleaned. That it was an article of common use among the ancient Israelites, we may infer from the passage in Gene- sis, chap. xiv. 23, the first mention we have of this article, where Abraham makes oath to the King of Sodom “ that he will not take from a thread even to a shoe-latchet,” thus assuming its common character. The Gibeonites (Joshua ix. 5—13) “came with old shoes and clouted (mended) upon their feet,” the better to practise their deceit, and therefore they said, “Our shoes are become old by reason of the very long journey.” Isaiah “ walked three years naked and barefoot :” he went for this long period without shoes, contrary to the custom of the people, and as “ a wonder unto Egypt and Ethiopia.” That it became an article of refinement and luxury is evident from the many other notices given, and the Jewish ladies seem to have been very par- ticular about their sandals: thus, we are told in the Apocryphal book of Judith, although Holofernes was attracted by the general richness of her dress and personal ornaments, yet it was “her sandals ravished his eyes;” and the bride in Solomon’s Song is met with the exclamation, “ How beautiful are thy feet with sandals, O prince’s daughter !” The ancient bas-reliefs at Persepolis, and the neighborhood of Babylon, second only in their antiquity and interest to those of Egypt, furnish us with examples of the boots and shoes of the Persian kings, their nobles, and attendants; and they were executed, as appears from historical as well as in- ternal evidence, in the days of Xerxes and Darius. From these sources we here select three speci- Fig. 1. Fig. 3. mens: Fig. 1 is a half-boot, reaching considerably above the ankle, and it is worn by the attendant VOL. XLv.—7 my _ Rn Ren ne > > 5 7? ~~ who has charge of a chariot, upon a bas-relief now in the British Museum, brought from Persepo- lis by Sir R. Ker Porter, by whom it was first en- graved and described in his interesting volumes of travels in that district. Fig. 2, also from Perse- polis, and engraved in the work just quoted, deli- neates another kind of boot or high shoe, reaching only to the ankle, round which it is secured by a band, and tied in front in a knot, the two ends of the band hanging beneath it; this shoe is very com- mon upon the feet of these figures, and is generally worn by soldiers or the upper classes; the attendants or councillors round the throne of these early sove- reigns frequently wear such shoes. Fig. 3, seen upon the feet of personages in the same rank of life, is here copied from a Persepolitan bas-relief repre- senting a soldier in full costume; it is a remarkably interesting example, as it very clearly shows the transition state of this article of dress, being some- thing between a shoe and a sandal: in fact, a shoe may be considered as a covered sandal, and in the instance before us, the part we now term “ upper leather” consists of little more than the lacings of the sandals rendered much broader than usual, and fastened by buttons along the top of the foot; the shoe is thus rendered peculiarly flexible, as the openings over the instep allow of the freest move- ment. Such were the forms of the earliest shoes. Close boots reaching nearly to the knee, where they are met by a wide trowser, are not uncommon upon these sculptures, being precisely the same in shape and appearance as those worn by the modern Cossacks. Indeed, there is nothing in the way of boots that may not be found upon the existing monuments of early nations, precisely resembling The little figure here given might the modern ones. ——SSS==J pass for a copy of boots worn by one of the soldiers of King William the Third’s army, and would not be unworthy of Uncle Toby himself, yet it is care- fully copied from a most ancient specimen of Etrus- can sculpture in the possession of Inghirami, who has engraved it in his learned work, the “ Monu- menti Etruschi:” the original represents an augur or priest, whose chief duty was to report and ex plain supernatural signs.

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THE SCENES IN LIFE OF A POET. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. PART I. Tuere is something in the character of @hlen- schlager and of his writings so simply and purely healthful, in a temperament so alive to the poetry of life, an organization so serene and happy, and a result so equable and uniform, that we are curious to know under what circumstances the true and ho- nest nature of the poet was preserved through a long life, free from all bitter and unhealthful mixtures. He seems to unite with the warmth, the sunny light, the spontaneous vivacity of the south, the steady sustained calmness and ‘reserved ideality of the north. Like his own Antonio, “Nature in him is kind; The kindling fire not merely warms, but burns; Yet passion never with the vulture’s claw Seizes upon him.” Though born in poverty, the circumstances of his life were, for such a nature, most happy. His father, organist and steward of the royal castle of Frede- ricksburg, in a suburb of Copenhagen, seems to have possessed the same easy and serene disposition as his son; and to have been a most kind and indulg- ent parent, leaving the gentle boy to unfold his character without severe control, or a too childish But it was from his mother, as he tells She was a Ger- indulgence. us, that his genius was inherited. man, of refined nature, and delicately nurtured. He says, “I resembled her in character, and in person also. For the earnestness and melancholy in my character I have to thank her, and my father for my healthy organization and cheerful disposition. My mother possessed beth sensibility and imagination; the tragical that I have been able to embody I de- rived from her; but, alas! I brought no laurel wreath to divide with her; those I gathered were laid upon her grave. “In my second year, I was sleeping, one night, by my father’s side, when I was awakened by a great tamult in the house. My father opened the window, and I saw the old familiar stork soaring away over the trees. In the morning, I went into my mother’s chamber, and found the little puppet the stork had loft in the night lying in the bed by my mother’s side.” This was his only sister, Sophia Wilhelmina Bertha; according to the tradition of Danish chil- dren, brought as a choice blessing by that sacred domestic guardian, the stork. The circumstances of (hlenschlager’s childhood were favorable to his poetical development. He was 74 | | | ! ¢ ! é born in a small house, just at the entrance of the splendid avenue of beech-trees leading to the royai castle of which his father was the steward. This royal residence was filled with pictures, statues, and the choicest works of art. Opposite was Suderfield, which had been converted into a beautiful English park. “Our mode of life,” he says, “differed in summer and in winter, as much as the seasons. In summer, the apartments were crowded with cele- brated men, and beautiful, well-dressed women: the whole court was there. We children could look through the door and see the whole royal family sitting at the table, while the loveliest music was playing within. Every Sunday evening there was Turkish music in the gardens, and the people could walk therein. The English park, on the contrary, was sacred to the royal guests, and was always still, retired, und solitary. My father kept the key, and my sister and myself were allowed to wander within the sbadow of its noble trees.” Late in the autumn, the whole royal family removed to the city. There was no longer music and feasting, but carpenters, painters, and decorators, from whom the future poet and artist learned more, perhaps, than from the high-born and well-dressed guests. The actual northern winter came, and the castle was to the steward’s family a complete hermitage, with two dogs and two sentinels, sheltered, like them, within its heavy walls. In storms, in rain and snow, the father sat in his blouse, with the smallest dog at his side, and read aloud to his famiJy. They followed Albert Julius and Robinson Crusoe to their islands; roved in fairy-land with Aladdin and his lamp; or laughed at Don Quixote and Holberg’s comedies. In this desultory, independent manner of life, hlenschlager reached his twelfth year, having, as he says, learnt nothing; but the reader feels that these years, passed in the midst of an extensive park, surrounded by works of art, accompanied by inspiring music, could never have been lost upon a poetical organization like his. hlenschlager’s passion for the stage began to display itself in his twelfth year. He began to write comedies, and with the aid of his sister and a young friend of his own age, ;erformed them to their own and the satisfaction of their older friends. His father intended to educate bim for a merchant; but the gentleman in whose counijng-house he was to have been placed, not being able just then to re- ceive him, the plan was abandoned, and his father, with his usual good nature, consented that he should try his fortune upon the stage. After a sufficient

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SCENES IN THE time spent with the dancing, the fencing, and the posture-master, (his mental preparation had been going on almost from his birth, for almost his whole study had been the drama,) and he had submitted to the discipline of the barber, also to that of the delicate shoe and glove-maker, he made his first appearance upon a publie stage. His father went secretly into the theatre; but his mother and sister remained at home as long as the tender mother’s auxiety would permit: notwithstanding the winter evening was cold and dark, she could not preserve her seif-possession, and remain coldly absent. At the moment the piece was to begin, She went to the lobby of the theatre, and wept and prayed for her zon. The sentinel’s wife, who misunderstood her emotion, said, “Ah! madam, do not weep; perhaps he may yet be converted.” His mother lived to witness his conversion from that devotion to the life of an actor, which, no doubt, secretly made one of the petitions of that mother’s heart, on this evening of her prayer. His success as an actor was only moderate; he soon found out, also, that, to see the rainbow and the beautiful halo of the planets, one must not be in the mist or rain-drops of which they are formed, but observe them from a far different point of view. In the two years that @hlenschlager spent on the boards, he gained much knowledge of life, and ac- quired many valuable acquaintances among ama- teurs and artists. He formed at this time a friend- ship with Rahbek, the Danish poet, whose wife was both spirituelle and accomplished; also a close inti- macy with two brothers by the name of (rsted; students, the one of law, the other of medicine, both lovers of poetry. These brothers were, like twins, always together. They were peculiar also, and re- mind one, in some degree, of the brothers Cheeryble. They lived for each other’s friendship; went about in winter in great overcoats, that also served for dressing-gowns, and leaned, like the Siamese twins, on each other. But these Dioscuri shone in genius like stars, and what was beneath their heavy over- coats could not long remain concealed. In their classes in the college, they took both honors and prizes. Under the auspices of these brothers, (hlen- schlager was admitted to hear the lectures, then highly valuable, in the college of Copenhagen. He says, “ When I entered the halls, it seemed as though the old books in parchment, and the new in modern bindings, looked reproachfully at me, and asked, ‘Wherefore have you leftus?’ I thought to myself, what can this mean?” He was already tired of the drudgery of the stage, although his passion for the drama was not abated, and therefore he understood the silent reproach of the books. He felt, also, that there was danger of hie falling into the dissipated levity of the life of an actor; at least, of those whose whole time is not absorbed by taking the first rank as histrionie artists. Influenced by the advice of the rsteds, Ehlen- NNER ALARA, EERE AAEM EEE OOOO eet were LIFE OF A POET. 75 PRARARRAPRALR ARPA PDP LPL LLP schlager left the stage, and entered upon a course of study to prepare himself for an examination, in order to enter the law classes of the university. He spoke with his father, who, as usual, left him to fol- low his inclination. “I was now again,” he says, “in heaven.” In the intervals of study, he could plan his tragedies, and write them out upon the days when there was no lecture. In the hours of study, also, the dry folios of the law were often ueglected for the charms of Horace and Virgil. His life had now become more earnest; he had a goal before him, that of becoming a lawyer, and of taking his place among his fellow-men as an advo- cate. By joining the law school, he was introduced to the literary clubs of young students, that seem, in Gopenhagen, to be societies that really love letters and each other. The kindest and most honorable and elevated tone of feeling prevails. The young men call each other thou, and with a spirit of free- dom and equality swear to each other brotherhood while belonging to the same club, although in the world they are separated by a wide difference in rank and in worldly circumstances. These literary brotherhoods of young students admit them to a .pecies of happiness which belongs to the male sex, and to the elect only among them, and in the period of youthful enthusiasm. Women have not yet formed such pure and devout attach- ment to literature and the arts as to form societies among themselves for their own culture and for de- votion te the arts. Many reasons might be given for and some against such combinations, but this is not the place to discuss them. Here @hlenschlager became acquainted (in their ewn language) with the works of those shining stars in the literature of Germany, Herder, Goethe, and Schiller, and corrected the false taste which had led him to prefer Kotzebue’s tragedies, Schiller’s “ Rob- bers,” and Goethe’s first works, to the more manly titerature of their later writings. “The Sorrows of Werter,” he says, retained always the power over him that it first exerted upon his imagination. The preferences and tastes ripened by years must have slumbered in the bud of childhood; but many of the illusions and superstitions of youth remain, even after years have unfolded the power of art, and knowledge has chased away the shadows of igno- rance. “Happy are those,” he says, “who can eat of the tree of knowledge, without being hunted from the paradise of innocence and nature.” Refore (Ehlenschlager had finished his law stu- dies, he had the grief to lose his mother; that fond mother that he so much resembled in mind and per- son; the only friend to whom he had imparted his early efforts at poetry and literary composition, over which she rejoiced with the proud tenderness of a mother, but anticipated not his future success. He says, “I saw those eyes, so like my own, become dim with the approach of death; I felt those hands, that had ever been busied in the service of others,

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76 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. become cold and lifeless. Thus she slept. My father elosed her eyes, and we followed to place the loved form in the Gode-field, where I also wish, hereafter, to rest.” Sorrow could not remain long an inmate of a heart so light; it could not long intrude upon his buoyant spirits; he says his happy temperament soon drew him from the shadow to the sunshine of life. After the death of this tender mother, the fireside of his home was less attractive, but the loss was soon alleviated through the influence of her who was to be his future wife, Christiana, the daughter of Counsellor Heger. The poet Rahbek had married a sister, and thus introduced him to the family. Although there is a very inconvenient absence of dates in this autobiography of the poet, he was at He had, as yet, published nothing; his prospects could not have been very flattering. His studies were not yet finished, and only in his profession of the law could he hope for success sufficient to allow him to marry. He thus describes the lady to whom he ventured to offer all he possessed—a true and honest this time apparently about twenty years old. heart :— “ She was a beautiful girl of seventeen, well formed, and full of energy. Her eyes were large and blue, her complexion snow-white, with a delicate rose in her cheeks. Nature had been so bountiful to her in hair that, when she suffered the beautiful blonde tresses to fall down, thev formed a complete veil to her person. She, like all the Heger family, was accomplished and witty. The first time I saw her she was weaving a wreath of corn flowers, as blue as her own eyes. The crown is still mine; and although the leaves have fallen out, they still retain the deep blue of her eyes. It was after a lonely afternoon walk, that I entered the counsellor’s house with Rahbek, the poet, son-in-law of the family. The beautiful girl sat industriously at her needle, and when she raised her head at my entrance, I thought I read a certain pleasure in her eyes. An animated conversation ensued, afterwards a good supper with good wine. Christiana was full of wit and humor.” For the want of a better word, I must translate Christiana’s peculiar humor by the word quizzing. She was instantly alive to everything peculiar in the character or appearance of her friends, and with ready wit placed the peculiarity before them. Like all the Heger family, she possessed the talent of unitating the voice and manner of others, and gave to all her acquaintances pet names, indicating their peculiarities. For this species of wit, hlenschlager gave her the name of the Anabaptist. After the delightful evening mentioned above, encouraged, we presume, by the glance of her blue eyes, the poet says he followed Christiana wherever she went to walk by star or moonlight. In these heavenly but embarrassing walks, the Anabaptist lost her inclination to quiz-her companion. He says, “We went silently, arm in arm; I was one-syllabled, embarrassed, and very serious—Christiana also. At last love, that had so long robbed me of courage, gave it to me, and I came out stuttering with my timid declaration.” Christiana, the joker, seems to have been well prepared for it. He says, “She un- derstood my metaphors and aphorisms right well, and she did not leave me in despair.” He was per- mitted to speak to her father. This father was an extraordinary man; an easy man for the serious affairs of life. Before the bom- bardment of Copenhagen, he was possessed of a large property. His beautiful house and splendid gardens were destroyed by that event. Although a lawyer and counsellor, he possessed many other talents. Our poet says he was a very good smith, joiner, and turner; an excellent horticulturist and ornamental gardener. His strawberries excelled those of the royal gardens. He sketched beautifully. Thorwald- sen, when in Copenhagen, spent his evenings at his house, sketching with him for the instruction of his daughters. He was an accomplished mrsician, and when alone with the piano phantazied* so as to charm all who accidentally heard him. He ground glasses for telescopes, and wrote a treatise, in French, upon optics. He was familiar with the manufacture of the papier-maché, and made beautiful articles, particularly snuff-boxes, whereon he painted lovely landscapes. His works in this art, which he also taught his daughters, were celebrated and sought for in other countries. Being expert in making fire- works, he often amused his friends by such exhibi- tions; but a young servant having been accidentally injured by the fall of one of his rockets, he aban- doned this art. He was a courtier, and had taken part in the Italian opera, upon the court theatre. hlenschlager approached this man of universal talents with great anxiety and timidity. He made a humble speech, setting forth his own small me- rits, which consisted, like Othello’s, only in this, that he had loved and wooed his daughter; that he had nothing but his love, and the prospect and promise of his friend; that in two years’ time he should finish his studies, and then he hoped to begin to earn his living. The father listened politely, rang the bell, called for his daughter, said a few words in her ear, placed her hand in that of her lover, and—changed the subject—whereby, says hlenschlager, “he did me a great service.” This transaction speaks well for the merit of @hlenschlager, or we must presume that, if the father treated every subject as summa- rily as that of his daughter’s happiness, his various accomplishments are not so wonderful. €hlensehlager now studied his profession with more determined industry, but he could not resist the invitations of the muses. He was continually making hasty excursions to Parnassus, and indeed At this time he wrote for the aca- loitering there. * Improvised.

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S8CENES IN THE demic prize medal, upon the question, “Would our literature have been more beautiful if it had been illustrated by the northern rather than the Grecian mythology?” This was his hobby-horse, and he mounted it accordingly. He says, with great sim- plicity, “I should have won the prize, if my essay had been the only one presented; but there were two others, of which one was in favor of the Grecian mythology, and the old professor gave that the pre- ference.” It was of little consequence now whether it were Apollo and the muses that drew him from his stu- dies; the war broke out with England, and Mars or Thor coming to the aid of Freia,* the old heroic thirst for glory awoke in him, as in the whole na- tion. He joined, with others of the young students, the volunteer corps to defend Copenhagen against the fleet of Lord Nelson. After a year of interrup- tion, he turned again to the study of law. At this time his studies in Danish and natural law were finished, but of the Roman law he knew nothing. Since the death of his mother, he had lived with the Cirsteds, under the care, as he says, of their nurse, a kind and indulgent matron, who held the place of a mother to these young men, who were merely boarders in her family. His manner of life was more satisfactory to himself than conducive to the study of the Roman law. It was his delight to assemble a multitude of students and young citizens around him, and, sitting on a low stool in the midst, to read, or rather to act, Holberg’s Comedies, chang- ing his voice and assuming each character in turn, to the universal delight and laughter of the company. About this time, that is, in 1801 or ’2, he was greatly surprised and delighted to hear of the be- trothment of his dearest friend, Anders (rsted, to his only sister, the little puppet formerly left by the stork, now grown to marriageable age. They had preserved their secret, he says, from him, to revenge his own cunning and abrupt betrothment to the counsellor’s daughter. The marriage followed im- mediately, as his friend had been appointed assessor to the court, and city justice. This happy connec- tion added greatly to the joy of their social and domestic life. Some divisions had arisen in their club in conse- quence of the new school of German literature, the so-called romantic school. (€hlenschlager soon be- came a convert to the new school; but he withdrew somewhat from the club to a more domestic life. He gives a pleasant description of the circle in which he spent his evenings, consisting of the Ersteds, and Rahbek, the poet, who had married the sister of his Christiana. He was the writer of the “Danish Ob- server,” a periodical much esteemed at this time. He says, “Our relation to Rahbek was peculiar. He had been the instructor of us all in taste and belles-lettres, and stood now at the head of the old * The goddess of love of the northern mythology. 7* + aw LLLP LPP ween ns IFE OF A POET 77 classical school of literature; but he was as tolerant as he was obstinate. He would never dispute, but contrived to withdraw himself from our discussions by an anecdote or a witty conceit; if we persisted, he was silent, or looked at the prospect from his window; if we became warm and excited, he went to his study and his canary birds. When a glass of wine had restored our good humor, he would again join us, and relate some of his characteristic anec- dotes of former times, of which he had treasured a wonderful store, recollecting not only names and dates, but baptismal names, and imitating all the humorous peculiarities of the persons. In literary attainments, he stood at the head of all his contem- poraries, Baggeson only excepted, and he was the most fair and equitable of all. “His wife, although many years younger, hung with full soul upon him, and, notwithstanding her own remarkable talents, had accustomed herself to implicit faith in his opinions. We young men found this so beautiful, that we did not seek to shake her faith in his infallibility. Fortunately her character was just adapted to her position. She rarely spoke of poetry. She possessed a noble heart, quick per- ceptions, extraordinary wit, and the greatest faculty in overcoming all mechanical difficulties. Wit and humor played always in her conversations; imagi- nation alone was wanting. If she was serious, she was almost melancholy. She understood all the modern languages, together with Latin and Greek; but, as she read books principally on account of the languages, her mind was not enriched with their literature, and it was not very agreeable to hear her speak long in the respective tongues. Her appre- ciation of the beautiful was more apparent in her paintings and in the art of gardening. Her beau- tiful garden was formed by herself. She sat much in her summer-house, surrounded by her splendid fruits and flowers, while her wit and humor bloomed still more luxuriantly. She listened ‘roguishly’ to our disputes and controversies; but, if we left a weak point of our argument exposed, or there was a link broken in the chain of our reasoning, Murat never came down quicker with his cavalry, than she with her winged wit fell upon us with such slanghter that we could only come off with loud laughter and broken limbs. “My sister was different, and yet in many things like the Rahbek. She was as lively, witty, and spi- rituelle, but she had not the talent for languages, nor the mechanical skill, of her friend. She was very susceptible; the joy of grief was well known to her, and sometimes almost led to melancholy. She made all her own clothes, and dressed herself with great taste. She walked much and well, while her friend Rahbek, on the contrary, sat always at home, or made short journeys to Hamburg. Neither of them loved an extensive society, but they col- lected daily a small circle of accomplished friends. My sister kept but one servant, and arranged ber

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78 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. rooms herself, although, from her soft, white hands, no one would have suspected it. I had my corner in their houses, and read, almost every evening, something aloud to them. The works that they enjoyed the most, and over which we afterwards laughed and disputed, were Voss’s Homer, Tieck’s Don Quixote, Schlegel’s Spanish Theatre, Tieck’s and Novali’s writings, Goethe, Schiller, and Shak- speare! “0 beloved friends of my youth, with whom I lived so many precious years, you are now both in eternity, and my earthly eyes will behold you no more! Pardon, if with too faint colors I have en- deavored to draw, from memory, the resemblance of your characters. I would that the world should know something of your virtues!” (Ehlenschlager continued to write and publish his poems, and “about this time,” that is, about 1804, he published the “Oriental Drama,” and poem of “Aladdin or the Wonderful Lamp.” This was writ- ten con amore, having a close resemblance, he thinks, to his own life. In his poetical talent, he affirms, he had possession of a wonderful lamp, that opened to him all the treasures of the earth, while, in his vivid imagination, he possessed the power of the charmed ring. Like Aladdin also, (which seems to us less miraculous,) he was in love. This publication obtained so much success that he easily persuaded himself nature intended him for a poet, and for no- thing else; that it was in vain to strive against an intention of nature, so distinctly pronounced. His bride was of the same opinion, and he resolved to leave the Roman law, and all other law, although both knew that, in turning off from the great high- way and beaten path of life to cross flowery meadows and untracked swamps, he left the secure road to future sustenance. But he seems always to have trusted Providence, and gone on his own way re- joicing. He resolved, at first, to rely wholly upon his favor- ite studies, the old Sagas, and applied to the Aca- demy of Art to allow him to give lectures upon the northern mythology. The painter Abildgaard, the director of the Academy, and instructor of Thor- waldsen, made the old objections to all northern idolatry ; but (hlenschlager maintained his own views with so much eloquence, that the scornful smile of the old man was changed into one of seri- ous admiration. “Ach Gott,” he said, “Iam not the man to oppose anything that is new and spiritual.” He changed his plan, however, having heard that the Countess Schimmelman had read his last poems with great satisfaction, and wished to see the author. He hastened therefore to her beautiful country-house on the sea-shore. He says, “I waited long in the empty apartments, when at last a simply-dressed, friendly woman entered, and greeted me with diffi- dence, saying, ‘my husband will immediately be here.’” It was the countess herself. She soon made herself known, and from this time to her death, she remained his liberal patroness. Through the influ- ence of the count, her husband, he obtained from the crown prince a travelling pension, derived from the fund for the public service, and Count Schim- melman became the trustee for the regular payment of the pension. It seems to have been in (hlenschlager’s usual good fortune (and one would believe that an uncom- monly benevolent and intelligent stork must have watched his birth), that if he could only succeed through a patron, he should find a modest, gentle, and unassuming woman to hold that place, who seems to have demanded nothing in return. ————__~+@9 eee. -- ts) be ro tH t CHAPTER II. SINGING BIRDS. “ HearkE, hearke, the excellent notes of singing birds! what variety of voices! how are they fitted to every passion! The little chirping birds (the wren and the robin) they sing a mean ; the goldfinch, the nightingale, they join in the treble; the black- bird, the thrush, they bear the tenor; while the four- footed beasts, with their bleating and bellowing, they sing a base. How other birds sing in their order, I refer you to the skilful musicians: some of them keep their due times; others have their continued notes, that all might please with variety; while the woods, the groves, and the rocks, with the hollow- ness of their sound like a musical instrument, send forth an echo, and seem to unite their song.”— ttoopman’s Fall of Man, p. 78. MUSIC IN SPEECH. “Sirtrne in some company, and having been but a little before musical, I chanced to take notice that in ordinary discourse words were spoken in perfect notes; and that some of the company used eighths, some fifths, some thirds: and that those were most pleasing, whose words, as to their tone, consisted most of concords; and where of discords, of such as constituted harmony; and the same person was the most affable, pleasant, and the best-natured in the company. And this suggests a reason why many discourses which one hears with much pleasure, when they come to be read scareely seem the same things. “ From this difference of music in speech, we may also conjecture that of tempers. We know the Dorie mood sounds gravity and sobriety; the Lydian,

