Godey's Lady's Book 1852-10: Vol 45 Iss 4

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GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK. PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER, 1852. A mee v%- [= TS gs IOS wp ag EVERYDAY ACTUALITIES.—NO. « P f ~ ~~ geawtdumas “ J en a ae +e ae ees) ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER. BY c. T. A DAY’S RAMBLE THROUGH THE MECHA- NICAL DEPARTMENT OF THE “LADY’S BOOK.” In order to furnish our articles as much as possible from practical observation, we commence on what we think will be an interesting subject to the nume- rous thousand readers of the “ Book”—a description of the labor which is required in furnishing the monthly amount of reading and instruction emanat- ing from its office. There are doubtless many of its readers who are totally unacquainted, from their various positions in society, with the vast amount of capital and labor required in its publication, to whom an insight into its mechanical operations will HINCKELEY, : | ) | : $ : be a matter of some interest. They will then have a definite idea of the tact and enterprise which have been so successfully applied for the last twenty-three years by its indefatigable proprietor, who, we are glad to record, has received substantial evidences of the appreciation of his endeavors, by the reading public of the two worlds—for the “ Lady’s Book” numbers among its readers some thousands in Eu- rope. TYPE-SETTING DEPARTMENT. Premising that the manuscript, or “copy,” as is is termed by the printer, after baving been read and approved by the editors, Yas preceded us to the printing-office of Messrs. T. K. & P. G. Collins, we 307

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308 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, invite the attention of our readers as we trace its progress through the various departments of their extensive establishment until a copy of a finished number of the “Lady’s Book” is placed in their hands. The manuscript, on its arrival at the office, is placed in the care of the foreman of the “Lady’s Book” department, who gives it out as it is required by the “compositors,” or printers who set the types. The “composing-room,” that is, the room in which the workmen who set the types are employed, is one of very large size, in the shape of a letter U, run- ning back 140 feet, and having facilities for the accommodation of fifty-six printers, with their cases. The “cases,” a representation of which is given in one of our illustrations, are boxes containing all the letters of the alphabet, punctuation-marks, &c., ar- ranged in various sizes and situations to suit the number and frequency of use of the letters. The “upper case” is divided into ninety-eight partitions, all of equal size; and these partitions contain two sets of capital letters, the one called “capitals,” the other “small capitals ;” the marks of reference, and figures and dashes. The “lower case” is divided into partitions of four different sizes, some at the top and ends being a little smaller than those of the upper case; others near the centre being equal to two of the small divisions; others equal to four, and one to In all there are fifty-three divisions in the lower case. The proportions of the letters, as they apply to the English language, are as follows in a regular “fount” of letters :— six. a 8,500 g1,700 14,000 q 500 v 1,200 b 1,600 h 6,400 m3,000 16,200 w 2,000 ec 3,000 18,000 8,000 8s8,000 x 400 d 4,400 j 400 08000 t9,000 y 2,000 e 12,000 k 860 pil,700 u3400 2 200. f 2,500 In the case, these letters are not arranged in regular rotation; but such as are in most general use are placed together in the centre, where they are the easiest to be picked up, and the others in semi- alphabetical order around in the outside boxes. The inventor of this system of arrangement was a great benefactor to printers, as it enables them to accom- plish a much larger amount of work than could be done were they in rotation. The facility which is displayed by a compositor in picking up types is a matter of much surprise to strangers to the art. The surprise is generally connected with an idea that the compositor would do his work more cor- rectly if the boxes were labelled. So far from that being the case, it is a fact that in two or three days a boy can learn the exact situation of each letter. But to return to our manuscript: after it is given into the compositor’s charge, he places it upon his case, with a “guide,” to keep it in its place. Stand- ing before ous pair of cases, he holds in his left hand what is called a “composing-stick.” This is a little iron frame, one side of which is movable, so that it ; ; ~~ ’ may be adjusted to the required width of the page or column which he has to set up. It is made per- fectly true and square; for without such accuracy the lines would be of unequal length. This little instrument is represented in the cut above. The practised vompositor takes in a line or two at a glance, always provided the author writes an intel- ligible hand, which virtue is by no means universal! One by one, then, he puts the letters of each word and sentence into his stick, securing each letter with the thumb of his left hand, which is therefore tra- velling on from the beginning to the end of each line. His right hand goes mechanically to the box which he requires; but his eye is ready to accom- pany its movements. In each letter there is a nick, or nicks, which indicate the bottom edge of the letter; and the nick must be placed outwards in his composing-stick. Further, the letter must also be placed with the face upwards, so that two right po- sitions must be combined in the arrangement of the types. If the compositor were to pick up the letter at random, he would most probably have to turn it in his hand; and as it is important to save every unnecessary movement, his eye directs him to some one of the heap which lies in the right position, both as regards the face being upwards and the nick outwards. When he arrives at the end of the line, he has a task to perform in which the carefulness of the workman is greatly exhibited. Each type is of a constant thickness, so far as regards that particular letter, though all the letters are not of the same thickness. The adjustments, therefore, to complete the line with a word, or, at any rate, with a syllable, must be made by varying the thickness of the spaces between each word. A good compositor is distin- guished by uniformity of spacing: he will not allow the words to be very close together in some instances, or with a large gap between them in others. When the workman has “filled his stick,” as it is called— that is, set up as many lines as it will conveniently hold—he lifts them out into what is termed a “gal- ley,” by grasping them with the fingers of each hand, and thus taking them up as if they were a solid piece of metal. The facility with which some compositors can lift out what is termed a “handful” of movable types without deranging a single letter is very remarkable. This sort of skill can only be obtained by practice; and thus one of the severest mortifications a young printer can experience is to see his labor of an hour knocked to pieces or into what is called “pie.” After the galleys have been filled with types, the foreman “makes them up” into pages by putting the “head line” with a sufficient blank beneath to

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THE MECHANICAL DEPARTMENT OF THE LADY’S BUOK, j 309 give it uniformity. He then lifts the number of lines required to fill out a column; then, placing a brass column rule (which makes the waved line seen between each column of a page) along-side of them, he lifts a like number of lines, and thus forms a page. The page is then “locked up” by placing it in a “chase,” a small wrought-iron frame capable of holding two pages, and wedging it in by “‘quoins,” which are small pieces of wood with a slight bevel on one side, which has the effect of mak- ing the pages tight according to the extent to which the quo‘ns are driven up. When the pages are thus locked up, although each page contains about six thousand little pieces of metal or types, they can be handled the same as if they were a solid body of metal. After locking up, the pages are taken to the “proof-press,” where impressions are taken upon paper, in order that the mistakes of the compositor can be rectified. The work of the “proof-reader,” of which there are five in the Messrs. Collins’s office, is one requiring great care and knowledge. The peculiar nature of the printing art is such that it is almost impossible for a compositor to set any amount of types without some errors creeping in. The or- dinary process of proof-reading is for a boy to read the copy aloud, whilst the reader follows him on the proof impression. As he proceeds, the errors detect- ed are marked upon the margin of the sheet, ‘which, after it has been read, is given to the compositor for correction. This is called the /irst reading. After the page is corrected, another proof is taken, called a “revise,” which is compared with the first proof to see if the errors are corrected ; when, if the copy of the work be manuscript, the sheet is sent to the author for examination. If the errors detected by the author are sufficiently numerous, the sheet is again corrected, and another revise is taken. It is then carefully read once more by the proof-reader. This is designated the second reading; and the object of this reading is not simply to glean such typographical or literal errors as may have escaped notice on the first reading, but to detect errors in grammar and punctuation, and even in style, when the latter are so obvious as to be merely oversights of the author. Yet, in spite of all the pains taken both by author and proof-reader, the most provoking errors are sometimes found in works after they are published. When the sheet is finally corrected for the press, the compositor’s work is for the time at an end; but when it is printed off, or when a stereo- type cast has been taken, it is his business to return the types to the cases from which they were taken. This operation is called “distribution.” It is a most beautiful process in the hands of an expert compositor, and probably no act which is partly mental and partly mechanical offers a more remark- able example of the dexterity to be acquired by long practice. The workman, holding a quantity of type in his left hand as it has been arranged in lines, keeping the face towards him, takes up one or two 26* words between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand, and drops the letters, each into its proper place, with almost inconceivable rapidity. His mind has to follow the order of the letters in the words, and to select the box into which each is to be drop- ped, while his fingers have to separate each letter from the other, taking care that not more than one is dropped at a time. This is a complicated act, and yet a gvod compositor will distribute three or four times as fast as he composes; that is, he will return to their proper places 50,000 letters in a day. The preceding engraving represents a compositor working at his case, with a “form” of the “Lady’s Book” and a “ galley” leaning against the left-hand side of it, STEREOTYPE DEPARTMENT. The pages having been carefully corrected, they are taken to the stereotype foundry, where we will follow them and explain the process which they have to undergo previous to being returned to the printing-office to be “worked off.” The first operation is that of taking a mould from each page of movable type. The pages are not arranged as they would be combined in a sheet and wedged up together in one iron frame or chase, but each page is put in a separate chase. It is essential that the face of the types should be perfectly clean and dry, that no particle of dirt or other substance should attach to the bottom of the types, so as to prevent them being completely level upon the sur- face. The page is now placed in the lower part of a moulding-frame. The upper part of the frame is somewhat larger than the page, and the margin of mould thus formed determines the thickness of the plate. The types being previously rubbed over with an oily composition, gypsum (plaster of Paris) is poured evenly over the whole surface. Almost every one knows that this substance, although moulded in a liquid state, sets very quickly, and soon becomes perfectly solid. There is a good deal of nicety required from the workmen, not only in forming the mould, but in removing it from the type: if any part of the plaster adheres to the face of the type. the mould of course is imperfect, and the operation

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een eee ewer GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK.

must be gone over again. To prevent this, consider- able care is required in the preparation of the gyp- sum, and much neatness of band in separating the mould from the page. Having been removed and found perfect, it requires some dressing with a knife on its edges, and several notches are cut in the mar- gin to allow the metal to enter the mould. It is now fit for baking. This process also requires a good deal of accurate knowledge. The oven, in which the moulds are placed upon the ledges, must be kept at a very regular temperature, for, if it be too hot, the moulds will warp. The process of casting be- gins when the moulds have been baked sufficiently long to be perfectly dry and hard. The casting-pan which contains the mould is represented in the pre- ceding cut.

At the bottom of the pan is a movable plate of cast-iron called a floating-plate, and upon this plate, the face of which is perfectly accurate, the mould is placed with the face downwards. Upon the back of the mould the cover of the casting-pan, the inside face of whose lid is also perfectly true, is laid. The cover is held tightly down by a screw connected with two shackles, as shown in the cut on the pre- ceding page; and also by two nippers belonging to the apparatus for plunging the pan into the metal-pit, as shown in the cut of the stereotype foundry. This apparatus, which is attached to a crane, is so con- structed as to swing with a perfectly horizontal mo- tion, and the casting-pan with the mould being thus suspended over the metal-pit, is gradually forced down into the molten mass, and there kept steady

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<zZ* NTERIOR OF A STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY. by a lever and weight. The lid of the pan, it will be observed, is cut off at the corners, and it is through these spaces that the metal enters the box and insi- nuates itself into every hollow. When the box is plunged into the metal, a bubbling noise is heard, which is caused by the expulsion of the air within the box. After having remained immersed for about

ten minutes, it is steadily lifted out by the crane and swung to a cooling-trough, in which the under side of the box is exposed to water. Being completely cooled, the caster proceeds to remove the mould from the casting-box. The plaster mould, the plate moulded, and the floating-plate are all solidly fixed up together. The metal, by its specific gravity, has forced it under the floating-plate, which it has con- sequently driven tightly up against the ledges of the mould. The mould has in the same way been tightly forced up against the lid of the casting-pan. The notches in the ledge of the mould have at the same time admitted the metal into the minutest im- pression from the face of the types. The caster row breaks off the superfluous metal and the ledges of the mould with a wooden mallet, as shown in the wood-cut. The mould is of course destroyed, and if another plate is required, another mould must be taken from the types. After the superfluous metal and the plaster are removed, the stereotype plate comes out bright and well formed; but the plate is

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THE MECHANICAL DEFARTMENT OF THE LADY’S BOOK. 311 aot yet complete; its proper thickness cannot be de- termined by the mould alone, and the back is there- fore shaved down in a peculiar kind of machine, which acts in the same manner as a plane, taking the back off perfectly smooth. The very best casting cannot prevent occasional defects in the face of the plate. It requires, there- fore, to be minutely examined by a workman called a picker. It is his business to remove the small globules of metal which occasionally fill up such letters as the a, and the e, to insert a new letter, which he can do by soldering if any one be broken ; and what is a still more delicate operation, to remove with his graver any impurities which fill up the lines of a wood-cut. To execute this latter duty properly he ought to be in some degree an artist, and possess the keen eye and steady hand of an engraver. The advantages of stereotyping for the advance- ment of literature are incalculable. It makes know- ledge cheap, by giving publishers the power of issu- ing any number of editions of a work without the expense of resetting the type, which enables them to publish at lower rates. The inherent difficulty of the business of a publisher co.sists in the mis- takes he may make in calculating the demand for any particular book. The demand for articles of physical necessity does not greatly vary. The de- mand for books depends in a certain degree upon fashion, and the prevailing current of public opinion. In books of a merely temporary interest, or which are addressed only to particular classes, or deal with particular modes of thought, a publisher often loses very considerably by over printing; but with the advantages of stereotyping, a small edition of any work ean be worked off in a few days, and, as it is sold, the stock can be replenished. The investment of capital thus saved can be used in other works, and the mass of our literature cheapened and vastly extended. PRESS-ROOM DEPARTMENT. After the pages have been submitted to the skill of the stereotyper, they are again returned to the printing-office, there to receive the attention of the pressman and his fair assistants—the Messrs. Col- lins employing, besides a sufficient number of men, about twenty-five young women in this department of their office. This room is in the second story of the building, and is also in the shape of the letter U, and contains fourteen power-presses, which are worked by steam, and seven hand-presses. This room is an object of special attraction to those strangers who, through the courtesy of the proprie- tors, are allowed to inspect the operations of their extensive establishment. We cannot say whether the attraction is in the beautiful working of the machinery, or in the faces of the bevy of industri- ous working girls who attend there. When the pages of any work are not stereotyped, the type is “imposed,” or arranged so that when folded the pages will come in their proper places, upon a large “ imposing-stone,” made of marble or cast-iron. After having been arranged correctly, strips of metal called “furniture,” of the requisite width to give the margin of white paper required, are placed around them, and, with the aid of iron bevelled “side” and “foot-sticks” running the width and length of one side only, they are “locked up” in a “chase,” with quoins. The chase is a wrought- iron frame about half an inch thick and an inch broad, and is made of different sizes to suit the dif- ferent forms of pages required. The forms are of different sizes, the largest containing forty-eight pages, and the smallest four pages, or quarto. They are generally called after the number of pages used : as 12mo. twelve pages; 16mo. sixteen pages; 32mo. thirty-two pages; and octavo, or eight pages. The form of the “ Lady’s Book” is a 12mo., or superroyal octavo, and the weight, when set in type, is about three hundred pounds. In order to facilitate the transmission of these heavy forms from the com- posing-room to the press-room, a large hoisting- machine is arranged which is worked by steam, and runs from the cellar to the garret, boxed completely in, with a door at each story. When the pages to be printed are stereotyped, a requisite number of blocks made for the purpose are locked up in a form in the same manner as if they were type. These blocks are an eighth of an inch less in height than type, so that when the stereotype plate is fastened upon them they will be of the exact height of type, which is very essential, as the heavy pressure of all presses is calculated for the type to be seven-eighths of an inch high, and any deviation from that height would prevent a correct impression being made. The edges of stereotype plates have a bevel, which is so made in order that they may be clamped on to the block by means of a set of two small clamps, which are attached to all blocks, for that purpose; so that the same blocks can answer for the pages of any book of the same size. The form being locked up and sent by the hoisting- machine to the press-room, the foreman who has charge of the press-work of the “Lady’s Book” takes it in hand. We would here remark that much of the looks of a work depends upon the quality of the paper and ink used in its production, and it is not always a proof of a want of skill in the engraver or printer if the work should not look well, but is in most cases attributable to the quality of ink and paper used. The presses used by the Messrs. Co!lins are from the manufactories of Adams, and of Tufts, and are considered the best in use for book work. The following engraving will give an idea of one of these presses. The blank paper is placed upon a frame on the top of the press in front of the at- tendant, who takes a sheet and places it on the receiving-board ; here it is caught by nippers con- structed for that purpose, and carried to its position on the form between the bed and platen, where it

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~ 312 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. receives an impression. It then returns under the receiving-board, and, by the use of bellows, is raised and caught between tapes which are constantly in motion, and carried on the fly, which lays it over ANGhily Jel. a manner the inking and printing go on as long as the press is kept in motion. These presses are capable of throwing off seven hundred and fifty printed sheets in an hour. One of the most important inventions relating to speed in printing-presses is that of the “composition- roller.” The old plan of inking a form was by two “balls,” or large pads stuffed with wool and covered with chamois skin, which were used by an assistant, generally a man, as much strength was required. The mode of using them was necessarily a slow operation, as they were taken, one in each hand, somewhat after the manner of a mince-meat chopper, upon a surface covered with ink: they were then used in a similar manner upon the face of the types. The “composition” now in use is made of glue and molasses boiled to a certain consistency, and then cast in a round copper cylinder of the diameter required. In the centre of the cylinder is placed a “stock,” which is a solid round piece of wood, in each end of which is inserted an iron pivot, in order that the roller, when finished, may be made to revolve on an axis, and therefore obtain an equal distribution of ink upon its surface. When the roll- ers are finished they are placed in an iron frame, in pairs generally, which frame has a handle long enough for the roller-boy to propel the rollers over the whole extent of the form of type. When drawn back from the operation of inking, the rollers rest upon a wooden cylinder six or eight times their diameter, which is turned around with the left hand of the roller-boy by a crank, the right hand being used in giving the rollers a side motion of about six inches. This operation secures to the face of the rollers an equal surface of ink, which gives a regu- | on the table at the end of the press. Immediately upon the printed sheet leaving the face of the type, a set of ink-rollers pass over them and re-ink them, when another sheet passes over, and in this larity to the impression taken by the press. This mode is only used upon hand-presses; in power- presses, it is accomplished by mechanism. Some few years since an improvement was made even upon hand-presses, so that a beautiful mechanical contrivance, worked by steam-power, now super- sedes the use of a roller-boy in many offices. All the hand-presses in the office of the Messrs. Collins are supplied with this patent “roller-boy,” which is the idea of the elder Mr. Collins. In the printing of colors the same process is re- quired; with this difference, that all sheets printed in black require but one passage through the press, those in colors requiring just as many as there are colors. Experiments are now being made, however, and with some success, in which many colors can be impressed upon a sheet of paper at one time. For a specimen of the skill exercised in printing colors in this establishment, our readers are referred to the model cottages and other colored plates in the back numbers of the “Lady’s Book.” DRYING DEPARTMENT. After the sheets come from the hands of the press- man, they are taken by the warehouseman, who hangs them upon “racks” to dry. In this room, occupying the whole of the upper portion of the building, an immense number of sheets, the work of the twenty-one presses, are hung updaily. The racks are arranged two deep, and about two feet apart throughout the whole of the fourth story, and a part of the third. The sight of this room, with its thousands of sheets, strikes the beholder with astonishment at the vast amount of capital and labor required to conduct this extensive establishment. his pri con are lars Col frie of | ben in | in t ples hun

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THE MECHANICAL DEPARTMENT OF THE LADY'S BOOK. 313 RR ner From the drying-room the sheets are carried into another room, where they are put between press- boards and submitted to a heavy pressure, by hy- draulic and other power, and are then sent to the binders to be made in numbers, from whence they are placed in the hands of the public. As an evidence of the amount of paper used in this establishment, we will state that about two thou- sand reams of white paper are the stock generally on hand, of the value of about $10,000. Editors of the country press, or subscribers to the **Book” who may be on a visit to the city, will find this office an object of great interest, and they are here, by authority of the proprietors, cordially in- vited to visit it. It is situated in Lodge Alley, three or four doors above Seventh. Lodge Alley is the first cross street above Chestnut. In the full page engraving of the interior of the office, only one-third of each department is given; owing to the peculiar shape of the rooms, they could not fully be represented in one view. We will here remark that all the improvements of the day tending to facilitate business or personal comfort are adopted in this model printing-office, We are under many obligations to the proprietors and their assistants for many of the facts here col- lected, and we tender them our thanks for their attention and courtesy. VIEW OF MESSRS. In some future number we will give an extended history of the invention and progress of the art of printing, and the manufacture of paper. As we have before stated, the office at which the composition and press-work of the “Lady’s Book” are done, is the largest in the city, and one of the largest in the country, and belongs to the brothers Collins, two men who, in their character, habits, and friendship, are more like the “brothers Cheeryble” of Dickens than any two in this country. Kind and benevolent in their feelings, gentlemanly and affable in their manners, they are venerated by the hands in their employ, and respected by all who have the pleasure of their acquaintance. The round, good- humored countenance of the elder brother is a sure COLLINS’S OFFICE FROM 5 5 —— THE INNER COURT. index of goodness of heart, which his every action proves. The business portion of the labor of the office falling upon him, has rendered their establish- ment prosperous in the extreme, from his uniform attention and obliging disposition. Rising from the humblest walks of life into a position of wealth and influence, we feel that a short history of their lives would be interesting to their numerous friends, and acceptable to our readers. Their great-grandfather on the father’s side was an Irishman, who emigrated to this country when it was a colony, and located himself in Rhode Island. The great-grandfather on the mother’s side was a Welshman, and was a lawyer by profession, and resided on an island in the Delaware called White’s Island, which he ownea.

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314 eee In returning to Wales, he was shipwrecked and lost. After his death, the island was taken possession of by those to whom it did not belong. The family not being able to prosecute a suit at law, it was never recovered by the rightful owners. The father of the brothers Collins was a native of Cranston, R. [., and was a sailor by occupation: the mother came from the neighborhood of Trenton, New Jersey. The father dying when the boys were quite young, the mother was left poor with them to struggle fur. GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. The elder brother, Trnursesast K. CoLuins, was born on the 14th October, 1802, in the city of Phila- delphia. At the age of thirteen, he became errand- boy for the late Matnew Carey, whose well-known benevolent qualities no doubt laid the foundation, by example and precept, of the eminent good quali- ties we have before spoken of in Mr. Collins. There is indeed a remarkable similarity in the habits of the two men; the one, whilst living, striving to be a benefit to his fellow-man, and the other now folluw- TILLINGHAST &K. ing him in the same benevolent purpose. Mr. Carey was, during the latter part of his life, the proprietor of a large printing establishment, scattering the seeds of knowledge over the land, and Mr. Collins is now engaged in the same business, and for the same laudable purpose. After being some length of time with Mr. Carey, he went an apprentice to Mr. James MAxwe tt, one of the best printers of his day, and who then had one of the largest establish- ments in the city. Mr. T. K. Collins commenced in the wareroom, and progressed up gradually through the different branches of the business—compositor, pressman, &c.—and, when of age, was cunsidered one of the best pressmen in the city. After his appren- ticeship was over, he went to Washington and worked ‘for Peter Force for some time. He then worked for Gales & Seaton, and afterwards for Duff Green. Whilst in the city of Washington, he became a mem- ber of the Methodist Episcopal Church, which rela- tion he has continued for twenty-five years. At the age of twenty-one he was married, and has since COLLINS. reared a large family, who all partake of the sound qualities of the father. One of his sons is following the profession of his father, and another is a book- seller. In the year 1831, Mr. Collins commenced the printing business in a small way, having but one hand-press, and no capital but his own industry, perseverance, and integrity. The hardships which he had undergone in his youth taught him a lesson, which induced habits of frugality and economy, which have made him now the proprietor of an extensive office, having fourteen power and seven hand-presses, and employing in its various depart- ments over one hundred hands. Mr. Partie G. Cotiis was born in Philadelphia on the 9th of June, 1804, and also learned the print- ing business with James Maxwell, and was one of the best compositors in the city, and an excellent pressman. He married young, and has had but one child, a son. He was taken into partnership with his brother two years after he started business. The

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Ww - eo °@ ~~ > LORD, meee nee eee eee eee see eee HAVE MERCY UPON USB! PHILIP G. younger Mr. Collins having been confined more in the office, he is not personally so widely known as the other brother. He is less familiar in his man- ner, but, when enticed into conversation, the listener is surprised at the fund of information upon every subject which he has stored away in his brain. He 315 LOOP LELIOLILII_LLLLLaEeeeest eee eee COLLINS. has a natural brusqueness of manner, which is only upon the outside, for he is at heart kind and gene- rous, and is much respected by those who are inti- His health has been much impaired of late, and he is now travelling for mately acquainted with him. the benefit of it, and with some degree of success. Kupie EAvecov.—LORD, I BY REV. 8. IAVE MERCY UPON Us! HASTINGS WELD. (See Plate.) Tur Great I AM from Sinai spake: IT am the Lord thy God, alone; No graven image shalt thou make, No gods set up,'before My Throne; No star in heaven’s canopy, No creature of the earth or air, No idol of the nether sea, My jealous honors e’er may share. Have mercy on us, Lord! Incline Our hearts to keep Thy Law Divine! The Heavenly Name on careless tongue Thou shalt not take, in utterance vain; For vengeance doth to Him belong On those His worship who disdain. To children’s children shall descend The sentence of His broken law; While thousands shall his love attend, Who keep His word, in sacred awe. Have mercy on us, Lord! Incline Our hearts to keep Thy Law Divine! newness Remember that His Sabbath day Thou sacred keep from servile toil ; Pass not in sloth its hours away, Nor of true rest thy soul despoil. His altar in thy dwelling raise, Let home be happy in His fear ; For He hath promised length of days To those their parents who revere. Have mercy on us, Lord! Incline Our hearts to keep Thy Law Divine! Pursue no other to his aeath— No pleasure follow to thine own; Defraud not; nor with slanderous breath Breathe on thy neighbor’s fair renown. Desire or covet no man’s pelf, But rather of thine own impart; Love thou thy neighbor as thyself, And love thy God with all thy heart. Have mercy on us, Lord! Incline Our hearts to keep Thy Law Divin: !

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vy pass AUNT SALLY. BY KATE KENNARD. My Aunt Sally was a belle and a beauty in her day—for know, fair maiden, that the terms are not synonymous. Many a beauty never was a belle, and there have been belles who were no beauties. But my Aunt Sally was both, and my happiest oceu- pation in childhood was to rummage the top drawer of her old-fashioned bureau (where was deposited a vast collection of lockets, rings, fans, antiquated billets-doux, and other memorials of lovers and ad- mirers, now passed away or changed into unromantic grandfathers or great uncles), while my Aunt Sally sat by my side and gave the history of each flirtation as it was recalled to her mind. But far more valu- able, in a practical point of view, was the moral with which she would point each tale, and the shrewd lessons in feminine tactics which she drew from the stores of her experience. “Depend upon it, my dear,” said she, flirting in her still delicate hand a beautiful fan adorned with figures after Watteau, “depend upon it, my dear, there ’s no use in loving a man too much; it bewil- ders you, and is no real satisfaction to him; you lose your presence of mind, and cannot really judge what will please him: it’s quite enough to have him comfortably in love with you. Now, this fan—it was given me. by a young Frenchman, who came over with Count D’Estaing, that winter we were all shut up in Boston. I do believe he would have left his country and turned republican for my sake, all for the love of ‘mes beaux yeux ;’ but, child, do you think he would have offered to do such a thing if I had shown that I cared very much for him? Not he. Then it would have been quite enough for him to offer to take me off to France, to live in an old tumble-down chateau with his snuffy old father, the marquis, and his grand old mother, madame la mar- quise—and a pretty time I should have had of it, when the Revolution came. If I had got back to my own country at all, it would have been without my head, or, at least, with one fastened on with a broad black velvet ribbon, like the woman sitting under the guillotine, in the horrid German book you are so fond of reading. As it was, he only tore his hair, and gave me this beautiful fan when he left me; and how much better that was, for he soon got over it.” “It don’t hurt a man half so much as you young girls think, to be refused,” she continued, taking up a queerly folded billet-doux, which commenced with “Most respegted and admirable Miss Sally,” and looked as though Sir Charles Grandison had written it for Miss Harriet Byron. very prettily worded—I don’t think young men “Now this note—it’s know how to write notes to young women nowadays, ° 316 they are so free and familiar; well, this note—it was from a Maryland planter, one of the Calverts, a gentleman indeed; you never see such young men now, so courtly and dignified; he never met me without bowing over my hand. He was the first man I ever refused ; and do you know I was simple enough to cry all night about it? Of course I couldn’t have him, for your grandfather, you know, was a Puritan, a Winslow, and would never hear of a daughter of his marrying a follower of ‘the Scarlet Woman;’ but I thought he would never get over it; he said he never would, and next month he was er- gaged to his cousin! I knew better, after that, what men meant by saying ‘they ’d never get over it.’” Here my aunt Sally unrolled a piece of silver paper, and drew from it a lock of beautiful chestnut hair. I knew its gloss directly ; it was her own. She rolled it over her finger, and half sighed as she went on. “Tt’s one thing to make a man fall in love with you, and another thing to keep him so. Any mode- rately pretty girl who has common sense can do the first, and many an ugly one too, if she has any kind of understanding of things; but most girls stop there, and let their lovers get into an everyday, matter-of-course way of loving. That’s foolish: if a man isn’t more in love with you at the end of the year than he was at the beginning, depend upon it you’ve made some mistake. It all depends on your not being too anxious about the matter yourself, for then you can be grave or gay, kind or cold, as you see best. I wonder what has become of the poor fellow who had this lock of hair! I let him keep it for a week. I suppose I ought not to have given it to him; but, dear me, I was always too good-natured, and it was the fashion just then to wear short curls. He came from the frontier—came in with the Continentals — such a noble-looking fellow, and so devoted—with such stories of forest life. I sup- pose he dreamed of taking me back to his cabin. It was well enough for him to dream, but we should bave made each other very unhappy; so I took back my lock of hair, and he went to Ohio.” While my aunt Sally was, half sadly, calling to mind the yeung hunter and soldier of the Revolution, I had taken a silk bag from the back of the drawer, and was drawing from it a package of letters. She took them from my hand, and, as she put them back, looked me in the face; her lips quivered, and tears filled her fine eyes as she said—* After all, my dear niece, to a true woman’s heart the happiness of lov- ing is far greater than the vain pleasure of being loved.”

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ITER 4 Dtv A CHA T PDIAWENTS PaToOETS waere ON PIGMEN id, tALCMES, NASAL, BY MRS. WHITE. We have reserved for the subject of this paper those artificial helps to beauty, to the use of which feminine vanity, and that still stronger feeling (to which it is the handmaid)—the wish to appear at- tractive in the eyes of man—have at all periods, and in all parts of the world, led. Unlike other superfluities, the offsprings of luxury and refine- ment, we find the aborigines of America and the Cape as fond of enhancing, after their fashion, their charms with charcoal and red earth, as French la- dies of the last century were lavish of pearl-powder and rouge. The intention is the same, however the pigments of the artists may vary. Nor is the universality of the practice more curious than its antiquity. The prophet Jeremiah speaks of rending the eyes with paint; and the toilet of Jezebel, men- tioned in the Second Book of Kings, differs little from that of a modern actress, who paints her face, and brightens and enlarges the appearance of her eyes, by an application nearly similar, except that the material is Indian ink, instead of the powder of lead or antimony, which ladies in the East still use for this purpose. The semi-pagan writer Tertullian, attributes the discovery of rouge, and the black powder for the eyelashes, to the researches of the fallen angels, who out of their knowledge of the hidden things of earth, and their love for the daughters of men, drew from the inmost recesses of nature whatever could add to or embellish the beauty of their mortal fa- vorites—an idea which gives an antediluvian anti- quity to this part of our theme, and subjects the daughters-in-law of Noah to the imputation of bringing back to earth the meretricious arts of their forebearers. At any rate, the books of the Old Tes- tament, to which we have alluded, prove that at a very primary period of written history women (if not men, which some authors incline to think) aided their complexions with fucus; and, like the Arabian dames of whom Russel speaks (Moore, by the way, has quoted him in verse)— “ Mixed the kohol’s jetty dye To give that long, dark languish to the eye.” A practice which, from the proofs furnished us in the Egyptian gallery of the British Museum, ap- pears to have been as popular with the beauties of Thebes and Memphis as with the stately daughters of the Twelve Tribes. Shaw, in his travels, tells us that the mode of using the lead ore amongst Eastern ladies, is by dipping a wooden bodkin about the roundness of a VOL. XLY.—27 § ; H PRAAPLLLADLL ALLL man RARAAARAAAL quill into the powder, and drawing it afterwards between the eyelashes over the ball of the eye—a process well expressed in the prophet’s phrase, “rending the eyes;” for this appears to be the ancient manner of using it, some of the vases and bottles which have contained sthem, as the Egyptians called the metallic color for the eyelids, having with them the pins, or styles, for laying on the pigment. It was most probably from this people that those of ancient Greece and Rome borrowed their love of unguents and cosmetics, as well as their use of false hair and metal mirrors, and all the other artifi- cial aids that luxury afterwards brought into vogue, as we find them on the buried toilets of Pompeii and Herculaneum, and which were as ordinary when Ovid wrote, as two hundred years after when Lucian described them. From the Roman poet we learn that hair-dye was as much in demand in the city of the seven hills as in any modern metropolis we might mention; and that towers of false hair were worn by those to whom nature had been niggardly in this adornment, as well as false teeth, false eyebrows and eyelashes, and that pomatum, rouge, and white paint were in con- stant requisition. This latter “ Pharian varnish,” by the way, was procured from the entrails of cro- codiles (numbers of which infested the island of Pharos, at the mouth of the Nile, from which its name was derived), and is said to have been excel- lent for taking off freckles and spots in the face, and for whitening the skin; but various herbal pre- parations were used for the same purpose. Like the ancient Britons, who perhaps derived the taste from their conquerors, the Romans were great admirers of sunny or bright hair, the fava coma, which color they gave it artificially, as did the old inhabitants of our island, whose naturally fair locks were rendered brighter by the aid of a cosmetic. Even in comparatively modern times, we find this admiration of golden hair existing; but the poetry of the phrase cannot conceal that the hue occasion- ally degenerated into the objectionable color, which Hentzner, with good hearty truthfulness, tells us Queen Elizabeth affected at sixty-seven. ‘She a fashion which doubtless At one period we read that fashion became so fanciful upon wore false red hair!” other ladies of the time were fain to follow. the matter, that the fair votaries who followed her wore their hair of different colors, alternated ac- cording to taste. According to the chronologists, fans, muffs, 317

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318 GODEY’S RRP LEE MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. masks, and false hair, made their appearance in 3 the exquisites of the opposite sex resorted to this England almost simultaneously in 1572, having heen imported from France, where they had found their way from Italy, under very questionable auspices. If this be correct, we may regard the “virgin queen” as the original patroness of the “invisible perukes,” and “real heads of hair,” which have never since fallen into desuetude, and according to the statements of their manufacturers, have just now attained to a perfection which in their modest phrase surpasses Nature herself. Powdering the hair is a comparatively recent inno- vation, and is said to have taken its rise from some of the ballad-singers at the fair of St. Germain, whitening their heads to make them look ridieu- lous.* By what means it found its way from the fair-field to the court we know not; but that which began in buffoonery has since been made an ap- pointment of the gravest offices, and though no longer tolerated by fashion, maintains its dignity as an appendage of the bishop’s throne and the bar. Twiss, who wrote his travels through Spain in 1773, remarks that the Macaroni ladies in Cadiz wore yellow powder in their hair, which to him was nauseous and disgusting. But he observes, with evident surprise at the omission, that though the habits of both sexes are entirely in the French fashion, they use neither paint nor patches. These last coquettish adjuncts, which in all probability first covered a blemish on the cheek or brow of beauty, appear to have come into request about the year 1672, when a book was published, entitled «“ NewInstructions unto Youth for their Behavior, and also A Discourse against Powdering of Hair, Naked Breasts, Black Spots, and other unseemly customs.” However Herbé, in his costumes, remarks that, in 1690, “Les dames conservaient l’usage du fard, des mouches, et des masques.” And Addison tells us that the French baby for 1712, exhibited by the milliners at the Seven Stars in King Street, Covent- Garden, and habited after the manner of the most eminent toasts in Paris, wore a small patch on her breast; and as we see in Hogarth’s pictures, and the pages of the Spectator, even gentlemen resorted to the pretty affectation of wearing them. Some- times they were placed upon the hand, to draw at- tention to its shape or whiteness; at others they served as notes of admiration to a dimple, or con- trasted with the clear bright color of the cheek. At the court of Queen Anne, the fashion of wearing them appears to have reached its culminating point, but they lingered in the outskirts of fashion till within the child memory of our mothers. Strutt tells us that the first mention he has found of the painting of the face in England, is in a very old manuscript of the fourteenth century, preserved in the Harleian library; but it would appear that * 1610. effeminacy also; and during the regency of Kathe- rine de Medici rouge was commonly worn by the gallants of the court. Even Henry the Third of France, at one time famous for his valor, fell into this unmanly delicacy ; and while conspiracies were forming about him, felt only anxious to improve his complexion, for which purpose he covered his face at night with a cloth dipped in essences, though he painted over its effect in the day. The editor of the “ Court and Times of James the First,” informs us that during this dissolute reign all the court ladies painted so exactly alike, that, with their hair frizzled and powdered, they could not be told one from another: and observes of the Countess of Bedford, who had returned to court (though in her sickness she in a manner vowed never to return there): “ Marry, she is somewhat reformed in her attire, and forbears painting, which they say makes her look somewhat strangely among so many wiz- ards, which, together with their frizzled, powdered hair, make them look all alike, so that you can scarcely know one from another at the first view.” Philters were commonly sold by medical empirics in this reign (as they had been long before), for the improvement or restoration of beauty; and the old herbalists, from Dr. Turner downwards, abound with floral specifics for the purpose. Cowslips, gathered with the dew on them, and made into an ointment, or used as a wash, were said to be of great effect, and not only restored beauty when lost, but took away wrinkles! White roses were also deemed effective as beautifiers; and lady lilies, which, as well as the young leaves and ten- drils of the vine, are said to have been made use of by the Roman beauties in their baths. The bath, by the way, has always been an indis- pensable adjunct of the toilet; but in an old MS. book of Prognostics, of the time of Richard ILI, ladies are advised, that “in the months of March and November they should not goe to the bathe for beautye.” In the mean while, however, here is a recipe “to make a fayr face,” by “putting together the milk of an ass and a black kow, poured on brimstone, of each a like quantity; then anoynte thy face, so thou shalt be fayr and white.” Asses’ milk appears to have been from a very early period considered of great effect as a cosmetic. Poppea, the wife of Nero, who is said to have been the most delicate woman with regard to her person, kept for the supply of her bath a train of five hundred milch asses in constant attendance. It was this fastidious lady who first introduced the use of the mask (which had hitherto only been used for theatrical purposes), as a preservative of the complexion—a fashion which, like most Roman ones, probably had its type in the East; the Arabian women, according to Carrei, wearing black masks, with little clasps pret- tily ordered ; a fashion that, judging from the te- nacity with which Eastern nations cling to antique

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A CHAPTER ON PIGMENTS, custom even in their costumes, is not likely to have been a modern innovation. Such were the masks that in this country, during the sixteenth, and till the commencement of the seventeenth century, it was the fashion for ladies to wear whenever they walked or rode abroad, or went to the play, or other public place of amusement—a fashion in the high tide of which the fair wearers were famed neither for their prudery nor prudenee. There must have been something amazingly pi- quant in the appearance of these silken visors, which in general covered only a part of the face, revealing a portion of the forehead, and reaching down to the bottom of the nose, so that the mouth and chin might be seen. This article appears to us to have been more coquettish than useful; it was not the true Poppean instrament which the old Roman ladies wore over their faces in hot weather, to keep off the sun and wind, but a mischievous pretence, discovering more than it concealed, and enhancing by its pretty mystery the effect of what- ever beauty lurked in red lips and rounded chin, or revealed itself in the brow. In Shakspeare’s time, this was not the only spe- cies in use; Autolycus, in the “ Winter’s Tale,” in the list of his wares, sings of “Masks for faces, and for noses;” a distinction which would lead us to suppose that the whole mask and the demi-visor were then equally in vogue, In the reign of Charles I., this appendage was universally worn; and from the queen herself to the smallest marchande de modes, no aspirant to fashion appeared in public without it. Everywhere the mask—on the mall, in the mulberry gardens* (the only place, as Evelyn tells us, for ladies of quality and their gallants to be exceedingly well cheated), at the play, the park, and the puppet show (for the Marionettes were even then in fashion)— everywhere the mask. How curious a cavaleade does the following para- graph, a bit of court news in the days of the “ nim- ble, quick, black-eyed, brown-haired,” Henrietta Maria, as Dr. Mead calls the little French Queen of Charles I., how curious a cavalcade does it raise up in the imagination! “On Tuesday, the queen went by water to Blackwall, and then dined aboard the Earl of Warwick’s fair ship called the Neptune ; went thence by water to Greenwich; thence came on horseback to and through London; the Ear! at- tending her Majesty to Somerset House, forty or fifty riding before bareheaded, save her four priests with black caps—herself and ladies in little black beaver hats, and masked, but her Majesty had a fair white feather in her hat!” This was in 1626; but * The mulberry gardens occupied the present site of Buckingham Palace. tin i ; | | | | | ; | ; | ETC 319 PATCHES, MASKS, in 1712, and even later, the mask had not wholly disappeared. Exeept in pictures, no remnant of this antique appendage to dress appears to have been discovered amongst the unburied homes of Pompeii and Her- culaneum ; its materials were too perishable; and while the cosmetics (which according to the belief of the fair artificers) assisted the beauty of the face it protected—the perfumed unguents, rouge, and other toilet furniture, survive—the mask itself has mouldered. To us the few steps (if any) that modern art has taken in advance of the ancients in these particu- lars, is one of the fairest signs of actual refinement and civilization. After more than 1800 years, we find the dressing-room of a lady of ancient Magna Grecia, as rich in all the artificial necessaries of the toilet as any Macaroni beauty’s of the present time. The essence bottles, the vases of perfumes and oils, the pots for rouge and other paints, and vessels for collyriums of various kind, speak loudly for the Deleroixes and Atkinsons of that remote period, and prove that woman’s vanity was at any rate as active a principle in the sex then as now. Lucian, who lived in the reign of Trajan, has left his evidence, that the lava-sealed fate of these luxu- rious ladies by no means blunted the taste for en- deavoring to improve natural beauty by art, but describes the dressing-room of a Grecian lady of his period as furnished with all the adjuncts of a modern beauty’s toilet, all the cosmetic array of powder, figments, lotions, &c. &c.t But we must not for- get that most important appendage of the toilet, ancient and modern, and which at one period was absolutely a part of dress—the mirror. Like the old Egyptians, both the Greeks and Romans made them of metal—small, and usually circular, with sometimes fancifully-shaped and elegantly-ornamented handles; a bronze one from Memphis, in the British Museum, has a handle in the shape of a lotus-sceptre, with the head of Athor, the Goddess of Beauty ; and another equally appro- priate, is formed in the shape of a tress of hair, with two hawks. Amongst the “Greek and Roman an- tiquities” in the same collection, we find one, the handle of which is formed by a Venus holding a dove! Sometimes they were made of silver; and in a lane leading from the house of Sallust, in Pompeii, in which the skeleton of a lady, with those of three (supposed) attendants, were discovered, a silver mir- ror, such as the Roman and Grecian ladies always carried about them, was found near her. Women in the East, we read, are never without them ; and Shaw tells us, that in Barbary a looking- + Amongst the glass vessels found at Pompeii was one containing rouge similar to that worn at present.— Mrs. Starke.

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320 GODEY’s MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK glass is so favorite an appendage, that the feminine part of the inhabitants hang them at their breasts, and will not go without them, even when, after the drudgery of the day, they are obliged to go two or three miles with a pitcher or a goatskin to fetch water. In other parts of Asia the ladies wear little mir- rors on their thumbs; and those of the Harem not unusually have them set in the centre of their fea- ther fans. In Spain, and anciently in England also, they might occasionally be seen flashing on the panache, or exterior ray of this instrument when folded. In the days of Henry VIII., when the palace mirrors at Hampton Court were, as Strutt tells us, of steel, looking-glasses being very few, and very small, were then only used by ladies who kept them in cases, and being for the most part portable, car- ILLUSTRIOUS WOMEN OF ried them in their pockets, or locked them up with other trinkets; so that even in this particular the analogy between the customs of the toilet in classic regions and times, and in the semi-barbariec ones of our own country, is more complete than on a cursory glance one would imagine. Patches no longer point the.eye to a dimple, nor masks affect modesty while provoking inquisitive- ness; and though hair-dye and rouge, pearl pow- der and lotions, still figure on the catalogues of the perfumers, bearing evidence that somewhere they are in demand, few of the consumers but have the grace to keep their obligations to such aids as quiet as possible—a very decided proof, that as refinement progresses we grow ashamed of such empiricism, and that woman is daily learning to trust to higher charms than mere physical beauty to make her a helpmate for man. OUR TIME. “Tt appears to be a law of our nature, that recreation and amusement are as necessary to the mind az exercise is to the body.”—CHAMBERS. MARY HOWITT. THERE are some things,” says a periodical critic, “which women do better than men; and of these, perhaps, novel-writing is one. Naturally endowed with greater delicacy of tasto and feeling, with a moral sense not blunted and debased by those con- taminations to which men are exposed, leading lives rather of observation than of action; with leisure to attend to the minutim of conduct, and more subtle developments of character, they are peculiarly quali- fied for the task of exhibiting faithfully and pleas- ingly the various phases of domestic life, and those varieties which checker the surface of society. Wo- men are less stilted in their style; they are more content to describe naturally what they have ob- served, without attempting the introduction of those extraneous ornaments which are sometimes sought at the expense of truth. They are less ambitious, and are, therefore, more just; they are far more ex- empt from that prevailing literary vice of the present day, exaggeration, and have not taken their stand among the feverish followers of what may be called the intense style of writing: a style much praised by those who inquire only if a work is calculated to make a strong impression, and omit entirely the more important question, whether that impression be founded on truth or on delusion. To the dreamy rhapsodies and heated exhibition of stormy passions in which such writers indulge, Mary Howitt’s works of fiction offer a very striking contrast; their perfectly truthful spirit finds a way at once to the heart, and succeeds in engaging our interest and in making us in love with human na- ture in situations and under circumstances rarely penetrated so successfully by the light of imagina- tion, and consequently the character, incident, dia logue have made her tales as popular as they are instructive. As a writer for the young, Mary Howitt has been long eminently successful, and it is no mean subject of congratulation to us to know that she is decidedly not of the class of individuals who have taken to write children’s books simply because they found themselves incapable of writing any other, and who yet consider their childish books, which require no mind at all, to be of the same importance as children’s books, which exercise powers of mind of no common class. To distinguish the difference be- tween the two classes, and to find the eminent sue- cess of the latterin their combined object of instruc- tion and amusement, we need go no further than to the juvenile readers themselves. With them, books written by those possessed of a great share of natu- ral talent are invariably found to be most popular; and as an evidence of this truth we may remark that we have frequently been struck, when in the nursery, at seeing the well-thumbed tales and poems of Mary Howitt, and the delight with which its occu- pants dwelt upon and committed to memory the stores provided for their entertainment, even when they reached to the length of Madam Fortescue and her cat, that captivating tale of domestic treachery and sorrow. We cannot but feel assured that such poems for children come from a heart overflowing with love and interest for them and for their pursuits, and that she truly and sincerely utters her pretty lines—

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ILLUSTRIOUS WOMEN OF OUR TIME. Blessings on them! they in me Move a kind of sympathy, With their wishes, hopes, and fears, With their laughter and their tears— With their wonder so intense, And their small experience!” To a mind like hers the success of her laudable efforts for the young must be the best reward: still, others remain in store, and amongst them the grati- tude of parents, and of all lovers and instructors of youth. The “Quarterly Review” offers on this point some clever remarks, from which we extract the following passage for the benefit of our readers, and because it so well coincides with our own opin- ions on a subject of such importance as the early culture of the human mind. “ Juvenile books are as necessary to children as juvenile companionship, though nothing can be worse than for them to be restricted exclusively to either. Doubtless, the imaginary exemption from the rules and ceremonials of general literature which little books as well as little folks enjoy, has fostered a host of works, from the simply unprofitable to the directly pernicious, which would otherwise not have seen the light. But neither this nor any other con- sideration should forbid the cultivation of a branch of literature which, properly understood, gives exer- cise to the highest powers, both of head and heart, or mako us ungrateful to those writers by whom great powers have been so devoted. For children are not their only debtors; nor is the delight with which we take up one of the companions of our childhood entirely attributable to associations of days gone by, nor the assiduity with which we de- vour a new-comer solely ascribable to parental watchfulness; but it is with these as with some game which we join at first merely to try whether we can play as we once did, or with the view of keeping our little playmates out of mischief, but which we end by liking for its own sake, though we do not always say so. We are happy to know that many of the exqui- sitely expressed emotions of parental tenderness which pervade the writings of Mary Howitt are drawn from her own domestic life, and that, in de- voting her time and talents to the benefit of chil- dren, she has the blessing of being enabled to call some of these home treasures her own. One of her most attractive tales, “The Children’s Year,” was, in fact, written from closely observing and noting during a whole year the words and actions of two of her children, a boy and a girl, severally aged seven and five years and a half. A companion to this volume, “ Our Cousins in Ohio,” sets forth the doings of two English children, and is an artless journal of the duties and enjoyments attending a recently emigrated family; and this, with other works, is embellished with illustrations on steel, by Anna Mary Howitt, the talented daughter of ta- lented parents. 97% PAPA AP PALLIM ) > > PLL OOOO OLE 321 PPRPRPAP ALA LPAI PPL PPP LEI II Mary Howitt has always been distinguished for her happy imitation of the ancient ballad composi- tions; and their simplicity, earnestness, fancy, and womanly tenderness, have given them a permanent place in the poetry of England. “It is,” as she re- marks in the preface to her ballads and other poems, “ perhaps, needless to say that I have been all my life a passionate admirer of ballad poetry. Brought up as a child in a picturesque, old-fashioned part of England, remote from books and from the world, and under circumstances of almost conventional seclu- sion, the echoes of this old traditional literature found their way to my ear and my heart. Few books, except those of a religious and somewhat mystical character, reached me; but an old domes- tic, with every requisite for a German Miirchem Frau, who had a memory stored with ballads, old songs, and legends, inflamed my youthful imagina- tion by her wild chants and recitations, and caused it to take very early flights into the regions of ro- mance. When I married, under circumstances the most favorable for a young poetical spirit, the world of literature was at once opened before me; and, to mark the still prevailing character of my taste, I may say that the first book I read when I had my free choice in a large library, was ‘ Percy’s Relies of Ancient Poetry,’ of which I had heard, but till The first fifteen years of my life were devoted to poetry. My husband and I published two joint volumes of poems within the then had never seen. first few years of our marriage, and then, giving freer vent to my own peculiar fancies, I again took to writing ballads, which were published in various periodicals of the day; and the favorable reeeption they met with gave me the utmost encouragement. The happiest period of my life, however, was, when gladdened by the praise of the public, and encour- aged by my husband, on whose taste and judgment I had the greatest dependence, I resolved to put forth my whole strength into one effort, which should afford me free scope for working out charac- ter, and for dramatic effect, at which I had always aimed, even in the simplest ballad. My hopes were high, and I thought to achieve a name among the poets of my country. I accordingly wrote ‘Seven Temptations,’ a poem faulty in many respects, and different to what I would now do, but with which at that time I spared no pains. Authors will, there- fore, understand my feelings, when I say that the first review I read of this work was so unfavorable, and that without giving a single quotation in proof I never experienced a sensation like that before, and I pray that I never may again. The book, however, had its share of praise, and made me many dear and valuable friends. But from that day I tremble at the name of critic, and feel a peculiar sensation of heart when public judgment is about to be passed of its opinion, that I was cut to the heart. upon me. I have somewhat of this feeling at this moment, because, although the critics have praised oo

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322 GODEY’S MAGAZINE my ballads, and many of them have called upon me to give them to the public in a collected form, still, I myself am not precisely the same person that I was ten or fifteen years ago, when the greater num- ber were written. Life teaches many lessons in that time; the tastes and the feelings become matured, or perhaps greatly changed; and I also now require in poetry, to say nothing of its subject, a degree of ; polish and finish which, in my younger years, I cared little about. My next volume of poetry must be different in many respects from anything which I ; have yet done, though it must still retain that love of Christ, of the poor, and of little children, which always was and will be a ruling sentiment of my soul.” ‘ Undeterred by the unwarranted rebuff which this unscrupulous criticism gave to the production of Mary Howitt’s poetical genius, she persevered in her intellectual efforts, and numerous have been the works of amusement and utility, both in poetry and prose, which have been thas added to our literary | stores. To her knowledge of the German, Danish, and Swedish languages, we owe the acquisition of { many “pearls of price,” amongst them the Impro- visatore of Hans Andersen. We are told that the modern Danish and Swedish are so much like Eng- } lish that some sentences of those languages, as } uttered by a Dane or Swede, would be intelligible to an Englishman who might not have learnt them; but no language so closely resembles another, either in vocabulary or in construction, as not to require considerable skill and judgment in rendering the sense as the author intended it should be taken, ~ without any appearance of constraint, any leaning to that patchwork style arising out of the use of PAI ND LADY’S BOOK. —_—_- words unfamiliar in their own language, which force on the mind the fact that it is a translation we are reading. Such skill and such judgment are shown in all Mary Howitt’s translations. They speak no “broken English.” We feel that we are introduced to the real thoughts and sentiments of the writers as they themselves would have spoken them. We read the English book as an original, and thus pay the highest compliment to its translator. This diffusion of foreign literature by means of English translations, which are daily increasing in number, has had the effect eloquently attributed by Canning to steam power, that of “creating unex- pected neighborhoods, and new combinations, of social relation. Foreign languages are no longer a bar to our knowledge of foreign works. The pa- tience of the translator, like the magician’s spell, flings wide the pages hitherto sealed from our eyes ; interpreters have risen up between us and our fel low-workmen in the world’s great Tower of Babel.” And to none of them do we owe a larger debt of gratitude than to Mary Howitt, for her interpreta- tion of works composed in the language in which Hamlet spoke and thought, “that melancholy Prince of Denmark, whose doubtful existence Shakspeare’s glorious dream has taught us to look upon as a familiar reality.” The study of this language has probably inspired a work, in which the literature and romance of Northern Europe are most ably treated and described. It is the joint production of Mr. and Mrs. Howitt; has just appeared; and we can confidently recommend it to the notice of our readers as one in which they will not fail to find the profit, interest, and amusement which may al- ways be gathered from works bearing the name of Howitt. DPRomrtoa tr NE ~ Sonal ti fi i’ 1 WADIA 2&4 & fi liv T\ODTA MW i/ iv Gf iv. BY WILLIAM E. SCREVEN, ESQ., AUTHOR OF “CHRISTIANITY, AND ITS RELATIONS TO POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY.” How often is history read in a superficial and } faithless spirit. The mere facts are marked upon } the memory, as though written with a pen on sense- less paper. The significant soul of the solemn and } eventful Past enters not into the heart which has } been deadened by the sceptical maxims of the Pre- cant, Let us, in considering the touching episode of Nebuchadnezzar’s Dream, escape for a brief space from the modern atmosphere of mockery and unbe- lief; that unbelief of the heart which often prevents as from realizing the impressive events of the mi- raculous epoch, even when we have given our intel- lectual assent to the certainty of their past occur- rence. And first let us remember, as a matter of indubi- table truth, that there was once a miraculous epoch in the history of our world; a time when God did veritably make himself manifest by signs and won- ders, by dreams and miracles. It was an awful pe- riod; for how can imperfect man endure, without horror-struck emotions, a direct communication from his almighty and eternal Creator! That wonderful dispensation has passed away: we live under one of mercy and compassion, in which God, “remembering that we are dust, and pitying our infirmities,” has veiled himself in the flesh, manifesting himself to us only through our gracious Mediator. But let us not forget, in the clearness and peace of this “later day,” that there was once, in very truth, a miraculous and chaotic stage in the history of mankind, and let us receive the fragmentary relics of that portentous time with childlike simplicity of faith. Let us listen to the “low sud music of humanity” which comes

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NEBUCHADNEZZAR’S DREAM. 323 to us so solemnly out of the night of remote ages, and “be not faithless, but believing.” Nebuchadnezzar, king of Assyria, by his valor and enlarged policy, had extended the already vast king- dom inherited from his illustrious ancestors, into an empire whose boundless extent, in the expressive language of Scripture, embraced “all nations and all tongues.” had subdued Jerusalem, the Holy City; being the unconscious instrument, in the hands of God, of the fulfilment of the prophecy, made by the inspired Jeremiah, of the seventy years’ captivity of the Jews. The king’s heart had become enlarged: he viewed the wide extent of his empire; the effulgent glory of Babylon, his splendid capital, and the re- cent reduction of Jerusalem, the far-famed city of the Unknown God, with boundless pride. He had ordered that certain of the ill-fated children of Is- rael should be reared to become his astrologers and wise men, and the order of the king in those wild days was as the voice of fate. Among others of God’s chosen people, Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were selected for this purpose, from the tribe of Judah. A dream which had visited the king, and which Daniel alone of all the wise men could interpret, had set him up as second in Assyria only to the king himself. The wondrous miracle of the fiery furnace had established Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego at the head of the provinces. But, unhappily for Nebuchadnezzar, while acknowledging the inspired wisdom of Daniel, and convinced that his Jewish companions had been rescued from the fiery furnace only by the hand of the God of Israel, his heart was not subdued to the sovereign authority of the Supreme and Holy One. He still regarded himself, with oriental arrogance, as the King of kings and the Lord of lords. If he had recognized the su- premacy of God, it was only in a moment of panic and awe: as soon as these transient emotions ceased, his heart was surrendered to its customary atmo- sphere of adulation and self-glory. Nebuchadnezzar was not an ordinary man, and still less an ordinary prince. The selection of “cer- tain of the children of Israel,” “understanding sci- ence,” to become his advisers; the unvarying favor with which he regarded Daniel, even when telling the most unpleasing truths, and the instant readi- ness of his acknowledgment of God’s almighty hand in the miracle of the furnace, exhibit a sagacity and loftiness of mind altogether remarkable in the an- nals of paganism. Heaven had marked him out to be at once a monument of its miraculous power and boundless grace. He was about to pass through an ordeal, strange and wild beyond description, but of which he had not previously the faintest conception. The king “saw a dream which made him afraid, and troubled him.” He beheld, in the visions of the night, a tree, which was flourishing, and very While he gazed, “a watcher from hea- luxuriant. Among the latest of his conquests he | | } | : | | ; | ven” descended, and commanded that it should be hewn down. Nevertheless, the stump, and the vital roots, should be left, to the intent that, when “seven times” had passed over it, it should again grow and be strong. The Chaldeans and magicians being called in, failed to interpret the dream. Finally, Daniel was consulted, who, being “astonied for one hour” by the overwhelming destiny of the ufhappy monarch, declared that his empire should be taken from him, and that he should become as a beast of the field for seven years: that at the end of the appointed time his understanding and his seceptre should be restored to him, and he should then know that the God of Israel is the creator of man, and the ruler of kings. Nebuchadnezzar was oppressed by strange and solemn thoughts. For many days, even in the midst of his splendid court, surrounded by all the pomp and adulation of that barbaric age, his visage wore a subdued and troubled expression. But, week after week, month after month, rolled away, and he still sat, undisturbed, on the magnificent throne of Baby- lon, worshipped as an idol, almost as a god, while nothing as yet indicated the fulfilment of Daniel's appalling prophecy. As time thus passed, the king’s heart waxed stronger and stronger, until, in the stoutness of his self-content, he felt that his empire was immovable, and that he was independent even of heaven itself. “At the end of twelve months he walked in the palace of the kingdom of Babylon. The king spake and said, Is not this great Babylon, that I have built for the house of the kingdom by the might of my power, and for the honor of my majesty?” “While the word was in the king’s mouth, there fell a voice from heaven, saying, 0 King Nebuchad- nezzar, to thee it is spoken; the kingdom is departed from thee.” The king had risen from his couch fresh and ra- diant in the glory of his beauty and his might. It was as he passed, in the brightness of early morn, to his council-chamber, where his lords awaited him, that he had uttered the impious boast which called down the long-threatened vengeance of heaven. A change, loathsome and frightful beyond conception, came over the mighty monarch: his countenance ceased to be human: ferocity, mingled with vacant imbecility, usurped the place of intelligence: he fell prone upon his hands, and grovelled at the feet of his attendants. The counsellors assembled in an adjoining apartment were instantly summoned, and, crowding into the gallery, surrounded in speechless amazement the abject and shocking figure of the once regal Nebuchadnezzar. The recollection of the hitherto despised but now fulfilled prophecy of Danie! rushed across their minds, and their anointed king was borne away by their own hands to the gates of the city, and thrust forth to herd with the beasts of the field.

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324 GODEY’S MAGAZINE At the time of Nebuchadnezzar’s debasement, Daniel oceupied a position in the Assyrian govern- ment, as was before remarked, second only to that of royalty. To this post he had been raised by the king’s edict, in consequence of his unerring inter- pretation of the monarch’s frequent dreams, and doubtless also on account of the stern and unbend- ing integrity of his character. His companions, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, it will be re- membered, were at the same time filling the highest posts in the provincial departments. It was doubt- less owing to this remarkable condition of the As- syrian government that Nebuchadnezzar’s kingdom was preserved to him until his restoration to reason; otherwise, it were impossible to explain so singular a fact, when the cruel and unscrupulous ambition of those barbarous days is considered. The inference, however, is easy from the simple recital of facts in the Sacred Volume, that Daniel, from his supreme authority in the absence of the king, was enabled to preserve his empire for him in all its integrity during the awful interregnum. In this he was assisted by his Hebrew brethren, who, together with himself, were induced to make every necessary effort to that end, from their firm conviction, that the entire pro- phecy would be fulfilled, and the king restored, eventually, both to his reason and his empire. They therefore administered the Assyrian government, for seven years, with that wisdom and unblemished vir- tue for which they had become so renowned through- out the entire realm. For years, the once princely Nebuchadnezzar had herded with the beasts of the field. With them he came forth at early dawn to the fat meadows of the Euphrates: with them he grazed the luxuriant grass, and with them retired to the fold at “dewy eve,” or sought repose under the shelter of some neighboring copse. The change which had passed over him so suddenly in his palace had gradually increased: his entire aspect was transformed. His hair had grown like “ eagles’ feathers,” and his nails like “ birds’ claws ;” intelligence had retrograded into instinct, and as he grovelled in the muddy pools, or cropped the green herbage, there was no thought but for the present want, or the present enjoyment. His face had assumed the dull and staring fixedness of the “beast that perishes,” and, even as he moved, the position of man was exchanged for that of the quad- ruped. Behold him, as he feeds with the oxen, among the sedges, by the river’s brink. The intense still- ness of noon has hushed every sound, except the rippling of the sluggish stream, and the distinct cropping of the grass, at regular intervals, by the herd at their mid-day meal. A loud plash of the water breaks the silence. Some large fish has risen to the surface, and exultingly returned to his native depths, after waking the echoes for many a rood. The herd raise their heads in listening wonder: the cropping of the grass has given way to mute ex- | : | $ : ; ; ; | | | AND LADY’S BOOK. pectation. Among the dumb and intent faces, behold the once majestic countenance of Nebuchadnezzar, lifted above the sedges, full of vacant surprise and apprehension. His matted hair falls like a mass of coarse feathers over his broad and naked shoulders; his eyes gleam with intense fire, yet are inexpressive of the least spark of human intelligence, while his mouth closes upon the unchewed herbage just browsed from the meadow. Instinct suggests that there is nothing to fear, and he and his brute com- panions move leisurely on, as they feed through their accustomed range. Strange, wonderful spectacle! but as true and certain once, as that God liveth always. “Seven times” had passed over him: God had completed his terrible but gracious work: the king's heart was subdued: pride had taken its everlasting flight: meekness and love were enshrined forever in all its high places. “And at the end of the days, I, Nebuchadnezzar, lifted up mine eyes unto Heaven, and mine under- standing returned unto me, and I blessed the Most High, and I praised and honored Him that liveth forever, whose dominion is an everlasting dominion, and His kingdom is from generation to generation: “ And all the inhabitants of the earth are reputed as nothing: and he doeth according to His will in the army of Heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth; and none can stay His hand, or say unto Him, What doest Thou? “At the same time my reason returned unto me: and for the glory of my kingdom, mine honor and brightness returned unto me; and my counsellors and my lords sought unto me: and I was established in my kingdom, and excellent majesty wus added unto me. “Now, I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise, and extol, and honor the King of Heaven, all whose works are truth, and His ways judgment; and those that walk in pride He is able to abase.” MY SISTER. BY G. L. PARSONS. In the springtime of her being, When her laugh was free and light, Was she called to leave this prison, And to wing her upward flight— When her heart knew naught of sorrow, And her soul was free from sin, Was she in her beauty gathered Underneath Jehovah’s wing. Oft I think I see her standing, Clad in robes of spotless white, And a band of angels round her, With their crowns of glory bright Now I think I hear them singing— Singing songs of joy above— Ever round that happy throne Of our Saviour’s endless love.