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LE MELANGE. 79 LALLA PLP reedom; the olic, sweet stillness and composure ; the Phrygian, jollity and youthful levity ; the Ionic soothes the storms and disturbances arising from passion. And why may we not reasonably suppose that those whose speech naturally runs into the notes peculiar to any of these moods, are likewise in disposition ? “So also from the cliff: as he that speaks in ga- mut, to be manly; C Fa Ut may show one to be of an ordinary capacity, though good disposition; @ Sol Re Ut, to be peevish and effeminate, and of a weak and timorous spirit; sharps, an effeminate sadness; flats, a manly or melancholic sadness. He who has a voice in some measure agreeing with all cliffs, seems to be of good parts and fit for variety of employments, yet somewhat of an inconstant nature. Likewise from the times: so semibriefs may bespeak a temper dull and phlegmatic; min- ims, grave and serious; crotchets, a prompt wit; quavers, vebemency of passion, and used by scolds. Semibrief-rest may denote one either stupid, or fuller of thoughts than he can utter; minim-rest, one that deliberates ; crotchet-rest, one in a passion. So that from the natural use of mood, note, and time, we may collect dispositions.”— Philosophical Transactions, vol. ii., p. 441. POWER OF MUSIC TO INSPIRE DEVOTION. “Tuat there is a tendency in music,” says Sir Joun Hawkins, “to excite grave and even devout as well as lively and mirthful affections, no one can doubt who is not an absolute stranger to its efficacy ; and though it may perhaps be said that the effects of music are mechanical, and that there can be nothing pleasing to God in that devotion which follows the involuntary operation of sound on the human mind; this is more than can be proved, and the Scripture seems to indicate the contrary.”— History of Music, vol. iv., p. 42. PHYSIC. “From the physician, let us come to the apothe- caries. When I see their shops so well stored and furnished with their painted boxes and pots, instead of commending the owner, or taking deiight and pleasure in the shop, I begin to pity poor miserable and wretched man that should be subject to so many diseases, and should want so many helps to his cure. I could wish that his pots were only for ornament, or naked and empty; or that they did but only serve for his credit, for he is a happy man that can live without them. But here I can do no less than take some notice of their physic. Most commonly the medicines are more fearful than the disease PAL LLLP LPP PLP PPP PPL PLD L LL PLL LPL PPL PPP itself; I call the sick patient to witness, who hath the trial and experience of both! As for example, long fastings and abstinence; a whole pint of bitter potion; pills that cannot be swallowed; noisome, distasteful, and unsavory vomits; the cutting of veins; the lancing of sores; the seering up of mem- bers; the pulling out of teeth; here are strange cures to teach a man cruelty! The surgeon shall never be of my jury.”—Goopman’s Fall of Man, p. 98. HAPPINESS OF THE POOR IN ESCAPING THE PHYSICIAN. “TIappy are poor men! If sick with the excess of heat or cold, Caused by necessitous labor, not loose surfeits, They, when spare diet, or kind nature, fail To perfect their recovery, soon arrive at Their rest in death; but, on the contrary, The great and noble are exposed as preys To the rapine of physicians; and they In lingering out what is remediless, Aim at their profit, not tiie patient’s health.” MassinGer, Emperor of the East, vol. iii., p. 316. PUBLIC EXERCISING GROUNDS NECESSARY TO THE HEALTH OF LARGE CITIES. “Tw all large and weli-regulated cities, there ought to be play-grounds or places for public ex- ercise, where laborers, and people who work at par- ticular trades, might assemble at certain hours for recreation, and amuse themselves with walking or other healthful exercises, in order to prevent those diseases which may arise from the usual posture required in their business, if continued without re- mission, or any relaxation or change. “The general decay of those manly and spirited exercises which formerly were practised in the me- tropolis and its vicinity, has not arisen from any want of inclination in the people, but from the want of places for that purpose. Such as in times past had been allotted to them, are now covered with buildings or shut up by enclosures: so that, if it were not for skittles, and the like pastimes, they would have no amusements connected with the ex- ercise of the body; and such amusements are only to be met with in places belonging to common drinking-houses; for which reason their play is seldom productive of much benefit, but more fre- quently becomes the prelude to drunkenness and debauchery. Honest Stowe, in his Survey of Lon- don, laments the retrenchments of the grounds ap- propriated for martial pastimes, which had begun to take place even in his day.”—Sm Jonn S1n- cLair’s Code of Health and Longevity, p. 292.

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rT a Hd STAVES FROM MY JOURNAL. GENOA. Few cities can go back into antiquity so far as Genoa, if, as an inseription in the ancient part of the cathedral states, it was founded by Janus, the grandson of Noah ; it is certain, however, that it is one of the oldest cities in Europe, and was enjoying a high degree of prosperity and civilization at a time when England was but little removed from barbar- ism. When Richard Cour de Lion was on his way to the Holy Land, he found Genoa far in advance of any part of his own kingdom, and was treated so hospitably, and received so much substantial assist- ance from the Genoese, that, as a partial return, he adopted their patron St. George, and took him to England, where he has since remained the patron saint. Few saints in the calendar had so strange a eareer while living, or were more doubtfully pro- moted. A native of Cappadocia by birth, of low descent, and vicious life, the course of events made him the rival and successor of the virtuous Athana- sius, in the Bishopric of Alexandria in Egypt. There, by a long course of plunder, injustice, and oppression, he so disgusted his subjects that he and his assistants were first imprisoned and finally mur- dered by the mob; and his remains were thrown into the sea. A few centuries later, he is found in the calendar of saints, and now enjoys the honor of presiding over the kingdom of Great Britain, and the noble Order of the Garter. The view of Genoa, as approached from the sea, is very grand and beautiful. An amphitheatre of hills covered with villas, and high in their rear crowned by forts, which have acquired undying names from Massena’s glorious defence, serves as a background for the city, which, thickly built upon a succession of hills, presents a most picturesque ap- pearance. The port, which is altogether artificial, is very large and formed by two enormous moles which project into the sea. It is one of the best in the Mediterranean, and is generally filled with shipping from all parts of the world. The American flag is rarely seen in consequence of the reciprocity trea- ties, which have enabled Sardinian vessels to carry what our own vessels used to; and, as they can sail their ships much more cheaply than we can, they have now nearly monopolized the commerce between the two countries, to the serious injury of our ship- ping interests. Another cause is the rising great- ness of Marseilles, which is overshadowing all the neighboring ports, and where our vessels stop with their cargoes. The streets of Genoa, with few exceptions, are 80 eee very narrow, and most of them resemble our nar- rowest alleys. They run up and down hill in the most extravagant manner. The use of wheeled carriages is of course very limited in Genoa, and the old sedan chair still flourishes here, though princi- pally at night. The wide streets are the Balbi, Nuovissima, and Nuova ; they are continuations of each other, and are literally streets of palaces, as scarcely any other description of building is to be found upon them. They are wide by comparison, and carriages can easily pass each other. There are no sidewalks, however, and the pedestrian is often annoyed and oftener muddied by the aristo- cratic equipages which show themselves in these, their only streets. Many of these palaces contain fine pictures, especially portraits by Vandyke. The Carlo-Alberto and Carlo-Felice streets are wider than the streets of Palaces, having been more re- cently opened, and they alone have sidewalks. They also communicate with each other and with the three first named, so that a very respectable drive, in a small way, may be had in the heart of the city; you are confined, however, to one drive, and for all pur- poses of business or sight seeing, you must go afoot. The Opera House is upon the Carlo-Felice, and is a beautiful building, both inside and out. A good company is generally to be found here. There are several Doric palaces in Genoa; but the most interesting house, associated with the name of the great warrior and statesman, is in the Piazza San Matteo, which was presented to him by his fellow- citizens, and still bears this inscription :— “S.C. ANpRE# pe AuriA, Parri# LipeRarori, Munvs Pusuicum.” The house has since fallen from its high estate, snd is now used for shops and residences, of the poorer sort. In this same Piazza,* is the Church of San Matteo, where the great Andrea Doria is magnifi- cently entombed. The Ducal Palace, formerly the Palace of the Doges, has externally the appearance of an old for- tress with high battlemented walls, and with a high square tower rising from the centre. This tower contains the great bell which was presented to the Republic by the Dutch, and which (they say) can * We have no word in English which corresponds with the Italian Piazea or the French Place. It is applied to any open space in the city, whether square or otherwise. The open space in front (east) of the Exchange (in Phila- delphia), or that where the Battle Monument stands, jv Baltimore, is precisely the Italian Piazza.

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GENOA. Sl be heard for twenty miles at sea. A large part of the interior of the building was destroyed by fire in 1777, and the finest rooms are modern. The Doge’s chapel and the council chamber still remain, however, as relics of the olden times. The Doge was required to be fifty years of age, and was elected for two years, during which time he could never leave the palace, and was in fact a gilded prisoner of state. His only walk was upon a terrace, upon which opened the grated windows of the state pri- soners, whose lamentations or curses he could enjoy as he took his daily walks. This palace is now the government house, and contains the several public offices. In one of them are preserved three letters of Columbus, of whom the Genoese are now very proud, and to whom they are erecting a monument on the Acqua Verde, which will be very grand and colossal when finished. It is generally conceded now that Columbus was not born in Genoa, but at Cogoleto, a small village some miles to the westward. All this par parenthése. The letters are preserved in a marble monument with a brass door, which has but one keyhole, but requires three keys to open it. The letters are in Spanish and in good preservation ; the signature is rather curious, and is as follows :— “El Almirante Mayor del Mar Oceano, y Vi. Rey y Gobernador General de las Islas, y de la Terra Firma de Asia, y de las Indias, del Rey, y de la Reina, mis Sefiores, y del suo Capitan General del Mar, y del su Consilio. sf XMY- S FERENS | The exchange is a large hall built in 1570. It is supported by sixteen columns, and was formerly open at the sides. the building has the appearance of an immense green-house. The Duomo or Cathedral of St. Lawrence is a very singular-looking edifice, decidedly Saracenic in its style: it is faced with alternate layers of black and white marble, with a tall square tower at one angle. The pillars of the doorways are of various patterns ; all of them twisted, some with rough knobs upon them, and all presenting a very barbaric effect. Over the centre door is a rude marble bas-relief, representing St. Lawrence on his gridiron, with two men blowing up the fire with bel/ows—a proof of the They are now, however, glazed, and * Expianation.—Supplex. Servus Altissimi Salvatoris, Christi, Maria, Josephi, Christo. Ferens. | ; : $ ! ; | $ | | | antiquity of that valuable article of domestic com- fort. The nave of the church consists of a doubie row of (two storied) columns of granite and por- phyry, which are said to be the remains of an ancient Teutonic. temple. The other parts of the church are (comparatively) modern; having been built in the beginning of the fourteenth century. The Chapel of St. John the Baptist is one of the richest portions of the cathedral. It is a small church in itself, richly decorated with numerous statues of considerable merit. Here are kept (on dit) the ashes of St. John, and a very curious old marble chest, in which they were first brought from the Holy Land by the Crusaders. No woman is al- lowed to enter this chapel, in consequence of its hav- ing been one of that sex which caused his beheading. In the cathedral is also preserved the Emerald (or green glass) dish which the Crusaders brought from Cexsarea. This dish is said to have been presented to Solomon by the Queen of Sheba: to have been the charger in which the Baptist’s heaa was received ; also, to have been the dish from which our Saviour ate the Last Supper; also, the dish in which Joseph of Arimathea received the blood of Christ; the San- greal in search of which King Arthur and his knights made their famous quest. Every one is free to choose the character he prefers for the relic, and to honor it accordingly. One thing is, however, cer- tain, that the Emerald is nothing but green glass; and the priests who acknowledge it say that it used to be Emerald, but that Napoleon changed it when it was in Paris. Some of the other churches of Genoa are very rich, and deserving a visit. Among these the “ Annun- ziata” stands pre-eminent. It is one of the oldest churches in the city, having been built early in the thirteenth century. It was enlarged in the six- teenth century to its present size; and was splen- didly embellished at various times by the Lomelini family. Large subscriptions and bequests have contributed to keep it up, and at the present time a magnificent facade of white marble, with a row of beautiful marble pillars, which are just completed, shows what its splendor will be when the whole is similarly renovated. The frescoes and gilding in the interior are particularly rich. The Church of St. Cyr is very ancient, its anti- quity having been traced back to the year 250. It was the Cathedral of Genoa until 985, when that title was transferred to the Church of St. Lawrence, where it still remains. Many other churches are celebrated for their paintings, frescoes, and statuary That of St. Maria di Carignans is one of the most conspicuous buildings in the place, standing upon a high hill at one extremity of the amphitheatre. The Goldsmith’s Street has a curiosity hanging against the wali of a house in a glass case. It isa very fine painting of St. Eloi, the patron of all smiths. It was painted by Pellegrino Piola, a young artist who was assassinated when only twenty-two

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82 GODEY'S MAGAZINE ND LADY’S BOOK.

years old. It is a very old picture, and is looked upon with a degree of reverence and attachment by the inhabitants which it is difficult for us to understand, It is said that Napoleon was induced to leave it in its place, for fear of exasperating the Genoese too highly by removing it to Paris, as he contemplated. The Bank of St. George, the oldest in Europe, (though that honor is also claimed by Venice,) is still here in a flourishing condition. The walks and drives in the neighborhood of Genoa are surpassingly beautiful. Close to, and overlooking the city, are the Peschiere and Zerbino gardens, where the inhabitants are allowed to walk. At a distance of five or six miles, are the Pellavicini and Lomelini Villas, which merit a visit as much as anything in Genoa. In the former, art has almost superseded nature, which has left only the fine views which everywhere break out among the walks. Grottos, caves, castles, summer-houses, Chinese pa- godas, obelisks, bridges, and lakes ; all unite to make a most lovely spot, to which the memory reverts with very great pleasure. The climate of Genoa is very good, and the only drawback in winter is the high wind which is gene-

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> LI PR OORAIS rally prevailing. It is, however, a very healthy place, and one can enjoy much solid comfort. The hotels are of the best description, the restaurants are good; provisions are plenty and cheap; the so- ciety is better than in any other city of Italy, and foreigners, with proper credentials, find no difficulty in obtaining an entrance into it. Above all, Sardinia is free! the press is as free as could be wished. The soldiery are intended for the enemy, not for the citizen; life, property, con- science, all are safe. Here only, in Italy, the priests have been elevated to the level of their fellow-citi- zens. The peculiar privileges under which they have se long battened have been removed, and they take their places with, instead of above their flocks. Sardinia is now the cynosure of all true lovers of freedom for Italy. She is looked upon with little love by Austria, Naples, and the other despotisms of Europe; and the time is not far distant when she may have to defend her freedom with the sword. It is to be hoped that, when that day arrives, and the standard of freedom is erected in its last Italian home, the governments of France and England will be found ranging themselves by the side of Savoy. AST WORDS. BY HELEN HAMILTON WE treasure fondly in our hearts A parent’s cheering praise, The orator’s warm eloquence, The poet's fervent lays; The vows of love are woven close With many a heart’s warm chords; Yet, oh! we treasure these far less Than some loved lipa’ last words. We stand beside the bed of death, And closer bend the ear, The last faint tones of tenderness From those pale lips to hear; And, oh! the wooing voice of iove, The minstrel’s high accords, Sink lesa in our hearts’ inmost depths Than those faint-breathed last words. Last words! last words! The broken phrase Formed by the parting breath, Ere Life’s dim twilight fades away Into the night of Death, The last notes drawn from out a oarp, Before its breaking chords, Yield ’neath the sweep of Death’s cold hand; There treasure we—last words. Last words! last words! The sobbed adieu Of those who part forever, The waters’ moan ere Death’s dark sea Ingulfs Life’s sparkling river; A loved name murmured broke aly, A faintly-breathed farewell— These are thy jewels, Memory! Guard thou the casket well.

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SORROWS OF A BY A SUPFERER. An me! Am TI really a rich man, or am I not? That is the question. I am sure I don’t feel rich; and yet, here I am written down among the “ wealthy citizens” as being worth seventy thousand dollars! How the estimate was made, or who fur- nished the data, is alla mystery tome. I am sure I wasn’t aware of the fact before. “Seventy thou- sand dollars!” That sounds comfortable, doesn’t it? Seventy thousand dollars! But where is it? Ah! There’s the rub! How true it is that people always know more about you than you do yourself. Before this confounded book came out, (“The Wealthy Citizens of Philadelphia,”) I was jogging on very quietly. Nobody seemed to be aware of the fact that I was a rich man, and I had no suspicion of the thing myself. But, strange to tell, I awoke one morning and found myself worth seventy thou- sand dollars! I shall never forget that day. Men who had passed me in the street with a quiet, fami- liar nod, now bowed with a low salaam, or lifted their hats deferentially, as I encountered them on the pavé. “What ’s the meaning of all this?” thought I. “T havn't stood up to be shot at, nor sinned against innocence and virtue. I havn’t been to Paris. I don’t wear moustaches. What has given me this importance ?” And, musing thus, I pursued my way in quest of money to help me out with some pretty heavy pay- ments. After succeeding, though with some diffi- culty, in obtaining what I wanted, I returned to my store about twelve o’clock. I found a mercantile acquaintance awaiting me, who, without many pre- liminaries, thus stated his business :— “T want,” said he, with great coolness, “to get a loan of six or seven thousand dollars; and I don’t know of any one to whom I can apply with more freedom and hope of success than yourself. I think I can satisfy you, fully, in regard to security.” “ My dear sir,” replied I, “if you only wanted six or seven hundred dollars instead of six or seven thousand, I could not accommodate you. I have iust come in from a borrowing expedition myself.” I was struck with the sudden change in the man’s countenance. He was not only disappointed, but offended. He did not believe my statement. In his eyes, I had meanly resorted to a subterfuge, or, rather, told a lie, because I did not wish to let him have my money. Bowing with cold formality, he turned away and left my place of business. His manner to me has been reserved ever since. On the afternoon of that day, I was sitting in the back part of my store musing on some matter of business, when I saw a couple of ladies enter. They spoke to one of my clerks, and he directed them back to where I was taking things comfortably in an old arm-chair. “ Mr. G——, I believe?” said the elder of the two ladies, with a bland smile. I had already arisen, and to this question, or ra- ther affirmation, I bowed assent. “Mr. G »’ resumed the lady, producing a small book as she spoke, “we are a committee, appointed to make collections in this district for the purpose of getting up a fair in aid of the funds of the Esquimaux Missionary Society. It is the design of the ladies who have taken this matter in hand to have a very large collection of articles, as the funds of the society are entirely exhausted. To the gen- tlemen of our district, and especially to those who have been Jiberally blessed with this world’s goods” —this was particularly emphasized—*“we look for important aid. Upon you, sir, we have called first, in order that you may head the subscription, and thus set an example of liberality to others.” And the lady handed me the book in the most “ of course” manner in the world, and with the evident expectation that I would put down at least fifty dol- lars. Of course I was cornered, 2nd must do something. I tried to be bland and polite; but am inclined to think that I failed in the effort. As for fairs, I never did approve of them. But that was nothing. The enemy had boarded me so suddenly and so com- pletely, that nothing was left for me but to surrend.r at discretion, and I did so with as good a grace as possible. Opening my desk, I took out a five dollar bill and presented it to the elder of the two ladies, thinking that I was doing very well indeed. She took the money, but was evidently disappointed ; and did not even ask me to head the list with my name. “How money does harden the heart!” I over- heard one of my fair visitors say to the other, in a low voice, but plainly intended for my edifi- cation, as they walked off with their five dollar bill. “Confound your impudence!” I said to myself, thus taking my revenge out of them. “Do you think I’ve got nothing else to do with my money but seatter it to the four winds ?” And I stuck my thumbs firmly in the armholes of my waistcoat, and took a dozen turns up and down my store, in order to cool off. 83

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GODEY’S M 84 AGAZINE AND LADY'S BOOK. “Confound your impudence!” I then repeated, and quietly sat down again in the old arm-chair. On the next day, I had any number of calls from money hunters. Business men, who had never thought of asking me for loans, finding that I was worth seventy thousand dollars, crowded in upon me for temporary favors, and, when disappointed in their expectations, couldn’t seem to understand it. When I spoke of being “hard up” myself, they looked as if they didn’t clearly comprehend what I meant. A few days after the story of my wealth had gone abroad, I was sitting, one evening, with my family, when I was informed that a lady was in the parlor, and wished to see me. “A lady!” said IL. “Yes, sir,” replied the servant. “Ts she alone ?” “Yes, sir.” “ What does she want ?” “She did not say, sir.” “Very weil. Tell her I’ll be down in a few mo- ments.” When I entered the parlor, I found a woman, dressed in mourning, with her veil closely drawn. “Mr. G I bowed, and took a place upon the sofa where ?” she said, in a low, sad voice. she was sitting, and from which she had not risen upon my entrance. “ Pardon the great liberty I have taken,” she be- gan, after a pause of embarrassment, and in an un- steady voice. ‘ But, I believe I have not mistaken your character for sympathy and benevolence, nor erred in believing that your hand is ever ready to respond to the generous impulses of your heart.” I bowed again, and my visitor went on. “My object in calling upon you I will briefly state. A year ago my husband died. Up to that time I had never known the want of anything that money could buy. He was a merchant of this city, and supposed to be in good circumstances. But he left an insolvent estate; and now, with five littlo ones to care for, educate, and support, I have parted with nearly my last dollar, and have not a single friend to whom I can look for aid.” There was a deep earnestness and moving pathos in the tones of the woman’s voice, that went to my heart. She paused for a few moments, overcome with her feelings, and then resumed :— “ One in an extremity like mine, sir, will do many things from which, under other circumstances, she would shrink. This is my only excuse for troubling you at the present time. But I cannot see my little family in want without an effort to sustain them; and, with a little aid, I see my way clear to do so. I was well edacated, and feel not only competent, but willing to undertake a school. There is one, the teacher of which being in bad health, wishes to give it up, and if I can get the means to buy out her establishment, will secure an ample and permanent > income for my family. To aid me, sir, in doing this, I now make an appeal to you. I know you are able, and I believe you are willing to put forth your hand and save my children from want, and, it may be, separation.” The woman still remained closely veiled; I couldn’t, therefore, see her face. But I could per- ceive that she was waiting with trembling suspense for my answer. Heaven knows my heart responded freely to her appeal “ How much will it take to purchase this establish- ment?” I inquired. “Only a thousand dollars,” she replied. I was silent. A thousand dollars! “T do not wish it, sir, as a gift,” she said; “only asaloan. In a year or two, I will be able to repay it.” “My dear madam,” was my reply, “had I the ability, most gladly would I meet your wishes. But, I assure you, I have not. A thousand dollars taken from my business would destroy it.” A deep sigh, that was almost a groan, came up from the breast of the stranger, and her head drooped low upon her bosom. She seemed to have fully expected the relief for which she applied ; and to be stricken to the earth by my words! We were both unhappy. “ May I presume to ask your name, madam ?” said I, after a pause, “Tt would do no good to mention it,” she replied, mournfully. “It has cost mea painful effort to cv. to you; and now that my hope has proved, alas! in vain, I must beg the privilege of still remaining a stranger.” She arose, as she said this. Her figure was tall and dignified. Dropping me a slight courtesy, she was turning to go away, when I said— “But, madam, even if I have not the ability to grant your request, I may still have it in my power to aid you in this matter. I am ready to do all I can; and, without doubt, among the friends of your husband will be found numbers to step forward and join in affording you the assistance so much desired, when they are made aware of your present extremi- ty. The lady made an impatient gesture, as if my words were felt as a mockery or an insult, and, turn- ing from me, again walked from the room with a firm step. Before I could recover myself, she had passed into the street, and I was left standing alone. To this day I have remained in ignorance of her identity. Cheerfully would I have aided her to the extent of my ability to do so. Her story touched my feelings and awakened my liveliest sympathies, and if, on learning her name and making proper inquiries into her circumstances, I had found all to be as she had stated, I would have felt it a duty to interest myself in her behalf, and have contributed in aid of the desired end to the extent of my ability. But she came to me under the false idea that I had but to

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THE SORROWS OF A

PRPPPLP PPL LPL PL II put my hand in my pocket, or write a check upon the bank, and lo! a thousand dollars were forth- coming. And because I did not do this, she be- lieved me unfeeling, selfish, and turned from me mortified, disappointed, and despairing. I felt sad for weeks after this painful interview. On the very next morning I received a letter from an artist, in which he spoke of the extremity of his circumstances, and begged me to purchase a couple of pictures. I called at his rooms, for I could not resist his appeal. The pictures did not strike me as possessing much artistic value. “What do you ask for them?” I inquired. “T refused a hundred dollars for the pair. But I am compelled to part with them now, and you shall have them for eighty.” I had many other uses for eighty dollars, and, therefore, shook my head. But, as he looked dis- appointed, I offered to take one of the pictures at forty dollars. Tothis he agreed. I paid the money, and the picture was sent home. Some days after- wards, I was showing it to a friend, “ What did you pay for it ?” he asked. “ Forty dollars,” I replied. The friend smiled strangely. “< What's the matter?” said I. “ He offered it to me for twenty-five.” “ That picture ?” “Yes.” “He asked me eighty for this and another, and said he had refused a hundred for the pair.” “ Though he lied. off, that he must ask you a good stiff price, or you wouldn’t buy.” “The scoundrel !” “ He got ahead of you, certainly.” “ But it’s the last time,” said I, angrily. And so things went on. Scarcely a day passed in which my fame as a wealthy citizen did not sub- ject me to some kind of experiment from people in want of money. If I employed a porter for any ser- vice and asked what was to pay, after the work was done, ten chances to one that‘he didn’t touch his hat and reply— “ Anything that you please, sir,” in the hope that I, being a rich man, would be ashamed to offer him less than about four times his regular price. Poor people in abundance called upon me for aid; and He thought, as you were well all sorts of application to give or lend money met me at every turn. And when I, in self-defence, begged off as politely as possible, hints gentle or broad, according to the characters or feelings of those who came, touching the hardening and perverting influence of wealth were thrown out for my especial edification. VoL. xLv.—8 “WEALTHY i 4 CITIZEN” SF And still the annoyance continues. Nobody but myself doubts the fact that ' am worth from seventy to a hundred thousand dollars, and I am, therefore, considered allowable game for all who are too idle or prodigal to succeed in the world; or as Nature’s almoner to all who are suffering from misfortunes. Soon after the publication to which I have alluded was foisted upon our community as a veritable docu- ment, I found myself a secular dignitary in the church militant. Previously I had been only a pew- holder, and an unambitious attendant upon the Sab- But a I was a man bath ministrations of the Rev. Mr. .

new field suddenly opened before me. of weight and influence, and must be used for what I was worth. It is no joke, I can assure the reader, when I tell them that the way my pocket suffered was truly alarming. I don’t know, but I have se- riously thought, sometimes, that if I hadn’t, kicked loose from my dignity, I would have been gazetted as a bankrupt long before this time. Soon after sending in my resignation as vestryman or deacon, I will not say which, I met the Rev. Mr. , and the way he talked to me about the earth about

being the *‘ Lord’s and the fulness thereof ;” our having “the poor always with us;” about the duties of charity, and the laying up of treasure in heaven, made me ashamed to go to church for a month to come. I really began to fear that I was a doomed man, and that the reputation of being a “ wealthy citizen” was going to sink me into ever- lasting perdition. But I am getting over that feel- ing now. My cash book, ledger, and bill book set me right again; and I can button up my coat and draw my purse-strings, when guided by the dictates of my own judgment, without a fear of the threatened final consequences before my eyes. Still, I am the subject of perpetual annoyance from all sorts of people, who will persist in believing that I am made of money; and many of these approach me in such a way as to put it almost entirely out of my power to say “no.” They come with appeals for small amounts, as loans, donations to particular charities, or as the price of articles that I do not want, but which I cannot well refuse to take. I am sure that, since I have obtained my present unenviable repu- tation, it hasn’t cost me a cent less than two thou- sand, in money given away, loaned never to be re- turned, and in the purchase of things that I never would have thought of buying. And, with all this, I have made more enemies than I ever before had in my life, and estranged half of my friends and acquaintances. Seriously, I have it in vontemplation to “ burs‘ up” one of these days, in order to satisfy the world that [am notarich man. I see no other effectual remedy for my present grievances.

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POET I'VE BEEN FORTH INTO THE WORLD, MOTHER. BY MARIE J. CLARE. The first thing that youth loses is its faith in human truth. When the young heart discovers that friends may be false or interested; that man in general is selfish, not to say villanous, its first impulse is to leave the world ;— it yearns to pass immediately by the gate of Death to a better—even if it be all unprepared; for this other—the angelic. I’ve been forth into the world, mother—into the world alone, And in all hopelessness of good come I back to thee, my own; To thee, the only one whose voice I can in trust believe— Who will not, with a gentle smile and winning tone, deceive. I hate this world, I hate false friends, I hate all else but thee; The very sight of things once loved is hateful unto me: I laugh in reckless mockery at dreams of fancied bliss— Ay! laugh in scorn and bitterncss—the world hath taught me this. Proud castles, built with hope, lie hurled in ruins sadly low; The prism through which I viewed the world was broken long ago: Now banished the dreams that gave delight, earth’s care- lines mark my brow ; Each bright tint ’s faded from my sight, and life ’s one color now. "Tis strange and very sad, thou It say, that one who hath scarce seen The joyous birth of leaf and flower in the summertime eighieen, Should speak so solemnly of life, of its mournful gift of tears, And the tones that Sorrow whispers thus unto unwilling ears. But oh! I’ve trusted In such faith, finding that trust in vain, That with the same free openness I ne’er can hope again; My loftiest thoughts are scorned the most, deemed but the false untrue— Cold eyes and colder hearts here judge of what they never knew. The life-flame burns so fast, mother, I fancy "tis death-fed, And such a hot, hot hand, mother, is laid upon my head! Sweet .oices murmur in my ear from out an angel throng; A blessed hymn—anon, anon comes a fierce, fiendish song. J xnow that thou art weeping, mother! I feel upon my cheek Fach hurried tear that silently tells woe thou canst not speak : But ah! my fount of tears is dry—I never more may weep; i can but lay me down and die—sing me to my death-sleep. 86 $ | ; | ; | f | j | RY. THE WAIL OF THE TYROL. BY R. T. CONRAD. “When I visited the Tyrol, I asked a peasant why the people were all in mourning. ‘Look at our towns,’ replied he; ‘you see they are all in ashes—and can you ask why we are in mourning?’ ” I weep not for my father, although his silver hair Far off on the silent battle-field streams on the putrid air; I mourn not for my bright-eyed boy, my beautiful and brave, Nor the gentle one whose cold arms clasp her treasure in the grave. I weep not for the trusty friends which war has swept away, Though my gallant brothers all are deac—and my sisters, where are they? And my home, my own loved cottage, the happiest in the vale, Its ashes sweep—yet I heed it not—on every passing gale. I weep—but, stranger, selfish tears no Tyrol cheek can lave: Our hills were freedom’s sunlit thrones—they now are free- dom’s grave ; My country’s heart is gasping, her voice is a voice of wail; Despair shrieks on each mountain-top, and death shrouds every vale. But we'll weep no more! Why should we weep? Is the spirit of freedom dead? We'll change the hue of sorrow soon from the dark to the bloody red; And the shout of the free again shall ring from mountain- top to shore, And the peasant shall joy on his chainless bill, and the Tyrol wail no more. TO LIZZIE. BY M. KERR. Come, sit thee down beside me now, My sister and my love, And let me look into thine eyes, Blue as the sky above: A very heaven they are to me, So gentle and so still; Bright with pure thoughts, borne from thy soul, Like blossoms on a rill, My sister dear! May never shed a sweeter smile O’er the glad earth than thine! June hath no roses in her lap Thy blushes to outshine: A darker pall than thy black hair Night ne’er drew o’er the skies; Whence thy white brow, like breaking morn, Gleams with thy starry eyes, My sister fair!

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THE FOREST STREAM. If any joys be mine through life, Oh, let them strew thy way! Thou art my sun—when thou art brigk., I live but in thy ray; But if a shadow o’er thee fall, Life’s sunbeams fade and part; Oh! pity my light is gone— Tis midnight in my heart, My sister love My very soul is wrapt in thine, In many a brig! t fold laid; Our hopes togethe bud and bloom— Part them, and mine will fade. Still near thee let me struggle on, Still near thee smile and weep; And e’er thy lamp of life be quenched, Still near thee let me sleep, Sweet sister mine! A WINTER DAY’S MUSINGS. Drear, dense, and gray, Those massive clouds which now o’erspread the sky; Bleak are the winds that rush so rudely by— Sad is their lay! Hushed is the song Of birds; the gentle murm’rings of the rill, And lulling sound of fountains, too, are still, The woods among. Withered, dead, Are buds of spring, and summer’s gayer flowers; They perished with the bright and sunny hours So soon that fled! Hopes high and glad Have faded, too, with all that’s fair and bright; And hearts that summer hours found gay am ‘ght Are drear and sad. Spring will restore Beauty and verdure to the earth again; Each wildwood warbler will pour forth a strain Of joy once more. But to the heart That ’s blighted in its youth, oh! what can bring Its freshness back? This desolated thing Can never part With all its woe; The perfume of a flower—the zephyr’s sigh— A plaintive tone of music breathing nigh— The sunset’s glow— The starry skies— The gleam of waters in the silver licht That Luna sheds upon the brow of night When daylight dica— Each glorious thing That once was loved in days forever past, Will cause but vain regrets—fresh anguish cast— New sorrows bring No radiant beam Of summer sun can e’er recall the glow Which the seared heart hath lost; dark is the flow Of its chilled stream. Pen ree oe een eee No joyous, gay, Wild song of glee; no words of minstrelsy, Nor strains of rare and richest melody, Can chase away The low, sad tone Which lingers o’er the heart-strings like the sound That with the sea-shell or the wind-harp’s founi— A plaintive moan! But yet the heart, Still proud in its despair, will never show To other eyes its deep, consuming woe; With cunning art, Will teach the eye, And lip, and brow, a seeming light to wear, To hide beneath a smile each sign of care And sorrow high! And thus—though light, And love, and beauty from the heart be gone— It still endures, and “ brokenly lives on”— A wreck, a blight! Washington, D. C., Feb. 1852. PF. A. J. THE FOREST STREAM. BY J. R. BARRICK. In a low and ceaseless murmur, Gently flows the forest stream— Day and night to nature chanting Music sweet as song and dream— In the mirrored sky revealing All the beauty of its gleam. With a song of joy and gladness, Merrily the minstrel sings, And each passing breeze and zephyr Wafts its carol on its wings, Till the air around, above it, Swells with magic murmurings. Bubbling upward like a fountain, torn of melody and song; Like a transient gleam of beauty, Flows the silver stream along, Ilymning anthems unto nature, She to whom its hymns belong. Hastening onward, onward ever, Like the life that flows in me— As a wave upon the river Hastening to the distant sea— As a hope the hidden future Searching for the things to be. Summer storms may o’er it gather; Winds of autumn round it wail; Winter, too, its bosom ruffle With his icy sleet and hail ; But with summer, autumn, winter, Doth its steady flow prevail. Thus life’s fountain to the river In a winding current flows- And the river to the ocean In a channel deeper grows, Till the fountain, river, ocean, In eternity repose. &7

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Ss GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADYS BOOK, PPPPPPPPPPPPIIBRRAAE EEE THE FLOWERS OF SPRING. BY HORACE W. SMITH. We have seen them by the forest shade, And by the sunlit streams; In childhood’s walks, in manhood’s years, They are mingled in our dreams: And oft they win our memory back To some forgotten thing, To seek the joy our childhood found Among the flowers of spring. But ah! they win us back in vain; No after spring renews That gift of vanquished sunshine which Our souls so early lose: The sunlit stream may murmur on, The birds may gayly sing, But friends we loved have passed away Among the flowers of spring. Yet fair and fragrant to the day Each bright-eyed flow’ret opes ; They are not withered like our hearts, Nor blighted like our hopes; And then each golden dream of youth Its long-lost light will bring— And all is bright, and al! is hope, Among the flowers of spring. Huntingdon, March, 1852. THINK OF ME. BY “JAMIE.” Wuewn pleasure’s cup is sparkling high, When friends around thee throng; When hearts are light with playful mirth, And lighter wakes the song; When, counting o’er thy many joys, Recalled by memory, If *twill not dim thy pleasure then, Oh! give one thought to me. At dawn, when first Aurora’s light Reflects o’er hill and dale, And gilds the dew-washed lily’s head That slept within the vale; When first the lark shall plume his wing, And soar from bondace free, To warble forth his merry notes— Then give one thought to me. And when the shades of evening are Fast fading into night— An hour that well seems made for thought, And quiet is delight; At midnight’s deep and solemn hour, When on thy bended knee, Thy hands upraised to Heaven in prayer, Oh then, then think of me! If I could claim the richest gem That now lies in the sea, I'd rather far, than have that pearl, Have one kind thought from thee: If «ll the joys of this bright world Were now spread out to me, And I were told to make a choice— T'd ask ore thought from thee. RPA ARAL ILS APD LLL LLL LL Pat PAPA AAALASS 8888 eee —PPRPLP LLL LLLP PPP I THINK ON THEE. I ratnk on thee when early morn is breaking, For thou art as the day-star to mine eye; Thou art my first sweet thought upon awaking From dreams wherein thine image passeth by. I think on thee whene’er the bright sun bringeth Day’s busy hours and toil’s unceasing strife ; Then, like a bird, to thee my spirit wingeth— For thou art as the sunshine to my life. I think on thee when twilight dews are stealing, When the dim stars scarce light the softened air; Then, then my shadowy thoughts thy form revealing— Like those dim stars, thou hadst been hidden there. I think on thee when silent midnight seemeth As if it moved not on time’s noiseless way ; Till, worn with thought, my busy fancy dreameth That thou art smiling at my uncouth lay. I think on thee, for ever, ever praying That but one glance of thine may beam on me; My truant thoughts are ever to thee straying— Dost thou not feel that I but live in thee? THE OLD CHURCHYARD. BY BEATA. I’ve won thee, won thee, gentle bride; I’ve loved thee long, hope of my life~— And now I place thee at my side, My dearer self, my darling wife. Most beautiful to me thou art, And to all others passing fair; Then press thee closely to my heart, Deavest of all things treasured there, Remember, love, where first we met; The churchyard with bright flowers o’erspread; The church itself in emerald set, A watcher o’er its buried dead. The firs around, the grass beneath, Shed faint perfume, a heavenly balm ; I almost feared to draw my breath Lest I should break the soul-felt calm. And thou! oh thou, so lovely beamed, A very pearl in purity, The spirit of the piace I deemed And could almost have worshipped thee! That gray old church of bygone times We gazed upon together then— In silence gazed; no holy chimes Called us to meet our fellow-men. We entered—and thy sweet young face All glorious looked in chastened joy ; We knelt in thine accustomed place— Thou didst alone my thoughts employ. Thou wert beside me, and I heard Thy soft voice murmuring clear and low, Responsive to the Holy Word, Or in the chant melodious flow. And ever from that tranquil hour When life’s blest fulness first was mine, Thine image, love, alone had power To charm me in my manhood’s prime.

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ELLA LEE Sg —— We parted then—a fresh bud thou Expanding in thine early spring; And I a youth, with purposed vow, Time to my home should Eva bring. I won thee there—and when at last We reach our lives’ appointed bourn, And have Death’s silent confines past, Our dust shall there to dust return. And should I first the dark vale tread, Thy faithful love shall me enfold ; Or I will pillow thy dear head Where first we met—that churchyard old. Eva, beloved! why weepest thou! Yes, precious one, *twere hard to part; Rest on my bosom thy fair brow, And press thee closely to my heart. THE BATTLE OF LIFE BY SAMUEL D. PATTERSON. Tue battle is waging! Why, warrior, away! Dost thou listlessly’stand from the din of the fray, With thy head drooping low, and thy hand on thy brow, As though Life and its conflict were naught to thee now? Why motionless thou, whilst the gathering throng, In double-mailed armor, are rushing along, And the clangor of battle around thee is heard, And the trumpet’s loud tone every spirit has stirred? But lately, thy heart was absorbed in the fight, But lately, its trophies were viewed with delight, And the might of thy arm, and thy courage, could vie With the strongest and bravest who now pass thee by. Their serried ranks move; but the noise of their tread Meets thy ear as it falls on the ear of the dead: "Tis strange that a summons, once needless, should now Wake no fire in thy eye, and no light on thy brow! Can it be that, before half /ife’s battle is done, Ere the contest is past an¢@ the victory won, Thy spirit has shrunk fro-n the strife raging there, And been blighted, consvmed by the touch of Despair? Can it be that the ardor which once led thee on, In the van of great hosts, towards the prize to be won, Has chilled and grown weak at the threats of the foe? Has thy arm become nerveless ere striking a blow? Awake from thy stupor! Arouse thee again! Take thy part in the strife—be a man amongst men! Let thy soul shame the impulse that prompted thy fear, In the hour of trial, when danger was near. Wouldst thou list to the foeman exultingly cry, That his threats blanched thy cheek, his words forced thee to fly? Wouldst thou see thy friends mourning, in sorrow and shame,, O’er the wreck of thy glory, the brand on thy name? Thou canst not—thou dar’st not! Then up to the field! Keep thy post in the ranks till the foeman shall yield! Let no timid doubts shake thee, no terrors dismay— Stand firm for the truth, and thy valor display! Be strong in the right! °Tis a panoply sure, An egis to guard thee and keep thee secure: Wear it ever; and then, ’mid the thickest of strife, Do thy part, as thou shouldst, in the Battle of Life! g* ¢ AA enn nnn OPA EEI A neeeeeene ODPL OP PLP LLL LLL LLL BPR AP PO FANCIES DURING ILLNESS. BY FIDELIA H. COOK BEAcTIFUL visions, that before me swim, In softest light, whene’er mine eyes I close, Ye are too fair to be the phantoms dim That haunt the couch of opium-bought repose! The angel Morphia hath a shadowy train, But no such forms as yours adorn her pale domain. Are ye some mirage from th’ Eternal shore ? A soft reflection on the dreamlike mist That o’er the sea of Death floats evermore? A she whose willowy marge my foot hath kissed : As in the Moslem’s faith the houri waits, And beckons, with white hands, to the Celestial gates? Ab no! your beauty is of earth; it takes Such forms as float before the artist’s eye, When, ‘neath his touch, the glowing canvas wakes To that strange life that ne’er again shall die; Or as the chiselled marble bears, when wrought To image to mankind the sculptor’s lofty thought. Oh, how much fairer than the shapes we see, Are those with which a glowing fancy teems! Too perfect to be true! And such were ye; For ye were beautiful, and ye are dreams! And thus our nature still transcends our fate, Like high-born foundlings left at some poor peasant’s gate. And ye have passed away, and left no trace, As roses leave the velvet cheeks of youth; And yet I fancy that each form of grace But shadows forth some unrecorded worth; And on the heart’s red leaves, in traces dim, Shall Poesy for you inscribe one grateful hymn. ELLA LEE. BY JOHN W. BEAZEL,. Tere ’s music in the zunbeam, There ’s music in the shower, There ’s music in each rippling stream, Each leaf, and tree, and flower. There ’s music in the moonlit sea, Where the proud bark cleaves the billow; And o’er thy grave, sweet Ella Lee, Tis sighing through the willow. There ’s music in the mountain height, And ‘neath the dark pine shade, Where silver streams are flashing bright, And wild flowers paint the glade. There’s music in the joyous spring, Where young flow’rs gem the sod; And through each bright and lovely thing It whispers, “ There 's a God!” There was music once whose gentlest thrill Was dearer far to me Than leaf, or flower, or flashing rill, Or starlight on tire sea. Its lute-like tones how oft they come With gentle thoughts of thee! But ah! they ’re hushed within the tomb, Where sleeps my Ella Lee. Uniontown, Pa.

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AN EMBROIDERED VEST AND CAPS. EMBROIDERED VEST. Tue materials are blue satin and embroidery silk. The pattern should be drawn with a white crayon. Then proceed to do the out- line of the design, the stems and the tendrils in chain stitch. The leaves and the flowers in the usual embroidery stitch. It is made up in the ordinary way, the front fastened by a row of gold buttons set with turquoise. The same pattern may be worked either on lace or muslin. If lace, work in tambour and chain stitch; give the collar and front a narrow thread edge, and line it with silk of some delicate hue. Studs may be substituted for buttons. Vests of cambric muslin, to be worn with lawns or light summer silks, will be very much the style the present and ensuing month. For description of embroidered muslin man- illa, see “ Chitchat.” CAPS. WE give two styles of breakfast caps: No. 1 being composed of dotted India muslin, with three corresponding frills. It will be noticed that the muslin of the crown is shirred between corresponding bands of insertion. To be finished with bow and strings of muslin, or ribbon, to the taste of the wearer. No. 2 is of net, lined with a delicate shade of Florence silk. The trimming is a row of silk and net, with three of fringe, formed by loops of extremely narrow ribbon. Broad ribbon strings of corresponding shade. 90

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PATTERNS FOR SILK EMBROIDERY. 91 PATTERNS FOR SILK EM- BROIDERY. Tus pattern forms an elegant border for a merino or cloth cloak, by working the curved line with cord and the rose-buds with silk. ees PP PPP PPP PPP PPP PP PPP PPP ————ee KNITTED BERRIES AND FRUIT. APPLE AND ORANGE. Cast on thirty-four stitches with white knitting cotton, No. 10. Knit one plain row. Second row.—Purled, till within two from the end, turn back. Third row.—Knuit plain till within two from the end, turn back. Fourth row.—Purled, till within four from the end, turn back. Fifth row.—Knit plain till within four from the end, turn back. Sixth row.—Purled, till within six from the end, turn back. Seventh row.—Knuit plain till within six from the end, turn back. Eighth row.—Purled, till within eight from the end, turn back. Ninth row.—Knit plain till within eight from the end, turn back. Tenth row.—Purled to the end. Eleventh row.—K nit plain to the end, and begin again as at second row; but the tenth row is to be purled till within ten from the end; eleventh row knitted till within ten from the end; twelfth row purled to the end; thirteenth row knitted plain to the end. After fourteen stripes, ending alternately one at the elev- Cast off all the stitches; sew the two edges together; gather Then begin again as at second row. enth, the other at the thirteenth row. the stitches of the smaller aperture, fasten them tight round the stalk of a common clove, and fill up with bran, as full as possible, this white shape of an apple; when it is nearly full, fold a bit of wire in ten or twelve; cover it with brownish floss or half twist silk to make the stalk of the apple; gather the stitches of the second aperture, fill up with bran, as much Then knit another apple in wool or silk of the color of the as you can, and fasten off tight to the stalk. apple which you have chosen for model, and exactly in the same manner as the white one, but beginning with thirty-eight or forty stitches, and making one stripe more, or two plain rows between each stripe. Cover neatly with this the white shape, allowing the clove to show its head only. Make a little depres- sion round the stalk of the apple by passing through the fruit three or four times, with a long darning- needle, the silk with which you have fastened the last aperture, and draw it tight. A leaf may be added, but is not necessary. The orange is worked in the same manner, except that there are no purled rows, no clove put in, and no stalk.