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COSTUMES OF ALL NATIONS.—THIRD SERIES. CHAPTER XI. or mitre; and in Isaiah iii. 18, &c., we have a long account of their costume in all its varieties, when THE TOILET IN PALESTINE AND SYRIA. In Dr. Clarke’s “Manners and Customs of the Ancient Israelites,” he says, that “the shape of their dress cannot be exactly known. There is every reason to suppose that it was similar to that of the ancient Egyptians, which consisted of a tunic, a paillium or cloak, and a girdle.” All ancient na- tions seem to have had the same costume, formed of long garments, without much shape or ornament; and, as these were all much alike, they descended from father to son for many generations. The colors most valued among the ancients appear to have been purple, red, and violet; but white was the most used by the Israelites. gated clothes, like the coat of Joseph (Gen. xxxvii. 23). “ And it came to pass, when Joseph was come unto his brethren, that they stript Joseph of his coat, his coat of many colors, that was on him.” Young people wore varie- Their garments, however, were richly ornamented with fringes, borders of color or embroidery, and jewels; and they were ordered to put borders on their robes, to remind them continually of the law of God. On their heads they wore a sort of tiara, like that of the Persians; for, among this people, to be bare-headed was a signof mourning. Their hair was long, for shaving the head marked sorrow and affliction. In the Scriptures, in various parts, we find de- scriptions of the manner in which the Jewish wo- We read in Ezekiel of the fine stuffs of different colors, a silken girdle, purple men attired themselves. shoes, bracelets, a necklace, ear-rings, and a crown the prophet reproaches the daughters of Sion for their vanity and corruption ; and truly, at that time, the love of dress and ornament must have been very prevalent, as we find by the numerous accessories to their toilet enumerated by the prophet. The dress of the Jewish women was splendid with gold and embroidery. The Queen of Judea was ar- “ Thus,” ob- serves Fuller, “such gallantry was fashionable rayed in a garment of wrought gold. amongst the Jews long before any thereof was used in the western parts, or Rome itself; indeed, a mantle of cloth of gold we find mentioned by Pliny as a great novelty, though such a one had been worn by the Jewish queens a thousand years be- fore.” Their trowsers and tunics were made of fine linen, and rich silks embroidered in gold and jewels; they wore also a veil, which fell over the whole person down to the feet. The anklets of gold or silver, often alluded to in Scripture, were very heavy, and The pride and pleasure that the Jewish ladies took in made a ringing sound as the wearer walked. making a tinkling with these ornaments are severely reproved by the prophet Isaiah. It is supposed that the caul alluded to by the prophet was intend- ed to describe the peculiar manner of dressing the hair. It was at that time divided into tresses plait- ed with silk threads, gold ornaments, and golden coins. Besides the anklets, the Jewish women wore ear- rings, nose-jewels, chains of silver and gold, and bracelets. The ear-rings probably contained a verse from the Scriptures, to serve as an amulet or charm, in which most Orientals place much faith, as they believe these amulets have power to avert evils and obtain blessings. They also wore from the waist boxes or bottles containing rich perfume ; these they The Jewish women are still very fond of jewels and fastened to a chain and hung to their girdles, ornaments of every kind, and, wherever they dwell, are usually as much celebrated for the costliness and splendor of their dress as for their great beauty. We must give the description of a court-dress, which is exactly according to the Jewish fashion, and is borrowed from the “Tale of Zillah,” which, though a novel, abounds in interesting and faithful records of the manners, costumes, fashions, and many other details of the Holy City. “She accordingly wore the parti-colored robe, which she had herself embroidered with flowers and gold thread, and of which the sleeves were of the 825

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326 GODEY’s MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, —— we ~~ richest gauze, decorated with ribbons and facings, curiously sewed together. These were blue, which, being a celestial color, was in high favor, and much used for cuffs and trimmings; though it was not deemed decorous to have the whole apparel of this hue, since none more was used about the curtains and veils of the tabernacle. Her under-garment, of fine linen, reaching to the ankles, and bordered also with blue, had been decorated by her own skil- ful needle with clouded colors, which bore the name of feather-work. Across her bosom was a pectoral of byssus, a sort of silk of a golden yellow, formed from the tuft that grows on a large shell-fish of the mussel species, found on the coasts of the Mediter- ranean, for the great men of the earth had not then begun to rob the silkworm of its covering. Her sandals were of badger-skin leather, secured with golden clasps. Her head-dress was of simple, and, according to modern notions, of not very becoming form; for her black and luxuriant locks, being drawn behind the head, were divided into several tresses, their beauty consisting in their length and thickness, and the extremity of each being adorned with pearls and jewels, or ornaments of silver and gold, of which latter metal she also wore narrow, plain cirelets around her wrists and ankles.” In a work published in 1819, called “ Letters from Palestine,” we read: “ The female costume of Palestine is not particularly graceful. The outward robe consists of a loose gown, the skirts of which appear as if hanging from the shoulder-blades; the arms, wrists, and ankles are bound with broad metal rings, and the waist is encircled by a belt, profusely studded with some shining substance, intended, pro- bably, to resemble precious stones. The crown of the head is covered with a compact sort of network, interwrought with plates of gold and silver, so ar- ranged as to conceal a part only of the hair, which flows in profuse ringlets over the neck and shoul- ders; yet even this natural ornament is much in- jured by a custom very prevalent, of interweaving the extremities with silk ribbons, that descend in twisted folds to the feet. The supplemental tresses would inevitably trail on the ground, were it not for the high clogs, or rather stilts, on which women of condition are always raised when they appear in public; many of these are of an extravagant alti- tude, and, if the decorations of the head were of correspondent dimensions, a lady’s face would seem as if fixed in the centre of her figure. The impres- 4ion made on a stranger by such an equipage is certainly very ludicrous. There is, indeed, a whim- sical fantasy here, almost universal in its applica- tion, which seems utterly irreconcilable with all ideas of female delicacy, Nodt only are the cheeks plastered with vermilion, the teeth discolored, and the eyebrows dyed, but the lips and chin are tinged with a dark indelible composition, as if the fair pro- prietors were ambitious of the ornament of a beard.” ener The haick forms the principal garment of the modern inhabitants of Palestine. It is of different sizes and degrees of fineness, usually six yards long, and five or six yards broad, serving frequently for a garment by day, and a bed and covering by night. It is very troublesome to manage, often falling upon the ground; so that the person who wears it is ever) moment obliged to tuck it up, and fold it anew about the body. Jewish females in the East do not wear stockings, and generally use slippers of a red color, embroi dered in gold. They are very much addicted to the use of ornaments. From the lower part of the ears they suspend large gold ear-rings, and three small ones, set with pearls,on the upper part. They load their necks with beads, and their fingers with rings; their wrists and ankles also are adorned with brace- lets and anklets of solid silver, and long gold chains hang from their girdles. “The dress of the Arabs in Syria,” says Dr. Clarke, “is simple and uniform. It consists of a blue shirt, descending below the knees, the legs and feet being exposed, or the latter sometimes covered with the ancient cothurnus or buskins.” Near Jerusalem the ancient sandal is frequently met with, exactly as it is seen on Grecian statues. “A cloak,” continues Dr. Clarke, “is worn, of very coarse and heavy camel’s-hair cloth, almost universally decorated with broad black and white stripes, passing vertically down the back. This is of one square piece, with holes for the arms.” In this we probably behold the form and material of our Saviour’s garment, for which the soldiers cast lots, being without seam, woven from the top throughout. It was the most ancient dress of the inhabitants of this country. The women of Syria do not veil their faces so closely as those of Palestine. They wear robes with so! re: ine wh Th

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SONNET. very long sleeves, hanging quite to the ground; this garment is frequently striped in gaudy colors. The Druses, who inhabit part of Syria, wear a coarse woollen cloak, with white stripes, thrown over a waistcoat and breeches of the same stuff, tied round the waist by a sash. They cover the head with a turban, which is flat at the top, and swells out at the sides. The women wear a coarse blue jacket and petti- coat, but no stockings. Their hair is plaited, and hangs down in tails behind. They wear a singular shaped head-dress, called a tantoor. Page, in his “ Travels,” speaks of it as a silver cone, and says it is evidently the same as Judith’s mitre. Dr. Hogg thus describes one: “In length it was, perhaps, something more than a foot, but in shape had little resemblance to a horn, being a mere hollow tube, increasing in size from the diameter of an ineh and a half at one extremity to three inches at the other, where it terminated like the mouth of a trumpet.” This strange ornament, placed on a cushion, is RAPA LLLP PP PLL PL LL LLLP LPP PPP ttt | : ; ; : : 327 securely fixed to the upper part of the forehead by two silk cords, which, after surrounding the head, hang behind nearly to the ground, terminating in large tassels. The material of which it is made is silver, rudely embossed with flowers, stars, and other devices, and the tassels are often capped with silver. The tantoor of an unmarried female is gene- rally made of stiff paper, or some similar material. On being married, it is the custom for the bride- groom to present his bride with one of silver, ur silver tinsel. A veil is thrown over the smaller ex- tremity of this head-dress, which descends nearly to the feet, and is drawn over the face when the wearer quits the seclusion of her home. Tyre, once the “ Queen of Nations,” was formerly celebrated for the renowned purple dye, which is often mentioned by ancient writers, particularly by Homer and Virgil, who generally arrayed their heroes in vests and tunics of Tyrian purple, some- times plain, at others ornamented. We read in the “« Eneid” of “The vests embroidered of the Tyrian dye ;” and, in another part— “Then two fair vests, of wondrous work and cost, Of purple woven, and with gold embossed, For ornament the Trojan hero brought, Which with her hand Sidonian Dido wrought.” This queen, so celebrated in olden time for being the supposed foundatress of the renowned city of Carthage, appears to have possessed the talents of her countrywomen in the use of the needle; for Virgil often alludes to her skill; and probably the scarf she presented to Aineas was the work of her own fair fingers. Her dress is thus described :— “The queen at length appears; on either hand The brawny guards in martial order stand. A flowered cymarr, with golden fringe, she wore; And at her back a golden quiver bore: Her flowing hair a golden caul restrains ; A golden clasp the Tyrian robe sustains.” SONNET.—GENIUS. BY WM. ALEXANDER. Scunime is thy capacity of thought, All-glorious Genius! Smit with wondrous love Of true and beautiful around, above; Through earth, through ether hast thou ever sough To penetrate; thy earnest wish to grasp The comprehensive laws, which firmly bind The universe of things, with mystic mind In close relationship. Stek’st thou to clasp Finite and infinite within thy arms. Decisive, independent, daring, bold, Nor fear nor danger hath thy course controlled; But onward soaring, scorning all alarms; The Present, Future, and the mighty Past— One boundless theatre is thine at last.

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T A vos D awa) + i H = 7 pes’ a r pS BEAUT BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE. Marianne Wiis, when beheld in an attitude of meditation, was as beautiful a human being as imagination ever drew. Brow, cheek, lips, just such as a young poet would delight to describe, and burn to kiss; and her eyelash, with its long, dark fringe, shaded an eye that merited a whole Petrarch son- net; and then her graceful form, rounded arm, and delicate hand, each deserved its eulogium. But a beauty who cannot speak, is no more to our intel- lectual beaux than a statue. And yet, where is the great advantage in having the faculty of speech, if it be only employed in lisping nonsense? Perhaps the subject has never been considered. I wish it might be proposed for a theme, at some of our col- leges; it would doubtless elicit as many new ideas from the young students, as a “ dissertation on the comparative advantages of Greek and Roman lite- rature.” Marianne Willis was called the “deaf beauty,” and she was the only beauty I ever knew who al- Yet she was not insensible to the admiration she raised ; the ways turned a deaf ear to her own praises. ardent, admiring gaze of those who, for the first time especially, beheld her, always called a deeper glow on her cheek, and she would cast down her bright eyes, and turn away, exhibiting that modesty of feeling which is so truly indicative of the purity of the female heart. A person born blind raises, in the beholder, few We feel, at a glance, the help- It is other- emotions save pity. lessness and hopelessness of the case. wise when we see those who are deaf. There is usually more animation—eagernese, perhaps, would better express what is meant—in the countenance of such an one, than in that of a person who can speak. There is, too, a hilarity in the smile of the deaf that seems to ask amusement, not sympathy. And then the oddity of their gestures, the quickness of their motions, the restlessness of their glances, are apt to inspire a corresponding vivacity in the mind of the beholder. In short, we feel that the spirit of the deaf one is awake, and can hold con- verse with ours, and thus it is much less painful to contemplate a deaf than a blind person. But it was always a positive pleasure to look on Marianne, or rather to have her look on you; she was so lovely, and her features always so lighted up with mirth—it was not till she turned away, and you lost the inspiration of her soul-beaming smile, that the idea of the darkness in which that soul must be shrouded came over yours. The melan- choly truth then fell so sorrowfully, that tears, even 328 2 ? ? ‘ rf 5 , ‘ 5 } 5 ) ) ; ? 5 2 ) ; > > ; ¢ from firm men, were often the tribute of grief for her Tears—one glance from her laughing She was as hap- misfortune. eyes in a moment dispelled them. py as she seemed, as happy as she was innocent; she had never known a single sorrow or privation. She had been tended and watched over from the hour of her birth, by the untiring, vigilant, and affectionate care of parents who loved her a thou- sand times better for the misfortune that made their watchfulness so necessary. They had taught her everything she could be made to comprehend con- cerning her duties, and scrupulously did she perform them; especially in adhering to truth, she was so strict that never, even in her gayest moments, dida sign or gesture, intended to deceive, escape her. This charming creature, much more deserving the epithet angelic than the fine and fashionable belles to whom it is so often applied, lived in the retire- ment, then almost solitude, of one of the western counties in the State of New York. Till she was eighteen, she had never been out of sight of the house in which she was born. About that time, Marianne, to the oft-repeated and urgent request of her aunt, was permitted to visit her. and spend a few weeks in Albany. Her beauty, and the naireté of her air, were so exquisite, that Mrs. Drew, in the pride of her heart, could not resist the temptation of introducing the sweet girl to society, and accom- panying her to places of amusement, although Mrs. Drew had promised she would do neither. Mrs. Willis had enjoined it on her sister not to indulge Marianne in pleasures, which, as she did not know existed, she did not require to make her happy; but, should she once taste them, the remembrance might give her a disrelish for those simple enjoy- ments that had hitherto made her bliss. Perhaps it will be thought her parents did wrong to allow her to go to Albany, and visit in the family They always blamed them- When people of a fashionable lady. selves. And yet, why should they? act from a sincere motive of doing what, on the whole, they deem right and expedient, and caleu- lated to give happiness to others or themselves, should a disappointment of these expectations in- volve self-reproach? Ithink not. We may regret misfortune—we should feel remorse only for guilt. Mrs. Drew should have felt remorse, for she was guilty of violating her word; but she always ex- cused herself from all blame, saying, “ Who would have thought just going to half a dozen parties, and a few balls, and once or twice to the theatre, could have been productive of evil consequences ?”

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el THE DEA At the theatre, Marianne attracted the notice of Captain Hall, a young naval officer, who was on a visit to some friendsin Albany. He was astonished, almost annihilated, by the charms of the deaf girl, and determined to see her again. He was a gay and thoughtless man, but generous as well as warm- hearted ; and the pity he felt for the misfortune of the fair girl whom he was pleased to style “ divine,” augmented his passion. Yet he never dreamed of marrying her—that was entirely out of the ques- tion ; still he wanted to look upon her, to talk about her, and to engross, if possible, her attention. He was not acquainted with Mrs. Drew; but, as his re- lations were among the honorables of the city, an introduction to her was very easy. She was quite as much flattered by the bow and compliment he made her on his first visit, as he was by the blush and smile Marianne gave him. Thus they were mutually pleased, and he continued to call daily, and accompany them in their walks, and to their parties, always contriving to take the hand of Ma- rianne, and who would suppose he could relinquish it without a pressure? The only way in which he could express a tender compliment. Marianne did not, at first, seem at all pleased with his attentions; and to flatter her by the usual modes was impossible. She could listen to no praises of her beauty, taste, or mind ; but she could feel grati- tude for kindnesses ; and, unfortunately, she ascribed to the kindness of Hall the opportunities she now so often enjoyed of visiting places of amusement, and she was thankful for his attentions; and it was not long before, when he pressed her hand, he felt the pressure returned. Mrs. Drew could not but notice the change in her niece. From being constantly cheerful, and testi- fying pleasure and interest in all she saw, she began to droop and be melancholy, except in the presence of Captain Hall. She watched for him when ab- sent, she met him with unrestrained joy; and yet she would blush, and be offended, if rallied concern- ing him. It seemed she had an idea that her love for him must be as secret as it was sacred. Mrs. Drew saw all this, and yet she took no measures to prevent Captain Hall from associating daily with her niece. At the expiration of a month, Mr. Willis came for his daughter; but she refused to accompany him home, and the uneasiness she testified when he urged her to go, made him suspect something be- sides the attractions of her aunt’s house induced her wish to tarry in Albany. After some inquiries, so pointed and particular Mrs. Drew could not evade them, the father discovered the cause of Marianne’s tears and emotion. Mr. Willis was a plain farmer, but a man of good sense, and some acquaintance with the world; and, moreover, he had a thorough knowledge of his daughter’s disposition. He knew if she could be convinced that there was no truth in the heart of the man she thought Joved her, or, at VOL. XLV.—28 oa] z BEAUTY. 329 least, that he would pay the same attentions to any other girl whose beauty happened to please him, Marianne would renounce him at once. Mr. Willis, therefore, waited on Captain Hall, and frankly told him the mischief his thoughtless gallantry had caused, and asked of him, as a man of honor, to make the reparation of undeceiving Marianne. “T admire your daughter’s beauty and disposi- 7 tion,” said the impassioned young man; “could she but speak, I should prefer her to any woman on earth.” “Yet, as she never will speak, you have no inten- tion of marrying her,” replied Mr. Willis, coolly. “Tam not intending to upbraid you, sir, any more than myself and sister Drew. We have all been to blame, and now that dear, innocent child, who is as free from guile as an infant, must suffer. It is to shorten the term of her uneasiness that I ask you to undeceive her. The pang of knowing she has been deceived she must endure.” Captain Hall changed color so many times, and, in spite of his efforts, betrayed so much agitation, that Mr. Willis was convinced his daughter was not the only sufferer ; yet, as he knew the young sailor would never marry Marianne—indeed, he would not have consented that he should—he deemed it his duty to insist that she should not be left in any doubt on the subject. Captain Hall, at length, agreed to what Mr. Willis proposed. A party was made at the house of Mrs. Drew, and while Marianne watchedy with a feverish rest- lessness, the entrance of every visitor, Captain Hall made his appearance, escorting two very fine ladies. He attended and talked to them all the evening, paying no attention, except by a distant bow, to Marianne. The next morning her eyes were swoll- en, and her cheeks pale, yet she insisted on start- ing for home. Her father consented. As they drove out of the city, they met Captain Hall in a carriage, with one of the ladies he escorted the even- ing before. Marianne hid her face as soon as she recognized him. He turned pale as he noticed the action, and stopped his chaise as if to speak. Mr. Willis, with a motion of the hand, and a look so determined, yet melancholy, that Hall dared not disregard it, bade him drive on. The carriages passed, and Captain Hall and Marianne never met again. No allusion was ever made by Marianne concern- ing her lover; and her parents hoped she would again enjoy the simple pleasures of home, and for- get the disappointment she had suffered. But the charm that had made life so pure and pleasant, the charm of thinking the professions of those who ex- pressed affection and interest for her sincere, was departed. She had worshipped truth—she found the world false—her spirit was not formed to endure it; and she could not have recourse to the maxims of philosophy, or, what is far better, the promises of Christianity, to aid her to resign her hopes of

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GODEY’S 330 felicity here, and seek her portion in that world where truth is bliss. She appeared calm and re- signed ; but there was in her manner an apathy, almost a deadness of feeling, towards those objects and friends that seemed once to interest every faculty of her mind. She never complained of pain, but she evidently declined; her beauty did not MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. fade ; she retained her angelic charms till the last ; and, after her pure soul had departed, the clay it had once inhabited looked too holy to resign to cor- ruption and the worm. She was buried beneath the shade of a broad sycamore, and the white rosebush planted at her head still droops over her grave. FRENCH NOVELS. Miss Enceworrn, in a letter dated April 23d, 1838, thus expresses herself concerning French novels: “ All the fashionable French novelists will soon be reduced to advertising for a NEW VICE, in- stead of, like the Roman Emperor, simply for a new pleasure. It seems to be with the Parisian novelists a first principle now, that there is no pleasure with- out vice, and no vice without pleasure; but that the old world vices having been exhausted, they must strain their genius to invent new; and so they do, in the most wonderful and approved bad manner, if I may judge from the few specimens I have looked at—M. de Balzac, for example, who certainly is a man of genius, and as certainly ‘a de l’esprit comme un DEMON.’ I should think that he had not the least idea of the difference between right and wrong, only that he does know the difference by his regularly preferring the wrone, and crying up all the Ladies of error, as Anges de tendresse. His pathos has always, as the Anti-Jacobin so well said of certain German sentimentalists, and as the Duch- ess of Wellington aptly quoted to me, of a poetic genius of later days—his pathos has always “A tear for poor guilt.” CHARM OF A FAMILIAR OBJECT SEEN IN ITS HAPPIEST LIGHT. Mrs. Carrer, speaking of her journey home, in one of her letters to Mrs. Montagu, says, “I need not tell you, for Iam sure you feel it, how much J longed for you to share with me in every view that pleased me; but there was one of such strik- ing beauty, that I was half wild with impatience at your being so many miles distant. To be sure the wise people, and the gay people, and the silly people of this worky-day world, and for the matter of that, all the people but you and I, would laugh to hear that this object which I was so undone at your not seeing, was no other than a single honey- suckle. It grew in a shady lane, and was surround- ed by the deepest verdure, while its own figure and coloring, which were quite perfect, were illuminated by a ray of sunshine. There are some common ob- LANGE. PAP AAAARAAARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA jects, sometimes placed in such a situation, viewed in such a light, and attended by such accompaniments, as to be seen but once in a whole life, and to give one @ pleasure entirely new; and this was one of them.”—Vol. i. p. 117. VALUE OF A FAITHFUL SERVANT. “T weARTILY condole with you on the loss of your housekeeper,” Mrs. Carter says in a letter to Mrs. Montagu. “You deserved such a treasure as a faithful servant, by knowing how to set the proper value on it. There would be many more probably of the same character as you describe, if their su- periors had generosity enough to consider them, as you do, in a proper light. One too often sees people act as if they thought the dependence was wholly on one side; and asif they had no idea that the several relations of life consist in a mutual aid and recipro- cation of benefits.”—Vol. i. p. 14. HUMAN NATURE OPPOSITELY ESTIMATED. “ From those that have searched into the state of human nature, we have sometimes received very different and incompatible accounts; as though the inquirers had not been so much learning, as fash- ioning the subject they had in hand; and that as arbitrarily as a heathen carver, that could make either a god or a tressel out of the same piece of wood. For some have cry’d down Nature into such a des- perate impotency, as would render the grace of God ineffectual ; and others, on the contrary, have invest- ed her with such power and self-sufficiency, as would render the grace of God superfluous. The first of these opinions wrongs Nature in defect, by allowing her no strength, which in consequence must make men desperate. The second wrongs Nature in ex- cess by imputing too much strength, which in effect must make men confident; and both of them do equally destroy the reason of our application to God for strength. For neither will the man that is well in conceit, nor yet the desperate, apply himself to a Physician; because the one cries there is no need, the other, there is no help.”—Dzawn Youne’s Sermons, vol. i. p. 4.

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LE MELANGE. ww MORAL IDOLATRY. ‘ Tue Soul of man, like common nature, admits no vacuum ; if God be not there, Mammon must be ; and it is as impossible to serve neither, as it is to serve both. And for this there is an essential reason in our constitution. For man is designed and born an indigent creature, full of wants and appetites, and a restless desire of happiness, which he can by no means find within himself; and this indispensa- bly obliges him to seek for happiness abroad. Now if he seek his happiness from God, he answers the very intention of his frame, and has made a wise choice of an object that is adequate to all his wants and desires. But then if he does not seek his hap- piness from God, he must necessarily seek it some- where else ; for his appetites cannot hang long un- determined, they are eager, and must have their quarry: Jf he forsake the Fountain of Living Wa- ters, yet he cannot forsake his thirst, and therefore he lies under the“hecessity of hewing out broken cisterns to himself; he must pursue, and at least promise himself satisfaction in other enjoyments. Thus when our hope, our trust, and our expectations abate towards God, they do not abate in themselves, but are only scattered among undue and inferior objects. And this makes the connection infallible between Indevotion and Moral Idolatry; that is, between the neglect of God’s worship, and worship- ing the creature ; for whatsoever share we abate to- wards God, we always place upon something else ; and whatsoever thing else we prosecute with that share of love, desire, or complacency, which is due unto God, that is in effect our idol..—Dean Youne’s Sermons, vol. i. p. 19. EPITAPH IN PANCRAS CHURCHYARD. UnpeRNEETHE this stone doth lye The body of Mr. Humphrie Jones who was of late By trade a tin plate Worker in Barbicanne Well known to be a goode man By all his friends and neighbors too And paid every bodie their due He died in the year 1737 Aug. 4th aged 80 his soul we hopes in heaven. SECRET VIRTUE OF FLOWERS. “T was seated one day,” says TADJAD-DIN AHMED (in his description of the Sanctuary of Jerusalem), “in a place covered with anemonies and camomils; near me was a poor man in rags, who smiled, and from time to time lifted up his voice to sing the praise and the greatness of God. [He sang thus: Praise be to him who collects in thee, O holy city, all that is beautiful! who clothes thee with this magnificent robe, and who showers upon thee the treasures of this world and of the next. Sir, I made ~ PPA PLA LAL PALL MPAARALRAARALAL Rar 331 answer, as to beauty, a man need only open his eyes and be satisfied ; but where are these worldly trea- sures? He replied, there is not one among all the flowers which thou seest, that has not extraordinary virtues known well unto those who study them. Perhaps, I answered, you will show me something to convince me farther, and to make this conversa- tion profitable. Then he took me by the hand, led me some steps towards the sanctuary, plucked up a handful of herbs, and said to me, hast thou a ring or a piece of money? Yes, I replied, giving him a piece of silver. He rubbed it with one herb, and it became yellow like a ducat; then he took another herb and rubbed it again, and it became as it had been before. See, quoth he, the secrets in which the treasures are contained. Praise be to God Al- mighty.”—Fundgruben des Orients, vol. ii. p. 94. ILL-GOTTEN GOLD. “ Goxp well gotten is bright and fair; but there is gold which rusts and cankers. The stores of the man who walks according to the will of God are under a special blessing; but the stores which have been unjustly gathered are accursed. ‘Your gold and your silver is cankered, and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat up your flesh as fire.’ Far better have no gold at all, than gold with that curse upon it. Far better let cold pinch this frame, or hunger gnaw it, than that the rust of ill-gotten gold should eat it up as fire. Per- haps you may, once or twice in your life, have passed a person whose countenance struck you with painful amazement. It was the face of a man, with features as of flesh and blood, but all hue of flesh and blood was gone, and the whole visage was over- spread with a dull silver gray, and a mysterious metallic gloss. You felt wonder, you felt curiosity ; but a deep impression of the unnatural made pain the strongest feeling of all which the spectacle ex- cited. You found it was a poor man, who, in dis- ease, had taken mercury till it transfused itself through his skin, and glistened in his face. Now go where he will he exhibits the proof of his disor- der, and of the large quantity of metal he has con- sumed. If you had an eye to see the souls that are about you, many would you see—alas! too many— who are just like that; they have swallowed doses of metal—ill-gotten, cankered, rusted metal—till all purity and beauty are destroyed. Of all poisons and plagues, the deadliest you can admit to your heart is gain which fraud has won. The curse of the Judge is in it; the curse of the Judge will never leave it; it is woe and withering, and death to you; it will eat you up as fire; it will witness against you: ay, were that poor soul of yours, at this precise moment, to pass into the presence of its Judge, the proof of its money-worship would be as clear on its visage, as the proof that the man we have described has taken mercury is strikingly plain upon him.”

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THE VOYAGER. BY MISS MoonuiGat upon the waters! A cold and sullen gleam. A shattered bark is floating Adown the turbid stream. And gloomy cliffs are frowning On either side and steep, And o’er the dark waves casting Their shadows broad and deep. The leafless trees are tossing Their huge arms to and fro— And like a gibbet creaking The moaning branches go. Between the black trunks peering, Gaunt fearful beasts look forth— And now a chill and demon blast Comes stealing from the north. A cold, unblessed moonlight! With fitful gleam it shone, While in that boat was steering An old man pale and wan. And onward as he glided Over the darksome wave, His course a moment pausing, A backward glance he gave. What sees he in the distance Come floating down the stream? Doth not his sight deceive him? And is it not a dream? Ah no! too well he knoweth, Though weary years have passed Since he, that sad and lonely man, Had looked upon them last. The sweet hopes he had cherished In happy boyhood’s time— And some that onward lured him In manhood'’s early prime. And pale and lovely corses, Mournful they swept him by: The old man gazed upon them With sad and teardlimmai eye, While dead, and yet so beautiful, The sweet hopes floated there, With that cold moonlight gleaming Upon the long wet hair. As, one by one, they passed him, With pale and upturned face, E. 8. NORTON. Of each so well remembered The features he mighi trace. That spectral host swept by him, And he was left alone; No sound to break the stillness, Save the wind’s sad mournful tone. Hoarsely the billow roareth, And dark clouds veil the sky—- And like an ice-bolt to his frame The bitter blast sweeps by. Coldly the snow-flake falleth Upon his thin gray hair— Yet not of this he recketh, Wrapt in his deep despair. For who shall give him back again The loved now passed away? What unto him remaineth, That lone old man and gray! His eyes to Heaven he raiseth, Above that stormy air: Who, like a sunbeam smiling, Looks down upon him there? Ah yes! serenely smiling, With eyes of love and truth, Still beckons on the sweetest hope That cheered him in his youth. And joy his heart rekindled, And he wept with blissful tears, And cried, “ Lead on, I follow thee, Star of my early years!” “ Amid the throng thou wert not That passed so sadly by; Though long thou wert forgotten, Still art thou ever nigh.” And on once more he steereth— His heart is firm and bold; He heedeth not the dashing wave, Nor winter’s icy cold. And as he hastened onward, To reach his haven far, That one blest hope above him Was still his guiding star, Until, his journey ended, His toilsome voyage o’er, His little boat he anchored Upon a peaceful shore. Charlestown, Mass.