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GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. ANG LO-JAPANESE WORK. Tas elegant and most useful work is very easy in its execution, while the means and appliances for its performance are within the reach of every one. The materials are simply yellow withered leaves, a little dissolved gum, black paint, and copal varnish ; while the objects to be ornamented may be a box, cupboard, table, &c., in fact, any old furniture that has been rendered unsightly by age or long use. A plain deal box, costing about a shilling, may by this process, so far as the outside goes, be converted into a costly-looking dressing-case. An exquisite chess- board may be made, with very little skill, from a square piece of deal. Flower-pots, pole-screens, folding and hand-screens, may all be decorated in this manner, and, from untidy-looking lumber, may be converted into articles of use, elegance, and beauty ; and this at a merely nominal expense, taste The employment forms one of the most agreeable and being the chief requisite in the production. pleasing amusements for summer days and winter evenings; in the summer giving a purpose and an aim to many a joyous ramble, for in these desultory walks a goodly collection may be made of Nature’s ambered jewels. All leaves that are small, of uneven shape, and serrated at the edges, are well adapted for this work. As they are collected, they should be placed be- tween sheets of paper, but not close together, then pressed by placing a board on the top, with a weight upon it, to express any moisture that may be there- in, and to render them quite flat. In the autumn, the sweet-scented geranium-leaves, the maple, thorn, wanna chrysanthemum, wild parsley, fern, and a multitude of others may be found, including the smaller syca- more and small vine leaves; but they must all have turned of a golden hue, or reddish-tinted yellow. Prepare the article to be ornamented thus: First rub the surface smoothly down with sand-paper ; then coat it over with black paint, which can be procured ready mixed at any oil-shop; when dry, rub it down smoothly with pumice-stone, and give two more coats. When these are dry, arrange the leaves on the surface in a careless manner, but not in groups, unless preferred. Butterflies, drawn and colored yellow with gamboge, or cut out of prints, and then colored, may be stuck at different spaces with advantage ; but there should be no other color than the brown and different tints of yellow in the leaves. Gum the wrong side of the leaf, and press it on in its appointed place with a hard tuft of wad- ding, fastened tightly up in a piece of silk. Con- tinue this with the whole of the leaves; and when they are all gummed on, dissolve some gelatine or isinglass in warm water, and while rather warm, brush it well over every portion of the work, using the brush entirely one way, not forward and back. When dry, give the work three coats of the best copal varnish, letting the article remain a day or two between each coat. This process, though elabo- rate in detail, is easily and even quickly done, and will well repay any trouble that may be taken, as, with a renewed coat of varnish every five or six years, it will remain, as long as the wood will hold together, as bright in appearance as when first finished.

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CANDLE-LAMP MAT. CANDLE-LAMP MAT. 93 ON ee ee ng 7.6 % a= Wages G a > = sree = a = Ss ’ ites yt > ny 3g Vad) “a BS = : S994 e 2 if ‘ Materic’s.—Half ounce each of stone-color and shaded violet, 8-thread ; half ounce of shaded am- ber, 4-thread Berlin wool ; 4 yards of ordinary-sized blind or skirt-cord ; 77 small curtain rings, the size measuring across five-eighths of an inch; Nos. 1 and 2 Penelope Hook ; 2 bunches No. 6 steel beads. With No. 1 hook, and drab wool, work 11 stitches de over the end of the cord; double in as small a circle as possible, unite, and work 2 stitches into every loop for three more rounds. 5th round.—1 stitch into every loop. 6th.—Increase 1 stitch in every 2d loop. There must be 72 stitches in this round. 7th.—Place a pin in every 9th loop, and in this same 9th loop work with 8-thread violet, 1 stitch; then 9 stitches drab in the next 8 loops, that is, in- creasing 1 stitch in about the 4th loop; repeat this all round. 8th.—Work 3 stitches violet into the 1 violet stitch ; then 9 stitches drab, working only 8 stitches in the last compartment, to commence next row. 9th.—In the last drab stitch that was not worked then 7 drab, increasing 1 in 4th stitch; in the last com- partment make only 2 drab after the increased stitch, in order to make 8 violet in next round. 10th.—8 violet, the Ist to come before the 5th violet of last row, and the last to come after the 5th into, work 1 violet stitch ; then 4 more violet ; \ violet, but increasing 1 violet on the 5th stitch; then 7 drab, increasing one in the 4th drab stitch. 11th.—All violet, increasing 1 in e 12¢h.— All violet, but without increasing, required. The diameter of the mat should now measure six erv Sth stitch. unless inches across ; but, should it be required larger, an- other row of cord, or even two, will give the in- creased size. Now de under all the rings, about 30 to 32 for each ring are necessary ; unite and tie the knot stitches very neatly, and sew six of these rings round a 7th, sewing them with cotton the color, and sewing them at the parts where each ring is joined, about 6 stitches in length; be careful that no stitches are seen on the right side; then sew steel beads round the centre ring, taking up five to six beads at a time on the needle; then place the needle between the joinings of the rings, take upon it about 35 beads, and draw the cotton across to the opposite point; repeat this twice more, the beads will then form as given in engraving; sew the circles of rings on to the mat by two of the rings, and sew the circles Any other color beside am- If the table-cover is together by one ring. ber will do for the rings. scarlet, green wool should be used; if blue, amber ; or if green, scarlet or pink.

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EBiITORS’ In the March number, we made an “ Appeal to Ameri- can Christians on behalf of the * Ladies’ Medicai Missionary Society of Philadelphia.’ ” We are highly gratified by the reception given to our Appeal. The public, generally, received it with favor, as almost daily letters evince. It has been noticed kindly, and republished, in part or whoily, in many public journals and newspapers.* A .arge number of clergymen, eminent in station, talents, and piety, have written to express their interest in the movement, and offer their co-operation. We shall, in a future number, give extracts from these inte resting letters. Now we will introduce the opinions of two ladies, whose merits and influence are wel] known to our readers, Letter from Mrs. L. H. Sigourney, dated Hartford, Conn., January 7, 1852:— “The excellence of the design of the ‘ Ladies’ Medical Missionary Society of Philadelphia,’ as well as the institu- tion of that nature (N. E. Fem. Med. Col.) established in Boston, approves itself to wise and thoughtful judges, as not only congenial to the capacity and sphere of woman, but as a measure of patriotism and philanthropy. I am, therefore, happy to comply with your request to become one of its patrons.” Letter of Mrs. Frances M. Hill.—The second letter is from that Christian lady so highly distinguished for her long and able services in the Mission School, established by the American Protestant Episcopal Church, at Athens, Greece. Her letter is dated March 26, 1852 :— “Your kind note of January last, together with the * Appeal on behalf of the Ladies’ Medical Missionary So- ciety, reached mo some weeks since, but numerous engage- ments have prevented me from replying to it sooner. The ‘Appeal’ itself exhibits so fully the numerous reasons which make the acquisition of Medical Science for Women Lighly desirable, that it is quite unnecessary for me to add anything more on the subject. There can be little doubt but that such knowledge would greatly increase the sphere of usefulness to every female missionary. Perhaps a simple statement of my own experience may serve as an encou- ragement to those whose minds have been turned to the consideration of this subject. “In the early stage of our missionary career,+ a know- ledge of medicine would have been a great benefit, both as

* The “Appeal” has also been republished, with many commendations, in “Sharpe's London Magazine” for March, and widely circulated in England. We have received most cheering sympathy, encouragement, and approval, reaching us from the intelligent and influential of the Old World as well as the New. It is, indeed, true, as the Committee of the Legislature of Massachusetts say, in their Report on Female Medical Education :— “The public journals, having had occasion to allude to or discuss the subject, have with great unanimity given their influence in favor of the movement, many of them expressing their views in the strongest terms of approval.” + Rev. John Hill and his wife, Frances M. Hill, were sent to Greece in 1832, where they have ever since re- mained. 94

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TABLE. it respected ourselves and those around us. As it was, the little quackery which we must, more or less, become acquainted with, gave us a great reputation. A simple cathartic; a decoction of aniseed or liquorice for a cough; and, above all, a solution of sulphate of zinc for the eyes, have been attended with such beneficial effects, that my reputation in the healing art is fully established; and I find it difficult to evade the importunities to engage in higher practice. Even wheu physicians are, as now, nume- rous, and very good ones, too (all of whom pay great atten- tion to the medical wants of the poor), I find, among a certain class, that ‘the teacher's prescription’ is held in higher estimation than that of the regular practitioner ; and sometimes our own physician, who is somewhat facetious, threatens to arraign me for practising without a diploma, pretending to be jealous of the confidence I have gained over the ignorant and superstitious, which science has, as yet, failed to obtain. “ As it may be gratifying to you to learn how far your views respecting female midwivos have been sanctioned by modern practice (the ancient practice was entirely in the hands of women, all writers allow), I must inform you that among the first institutions provided for by government, after the establishment of the kingdom of Greece, was one for midwifery. The native practitioners—all females— were compelled to attend. A well-instructed, and, in all respects, well<jualified woman, who had studied in Italy, was placed at the head of this institution. “ Young women who could read were sought for, and in- ducements offered to them to become midwives. Some of the older pupils from our school entered, have since com- pleted their studies, and are among the regular practition ers in this branch. Maile physicians are only called upon in cases of great emergency, and this is rather to give testi- mony that the case has been properly conducted than from any personal practice they may render. “Some time since, the advantage of having Female Physicians for Protestant Missions was presented to me by reading the account of the Institution of Kaiserswerth* (on the Rhine), sent me by a young friend who had pre viously been spending some weeks with us. The Institu- tion at Kaiserswerth, under the direction of the Rev. Pastor Fleidner, prepares pious young women for various departments of missionary operations. The study of medi- cine forms a part of this preparation. The graduates of this Institution are set apart for their work, and receive the title of Deaconesses. Some of these have been sent to our own country, and have an institution at Pittsburg. In the spring of last year, Mr. Hill met four of these Deacon- esses on the steamer between Corfu and Syra; they were accompanied by the good Pastor Fleidner, and were on their way to Jerusalem, to take charge of a hospital which the King of Prussia has founded at an expense of $50,000. “We have heard of them recently, and learn that the effort has been attended with great success, and promises to be a most important aid in facilitating the operations of the missionary on that most interesting spot. I hope

* See Fredrika Bremer’s article on this Institution, in the “ Lady’s Book” for June.

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EDITORS’ Pore One these details may prove encouraging to all engaged in the execution of the plan; there can be no doubt that a well- qualified female physician must be a great advantage to all missionary stations.” Mrs. Hill’s letter needs no comment. It must carry the conviction to every unprejudiced mind, that medical sci- ence is a proper study for woman—is fe science for which the sex is peculiarly fitted; and that as missionaries, wo- men, when thus qualified, may render most essential service in the cause of humanity and the advancement of Christian morals in heathen lands. Men can never gain access to the homes and harems where the women and children of Eastern nations dwell. If these poor, ignorant ones are healed and taught, it must be done by pious Christian women. Therefore, we feel sure our readers will rejoice to learn that the two Colleges* alluded to in our March number are prospering greatly. The late Report (April 14, 1852) of the Massachusetts Legislature, in favor of granting $10,000 to aid the Institution in Boston, holds this language: “Considered in its various features of use- fulness, the institution conducted and sustained by the Female Medical Education Society, it appears to us, must rank among the most important educational establish- ments in the State; and it certainly appears to be a suit- able and desirable object for legislative encouragement.” It is greatly to be desired that Pennsylvania, either by legislative aid or private donations, should contribute to build up the Female Medical College in this city, as the New England people are encouraging their own institution of the like design. The Boston “ Medical and Surgical Journal,” the organ of the profession in New England, suggests to physicians the expediency of co-operating in carrying out the clearly expressed wishes of the public. Surely the physicians of Philadelphia will be as mag- nanimous in lending their approval and encouragement. WE here subjoin two poems written for our “ Book,” the first by a Greek gentleman, for several years a resident in our republic; the other by a German, author of the work on “German Literature” noticed in our March namber. ALABAMA.—A SONNET. BY ALEXANDER PANTOLEON. From her Olympian and Castalian home, My muse to Alabama’s clime doth roam ; Where Helicon ?—no—Chunneenuggee soars, And, for Dlissus, Chixeenoxee pours! To Locheepoko turkey sportsmen go, And where magnolias cheer Escambia’s flow ; Where Coosa under giant pines bears trade, And swoll’n Tombigby rolls in live-oak shade. Towards Tennessee ride hunters of the fawn; They leave Wedowee with the opening dawn: Red men from Talladega there are gone. How hushed, betwixt Tuscumbia and Mobile, The savage warwhoop! while the Saxon’s wheel And Lybia’s banjo ring their merry peal! Lafayette, Ala., April 9, 1852. * The New Fngland Female Medical College in Boston, and the Pennsylvania Female Medical College in Philadel- The third session of this College commences Sep- Those young ladies who wish to attend may phia. tember 13. address their letters to Pavid J. Johnson, M. D., 229 Arch Street, Philadelphia. TABLE. ann a ~ THE HEART. BY FRANTZ A MOSCHZISEKER. Lonety! most lonely, is the human heart, If from the God most holy it depart! Each object then, however dear in life— Wealth, friends, and children, even the lovely wifo— All that is prized by worldlings as their pleasure— Is but a shadow of the heavenly treasure. God is the heart’s sure refuge when afflicted, Though in the sight of men we stand convicted: They may condemn us innocent, untried; But, if the heart be true and sanctified, Ne’er can our hope from happiness be riven, For peace, the heavenly peace, to us is given. But oh! how desolate and dark the heart, If from this holy faith it should depart! Nor can the Infidel be made to feel Till God his loving mercies doth reveal. If sin in thy dark heart hath made its bed, Destroy it by the blood which Christ for thee hath shed. To CoRRESPONDENTS.—The following articles are accepted : “Woman in her Social Relations,” “ The Lady of Hadden Hall,” “Stanzas,” “Herbert Leslie,” “To my little Ed- ward,” “ Fun in Earnest,” “The Soldier’s Dream of Home,” “ Recollections,” &c., “ To Sabina,” and “ You cannot bind his wing.” The following pieces are not wanted: “ Pains of Fancy,” “Scenes in Paris,” “Country Winds,” “Night and Morn- ing,” “Sabbath Reflections,” “Solitude,” “Ernest Essen- berger,” “A Vision,” “To-Morrow,” “An Indian War Song,” “ Ah, why so sad?” “The Lone Heart,” “ Wander- ings,” and “ Melancholy.” We have not had time to examine all the articles sent last month, but shall report them in August, OUR TREASURY. THE PHILOSOPHY OF GRAMMAR, BY LADY MORGAN, T AskED the question, should I say “everybody is gone out only J,” or “only me?” and was answered “only I,” because “only J” means “I alone”—* remain,” being un- derstood. Had I used the conjunction “ but,” instead of “only,” the proper construction would have been the same, be- cause “ but” means “ be out,” or, in more modern phrase, “TI being out of the question.” The modern “ but,” said my informant, represents two distinct words, both impera- tives. When it stands for “ be out,” it is the precise equiva- lent of “except,” derived from the Latin. Sometimes it is used for the imperative of an obsolete verb, signifying to add, which is now retained only in the infinitive, “to boot.” Let us look for an instance: here is one in Sir Charles Grandison, which lies open before me. Harriet Byron writes, after some preliminary reflections, “ But, why should I torment myself? what must be, will.” The interpretation of the passage is this: to what I have already said, boot (or, in modern English, add) this second thought, that what must be, will; and, therefore, why - should I torment myself? These two are the only real meanings of that Proteus-like conjunction; and one or other will explain all Johnson's hundred instances, scarcely one of which he understood properly. Johnson's industry was unwearied, but his research trifling. Authority, and not analysis, was its object. Authority belonged to big

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96 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. day, inquiry to ours: so adieu to learning—and hey! for knowledge—d bas les savans! et vive le savoir! Alas! it makes one’s head ache to look over this gram- matical jargon : I wrote my first twenty volumes without much troubling my head on the subject. But now “the schoolmaster is abroad ;” that is, he is at home—with me— and my march of intellect goes on without ever budging from the fireside. “Mon voyage autour de ma cheminée,” would not be the least intellectual book I ever wrote. And yet my dear Mr. Colburn would not give me £20 for all the grammar that I may write for the rest of my life; though I rivalled in etymological philosophy “ The Diversions of Purley.” Before I drop grammar—what a droll pun is that of the grammarian presenting his book to the Académie, after the Duke de had advanced his pretensions to be elected { one arante, on the ecore of his illustrious ancestors. ; “Je pour mon grand-pere,” said the duke. “Je suis } ici pour ma GRAMMAIRE,” said his ignoble philological com- { petitor. ' By the by, grammar is the last thing that should be placed in the hands of children, as containing the most abstract and metaphysical propositions, utterly beyond their powers of comprehension ; putting them to unneces- sary torture; giving them the habit of taking words for things, and exercising their memory at the expense of their judgment. But this is the origina! sin of education, in all its branches. BEAUTY. BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, Tue essence of all Beauty I call Love. The attribute, the evidence, the end, The consummation, to the inward sense, Of beauty apprehended from without, I still call love. As form, when colorlesa, Is nothing to the eye: that pine-tree there, Without its black and green, being all a blank; So, without Love, is Beauty undiscerned In man or angel. Notices. Literary From Henry Carey Barrp (successor to E. L. Carey), 8. E. Corner of Market and Fifth Streets, Philadelphia :— THE PRACTICAL MODEL CALCULATOR, for the En- gineer, Mechanic, Machinist, Manufacturer of Enginework, Naval Architect, Miner,and Millwright. By Oliver Byrne, Civil, Military, and Mechanical Engineer. Mr. Byrne is the author of a uumber of practical works relating to the duties of machinists, mechanics, and engineers, all of which have been highly appreciated and warmly commended by those best able to judge of their merits. THE ASSAYER’S GUIDE; or, Practical Directions to As- sayers, Miners, and Smelters, for the Tests and Assays, by Heat and by Wet Process, of the Ores of all the Principal Metals, and of Gold and Silver Coins and Alloys. By Oscar ‘ M. Lieber, late Geologist to the State of Mississippi. A very useful book in this metallic, mining, and smelting age. From Liprrvcorr, Gramno & Co. (successors to Grigg & Elliot), No. 14 North Fourth Street, Philadelphia :— ROMANCE OF NATURAL HISTORY; or, Wild Scenes and Wild Hunters. By C. W. Webber, author of “ Shot in the Eye,” “Old Hicks, the Guide,” ete. ete. This is an ele- gant volume of six hundred clearly-printed pages. The and wel! adapted to the ex- aivie of the author is vig citing incidents and wild scenery he describes, The work is handsomely illustrated, and, in all respects, is creditable alike to the author and his publishers. LIFE OF LORD JEFFREY. With a Selection from his Correspondence. By Lord Cockburn, one of the Judges of the Court of Sessions in Scotland. In two volumes. The life and correspondence of Francis Jeffrey will naturally excite the attention and curiosity of literary men in every quarter of the world. He who, when living, was esteemed as the greatest of British critics, when dead cannot be for- gotten, having left behind him a record as imperishable as the history and the monuments of his country. The work appears to have been written with great care and equal candor, attributing to Lord Jeffrey nothing that was not true of him, and, at the same time, exposing some of the “eclap-traps” through which indiscreet friends aimed to elevate his reputation. The biographer assures us that, out of many hundreds of letters that he had seen, “there was scarcely three lines that might not be read with propriety to any sensitive lady, or to any fastidious clergyman.” From CaAries Scripver, New York, through Lipprncort, Grampo & Co., Philadelphia :— PYNNSHURST: his Wanderings and Ways of Things. The poetical language, the incidents, and the characters introduced by the author, Donald MacLeod, are all calcu- lated to rivet the attention of the reader. From Lrypsay & BLAKISTON, Philadelphia :— HISTORY OF ENGLAND IN VERSE, from the Invasion of Julius Casar to the Present Time. With illustrative notes, chronological chart of the kings of England, tables of cotemporary sovereigns, and a table descriptive of the present condition of Great Britain. The authoress tells us that this work has been written in verse under the impres- sion that the facts referred to will be more readily retained in the memory than had they been written in prose. We hope she will not be disappointed in her anticipations, her object being praiseworthy. From M. W. Dopp, New York, through Liypsay & Bakis- TON, Philadelphia :-— REVOLUTIONARY MEMORIALS, embracing Poems by the Rev. Wheeler Case, published in 1778, and an Appendix, containing Burgoyne’s Proclamation (in burlesque), dated A late Authentic Account of the Death of Miss The American Hero, a Sapphic Ode, by Nat. Niles, A. M., ete. Edited by the Rev. Stephen Dodd, of East Haven, Conn. As in certain quarters, and among a certain class of authors, there appears to be a disposition prevailing to smooth over the tyranny which preceded the American Revolution, and even to conceal many of the crue!ties which followed that event, as instigated and prac- tised by the enemies of freedom, we look upon this little memorial as worthy of more than ordinary consideration. The time for hatred and revenge has happily passed away ; but that ie no reason why we should cease to remember the causes which produced the separation from the mother country, and which eventually gave rise to our republican system of government. June 2%, 1777. Jane M’ Crea, From Harper & Brorners, New York, through Linpsar & Biakiston, Philadelphia :— THE HOWADJI IN SYRIA. By George Curtis, author of “Nile Notes.” A very interesting volume, abounding in graphic and spirited sketches of eastern scenery and eastern manners. NOTES, EXPLANATORY AND PRACTICAL, ON THE BOOK OF REVELATIONS. By Albert Barnes. This yvol- believe, is the sixteenth and last of the author's unic, we