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WOMAN IN HER SOCIAL RELATIONS. BY HENRY E. WOODBURY. To raise the virtues, animate the bliss, And sweeten all the toils of human life, This be the female dignity and praise —THomson. ProspaBiy no age has been characterized by so many favorable auspices as that in which we live. The nineteenth century may be appropriately termed the “age of progress,” for never before has the march of improvement in the arts and sciences, and the consequent amelioration of man’s social and moral condition, been so strikingly progressive. When, aided by the ever-beaming light of history, we endeavor to compare the state of the present with that of past ages, do we not find a field for contem- plation so boundless that the mind shrinks from it, conscious of its own inability to perform faithfully so comprehensive a task? But while a change so favorable to man has been going or, while empires have been subverted, the great principles of politi- cal liberty promulgated, and the very elements made humble ministers to the “lords of creation,” there has been a principle developing itself which cannot fail to excite the warmest admiration of every be- nevolent heart, the principle which accords to the empire of Woman that degree of dignity and respect which it rightly deserves. Woman—at the mention of this name what associations crowd into the mind !— woman, as sister, wife, or mother, in each and all of these relations, the same gentle, confiding, affection- ate, and devoted being, living not for herself, but for those “near and dear” to her. Would you know the depths of Woman’s affections? Can you fathom he mighty ocean? Would you know the strength of her love? Can you twist the tough oak, that hath withstood the storms of a century, from its deep- rooted place? Would you comprehend the length and breadth of her sympathies? Can you embrace the world at a glance? Would you learn the seope of her patience? Can you count the sands upon the shore? Would you see the noblest elements of our nature fully developed? Would you behold the triumphs of love, affection, sympathy, and patience, in all their strength and beauty? Where can you find them so fairly exemplified as in “A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command— And yet a spirit still, and bright, With something of an angel light.” In the first place, we shall take a brief view of woman in that relation in which she may exert an influence that will remain as long as life—woman What a beautiful sphere is here presented 23* as sister. ‘ t for the exercise of all those delicate virtues that adorn her gentle nature! In this relation, what a responsibility rests upon her! How many little acts of kindness she may perform for the younger mem- bers of the family, that will tend to make them al- most idolize her! What a pure, lovely, delightful influence she may shed about the consecrated shrine of home! With how much earnestness can she enter into the feelings of those around her, rejoicing with them in their happiness, and sympathizing with them in their sorrows, cares, or disappointments ! We have never witnessed a more beautiful spec- tacle than that of a sister sacrificing her own com- fort and happiness, to the end that she might gratify a brother whom she almost worshipped. There are elements in woman’s nature that adapt her in a wonderful degree to sustain this beautiful relation. The strength of her affections, her fixedness of pur- pose, her invincible patience, and her native purity of heart—these qualities go far in making her what she should be in this capacity, the subject of our holiest aspirations, the object of our most devoted care. Truly a good sister is a treasure, the value of which we can never fully realize, until circum- stances cause us to be separated from it. When in a land of strangers sorrow visits us, it is then we are taught indeed a sister’s worth. When we miss the sweet accents of her tongue, pouring into the aching heart the heavenly balm of consolation, and the bright smile of hope playing upon her lip; when she is no longer present to be our guardian angel to cheer, soothe, advise, or bless us by her thousand little acts of kindness, then it is, and only then, that we can truly feel there is no treasure like a sister's love. We have heard a sister appeal in all the force of natural eloquence to the feelings of a dissipated brother. We have seen the strong man moved to trembling; yes, unnerved by those sweet, earnest, and persuasive tones. And we have known him who was sunk in the lowest depths of degradation and misery to be “rescued as a brand from the burning,” through the kind and timely influence which no one but a sister can well exert. Such is the sister, a guardian angel, a precious treasure, a bright star in the constellation of home. Cherish her as such, and Heaven’s richest blessings shall be thy reward! Let not her native gentleness and purity be contaminated by the rough blasts of 333

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334 GODEY’s ~_— sorrow and of vice. Hers is a lofty sphere, and the influence she may exert over the younger members of the household will tend, in a great measure, to the promotion in them of all those exalted virtues which are the admiration and the pride of the lovely, pure, and good. But there is another sphere in which we find woman exerting an important influence—that of wife. There is not probably in the whole life of woman an era so particularly interesting as that at which she assumes this high relation. Up to this period, she has been under the guidance and pro- tection of those who felt the warmest interest in her welfare, and gratified her every wish, so far as was consistent with circumstances. But now she feels that she is about to leave the dear friends of her youth, and to place her unlimited confidence in one who is to prove himself her best friend, and to supply the place, in point of friendly counsel and sincere affection, of father, mother, sister, and brother, or who may act the baser part of the cool, heartless villain. Ob, what an experiment! a dan- gerous experiment is this, for the young lady of warm and generous feelings, surrounded by all of the best comforts of life, to make. She may be deceived. Thousands have been. She may be for- tunate. Well may she rejoice if she is. But let her not forget that there is much depending on herself as regards this matter. In this exalted po- sition, she has a weighty obligation to discharge. It is her peculiar duty in this sphere to make home happy. She will indeed be happy if she succeed in this, and happier by far will be the man who holds her love. Do we hear you ask, How can woman do this? Wherein consists this grand secret of making home happy? We believe that the first great obstacle in the way of domestic happiness will be found, in the majority of cases, to result from a spirit of discon- tent. The good wife must possess that best of ail qualities—a cheerful and contented spirit. This, in itself, is a source of continual bliss, for it robs life of more than half its cares. It gives a gentleness of manner and a happiness of look to her who possesses it. It sheds a halo of brightness around the holy altar of home, and fans continually the pure and lovely flame of affection. Contentment is, indeed, the sunlight of the soul, inspiring with fresh life and beauty everything which may come in its way. It shows us how to be philosophers, and teaches us to make the best of life, causing us to tread lightly on the thorns that may beset our path. By all means, then, should the wife cultivate a spirit of contentment in its broadest sense, combined with Christian resignation, amidst the most trying scenes of life. happy illustration of the quality of which we speak. Arriving at the gates of a city late in the evening, he found them closed. Being fatigued, he prepared to take up with such quarters as the nature of the The story of the Eastern traveller is a | MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. ~~ place afforded. “It is God’s will, and I am con- tent,” said he, as he fastened his horse to a tree. Lighting his lamp, he sat down to read awhile ere he retired for the night. Just then a gust of wind extinguished his light. “’Tis God’s will,” said the traveller ; “he knows what is best.” His horse next became restive, broke his fastening, and ran away. Alone, fatigued, and exposed to numberless dangers, the traveller’s confidence was still unshaken. “I am content, for it is God’s work.” Committing himself to the protection of Providence, he soon fell asleep, and slept soundly till morning. On awaking, he found the city in ruins. A band of robbers had entered it during the night, and, after having plun- dered it and killed the inhabitants, had set it on fire. Then said the traveller, “Truly has the hand of God been outstretched to save me, for, had [ reached the city before nightfall, I should have shared’ the fate of its unfortunate inhabitants. I am content. Blessed be his name who has so gra- ciously preserved me !” The same spirit of contentment and resignation manifested by the traveller should be an element in the character of her who would be a good wife. If it be an attribute of our nature that we must meet with disappointments and reverses, how much no- bler it is in us to encounter them with a resolute and contented spirit, when come they will, than it is for us continually to brood over imaginary evils! Franklin mentions an incident proving the value of a good wife. Several young mechanics were at work upon a house near his office. One of these always seemed very happy. However cold or dis- agreeable the day, a smile played upon his face, and he had a kind word for every one he met. Asking him the grand secret of his happiness, he replied, “T have one of the best of wives. When I enter the house after the labors of the day, she greets me with a kiss, then tea is ready, and she informs me of the numerous little acts of kindness she has been doing for my comfort during the day. Who could be otherwise than happy, in the possession of such a wife as mine?” The philosopher adds that he no longer wondered at the happiness of the young man, and enjoins upon wives that they follow the exam- pie of her who made home happy. Let us consider woman in another sphere. If there be one word in our language that is associated more closely with the secret springs of our nature than any other—a word that is fairly enshrined in the heart of every individual, at the sound of which the blood circulates through the system with a freer flow, and the heart throbs with an accelerated speed —in short, if there be a word dearer than any other to the noble generous heart, is not that word Mo- ther? The first accents of the child lisp it: should not the “child of larger growth” revere it? Who does not love its sound? Who does not almost idolize the name of her who gave him being, who watched over him during the hours of his helpless

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WOMAN IN infancy, and with heartfelt delight hailed the first development of his youthful powers, the first faint glimmerings of immortal mind. That ministering angel who regarded not only the physical, but also those nobler, more exalted requirements of her child—the moral and the intellectual—is she not worthy of the highest honor and purest affection that child can bestow? What a beautiful manifestation of filial affection was that exhibited by Napoleon when, after his successes, he was greeted as con- queror, and had assumed the imperial purple! Walking in the gardens of St. Cloud, he met his mother. Half earnestly, half seriously, he extended his hand that she might kiss it. Indignantly she flung it back, and, tendering her own, exclaimed, “ C’est & vous & baiser la main de celle qui vous a donné la vie.” Napoleon immediately stooped over his mother’s hand, and affectionately kissed it. This simple act was worthy of the man, and speaks a volume in his favor. There cannot be a truer in- dication of a good heart than is found in the mani- festation of gratitude and love to a mother. Pass- ing through one of our loveliest cemeteries, my attention was attracted by a plain white marble shaft bearing only the inscription, “ Our mother.” What a comprehensive epitaph! How plainly does it unfold the secret workings of the souls of those who reared it! What a tale of heartfelt gratitude and filial affection is embodied in that simple phrase, “ Our mother !” Of all the impressions made upon the youthful mind, none are so lasting as those received from a mother. While the rough finger of time may eradi- cate almost all others, these become, as it were, a part of our nature, controlling motives, exerting a powerful influence over us in all the affairs of life. And this fact is sustained by the evidence of many of the greatest men that have ever lived. Perhaps of all whom the world has honored with the appel- lation of great, more than one-half might, with the strictest propriety, inscribe on their escutcheons as the motto of their success, the simple word, “ Mo- ther.” Truly weighty then are the obligations devolving on woman in the discharge of her duties in this relation. The formation of character is hers. And may she not be in a great measure responsible for the future welfare or misery of her child, just in proportion as she discharges faithfully, or neglects to discharge, her obligations to him? The child is father of the man, and the seed sown in the mould- ing of youthful character must bring forth good or evil fruit in the harvest of mature age. Ay, its influence will be felt by future generations, and it remains with the mother whether those who in fu- ture time may be affected by the acts of her child, shall have reason to bless or curse the name of her who gave him being. So far does the influence exerted by the mother affect the character of the child that we may, with a considerable degree of confidence, make the assertion, Show us a good HER SOCIAL RELATIONS. eerereeeeeeoeeeeeeeeeeerr rrerererrOrmr>O™Y | : ; | | | : > 335 “_ mother, and we will show you a good son. Many a young man of warm sensibilities and fine intellectual acquirements has been obliged to attribute his want of suecess in the business of life to the false impres- sions received from a mother, whose errors (to her sorrow be it said) were errors of the head, not of the heart. In the almost faultless character of a Wash- ington, we see written in lines of living light a true biography of her whose noble virtues were only reflected in the career of so distinguished a son. Let mothers emulate her in the training of their children, and the character of American women shall be placed upon a foundation which no spirit of detraction nor jealousy can ever undermine. Tossed by the ever-varying blasts of life, the favorite of fortune, or the victim of adversity, man may change. But woman, resigned in the darkest hour, and cherishing hope under the most trying Truly has it ” circumstances, still proves the same. been said of her, “she loves, and loves forever. From yonder low casement issues a faint glimmer of light. ’Tis the lone hour of midnight. Let us for a moment intrude upon the quiet of that lowly What is the scene that presents itself to our view? Behold before you the shattered wreck of one whose features, though deeply marked by lines of care and sorrow, prove that she was once no stranger to beauty. She has seen better days; but mark her now! Why does she ply so industriously the needle, and at this late hour? On that miserable pallet, behold those dearer to her than life. They must have bread, and it is for this that poor woman is sacrificing those few, feeble sparks of vitality which still remain, to bind her broken spirit to its weary tenement of clay. Hard, hard indeed is her lot. Her husband is an inebriate the lowest depths of misery, and perhaps at this very hour is spending in the dram-shop the scanty earn- ings of that devoted mother and wife. Sad are the days of that poor woman, sadder still her nights, when, in silence and loneliness, she may brood over her gloomy lot. Many a pure prayer has ascended to the mercy-seat from the inmate of that humble cheerless dwelling; but the object of her heart’s affection remains the same, and she seems to be deserted not only by him who should have been her protector and supporter, but also by that Being who is the guardian and father of all. Dark, gloomy though her lot may be, methinks in a spirit of hea- venly resignation she breathes, “ Even so, father, for thus it seemed good in thy sight.” And this is no picture of the imagination; ’tis but “an ower true tale.” Have we not found, in our own experience, instances of a like kind? Have we not seen the calm, resigned, confiding spirit of woman, opposed to the rougher, colder, more hardened na- ture of man? Have we not witnessed, over and over again, the struggles of earnest, true-hearted woman against that grim-visaged monster, poverty prompted by the noble sentiments she uttered, when dwelling. sunk in

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336 : GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. LLL eee EO OO eee ———— — eee at the altar she committed her future destiny into the keeping of the man of her choice? Beautiful, indeed, are those virtues in the nature of woman that only shine the brighter when tested by the stern ordeal of affliction and neglect. Woman by nature is admirably fitted for her sphere. Although her physical constitution is by far weaker than that of man, she possesses a strength of will, and an energy of purpose, that render her powers of endurance, under affliction or distress, much stronger than his. At the bedside of the sick, on the field of battle, in all the most trying events and accidents of life, we find innu- merable proofs of this. Wherever we behold the direful visitations of misfortune, disease, or distress, there also we find the gentle influence of a minis- tering angel, in the guise of that being who was “last at the cross, and first at the sepulchre.” The classic writer of Sunny Side,* after having alluded to the fortitude with which women undergo misfor- tune and reverses, introduces the following beautiful simile: As the vine, which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak, and been lifted by it {nto sunshine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, eling around it with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its shattered boughs, so it is beautifully ordered by Providence that woman, who is the mere dependent and ornament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten with sudden calamity ; winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly support- ing the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart. Woman has been the theme of the poet and the novelist from the earliest times to the present. Some writers who have made her their subject have been more ready to censure than to praise, to ridicule than flatter. But for all such we must make due allowances. We find a Shakspeare, for example, expressing such sentiments as the following: “ Frailty, thy name is woman.” “Ay me, how weak a thing the heart of woman is!” “These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.” “There is never a fair woman has a true face.” But should we not take into consideration the position occupied by woman at the time he wrote, the general laxity of manners that then prevailed, ere we rebuke too harehly the genius of a Shakspeare for having been thus severe with the fairer sex? If another has said, “Oh, woman, woman, whether lean or fat, In face an angel, but in soul a cat,” we can readily excuse so ungallant a rhyme, sup- posing, of course, this poor fellow to have wedded a fair shrew. A third has said, “ Women, like moths, are always caught by glare,’ And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.” —— —— * Name of Irving's country-seat. PPP EEL PLL IL ILL LD Jilted this one must have been, his beau idéal pre- ferring the adoration of mammon to that of love. ‘hus if we proceeded, should we not find some good apology for every one? But opposed to such, we find many like these we now cite :— “ When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou.” “There is that sweetness in a female’s mind Which in a man’s we cannot hope to find.” “The falling snow descends To prove her breast less fair— But, grieved to see itself surpassed, It melts into a tear.” “Woman, be fair; we must adore thee; Smile, and a world is weak before thee.” “The world was sad, the garden was a wild; And man, the hermit, sighed, till woman smiled.” “ Without a smile from partial beauty won, Say, what were man? A world without a sun.” “Last, softly beautiful, as music’s close, Angelic woman into being rose.” It is thus that authors of undoubted genius have portrayed woman. If some have been too severe in their criticisms, others have been too partial. If some have represented her in all her native purity of heart, as an angel of light, others have shown us how revolting she appears when, regardless of her own high destiny, she has buried, in infamy and dis- grace, the existence which Heaven designed should reflect beams of cheerfulness and purity upon the broad-spread waste of life. The inquiry, can woman approach man in an in- tellectual point of view? is often made. If we do not bring forward any new arguments to prove the affirmative of this question, we may at least be allowed to express our views in relation to it. The great majority of those who have considered this subject favor the negative. They assert that her reasoning powers may be quicker in their operations, and that her conclusions may be very accurate; but then she lacks that real vigor of thought, so essential to the attainment of intellectual greatness. They deem her too weak and fickle a being to excel in let- ters, and a knowledge of the arts and sciences. These, they say, do not belong to her sphere. We would by no means be considered an advocate for female rights societies, but deem it perfectly proper that woman in this relation should receive her full meed of praise. Let us fora moment glance at the catalogue of lady writers. Do we not find here the names of many who rank high indeed?—a Marti- neau, a More, a Hemans, a Hale, a Bremer, an Edgeworth, an Osgood, a Sigourney, a Willard, a Howitt, a Smith, a Forester, a Sherwood, a Landon, a Greenwood ;* have not these, with numerous others, performed a truly worthy part in the great world of literature? Then we would refer you to a De Stael, * Miss Clarke. i i i eee ie

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SELF-MADE MEN. 337 AARARAAAM RAAAA AAA APA Pe PPP Arr PPP PPP PL PPPLLAPRAPL LAM whose gigantic intellect caused even the “Child of { too much the public mind in our progressive age; Destiny” to tremble at the powerful emanations from } but we would have her better fitted intelle ctually for her pen. But if those who dissent from our views the faithful performance of the lofty trust reposed on this subject ask us where we find a second De { in her, as the being who is to give an indelible stamp Stael, or a second Hemans—viewing them only as { to the future character of our country, and the world. grand exceptions te the general rule—we boldly ask } And we should find that this, so far from causing in reply, where is your second Shakspeare? where ; her to assume a false position, so far from making your second Byron? The fact that woman has ex- } her desire to exercise prerogatives unbecoming to celled in literature establishes sufficiently the prin- } her, would give her a correct view of her own sphere, ciple that, under propitious circumstances, she may and of the relations she sustains in it to others. It acquire intellectual greatness. Nor is it at all to is generally the case that those who are most en- be wondered at that she so seldom arrives to an { thusiastic in advocating their rights are the very eminence equal with man in this respect, if we con- { persons who, had they been properly educated, would sider how great a disparity there is in the early ; have plainly perceived the inconsistency and folly mental training of the two. Of the fact that the { of the scheme they vindicate. The great policy of intellectual wants of woman are too little attended woman in the present age is, we believe, the cor- to in our own country—that the whole system of { rection of those errors in sentiment and education female education is sadly defective—there can be { into which a few ambitious spirits have betrayed very little doubt; and when we behold such a reform ; her; proving, by her contempt of everything like as is really needed in this, then we may expect to } agitation or uncalled-for excitement, that her only see woman occupying the dignified position which ; proper hall of legislation is Home, and that she who her lofty destiny so richly entitles her to. ’ makes the politics of home her peculiar study, dis- In advocating thus her peculiar claims and privi- { charges more faithfully her duty, enhances her own leges, we do not demand too much for her. We } happiness, and that of those about her, adds much would by no means have her introduced into a } to the dignity of her position, and encircles, with an sphere that does not belong to her; nor would we } amaranthine wreath of purity and brightness, the have her whole attention engrossed by those prevail- ; cherished name of Woman, ing excitements in the political world that influence an TWADT Ti SELF-MADE avi Tu IN « FRANCIS JOSEPH HAYDN, MUSICIAN AND 3 One Sunday, a relation, whose name was Frank, COMPOSER. $ came to see the cartwright. He was well ac- $ quainted with music, and was pleased with the per- Francis Josepn Haypn was born on the 3lst { formance which his cousin offered after church for ? of March, 1732, at Rohran, a small town fiftee: his amusement; but, above all, he was so struck ) leagues from Vienna. His father was a cartwright, { with the astonishing precision with which Haydn, and his mother, before her marriage, had been cook then six years of age, beat time, that he offered to t in the family of Count Harrack, the lord of the vil- take him home with him, and teach him music. lage. The father of Haydn held also the office of { This proposal was joyfully accepted by the pa- parish sexton. He had a fine tenor voice, and was rents; for Frank was respectably fixed as a school- fond of music. Having occasion to visit Frankfort- { master at Hamburgh, and they thought if, in addi- on-the-Maine, he there learned to play upon the } tion to the general branches of education, their little harp, and on holidays, and in the intervals of busi- ; Joseph could be taught music also, they might be ness, he used to amuse himself with this instrument, { enabled, at a future period, to get him into holy to which his wife joined the accompaniment of her } orders, to accomplish which was the summit of their voice. During these little domestic concerts, Haydn, parental ambition. almost as soon as he could go alone, used to stand } Haydn accordingly set off for Hamburgh with his between his parents with two pieces of wood in his { relation. The first proof he gave of his ability was hands, one of which served him as a violin, and the ‘ by performing, on a tambourine, which he found in other as a bow, delighted with the idea that he con- Frank's house soon after his arrival, an air—though tributed his share to the music; and such was the { the instrument itself is susceptible only of two tones impression, even at this early age, which his mo- ; —which attracted the attention of all who came ther’s simple airs made upon his feelings, that to the to the school-house. Haydn found a sharp master latest period of his existence he often sang them in his cousin, and the benefit he reaped from his with unabated pleasure, whilst his own sublime instructions was such as to enable him not only to compositions were delighting all Europe. play on the violin and harpsichord, but also to un-

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338 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’sS BOOK. derstand Latin, and to sing at the parish desk in a style which spread his reputation throughout the canton. Haydn had been two years with his cousin, when it happened that Reiiter, the maitre de cha- pelle of St. Stephen’s, the cathedral church of Vienna, called at Frank’s house in the course of a journey, which he was making for the purpose of seeking out children of musical talents wherewith to recruit his choir. Frank thought it a favorable opportunity to advance the interests of his little relative. He sent for him into the room, and Reiiter gave him a canon to sing at sight. The precision, the spirit, the purity of tone with which the child executed it astonished him, and when he returned to Vienna he took Haydn with him, and enrolled him in the choir. From this time Haydn devoted himself to the art with an assiduity that has rarely been equalled—perhaps never excelled. Left en- tirely to his own guidance, and only obliged, by the rules of St. Stephen’s, to practise two hours in the day, he yet regularly studied sixteen, and some- times eighteen, hours out of the twenty-four. If he was at play with his young companions in the square near St. Stephen’s, the moment he heard the organ he would leave them, and go into the church ; and the sound of any musical instrument whatsoever was to him a gratification far beyond what he could find in any amusement that could be proposed to him. When Haydn was thirteen years old, he composed a mass, which he showed to Reiiter, who, with that sincerity which is the best proof of reai friendship, pointed out to him the faults and inaccuracies with which it abounded; and Haydn, with the good sense and entire absence of vanity which character- ized him throughout life, immediately saw and ac- knowledged the justice of the critique. He was sen- sible that, in order to avoid committing similar errors another time, a knowledge of counterpoint and the rules of harmony was necessary; but the attainment of such knowledge was attended with difficulties that to him, poor and friendless as he was, appeared almost insuperable. He had no money to pay any person for instructing him, and it was only by abridging himself of food that he was enabled to purchase a few second-hand books which treated of the theory of music, and by the aid of which he en- The life of Haydn was, at this period, an unremitting scene of labor and privation. His father was so poor that he could with difficulty find bread, and the son being unfortunately robbed of his clothes, all that he could scrape together to refit his wardrobe for him scarcely amounted to eleven shillings. deavored to find out the rules of composition. Small as this sum was, Haydn received it witha thankful heart, and a contented spirit. He lodged in a garret, where he could not, piercing as are the winters in Vienna, afford himself the comfort of a fire. The most important piece of furniture was an old harpsichord, falling to pieces in all parts, and a little worthy of the honor of expressing all his first thoughts and finest feelings. By the side of this wretched instrument he often pursued his studies until so late an hour of the night, that, benumbed with cold and faint with hunger, he would drop his head upon it, and lose in sleep all uneasy sensations. Yet morning constantly found him alert and happy. Haydn was about eighteen years of age, when a noble Venetian, named Cornaro, came to Vienna as ambassador from the Republic. He had in his train a musician of the name of Porpora, a Neapolitan by birth, and one of the most celebrated composers of that time. Haydn longed to be acquainted with this man; and having fortunately obtained an intro- duction into the ambassador’s family, in a musical capacity, he was taken by him, along with Porpora, to the baths of Manensdorff, which were the fashion- able resort at that time. Neither fashion nor splen- dor, however, had any influence on the mind of Haydn. He was happy, not because he was in the train of the ambassador, but because he was under the same roof with a man of genius like Porpora, and from whom he hoped to receive instruction in the art to which he was so devotedly attached. To at- tain so desirable an object, he thought no assiduity wearisome—no offices degrading. He rose every morning earlier even than usual—for, with his ardor and industry, it is not necessary to say that he was always an early riser—in order that he might beat Porpora’s coat, clean his shoes, adjust his periwig, and put everything in order for him by the time he should rise. Porpora was so crabbed in his temper, and so whimsical in his habits, that, for the first few days of his attendance upon him, Haydn had no- thing but fault-finding and harsh epithets for his reward. It is not, however, in human nature to be otherwise than pleased and flattered with a suc- cession of good offices, tendered with cheerfulness and humility. Porpora began gradually to like the services of Haydn, and the wish to make him some return for them soon followed. This return was of a description of all others to Haydn the most valuable. Porpora began by teaching him the principles and execution of some of his own airs, many of which were extremely difficult; and he then proceeded to initiate him into all the sweetness and expression which have so long rendered Italy unrivalled in vocal music. Ie also taught him to accompany himself on the piano-forte with spirit and correct- ness—an art far more difficult of attainment than is generally imagined. In short, Haydn found himself greatly improved, both in taste and knowledge, by the acquaintance he had so fortunately formed with Porpora; and the ambassador, astonished at the rapid progress which this young man, apparently so friendless and destitute, had made in his house, generously endeavored to alleviate the poverty which only made his genius appear the more re- markable; and, on his return to Vienna, allowed him a monthly pension of six sequins, or about three

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SELF-MADE LPL PPL LLLP LP PPP LLP nen pounds sterling, and admitted him to the tables of his secretaries. This act of kindness on the part of the ambassa- dor was the beginning of Haydn’s future prosperity. He was enabled by it to provide himself witha suit of black sufficiently respectable to allow him to pre- sent himself in any society that it might be desira- ble for him to frequent, and to instruct a few pupils; invariably closing his industrious day by sitting a part of the night at the harpsichord. Haydn’s first productions were some sonatas for the piano-forte; he wrote also a few minuets, waltzes, and serenatas, and the music for an opera, at the request of Curtz, the director of one of the principal theatres, and himself a celebrated buffa performer. For this, including the Tempest, Haydn received about twelve pounds sterling. In 1758, Haydn obtained a situation in the estab- lishment of Count Mortzen, who had an orchestra of his own, and gave musical parties every evening. Prince Antony Esterhazy, an ardent amateur, hap- pened to attend one of these concerts, which opened with a symphony of Haydn’s. The prince was so charmed with this piece, that he requested Count Mortzen to give up Haydn to him, being desirous of making him second leader in his own orchestra. Count Mortzen very generously consented; but, unfortunately, Haydn had not been introduced to the prince, being prevented by indisposition from attending the concert the evening he was present; and he heard no more of his appointment. He had, however, a kind friend in Friedberg, one of Prince Antony’s composers, who greatly admired his talents, and determined to take an opportunity of bringing him to the prince’s recollection. Accordingly, he requested him to compose a symphony to be per- formed at Eisenstadt, where the prince resided. Friedberg fixed on the prince’s birthday for the introduction of the piece. Scarcely had the perform- ers got to the middle of the first allegro, when the prince, who was seated on his throne and surround- ed by his court, interrupted them, and asked who was the author of that fine composition. “ Haydn,” replied Friedberg, making the trembling composer come forward at the same time. “ What!” said the prince, “is it this man’s music?” Poor Haydn’s complexion was of a very sombre hue, and his coun- tenance, when not lighted up with either genius or benevolence, wore an expression of corresponding gloom. It will be easily imagined that he did not appear to particular advantage on thisremark. The prince, however, continued: “Well, Moor, hence- forth you remain in my service. What is your name?” “Joseph Haydn.” “Haydn! surely I re- member that name; you are already engaged to me; how is it that I have not seen you before?” Haydn, abashed by the brilliant circle around him, could make no reply. The prince went on, with somewhat more encouragement in his manner—“ Go, and dress yourself like a professor; do not let me see you any PPP LPL LPP PPP PPP Patt ttt tart Pata tet aman 339 APAALPAAL DDD MEN. more in this trim—your appearance is not worthy of you.” Haydn kissed the prince’s hand, and re- tired to one corner of the orchestra, to meditate upon the figure he should make in his new costume. The next morning he appeared in it at the prince’s levee, and had the title of Second Professor of Music conferred upon him. The first use that Haydn made of the competence thus secured to him was to acquit himself of his debt of gratitude to a peruke- maker named Keller—who had given him an asylum when he was poor—by marrying his eldest daughter. The match, however, did not prove a happy one. When Haydn had been in the service of Prince Antony twelve months, that nobleman died, and his title descended to Prince Nicholas, who was, if pos- sible, a still more passionate lover of music. Attach- ed to the services of a patron immensely rich, and fully capable of appreciating his talents; placed at the head of a grand orchestra, and possessing full leisure for study; Haydn now saw himself placed in that happy union of circumstances so rarely found, which at once excites the powers of genius and affords the opportunity of displaying them. From this time, his life was uniformly busy and tranquil. We do not venture to enter into a critical account of Haydn’s music. Its general character is that of romantic imagination. Ariosto or Shakspeare in poetry, and to Claude Lor- He has been compared to raine in painting. Liberty and joy breathe through- out his works, the grateful exultation of a mind delighting in the innocent exercise of its exalted talents. He said himself that he was always most happy when he was at work. Haydn’s most elabo- rate performance is the Oratorio of the Creation. He was sixty-three years of age when he began it, and employed two entire years upon it. Its suecess was in proportion to the pains he bestowed upon it. It was in England that Haydn composed some of his finest pieces. The last time that Haydn appeared in public was at the palace of Prince Lobkowitz, at the perform- ance of his own Creation by one hundred and sixty musicians, amidst a company of the most illustrious personages in Vienna, all assembled to do him ho- nor. It was the proudest, the most affecting moment of his life; and he took his leave of that society, which he had so long delighted, with tears of gra- titude, whilst the most heartfelt eulogiums were bestowed upon him in return. From this time he confined himself entirely to his house and small garden. The last spark of his original enthusiasm flamed forth when the French approached Vienna in 1809. He heard the cannonading of his beloved city. With the small remnant of voice that age had left him, he sang, God preserve the Emperor! It was the song of the swan. Whilst he was sitting at the piano, he fell, exhausted by his emotion, into a kind of stupor: and being taken to his bed, tranquilly breathed his last on the 3lst of May, 1809, aged seventy-eight.

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mmmTmtTp

Tue Stereoscope must rank amongst the most in- teresting and most marvellous of modern discoveries. With the aid of this instrument, we now possess the means of transmitting to posterity the exact image of all that is physically remarkable in the present day; at least so much as can be appreciated by the sense of vision. Those who have not yet had an opportunity of witnessing the effect of photographic pictures in the Stereoscope, can form only a small idea of the amount of astonishment they have yet to experience. When Daguerreotype portraits are first seen with the Stereoscope, a feeling of regret is common to all that this discovery does not date from a more dis- tant time. What would not be the value of a Stere- oscope portrait-gallery of our greatest historical characters, including Shakspeare, presenting all the lifelike character, and resembling in every respect Un- fortunately, the examples of past wonders, a sight the reflection of the human face in a mirror. of which we must now more than ever lament the loss of, are far too numerous; but now we do pos- sess this astonishing power, it behoves us to think of the future, and not allow coming generations to accuse us of a selfish negligence in not leaving to them a legacy which science has placed at our dis- posal. It is to be hoped that galleries will be formed, containing all that is most remarkable in the animate and inanimate world of our own time, and that none of the great and beneficent charac- ters of our day will pass away without leaving the light of their countenances for the admiration and laudable curiosity which real greatness must always create. To the generality of persons it must be in- conceivable that the combination of two pictures nearly alike can produce such an extraordinary re- sult; and, as the curiosity to know something of the “why and because” of this matter will be felt by all who know nothing of the laws by which the effect of solidity or distance is produced, I may, perhaps, not be trespassing on your valuable space in attempting a popular explanation of how two per- fectly flat pictures produce the effect of solidity. Like cause produces like effect; hence like effects result from similar causes: consequently, as pic- tures in the Stereoscope present the appearance of nature, it is reasonable to conclude results so nearly Before enter- ing directly on the causes which produce the effect alike are produced by similar means. of solidity, it will be better to clearly understand the qualities of natural images or pictures in their When a house or landscape is looked at, it is found to pos- 340 relations to the organs and sense of vision. 2 i re a avd WYN Y VY 2 4 < ; ; ¢ Q ¢ ¢ é ¢ ¢ ? ¢

a on a PE. sess a quality which no copy on a flat surface by the hand of our greatest artists can produce. This is solidity or distance, and the appearance of objects standing immediately behind each other. In using this term solidity, it should be borne in mind that distance is the same thing; since solids are only made up of the relative distances of parts of a single object. To these qualities may be added another, which is the painting on the retina of each eye pic- tures of the same object, differing slightly in per- This last quality is peculiarly the pro- perty of natural pictures, and which distinguishes spective. them especially from paintings. Distance or solidity only enables single objects to produce this curious effect, in which we shall see the resemblance in the latter, indeed, being only Another quality in na- stereoscopic pictures ; an imitation of the former. tural pictures is the necessity of converging and diverging the axis of the eyes when regarding dif- ferent parts of the picture; to this may also be add- ed change of focus. This latter quality is familiar to all who have used a telescope or an opera-glass, and consists of the slight adaptation of the lenses for different parts of the natural picture. These effects of convergence and divergence of the eyes with focal change are also peculiar to solid objects. It will be readily understood that, as objects are more or less distant, the pupils of the eyes, when regarding them, converge or diverge towards or from each other; objects placed nearly in contact with the end of the nose compel the eyes to con- verge to the degree of squinting, whilst with distant objects they are nearly parallel. The accompanying diagram will render this part of the subject quite clear. Suppose three objects in

e d r % a ;\ ' ' ' i ! ‘ ' ' ' 1 : ' 1 i 7 // \! a. Lo a direct line (e, d, f), and a third similar object in the position ¢: to the left eye (a) the object / would be invisible; and to the right eye (4) the obvject e would be also invisible, from the intervention of c; but / is always visible to the right eye, and e to the left eye ; consequently, with a pair of eyes, these objects are never invisible. This is the simple ex- planation of the power possessed by two eyes to see

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THE STEREOSCOPE. round and behind objects. The convergence and divergence of the eyes may be shown by the same diagram. The eyes, when directed on the object c, are more converged than when looking at d. In other words, ¢ is seen at a much greater angle than d; the rays of light proceeding from e or d compel- ling the pupils of the eyes to approach or recede from each other. This opening and closing of the visual axis may be fitly compared to the same action in a pair of compasses, and it is by the quantity of this action going on with the eyes that we are enabled to estimate the relative distance of near objects. The eyes, then, may be simply considered as a pair of optical compasses, and the rays of light emanat- ing from the object as the limbs of the compasses. The sensation or effect of distance results from the power which we possess with two eyes to see round and behind objects. It has been fully explained, in the preceding dia- gram, how we are enabled to see distant objects, although other objects may intervene ; and this is greatly assisted by the necessary change of focus which, whilst it makes the distant object clear and distinct, at the same time makes the near and inter- vening object less visible. The quality of focal change becomes of more value and importance in cases where the sight of one eye is lost. It may not be generally known that a person suddenly deprived of the use of one eye estimates with the greatest difficulty the distance of objects. It would be al- most impossible to snuff a candle with one eye closed, or even to place the finger exactly on any fixed point. Thesingle eye, like the single leg of a compass, cannot at first measure distance ; but, after some time, experience teaches the one eye to esti- mate distance by the change of focus alone, whilst with both eyes we feel and measure distance by the convergence and divergence of the visual axis. The structure of the eye has at all times been quoted as one of the most beautiful illustrations of design and natural mechanism, and certainly the additional discoveries which we may expect to be disclosed by the Stereoscope will not diminish our wonders at the minute and beautiful arrangements by which ex- ternal pictures are painted on the mirror of the mind. We have, then, arrived to this conclusion, that, to experience the effect of distance or solidity, certain circumstances must exist to compel the opening and closing of the visual angle, in propor- tion as the eyes are directed to different parts of the same picture ; but, as in an ordinary single picture, like the painting of a landscape, all parts of it are at the same relative distance from the eyes, it fol- lows that the angle of vision is the same for all parts, and, consequently, the sense or feeling of dis- tance cannot be experienced. It matters not whether we look at the foreground or background, there can be no mistake about its being on a flat surface; it gives rise to no feeling of distance; although the idea of nature may be skilfully repre- VOL. XLV.—29 341 ~ ea n — sented, the most art can do is to imitate the impres- To produce the effect of nature, we must do as nature does: two pictures sion of one eye alone, must be painted, one for each eye, and combined, to produce the sensation of one. This is effected by the Stereoscope, the compound image having all the qualities of the natural picture, each part of it*com- pelling the eye to converge and diverge, as it ap- pears more or less distant. This is the most remark- able part of the Stereoscope discovery, that two pictures on a perfectly flat surface, when combined should necessitate the same opening and closing of the visual axis as is occasioned by a natural picture where the parts which constitute it are separated by actual measurable space. We will now proceed to examine the construction of the compound Stereoseope picture. It has al- ready been explained that it is constituted of two pictures, each taken from a different point of sight corresponding with the two eyes; take, for exam- ple, a, the simplest form of picture—an arrow stand- ing in a vertical direction through a circle—it would appear to each eye like the diagram. These two designs being all that is necessary to produce, with the aid of the Stereoscope, the effect of one arrow standing through a single circle, with the barbed end uppermost, it now remains to explain how this effect is produced. It is important to know that, in looking at natural objects, both eyes are invariably directed, or converge on the same point, and can only regard a single point at the same time, whilst the Stereoscope enables each eye to look at the cor- responding points of two separate pictures. This is, indeed, the whole secret of this instrument, which, by bending the rays of light coming from each picture towards each other, enables each eye to regard a different image at the same time. In the diagram of the arrows, @ a and ‘d b are corre- sponding points, the parts ‘b b being separated by a wider space than @ a: consequently, the eyes being each directed on the parts ‘d will be wider apart, or will have a greater divergence than when look- ing at @ a; and, as parts of the same object in na- ture give the effect of greater or less distance in proportion as they cause the eyes to converge and diverge, it follows, according to this law, ‘db b should appear at a greater distance than @a; in other words, the barbed part of the arrow should appear uppermost. The annexed diagram may assist the explanation: here the arrows are supposed to be

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342 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. PPAR AN —_—~ combined, or stand over each other; the eyes (c d) being directed ‘on the corresponding points (@ a), the visual angle will be represented by ac d; and when directed on ‘d 5, the angle will be ee d; but EES a \ 3 ecd is a much smaller angle than ac d; conse- quently, @ a, or the barbed part of the arrow, must appear the nearest; that such is the fact may be proved by experiment. When this law is under- stood, the most curious effects may be produced by equally simple means ; the addition of a mere dot, or a single line, to a diagram, will be all that is necessary to make it stand out from the surface on which it is drawn. The following are illustrations of some of the simplest forms of stereoscopic pic- tures: the first is intended to produce the effect of ) | 56 , one ball standing before the other; the second, the effect of the barb of an arrow pointing towards the Sis o— observer; the third, two lines; and the fourth, a nail. An explanation of the construction of the first image will suffice for the remainder. The balls aro supposed to be in a direct line with the left eye; consequently, the left image will be represented by one ball, and the right image by two. This diagram will also serve to show more forcibly how divergence and convergence of the eyes are produced by terreo- scopic pictures: the combined pictures of the balls are represented in this diagram. The left eye, being in a direct line, can only see the ball @, and remains fixed on this point when the right eye is directed to 6: a comparison of the angles will at once show that 6 must appear in the background from the increased divergence of the eyes. The sin- gular part of this case is, that only the right eye moves, whilst the left eye is stationary. A mere glance at any geometric stereoscopic pictures will at once show which parts should be in the fore- ground, and which in the background. All that is necessary is to measure the space between corre- sponding points of both pictures; those which are| widest apart will appear behind those parts which are nearer to each other. In this diagram, the pair a a 6 of pictures produce opposite effects to each other ; the part which stands out in one is behind in the other. The law just mentioned will explain it. In the upper pair, @ is nearer to a than ‘d is to b; hence the part @ a will appear nearest, and vice versa in the lower pair of pictures. We cannot, from vision alone, have the idea of distance ; it is only when combined with the actual experience of touch or measurement that we can say one part is nearer than another. Nothing can be more subject to deception than vision: as an example, the reflec- tion of a natural picture in a mirror presents all the effects of distance; yet we know from experience every part of this picture is reflected from a plane surface. Again, the recently-discovered pseudo- scope has the effect of making objects exactly the opposite of what they really are: solids look hollow, objects on the right appear on the left, the most distant objects look the nearest, objects approaching have the effect of receding, &c. A natural picture may, then, simply be considered as a picture con- taining effects which cannot be rendered on a flat surface ; all the ideas associated with it, of distance, &c., are the result of a knowledge or experience which is quite independent of the picture itself, al- though they assist most materially in giving a cha- racter to the impression made on the brain. Color also assists in giving an idea of the form of irregu- lar images, and, in a certain degree, may indicate distance by its force or tone. The chief function of color, by which is meant light and shade, is to assist in exhibiting the shape of objects when there is an absence of direct lines. A globe is an illus- tration of this; without light and shade, it would look like a flat circle. A few words, in conclusion, on the advancement of photography. The commercial or public appli-

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THE HUSKING FROLIC. 343 cation of photographic science in this country has been, in a great measure, confined to the action of light on metallic plates, although most beautiful | effects may be produced on a more convenient and ; cheaper material, and it is probable that this branch + of the subject will be more than ever investigated, since stereoscope pictures on metal, from their weight, cost, and other inconveniences, will not be so largely employed as camera pictures on paper. In the course of this inquiry, many matters have been left untouched, through fear of confusing the ‘ subject ; the chief object being to show the analogy between the stereoscopic and natural pictures in their relation to the organs and sense of vision. To the scientific man, many of the foregoing explana- tions will appear unnecessarily explicit and tedious ; but we trust, to the great bulk of our readers, we may have succeeded in making this beautiful and remarkable discovery intelligible: in that case, we shall not have failed in proving, in this particular instance, like effects result from like causes. THE RED EAR; OR, THE HUSKING FROLIC BY T. 8. ARTHUR. (See Plate.) In rural districts, the merrymakings have a na- § tural heartiness about them never seen in cities, towns, nor villages. Overweening self-respect has not come in to fetter the motions of the body, nor to smother the laugh in its free utterance. Feeling { and action are in close relationship. You come nearer to nature, untrammelled by custom and un- affected by art. 2 A merrymaking par excellence is a New England } husking frolic. The husking frolic at the South is a different affair altogether. There, it is a congre- } gation of negroes from the various plantations near at hand, who, while they work, make the air vocal almost for miles around with their rude melodies, a few of which have been rendered familiar to ears | polite by the “Serenaders” who have so highly ; amused the public during the past two or three years. But, at the North, the “husking,” like the “ quilting,” draws together the gentle maidens and loving swains of a neighborhood, who meet to enjoy } themselves in their own way. And such enjoyment } as they have, in kind and degree, is not to be met } with every day. In former times, the “husking” was a wilder affair than at present. Straight-laced { conventionality is gradually finding its way beyond the city limits, and binding the free spirits of our country maidens. They meet oftener with the “ city folks,” gradually falling more and more into their habits as they partake more and more of their { spirit ; and, when they assemble for enjoyment, they } check their impulses, restrain their movements, and hush almost into silence the merry laughter that } seeks to leap forth like the singing waters of the ? ; fountain. No; “ huskings” are not what they were. Instead of seeing on the threshing-floor a troop of young men and maidens, stripping from the bright ears of grain their leafy coverings, amid laughter, music, and the mingling of sweet voices, as of old, mere “labor” comes in too often to perform the ; service, and silently and coldly does its work. Yet, here and there, a farmer, who cannot forget the pleasant times when he was young, sends forth his annual summons after the maize harvest is gathered, and then comes a merrymaking for old and young that is enjoyed in a way never to be forgotten. Old Ephraim Bradley was a man of this school. If his head grew white under the falling snows of many winters, the grass was fresh and green, and the flowers ever blooming on his heart. With him, the annual “husking” was never omitted. It was like Christmas and Thanksgiving, almost a sacred thing, half involving sin in the omission. Kate Mayflower, a wild romp of a girl from Bos- ton—at least some in the city regarded her as such , when invita- —was spending a few weeks in D tions came to attend a husking party at Ephraim Bradley’s. The old man lived some three miles from the village. Kate had heard about husking parties, and her young spirits leaped up when the announcement was made that one was to be held in the neighborhood, and that she was invited to be present. It was a frolic that, from all she had heard, would just suit her temperament, and she set off, when the time came, to make one of the party, in the merriest possible mood. Evening had closed in on the arrival of the party from D. » who quickly joined some score or two of young people in the large kitchen, where lay heaped up in the centre a huge pile of Indian corn. “ All that to be husked ?” whispered Kate, as she entered the room. “Oh yes; all that and more, perhaps,” was the “We have come to work, you smiling reply. know.” “Now, gals,” said old Mr. Bradley, who stood looking on as the young folks gathered, with bright faces, around the golden grain, “now for a good old-fashioned time. If there are not half a dozen

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344 GODEY’S MAGAZINE weddings between this and Christmas, I shall say there is no virtue in red ears.” As he ceased, down dropped, amid gay voices and laughter, the whole company upon the floor, in all graceful and ungraceful positions, in a circle around the pile of corn. Kate alone remained standing, for the movement was so sudden that she could not act with it. “Here ’s room for you, Kate,” cried one of the girls who had come with her, making a place by her side; and down sank Kate, feeling, for the first time, a little awkward and confused. Beside her was a stout, rough country youth, whose face was all merriment, and whose eyes were dancing with anticipated pleasure. The city girl eyed his rough, brown hands, coarse garments, and unpolished face, with a slight feeling of repulsicn, and drew a little from him towards her friend. “Oh, plenty of room, miss! Plenty of room,” said he, turning broadly around, and addressing her with a familiar leer. “ The tighter we fit in, the better. Lay the brands close, if you want a good fire.” Kate could not help laughing at this. laughed, he added— “All free and easy here.” He had grasped an ear of corn, and was already stripping down the husk. “A red ear, by jingo!” suddenly burst from his lips, in a tone of triumph ; and, as he spoke, he sprang towards, or rather upon Kate, with the grace of a young bear, and kissed her with a “ smack” that might have been heard a dozen rooms off. Ere she had time to recover from the surprise, and, it must be admitted, indignation, occasioned by this unexpected assault upon her lips, the hero of the first “red ear” was half around the circle of strug- gling girls, kissing both right and left with a skill and heartiness that awoke shouts of applause from the young “ fellers,” who envied his good fortune. That was a new phase of life to Kate. She had heard of kissing as an amusement among young folks, and had often thought that the custom was too good to have become obsolete ; but a practical view, and a personal participation like this, was a thing that her imagination had, in none of its vaga- ries, conceived. An old-fashioned, straight-backed, flag-bottomed chair stood near, and, unwilling to trust herself again upon the floor, Kate drew that into the circle, and seated herself close to the pile of corn just as the young man had completed his task of kissing every girl in the room. “ First-rate that!” said he, smacking his lips, as he threw himself at her feet. ‘“ Wasn’t I lucky?” Kate’s indignation had, by this time, all melted away under a lively sense of the ludicrous, and she could not help laughing with the merriest. Soon another red ear was announced, and then the kissing Such wrestling, screaming, and laughing, Kate had never heard nor As she commenced again. struggling, seen. eae LLL LLLP PLLA The young man who held the prize had all 2 occasionally ‘set the table in a roar.’ AND LADY’sS BOOK. Oe ww the nerve required to go through with his part, as Kate ciearly proved when it came to her turn to re- ceive a salute. Springing from her chair, she fled into the next room; but this only increased his eagerness to touch the lips of “the beautiful girl from Boston,” and he soon had his arms around her and his hands upon her cheeks, The struggle was long and well sustained on the part of the maiden; but her fate was to be kissed, and kissed by a rough young countryman whom she had never met before The deed was done, and then the blushing, panting girl was led back in triumph to the room from which she had escaped. Red ears were in plenty that evening. It was shrewdly guessed that every young man had come with at least two in his pockets, for all the girls avowed that never before had farmer Bradley’s field of corn produced so many. As for Kate, she was kissed and kissed, until making, as she alleged to her friend, a virtue of necessity, she submitted with the kindliest grace imaginable; and, if the truth must be told, enjoyed the frolic with as lively a zest as any one present. At length, the great pile of corn disappeared, and the company arranged themselves for dancing ; but they had hardly been on the floor half an hour, when supper was announced—and such a supper as No pyramids of ice-cream or candied No mock nor real turtle ; nor oysters in a dozen styles. Turkies there were, but not scientifi- cally “boned.” No; there were none of the fash- ionable city delicacies ; but, instead, “a gigantic round of beef in the centre of the table was flanked on either side with vegetables. A bouncing junk of corned beef was at one end, and a big chicken- pie at the other. An Indian pudding, of ample dimensions, stood forth between the middle and end of the end dishes, and a giant pot of beans loomed up on the other side; whilst pumpkin-pies, apple- sauce, and a host of other ‘fixings’ filled up the spaces.” This was the bill of fare for the evening, and our city belle looked on with a new surprise, as she saw the articles disappearing one after another like frost work on window-panes at sunrise. If the good wife did not say on this, as was said on a similar occasion, “Lay hold, and help yourselves, gals—make a long arm; and let the men folks take keer of themselves. If any on you likes turnips squat and buttered, squat and butter ’em to suit yourselves”—at least as hearty and primitive an in- vitation to go to work on the good things was ex- tended, and no one could complain that it was not acted upon. What followed is best given in the language of one who has already described a similar scene :— “The guests seemed to do ample justice to the viands; mirth and festivity reigned around the Jokes, witticisms, and flashes of fun would All appeared that was! oranges. board.

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IN CORN SHUCKING determined to enjoy themselves at the ‘top of their bent.’ “Soon as supper was over, all the girls lent a hand, and the table was cleared away in a jiffy. Blindman’s buff was then introduced ; the company now was uproarious! Dancing was the next con- sideration. Amos Bunker screwed up his viol, rosined the bow, and ‘did up’ the toe and heel- inspiring notes of Fisher’s Hornpipe; whilst a number of the party, who were somewhat skilled in the terpsichorean art, put in the ‘ double shuffle riga- doon.’ Presently the lookers-on caught the enthu- siasm, and the whole company, old and young, THE OLD DOMINION. 345 adepts and novices, took the floor and did their utmost : ‘Twas right and left, and down outside, six round and back to back: Harum-scarum, helter-skelter, bump together, whack !’ “And thus was the husking kept up till the old clock, which stood in one corner of the kitchen, beat out twelve; then broke up this jolly gathering.” So it was at old farmer Bradley’s. When Kate went back to Boston, she was free to own that she had enjoyed a new kind of merrymaking, and avowed her purpose to be at old Ephraim Bradley’s when the next “ husking” came off.

KINQ T KING IN CORN SHUC THE OLD D (See Plate.) Ture following is by the gentleman who kindly furnished us with the drawing of “Corn Shucking in the Old Dominion.” “T send you a pen and ink sketch, which, though familiar to all from the ‘sunny South,’ may be a novelty to those residing at the North. It repre- sents corn shucking in the Old Dominion. This is the season of merrymaking among the blacks, who assemble for miles around; and, for a supper of ‘hog meat and hominy,’ and as much whiskey as will make them merry, will, in a single night, husk the product of a large plantation. The labor of busking is made light by songs, and sometimes the music of a banjo. One man, who is celebrated for his wit and his facility in rhyming, mounts the pile, and treats his sable brethren to a recitative song, describing their joys and sorrows, their loves and their hardships, ‘in soul-moving poesy ;’ at the end of each line the chorus is caught up by those around the pile, and for miles their songs are borne on the still night air, lulling to rest all who are within reach of its soothing influence. The party does not break up till near day, and many find great diffi- culty in getting home, on account of their seeing double from their night debauch. ? &..G” The following we extract from “ Bryant’s Letters from the South :”— “ A Corn Sauckine.—But you must hear of the corn shucking. The one at which I was present was given on purpose that I might witness the hu- mors of the Carolina negroes. <A huge fire of light- wood was made near the corn-house. Light-wood is the wood of the long-leaved pine, and is so called, not because it is light, for it is almost the heaviest wood in the world, but because it gives more light than any other fuel. In clearing lands, the pines are girdled and suffered to stand; the outer portion of the wood decays and falls off; the inner part, which is saturated with turpentine, remains upright 29* for years, and constitutes the planter’s provision of fuel. When a supply is wanted, one of these dead trunks is felled by the axe. The abundance of light-wood is one of the boasts of South Carolina. Wherever you are, if you happen to be chilly, you may have a fire extempore ; a bit of light-wood and a coal give you a bright blaze and a strong heat in an instant. The negroes make fires of it in the fields where they work, and, when the mornings are wet and chilly, in the pens where they are milking the cows. At a plantation where I passed a frosty night, I saw fires in a small inclosure, and was told by the lady of the house that she had ordered them to be made to warm the cattle. “ The light-wood fire was made, and the negroes dropped in from the neighboring plantations, sing- ing as they came. The driver of the plantation, a colored man, brought out baskets of corn in the husk, and piled it in a heap; and the negroes began to strip the husks from the ears, singing with great glee as they worked, keeping time to the music, and now and then throwing in a joke and an extrava- gant burst of laughter. The songs were generally of a comic character. “When the work of the evening was over, the negroes adjourned to a spacious kitchen. One of them took his place as musician, whistling and beat- ing time with two sticks upon the floor. Several of the men came forward and executed various dances, capering, prancing, and drumming with heel and toe upon the floor, with astonishing agility and perseverance, though all of them had performed their daily tasks, and had worked all the evening, and some had walked from four to seven miles to attend the corn shucking. From the dances a transition was made to a mock military parade, a sort of burlesque of our militia trainings, in which the words of command and the evolutions were ex- tremely ludicrous. It became necessary for the

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GODEY’S MAGAZINE 346 commander to make a speech, and, confessing his incapacity for public speaking, he called upon a huge black man, named Toby, to address the com- pany in his stead. Toby, a man of powerful frame, six feet high, his face ornamented with a beard of fashionable cut, had hitherto stood leaning against the wall, looking upon the frolic with an air of superiority. He consented, came forward, and de- manded a bit of paper to hold in his hand, and ha- rangued the soldiery. It was evident that Toby had ron vi aT ETABLE = AND LADY’S BOOK. listened to stump-speeches in his day. He spoke of ‘de majority of Sous Carolina,’ ‘de interests of de State,’ ‘de honor of ole Ba’nwell district,’ and these phrases he connected by various expletives, and sounds of which we could make nothing. At length he began to falter, when the captain, with admirable presence of mind, came to his relief, and interrupted and closed the harangue with an hurrah from the company. Toby was allowed by all the spectators, black and white, to have made an excel- lent speech.” HYSIOLOGY, BY HARLAND COULTAS.- Ir has been proved that plants are composed of a number of cells united together into a definite shape, and developing according to fixed natural laws. But, if plants are formed by the union and growth of cells, then differences in their size, form, and duration are simply the result of different degrees of cell-evolution. Hence it is not by abrupt transi- tions, but by a beautiful series of gradations, that nature passes from one vegetable form to another. In forest trees, the evolution of new cells goes on for centuries, and the cells, as they increase in num- ber, become specialized, or arrange themselves into definite parts, such as root, stem, and leaves, each having distinct offices to fulfil in the vegetable eco- nomy. In shrubs and herbaceous plants, these parts become successively less and less evolved ; the size of such plants being consequently reduced, and the duration of their life proportionably shortened. In the hyacinth and Convallaria magalis, or lily of the valley, the internodes, or naked intervals of stem between the leaves, are non-developed, and the leaves are crowded together, forming a bulb, or rather subterranean bud; some of these leaves re- tain their rudimentary scalelike character as a pro- tecting envelope, whilst the others rise in a tuft directly from the earth, the flower-stalk springing from their centre. In the Cycadacem and Conifer, those beautiful and highly ornamental whorls of leaves, the calyx and the corolla are absent, and the flower is reduced to the last degree of simplicity, whilst in the ferns it disappears altogether, and in its place we have a collection of mere dustlike spots or lines, arranged, however, with great beauty and regularity on the under surface of the frond. The same plan of structure, or distinction of parts into root, stem, and leaves, is still visible in the minute, but exquisitely beautiful mosses, although the root no longer springs from one extremity of the axis of growth, but from every part of it. In the liver- worts, the leaves are reduced to mere imbricated scales, and in the lower forms become blended to- gether into a continuous expansion of vegetable matter called a frond. Finally, in the lichens and alge, root, stem, and leaves disappear, and the whole plant is reduced to a mere plane of cells called a thallus—to a mere row of cells strung end to end, or even to a single cell. Now, as the plan of structure in the more highly organized and com- plex plants can only be understood by studying the operations of nature in detail, as exemplified in the simpler vegetable forms, we shall commence with these first, this being plainly the most natural and philosophical method of investigation. Let us be- gin, then, with PLANTS COMPOSED OF A SINGLE CELL.—The lower forms of the alge afford us several examples of plants thus organically simple. In these plants, vegetation is reduced to its simplest terms. The plant and cell are identical. Here we have the starting-point of vegetation, the beginning of the formation of those vegetable elements which, in their future development, shall clothe the earth’s surface with the richest forms of life and beauty. These plants are especially interesting, as furnish- ing the simplest indications of those processes of cell-growth and reproduction, on an accurate know- ledge of which rest the very foundations of all vegetable physiology. The plant-cell, as it is termed by Schleiden, con, stitutes an entire vegetable without organs, imbib- ing food by endosmosis through every part of its exterior surface, which it converts into the materials of its own enlargement or growth, and finally into new cells, which constitute its progeny. Being with- out lateral compression of any kind, the plant-cell necessarily takes a globular form. But, even when her vegetative productions are thus organically simple, nature is by no means restricted to one uni- form pattern ; on the contrary, this family of plants presents almost every variety of color, and external appearances so marked and varied as to justify na- turalists in regarding them as distinct species.

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ADDISON. 347 ~ We select, as an illustration of the plant-cell, the Protococcus nivalis, or red snow-plant, found in the arctic regions, and which also occurs on damp ground in much lower latitudes. In Fig. 1, we have 3 4 several individuals of this plant slightly magnified, to show the nature of the reproductive process. New cells are seen to originate in the interior of each plant-cell, which gradually take their place, and the new generation thus produced enlarge and give rise to a new progeny in their interior as be- fore. In this manner, this simple vegetation grows on from age to age. Fig. 4 represents a more high- ly magnified individual of the Protococcus nivalis, showing more distinetly the new cells forming in its interior. The green pulverulent matter which ap- pears on old walls, and on the bark of trees, consists of an unformed mass of free globular cells, which grow and reproduce in this simple manner. In other species of plant-cells, the mode of repro- duction is somewhat different. In Chroococcus rufescéns (Fig. 2), the plant-cell takes an oval form, and (Fig. 3) a partition then appears across the cavity of the cell, dividing it into two cells. These two cells are again subdivided by the formation of another septum at right angles to the first partition, A ls ee PEOPLE as is seen in Fig. 5. The four cells thus formed enlarge and ultimately separate, constituting four new individuals, which propagate in like manner. In Oscillaria, the plant-cell becomes elongated, or it may become elongated and branched, as is the case with the species Vaucheria, which forms one kind of those delicate and flossy green threads abounding in fresh water, and which are popularly known in some places as brook silk. Fig. 6 is a 6 7 a a magnified view of Vaucheria clavata, which consists of a single cell of unbroken caliber, furnished with branches. In one of these branches, at a, a spore is forming. Fig. 7 represents the end of the branch more magnified, with the spore escaped from its burst apex. In this instance, the ramifications of the cell foreshadow, as it were, the stem and branches of more highly organized plants. ADD Macavtay tells us that the Lord-Treasurer Go- dolphin, though not habitually a reading man, was mortified by the exceeding badness of the poems which appeared in honor of the battle of Blenheim. It was expedient, if not necessary, to the political dignity of the administration, that the victory should be celebrated in better verses than had ap- peared, and this was the foundation of Addison’s introduction to fortune and tofame. Addison occu- pied a garret up three pair of stairs, over a small shop in the Haymarket. So says Macaulay; but how he found out, and satisfied himself of the fact, that Addison’s apartment was so high in the world, he does not tell us. In his humble lodging, he was surprised one morning by a visit from no less a per- son than the Right Hon. Henry Boyle, then Chan- cellor of the Exchequer, and afterwards Lord Carle- ; SON. ton. This high-born minister, says our historian, had been sent by the Lord-Treasurer as ambassador to the needy poet. The result was the poem of the “Campaign,” and Addison was instantly appointed toa commissionership. In our days, it belongs to the fitness of things that an English commissioner must be endowed with £1200 a year; with £300 more, if he has the trouble of writing “chief” before his name when he describes himself. In Addison’s time, a commissionership signified only £200 a year; but the habits of English life were, in Queen Anne’s time, less expensive. son became a member of the House of Commons for Malmesbury, and attained, finally, the rank of Secretary of State. The Whigs, it must be admit- ted, have generally been more ready to notice and promote literary ability than the Tories have been. Four years afterwards, Addi-

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A LEGEND OF THE SECOND CRUSADE IN THE HOLY LAND. THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF HASAN SABAH. BY MRS. 8. H. WADDELL. (Concluded from page 238.) CHAPTER V. Tue encampment was in itself a considerable town. Nineteen different languages were spoken, and all of the various noisy transactions witnessed in cities abounded here, only increased tenfold. Huts and stables, with inclosures for horses and cattle, dotted the valleys as far as the eye could reach; and the bell, summoning the Crusaders to mass, matins, and vespers, was as regularly heard as the muezzin from the minaret of the mosque. I returned home with the Christians and spies of Antioch, and recounted to my father and Al Alpso the dreadful scene I had witnessed. My preceptor raised his hands above his venerable head, as he said— “What a Sodom! WhataGomorrah! May the crescent yet be their Asphaltites! Never did the neighboring groves of Daphne, in the early days of Antioch, echo such ribaldry when they, Greek-like, invoked Apollo and Diana, as this we see and hear from the camp of these miserable Franks. Ye poor followers of Mohammed, not only executed, but roasted and eaten by those ravening wolves! Heard we over before of such deeds? Oh, Prophet, who journeyed to the moon in one night, rescue us! How beautiful was the death of thy followers! They flinched not from the axe of thy enemies. And even thy gardens, oh Antioch, which they cut down and doomed to render them ignoble, in their own hands returned them homage by wafting their souls into the fifth heaven in clouds of perfumes. Oh, miserable Al Alpso, that thy gray head should see this daa; !” As the inuaum ceased, I heard the halting gait of the renegade, and presently saw him come in and sit down by my father. He appeared fatigued, and drew a cushion from the wall ;* his eyes were blood- shot, and the expression of them worse than usual. “Tsamo discovered,” he said to my father, “a measure of those Franks for the future protection of their foragers; but I shall be even with them, and am nyw on my way to inform the governor of * The Turks build their apartments with an elevation on one or bath sides, of a foot in height, next the wall. It is padded ajx4 carpeted, or covered with gamask ; leaning against the Walls are square cushions of different sizes, for the accomujodation of those who may require a change of position. ;{ 348 eee | Isamo’s discovery, and to suggest the plan which kept me all night awake; my mind was at work, and sleep is the enemy of thought, you know. See yonder; they have commenced their operations al- ready—tying boats together, and placing planks and sods upon them. I must be off.” He rose hastily, and disappeared. The imaum shook his head triumphantly, and remarked— “The El-aasi, or rebel, was not anciently given to the Orontes for its sluggishness, but rapid and ungovernable current. I think its swift and way- ward tide will combat the Franks more successfully than any thought of thine, Phirouz, my brother.” “T understand,” said my father, “that Isamo is unwilling to return to the camp of the infidels, say- ing he was too pious to endure the pollution of being roasted and eaten by the emissaries of Eblis; that, if he must die, let him be turned towards Mec- ca, and not on a spit before the fire of the enemies of Mohammed.” When I visited Valfrino again, I said to him— “Valfrino, I am attached to you; curiosity in- duced me first to visit you, and, from apprehension of being put to death or imprisoned, I borrowed an Armenian dress. So far I was culpable, though I designed no injury to cross or crescent, and do not now, for I am neuter in these difficulties; and, should I find temptation to depart from this posi- tion, I would take leave of you forever. My mo- ther’s first lesson to me was to be true and faithful.” Valfrino looked at me for some time, as if bewil- dered; he then took both of my hands within his, and said— “ Hasan, if you are a true man, I will ever feel as an elder brother towards you. I cannot suspect one so young of such fiendlike treachery. No, it cannet be; thy nature must be pure and noble, or, by St. Cyprian, thou couldst neither look nor speak in such manner. See, let us make a mutual vow: Should my dear Lord Tancred and myself fall into the hands of the Antiochians, thou wilt befriend us, as I will, by St. Cyprian, thee, should the reverse take place.” We ate salt from the same salver, and I kissed his forehead and cheeks. My heart was now light, and free from oppression for the first time since the eapture of Tarsus. It was some time after this that I was rather late in returning to the city, for Valfrino had been en-