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LITERARY i PPA “Notes” on the New Testament, and on the books of Isaiah, Job, and Daniel, which were commenced by the learned and laborious commentator more than twenty years ago. It will be found highly useful to theological students, and to readers of the sacred Scriptures generally. ROMANISM AT HOME. Letters to the Hon. Roger B. Taney, Chief Justice of the United States. By Kirwan. The author of this book is the Rev. Dr. Murray, a native of Ire- land. In these letters, addressed to the Chief Justice of the United States, a native Roman Catholic, Dr. Murray, in his own peculiar style, describes what he saw in his own coun- try and in Rome, of the effects, as he thinks, of that reli- gion as well upon the State as upon the people. From A. Harr (late Carey & Hart), corner of Fourth and Chestnut Street, Philadelphia :— THE YEAR-BOOK OF FACTS IN SCIENCE AND ART: exhibiting the most Important Discoveries and Improvement of the Year, in Mechanics and the Useful Arts; Natural Philosophy ; Electricity ; Chemistry; Zoology and Botany; Geology and Geography; Meteorology and Astronomy. By John Timbs, Editor of the “Arcana of Science and Art.” The title of this book, with the great respectability of the London and Philadelphia publishers, will be a sufficient guarantee to the reader for the useful character of its contents. From CHARLes Scryer, New York, through A. Hart, Philadelphia :— HUNGARY IN 1851, WITH AN EXPERIENCE OF THE AUSTRIAN POLICE. By Charles Loring Brace. The facts embraced in this interesting volume were collected by the author during a journey through Hungary, pursuing which he had unusual advantages for observing thoroughly the conditions and feelings of the masses of the Hungarian people. THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THOMAS MORE. There is a great deal in this little volume to attract the attention of Christian fathers, and to suggest noble sentiments to judges, statesmen, and to all in authority. From Jonn 8. Taytor, New York, through A. Hart (late Carey & Hart), Philadelphia :— FANCIES OF A WHIMSICAL MAN. By the author of “ Musings of an Invalid.” This is another sparkling vol- ume from the pen of a keen observer of human nature in all its phases. Jt abounds in terse and rapidly-flowing sentences, embracing a greater amount of wisdom and sound morality, and evincing a deeper philosophical inquiry into the habits and follies of the creature man, than is generally attained by those who set themselves up for re- formers and authors in these modern times, when all things are brought to early maturity through the wonderful agency of steam and gas-light. From J. 8. Reprretp, Clinton Hall, New York, through W. B. Zener, Philadelphia :— LEGENDS OF LOVE AND CHIVALRY. The Cavaliers of England ; er, the Times of the Revolutions of 1664 and 1688. By Henry William Herbert, author of “The Roman Traitor,” “Marmaduke Wyvil,” “Cromwell,” etc. This volume, besides much that is new, embraces several tales of peculiar interest, selected from the early productions of the author. The latter, however, have been carefully re- vised and retouched; and, having been thus subjected to a judgment now matured, and to a pen guided by experi- ence, will doubtless be received by the public, and by the author’s numerous admirers, as most acceptable memorials of his genius, and of the purity of his style. VOL. XLV.—¥Y NOTICES 97 PPP From Govutp & Lincoty, Boston, through W. B. Ziener, Philadelphia :— CHAMBERS’S POCKET MISCELLANY. Vol. 1. Each volume complete in itself. This is an unbound volume of one hundred and eighty pages, and is the first of a series recently commenced by the Messrs. Chambers, of Edin- burgh, with whom the American publishers have made arrangements for early reprints in this country. The work, as we are told, will consist of amusing articles from “ Chambers’s Journal,” supposed to be out of print, and is intended, in these days of cheap and rapid travelling, cheap- ly and rapidly to help the traveller along by affording him light and entertaining reading. Price 20 cents. From Dersy & Mrier, Auburn, New York :— MEMOIR OF ADONIRAM JUDSON : being a Sketch of his Life and Missionary Labors. By J. Clement, author of * Novle Deeds of American Women.” This work has been before the public for some time, but still retains its great interest, which must continue and increase, with the friends of foreign miszions. THE LIVES OF MRS. ANNE H. JUDSON AND MRS. SARAH B. JUDSON, with a Biographical Sketch of Mrs. Emily C. Judson, Missionaries to Burmah. In three vol- umes. By Arabella W. Stewart. This is a most valuable companion for the volume to which we have just referred, affording evidences of Christian zeal on the part of three devoted women, which may, indeed, challenge comparison in modern times. SUMMERFIELD; OR, LIFE ON A FARM. By Day Kel- logg Lea. A most excellent book, in which fiction is made to subserve the interests of morality and religion. Indeed, we have not seen a book for a long time, in which the quiet and social virtues have been more impressively illustrated than they have been by the author of “ Life on a Farm.” We know enough of farm life ourselves to induce us to believe that it is not always free from those cares, and from that solicitude engendered by ambition, which are the great annoyances in other states of life. To correct and to regu- late these has beer the principal object of the author, and we think his success will be complete with all rational and considerate readers. GOLDEN STEPS TO RESPECTABILITY, USEFULNESS, AND HAPPINESS! Being a Series of Lectures to Youth of both Sexes, on Character, Principles, Associates, Amusements, Religion, and Marriage. By John Mather Austin, author of “ Voice of Youth,” “ Voice to Married,” etc. Ten thou- sand copies of this valuable book have had a ready sale. THE YOUNG LADY’S BOOK; or, Principles of Female Education. This is a very good book, calculated to establish in the mind of the inexperienced a sound and womanly discretion. It is very much to be regretted that the ap- pearance of works of this description is so few and far between. At the same time, it must be confessed that authors are as much to blame, if not more than the public, with respect to the due encouragement of such practical works as the one before us. Public taste and public morals would. in our opinion, finally prove obedient to the careful moulding of such authors, were more of them to enter the field with the same amount of courage and good-will. WHAT I SAW IN LONDON; or, Men and Things in the Great Metropolis. By D. W. Bartlett. This appears to be an unprejudiced review of men and incidents as they were presented to the author's judgment during two years’ residence, at different periods, in the city of London. With- out doing injustice or giving offence to any one, the author appears to have manfully sustained the character of his country. THE LIFE OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, FIRST

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98 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LAD/Y’s BOOX —_—~ ~ eee wee ON ne eee ~~ WIFE OF NAPOLEON. By P. C. Headley, author of “Wo- men of the Bible,” etc. This work has passed through a number of editions. MEMOIKS OF THE MOTHER AND WIFE OF WASH- INGTON. By Margaret C. Conkling, author of Harper's translation of “ Florian’s History of the Moors of Spain.” This popular work has also run through several editions. It should be read by every wife and mother in America who can appreciate female virtue and patriotism. From James Munroe & Co., Boston and Cambridge :— THE WORKS OF SHAKSPEARE: the text carefully re- stored according to the first editions, with Introductions, Notes, original and selected, and a Life of the Poet. By Rev. IL. N. Hudson, A. M. We have now before us volumes three and four of this series, comprising eight plays, viz., “ The Merchant of Venice,” “As You Like It,” “ All's Well that Ends Well,” “ Taming of the Shrew,” “A Winter's Tale,” “Comedy of Errors,” “Macbeth,” and “King John.” The merits of Shakspeare need no eulogy ; two hundred years of glory are sufficient to stamp the value of his writings. But the manner in which this edition is prepared by the editor, and got up by the publishers, is deserving of great commendation. As a work for schools and families, this edition will be found better adapted than The volumes are convenient In eleven volumes. any other we have examined. in eize, and the printing clear. THE GREEK GIRL: @ Tule in Two Cantos. By James Wright Simmons. The story is well described in the pre face: “A Greek maiden, of gentle birth, but parentless, whom the casualties of Eastern warfare had reduced to the condition of a Mohammedan slave, and who, by a similar casualty, is restored to her originai and far more appro- priate character, that of a heroine,” is the centre and attraction of this poem. There is no lack of stirring inci- dents, and the descriptions are striking, and often power- ful. Some errors in sentiment might be pointed out; but then we have no room for extracts to show the many beau- ties. Ours is only a notice; the work deserves a review. For sale by A. Hart, Philadelphia. FRESH FLOWERS FOR CHILDREN. By a Mother. With engravings. A very nice little book, which the young will love to read, and profit by the reading. THE MEMORY OF WASHINGTON; with Biographical Svetches of his Mother and Wife. Relations of Lafayette to Washington ; with Incidents and Anecdotes in the Lives of the two Patriots. The world will never tire of Washington, and if that were possible with the old, this charming vol- ume will endear his memory more deeply in the hearts of the young. It is a book replete with interest, every page having its separate charm. It should be in every school library, and on the centre-table of every family-room in the land. TUE HOUSE ON THE ROCK. By the author of “A Trap to Catch a Sunbeam,” “Old Joliffe,” ete. ete. The series of little books to which this belongs have had a wide popularity in England as well as in our Republic. The first published, “A Trap to Catch a Sunbeam,” was a charming story. This last book has the like aim of doing good and teaching how to be happy, that stamps all the writings of the author. It will be popular. COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. By the author of “ Essays Written in the Intervals of Business,” “ Friends in Council,” ete. The foregoing productions of this writer have been so excellent, that we took up this volume ex- pecting to be pleased ; and it has equalled—indeed, exceed- ei our hope. Full of deep and probing reflections on the PRPPRPPRPPAP PLL PPPs atta a tia,” etc. present aspects of society, the work is yet more valuable for its suggestions which reach the future conditions of humanity. The style is pure as the thoughts it serves to make more beautiful; and, altogether, these “Compa- nions” will cheer the solitary, or add zest to the social meetings of “friends in council.” The author has that earnest purpose of doing good which never fails of its mark ; and the publishers deserve the thanks of the community for bringing out, in their liberal style, these attractive and valuable books. NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPIILETS, &c. From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia: “ Arrah Neil.” A Novel. By G. P. R. James, author of “ Richelieu,” ete. Three volumes complete in one. Price 25 cents.—“ Falk- land.” A Novel. By Sir E. L. Bulwer, author of “ Lucre- Only cheap edition ever printed. Price 25 cents.— “The Mob Cap, and other Tales.” By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. This large volume contains nine of the most popu- lar tales of the authoress, Mrs. Hentz, whose numerous works of fiction, blended as they have been with practical and useful lessons in manners and morals, have placed her name among the first female writers of our country. Price 50 cents. From Stacy & Richardson, Boston: “Crayon Sketches and Off-IHand Takings of Distinguished American States- men, Orators, Divines, Essayists, Editors, Poets, and Phi- lanthropists.” By George W. Bungay. From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Lindsay & Blakiston, Philadelphia: “ Pictorial Field Book of the Revo- lution.” This ably conducted work has reached its twenty- second number.—* London Labor and London Poor.” By Henry Mayhew. Part 18. Price 1214 cents.—“ The Dal- tons; or, Three Roads in Life.” By Charles Lever, author of “Maurice Finney,” ete. This is a work of more than ordinary interest, though we may not be prepared to enter into al! the author's views. From Lippincott, Grambo & Co., Philadelphis: “The Milliner and the Millionaire.” By Mrs. Dr. Hicks, of Virginia, authoress of the “ Lady-Killer,” ete. From Bunie & Brother, New York, through T. B. Peter- By G. P. R. James, ” son: “Remorse, and other Tales.” Esq. From A. Tart (late Carey & Hart): “ Woodreve Manor; or, Six Months in Town.” A Tale to suit the merits and the follies of the times. By Anna Hanson Dorsey, author of the “ Student of Blenheim Forest,” &c. Price 50 cents. This is a tale of more than usual interest to the American reader.—“ Clifton; or, Modern Fashion,” ete. A Novel. By Arthur Townley. Love, law, and politics are here thrown together, and mingled with the usual incidents connected with those interesting matters, and in the free and easy style which always finds admirers. “The Lantern.” Publication Office 149 Fulton Street, New York. This is a very amusing publicstion ; witty and sarcastic, but retaining a position above vulgarity, and marked by no evidences of malice or scurrility. Its wood- cuts have been justly compared to those of the Lordon Punch. From Long & Brothers, New York: “ Wau-Nan-Gee; or, the Massacre of Chicago.” Those who are fond of investi- gating the characters of the aboriginal inhabitants of this continent will find in the volume here presented an amount of information in respect to the peculiarities of that race which will greatly interest them.

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Gobeys Arm- Chair. READER! you may not be aware of the fact, but this first day of July is, indeed, the birthday of “Godey’s Lady's Book!” Twenty-two years ago this day, we commenced the publication of a magazine which had but few friends or admirers when first ushered into life, but which has lived and prospered, while many others, apparently of a more sturdy stock, have breathed awhile in sorrow, then early sickened, and finally died in utter neglect. We mention this fact, not because it ministers to our vanity, but be- cause it inspires us with the most lively sentiments of gratitude. To be able to say that, for twenty-two years, we have been the publisher of a literary magazine, dependent entirely upon the public taste and judgment for its exist- ence from month to month, has not often fallen to the lot of any one man in this or in any other country. It was said of Apollo, that they always made him with a young face, never growing older. We hope not to be ac cused of flattering the “ Lady’s Book” when we say that, although it has reached a respectable age as a magazine, it has fallen behind none of its youthful rivals, but that it is as fair, sprightly, and as clear of wrinkles as any of them. And as for progress, the best evidence our readers can re- quire that we have never been behind the progress of the times in which we have lived, either in literature, in the arts, or in the fashions will be found by examining our volumes, as they have accumulated from one to forty-four! Rut enough of this, dear reader, lest we should be ac- cused of excessive self-complaisance, when we only desire to remind you of the past years of our existence, and to assure you that whatever of the future may be left us, will be devoted with equal zeal, industry, and gratitude, to your amusement and edification.

We have attempted, besides our usual plates, to give a novelty in this number—printing in colors on a power- press. It shows the capabilities of our office, and the in- genuity of our workmen. The subjects are also part of our great design in publishing this work—to give articles of utility and beauty. It will be seen that the subjects are such as can be made by any carpenter, and from the woods of almost any person possessing a small country estate. Some or ovr Various Duties.—We have lately had the following orders from our friends of the press: To get a situation for a young lady as forewoman in a millinery establishment; to get all the information necessary to put up a line of telegraph; to show how to cultivate sweet potatoes, and where to get seed; to hunt up a young man who had left his native village, without the consent of his parents, to see the sights in Philadelphia; to obtain a set of surgical instruments; to put in suit several bills against one of the advertising agencies ; to buy a lot of type, nearly four hundred dollars’ worth; to get a first-rate Adams's press; to have a calculation made what it will cost to print a law-book; do. a periodical; te ascertain about the late invention of fastening on horse-shoes without the use of nails. We have had no request to find a wife for any young gent, because a good wife can as soon, perhaps a little sooner, be found in the country than in the city. liowever, if any one wishes us to try, we will do so. } —

No. IT. of “ Everyday Actualities,” by Hinckley, appears in this number. We are pleased to find that this depart- ment gives such general satisfaction. There is uo end to the store of them we have on hand.

We have recently published the following articles, which may be considered among the useful and instructive : Upon Needles; Gloves; Honiton Lace-Making; Watches ; Steam; Fans; Bleaching Cotton ; The Stars; Wild Flowers; The Conservatory; article upon School Teaching; on Let- ter Writing; History of Boots and Shoes; Calesthenics for Ladies; The Phantascope, &c. Mr. Batey, the editor of the “Lancasterville, 8. C., Ledger,” who is a gentleman of talent and a most able editor, publishes the following, touching that most excel- lent family paper, “ Arthur’s Home Gazette:”— “A friend has kindly sent us the numbers of ‘ Arthur’s Gazette,’ containing the conclusion of ‘ Mr. Haven't-time,’ and ‘ Mr. Don’t-be-in-a-hurry,’ which will enable us to finish the story next week. The subjoined letter was not sent for publication ; but, to show in what estimation ‘ Arthur's Gazette’ is held by our friend, and, at the same time, for the purpose of doing Mr. Arthur what service we can, we give it a plecs in our paper :— “<«Campen, 8. C., April 9, 1852. “<*R. 8. Barey, Esq.—Dear Sir: In your last paper, I see you want some numbers of “Arthur’s Hlome Gazette.” I take pleasure in supplying you with those you wish, and the two numbers received since. In this package you will receive numbers 28, 29, 30, and 31. “*T am glad you like that paper so much; it is, in my estimation, one of the very best family newspapers in the United States: so valuable do I consider it, that I take two copies, one to file, and one to give any friend who may desire it, or to whom I may recommend it, and wish to furnish them with a specimen. If my influence cou!d have that effect, every housekeeper in America, who is able to pay for it, and can read it or have it read, would be a sub- scriber. Mr. Arthur’s teachings have such a tendency to smooth down, soften, and purify the roughness and un- evenness of our natures, that, if any honest man will tell me, after reading it carefully one year, that he is not wiser, better, and more virtuous, I will agree to refund the sub- scription money, and in sorrow set him dowp in my mind as a case most hopeless of improvement. “*T have taken the paper from its commencement, and have the file complete, which I prize highly. Its circula- tion now is over eighteen thousand copies. “‘Hoping that your “Ledger” may prove a benefit to the people of my native district, “*T remain, yours respectfully, WE copy the following from an exchange. If we knew the author, we certainly should give him credit for it:— “4 Soremn Warntno.—I once called upon a sick person whom the doctor had given up as a gone case. I asked him if he had made his peace with everybody. Le said he thought he had squared up. given all his enemies. He replied yee. if he had made his peace with his printer J.B!” I asked him if he had for- I then asked him Ite hesitated a 99

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100 GODEY’S ~~ we moment, and then said he owed him something like about two dollars and fifty cents, which he desired to have paid before he bid adieu to the world. His desires were imme- diately gratified; and from that moment he became con- valescent. He is now living in the enjoyment of health and prosperity, at peace with his conscience and the whole world. Let him be an example for you, my friends.” The only alteration requisite in the above to suit this meridian is the amount. Rapm Promotion.—For the first time in our life, we have been honored with a military title. Colonel Godey! Mus- kets and bomb-shells! Isn’t it terrible! But our dear friend, the editor of the “Oquawka Spectator,” must ex- cuse us. His line of promotion has been too rapid; having first commissioned us as a major, and very soon after raised us to the rank of colonel, has quite overcome our sensibili- ties. But why or wherefore these military honors have been thus suddenly and unexpectedly showered on an individual so unmilitary in his profession and his habits as we are, we are greatly at a loss to conjecture. Were wea political leader, or an aspirant for office, or a regular fight- ing man in the editorial corps, we would probably know how to appreciate the vaiue of such titles, whether deserved or not, in all sham-battles and bloodless combats for place, power, or fame. But, as we “ Never forsook our peaceful dwelling, Or went about a colonelling,” we really feel abashed at this coupling of our modest name with such dignified, gunpowder, and broadsword appella- tives as major and colonel. Spare us your military com- missions, dear sir, and we shall at all times be prepared to fulfil any commission you may confer upon us in relation to the “Lady’s Book,” or in the accomplishment of any other peaceful matter of business you may desire us to attend toin this city of brotherly love. Meantime, we tender you our thanks for your kind notices of our “ Book.” Your business reference that “ Godey always keeps his promises,” was more valuable and consoling to us than would have been the military title of field-marshal, or that of comman- der-in-chief of all the forces! DRESSES OF THE QUEEN ANP Mus. Apnott LAWRENCE AT THE LATE Drawine-Room.—The queen wore a train of white poplin, embroidered with small wreaths of the rose, thistle, and shamrock in colors; the petticoat was of white satin. The head-lress was composed of feathers and a wreatii of red roses. Mrs. Lawrence wore a train of green velvet, ‘ined with pink glace, and trimmed with point de Verise; iress of pink chiné moire antique. The head~iress was com- posed of feathers, point de Venise lappets, and the orna- ments were a profusion of diamonds and emeralds. Woman rv ner Various Ketations. By Mrs. L.G. Apex, author of “Gems by the Wayside,” ete. We have before noticed this delightful work; but we refer to it again, as there were several errors in our former notice. It is pub- lished by Wm. Holdridge, 140 Fulton Street, New York. Mr. Suiru AND His Pew-Hotpers.—The rightful and legal owners of pews in our popular churches, especially on popular oceasions, such as when a popular preacher is advertised to occupy the pulpit, are frequently perplexed and annoyed at finding themselves excluded from their seats by those who have had the good fortune to arrive a little in advance. In all such cases, either their piety must triumph over their politeness, their curiosity prove stronger than their courtesy, or they must stand up in the isle, or eee an ar we MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, countermarch to the door, and thence to their homes. But Mr. Smith, a venerable gentleman, and a veteran in Christ ianity, had a way of his own in conquering all such appa- rent difficulties. Walking up the isle of his church, in his usually solemn and quiet manner, one Sabbath morning, when a brilliant discourse was expected from an eloquent preacher, on arriving at his pew-loor, he found it so nearly filled by a party of strangers, that the person who had taken command of the door deemed it advisable to refuse him admittance. Without giving the least intimation of his authority, the courteous and good-natured Mr. Smith simply motioned to the door-keeper and his inside compa- nions to close up, and thus make room for the unknow applicant for admission. But this truly modest request was resisted by looks and shrugs, which plainly said to Mr. Smith, “No room for outsiders here;” and, had he enter- tained the least doubts as to their determination to keep him out, they were at once removed when he attempted to open the pew-loor, by the gentleman telling him, “Sir, there is no room, and you cannot come in here.” “ Ah,” said Mr. Smith, in a gentle whisper, “ that is very strange, considering that I pay seventy-five dollars a year for this pew; and myself and family, numbering in ali one more than are now seated, occupied it last Sabbath in great com- fort.” “Ah,” in turn, exclaimed the gentleman within, and was about making his exit in great confusion ; but this the good old Christian prevented, by quietly insisting on his remaining in the pew, and judging for himself of ite capacity to accommodate all within, and the supposed stranger who had been ordered to remain without. We think, if we have told this anecdote intelligibly, thet it will be found to convey two lessons in Christian church- going morality. But we leave that to the moral discern- ment of the reader. “A Proper Hint.”—The “Le Roy Gazette,” N. Y., ap- proves the hint we gave some time since to our exchanges, to place the State, as well as the name of the town in which they are published, at the heads of their papers. We are glad to receive the assistance of the “Gazette” in this mat- ter of reform, because, if it is ever accomplished, it will give great relief to a venerable personage who sits near us, and whose special duty it is to examine our exchanges. The old gentleman’s temperament is not so irritable now as it was formerly, or we fear we should be obliged to listen to some heavy imprecations against such of our editorial friends as imagine everybody to be acquainted with their location, merely on account of the fact being familiar to themselves. It often happens that our assistant is griev- ously perplexed, and has to examine through all the ad- vertisements, and even then does not always succeed, but has to guess at the name of the State. When our friends shall take the trouble to examine the list of post-towns in the United States, and assure themselves of the vast num- ber of towns in every State which bear the same name as does that in which they reside, they will see the necessity of making the required designation. We beg them to do it for our old friend’s sake. «A Worp in Private.”—Our friend of the “Sandy Hill Herald,” after a very kind notice of the “ Lady's Book” for May, puts this question to us very seriously, but “in pri- vate,” “Did you tell the truth when you said you were happier now than when a boy?” We certainly did tell the truth, as we always do, and, as our friend knows, or ought to know, we always have done. when conversing or making promises to our readers. The fact is, Mr. Herald, we have some very disagreeable reminiscences of our selicol-thoy days, and such do not leave the impression on our mind

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. that the old school system was much to be preferred to the new. Under the old system, they whipped the boys out of all regard for their books, ard out of all veneration for their teachers. That was the oppression of the past. The oppression practised at this time is in forcing the mind, at a too early age, to effect the comprehension of things above its capacity. This is attempted by exciting the emulation, or the ambition of the pupil, until it excites a degree of feverish anxiety that proves injurious to his bodily frame and destructive to the mental faculties. But, as we have touched on this subject in another article, we have only to assure our doubting inquirer that the present period of our life is much happier than any which we can remember to have passed in our boyhood or school days. Though tending, like all created things, to the sear and yellow leaf, we have a cheerful, a grateful, and, of course, a happy heart. We have, indeed, our troubles of business, our little disappointments and vexations, like the rest of the business world; but we have, too, our quiet home, with none to disturb the equanimity of our temper, or to make us afraid, and where we enjoy all the endearments of child- hood, and all that affectionate consideration which our years and our family position entitle us to—blessings which we hope our doubting and inquiring friend may enjoy now and hereafter, in at least as large a proportion as has fallen to our share! Hies Dercs vs. Latrx.—Our good friend of the “ Mount- ain Banner,” Rutherford, N. C., lately gave us some trou- ble in translating one or two lines from Virgil, which he had quoted in a delicate compliment he was so kind as to pay to the “ Lady’s Book.” In return, we conveyed to him an equally delicate compliment in original High Dutch. But, unfortunately, before our lines reached him, he had taken his departure from home, leaving his amiable “ bet- ter half” to take charge of the columns of his paper—a charge which, we are happy to bear witness, has been ful- filled with great dignity and unquestionable talent. The lady editor, however, assyres us that, if we were “not a little startled” at the Latin quotation, the absent editor will be worse than “ startled” when he beholds our eight lines of High Dutch. To our great discomfort, we are also told that she is “confident the editor’s brain will be haunt- ed by day and by night with ‘Heil dir! hiflichen Schiiler,’ etc. until he is relieved by the author.” We therefore hasten, with all the alacrity and anxiety of friendship, to rescue the editor from his perilous state of doubt and suspicion, and from all suffering on our account; and, to effect this, present him with a poetical translation of the High Dutch, which we hope will make our compli- ment better understood, if not more acceptable, than it was in its original form :— « All hail, O courtly scholar! ‘ Hail thou of bards the friend! Thy toils for wreaths of honor May all success attend! Thy name live on forever, From every tarnish free ; And, as to-lay ’tis honored, Hereafter may it be!” By the way, we perceive our friend absented himself for the patriotic purpose of attending a political convention, from the duties of which he expected to return home in- vigorated for the struggle before him. We hope that he has not only returned home invigorated, but with a nomi- nation in his pocket for governor, or, at the least, for a seat in Congress! 9* PPP —Oelwms 4 101 “ PREMATURE CRAMMING.”—Punch, not long since, had a very good article in rebuke of the present method adopted for the education of young children, and of forcing on their minds the investigation of subjects belonging to the high- est branches. He begins by saying that somebody has started what may be called, with reference to the alphabet, a capital idea, by proposing to teach children their letters through the medium of lozenges. Instead of appealing to the eye, the inventor appeals to the mouth, and thus the sweets of education are made, not simply a name, but a luscious reality. In these days, when premature cramming is so common, it is something to invent a plan for causing instruction to go down agreeably. A thirst for knowledge is an excellent thing; but the Alphabet Lozenges will en- courage not only an absolute hunger, but a richt-down greediness for learning. Some may doubt the propriety of blending instruction with the lollipop, and allowing the influence of the cane to be superseded by that of the sugar- stick. We think that a wholesome effect might be pro- duced by conveying information in a medical form, and we throw out the hint for combining salubrity with science, by the invention of the multiplication pill, a geographical black dose, and an ointment to be rubbed in for the pur- pose of rubbing up a knowledge of history. We har? copied this sarcasm of Punch, because we think it quite as applicable to the “cramming” system of education enforced in this country as to that pursued in England. When we meet, as we often do, in our public squares, on a fine, fresh morning, a number of pale-faced, emaciated boys, with packs of books strung to their necks, heavy enough for a robust colporteur, or a vender of periodical literature, we involuntarily sigh over the memory of the past. and, at the same time, deeply commiserate the sufferings of those children who are following after us under the heavy afflic- tions of what Punch calls a premature cramming. The poor, woe-begone little fellows pass through those walks where all is sunshine, greensward, and noble trees, in the branches of which the birds are warbling their sweetest notes, intent only upon lessons which, perhaps, are far beyond their capacities, with no thought, and apparently no care for the cheerfulness and the beauties of nature which surround them. They remind us more of the past race of anxious patriots and perplexed statesmen who resorted to the shades of the “State House yard” to consult and to meditate on the destinies of their country, and the fearful question of independence, than of the human buds and blossoms, and tender plants, which still require the cheer- ful voice and the careful hand of affection to sustain and conduct them to that state of life which it is necessary for them to reach before being oppressed with the weightier branches of education. But few of those children who are éarly pressed down under the trammels of the schools— who, for a time, are an admired and astonishing race of in- fant philosophers, linguists, and logicians—but few of them, we fear, ever arrive at a sound and vigorous maturity, either of mind or body. Crap Ocean Px We are indebted to the Hon. Mr. Sumner, of the «nm. of the United States, for a copy of his resolution directing the Committee on the Post-Dffice and Post-Roads to inquire into the expediency of reducing the postage on foreign correspondence. The remarks of Mr. Sumner were brief and cogent, and the probability is that “the great boon of cheap ocean postage” will not be long deferred. Meantime, however, we should like to know what has become of the proposition to reduce the postage on American periodicals, reviews, magazines, newspapers, etc. etc. As the matter stands at present, there is a great deal of correspondence carried on between Europe and this