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A LEGEND OF THE SECOND CRUSADE IN THE HOLY LAND, 349 ~ ~ tertaining me with all manner of amusing reminis- cences, and he was the best mimic in the world; moreover, I was now his pupil in the game of chess. As I stepped along, thinking I might incur.some punishment at home for being so late, and then say- ing to myself, “ No, it cannot be; my father knows how much Valfrino loves me, and that our inter- course is innocent; my mother says, moreover, but for the nature of our acquaintance, I should never leave the walls,” two figures appeared before me. They were wrapped up so that I could not distinguish them, and their backs were turned to- wards me. Presently, I heard one speak in a whis- per to the other, and I instantly knew the voice to be the renegade’s. He said— “ My lord of Tarentum, you say, when I open the gate and surrender the town to you, you will place my person in safety, and pay over to me one-hun- dred purses,* and bestow also a lucrative office upon me for the remainder of my life. But listen, Prince of Tarentum, give me now the pledge, for I trust no man.” Bohemond drew a parchment from his pouch; I saw a ribbon and seal hanging from it, and saw the renegade turn it towards the lightof the moon. He appeared satisfied, and added— “Tf you hear one stone fall, move not; if two, come instantly. Remember, the hour is midnight.” As he turned from the prince, he encountered me, and saw, moreover, that I was sufficiently near to have heard all that passed. “Stand, at your peril!” he said, in an agitated whisper. ° I did not move; and, in a moment’s time, found myself grasped by the shoulder. “T must poniard him !” said the renegade, draw- ing his weapon from the scabbard. “Stay,” said the prince; “he will hardly die without a struggle; and see, he is but a boy. I will imprison him where he will be quite safe until after the capture of the city.” I was led to the encampment, and handed over to the very executioner I had seen under such memo- rable circumstances. “Hold him fast, Bartemus,” was all the introduction I had to this beast of a man. I now felt all of the horrors of my situation. I begged the executioner to send for Prince Tancred’s squire, and allow me to speak, in his hearing, one word to him; but he took no notice of me, and com- meneed singing— * A headsman I ’ve been a merry long time, And many have gone over Styx by my hand, And many to the fields of Elysium I ’ve sent.” “Cease, old Cerbérus,” said a sentinel. “ Thy song is of Satan’s own making, and enough to singo one by the very hearing.” * A purse is four hundred dollars. He led me to his tent, and, after showing me into it, set himself down in the door-way. I looked around and shuddered. His tent was of the coarsest canvas, filled with implements of his profession ; and the very hacked and stained block I saw him place on the sand for the execution of the Turkish prisoners now answered him as a tent-table, on which a dirty iron lamp burned dimly ; sometimes it would flicker and nearly leave us in darkness, then blaze with a lurid lightand sink again. I was melancholy personified. I had seen enough to know that the renegade had turned traitor as well as apos- tate, and that Antioch was now to be surrendered into the hands of the Crusaders. FE thought of my home, of the murder of my parents and friends, and no form of relief presented itself to my mind. In this state of distraction, I was tormented by the in- cessant repetition of the headsman’s song— “A headsman I ’ve been a merry long time, And many have gone over Styx by my hand, And many to the fields of Elysium I ’ve sent.” I observed that the executioner nodded some- times, and a thought of jumping over his head and running occurred to me; but I saw that it would be immediate death, and gave it up in despair. Mid- night was rapidly advancing, and I listened with agony to every sound. At length, as if to torment me, he rose, but was too wary to leave the door-way without binding me; so, reaching a cord from the beam which supported his tent, he made fast my arms, and led me to the block. I did not know now but that the order, “ Hoid him fast, Bartemus,” meant that I should be executed ; but he only snuffed the wick of his lamp as he said— “You may think, youngster, that you will catch me napping; but never you mind those signs; I was broad awake all the time. You would never have been given to Bartemus, but for his skill in keeping prisoners. Why, lad, I could tell thee’—but ho stopped short, and began his song—- “ A headsman I ’ve been a merry long time, And many have gone over Styx by my hand, And many to the fields of Elysium I ’ve sent.” I replied by saying— “T have no idea of escape, for I see no way by which I could effect it. I will tell you what; we will make a bargain.” “Oh ho!” he answered, grinning hideously ; “so young, and about to bribe! None of that, my lad. If bribery would do any good to those who offer it, Bartemus would never have been trusted with thee, lad.” “You do not hear me, Bartemus,”I said. “I have no wish to corrupt you, and only design pro- posing that you should take me to Prince Tancred’s squire; you shall be by my side and hear every word I say, and I will return with you. For this favor, I will reward you by a purse of gold.”

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Ee 350 ee ce ode ed GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’sS BOOK,

———, ” “ How/shall I know that you will pay it?” he surlily ie berry “T wil, swear before Valfrino, by the holy Caaba, to give sou one of my father’s whiskers, should I fail placi¢g in your hand the sum I promise.” “ Welly’ he replied, “ that will do. I have heard you peope. never break an oath bound by a whisker or beard. I was yl anxiety to hurry forward ; but Bartemus was too {rreat a tyrant to allow me to walk fast, when he faw that I desired to do so, and moved for- ward as iowly asa snail. When near the pavilion, I heard ¢ 9 stone fall, and involuntarily started for- n he, construing this into a disposition to run from;im, stopped me instantly, saying— “So y,u think to be off, do you? Suppose we return.’ And nh jerked me around, and was returning, when I s}id— “Oh, “.artemus, I did not intend to run from you F Before ne had time to reply, Valfrino called to him— — “Stop, Bartemus ; a word with you.” As he «:ivanced towards us, tears came to my re- lief. I w.pt bitterly. the executioner which I could not understand, and ward, w ” He whispered something to I saw hin walk off with an air of perfect indiffer- ence. Valfrins, cut the cord which bound me, and in- quired, hastily, how I came in the hands of the I had barely time to inform him, and him to remember our vows and inquire execution$r. to beseec for Zenghi, the Guzel, when men, clashing in armor and arms, rushed by; and presently I heard the dreadful shouts of the capturers of Antioch rend the air in every direction. I fled through the gate of the city, which was now wide open, and ran to my father’s residence. As I entered the gallery, all was as quiet as death; the heavens were refulgently lit with stars, and the moonbeams danced on the rebel waters of the Orontes. I knocked loudly, and soon saw my father open I hastily recounted all that had passed, and was relieved of the misery I apprehended lest Valfrino should not discover my father’s residence, or be killed before he reached it, when I heard his voice calling out— “ Do you say that Zenghi, the Guzel, lives here ?” “Yes, beloved brother,” I answered; “ here, here!” He stepped in the gallery, and, in a moment, a bloody cross was fastened securely to the door. He darted off, and my father drew me in and closed the the door. door. I saw crowds of armed men pass us after pointing at the cross on the door, and thus we escaped death by the very crimson cross I had so often heard de- rided by my parents, and all who professed an opposite religion. PAAARAAARARAARAAAAAAA AAA ttt

< , It was heart-rending to see the city, so recently the theatre of splendor and gayety, now, in a few hours, converted into the abode of wretchedness, murder, and death; the streets literally ran blood, and the wounded and dead formed a pavement of flesh for every part of Antioch. I wept for joy when I found that Valfrino had escaped even being wounded. At midday, he paid us a visit, and granted my mother a flag to enter the governor's palace in safety. I went with her. CHAPTER VI. Wuen we arrived at the emir’s palace, we found all of the gates wide open; courts, galleries, and passages were strewed with dead bodies; the “ tun of Perfumes” alone escaped mutilation and death, being protected by a secret door which opened on an antechamber. With a noiseless touch, my mo- ther withdrew the wainscot, and never before or since have my eyes beheld a scene so gloriously beautiful, so absorbingly enchanting. The apart- ment was very large, and surrounded by gilded sashes, some of which were half open, and peeping through were the most fragrant and healthy roses, honeysuckles, and delicately-blooming acacias ; the ceiling was arched, and inimitably painted to repre- sent flowers showered from gilded baskets; two fountains of fine marble poured fragrant water into vases, in the form of shells; the floor was covered with a Turkish carpet, composed of the wool of the shawl-goat mixed with silk, and woven to represent the plumage of the pea-fowl, and bird of Paradise; a deep fringe of gold thread surrounded this, and on each side were divans, covered with embroidered white satin, fringed with gold, and piled with cush- ions of the same. As my eyes wandered over this abode of elegance, the “Startled Fawn of Cashmere” bounded wildly from the fountain, behind which she had hid her- self, and sprang, full of terror, in my mother’s arms. She was a child of twelve years, of magnificent beauty, and the full, dark eye of the fawn was lus- trous with terror. My mother sank on a cushion, and drew her by her side; her dress of pink satin, confined by a girdle of diamonds, quivered from the quick beating of her heart, and she breathed with so much difficulty that I snatched a golden cup, which I observed by one of the fountains, and hand- ed it full of water, that my mother might bathe her forehead and temples with it. I looked for some of her attendants; but she was the only animated being in the apartment. As the child revived, my mother said, while she parted her fine black tresses— “ Una, dear, compose thyself; I have brought a flag for thy protection, and will take thee home with ” me.

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A LEGEND OF THE SECOND CRUSADE IN THE HOLY LAND. 351 aw —_—_—_— She held up her snowy hands and clasped them, ° while tears of gratitude fell on her cheeks, now as colorless as a mound of snow. It was just at this time that we heard advancing rapidly towards us heavy tramping, interspersed with eager and rough voices. I called to my mo- ther to give me the flag, and saw her look about her, rise hurriedly, and sink as rapidly, as she said, in an agonizing voice— ; “Oh Allah, it is lost! It is gone !” “Up, Una,” said I—“up, Una, and assist me to find it. It has a red cross. See beneath those cushions, while I look here.” I was hurrying out, but it was too late; for the door was forced open, and crowds of armed men rushed in. “ Where is Prince Bohemond?” said the foremost man, while high in the air he held a human head. I looked as he spoke, and recognized the Emir Baghi Seyan. His magnificent turban was still looped with the rarest jewel of the Indian realms, which flashed and gleamed above the straining, un- expressive eyes, and features all stiffened and pur- ple in the writhing distortions of a sudden and vio- lent death. The long, white beard flowed so as to hide entirely the hand which grasped it, and was dyed and streaming with blood. I turned in horror as the soldier repeated— “Where is Prince Bohemond? By the snaky head of Medusa, I will have my reward! Here is the head of the Governor of Antioch !” “T am for plunder!” said fifty voices at once. I saw my mother and Una surrounded; I heard the rattle of scabbards, as swords were unsheathed. All recollection faded before me, and I fell prostrate on the floor. I must have had a long and protracted fit of ill- ness, accompanied with mental alienation, the result of overwrought feeling ; for, when my consciousness returned, I found myself with my parents, Una, and the imaum, seated beneath the long shadow of one of the pyramids of Memphis, on the Lybian side of the Nile. I can hardly describe my sensations as I woke to life again. My faculties, bewildered and struggling with the dreadful malady which had chained and imprisoned them, recalled to my memory the flicker- ing of an exhausted lamp, and the new scenes by which I was surrounded, known alone to my mind’s eye, had been buried in darkness as the vivid paint- ings discoverable only by torchlight on the subter- raneous chambers of this ancient country. Soslept my memory, until the light of reason suddenly re- flected its bright torch upon the imaged chambers of my mind. I called my father—for the last scenes of con- sciousness crowded before me, and I wished to ap- prise him of what I believed him ignorant, and what I knew he would regard as a circumstance of the greatest importance. He rvse hastily, and, with > ? a countenance full of anxiety, came to me; and, taking both of my hands within his, sat down by me as he said— “ What will the beloved of my soul have ?” I answered— “ Oh, my father, may Allah give thee life forever! Do you know that Phirouz, the renegade, betrayed Antioch into the hands of the Christians ?” I saw a tear, for the first time in my life, swell, sparkle, and fall from his eyes, as he turned off and remarked to the imaum— “ Hasan raves yet. Oh, that the hand of Allah would cease to touch so heavily my Hésan, my only child !” “ Brother,” said the imaum, Al Alpso, “there is hope for thee, even from the leech who awaits thy return at Memphis. He is greater in his skill than the Chaldean, even from the Euphrates to Irak Araby.” I called my father again. “ Father, I am not raving; and you shall see that I am not by what I shall say and do. But the renegade, Phirouz, did betray Antioch.” He tore his beard, and covered bis face with his robe. “ See,” said I, again, “ my father, that I am ra- tional ; for I recollect the instructions of our imaum, and I know, from what he has taught me, that these pyramids must be the three near Memphis; this, beneath which we are seated, is the largest, and is called ‘Cheops.’ We are on the western side of the Nile, which, in Sanscrit, the base of so many The inhabitants of this country are supposed to be the descendants of Ham, a son of Noah; and the worship of the Egyptians, the ship of Isis and Osiris, are symbolical of the languages, signifies blue. deluge.” My father and the imaum turned towards Mecca, and fell upon their faces; after which they came towards me, and, each lifting me, placed me in a species of palanquin borne on the back of a camel. My mother and the little girl were next assisted to their seats, and I heard my father say to my mo- ther— “ As soon as we can do so, we must make a pil- grimage to Mecca, and repeat the ‘ cow ;’* for Hasan is recovering. He is demented now only on one subject. Oh, Allah, make us grateful, for Hasan lives again !” We journeyed on, followed by the imaum and my father; and, as we crossed several canals which separated Memphis from the pyramids, my dear old preceptor whipped up his mule, and drawing him up by our side, inquired how I now was. I thanked him, and answered that I felt much improved. He raised his turban, as he said— “Then thanks and praises be forever to Allah! Child of my soul, instruction is never so profitable * From the Koran.

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352 as when given upon the spot where the event tran- spired. Here are the identical canals, drawing their waters from the Nile, which furnished the Greeks with the idea of Cocecytus, Acheron, and Lethe. You observe, they were designed to sepa- rate the cemeteries from the mighty city of Mem- phis; and you will remember, my son, that those pyramids, whose summits reach even to the first heaven, serve but as a beacon to warn us of our mortality and insignificance. The kings who built these stupendous monuments were hated for their cruelty and heavy exactions ; and, when they died, their bodies were hidden and buried in obscurity, to prevent the indignities which they would have suffered from a roused and revengeful populace. Their labor and designs are left to conjecture, and the real kings who projected them are to this day consigned to the mazes of doubt. In this great work, one hundred thousand men were laboriously employed, to be relieved every three months by the same number. Ten years were spent in hewing the stones, and twenty in building. As an evidence of the amount necessary for the support of the work- men, there is now hieroglyphicized on one of the pyramids, the sum of one thousard six hundred talents in silver,* for leeks, onions, and garlic: from this single example, we may form a correct idea of the extent of oppression and taxation at that period. Age after age has left records of this wonder of centuries, and speculations as to the purposes for which they were reared invited the attention of the learned and wise. of some has been that they were intended for scien- tific purposes, such as establishing the proper length of the cubit, of which they contain, in breadth and height, a certain number of multiples, and that they gave evidence of a considerable progress in astro- nomy, from their sides being adapted to the four cardinal points, and the leading passages in these pyramids preserving the same inclination of 26° to the horizon, being always directed to the polar star; their obliquity also is so adjusted as to make the north side coincide with the obliquity of the sun’s rays at the summer solstice. “ Again, son of my soul, the learned say that the ancient Egyptians connected astronomy with their funeral and religious ceremonies, and that zodiacs are found even in their tombs. The pyramids, they argue, must have then been originally designed as mausoleums, on a scale of magnificence, grandeur, and durability far beyond any other that ever was or could be invented. Think, Hasan, that a stone sarcophagus, in a spacious chamber of these noble monuments, was opened, and behold the moulder- ing bones of the god Apis, or the ox, and beneath him human skeletons; then grope your way through passages and chambers of different dimensions, and The opinion lo! embalmed with skilful care, in innumerable * £25,000 sterling. GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. PAAAAARAABRAAAAAAARAAAAANAAAAS no sealed jars, another god, the Ibis, or Egyptian stork! What a satire in granite on man !” We had now passed a !arge portion of the ruins of old Misr, or Memphis, for they covered three square leagues, and, in all, probably extended even to a greater distance. My mind was deeply im- pressed with the melancholy grandeur with which Time slowly but inevitably touched with decay the masterworks of man, and I was relieved when we reached a caravansary, surrounded by every Egypt- ian feature, and yet inhabited by Mohammedans, and kept in the Saracen style. I recovered rapidly while residing in Memphis, and was strictly enjoined never to mention the rene- gade even remotely. I pursued my studies as usual, and every evening, while with my mother, I taught Una such lessons as she had leisure to study. The ruins were almost uninhabited, and the caravansary appeared, from several circumstances, to be only a temporary shelter for itinerants. It was very rare that any one called or passed, and we lived in quiet seclusion, associating but little with the two Sara- eens who were the proprietors of the establishment. My father appeared to be well acquainted with them; but he never permitted me to inquire as te who or what they were. One day, I was standing before one of those enor- mous statues of red granite, glaired with varnish of the same color, deeply absorbed in thought, and wondering at its proportions, as it stood forty-five feet above its pedestal, with a breadth, from shoul- der to shoulder, of fifteen feet, when I heard, from its opposite side, the following discourse :— “T tell thee, Phirouz Beni Zerri, that sum will not answer. I have a liking myself for the Fawn; she is, indeed, a houri. I know your infamous plan of taking her off, and selling her for a heavy purse : and look, you offer me a paltry sum to betray one who has eaten salt with me, to surrender an orphan into your pitiless hand, the child of Zenghi’s soul,* one I have heard him say he loved tenderly, and fur whom he felt a father’s affection, as she had now no living relation or friend but himself, and that he was training her for his son, Hasan, who he intend- ed should marry her in two or three years. No, man, I will not agree to your terms. No price should induce such an act in me.” “Well,” answered the renegade, “I always thought thee, Marari, only fit to sing songs and tell stories. Thou hast none of the man about thee; thou art cowardly, and a fool !” Marari, with perfect self-command, replied by a contemptuous laugh, as he said— “ Call me what thou choosest; thy abuse is good fame to any man; and I retort only on my equals, surely never on such as thou.” I saw the tall form of the poet glide off, and I * Adopted children are called by this appellation in the East.

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A LEGEND OF THE SECOND CRUSADE IN THE HOLY LAND. 353 watched him, as he stepped over broken columns and chiselled fragments, until overshadowed by the statue of Sesostris, and next by the ragged and falling walls of the Temple of Vulcan. The renegade must have been occupied in the same manner as myself, for he remained immovable until the shadow even of Marari’s figure entirely faded from the portal of the temple. He now stepped forward, and, as he suddenly encountered me, he appeared convulsed by the effects of surprise and anger. He ran his hand hurriedly in his bosom, as he said— “ By all the fiends, thou shalt tell no more tales! But for thy brain fever, my life would have been taken long since.” He rushed at me, and I shouted— “ Murder! help! Marari!” The renegade stood calmly by my side, and when the poet came, breathless from the rapidity of the bounds he made to reach the spot, Phirouz smiling- ly remarked— “Tuke him to the caravansary to Zenghi, for he is raving again. He says I am going to murder him. Come, I will go along with you.” Marari looked alternately at each of us, and shook his head. I could not say one word, so astonished was I at the ready villany of the man. We returned to the caravansary, and the rene- gade immediately sought my father, and, in my presence, informed him of my having accused him of designing to murder me, adding expressions of sorrow for the obstinate continuance of my brain fever, descanting on its horrible effects upon my imagination. “Brother,” answered my father, “I have, in Cai- ro, pressing business, and so hast thou. Suppose we hasten to my boat on the Nile? And, as H&- san’s malady is always aggravated by thy presence, we had better be off as soon as possible.” Phirouz readily assented, protesting “that he avoided appearing at the house on my account, and that, had he supposed I would have been abroad, he would have kept a watch for me until his busi- ness was transacted in Memphis, being only desirous to see a certain statue in the ruins which he had never seen ; and, designing a journey to Persia, he wished to look at it previous to leaving the country.” T went immediately to my mother, and stated to ter my discovery of another act of villany on the part of the renegade. How shall I describe my feelings, when I saw that the only impression the relation of this circumstance made on her was but a renewal of her fears for my sanity ! “Una, sweet fawn,” said I, in the multitude of my fears and distresses, “thou wilt not think Hasan wild ?” The tears of grief and perplexity swelled and trembled in her full, dark eyes, and she turned and looked at me so submissively and sorrowfully that 1 could only add— VOL. XLV.—30 : : | “Do this then, Una, for miserable H4san: be- ware at all times of being alone. Take this”—I handed her a small whistle made of a conch—“ blow it never but when you need assistance.” Time passed on from days to months, and from months to years, without my ever seeing or hearing of the renegade. During this time, I had ample room to become acquainted with Una, and her piety and noble nature so won and captivated my heart, that I thought a life of seclusion with her, my pa- rents, and the now infirm imaum, the happiest this world afforded. During my illness and convalescence, Jerusalem had been taken by the Crusaders, and Godfrey of Bouillon crowned king; and, since our residence at Memphis, I heard of his death, and of the establish- ment of his brother, Baldwin of Edessa, on the throne. But what proved of great importance to us was a discovery I accidentally made, in the fact of the proprietors of the caravansary being Assassine. I was prudently silent on this point, and they were profoundly ignorant of my knowledge of their tenets and political associations. Their residence in Egypt was for political purposes, and they were deeply concerned in the existing measures of the divan and country for subduing the disaffected and placing the young sultan on the throne of his father. Mostali Billah, the Egyptian Caliph, had recently died, and his son, Amer Bihcamillah, who was but five years of age, succeeded him. Afdal, who had been vizier in the last reign, was continued in office, and ruled the country in the minority of the young sultan ; soon, however, civil dissensions commenced, for Borar, the uncle of Amer, attempted to dethrone him, and seize the government in his own hands. While this was going forward, there was carried on every species of intrigue, and the Assassins were not only concerned in the political compacts of Egypt, but of Syria, Arabia, and Persia. They were employed by crowned heads, statesmen, and, indeed, by factious artisans. CHAPTER VII. My father saved but little from sword and fire in Syria. And here it may be appropriate to remark that he never allowed any of the family to revert to the siege of Antioch, and to this day I am ignorant of their manner of rescue from the palace of Baghi Seyan. I have always believed it to have proceed- ed from the same dear friend who bound, with the magnetic chains of gratitude, this stricken heart. Yes, so long as its feeblest pulsations remain, Val- frino will be found mosaicked there with love, grati- tude, confidence, and admiration. By industry and economy, while living at Mem- phis, my father added sufficient to his capital to make occasional voyages with merchandise; and,

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354 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, ~ on these occasions, he established my mother and Una comfortably and securely at Cairo, taking mo sometimes with him, and returning, on his arrival, to our home the caravansary. My life there was innocent and happy; and, by close study, I now completed my edueation, and my parents were pre- paring presents for my marriage day. During this period, I had gone one day, accompanied by the imaum and the two Saracens, to examine the Pyra- mids, and the whole day was spent by us in exca- vating and wandering over their subterraneous chambers, passages, and wells ; my father had been a week absent on the borders of the Delta, seeking a lucrative situation for us after our nuptials, and there was no one at the caravansary but my mother, Una, and a domestic my father bad purchased as an attendant for them. We returned by the red light of the setting sun, covered with dust and much fatigued, and I quickly sought my mother’s apart- ment, with the pleasing idea of rest on her comfort- able mats and cushions. Oh, what awaited me there! The glad and hap- py countenances, the light of my life, where were they? I looked hurriedly around; the room was in the greatest confusion; furniture in heaps, broken, and turned upside down—and, stretched at full length, with a gagged and bleeding mouth, all covered with a network of cords, lay my mother’s servant. This was at once a revelation to me. [ had almost forgotten for five years the renegade, and the scene, with the immediate association, had nearly destroyed me. I uttered a piercing shriek, which brought the Saracens and the poor old imaum, rushing one over the other, into my pre- sence. I fell on the floor, and tossed in the agony of my suffering, and now as suddenly bounded up, calling my companions to my assistance. We cut asunder the cords, and withdrew the gag from the poor woman’s mouth. “Oh, speak, Mona, speak!” said I. they? Where is”—— She replied, as she sobbed violently, “ That she could not imagine where they were. A cross-eyed, crippled man led others; they bound her before they left the apartment, and she knew nothing more.” The imaum was too much affected to be in pos- session of his judgment, and sat weeping and wring- ing his withered hands. I grew calm from despe- ration. “ Brothers,” said I, “ will you assist me ?” They stood perfectly silent. “ Only say what I can do for you in return ?” I repeated. “ By the point of my dagger,” the elder man an- swered, “it would be a difficult step just now for us.” I had no wealth to bestow, and I thought of one alternative. Stepping up to them, I whispered my accidental discovery of their tenets and political “ Where are compact, adding that I had never breathed one word on the subject to a human being. “ Now, brothers, assist me, and unite the strength of some of your tribe with us. And hear me: I will solemnly lend myself to become one of you; my body and mind shall be yours; it is all I possess in this world, and I freely give it—oh, gladly, to redeem those I hold dearer than liberty or life !” The Assassins left me for a short time, and re- turned dressed in travelling robes. They withdrew with me until we were alone, The elder Saracen now glided from his bosom a slender dagger, on which I was solemnly sworn, in the name of the Prophet, to abide by the laws of their compact to the last hours of my life. Having finished this ceremony, he next made a slight gash on my arm, in which he stained with blood the dirk, and, hold- ing its bloody point to my breast, pronounced these words— “ Thou art now an Assassin. Shouldst thou ever forsake, or betray us, in law, word, or deed, this sinks into thy heart, to be stained, as the point now is, to the hilt with thy life’s blood.” He withdrew it, and, holding it over my head with both of his hands, snapped it into fragments. “Now, brother,” continued the elder Saracen, “thou needest but this”—he placed in my girdle a dagger. “By and by, thou wilt understand the meaning of the inscription on the handle; and, when it is withdrawn from its scabbard, thou wilt find it true steel. It cannot be broken as yonder fragments; such as those are made only for our ceremonies.” The next gave me a robe, of the same fashion and material as his own, saying— “We must be off as soon as possible. We must endeavor to reach Cairo in as short a time as can be compassed ; there we must leave the feeble imaum and thy mother’s domestic.” We hurried to our saddles, with a feeling of tor- por on my part, interrupted only by the care which oppressed me for the safety of my dear old precep- tor. I rode by his side, and led by the bridle the mule on which he was mounted. All who have ever heard of Egypt have also heard of its pellucid and azure sky. It was now without a cloud, blazing with planets and refulgent- ly set with stars. The moon was full, and sailed in the very zenith of the heavens; while far before us, in perspective, were dotted groves of palms, and, leading from the desert, was stretched the white and granular sparkle of sands, ending at tne gates of Cairo. As we journeyed near enough to see the domes and minarets rise above the walls of the city, my poor old friend, from long habit, burst forth in tremulous intonations— “ What, beloved of my soul, is-man? An ephe- meral, who mingles with the dust ere the works of his hands, and tke devices of his mind in stone and

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A LEGEND OF THE SECOND CRUSADE IN THE HOLY LAND. 355 lime, even in wood and upon tablets, remain un- touched by time. Yonder, quiver in brilliancy the emanations of El] Moezz’s mind. He was the founder and builder of Ei Cahi, or Cairo. Where now even can be found the skeleton of that head which de- signed the plan and reared the city? A handful of brown dust is all that exists of it; yet that in- animate matter has braved, uninjured, the vicissi- tudes of centuries. Man’s consequence, his pride, his laborious ambition, is, as the poet sings, ‘but a troubled and fleeting dream.’ “How many empires have been founded and overthrown on the very sands beneath our feet! There is old Misr, the great Memphis of the Pha- raohs, now mouldering beneath the oblivious tide of centuries, and bearing the fractured marks, in its mutilations, of the devastations of Nebuchadnezzar. Once a capital, to be succeeded by Alexandria of the Delta—tie commercial key of the ‘ Macedonian madman.’ This, too, must have its day of pros- perity, and its day of decay ; for the Moslems came, and Fostat was the capital, and here are we, my son, now standing at the gate of its successor, Cairo.” We paid our way through a lodge on the wall of the city, and were led by the elder Assassin to a bazaar in the centre of Cairo, the property of a Jew. We found him standing in the door-way when we halted, where he remained until we were all dis- mounted. The Assassin stepped from his mule to the spot where he was standing; something imper- ceptible to me passed between them, when the Jew raised his Tartar cap, opened the door, and invited usin. He led us into a large and handsomely fur- nished apartment; inquired whether we would par- take of some cold pelau, or whether we desired repose and refreshment afterwards. The elder Saracen made all necessary arrange- ments with him, and, turning to me, said— “ Here, Hasan, thou canst leave the imaum and domestic in perfect safety.” He now addressed the Jew— “See, Hadad, we may not meet with Zenghi, the Guzel ; thou must say to him, so soon as he returns to the city, that his wife and the child of his soul have been stolen, and that Ali Adam and his son, accompanied by Hisan, are in pursuit of them.” He turned on his heel, followed by his son, and dis- appeared. As the day dawned, I saw a dervise enter the chamber and walk directly to my side, where he stood examining me attentively. I felt perplexed, but remained silent, and only placed my hand securely on my dirk, when Ali Adam stopped me by saying— “Thou must learn to look carefully ere the steel be withdrawn from the scabbard. Come, lay aside thy travelling robe, and, in its stead, dress thyself as a dervise ; we go to the Isle of Pharos, near Alexan- dria. I have seen some of my brethren, and they assure me—for thou wast correct in thy suspicions ; —that the renegade committed the act, and that he has gone to Pharos.” I need not say with what alacrity I hurried on my disguise, or how my spirits and energy rose as the Assassin divulged this information to me. After taking an affectionate leave of the imaum and my mother’s domestic, we set forth for the Nile, and, in three days, arrived at Alexandria. There was here enough to interest my poor old friend, had he been with us; and, as I passed the great strect, two thousand feet broad, commanding so extensive a view of the Mediterranean and Mareotic Lake, I thought of all he would have to say of the designs of the great conqueror in locating the city where it was, and of the former antiquity of the spot, as we passed the baths of Cleopatra, and other places which I could not think of, in the anxious and un- happy state of my mind. In a few hours, we were in sight of the tower of Pharos, known in ancient days as the Lantern of Ptolemy. We rode parallel to its basement, and, from the fire which was kindled on its summit, I could plainly read the inscription of the architect : “ Sostratus, the Cnidian, son of Dexiphanes, to the protecting deities, for the usage of seafaring peo- ple.” Lucian says that the architect coated the marble with plaster, on which one of less durability was placed, to the honor of Ptolemy Philadelphus, who directed its erection, and expended on the tower eight hundred talents.* [observed that there were several residents on, or near the island, and, among others, there was one pointed out to us of a Copt, of immense wealth and influence ; he was a Mohammedan in his faith, and had built on his premises a mosque. We halted at a fisherman’s hut, who, supposing us dervises, entertained us with the greatest respect. Ali Adam, while refreshing himself with a mess of fried fish, informed the fisherman that, on the next morning, he would, with his son, perform in the mosque the celebrated religious dance ; he also in- quired of him as to the visitors and strangers who had arrived during the last week or ten days; but, beyond casting his net, attending the mosque, and rigidly observing the Ramadan, he knew nothing. We went to the mosque on the third hour of the following day; and I shall never forget the sensa- tions I experienced when, raising my eyes from the marble pavement to the pulpit, a single name, in- scribed on a wall richly incrusted with devices in olive-wood, mother-of-pearl, and the finest china, arrested my attention: it was “ Allah”—the “ still small voice” succeeding storms and whirlwinds. The dress of the dervises is of coarse, white cloth, leaving the legs and arms bare; they perform their fantastic rites every Tuesday and Friday. We were not standing long, before the Imaum of Pharos com- menced reading from the Koran; this was succeeded * 800,000 crowns.