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102 GODEY’s ~~? country, which greatly interferes with the prospects of publishers and literary men, and which, perhaps, it would be as well not to touch until we enlarge our own literary boundaries, and extend to those engaged within them some additional facilities and securities. From what we see, the balance of trade is already against us, and we are not so certain that, in a literary point of view, we can even hold our own, much less gain anything upon our rivals, until something is done for the protectica of authors. Hitherto, we may have had our doubts in regard to the propriety and the general effects of an international law on the subject of literary property; and although we do not intend to argue the question now, we are, nevertheless, prepared to say we believe it should be first settled before we “ throw our ports open” entirely to a competition which appears to be as unjust to parties in our own country as it is to simi- lar professions in Europe. Tue “ Evening Argus” says, “ Among the proceedings of the United States Senate, we observe the presentation of a petition from the ertists and other citizens of the city of Philadelphia, asking that P. F. Rothermel, of this city, may be selected to paint one of the National Pictures that are to adorn the walls of the Capitol. We take great pleasure in seconding the appeal, as we are confident that to no artist could the task be confided with more certainty of its being executed with credit to the national character than to Mr. Rothermel.” Concert Anscpotr.—A lady attending a concert was greatly annoyed, during the performance of a favorite sym- phony of Beethoven, by some young persons who sat imme- diately behind her, and who, by their incessant chatter, gave equal displeasure to all around them. The party thus offending consisted of a young lady and two young gentlemen, who affected all that indifference for the de lightful music, and for the presence of those who had come to enjoy it, which is too often assumed as an evidence of superior intellect, and of an elevated class. For, doubt of the fact as we may, there are many otherwise good-hearted people who think it vulgar to evince the least feeling or sentiment at a public concert or musical soirée. But to return. When all was over, the lady alluded to above leaned across one seat, and catching the eye of the girl, who was pretty and well dressed, said, in her blandest, gentlest voice, “ May I speak with you one moment?” “Certainly,” said the young lady, with a flattered, pleased look, bending forward. “I only wish to say,” said the interrogator, “ that I trust, in the whole course of your life, you will not suffer so great a degree of annoyance as you have inflicted on a large party of lovers of music this evening!” Merropouray Horer, Broapway, New York. — Passing along Fourth Street a short time since, while rather in a patriotic mood, we turned for a moment to contemplate the once famous Indian Queen Hotel, where, in the olden time, the defenders and founders of our country resorted for con- eultation and for earthly comforts, and in a retired room of which it is said Mr. Jefferson drew up the original draft of the immortal Declaration of Independence. We were preparing our mind to contrast its plain walls and windows, its breadth and its height, with the splendid and magnifi- cent mansions in which our great men and our rich men of the present day do mostly congregate, and where taste and modern refinement, where art, luxury, ease, and ele- gance have combined all their powers to minister to the wants and comforts of the present generation. But, alas! the ancient front, which had long been shrinking and tot- tering with age, was coming down with a crash; and, at ——ewerererere eee es eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_e_eee_eOOOO Tee Q Rare MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, De this day, not one brick clings to another of that modest structure—the once renowned Indian Quen Hotel! A few days after this incident, if such it may be called, our business required our presence in New York—we say our business, because we wish it to be understood that we never travel except on actual business, unless it be over the fields, and “ over the hills and far away,” in company with our little namesakes and a few other young competitors in the walk and the race. But, arrived at New York, what was our astonishment, when conducted by a friend to the Metropolitan Hotel, at beholding its magnificent exterior, and its still more magnificent interior, with all its “ modern fixtures” and gorgeous appliances, such as Thomas Jeffer- son, though a wonderfully progressive writer in his time, and especially progressive while laying out his plans of progress in the old Indian Queen, never could have dreamed of, although he might have been reading the “ Arabian Nights Entertainments” just before he went to sleep! Entertainment! Ah, here is entertainment, indeed! but not “for man and horse,” as there was in Mr. Jefferson’s time, but for map and woman, or, to speak in more modern English, for “ ladies and gentlemen of the highest degree.” Here, too, is evidence of progressive independence ; for, as we were told—we had not time to count—this establish- ment, which is six stories high, contains over five hundred rooms, one hundred of which are suites of rooms, each suite embracing parlor, bedroom, dressing-room, bath-room, ete., and all supplied with hot and cold water, so that indi- viduals and families may live perfectly independent of each other and of the outside world. Leading to these rooms, and through the immense building, there is one mile of halls and passages elegantly painted, “ and more than five miles of pipes to convey the gas, hot and cold water, and steam to warm the building, to every part.” The furniture of this building, unique and rich, cost $150,000; siiver-ware, $14,000; mirrors, $15,000, two of which, intended for the dining-hall, cover one hundred square feet each. The captions of the dining-hall windows are ornamented with the coat of arms of every principal nation on earth. In addition to these costly decorations, the purest designs, formed in the purest and most costly marble, have been brought into requisition under the best artists. This new and splendid hotel, which it is presumed has not its equal in the world, is now under the management of the brothers Leland, who have learned the business of hotel-keeping pretty much in the way we have learned tho business of magazine-publishing—by minding their own business, and attending strictly to fulfilling all their pro- mises made to the public. The Metropolitan Hote! is situate at the northeast corner of Broadway and Prince Street, on the site of Niblo’s Gar- den, three hundred and sixty feet on Broadway, and two hundred and ten feet on Prince Street. The cost of the building has been estimated at near half a million of dol- lars. It will be a pleasure to the public to know that the management of such an immense and magnificent esta blishment could not have been placed in worthier hands. The engraving in the front part of our “ Book” for the present month, is an exact representation of the building we have attempted to describe. Tue Kxyickernockrr.—The following announcement was made in the “Knickerbocker Magazine” for May. The editor of that able magazine has our best wishes for the success of his gossip, which, unlike that of most of the tribe of gossipers, has always been a source of pleasure, as well as of information, to those who have listened to its expres- sive and feeling tones and gentle admonitions. To doubt

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RECEIPTS. the success of such “ knick-knacks” as will be distributed from the editorial table of the “ Knickerbocker,” would be about equal to doubting the success of the “ Knicker- bocker” itself, which, happily, is one of the fixed literary facts of American history. But read for yourself the plea- sant announcement of the forthcoming pleasantries :— “GossIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.—Friends, old friends, let us impart a fond secret to you. We won't say that you ‘mustn’t let it go any further,’ because you can ‘pass it on’ as fast and as far as you like. There is in the press of the Messrs. Appletons a volume, to be followed by another, entitled ‘ Knick-Knacks from an Editor’s Table, by L. Gaylord Clark. It has been prepared at the suggestion of many friends, the favorable judgment of several of whom would do honor to a far worthier literary project. During sixteen years, sitting alone or with company in the sanc- tum, or circulating in society, we have seen and heard much to awaken mirth, and felt much that hes awakened tears. Looking back now upon these records, almost for- gotten, we find that they seem new even fo us, and the old emotions with which they were originally jotted down come back again freshly upon us. Now, any one man who feels and enjoys, who can neither resist laughter nor forbid tears that will out and must have vent, such an one, it seems to us, is simply an epitome of the public. “So thinking, and so hoping, we have gone back over the long, long period during which we have gossiped with our readers, and have segregated from our pages such pas- sages as interested us most when we wrote them; and, as there will be at least no lack of variety, and abundant con- trast, we trust to be able to make our humble ‘ venture’ acceptable to readers generally. One thing we can at least promise, and that is that, however far short it may fall of excellence, it shall contain nothing that may offend; while in the character of its execution, its distinct divisions, large- ness of type, quality of paper, etc., the publishers will leave nothing to be desired. Our brother editors who may ap- prove of our little project will lay us under an obligation, which we shall be only too happy to reciprocate, if they will copy into their columns this brief programme of our design. Tell your readers, gentlemen, please, that we shall try to present for their acceptance a work that shall be a various and pleasant companion for the rail-car, the steam- boat, and the fireside.” ACADEMY OF Fine Arts.—It gives us great pleasure to state that the exhibition of this institution for the present year opened with a display of paintings and statuary more brilliant and interesting than on any preceding year since its foundation. This fact affords us most gratifying evi- dence that our citizens are becoming every year more and more sensible of the refining and elevating influences of the fine arts upon the general characteristics of our coun- try. The present display embraces a collection from the works of the best European and American artists, among which are several masterly productions, the private pro- perty of the stockholders. This institution is, indeed, one of the crowning glories of Philadelphia, not merely afford- ing at all times a quiet retreat for those who love to contemplate the wonderful efforts of genius in its imita- tions and in its emulations of the truthfulness of Nature, but also as a place to which Genius itself may retreat, in order to reanimate its drooping energies, and rekindle its flickering hopes of fame. For, aside from its magnificent collection of paintings, etc., the liberality extended by the Academy to artists and to scholars is of the greatest im- portance in securing to our country those trophies of native genius which, in time to come, will form a portion of her imperishable renown. $ To PRESERVE FLOWeRs IN WATER.—Mix a little carbonate of soda with the water, and it will preserve the flowers for a fortnight. To Restore Coton TAKEN ovuT By Actps.—Sal volatile or hartshorn will suffice for this purpose. It may be dropped on silk without doing any injury. Hoarseness.—A piece of flannel, dipped in brandy, and applied to the chest, and covered with a dry flannel, is to be worn all night. put on buttered toast, and eaten for supper, are likewise good for colds on the chest. Four or six small onions, boiled, and To MAKE Eav-pe-CoLoene.—Rectified spirits of wine, four pints; oil of bergamot, one ounce; oil of lemon, half an ounce; oil of rosemary, half a drachm ; oil of Neroli, three- quarters of a drachm; oil of English lavender, one drachm ; oil of oranges, one drachm. Mix well, and then filter. If these proportions are too large, smaller ones may be used. A VERY PLEASANT PERFUME, AND ALSO PREVENTIVE AGAINST Morns.—Take of cloves, caraway seeds, nutmeg, mace, cin- namon, and Tonquin beans. of each one ounce; then add as much Florentine orris-root as will equal the other ingre- dients put together. Grind the whole well to powder, and then put it in little bags, among your clothes, &c. Lapres, Beware.—The use of white paint as a cosmetic affects the eyes, which it renders painful and watery. It changes the texture of the skin, on which it produces pim- ples; attacks the teeth, destroys the enamel, and loosens them. It heats the mouth and throat, infecting and cor- rupting the saliva. Lastly, it penetrates the pores of the skin, acting by degrees on the spongy substance of the lungs, and inducing disease. Powdered magnesia, or violet powder, is no further injurious than by stopping the pores of the skin; but this is quite injury enough to preclude its use. The best cosmetics are early hours, exercise, and temperance, An Excetent Disn.—Potatoes @ la Mattre d Hotel: Boil the potatoes, and let them become cold; then cut them into rather thick slices. Put a lump of fresh butter iuto a stewpan, and add a little flour—about a teaspoonful for a middling-sized dish. When the flour has boiled a little while in butter, add by degrees a cupfui of broth or water; when this has boiled up, put im the potatoes, with chopped parsley, pepper, and salt. Let the potatoes stew a few minutes, then take them from the fire, and when quite off the boil add the yolk of an egg beat up with a little iemon juice and a tablespoonful of cold water. As soon as the sauce has set, the potatoes may be dished up and sent to table. Creasks may be removed from velvet by passing the un- der side of the velvet over a warm smoothing iron. Let one person hold the velvet tight, and another pass the iron; then spread out the garment, and brush gently, yet briskly, with a velvet brush. To Crean Lacgver.—Make a paste of starch, one part; powdered rottenstone, twelve parts; sweet oil, two parts; oxalic acid, one part; water to mix.

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Centre-Cable Gossip. LONGCHAMPS., We have been frequently asked, What is the proper sea- son for spring bonnets, and when should crape shawls be laid aside? The exact time for the blooming of a spring wardrobe is a debatable question among our city and country belles: the present season, for instance, when lace bonnets and tissue robes reposed so long in the ward- robes of the purchasers, who still went clad in furs and velvets. Some, to be sure, did not look beyond the almanac, and shivered in their finery; and this is often done without a thought of the appropriateness of the dress for the day. So, through the season, crape bonnets are sported wet or dry, umbrellas drip over thulle, and light silks trail upon a mud-stained pavement. In the last instance, a glaring ignorance of propriety is noticeable—a vulgarity of display, we had almost said. This is admirably corrected ina line from a French journal des modes—* Another bonnet suitable Sor fine weather,” etc. etc.: it especially prefaces the descrip- tion with a supposition that it will not be worn at any other time. A French woman does not confine herself to one expensive bonnet, to be worn on all occasions—the in- An English woman rarely Tt is in- consistency is purely American. ventures on a dress-bonnet in walking-costume. tended for the carriage alone; a close cottage shape of straw, with dark ribbons, answers her turn. As to the time when this change is to be made, all Paris waits for its spring costumes until the Fite de Longchamps, which occurs in May. On that important day, the boule- vards are thronged with four miles of beauty and fashion, up through the Champs Elysées to the Bois de Boulogne. Hear what the clever “ American in Paris” says of it :-- “ Formerly, the cause of going to Longchamps was to say mass; now it is the variation of asleeve. The chief concern of the day is the exhibition of pretty women in open ba- rouches, clad in the splendors and novelties of the season. The dresses of Longchamps, like Ceesar’s, go forth upon the whole earth, and it is the only tribunal that can claim upon earth this extensive jurisdiction.” So much for Longchamps in 1836, when the principal changes of fashion were mutton sleeves for the wide bishop, and the lengthening of dress skirts to conceal the ankle. But this Longchamps has also its homage to the season, for what says the “ Moniteur” of the spring of 1852?— “Longchamps is now close at hand. It is much talked of in the world of fashion. But is it really Lengchamps that proclaims such and such a dress or mantle? I can hardly believe so, though I am by no means inclined to derogate from its past glory. Sometimes at Longchamps the weather is gloomy and wet; elegant ladies, frightened by the chilling blast, wrap their persons in Indian cash- meres, and do not venture to exhibit the wonders of fash- ion. The consequence is, therefore, that Longchamps is often less gay, less animated, less elegant, and less magni- ficent than the ordinary daily parade in the Bois de Bou- logne and the Champs Elysées, when the sun shines bright and the blue sky speaks of spring. What! some one will exclaim, do you dare to attack Longchamps? do you rail against it? What will Fashion say? Fashion knows well enough that I am right, and will approve of what I say. 104 $ Ps POLL LLL Not that I mean to say Longchamps should be dethroned, but that Longchamps depends altogether on the caprice of the ladies and the planets. If the sun refuses to smile on it, and assumes a dark frown instead, adieu to Long- champs! In that case, it will only be escorted by a few republican guards, fine brave fellows in their way, no doubt, but, in my opinion, not to be compared to all the fairy creations of fancy and caprice.” So much for the eloquence of a French modiste, on an all- important theme in the world of fashion; and so much for our argument against wet weather displays. The safest rule is to follow Nature, and bring out your spring ribbons and your gauzy tissues with her fluttering foliage, remem- bering always— “One violet doesn’t make a summer.” POETICAL ENIGMAS. Miss Annie 8. Ashton has our thanks for the following response to the Poetical Enigma in our last :-— When tolled the fearful tower bell The dirge for Lady Gray— When sorrow on her true friends fell, And on her foes dismay, Draped in its sombre cerecloth deep, Ere fell the fearful shock, How many pitying cyes did weep To view the headsman’s block / And now, with brave, unfaltering mien, The gentle lady stands; In murmured prayer her lips are seen, Upraised her claspéd hands ; Then softly, as an eider couch For that sweet form were spread, The lady kneels, and on the block Is laid her fair young head. And so the riddle was to me— If thus its numbers move, The whole is guessed ; for, though I write, No blockhead I shall prove. WHAT ’S TO BE DONE WITH THE CHILDREN? That ever we, as a Lady's Book, should be compelled to hold up deprecating hands in a plea for the nursery! That we should find, upon our cheerful centre-table, so lament- able a cry as the one now claiming our response! “ What’s to be done with the children? indeed! poor, little weary dears, figling no rest for their feet!” What’s to be done with the distracted parents? also becomes a serious con- sideration; but we give our correspondent’s letter as it lies in our contribution-basket, sealed ominously with a Shakspearian motto-wafer—“ Sorrow ends not when it seemeth done”—soliciting advice or suggestion for the un- happy writer from any quarter whatever :— “ PHILADELPHIA, June 10. “ Your kind heart will perhaps excuse the liberty taken. by a stranger, in addressing the presiding genius of ‘Go

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CENTRE-TA

dey’s Centre-Table” I apply to you, as a last resource, to suggest, if possible, some way of disposing my five precious innocents for the summer months. The baby is teething, poor dear! and the doctor especially recommends change of air: indeed, he says he cannot answer for the conse- quences, if we remain in the city another month. John and Jane—the twins—have never fairly recovered from the measles; Augusta looks delicate; and, now that Philip is out of school, he leaves me no peace of my life, tearing about the house, and making donkey~arts of the clothes- baskets and his brother and sisters. In the country, this playful exuberance would pass unnoticed. But in vain have we advertised—searched—scoured the country over. Of the fifty-seven applications we have made, fifty-four re- turn answer that they have made up their minds not to take children this season; and the other three allow them no privileges of grounds or garden, poor loves! “ What does all this mean, my dear madam? Whence this coalition of boarding-house keepers against these un- offending innocents? Their country wardrobes are pre- pared; their father stands ready, purse in hand, to dis- charge any reasonable demand; and I await in tortured anxiety the daily blasting of hopes which the morning’s ‘Ledger’ has excited. I read of ‘desirable accommoda- tions,’ ‘charming neighborhood,’ ‘unsurpassed conveni- ences,’ but to be told that the ban of proscription is passed upon my interesting family. What is to be done with the children? Cannot you aid in dissipating this unfounded prejudice against such injured loveliness? “P.8. LI inclose a pen and ink drawing of my Philip, in the straw hat purchased in Second Street, to save his lovely complexion in the country he seems destined never to visit, that you may see, from his prepossessing countenance, how little my eldest born deserves such excommunica- tion.”

HOUSEKEEPER’S KEYS.—No. II. According to our promise in the June number, we com- mence a series of household hints, under the above title; many of them are original, and all valuable, we believe. DisiNFECTANTS.—Do our lady readers understand the sim- ple theory of disinfectants? Every housekeeper has had occasion to use chloride of lime: half a pound to five gal- lons of water, is the quantity recommended by a very able chemist. Aromatic vinegar poured upon a heated iron plate is perhaps the pleasantest of all, though not always to be had, or remarkably economical. The cheapest, and, at the same time, one of the most convenient and agreeable of all, is common coffee. Pound the well<iried raw bean in a mortar, and strew the powder on a moderately heated iron plate. Just traversing the house with a roaster con- taining freshly burned coffee will clear it from all offensive smells. Morus.—When there has been a lack of precaution in putting away woolens, or moths have colonized in furni- ture, we know of no better remedy than to subject the infect- dD é 105 LE GOSSIP. ed articles to a smoke of powdered brimstone. Put glowing coals in a small tin or iron pan, and strew the powder upon them. The old-fashioned foot-stoves answer the purpose admirably, the smoke escaping through the punctures of the tin. This is said to be effectual in the cleansing of closets, safes, etc., infected with ants, and is, at least, worth a trial. SwezeTmeats.—As the season for putting up sweetmeats approaches, all young housekeepers should be admonished to see to the jars themselves, and, if possible, not to trust any part of the process to a servant. It is much better to put them up in large, plain glass tumblers, one or two of which will be sufficient to fill a cut-glass dish, so that there will be none wasted. Besides, you can more easily watch them to prevent fermentation, china or earthen jars being, of course, opaque. There is no absolute necessity of laying a brandied paper over them, although many think so: if well done, with a full allowance of sugar, there will be lit- tle danger from fermentation. THE BUSINESS OF BEING BEAUTIFUL. We commend the following notes on the “ business of being beautiful” to the attention of our younger ladies, who are just commencing a self-forming process of charac- ter. We know it is rather a new doctrine; that the world, as a general thing, will cry it down under the name of vanity; but we separate the consciousness of giving plea- sure by grace or delicacy from the vulgar pride in physical advantages, to which, and their display, the name more properly belongs. It is not a selfish motive, that of giving pleasure to others, and every one knows that “a thing of beauty is a joy forever.” The “Quarterly” is a good au- thority, moreover, and we quote from the “ Quarterly :” £0, ladies, it is your duty to be beautiful, whether you like it or no. “ Man’s face is bound to be clean, and may be allowed to be picturesque; but it is a woman’s business to be beauti- ful. Beauty of some kind is so much the attribute of the sex, that a woman can hardly be said to feel herself a wo- man who has not, at one time of her life, at all events, felt herself to be fair. Beauty confers an education of its own, and that always a feminine one. Most celebrated beauties have owed their highest charms to the refining education which their native ones have given them. It was the wis- dom as well as the poetry of the age of chivalry that it supposed all women to be beautiful, and treated them as such. “What can be more false or cruel than the common plan of forcing upon a young girl the withering conviction of her own plainness? If this be only a foolish sham to counteract the supposed demoralizing consciousness of beauty, the world will soon counteract that; but, if the victim have really but a scanty supply of charms, it will, in addition to incalculable anguish of mind, only diminish those further still. To such a system alone can we ascribe an unhappy anomalous style of young woman, occasionally met with, who seems to have taken on herself the vows of voluntary ugliness—who neither eats enough to keep her complexion clear, nor smiles enough to set her pleasing muscles in action—who prides herself on a skinny parsi- mony of attire which she calls neatness—thinks that alone respectable which is most unbecoming—is always thin, and seldom well, and passes through the society of the lovely, the graceful, and the happy, with the vanity that apes hu- mility on her poor disappointed countenance, as if to say, ‘Stand back, I am uncomelier than thou!”