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356 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. ~ by the melancholy music of a pipe, of which I was musician. The Assassins girded tightly their full robes, and commenced whirling around first slowly, then with incredible rapidity, keeping all the while exact time to the pipe. They would occasionally stop and shout, “There is no God but God, and Mo- hammed is his prophet.” During this dance, they never raise their eyes; but I saw the Assassins scrutinize the whole congregation by side glances; and, from their whirling in one part of the mosque particularly, and only occasionally wandering over and about it, I was satisfied that they had discovered some one of interest to us. It was on the second day after our attendance at the mosque that I saw, near the borders of the island, a crowd collected, and, from their gestures, 1 was led to suppose the scene one of great excite- ment. I hastened to the place, and saw, stretched on the sand, the headless body of a man; his dress was such as men of fortune usually wore, and the girdle which bound his pelisse was set with rich and valuable jewels. I also saw, sitting humbly by his side, with folded arms and downcast eyes, the elder Assassin. He appeared not to notice any one ; and, when there was a cessation of clamor, he would re- peat passage after passage from the Koran. He saw me join the mob, and, as usual, receive the deference which, in the East, is always extended to dervises; but he appeared absorbed in funeral and pious prayers, and sat for some time quietly. Presently, he rose, as if about to arrange the corpse for burial, and, elevating his voice, commenced his recitations again, stretching the arms by the side, and placing the feet together, when, most unthought of by me, I saw, for the first time, the short and de- formed foot of the renegade. The Assassin again folded his naked arms, bent his eyes to the earth, and walked slowly and composedly to the hut of the fisherman. I saw nothing of Ali Adam until midnight, when he visited me with a small iron lamp in his hand. Looking around the apartment carefully, he set it down, and secured the door and a small aperture which answered for a window; then, sitting by my side, he said, gravely and composedly— “ Hasan, what wouldst thou say were I to tell thee that thy bitter enemy, the renegade, whom thou didst lately see stretched on the sand, had endeavored in- sidiously to poison, by the band of a stranger, thy father? He dreaded his vengeance, and feared, after the detection of his traitorous act, that he would not be enabled to eseape from his pursuit. Three days ago, he sold, to ‘the man of the mosque,’ as the Copt is called, thy mother and the Fawn, the former as hernurse. ‘ Gird up now thy loins like a man,’ and hear firmly what I shall reveal to thee. The black wing of Azriel has overshadowed the child of Zen- ghi’s soul; spasm after spasm, from her capture until her death, knew but a few hours’ interval, and she must have had incessant delirium, for she would say not a word, but constantly endeavored to sound a small conch which she had chained around her neck.” As Ali Adam concluded, I sprang on my feet; large beads of cold dew gathered on my brow, and the hot blood gushed from my nostrils. The Assas- sin placed his finger on his lip, in token of silence. “See here, Hasan,” he whispered, unrolling a turban stained with blood, which he had concealed beneath his robe. “See how Phirouz has dearly paid for his detestable baseness to those who never injured, but loved and confided in him.” He held, by the gory beard, the head of the rene- gade. I sickened and turned away from the hideous and fiendlike countenance, which glared, with its glazed and crossed eyes, upon me. I will now conclude by adding that Ali Adam assisted me in ransoming my mother; but, ere two years elapsed, I was, as I now am, without one liy- ing being who could call me kindred or relative. 6-200" “THE N—N OW.” BY H. MERRAN PAREE. We parted—not when the evening stars -Hung in the ambient air— When peace had covered the earth with wings, And rest was everywhere ; Not when the summer suntide Hung o’er the purple rill, When the cooing ringdove sought her nest *Mong the shadows upon the bill ; Not in the glory of morning, When the earth rang jubilee, When music was going up to heaven From woodland, vale, and lea: But when the chilling snow-flakes Rushed from the bursting clouds, And danced about the timid flower, Winding it close in shrouds; When the wind went moaning along the street Seeking for children poor, And found a home in a hovel low Of a widow, upon the moor; We stood alone ’neath the roofless trees, With the snow-flakes falling through, Falling and freezing upon my heart As I bade the loved adieu; We two were there—a moment more, And the worshipped one was gone: I turned me and crept to the garden gate With my frozen heart alone. Long months have passed, and a pleasant light Is creeping softly across the hill— And brighter flowers and other birds Bathe in the purple ri!l— And the wind breathes low and wooingly To the bird on the swinging bough, For the summer of earth is come again, And nature is joyful now ; And the shadows lie gently among the trees Where we stood on that fearful day— And the icy crust that covered my heart The Father hath broken away.

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MY COUNTRY COUSI BY MISS MARY E. THROPP. CHAPTER I. Though modest, on his unembarrassed brow Nature had written “gentleman.”—Byroy. “News, ladies, news!” said Frank Foster, putting his head into my parlor window, where a bevy of the young girls of the village had collected, one pleasant June morning, to discuss the events of the little party I had given them the evening before. “What is it, Frank; what is it?” cried all in a breath. (Don’t be shocked, my young fashionables, at this want of ceremony; remember, the young people of our village grew up together.) “Why, there came a letter by mail, this morning, directed to —— , the distinguished American poet, at this place: besides, I heard through my cousin, Fred. Foster, formerly his college chum, now his correspondent, that he intended spending a month in our village, a week ago; so you see we may expect him certainly—scarcely this week, as it is now Saturday, but soon, as he is already supposed to be here. Now, ladies, I happen to know that he is young, single, good-looking, amiable; and, if I were not disposable myself (a prize, as you all know, well worth securing), I should advise you to ‘set your caps,’ one and all, without delay.” “Come in, Frank, do, and tell us all about him.” “Not for the universe; I have but half a second left to reach the cars; I shall miss them if I remain here another moment. Oh, les femmes! les femmes ! he who lingers is lost: let me resist temptation im- mediately. Au revoir, ladies, au revoir ;” and, bow- ing gracefully, the gay young man turned away and walked on down the street. “Oh, Aunt Debbie,” said little Nell Thompson, “what a pity we had our party so soon! If he had only come this week, instead of next!” “Never mind, my dear; I will give you another.” “You will! Oh, girls! did you hear that? Aunt Debbie is going to give us another party.” “Is she? Are you, Aunt Debbie? Oh, you dar- ling woman! Thank you! thank you!” and they crowded round in their glee, thanking and caressing me. “There, there, my children, that will do: Nelly, my specks, dear, if you please; there, on that table. Thank you. Lucy, will you gather up my sewing? you have overturned my work-basket. See what you have done, Maggie; you have drawn the needles out of my stocking.” “Oh, pardon, pardon, Aunt Debbie; but when shall we have the party?” 30* “When? week after next; we will decide on the evening between this and that time.” “You will invite the poet?” “Oh, of course.” “Let me see: I'll wear my salmon-colored silk, it is so becoming to me,” said the handsome Helen Houston. “T’ll wear my blue barege,” said little blonde Lucy Nelson; “it’s so delicate, it suits my complex- ion exactly.” “We will order new dresses of pale pink satin,” said the elder of the two proud Sherwood sisters, “and brother Tom will make the poet’s acquaint- ance, and invite him home to dinner.” “And what will the little Annie wear?” said I, bending down to the sweet but silent girl on the footstool at my feet; “you will wish to captivate also?” “ As for clothes, my worldly effects are something like Ichabod Crane’s, portable in a pocket-handker- chief; and, as I have no means of enhancing their value at present, I must e’en make the best of mat- ters: but as to captivating the poet, Aunt Debbie, would you have me try?” “T would have you try to fulfil your promise to spend a few weeks with me, now that I shall have this party to get up; besides, I have a country cousin coming to visit me next week, whom I should like you to help me entertain.” “Oh, with pleasure; and I can come very well, now that my aunt is staying with us. Mother will not miss me while Aunt Ellison is with her.” “That’s a dear obliging girl! Now don’t disap- point me; I shall depend on you.” Soon after, the girls left, and after arranging the room, I set about taking up the dropped stitches of my unfortunate stocking, thinking the while of Annie Logan. You shall know more about her, my reader; but first I must premise that, although all the young folks of the village call me Aunt Debbie, I have no earthly right to that title, as I was an only child, and am now a “maiden lady,” so far advanced in years that I do not like to publish them. I have a cousin, however, a young cousin, who is “a host in himself.” Excuse me, my reader, that neither you nor my young friends in the village are to know more about him at present. I never boast, my reader, either of relations or acquaintances, never! knowing that where boasting is used, it is needed; though I confess to being somewhat egotistical just now: so let me return from the snow of age to the bloom of youth; to one elegant in manner, culti- 357

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358 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, vated in intellect, noble in principle, and beautiful in thought, feeling, and expression—my little favor- ite, Annie Logan. She was poor, in the estimation of the world, being the only daughter of a widowed mother, who was obliged to keep a boarding-house, and having to teach music for her own maintenance ; nevertheless, in all that makes a woman intrinsical- ly valuable, she was rich, abundantly wealthy. I had taken up all the stitches, folded up my nearly finished stocking, and run the needles through the ball of yarn, when I heard the long, shrill warn- ing whistle of the returning cars. It reminded me of Mr. Cutter’s “Song of Steam,” and, as I sat re- peating to myself that most beautiful lyric, I felt a slight tap on my shoulder, and, turning quickly round, beheld my cousin, carpet-bag in hand. My only living relation! Did he ever appear as hand- some to any one as he did to me that morning, when, the first greeting over, I had time to observe him! to watch the ever-varying expression of his fine eyes, and to admire the rich chestnut hair waving over the white, magnificently-developed forehead! I had not seen him since my removal from the coun- try to this village ten years ago, and he was then a quiet, diffident youth, preparing for college. . Now, as I sat talking with him, I could not help mentally exclaiming, again and again—How much improved he is! and what a splendid specimen of manhood! That evening, after he had drawn my easy-chair to the centre-table and placed a footstool under my feet, he seated himself opposite, remarking how homelike and peaceful my little parlor seemed, with its bright light and cheerful fire, to him, who had so long been deprived of the blessings and comforts of home. I sent for my knitting, and we spent a pleasant evening together, my cousin and I, enjoy- ing a conversation frank in character, cheering in tone, and rich in old memories. CHAPTER II. She to higher hopes Was destined. AKENSIDE. Desorau,” said my aristocratic old friend, Mrs. Featherstonaugh, at the conclusion of her last long letter, “I have determined to let Florence remain one more winter at the north, in order to perfect herself in music and the languages; and, as it is neither pleasant nor desirable that she should come so far south in midsummer for a few weeks, I should like to have her spend her vacation with you. You will take good care of my daughter, my true friend, and will be a watchful guardian, I trust. I do not wish to have her make any new acquaintances. You know well that, although an American, I am no lover of democracy, and I particularly dislike the present levelling system of society. Besides, I have bestowed so much care and expense on Flo- rence that I anticipate a brilliant débat for her next winter in our own city. I am confident that she will be the belle of the season. Pardon a mother’s ambition, dear Deborah, and forgive me my ‘illibe- ral views,’ as you used to do in ‘auld lang syne.’ If, as Bulwer asserts, our opinions are the angel part of our nature, I fear you will not give much for mine. Nevertheless, I feel assured that, for the sake of our old friendship, you will regard the trust and value the attachment of Your sincere friend, FRANCES FEATHERSTONAUGH. “P.S. Please insist upon Florence’s wearing a large sun-bonnet whenever she goes out.” “Poor Fanny!” thought I, as I refolded the letter; “as narrow-minded and conservative as ever.” But there are excuses for her, my reader: though an American, as she says, by birth, she was of English parentage and education, and had married a wealthy friend and countryman of her father’s, who was as strenuous a royalist as himself. I could not help smiling at the postscript: Did she wish the sun- bonnet to protect her daughter’s fair face from the sun, or from the admiring gaze of our village beaux ? This letter was soon followed by Miss Feather- stonaugh, who came a few days after my cousin’s arrival. I had never seen her before, and when she threw back the long thick green veil that almost enveloped her whole person, I could not but acknow- ledge that her appearance justified her mother’s worldly expectations. She was tall, slender, and stately in figure; distingué, and at the same time fascinating in manner: but when she removed the close travelling bonnet, and I saw the whole contour of her most perfect Grecian features, her large lus- trous eyes, and her magnificent wealth of dark hair, parted smoothly on the centre of her forehead, brushed back, and gathered into soft shining folds at the back of her head, I stood looking at her like one entranced. Never in my life had I seen any one so beautiful, so superb! Recovering myself, I led the way to the apartment prepared for her, and, as she employed herself in various little matters, I could not help following her with my eyes. I was charmed. Well might her proud fond mother say, “My Florence moves like a queen!” Miss Feather- stonaugh was somewhat fatigued with her journey, and I left her to rest awhile previous to preparing for dinner. My cousin was out rambling in the woods when she came, but I had the pleasure of presenting him at dinner. I saw by his animated manner that he was as much pleased as myself with this new and delightful acquisition to our family. Miss Featherstonaugh was rather reserved during the first and second days of her visit; but, owing partly to the simple unceremonious customs of my household, and much more to the really polite and

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MY COUNTRY COUSIN. engaging deportment of my cousin, she began to unbend, and soon accommodated herself to our mode of living perfectly. Towards the close of the second evening I opened the piano, and requested her to play. She complied immediately, and played skil- fully and well, with taste, beauty, and feeling. She sang too; and, as the fine full tones of her voice floated through the apartment, my cousin joined in, and I, charmed and thrown off my guard by the softening influence of the music, commenced also; but as my poor old cracked voice did anything but add to the melody, I soon desisted, not a little dis- comfited. But my kind thoughtful cousin insisted upon my singing “ Home, Sweet Home” with them, and one or two other old tunes, before we retired. Next morning, as I had an engagement, my cou- sin proposed a ride on horseback to Miss Feather- stonaugh, which she accepted with pleasure, and soon made her appearance in an elegant blue riding- habit, black velvet cap, and white plumes. Miss Featherstonaugh certainly understeod the art of dressing well: she could not have selected a more becoming costume. I saw my cousin regard her with evident admiration when he entered to say that all was in readiness. I watched them mount from the piazza, and, as they rode off, gracefully bowing their adieux, I could not help building an “air-cas- tle” for them entirely at variance with friend Fan- ny’s injunctions. During their absence, to my great delight, Annie Logan arrived. The sweet girl! there is such an undefinable charm about her that her presence is always desirable. I took great plea- sure in presenting Miss Featherstonaugh and my cousin to my little favorite when they returned. While the girls were changing their dresses, my cou- sin embraced the opportunity to ask me a few ques- tions concerning Annie, adding that he did not care how many more ladies came, if they were all as charming and agreeable as Miss Featherstonaugh. I was about to sound him farther when the door opened, and Annie and Miss Featherstonaugh en- tered. My cousin arose and offered chairs; but, be- fore they had time to accept, the dinner-bell rang. Never was there a pleasanter dinner party, and ne- ver was there a happier household than mine during the week following. The girls drew or embroidered while my cousin read to them, in the mornings; after dinner, we walked, rode, or sailed; and in the even- ings we had music, conversation, games, and very often, visitors. I felt almost young again; my heart warmed and expanded in the genial spring-like in- fluence around me, and there came back over the waste of my existence a breath from the far-off morning-time. CHAPTER III. Hers was the brow in trials unperplexed, That cheered the sad, and tranquillized the vexed. Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild The parted ringlet shone in simplest guise. CAMPBELL. Arter breakfast one morning, when I had sent my cousin to arrange a little matter of business for me, left Miss Featherstonaugh promenading in the piazza, and seen Annie seated in the parlor at her drawing, I went up to my room to write a letter. The windows were all open; and, as I sat at my desk in the corner between a front and side window, col- lecting and arranging my thoughts, my eyes resting at intervals on the lovely landscape below, and the blue river winding its solitary way afar off, I heard little feet ascending the steps of the piazza, and then a childish voice supplicating in pitiful tones for a few pennies to buy some bread. “Run away,” said Miss Featherstonaugh, “run off home, little ragamuffin; no one encourages beg- gars here.” I hastened to the window to see who it was, for I knew, from the boy’s earnest sorrowful tone, that he was in distress; and I knew, also, that nothing but real necessity would induce any one to beg in our village; but he was gone, Just then I heard the side door open, and, going to the other window, I saw Annie come out and go to the child, who was crouching down close to the side of the house crying bitterly. “There, there, my little man, don’t ery so: here ’s a shilling to buy some bread; run off and get it as fast as you can. But wait: does not your mother live in the little cottage by the old mill?” “Yes, ma’am.” * And how is it that you are in need of bread?” “Cos daddy got drunk, and Mr. Miller wouldn’t give him any more work, and mother was so sick she couldn’t do any more washin’.” “What’s your name, my man?” “Tommy Dale.” “Very well, Tommy; run away now and get the bread, and take it home to your mother.” Poor Fanny, thought I, as I ruminated over this incident, I fear she has thought more of the external than the internal, in forming her child’s character. I was sorry that this affair had occurred. To be sure, it was trifling in itself, and Florence was recently from a large city, where there are so many mendi- cants. Nevertheless, such a want of charity in one so young impressed me unfavorably. I finished my letter and went down stairs. Miss Featherstonaugh and my cousin were engaged in an animated argu- ment on the propriety and impropriety of acting from impulse when I entered the parlor, but Annie was absent. Some time after, she came in, and I knew, from the radiant expression of her ingenuous ‘ face, that Annie had been acting from the impulse

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GODEY’S 360 PLPPL ALA of her own good heart, and that the family by the “old mill” had been relieved and comforted. To- wards evening, as we wandered through the cool shaded walks of my beautiful garden (I am very proud of my garden, reader, and with reason), Miss Featherstonaugh praised its plan, admired the ar- rangement of the beds, arbors, and shrubbery in her own peculiarly happy and graphie manner, which lent a charm to everything described not entirely its own, till I was quite delighted, and I felt heartily ashamed of myself for having harbored a thought detrimental to the beautiful being before me. My cousin listened approvingly while he busied himself in gathering and arranging bouquets for us. I no- ticed in the one he gave to Annie white roses, vio- lets, heart’s-ease, and forget-me-nots; but in Miss Featherstonaugh’s I saw, among other symbolical flowers, myrtle, heliotrope, and red roses. As the evening was so charming, and it wanted still an hour of tea-time, we concluded to extend our walk, Annie and I leading the way towards the river, my cousin and Miss Featherstonaugh following. Indeed it always happened, I scarcely knew how, that my cousin was Miss Featherstonaugh’s companion, whe- ther in riding, sailing, or walking. As we sauntered slowly along the banks of the river, enjoying the refreshing breeze and admiring the sunset, we saw at a short distance in front of us two little boys, the one fishing and the other watching him. They were standing with their backs toward us, and, as we neared them, every word they uttered sounded dis- tinctly over the still water. “Oh, Harry,” said the little watcher, “if I only had a line like that, I’d be happy!” “Well, Jim, why don’t you get one? I only givo a sixpence for this at Smith's.” “Tow can I, when I haint got the money? I’ve been at mother to git me one for weeks, and she says she haint got the money to spare.” “Won't your father?” “He don’t come back from work at farmer Rip- ley’s till Saturday night; but I don’t believe he’d give it to me if he was home. I must jist go with- out. I never git anything I want, anyhow.” “Come hither, my boy,” said Miss Feather- stonaugh. The child turned quickly round, somewhat startled at the presence of strangers, blushed, and obeyed confusedly. “Will you get me some of those white flowers on the bank there?” “Yes, ma’am.” The little fellow ran to comply, and in a few mi- nutes returned with a quantity of the flowers indi- cated. Miss Featherstonaugh took them, and put the desired sixpence in his hand. “Oh, thankee! thankee, ma’am!” and the de- lighted boy bounded away to his companion to show his treasure. “How easy it is to give happiness to a child!” Onn nnn nnn nn nnn anne MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, said Miss Featherstonaugh, her beautiful face re- flecting the pleasure she had bestowed; “would it were as easy to obtain it for ourselves!” The lovely girl, how I had wronged her! I gave her my hand, contrived to get her away from my cousin, walked with her, talked my best to her; but when I turned round to see why she answered Yes instead of No so often, I found her intently regarding my cousin, who was carefully putting the flower she had given him into one of the buttonholes of his coat. Simpleton! I might have known better: was it natural that she should prefer the society of an old woman to that of a young man? I repaired my error, of course. On our way home, we met Laura and Eleanor Sherwood, who invited us to a party at their house for the evening after next. Ah! this reminds me that I had forgotten to mention that the evenirfg for our party came and went by unsignal- ized some time ago, as the poet had not made his appearance. As the girls and myself were sitting alone in the parlor early next morning, we heard the ever-wel- come postman’s ring. Annie flew to the hall, and in a few minutes returned with a couple of letters, which she held high above her head, playfully ex- claiming— “Here they are, Miss Featherstonaugh, bearing the motto of thine own true knight, ‘God and my faire ladye.’” Miss Featherstonaugh sprang eagerly forward and snatched them from her hand; but, on glancing at the superscriptions, and seeing that neither was for her, her brow darkened, and with a sudden burst of passion she dashed them on the floor; then, turning to the startled Annie, with anger glowing in every lineament of her face, exclaimed— “Do you consider that a joke, Miss? If you do, let me tell you that I consider it an insult.” “Oh, I beg a thousand pardons! I assure you I did not mean to offend; I only did it in fun.” But without heeding, Miss Featherstonaugh brushed past her and left the room. “Oh, Aunt Debbie,” said the distressed girl, “what have I done?” “ Nothing, my dear; at least, nothing to merit such an ebullition as that: think no more about it.” “Oh yes, Aunt Debbie, it certainly was very wrong in me, very; I must go and tell her how sorry I am.” “Not now, my dear; do not go now; it will not avail: besides, I have a commission for you to attend to immediately, if you will, so that you may be back in time for breakfast.” What that commission was, my reader, poor old bedridden Nancy Brown, who lives in the cot in the opening at the head of the glen, may tell you herself, if she chooses; it is enough, for the present, to know that it diverted Annie’s mind from the contemplation of a disagreeable subject, pleased Nancy, and left me to ponder uninterrupted over Miss Feather- stonaugh’s sudden and surprising manifestation of

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MY COUNTRY COUSIN. 361 ill-temper, which I regretted, especially as my cou- sin’s eyes and manner had of late evinced something more than friendliness when directed towards her, and, unless my old eyes and specs deceived me, that something was reciprocated too. If 2 lasting attach- ment should spring up between them—Oh! I could not think of it: my cousin, with his simple domestic habits and warm heart, could never be happy with a woman reared and educated solely for the world of fashion, even though her temper were serene and changeless as a summer sky. Had I better make him the warder on the watchtower of his own heart, by narrating to him the incident of the letters when he came in? No, I could notdothat. I had learned Pope’s verse— “Teach me to hide the fault I see,” &c., too thoroughly in my youth to be able to violate its precepts in my old age. Right or wrong, I muat let things take their course. But then such a thing might not occur again until it was too late. My poor cousin—he certainly was far too good for Flo- rence Featherstonaugh. Too good for Florence Featherstonaugh! My country cousin! I almost fancied the spirit of the proud mother before me in the loftiness of its avenging wrath. Rest tranquil in thy ignorance of the fact, Fanny—secure in thy fancied elevation. Be assured thou art not alone in thy error. I have met many another in my walk through life who, like thee, chose to assume a supe- riority over men who, in their calm pride, would not condescend to notice thee or thy airs, save by a quiet swile of pity. A quarter of an hour later, when we all met at breakfast, Annie was conciliating to Miss Feather- stonaugh, and Miss F. was in return—shall I say it?—sulky. My cousin soon perceived that some- thing was wrong, and with a tact and delicacy that I could not but admire, introduced such interesting topics of conversation, and in spite of monosyllabic answers at first, maintained so perfectly his own even, kind, and agreeable manner, that we soon yielded to its influence, and the delightful tone of our intercourse, so rudely dashed aside for the mo- ment, flowed back into its accustomed channel again. CHAPTER IV. “Trifles make the sum of life.” “Wuart a beautiful rose-colored tissue!” said Miss Featherstonaugh, stopping to look in at Turner's window, on our return from a shopping expedition ar hour later the same morning. On examination, we found it to be of such delicate texture and exquisite coloring, that Miss Featherstonaugh con- cluded to purchase a dress for the Sherwood party. I urged Annie to get one also, but Miss Feather- stonaugh thought it would not be becoming to her. “Let me try, Annie,” said I; and I gathered it into folds and threw it over her shoulder. I thought the effect beautiful over her white dress, and appealed to my cousin. “What do you think, my cousin?” “That anything would be becoming to Miss Logan.” A bright blush suffused Annie’s face and neck with fine effect, and she looked lovelier than ever in her embarrassment, as she hastily removed the tissue. I turned triumphantly to Miss Featherston- augh. Whatalook! Could it be possible she was still angry? I rubbed my specs and looked again, but the hateful expression was gone; she was look- ing at some fine blonde lace. It might have been merely a contraction of the brow caused by a sudden pain, or, I might have been mistaken, possibly; dim eyes with spectacles before them are by no means infallible. After buying another dress, and some blonde lace to trim both, we returned home. Never was Miss Featherstonaugh more fascinating than during the remainder of that day: she read to us, played, sang for us, obliged us in everything: in a word, was all we could desire, and the hours flew by on “golden wings.” The next day, in like manner, passed delightfully away until seven o’clock in the evening, the time fixed-upon for the dresses to be sent home, and they were not forthcoming. Half- past seven struck, and still no dresses. Then the girls went up stairs, at my suggestion, to get them- selves in perfect readiness, so that they might not be detained when they didcome. Eight struck, and I sat down to dispatch a note to the mantua-maker, when a loud ring was heard, and the next minute a young woman entered the parlor in great haste with the dresses. ‘ “Sit down, my good girl, and rest,” saidI. “Jane, go up to the young ladies and ask them to step down here and put on their dresses, so that they can have the advantage of the large mirrors. Tell them my cousin is in his room writing, and they need not fear interruption.” In a few minutes the girls came down. To draw off their wrappers and put on the dresses was the work of a moment; but the hooking was another matter, as I found to my cost when I tried, and pulled, and tried again to hook Miss Featherston- augh’s, but without success. In the midst of my exertions, I was surprised by a merry, uncontrollable burst of laughter from Annie, and, looking round, [ saw her in front of a mirror regarding her image with a half-vexed, half-amused expression: then, catching my eye, she burst out laughing again. No wonder! there she stood with sleeves so tight she could not move, her arms hanging out from her side as if they did not belong to her, and her round slender waist magnified by the loose, awkward- looking body almost to the size of mine, fitting, as Jane said, like a “shirt on a beanpole.” “Why, Annie!” exclaimed I, forgetting my own

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362 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. task in my astonishment, and going towards her, “what in the world’s the matter? there must be some mistake here; surely Miss Flinn could never have made such a blunder as this; this body must have been made for some one else. Did Miss Flinn make any other dress of this material?” said I to the young woman, who had taken my place, and was endeavoring to fasten Miss Featherstonaugh’s dress. “Yes, ma’am; she had one to make for Miss Hall; but Miss Flinn has been too sick to see to the work herself these two days, and I ’m afraid the parts of the dresses must have got mixed.” Probable enough, thought I, for Miss Hall was anything but a sylph. All this while the young woman was tugging away at Miss Featherstonaugh’s dress. After incredible exertions, and by dint of superior strength, she succeeded in hooking it at last. Miss Featherstonaugh went to the opposite mirror to see how it fitted. : “Oh, very nicely indeed! it was a little too tight, certainly; but then it would stretch: true, it was rather wanting in length, but she did not mind that ;” and she glanced down at her small feet, in satin boots, which were visible, even to the pearl anklets, with considerable complacency. Just then she reached up her arms to readjust a braid which had fallen from its place, when rip, rip, rip, away went the hooks, one after another, all the way up the back. Miss Featherstonaugh stood still a moment, as if stupefied; then, tearing off the dress with such vio- lence as to make great rents in the gossamer-like fabric, she crumpled it together between her hands, and dashed it at the poor girl, exclaiming passion- utely— “Take that thing back to your mistress, and tell her to make the best of it, for it’s all the payment she will ever get from me.” The poor girl looked shocked, confused, and ga- thered up the dress, irresolute whether to take it or not. “Do you hear me? Take it back, I say, and tell her what I have told you!” and, with flashing eyes and head erect, she swept out of the room. “Never mind,” said Annie, coming to the young woman’s relief, “leave it; it can easily be altered: mine will do very well, too, with a little taking in under the arms—(a little!!!)—do not say anything about it to Miss Flinn; and as to the payment, that will be all right.” “ Annie, my dear,” said I, “do go up stairs and get ready; put on something as soon as you can, for we shall be late. I will attend to everything here.” After effectually comforting the young woman, I eent her away, and seated myself to wait for the girls, when my cousin joined me, exclaiming— “What a pity, Cousin Debbie! Oh! what a pity!” “Why, where were you?” “Just outside, on the piazza; so near that I could not but hear all perfectly. I did not know what was going on until it was too late to make my escape - _—— without being seen from the window near which Annie stood, so I remained quietly where I was.” “But I thought I left you up stairs, writing?” “So you did; but, thinking it must be time to go, I lighted my cigar and went down to the lawn, so as to be near when the young ladies were ready. After walking to and fro some time, I came and seated myself in the piazza, and soon became so lost in thought that I heard nothing until Annie’s laugh- ing arrested my attention. But such passion in one s0 beautiful, so exceedingly attractive, isn’t it de- plorable?” “Very.” tinued— “Do you know that I had serious intentions of trying to induce her to become your cousin?” “Heaven forbid!” said I, with more emphasis than I intended: “whatever you do, study well the character of my future cousin before you make her your wife.” “T will, I must; but oh! Cousin Debbie, would you have believed—could you have dreamed of such temper in Miss Featherstonaugh? Did she not seem nearer perfection to you than any other human being?” “Whatever she may have seemed hitherto, we now know what she is: let us profit by this lesson, and look beyond mere beauty henceforth, so that we may not be disappointed. But I must go and see after the girls; it is nine now; we shall be even more than fashionably late if we do not hasten.” “There will be no going to Sherwood’s to-night, I imagine.” “Oh yes, we must go—some of us, at least—or we should offend irremediably. I will go instantly and see what can be effected.” To my surprise and pleasure, I found Miss Fea- therstonaugh completely dressed in a superb light- blue silk, embroidered with white flowers and trim- med with pearls; while Annie, in her wrapper, was arranging some jewels in her hair. “Fly and get ready yourself, Annie.” “Yes, in an instant; as soon as I fasten this braid.” “What will- you wear?” “Oh, I have a spotted muslin that will do very well; I shall soon be ready.” And in a few minutes she did make her appear- ance in the spotted muslin, without a single orna- ment of any kind, except a few natural flowers wreathed through her hair, adorning the crown of beautiful curls God had given her. “The dahlia and the lily of the valley,” whisnered my cousin to me as they joined us in the parlor a few minutes after. We were soon at Sherwood’s, and Miss Featherstonaugh, in her rich dress and peerless beauty, shone pre-eminently the belle of the evening. The beaux of the village vied with each other in rendering homage to the elegant stranger. She was in her element; all smiles, all sweetness; and no one, in looking at her, would After a few minutes’ pause, he con-