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106 GODEY’s RPP PO PLP LILI ILL ILL LLL LPL EEE

Fashions. NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, ete., by ladies living at a distance, the Exlitress of the Fushion Department will hereafter execute commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of a small percentage for the time and research required. Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn bonnets, dresses, jewelry, bridal cards, cake boxes, envelops, etc. etc., will be chosen with a view to economy, as well as taste; and boxes or packages forwarded by express to any part of the country. For the last, distinct directions must be given. Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expendi- ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., who will be responsible for the amount, and the early execution of com- missions. Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompanied by a note of the height, complexion, and general style of the person, on which much depends in choice. Dress goods from Levy’s or Stewart's, bonnets from Miss Wharton's, jewelry from Bailey's, Warden's, Philadelphia, or Tiffany's, New York, if requested. DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION PLATE Fig, 1st-—Dinner-dreaa, composed of a vest to be worn with a skirt of plaid Organdy muslin, pink and white, the plait rather large—made very full, but plain. The vest is of white embroidered cambric, lined with white Florence silk; it has a short basque, and the skirt is disposed en chemisette. The basque and sleeves, which are demi-long, are trimmed with a rich fall of lace. The chemisette itself is of full muslin folds, with a ruche about the throat. Hair dressed in a high twist on the baek of the head, with full bandeauz at the side, rosettes and flowing ends of velvet. This costume is at once simple and elegant, and is espe- cially suited to a young girl. Fig. 2d.—Walking~ireas of lavender silk, the skirt full, with three deep flounces ; each flounce is edged, not headed, by a double puffing of silk. The corsage is terminated by a not very long or sharp point, and opens en Marquise, with an embroidered chemisette. Sleeves open, demi-long, and elyed with a double ruffle of the silk; undersleeves in putf*. A white drawn bonnet, is composed of silk and blonde, and ornamented by a close bouquet of blush roses and foliage. In the street, the costume is finished by a black silk mantilla, trimmed with lace. The child’s dress is of embroidered cambric, the sleeves tied with bows of wide blue ribbon. It will be noticed that the sash is once more in favor, and broader than ever. CHITCHAT ON PHILADELPHIA FASHIONS FOR JULY. So many of our fair ladies have deserted the town for the country, that our shops are “halls deserted.” This and the succeeding months have few decided changes. Almost every one has finished her summer wardrobe, and is not yet thinking of fall costumes; so there is little to bo chronicled, save a few novelties iu mantillas, lingerie, etc. ote. MAGAZINE

. AND LADY’S BOOK. Lace application is now applied to mantillas with great success. It is done by drawing a border on the silk, which is first cut after a scarf pattern, and lining the silk with common cotton net lace of the same shade. This pattern is followed by tacking a narrow silk braid on the outline, and cutting out the silk, leaving the centre of the pattern in lace. It has a very light and graceful effect, but is scarcely suited for anything but a scarf pattern. We have already described a still neater style of lace insertion. (See June number.) The favorite colors for mantillas continue to be white, black, and lavender; some in muslin have been seen, and one in exquisite taste, which we must describe to our lady readers. The mantle itselfis of the finest Swiss muslin, with a vine of fine embroidery encircling it. There is a small circular hood that can be brought into use, also richly embroidered, and fastened by a bow of pure white ribbon with flowing ends. The mantle and hood are lined with the softest white Florence silk, and altogether bas an air of indescribable grace and lightness. For a watering- place, nothing could be in better taste, or more really use- ful, to be thrown on for short promenades, with a dinner or ovening-lress, or after dancing. It may be lined with pink, violet, green, or any shade that suits the fancy. Speaking of watering-places reminds us of a very neat style of travelling bonnets brought out by Miss Wharton, or rather a favorite style revived. It is a casing, or drawn hat of fine brown grass cloth, a close but not unbecoming shape, trimmed by a double ruché of blue ribbon on the outside, and neuds and strings of the same inside the brim. Straw travelling bonnets have been worn so long, that this will be welcomed as achange. For beréges, Organdy mus- lins, or, indeed, thin tissues of any kind. Miss Wharton has adopted the “ infant waist;” a belt slightly rounded behind and before, scarcely more than a slope, indeed; the slight fulness of the waist has perhaps three shirrs, drawn with fine cord ; the lining is cut out at the throat. This gives a simple and graceful air, especially suited to young ladies. A collar, pointed in style, and of slight depth, is attached to the open corsages of older ladies. Small bishop sleeves, with cuffs, are used for morning-<dresses, which saves the trouble of a cambric undersleeve, and are really very neat. The ordiuary pagoda, or loose sleeve, is still in use for thin dresses. We have seen an Organdy muslin finished by ruffies of the same, they being headed by a fine edge of Valenciennes lace. Others are made cut up, or rounding up on the inside of the arm, instead of towards the elbow, as described in May. Thick white silks, either of moire dantique or with a heavy cord, remain still in favor for bridal dresses, relieved by having the corsage and sleeves covered with light puff- ings of thulle or blonde. The dress of Lady Constance, youngest daughter of the Duke of Sutherland, recently married to the oldest son of the Marquis of Westminster, was of white satin, with guipure flounces. The head-diress was of white roses, entwined with orange and myrtle, and a splendid guipore veil falling almost to her feet. The corsage and sleeves were of lace, and the ornaments were a magnificent carbuncle set in brilliants, the gift of the queen, and a necklace of pearls, diamonds, end emeralds. Rather an extravagant costume for a young lady, and quote! not for imitation, but as a matter of simple femi- nine interest. F.AsHion.

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SGOLH'S WHRkOoY IPaP init IS THE LARGEST FAMILY JOURNAL IN THE UNITED STATES, It has been acknow- ledged by the press, for six years past, and thousands of subscribers in letters to the publisher, as decidedly the best now published for THE FAMILY CIRCLE, THE FARMER, THE BUSINESS MAN, THE ARTISAN, THE HOUSEWIFE, AND THE MAN OF LEISURE. And, since its enlargement, it surpasses anything in the newspaper line ever attempted. It is conceded by all to be THE FAVORITE FAMILY NEWSPAPER. Ilr CONGRESSIONAL PROCEEDINGS are given in full during the sessions of Congress, and correspondents in most of the principal cities keep our readers advised of every incident of note occurring there. In matters of News our Paper is secund to none. THE BEST ORIGINAL TALES AND STORIES appear in Scott’s Weekly Paper, and every attention is paid to procuring CHOICE POETRY, Select +e the LATEST NEWS from all parts of the Globe, Reports of Markets, Stock Tables, Rates of Discount, &c. FORTY COLUMNS OF READING MATTER! OBSERVE.—There is no deception in this statement. The forty columns are full length; each column is of the usui ~ newspaper width, and is two feet six anda half inches long. The best way to determine the size and quality of newspapers is to send for specimens, before subscribing or mane up Clubs. We prefer that our paper should be selected for its merits alone. The publisher is not connected with any other publication, and his whole time and attention are devoted to his favorite Weekly Paper. It will be perceived that, notw ithstanding the size and character of the journal, the prices to Clubs are less than those of any other first-class journal in the world. LOWEST TERMS: One Copy, one ye ur, = - Two Copies, e Four Copies, ‘é © Ten Copies, ° - $4 e - s ‘ 10 - 20 Twenty-one Copies * ‘ és . 20 “ ‘“ ae And an extra premium to the getter-up of the clubs of ten and twenty. To insure the paper at the club rates, which are lower by 20 per cent. than any paper of equal size and character has ever been offered at, the full comple- ment should be ordered at one time. Additions to clubs will be made at the same rates. if Copies of Scott’s Weekly Paper will be sent as specimens to any address desired. Address ANDREW SCOTT, Publisher, Wo. 116 Chestnut Street, Philadetphia, Pa. IMMENSE INCREASE OF READING MATTER! NEW VOLUME OF GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK, Commencing with July the Forty-fifth Volume. Twenty-third year of Godey’s Lady’s Book, and during the whole of that time it has been published by L. A. Godey. There is no other instance in America of a work having been for so long a period under the superintendence of one person. Faull price “ , reg r D TY — TERMS FOR GODEY’S LADY'S — eae JULY TO DECEMBER INCLUSIVE. 1 copy six months, $1 50. 2 copies six months, 5 copies six : months and a copy for eix montis to he person eending the club, $5. 8 i 3 ° 2 copies t¥ Small notes of the different States are received at par for Godey’s Lady’s Book. i Where a club is made up by individuals who reside at a distance from each other, the Book will be sent to the town in which each resides. (¥° Additions of one or more to clubs are received at club prices. Le REGISTER your letters, and, when remitting, get your postmaster to write on the letter « Regise tered.”? The money will then come safely. Remember, we have no traveling agents now, and all money 7 50. “ “ “ee “c 10 tiust be sent direct to the publisher. 1 A Specimen or Specimens will be sent to any Postmaster making the request. hay- We can always supply back numbers for the year, as the work is stereotyped. (= The Lady's Book is for sale by all Booksellers in the United States. Address, L. A. GODEY, Vo. 113 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 107

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GAS FIXTURES. AaARGBER & WakRsa, No. 119 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, We 4A a SL) Be 48. oo Ee SS Ee EC Ee Se | WOULD INVITE THE ATTENTION OF PURCHASERS TO THEIR EXTENSIVE ASSORTMENT OF NEW PATTERNED CHANDELIERS, BRACKETS, PENDANTS, LAMPS, GIRONDALES, &c. &e. They also introduce GAS PIPES into public buildings and dwellings, and attend to all kinds of Gas Work, including repairing and extending Gas Pipe. - Gas Fitters supplied with BRASS FIT. °NGS, AIR PUMPS, and every article connected with the trade. ad — rrr ARTHUR’S HOME GAZETTE FOR 1852. Tur “HOME GAZETTE,” through the Editor’s untiring efforts to produce a weekly family paper com- bining the highest degree of interest and instructior, with an entire ' FREEDOM FROM VULGARITY, LOW SLANG, PROFANITY, | OR ANYTHING THAT CAN CORRUPT OR DEPRAVE THE MIND, has already gained a circulation that is exceeded only by a single one of the Philadelphia weekly literary papers, and won the fullest confidence of a virtuous and discriminating public. In their Prospectus, for 1852, the publishers have little to say beyond what has already been said. They have given to T. S. ARTHUR, THE EDITOR, entire control of the paper. Not a line goes in without his supervision; and he is, therefore, responsible for all that appears therein. So that just the same confidence felt in him by the public, as a sound and safe moral teucher, may be felt in his “ Home Gazette,” which is emphatically A supporter of Religion and Virtue, and the conservator of good morals and social well-being. In the ORIGINAL LITERARY DEPARTMENT, no magazine in the country is better sustained than the “Home Besides a regular series of articles from many of the best writers in the country, Nearly all that the Editor writes will appear first in the “Home Gazette.” In order to keep the columns of our paper perfectly free from all that may injure either body or mind, AL. MepicaAL ADVERTISEMENTS WILL BE EXCLUDED; AND, ALSO, ALL ADVERTISEMENTS OF BAD BOOKS, OR ANY- Gazette.” THING THAT CAN DO HARM. The “ Home Gazerte” is printed on white paper, with LARGE CLEAR TYPE. TERMS OF “ARTHUR’S HOME GAZETTE.” One copy, perannum, - - - $2 00 | Ten copies, per annum, - - $15 00 Three copies “ - - - 5 60 | Fourteen copies “ - - - 20 00 Six copies S - - - 10 00 Artuvur’s Home Gazerre and Gopry’s Lapy’s Book, one year, FOUR DOLLARS. Where a club of six, ten, or fourteen copies are sent, an extra copy will be furnished to the postmaster, or other person, who makes up the club. fea Money current in the States from which subscriptions are sent will be taken at par at this office. pa@@- In making up Clubs for the “ Home Gazerre,” it is not required that subscribers shall be at the same post-office. pa3~ Additions of single subscribers can always be made to a Club at the regular Club price. Address, post-paid, T. S. ARTHUR & Co., Vo. 107 Walnut Street, Philadelphia. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK ONE YEAR, AND ARTHUR'S HOME GAZETTE ONE YEAR, WILL BE SENT TO ANY PERSON OR PERSONS ON RECEIPT OF FOUR DOLLARS. OR, THE “LADY’S BOOK” AND “TLLUSTRATED FAMILY FRIEND,” PUBLISHED AT CO- LUMBIA, 8. C., FOR FOUR DOLLARS. 108

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A CATALOGUE WORTH PRESERVING. |

| BOOKS FOR EVERYBODY, AT GREATLY REDUCED RATES. | PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE BY | T. B. PETERSON | No. 98 Chesnut Street, Philadelphia. | EN THES GATALOGUE | WILL BE FOUND THE . LATEST PUBLICATIONS, 4 aa

MOST POPULAR AMD CELEBRATED WRITERS I THE WORLD. AMONG WHICH WILL BE FOUND ELLEN PICKERING’S, CAPTAIN MARRYAT’S, MRS. GREY’S, T. S. ARTHUR'S, CHARLES LEVER’S, ALEXANDER DUMAS’, GEORGE LIPPARD’S, HENRY COCKTON’S, EUGENE SUE’S, CURRER BELL’S, AND ALL THE OTHER BEST AUTHORS OF THE DAY, - TOO NUMEROUS TO MENTION.. n@ The best way is to look through the Catalogue, and see what is in it. You will all be amply repaid for your trouble. ;

| TAKE NOTICE! Bay EVERY WORK published in this country is for sale here, either at Wholesale or Retail, at very low prices. So come or send to T. B. Peterson, No. 98 Chestnut Street. 3@3” T. B. PETERSON’S Cheap Book, Magazine, Newspaper, Publishing, and Bookselling Estab- lishment, is at No. 98 Chesnut street, Philadelphia, pas” T. B. PETERSON is also agent for, and receives subscriptions to any of the Monthly Magazines / and Weekly Newspapers published, any of which will be served regularly to subscribers in any part of the city or districts, or mailed to subscribers to any place in this country. R<ae~ All persons on subscribing to any one of the Three Dollar Magazines, shall receive One Dollay’s worth of any of the books named in this Catalogue gratis, as a premium present.

SPECIAL NOTICE TO EVERYBODY.---Any person whatever in this country, wishing | any of the works in this catalogue, on.remitting One Dollar or upwards, post paid, directed to the Pub- lisher, No. 98 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, shall have a discount of one-fifth made them from the retail prices of any works they may send for. By ordering Five Dollars’ worth or more, a discount of one-fourth will be made them from the retail prices. This is a splendid offer, as the discount made to purchasers sending by mail, will pay the postage on the books to any place they may want them sent by return of mail. Bq All orders thankfully received and filled with despatch, and sent by return of mail, or ex- press, or stage, or in any other way the person ordering may direct. Booksellers, News Agents, Pedlars, and all others supplied with any Books, Magazines, etc., at the lowest rates. bey” Any Books published in this country can be had here. + pee Agents, Pedlars, Canvassers, Booksellers, News Agents, &c., throughout the country, who wish to make money on a small capital would do well to address the undersigned, who will furnish a complete outfit for a comparatively small amount. Send by all means, to the Cheap Book, News- paper, and Magazine Establishment of me \T. B. PETERSON, No. 98 Chestunt Street, Philadelphia.

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— aaa T. B. PETERSON, No. 98 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. . HAS JUST PUBLISHED, AND FOR SALE, STEREOTYPE EDITIONS OF THE FOLLOWING WORKS, Whieh will be found to be the Best and Latest Publications by the Most Popular Writers in the World. THE TRADE SUPPLIED AT THE LOWEST RATES, AND ALL ORDERS PROMPTLY ATTENDED TO. jas Every work published in this country for Sale here, either at Wholesale or Retail. x ELLEN PICKERING’S NOVELS, as Popular as any in the World. Either of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each, or any five of them for One Doliar. They are printed on the finest white paper, and each forms one large octavo volume, complete in itself, neatly bound in a strong paper cover. e —_—-—

THE ORPHAN NIECE. THE GRUMBLER. THE QUIET HUSBAND. KATE WALSINGHAM,. THE SECRET FOE. WHO SHALL BE HETR. THE POOR COUSIN. THE EXPECTANT, PRINCE AND PEDLER. ELLEN WAREHAM,. AGNES SERLE. MERCHANT’S DAUGHTER. THE HEIRESS, NAN DARRELL. COUSIN HINTON. THE FRIGHT. THE SQUIRE. ; MRS. GREY’S NOVELS. Very Popular among the Ladies. Eithér of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each, or any five of them for One Dollar. They are printed on the finest white paper, and each forms one large octavo volume, complete in itself, neatly bound in a strong paper cover. LENA CAMERON, or the Four Sisters. THE BARONET’S DAUGHTERS. THE BELLE OF THE FAMILY. THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. SYBIL LENNARD. A Record of Woman's Life. THE OLD DOWER HOUSE. THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. HYACINTHE, OR THE CONTRAST. LITTLE WIFE. MANCEUVRING MOTHER. ALICE SEYMOUR. CAPTAIN MARRYATT’S WORKS. Best Sea Novels in the World. Rither of which can be had separately. Price of all except the two last. are 25 cents each, or any five of them for One Dollar. They are printed on the finest white paper, and each forms one large octavo volume, complete in itself. PETER SIMPLE. THE PIRATE AND THREE CUTTERS.

JACOB FAITHFUL. THE NAVAL OFFICER. JAPHET IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. SNARLEYOW, or The Dog Fiend. THE PHANTOM SHIP. REWTON FOSTER.

MIDSHIPMAN EASY. VALERIE. His Inst novel. THE PACHA OF MANY TALES, PERCIVAL KEENE. 200 pages. Price 50 cts. THE KING’S OWN. POOR JACK. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. T. S. ARTHUR’S WORKS. Sought after and Read by Everybody. Either of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each, or any five of them for One Dollar. They are the most moral, popular and entertaining in the world. There are no better books to place in the hands of the young. All will profit by them. THE DIVORCED WIFE. THE ORPHAN CHILDREN. THE BANKER’S WIFE. THE DEBTOR'S DAUGHTER.

PRIDE AND PRUDENCE. THE TWO BRIDEsS. CECILIA HOWARD. INSUBORDINATION. THE BROKEN PROMISE. AGNES, or the Possessed. LOVE IN A COTTAGE. THE OLD ASTROLOGER. LOVE IN HIGH LIFE. LUCY SANDFORD. THE IRON HAND.

ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. The Best in the World. Memoirs of Alexandre Dumas. Written by himself. Complete in two volumes. This work has created more sensation in France, than any one which has appeared there for years. Two volumes octavo, 500 pages. Price One Dollar. The Iron Mask, or the Feats and Adventures of Raonl de Bragelonne. By Alexandre Dumas. This work is the continuation of “The Three Guardsmen,” “Twenty Years After,” and “Bragelonne.” Complete in two large volumes, of 420 octavo pages, with Illustrated Covers, Portraits. and Euvgravings. Price One Dollar. Louise La Valliere; or the Second Sefics and Final End of the “Iron Mask.” By Alexandre Dumas. Compiete in two large octavo volumos of over 400 pages, beautifally illustrated. It also contains correct Portraits of “ Louise La Valliere,” and “ The Hero of the Iron Mask.” Price for the entire work, One Dollar. The Memoirs of a Physician; or the Secret History of Louis the Fifteenth. By Alexandre Dumas, It is beautifully embellished with thirty eugravings. Complete in two octavo volumes. Price One Dollar. j The Queen’s Necklace: or the Secret History of the Court of Louis the Sixteenth. A Sequel to the Memoirs of « Physician. By Alexandre Dumas. Two volumes octavo, 425 pages. Price Filty cents a volume. Six Years Later; or the Taking of the Bastile. By Alexandre Dumas. Being the continuation and conclu- } sion of “The Queen s Necklace,” and “ Memoirs of a Physician.” Complete in two octavo volumes. Price One Dollar. | Sketches in France. By Alexandre Dumas. “It is as good a book #s Thackeray’s Sketches in Ireland.” Dumas never wrote a better book. It is the most delightful book of the season. Price 50 cents. Diana of Meridor; The Lady of Monsoreaun; or France in the Sixteenth Century. By Alexandre Dumas. Complete in two large octavo volumes of 558 pages, with numerous illustrative engravings. Price One Dollar. The Reign of Terror; Genevieve, or the Chevalier of the Maison Rouge. By Alexandre Dumas. An Historical Romance of the French Revolution. Complete in one large octavo volume of over 200 pages, Price 50 cents. Isabel of Bavarta; or the Chronicles of France for the reign of Charles the Sixth. Complete in one fine octavo vol- ume of 211 pages, printed on the finest white paper. Price 50 cents. | Kdmond Dantes. Being the Sequel to Dumas’ celebrated novel of the Count of Monte Cristo. With elegant illustra

tions. Complete in one large octavo volume of over 200 pages. Price 50 cents. EUGENE SUE’S NOVELS. Read by the “ Million.” One Husband and Five Wives; or the Memoirs of a Husband. By Eugene Sue, author of the “Wandering Jew.” It far surpasses the “Mysteries of Paris.” Complete in One volume, octavo. Price Fifty cents. The Illustrated Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. With 87 large illustrations. Two volumes, each.50 cents. Temptation. A Novel. By Eugene Sue. With fourteen large and beautiful illustrations. 116 pages. Price 25 cents, The Salamander. A Tale of the Sea. By Eugene Sue. Onc volume octavo, 115 pages. Price 25 cents. The Female Bluebeard ; or the Woman with many Husbands. By Eugene Sue. 115 pages. Price 25 cents. Therese Dunoyer; or First Love. A Story of the Heart. By Eugene Sue. 114 pages. Price 25 cents. Raoul de Surville. A Romance of the Times of Napoleon Bonaparte in 1510. By Eugene Sue. Price 25 cents g@~ T. B. PETERSON’S List of Works is continued on the third page of the cover of this book.-@n | <2

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TT. B. PETERSON’S LIST OF BOOKS CONTIVUED. e_eeeeeeeeeseasna eee JUST PUBLISHED, AND FOR SALE, STEREOTYPE EDITIONS OF THE FOLLOWING WORKS. je Every work published in this country, for Sale here, either at Wholesale or Retail. “Gq Le CHARLES LEVER’S NOVELS. The Most Humorous in the World. Charles O'Malley, tie Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo volume of 324 pages. Price 50 cents; or in two volumes of 800 pages, very large type. for One Dollar. The Knight of Gwynne. A tale of the time of the Union. By Charles Lever. Complete in one fine octavo volume of 226 pages, beautifully Hlustrated, and pripted on the finest white paper. Price 50 cen‘s. Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octayo volume of 400 pages, printed on fine white paper. Price 50 cents. Tom Burke of Ours. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo volume of )” pages, printed from new type and on the finest paper. Price 50 cents. Arthur O’Leary. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo volume of 220 pages, full of beautiful illustrations, and printed in the best style. Price 50 cents. Kate O'Donoghue. A Tale of Ireland. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo volume of 140 page» beautifully illustrated, and printed on the finest white paper. Price 37§ cents. Horace Templeton. By Charles Lever. This is Lever’s New Book, and equal to his best. Complete in one large octavo volume of 212 pages, and printed on the best of white paper. Price 50 cents. Harry Lorrequer. By Charles Lever. Complete in one octavo volume of 402 pages, printed from large new type, and on the finest paper. Price 50 cents. Maurice Tiernay: the Soldier of Fortune, By Charles Lever. One volume octavo, 200 pages. Price 50 centa WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH’S BEST NOVELS. The Illustrated Tower of London. By William Harrison Ainsworth. With 100 splendid engravings. It fs beyond ali doubt one of the most interesting works ever published in the known world, and can be read and re-read with pleasure and satisfaction by every body. Two volumes, octavo. Price for the complete work, One Dollar. Pictorial Life and Adventures of Jack Sheppard, the most noted burglar, robber, and jail breaker, that ever lived. By William Harrison Ainsworth. Embellished with Thirty-nine, full page, spirited Lilustrations. Designed and engraved in the finest style of art, by George Cruikshank, Esq., of London. Price 50 cents. Pictorial Life and Adventures of.Guy Fawkes, The Chief of the Gunpowder Treason, By William Harrison Ainsworth. The Bloody Tower, etc. Illustrated. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. The Pictorial Old St. Paul’s. By William Harrison Ainsworth. Full of Illustrations. Price 50 cents. Illustrated Life of Dick Turpin, the Highwayman, Burglar, Murderer, etc. Price 25 cents. Life of Harry Thomas, the Western Burglar and Murderer. Full of Engravings. Price 25 cents, Illustrated Life and Adventures of the Desperadoes of the New World. Price 25 cents. Life and Adventures of Ninon De L’Enclos, with her Letters on Love, Courtship and Marriage. Price 25 cts. The Pictorial Newgate Calendar; Beautifully illustrated with Fifteen Engravings. 252 pages. Price 50 centa Mysteries of the Court of Queen Anne. By William Harrison Ainsworth. 142 pages. Price 25 cents. B. D'ISRAELI’S BEST AND MOST POPULAR NOVELS. Vivian Grey. By B. D'Isracli, M. P. Complete in one large-octavo volume of 225 pages. Price 50 cents. The Young Duke: or the Younger Days of George the Fourth. By B. D'Israeli, M. P. One octavo vol., Price 50 centa. Venetia: or Lord Byron and his Daughter. By B. D’'Isracii, M.P. Complete in one octavo vol. Price 50 cents. Henrietta Temple. A Love Story. By B. D’Isracli, M.P. One volume, octavo, of 138 pages. Price 25 cents, Conutarini Fleming. An Autobiography. By B. D’'Isracli, M. P. One volume, octavo, of 108 pages. Price 25 cents, Miriam Alroy. A Romance of the Twelfth Century. By B. D’Israeli, M. P. One voluime octayo, 112 pages. Price 26 cts. LIPPARD’S WORKS. The Most Exciting in the World. Washington and His Generals; or, Legends of the American Revolution. Complete in two large octavo volumes of 538 pages, printed on the finest white paper. Price for the entire work, One Dollar. The Quaker City; or the Monks of Monk Hall. A Romance of Philadelphia Life, Mystery and Crime. Illustrated with numerous Engraviugs. Complete in two large octavo volumes of 500 pages. Price One Dollar. The Ladye of Albarone; or the Poison Goblet. A Romance of the Dark Ages. Lippard’s Last Work. Compiete in one large octavo volume of 258 pages. Price 50 cents, Paul Ardenheim; the Monk of Wissahikon. A Romance of the Revolution. Tlustrated with numerous engravings. Complete in two large octavo volumes, of nearly 600 pages. Price One Dollar. Blanche of Brandywine; or September the Eleventh, 1777. A Romance of the Poetry, Legends, and History of the Battie of Brandywine. It makes a large octavo volume of 350 pages. Price 75 cents only. The Nazarene; or the Last of the Washingtons. A Revelation of Philadelphia, New York, and Wash- ington, in the year 1844. Price 50 cents. Legends of Mexico. Complete in one octavo volume of 128 pages. Price 25 cents. Bel of Prairie Eden. A Romance of Mexico. Price 25 cents. French, German, Spanish, Latin and Italian Languages. Any person unacquainted with either of these languages, can, with the aid of these works, be enabled to read, write and speak the language of either, at their will and pleasure, without the aid of a teacher, or any oral instruction whatever. French Without a Master. In Six Easy Lessons. Spanish Without a Master. In Four Easy Lessons. Italian Wit hout a Master. In Five Easy Lessons. Ge man Without a Master. In Six Easy Lessons. Latin Without a Master. In Six Easy lessons. Price of either of the above Werks, separate, 25 cents—or the whole five will be given or sent to any one for One Dollar PROFESSOR LIEBIG’S Valuable Works on Chemistry. Agricultural Chemistry. Chemistry in its application to Agricuiture and Physiology. 135 pages. Price 25 cents. Animal Chemistry. Chemistry in its application to Physiology and Pathology. 111 pages. Price 25 cents. Familiar Letters on Chemistry, and its relations to Commerce, Physiology and Agriculture. Price 25 centa The Potato Disease. Researches into the motion of the Juices in the Animal Body. Price 25 cents. Chemistry and Physics in Relation to Physiology and Pathology. Price 25 cents. T. B. PETERSON also publishes a complete edition of Professor Liebig’s works on Chemistry, comprising the whole of the above. They are bound im one large royal octavo volume, in Muslin gilt. Price One Dollar and Fifty cents. 2 na T. B. PETERSON’S List of Works is continued on the fourth page of the cover of this book.~Gx,

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Oor TT. B. PETERSOW’S LIST OF BOOKS COWTIVUED. JUST PUBLISHED, AND FOR SALE, STEREOTYPE EDITIONS OF THE FOLLOWING WORKS, pa Every work published in this country, for Sale here, either at Wholesale or Retail “Gq WORKS BY THE BEST AND MOST POPULAR AUTHORS, Ten Thousand a Year. By the author of a “Diary of a London Physician.” 432 pages. Price 50 eents. Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Henry Cockton. 317 pages. Price 50 cents. Sketches in Ireland. By William M. Thackeray, author of “Vanity Fair,” “History of Pendennis,” etc, Price 50 cts. The Parricide;s or the Youth’s Career in Crime. By G. W. M. Reynolds. Illustrated. Price 50 cents. First and ‘rue Love. A Love Story. By,author of “Consuelo,” “Indiana,” etc. Full of Engravings. Price 50 cents. The Mob Cap: and Other Tales. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, author of “ Linda,” “Rena,” etc. Price 50 cents, Cruising in the Last War. A Naval Story of the War of 1812. First and Second Series. Being the complete work, unabridged, By Charles J. Peterson. 228 octavo pages. Price 50 cents. Life tn Paris. ‘By G. W. M. Reynolds, author of “ Life in London,” etc. Full of Engravings. Price 37} cents. Salathiel; or the Wandering Jew. By Rev. George Croly. Price 50 cents. Llorente’s History of the Inquisition in Spain. Only edition published in this Country. Price 37} cents. Dr. Hollick’s Anatomy and Physiology, witha large dissected plate of the Human Figure, colored to Life. By the celebrated Dr. Hollick, author of “The True Art of Healing the Sick,” “ Origin of Life,” ete. Price One Dollar Mysteries of Three Cities. Boston, New York, and. Philadelphia. By A. J. Il. Duganne. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. Red Indians of Newfoundland. A beautifully illustrated,[ndian Story, by author of “ Prairie Bird.” Price 50 cts. Marris’s Adventures in Africa. This book is a rich treat. Two volumes. Price $1.00, or handsomely bound, $1.50. Indiana. ity George Sand, author of “ First and True Love,”,ete. A very bewitching arid interesting work. 258 pps. 50 cta. The Petrel; or Love on the Ocean. A sea novel equal to the best, by Admiral Fisher. 200 pages. Price 50cts, Aristocracy, or Life among the Upper Ten. A true novel of fashionable life. By J. A. Nunes, Esq. Price 50 cents. Mormonism Exposed. Ful) of Engravinge, and Portraits of the Twelve Apostles. Price 12} cents. Genevra: or the History of a Portrait. By Miss Fairfield, one of the best Writers in America. 200 pages. Price 50 centa, Illustrated Life and Adventures of Don Quixotte de La Mancha, and his Squire Sancho Panza, revised and corrected, with all the oricinal notes. 300 pages. Price 50 cents; or handsomely bound, Une Dollar. Yankee Warns and Yankee Letters. By Sam Slick, alias Judge Haliburton Price 50 cents, Wild Sports in the West. 3y W. Ul. Maxwell, author of “Dar\ lady of Doona.” Pic 50 cents, The Romish Confessional. Dy M. Michelet. 200 pages. Price 50 centa, Dr. Berg’s Answer to Archbishop Hughes. Price 12} cents. Dr. Berg’. Lecture on the Jesuits. Price 12} cents. Flirtations in America; or High Life in New York. A capital book. 285 pages. Prive 50 cents. The Lady’s Work Table Book. Llustrated. A work every Lady should possess. Price 50 cents. The Life of an Actor and Manager for Twenty-six Years: interspersed with Sketches, Anecdotes and Merits of the Most Celebrated Actors and Actresses of our day. By F.C. Wemyss. Two volumes, 402 pages. Price 75 cents. The Coquette. (ne of the best books ever written. One volume, octavo, over 200 pages. Price 50 cents, Odd Fellowship Exposed. With all the Signs, Grips, Pass-worda, ete. INustrated. Price 12} cents. The Life and Death of the Rev. John N. Maffit; with his Portrait. Price 12} cents. The Necromancer. A Romance of the times of Henry the Eighth. By G. W. M. Reynolds. 2°vols. Price One Dollar. Works of Bulwer, James, and Others Equally as Good, at 25 cents each. Falkland. A Novel. By Sir E. L. Bulwer, author of “The Roue,” “Oxonians,” etc. One vol., octavo. Price 25 cents, The Roue: or the Hazards of Women. By Sir E. L. Bulwer. Price 25 cents. The Oxontans.” By Sir E. L. Bulwer. Author of “Last of the Barons.” A Sequel to the Roue, Price 25 cents. Arrah Neil. A Novel. By G, P. R. James, author of “Richelieu,” ete. Price 25 cents. Eva St. Clair; and other Collected Tales. By G. P. R. James, Esq., author of “Richelieu.” Price 25 cents, The Pioneer’s Daughter. By Emerson Bennett, author of “The Prairie Flower.” Price 25 cents. Agnes Grey; an Autobiography. By the Author of “Jane Eyre,” “Shirley,” ete. Price 25 cents. The Valley Farm; or, the Autobiography of an Orphan. A companion toJane Eyre. Price 25 cents, The Fortune Hunter, by Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt. (Her last.) Price 25 cents. Gentleman’s Science of Etiquette, and Guide to Society. Ry Count Alfred DOrsay. Price 25 centa | Ladies science of Etiquette. By Countess de Calabrella, with her full length portrait. Price 25 cents. Grace Dudley; or Arnold at Saratoga. Sy Charies J. Peterson. Illustrated. Price 25 cents, Ella Stratford; or the Orphan Child. ny the Countess of Blessington. Price 25 cents. Ghost Stories. Full of Illustrations. Being a Wonderful Book. Price 25 cents. The Admiral’s Daughter. By Mrs. Marsh, author of “Rayenscliffe.” One volume, octavo. Price 25 cents. The Monk. A Romance. By Matthew G. Lewis, Esq., M. P. All should read it. Price 25 cents, The Dark Lady of Doona. By W H. Maxwell, author of “ Wild Sports in the West.” Price 25 cents. Rody the Rover: or the Ribbonman. An Irish Tale. By William Carleton. One vol., octavo. Price 25 cents. The Diary of a Physician. Sevond Scries. ‘By 8. C. Warren, authorof “Ten Thousand a Year.” Dlustrated. 25 cents. Abednego, the Money Lender. By Mrs. Gore. Price 25 cents. Madison’s ———— of the Awful Ceremonies of Odd Fellowship, with 20 plates. Price 25 cents. Gliddon’s Ancient Egypt, her Monuments, Hieroglyphics, History, etc. Full of plates. 25 cents. The Family Physician; or the True Art of Healing the Sick. By Dr. Hollick. Price 25 cents. Father Clement. By Grace Kennady, Author of “Dunallen.” “ Abbey of Innismoyle,” etc. Price 25 cents. The Abbey of Innismoyle. By Grace Kennady, author of “Father Clement.” Price 25 cents. The Insnered; a Story of the Heart. By Lady Charlotte Bury. Price 25 cents. The Beautiful French Girl; or the Daughter of Monsieur Fontanbleu. Price 25 cents. The Mysteries of Bedlam; or Annals of the London Mad Heuse. Price 25 cents. Josephine. By Grace Aguilar, author of “ Home Influence,” “Mother’s Recompense,” etc. Price 25 cents. Bell Brandon, and the Withered Fig Tree. A Three Ifundred Dollar prize novel. Price 25 cents. Knowlson’s Complete Cattle, or Cow Doctor. Price 25 cents. Knowlson’s Complete Farrier, or Horse Doctor. Price 25 cents. The Complete Kitchen and Fruit Gardener, for popular and general use. Price 25 cents, The Complete Florist: or Flower Gardener. The best in the world. Price 25 cents, Moreton Mall; or the Spirits of the Haunted House. A Tale founded on Facts. Price 25 cents, Roanoke: or Where is Utopia? By C. I. Wiley, Author of “Alamance,” etc. Price 25 cents. Philip in Search of a Wife. By the Author of “Kate in Search of a Husband.” Price 25 cents. Jenny Ambrose; or, Life in the Eastern States. An Excellent Book. Price 25 cents. Loa St. Aubyn; or, The Jesuit Nun. By a noted Methodist Preacher. Price 25 centa. Walde-Warren : a Tale of Circumstantial Evidence. By Emerson Bennett, author of “ Prairie Flower.” Price 25 cta. Viola; or Adventures in the Far South West. By Emerson Bennett, author of “The Pioneer’s Daughter.” Price 25 cents. T. B. PETERSON’S Cheap Book, Magazine, Newsp2per, Publishing and Bookselling Establishment, is at No. 98 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. From which place he will supply all orders for any books at all, no matter by whom published, in advance of all others, and at publishers’ lowest cash prices. He respectfully invites Country Merchants, Booksellers, Pedlers, Canvassers, Agents, the Trade, Strangers in the City, and the public generally, to call and examine his extensive collection of cheap publications, { where they will be sure to find all the latest and cheapest works published in this country or elsewhere, for sale very low. T. B. Peterson, is also agent for, and rectives subscriptions to any of the Monthly Magazines and Weekly Newspapers pub- t lished, any of which will be served to subscribers in any part of the city or districts, of mailed to subscribers to any place in this country. So come or send, by all means, to the Cheap Book House of T. B. Peterson, No. 98 Chesnut St., Philadelphia. aa Agents, Pedlers, Canvassers, Booksellers, News Agents, &c., throughout tne courtry, who wish to maxe money on a smal! capital, would do well to address T. B. Peterson, who will furnish a complete outfit for a comparatively smal] amount, #@- All orders from Booksellers, will be filled at as low prices, if not lower, than at any other house in this country. 5. ee eo a a ©

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THE ABBOTSFORD EDITION OF THE WAVERLY NOVELS, Printed upon fine paper, with new, large, and beautiful type, from the last English edition, embracing the author’s latest corrections, notes, &c. Complete in twelve volumes, demy 8vo., with illustrations, and neatly bound in cloth, for only * TWELVE DOLLARS. LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO., PHILADELPHIA, Are now publishing the above complete LIBRARY EDITION OF THE WA- VERLY NOVELS in parts, to be issued semi-monthly, each part to contain a complete novel, two parts making one neat volume. ms The price per Part, containing a Novel complete, - - - Fifty Cents. The price per Volume, containing two Parts, neatly bound in cioth, - One Dollar. Persons remitting One Dollar, will receive two complete Novels by mail, post- paid. Postmasters will be allowed Ten per cent. discount for all orders with remit- tances. ~— NOW READY. WAVERLY: or, Tis Srxry Years Sivce. { OLD MORTALITY.]} GUY MANNERING. ROB ROY. THE ANTIQUARY. BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. THE BLACK DWARF. LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & Co., Philadelphia, HAVE IN PRESS A NEW AND COMPLETE “GAZETTEER OF THE UNITED STATES.” It will furnish the fullest and most recent information respecting the geography, statistics, and present state of improvement of every part of this great Republic, particularly of Texas, CALIFORNIA, OnEGoN, New Mexico, &c. The work will be issued as soon as the complete official returns of the present census are received. This work will be followed by a “Universal Gazetteer, or Geographical Dictionary” Of the most complete and comprehensive character. It will be compiled from the best English, French, and German authorities, and will be published the moment that the returns of the present census of Europe can be obtained. LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & Co., Publishers, Philadelphia. 3

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at

ro } —_— =

—z v TO CITY AND COUNTRY DEALERS.

and Dewrrr & Davenport, Tribune Duldiagt New Seek.

i ai USEFUL, ORNAMENTAL, AND INSTRUCTIVE. : THE BOOK OF THE NATION, q A¥VD FAS ASTtsS CHIOV OF AUS VOL. XLV.—JULY, 1852. ws 5 Ledbwigh =, —telndltllalbaiadiig at THE FIRST TRIBUTE. An exquisite line engraving, by - “

@ THE BOWER, Aline engraving, by . - = - - - . " . A RUSTIC PAVILION. Printed in three colors. Engraved by - - , A SUMMER-HOUSE. Printed in three colors. Engraved by - - - . é > = "The abowe two designs were printed by Messrs. T. K. & P. G. Couzxs in their Power-Press Puigting Otten METROPOLITAN HOTEL, NEW YORK. Engraved by - - = 4 MUSIC.—Dearest, wHen Evenine. Composed and arranged for the piano pany guitar, jw - COTTAGE FURNITURE. Four engravings. Engraved by - - - = ° CALEOO-PRINTING. Five engravings. Engraved by : . . > : PDs bE A FLAT. Engraved by - - - - - ° ° ° sn 7 Mehvw ub >» into the world, mother, by e Wail of the Tyrol, by 2. 7. Conrad, To Lizzie, by . Re hen ab Sb deddc cect sees ees

_ CONTRIBUTORS AND CONTENTS The Sorrows of a “Wealthy Citizen, by a Sv BACK NUMBERS OF THE LADY’S BOOK can always be had of H. Lone & Bnoruen, No. 43 Ann Street,

___ ANOTHER DOUBLE NUMBER!! ; GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK—EXCELSIOR. LOLOL OL Le B@ca.

W. E. Tocker. J. I. Pease. C. T. Hixcxtey. C. T. Hincxxeyr. x INCKLEY. ONES. ONES. INCKLEY. Q2xHONHFA SSF awn cs r 8S Bre c oa - A i. « PH SSeS OS 4 a = 2

A Winter Day’s Musings, by F. A. J., - a) eee eee 14 A Wistar Day's Westags, & ¥: 4. J_ 5s epescececcceccsoccececs BH The Flowers of Spring, Spring, by Horace W. Smith, dubidheile chok-datadnns’> 17 Think of. Me, by “Samée,? «+--+ +2 screecessersecceseceessacs Coc eesecceccesesees I thimk om Thee,+ +++ sors ccccerccccerescccvceavecccseeeces See hive. Sarah J. =, 18 The Old Churchyard, BRR ols aa Sa eek beh BBs dice ere rere ttt trie The Battle of by D. Patterson, « . OBS oc cede ee 56 tdhe oc eens ce bs ctess secvsdssddocce® : 3 Fancies cen Ae Das I Catt Ea Leo by John We need eee eww eee eee ee eee eee eee Pees Birds, 78; Pg 2 ri . a Power 's Arm-Chailr, «~~ +++ +e+-seescereces

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REMITTANCES.

As we have NO COLLECTING AGENTS this year, subscribers are requested to make immediate remittance to

5

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— l Q ; } ‘ : 7 ANOTHER DOUBLE NUMBER. AUGUST. EDITED BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE, L. A. GODEY. VOL. XLV. = & Vo, , > ws \N N eps Ys =~ 4 y { oe ‘

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LIST OF PLATES FOR SALE BY L. A. GODEY. The following is a list of plates we have on hand, from which we will sell impressions by the hundred, thousand, or tens of thousands, on the most reasonable terms. L. A. GODEY. (Continued from last number.) View of Mount Holyoke. The Vijlage Figure Merchant. Marion’s Camp. Hide and Seek. Tire Lily. Wandering Life in the East. Stray Kitten. Child Gathering Flowers. Girard College. Oriental Palace at Brighton. The Farmer’s Return to Home Just Forty. A Parlor Scene. Warming the Mitten. Ancient Castle and Moat. Portrait of Donna Chiara The Dutch Maiden. The Fisherman’s Reposr. Isadore. The Painter in Danger. Scene in Venice. Village School in an Up-oar. The Orphans. The Fisherman’s Return. The Village Blacksmith. The Cottage Door. Haidee. The Brigand. The Rocky Mountains, The Portrait. Little Anna. Teaching the Young Idea. Battle-ground at Germant«iwn. Bridge and Waterfall. The Church Porch. Old Mortality. The Grave-diggers in H«umlet. Brigands and Prisoners. The Father’s Grave. The Wreck. Not Invited. The Love Letter. The Fair Sketcher. A Distinguished Mem er of the Humane Society. The Orphan. Now for it, or the “dle Schoolboy. Going to the Spring. The Jealous Lov». Miss E. Leslie--Portrait. The Stingy Traveller. Neapolitan Pe -sants. Guing to Mill. Professor John Frost—Portrait. Lady at the Balcony. View from Weat Point. The Fortune-Teller. Bay of New York. Auswering the Advertisement. The Hope of the House. Fruits of Industry. Fruits of Idleness. The Belle of the Ball. Blanche and Rosalie. Fort Duquesne. Lydia Darragh’s Warning. Scene on the Schuylkill. The Return—from “The Vicar of Wakefield.” Preparing Moses for the Fair. A Village Scene. The Village Amanuensis. View of Faneuil Hall, Boston 2 a. The Young Mother. The Fair Client. The Weather Prophets Washington’s First Interview with Mrs. Custis. The Young Angler. The Rescue. The Consequences of being Too Late. Maidens and Guitar. Mrs. E. F. Ellet—Portrait. Tanthe. The Four Eras of Life. The Creed. The Reconciliation. Sea-shore Scene. Making it up. The Tuileries. The Tight Shoe. Summer Morning. Contemplation. The Battle-ground at Trenton. The Approaching Footstep. The Three Sisters; by Sir Thomas Lawrence. Portrait of Grace Greenwood. The Champion. A Hard Subject to Paint. Portrait of Stephen Girard. Washington and the Widow. The Widow’s Hope. A Youthful Contributer, Youth and Age. Titian’s Studio. The First Ear-ring. Brother and Sister. Ruins of Jamestown. Fancy Portrait—Female Figure Niagara Falls—T wo Engravings. Sweet Twenty. Playing Mother. Dorothea—from Don Quixote. The Light Guitar. L. E. Landon—Portrait. Captain Marryatt—Portrait. Search the Scriptures. Infancy. January and May. Death of the Stag. Napoleon’s Return from Elba. The Baptistry of St. Mark’s Church, Venice. Saturday Evening. Watts’s First Conception of the Steam Engine. Rose of the Boudoir. My Own Fireside. The Evening Star. The Old Farm Gate. On the Fence, or The Two Lovers. Virginia Water. The Daughter’s Return. The Beau’s Stratagem. The Tomb of Washington, Mount Vernon. Richard and Saladin. Crowning the May Queen. May Day Morning. The School Teucher. Pilgrims at the Shrine. Interview between Napoleon and the Emperor of Austria. Rustic Hospitality. Elopement of Bianca Capello Farmers Nooning. Wayside Fountain.

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i} ol i . THE LOVE LETTER. Engraved expressly for Godey’s Lady's Book.

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FASHION PLATES WINDOWS PARLOR FOR DECORATING »~ OEY LONE SAM GTE eo erbcgcak Sn ar RR ahs CNG NE), Y ——_ — WF ee “nonce caaent U ,

Mr. Carryl’s exquisitely W. H. Carry. ade Curtains, and materials for Curtains, which never fail to satisfy even those These Fashions for Window Curtains are furnished us by Mr. tasteful assortment of ready-m - who are most fastidious, amply warrants us in directing the attention of our lady readers to his store, No 169 Chestnut Street, corner of Fifth. (For description, see back part of the Book.)

113 VOL. XLV.—10

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COTTAGE FURNITURE. Fig. 1 is a reclining chair for an invalid. The position of the back can be varied, and the project- ing part in front elongated or adjusted to any slope. Raising the back and lowering tho front alters it into a common easy-chair. Fig. 2 is a round stool in the Gothie style. Fig. 3 is an ottoman for the centre of the room, to accommodate several persons. Figs. 4 and 5 are ottoman footstools covered with cloth, to correspond with the ottoman. These ali 116 Fig. 7 may be made at a very trifling cost, as the wooden part is nearly all covered with cloth. Figs. 6 and 7 are drawing-room writing-tables used by ladies. The top part, forming the desk, pulls forward for convenience in writing. A Miding flap draws out on each side, to hold papers or a candle. There are drawers at the side, a lid at the top, and a drawer which pulls out at the side and turns round, as in Fig. 7, to hold pens, ink, wafers, ke.