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MY COUNTRY COUSIN. ——~ have dreamed for a moment of the storm that had so lately ruffled the harmony of that angelic counte- nance. The magnificent creature! she sparkled like a diamond among pearls. My cousin, too, I am proud to say, came in for his share of admiration; he was quite a lion among the ladies. I observed with pleasure that he went about talking with neg- lected young ladies, and sending partners to the wall-flowers decorating the room. I did not see him go near Miss Featherstonaugh but once during the evening: it was unnecessary; she was surrounded by admirers. Annie, in her usual self-sacrificing spirit. played most of the evening for the dancers, and would in all probability have remained at the piano all the evening, had not my careful cousin called my attention to the matter by asking me if I knew of no one who would take her place. I soon found a substitute, and it was well that I did so, for I saw, when I came up with my reinforcement, that poor Annie was almost ready to faint with weari- ness in the close air of the excessively warm room. T led her to a window; my cousin brought some re- freshment, and we lingered near it talking together some time. While there, Miss Featherstonaugh ap- proached us, leaning on Fred. Foster’s arm. She chatted gayly with Annie and me, but I observed that she did not once address my cousin. My cousin smiled as he noticed Fred’s evident delight at her graciousness, and, as they passed on, whispered, half sorrowfully I thought, “Would that she were as lovely as she seems!” Before leaving, I persuaded the young folks to fix upon a time for our own party. After some con- sultation, the evening of Friday week was agreed upon. On starting for home, Miss Featherstonaugh came and took my arm instead of my cousin’s. This was something new. Was she resentful? Next morning Miss Featherstonaugh was quite cool to my cousin, who left, immediately after breakfast, to go to the city on business. He did not get home in the evening, as he expected, but remained till the close of the next day. How lonely we were without him, and how much we missed his cheerful face and pleasant voice! Miss Featherstonaugh did nothing but yawn and exclaim against the stupidity of a female coterie. On the evening of the second day, Miss Featherstonaugh espied my cousin returning, from the piazza, and she even condescended to go half-way down the steps to meet him. Annie, who had been her own sweet obliging self during his absence, remained where she was, just inside the parlor window, reading, until, after having greeted us both, he inquired eagerly after Miss Logan. Then she stepped out, smiling, but blushing a little, as he hastened towards her, his fine frank eyes glowing with pleasure. My cousin had not forgotten us in his absence, as some books which he brought for Miss Featherstonaugh, some music for Annie, and some fine exotics for myself, amply testified. That was a delightful evening we spent together on my eens g 5 363 nee cousin’s return, and it would have passed without a shade of unpleasant feeling to mar its harmony but for the visit of a couple of ladies from the village, who, when Annie and Miss Featherstonaugh played for them, lauded the performance of the former greatly, without evincing the slightest admiration for that of the latter. The truth was, they preferred Annie’s playing because they were more accustomed to her style, and comprehended it better than Miss Featherstonaugh’s, which was the result of so much science and skill. Miss Featherstonaugh was dis- pleased, and thea, while under the influence of the “green-eyed monster,” spoke disparagingly to my cousin, not only of Annie’s music, but of Annie her- self. This was the finishing-stroke. My cousin recoiled from this manifestation of moral meanness even with its extenuating circumstances “staring him in the face,” and Miss Featherstonaugh lost irretrievably the last hold of the ascendency she had once possessed over him. Ah! if we could only impress the truth on our minds that good policy alone, if not principle, requires us to speak welt of our fellows, how much evil we might prevent in the world! Blessings on the one who has written— “Nay, speak no ill—a kindly word Can never leave a sting behind; And oh! to breathe each tale we 've heard Is far beneath a noble mind.” Let us promulgate it, one and all, for it is worthy. Pardon this little digression, dear reader, and for- give my moralizing, in consideration of my age and experience. The next morning my cousin, who is an uncom- monly excellent reader, read to us from “ Hyperion,” and I noticed then for the first time, and often after- wards, that, whenever he read anything touching or beautiful, it was to Annie’s expressive face that his eloquent eyes glanced for sympathy. I saw him more than once, when Miss Featherstonaugh called him to accompany her in our daily excursions, direct a lingering look to the modest girl at my side. He even manceuvred, and occasionally with success, to secure her for a companion. Miss Featherstonaugh was quick to notice the change, and I saw with pain that she visited her chagrin and mortification on the unoffending Annie. She chose to consider her an inferior, and assumed a superciliousness of manner towards her that was as inexcusable as it was unme- rited. Without being positively rude, she managed to annoy and grieve her in various ways. Annie endured patiently and quietly, but she seemed to feel deeply. I tried to restore peace for awhile, but finding it impossible, and remembering that Miss Featherstonaugh’s visit was nearly over, I contented myself with screening Annie as much as I could, while my kind-hearted cousin redoubled his atten- tions. Meantime, the evening for the long-deferred, long- expected party arrived. Everybody came, and

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364 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. everybody seemed happy. Miss Featherstonaugh ; was splendidly attired in lace, satin, and jewels; ; while Annie, in her simple becoming dress, looked lovely—the very embodiment of youth, grace, and purity. I had procured a musician for the evening, so that my little modest floweret might not bloom unseen in the crowd; and I was rewarded, for I saw many an admiring eye follow the light graceful young figure, and rest on the sweet truthful face of my favorite with evident pleasure. After supper, the young people who had fatigued themselves with dancing returned to the front parlor and stood talk- ing in groups about the room. Miss Featherstonaugh reclined languidly in a fauteuil near the piano, which stood invitingly open, talking with her brother-in- law, who had called, on his return from Niagara, to eonduct her back to the city, as the summer vacation was over. Annie stood opposite, talking with little Nell Thompson, while my cousin, leaning against a pillar behind them, seemed to be quietly observing all. As I approached them, I heard Miss Feather- stofaugh’s companion entreating her to play. “No,” said she, loudly and haughtily, “I am fatigued. Ask that person (indicating Annie); she will oblige you; she is a music-teacher.” I glanced at my cousin. He remained perfectly motionless, but I saw the indignant blood mount to his forehead. “Annie, my dear,” said I, determined that she should not play, and wishing to relieve her from her embarrassing position, “will you walk with me in the piazza?” She accepted my offered arm gratefully, and we went into the piazza, where my cousin soon joined us, begging, as he separated us, and drew an arm of each within his own, to be allowed to insert him- self between those he admired most and loved best. I took a turn or two with them, and then excused myself, as I had to return to my guests, who soon after separated for the night. The next week An- nie returned home, Miss Featherstonaugh went back to the city, my cousin left, and I was alone again. CHAPTER IV. So beautiful.thou wert in life! Thou art lovely even now, With thy pale sweet face, and shining hair Smooth parted on thy brow.—M. E. T. A year has gone by since “the party,” my reader, a whole year, with its moral and atmospherical changes. Summer is again abroad upon the earth, with its cloudless skies, its sparkling streams, green waving fields, and magnificent forests; beautiful, glorious summer! My home is here unchanged; but where are the young footsteps that echoed, a twelvemonth ago, through its silent apartments? The gay, the Some will never bound there again! ‘ admired, the queenly Florence Featherstonaugh has gone down to the grave. In the springtime, when her friends were preparing a joyous reception, she was borne back to her southern home in her coffin. The proud, stately old mother bowed down over the still white features of her dead child, subdued— crushed. Ah! the great, great leveller, Death! I have just received the sad intelligence; hold the letter, with its black seal, in my hand. It is from Florence’s teacher. It speaks of a gay winter, of balls and parties, of admirers, of their dresses, of colds, sickness, and death. The old story, and the old result. With her, “life’s fitful fever” was soon over. She sleeps well! But the mother—the poor old broken-hearted mother! Ah! Fanny, my oldest, earliest friend! and was it for this thou hadst waited and hoped, watched and yearned with a mother’s impatience and a mother’s tenderness? How shall I write to thee? What shall I say to thee in thy bereavement? How can I point upward while the sky lowers above, from which the sun of thy exist- ence has gone down forever? God help thee! I must wipe my specs; they are not damp, reader, only dusty. I have yet another letter by this morn- ing’s mail. It is sealed with red wax, and stamped with my cousin’s initials. Yes, it is from my cou- sin. Let us read:— “Ever since the suns and showers of April, my cousin, I have been endeavoring to escape from my numerous and absorbing duties, to the quiet and repose of your peaceful home. I hope to succeed, in the course of another week; and now, that the time is so near, I can scarcely wait; my impatient feet are almost willing to wend their way back of themselves. “T have been very busy and very fortunate since I last saw you; fortunate beyond my most sanguine expectations; and I now feel for the first time, after years of toil and struggle, that I am secure in my elevation. “T have thought of the events of last summer's visit often, oftener than I can tell you. I sometimes take pleasure, when alone in my room at night, in imagining myself sitting opposite a kind, benevolent old lady with smooth gray hair and spectacles, who knits industriously, ever and anon lifting her mild eyes to my face with such a serene, benignant ex- pression, that I am proud to call her my cousin. “T am a social, companionable mortal, Cousin Debbie, and I confess to you that the peace and com- fort pervading your home penetrated my heart, and made it long fora similar atmosphere. You will not wonder, then, when I tell you that I have built for myself a house in * after your own plan, my cousin; and I am surrom. |g it with a garden after your own heart, which I hupe to see you enjoy Altogether, it will be a beautiful cage for a stray bird, Cousin Debbie, especially for such a one ‘Where?’ you ask. It may be often. as I have in view.

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LANDSCAFE GARDENING. 365 _—~ eee singing now, for aught I know, away up among your own pleasant bowers, where I first heard its tuneful voice. I know this much, my cousin, that the little enchantress will come with me to the home I have prepared early in autumn. I have hastened to se- cure my beautiful captive, and she will soon fold her white wings and nestle close to my heart. Yes, dear cousin, I hope to have the pleasure of present- ing to you, before leaving your village, as my bride, and your cousin, the gentle, excellent, and beloved Annie Logan.” Annie Logan! Only think of it! Well done, Annie; well done, my darling! thou hast won a high heart, and a noble name; one that is ringing from the Atlantic to the Pacific; and a heart whose sublime emanations will go sounding down the “tide of time,” till time is lost in eternity. LANDSCAPE THE FORMATION OF THE FLOWER-GARDEN. ( Continued.) Laying out the area. This is the most difficult part of the business, and is not to be excelled in without a considerable degree of taste and experi- ence. In laying out the area of the kitchen-gar- den, its destination, being utility, affords in all cases a safe and fixed guide; but the flower-garden is a matter of fancy and taste, and, where these are wavering and unsettled, the work will be found to goon atrandom. As flower-gardens are objects of pleasure, the principle which must serve as a guide in laying them out must be taste. Now, in flower- gardens, as in other objects, there are different kinds of tastes; these, embodied, are called styles or characters ; and the great art of the designer is, having fixed on a style, to follow it out unmixed with other styles, or with any deviation which would interfere with the kind of taste or impression which that style is calculated to produce. Style, therefore, is the leading principle in laying out flower-gar- dens, as utility is in laying out the culinary-garden. As subjects of fancy and taste, the styles of flower- gardens are various. The modern style is a collec- tion of irregular groups and masses, placed about the house as a medium, uniting it with the open lawn. The ancient geometric style, in place of ir- regular groups, employed symmetrical forms; in France, adding statues and fountains; in Holland, cut trees and grassy slopes; and in Italy, stone walls, walled terraces, and flights of steps. In some situations, these characteristics of parterres may with propriety be added to, or used instead of, the modern sort, especially in flat situations, such as are inclosed by high walls in towns, or where the principal building or object is in a style of architec- ture which will not render these appendages incon- gruous. There are other characters of gardens, such as Chinese, which are not widely different from the modern; the Indian, which consists chiefly of walks under shade, in squares of grass, &c.; the Turkish, which abounds in shady retreats, boudoirs of roses and aromatic herbs ; and the Spanish, which VOL. XLV.—32 3 ore PAPI DLL EDL LDPE DP PE PAP POPPED a ~~ AAAAAA PP Pte trl ‘ GARDENING. is distinguished by trellis-work and fountains: but these gardens are not generally adapted to this cli- mate; though, from contemplating and selecting what is beautiful or suitable in each, a style of deco- ration for the immediate vicinity of mansions might be composed, preferable to anything now in use. We recommend the reader to peruse certain passages in Cowper’s “Task,” book iii.: “To deck the shapely knoll,” &c. Masaroni, in the “ Gardener’s Magazine,” vol. ix. p. 60, strongly recommends connection or unison between the several beds or borders of a flower- garden. “ Where the shape of any individual bed,” he says, “ean be changed at pleasure, without injuring or altering the general effect, the flower- garden cannot be considered as approaching to per- fection, notwithstanding any sum which extrava- gance may have been pleased to throw away upon it.” He gives, as an example, Fig. 1. Fig. 1. Abercrombie, Nicol, and most practical gardeners, seem not to understand the subject of style, and their rules amount to little more than that of subdi-

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366 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. viding the area by paths in different directions. The former author says: “If a pieee of ground be set apart for the cultivation of flowers, in what style should it be laid out? This may vary with the quantity of surface, and the object of the cultivator. In the first place, carry a border round the garden, nowhere narrower than three or four feet, unless it may be proper to contract its breadth under the windows of the house; or unless there be a green hedge, on any side, rooted in the level of the gar- den, which might be expected either to draw the earth, or to encroach on the small plants, in which case flowering shrubs in little slips of mould would do better than dwarf-stemmed flowers. In contact with the surrounding border may be either a grass- plot or a gravel walk. The latter is most conve- nient for approach at all seasons. If the ground be at all dilated, handsome walks crossing or leading to the centre will be also requisite: let the principal walks be five or six feet in breadth. The interior of the garden is usually laid out in oblong beds, three or four feet wide, with intervening alleys two feet wide, or from that down to twelve inches, when it is intended to abstract as little space as possible from the cultivation of the flowers; or the same end may be obtained by circular or oval beds, with smaller compartments between, of such a form as will leave the alleys of one regular width.” According to Nicol, the laying out of flower-gar- dens is a “ matter very much of fancy. Too many gravelled alleys offend the eye, especially if they be much twisted or run across ; as it comprehends the whole at once. Their breadths should be propor- tioned to that of the beds; nor should they be much sunk ; seldom more than an inch; otherwise they have a bad effect, and look rather like furrows than alleys. They may be edged with box, with daisies, with violets, gentianella, or thrift, according to fancy. But the edging, whatever it be, should be kept low, thin, and neat. It should seldom be al- lowed to rise two inches high, or spread two inches wide. A linear box-edging always pleases, if kept quite close and connected.” The author of the “ Florist’s Manual,” though she confines her directions to one style, has much more correct ideas on the subject than our practical au- thors. “It is more difficult,” she says, “than may a first appear, to plan, even upon a small scale, such a piece of ground, nor, perhaps, would any but an experienced scientific eye be aware of the diffi- culties to be encountered in the disposal of a few shaped borders interspersed with turf; the nicety consists in arranging the different parts so as to form a connected glow of color, to effect which, it will be necessary to place the borders in such a manner that, when viewed from the windows of the house, or from the principal entrance into the gar- den, one border shall not intercept the beauties of another, nor, in avoiding that error, produce one still greater, that of vacancies betwixt the borders, RR nnn nnn nnn forming small avenues, by which the whole is sepa- rated into broken parts, and the general effect lost. Another point to be attended to is the just propor- tion of green turf, which, without niee observation, will be too much or too little for the color with which it is blended; and, lastly, the breadth of the flower-borders should not be greater than what will place the roots within reach of the gardener’s arm without the necessity of treading upon the soil, the mark of footsteps being a deformity wherever it ap- pears amongst flowers.” The materials which form the surface of flower- gardens (Figs. 2, 3, and 4) are gravel (a), turf (b), Fig. 2. el Gen OY U7 \\ OR Ra eee (©) mC and dug borders (c), patches (d), or compartments (e), and water (/); but a variety of other objects and materials may be introduced as receptacles for plants, or on the surfaces of walks; as grotesque roots, rocks, flints, spar, shells, scorim in conglome- rated lumps, sand and gravel of different colors; besides works of art introduced as decorations, such as baskets, vases, boxes, &c., of plain or rustic work ; or tonsile performances, when the old French style is imitated. Rockworks. The author of the “ Florist’s Manual” observes, on this subject, that “fragments of stone may be made use of, planted with such roots as flourish among rocks, and to which it might not be difficult to give a natural appearance, by suiting the kind of stone to the plant which grows naturally among its débris. The present fashion of introduc- ing into flower-gardens this kind of rockwork re- quires the hand of taste to assimilate it to our flower-borders, the massive fabric of the rock being liable to render the lighter assemblage of the bor- ders diminutive and meagre: on this point caution only can be given, the execution must be left to the elegant eye of taste, which, thus warned, will quick- ly perceive such deformity. We must venture to disapprove of the extended manner in which this mixture of stones and plants is sometimes intro-

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LANDSCAPE duced, not having been able to reconcile our eye, even in gardens planned and cultivated with every advantage which elegant ingenuity can give them, to the unnatural appearance of artificial crags of rock and other stones interspersed with delicate plants, to the culture of which the fertile and shel- tered border is evidently necessary, being decided that nothing of the kind should be admitted into the simple parterre that is not manifestly of use to the growth of some of the species therein exhibited. In pleasure-grounds or flower-gardens on an exten- sive scale, where we meet with fountains and statu- ary, the greater kinds of garden rockwork might probably be well introduced ; but to such a magni- ficent display of art we feel our taste and knowledge wholly incompetent.” “ Where neither expense nor trouble,” the same author adds, “ opposes their pro- hibitory barrier, many of the vegetable tribe may be cultivated toe greater perfection, if we appropriate different gardens to the growth of different species ; as, although it is essential to the completion of our garden to introduce, on account of their scent and beauty, some of the more hardy species of the flowers termed annuals, in that situation room can- not be afforded them sufficient to their production in that full luxuriancy which they will exhibit when not crowded and overshadowed by herbaceous vege- tables; and hence becomes desirable that which may be called the annual flower-garden, into which no other kind of flower is admitted besides that fugacious order, and under which is contained so great a variety of beauty and elegance, as one well calculated to form a garden, vying in brilliancy with the finest collection of hardy perennials. Also, the plants comprised under the bulbous division of vegetables, although equally essential to the perfec- tion of the mingled flower-garden, lose much of their peculiar beauty when not cultivated by them- selves, and will well repay the trouble of an assidu- ous care to give to each species the soil and aspect best suited to its nature. Two kinds of garden may be formed from the extensive and beautiful variety of bulbous-rooted flowers; the first, wherein they should be planted in distinct compartments, each kind having a border appropriated to itself, thus forming, in the Eastern taste, not only the ‘ garden of hyacinths,’ but a garden of each species of bulb which is capable of being brought to perfection without the fostering shelter of a conservatory. The GARDENING. 367 LOO teaesnensneeese RARAAAS second bulbous garden might be formed from a col- lection of the almost infinite variety of this lovely tribe, the intermixture of which might produce the most beautiful effect, and a succession of bloom to continue throughout the early months of summer. A similar extension of pleasure might be derived from a similar division of all kinds of flowers, and here the taste for borders planted with distinct tribes may be properly exercised, and, as most of the kinds of bulbs best suited to this disposition have finished their bloom before the usual time at which annuals disclose their beauties, the annual and the bulbous gardens might be so united that, at the period when the bloom of the latter has disappeared, the opening buds of the former might supply its place, and continue the gayety of the borders.” The greenhouse or conservatory is generally placed tn the flower-garden, provided these structures are not appended to the house. In laying out the area, a fit situation must be allotted for this department of floriculture, and the principles of guidance laid down in treating of the situation of the culinary hothouses require here also to be applied. recommend the distribution of the botanic hothouses throughout the flower-garden or pleasure-ground ; but we are decidedly of opinion that much the best effect is produced when they are connected together in one scene. By the other mode they may form objects agreeable enough to look at externally; but, to derive the full effect of their internal beauties, it appears to us that they must be examined in suc- cession and without interruption. No arrangement can be better, in our opinion, than to connect the whole of the botanic hothouses with the mansion as an introductory scene to the flower-garden. Some According to Neill, a greenhouse, conservatory, and stove should form prominent objects in the dif- ferent parts of the flower-garden. The author of the “Florist’s Manual” recommends a spring-con- servatory, annexed to the house, consisting of bor- ders sheltered by glass, and heated only to the degree that will produce a temperature under which all the flowers that would naturally bloom betwixt the months of February and May might be collected, and thence be enabled to expand their beauties with vigor. According to Nicol, “the most proper situation for the greenhouse and conservatory, in an exten- sive and well laid out place, is certainly in the shrubbery or flower-garden ; and not, as they are very generally to be found, in the kitchen-garden, combined with the forcing-houses. In smaller places, no doubt, they must be situated so as to suit other conveniences ; and we often find them con- nected with the dwelling-house. In this latter way they may be very convenient, especially in the win- ter season, and may answer for keeping many of the hardy kinds of exoties; but it is seldom they can be so placed and constructed, on account of their connection with the building, as to suit the

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368 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, —— aaa culture of the finer sorts, and bring them to a flowering state. Such may rather be termed green- rooms, as being connected with the house.” Abercrombie says: “ A greenhouse may be made a very ornamental object as a structure: its situa- tion is, therefore, usually in a conspicuous part of the pleasure-ground, contiguous to the family resi- dence. The front of the building should stand directly to the south, and the ends have an open aspect to the east and west.” Flower-nursery, and pits for forcing flowers, To every complete flower-garden and shrubbery, a picce of ground should be set apart in a convenient and concealed situation, as a reserve-ground, or nursery of flowering plants and shrubs. The situation should, if practicable, be behind and near to the range of hothouses, and it may, at the same time, include the pits for forcing flowers, and the hotbed depart- ment of the flower-garden. Here plants may be originated from seed, cuttings, pipings, and a pro- per stock kept up, partly in beds, and partly in pots, for more easy removal, to supply blanks, and, in the more select scenes, to replace such as have done flowering. No flower-garden can be kept in com- plete order without a nursery of this description ; nor could the management of some sorts of florists’ flowers, as the auricula, during the latter part of summer and winter, the carnation, &c., be well car- ried on without it. Here they may be grown, and, when in bloom, exhibited in proper stages in the main garden. Walks. In most styles of parterres, these are formed of gravel; but, in the modern sort, which consist of turf, varied by wavy dug beds, and sur- rounded by shrubbery, they are sometimes dis- peased with. Such a flower-garden is recommended by tne author of the “ Florist’s Manual,” as suitable for the “midst of pleasure-ground,” and the beds “ peculiarly adapted to the advantageous exhibition of flowers.” The general length of the beds she recommends to be “from twenty-three to twenty- five feet, and the width, in the broadest part, about four feet; the grass to be five or six feet wide be- tween the beds, that it may be conveniently mown and rolled: ail the beds a good deal raised.” In extensive and irregular parterres, one gravel- walk, accompanied by broad margins of turf, to serve as walks for such as prefer that material, should be so contrived as to form a tour for the dis- play of the whole garden. There should also be other secondary interesting walks of the same width, of gravel, and smaller walks for displaying particu- lar details. The main walk, however, ought to be easily distinguishable from the others by its broad margins of fine turf. In general, the gravel is of uniform breadth throughout the whole length of the walk; but in that sort of French parterres which they call parterres of embroidery (Fig. 4), the breadth of the gravelled part (a) varies like that of the turf. Such figures, when correctly executed, PDADM BODY carefully planted, judiciously intermixed with bas- ketwork, shells, party-colored gravels, &c., and kept in perfect order, are highly ornamental; but very few gardeners enter into the spirit of this depart- ‘C) ane GQeooaoceeonneasebsastet#»».»l»se#ewev1s60ee02e# ment of their art. The French and Dutch have long greatly excelled us in the formation of small gardens and the display of flowers; and whoever wishes to succeed in this department ought to visit Amsterdam, Antwerp, Brussels, and Paris; and consult the old French works of Mallet, Boyceau, Le Blond, D’Argenville, &c. Edgings. In parterres where turf is not used as a ground or basis out of which to cut the beds and walks, the gravel of the latter is disparted from the dug ground of the former by edgings or rows of low-growing plants, as in the kitchen-garden. Various plants have been used for this purpose ; but, as Neill observes, the best for extensive use is the dwarfish Dutch box, kept low, and free from blanks. Abercrombie says: “ Thrift is the neatest evergreen, next to box. In other parts, the daisy, pink, London-pride, primrose, violet, gentian, and periwinkle may be employed as edgings. Lastly, the limits between the gravel-walks and the dug- work may sometimes be marked by running verges of grass, kept close and neat. Whatever edgings are employed, they should be formed previous to laying the gravel.” Basket-edgings. Small groups near the eye, and whether on grass or gravel, may be very neatly inclosed by a worked fence of basket-willows from

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THE DEAD DOVE. six inches to one foot high. These wickerwork frames may be used with or without verdant edg- ings; they give a finished and an enriched appear- ance to highly-polished scenery ; enhance the value of what is within, and help to keep off small dogs, children, &c. Abercrombie scarcely approves of them. He says: “Where round or oval parterres stand on a ground of lawn, it is a prevailing fashion to surround them with what are termed baskets. These are commonly made either of wood or cast- iron ; those of the latter material, of course, are durable ; and the others, if painted, and removed under shelter in winter, will last ten or twelve years.” 369 ~~ We present a few more forms of rustic fences, ia Oi SS Fi Pde A AS iy Sd made in the manner described in our August number. THE DE AD DOVE. BY FLORENCE MACDONALD. “Tr is only a bird, Ada,” said the young lover of the gentle girl; “why should you grieve over its death ?” “Tf the song sparrow had died, or the little wren, or even the robin,” replied Ada, sadly, “my heart would not have felt the pain that now oppresses it; but to look upon a dead dove touches my feelings deeply.” “But why should you feel more pain because a dove has died? Its life is the same as the life of a robin, a sparrow, or a wren.” “No, not the same, Henry.” “Wherein lies the difference ?” “Are not their bodies different?” “Oh yes.” “Tt is because their lives are different that their bodies vary in appearance: each is a form of affec- tion; the sparrow of one affection, and the dove of another. And this is the reason why, in looking upon one, we are affected differently from what we are when we look at another.” “A strange doctrine, Ada, is it not?” “Oh no. What makes the wolf differ from the lamb? Is it not his affection, of which his body is the repulsive form? The wolf is embodied cruelty, and the lamb is embodied innocence. And how good is our all-wise and merciful Creator in thus placing before our eyes, in this world, embodied affections, that we may the more fully understand their evil or good qualities! When we look upon a cruel beast, we have a more perfect idea of the dire- ful nature of those affections in our hearts which originate in self-love; and when we look at an inno- cent lamb, or a gentle dove, we perceive the beauty of good affections.” 32# “Yours is a beautiful theory, Ada; and, if true, how full of life! With what new eyes would I look around me on the visible forms of nature, if I could believe as you believe.” “T cannot believe otherwise,” said Ada, as she lifted her eyes from the bird in her hand, and looked tenderly at her lover. “And this dove—to what affection does it corre- spond, and why are you so deeply touched by its death ?” “Need you ask, Henry? Is it not the embodied form of a pure, confiding love—such love as only a woman’s heart can feel? And do you wonder that I am pained to see the death of such alove? Can I help thinking of woman’s trusting heart betrayed? of affection trampled out under the foot of neglect and wrong?” And tears came into the eyes of tho pure-hearted girl. “Dear Ada!” said the young man, earnestly, “why will you let such painful thoughts come into your mind? They have no business there: your heart will never know betrayal; your affection will never be trampled out under the crushing foot of neglect.” “T did not think of myself,” returned Ada, quickly ; “T thought only of others.” The young man pressed his lips to hers, and then their eyes drooped from each other’s, and rested upon the form of the dead dove. “Never shall her heart feel the pangs of neglect; never, no, never!” said the lover, in earnest self- communion. May his words prove a true prophecy: and if, in after life, his heart swerve, even for an instant, from its affection, may the form of the dead dove present itself, and warn him of the ruin his ‘nfidelity would occasion !

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EMPLOYMENT OF WOMEN IN CITIES. No. I1I1.—SHOPKEEPING. BY ALICE B. MEAL. We are apt to consider it something of an affec- tation, when we hear a lady denounce shopping as “a bore.” One may dislike trouble of any kind, but, when the exertion is made, and the keen pursuit com- mences, the patterns begin to gather in the hand, and the parcels to accumulate on the counter, it is not in the feminine heart to say that “ this is a dis- agreeable occupation.” Like any other talent, and like all accomplishments, “ shopping” is to be culti- vated; nay, the whole thing has been reduced to a science, and we have ladies on our list of acquaint- ances that might readily become professors, enliven- ing their lectures by many choice bits of experi- ence, and the result of long and careful observation. And so we will imagine, by way of passing a pleasant morning, that one of these indefatigable ladies has invited us to accompany her on a shop- ping expedition; for you, dear ladies, are stran- gers in Philadelphia, and as for us, we are sup- posed, by virtue of our habitual pen and ink pur- suits, to know very little of “the pomps and vanities.” Therefore we place ourselves, in all hu- mility, under the conduct of the brisk little lady, who, armed by parasol, purse, and a list of corre- sponding length, is about to commence her “ fall shopping.” I always commence in good season,” Mrs. Jen- kins prattles forth ; “for the people have more time to attend to you; and when I shop, J shop.” Emphatic Mrs. Jenkins! you are certain that she speaks “ words of truth and soberness,” by the way she goes over her list, arranging the miscellaneous items under their proper heads, as the carriage drives down towards the business part of the town. Her own wardrobe and the nursery come under one item ; the store and linen closets form another; a seamstress is to be looked up; an opening of mil- linery to be attended. You look on in dismay, won- dering how all this is to be accomplished: it might prove more than a day’s work to one less experi- enced than our guide. Now her hand is on the sneck-string, her list and pencil in the other; she bas arranged the “line of march.” “John, you may drive to Tyndale’s first, then to Levy’s. From Levy’s we will go to Second Street,” she says, turning to us with the same business-like air; “from there to Eighth; then up to Tenth, for some plain work ; and, by that time, you will want a luncheon.” 370 We think we shall. The prospect is fatiguing enough to make the conclusion a pleasant anticipa- tion. You have just paid your first visit to New York, coming from there to our quieter city, and have been introduced to the wonders of Stewart’s marble palace, and the elegances of Beck’s; you remember the smiles, and bows, and politeness of the perfumed and bewhiskered young gentlemen who unfolded the muslins, and rolled up the ribbons, and sorted the gloves for you. Did it not strike you as an exceed- ingly noble and manly employment, so befitting masculine strength and energy ?—one that a woman could never have the quickness, or grace, or taste to fill?—that it was therefore given up to the sterner sex, who had adapted themselves so harmoniously to what was evidently intended by Providence as their sphere? We are sure it must have foreed itself upon your consideration. But we are at Tyndale’s. You have heard of the establishment before; for it has even a European reputation for the exquisite taste in the selection and arrangement of the glass and china with which it is filled. And yet a woman founded this reputa- tion by her energy, her tact, and industry ; a woman planned the elegant hall, with its artistic arrange- ments, and gathered together the large capital necessary to its construction, and the scale of the business conducted here; where, instead of being received by a careless or obsequious clerk, a young girl comes forward, as a lady would receive in her own parlor, to know our commands. There are others behind the long counters arranging the vases that have just arrived in the steamer, or comparing the patterns of glass, or showing a new dinner-set to some favorite customer. It is a novelty to you, and you look to see how a woman in so exposed a position bears herself. With the strictest propriety and grace ; for she has been here a long time, and knows exactly what will suit her customers: that one must be talked into purchasing, and another sale might be spoiled by a word of comment. She has grown to be a physiognomist, and can tell in a moment that the lady in the flounced barége wishes some pattern for her dinner-table that will attract notice by the variety and brilliancy of the coloring. That exquisite Sevres set, with a different mytho- logical design on each of the three hundred pieces, would be entirely lost on her; although that plain- ly dressed woman who came in last understands the

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SHOPKEEPING. 371 PI value of every plate, the classical beauty of even the sauce-boats in shape and ornament. Our lady of the flounces chooses the heaviest glass, of the most elaborate pattern ; the face of the other lights up with admiration at the pure crystal water-goblet, so thin that a touch would almost shiver it, the graceful stem rising as if to hold the cup of a flower. And the attendant knows this at once, and thus saves herself and her customer time and patience. Yet this tact is essentially a feminine quality, cultivated by patient observation and a long expe- rience. “ Save the bookkeepers, perched upon their high stools, and the proprietors of the establishment, there seem to be only women in attendance,” you say, as we resume our seats in the carriage, while Mrs. Jenkins “hands in” the tumblers she has matched, the fruit-dish she has coveted so long for her dessert-service, and a tea-set in miniature for the nursery doll-house, “Oh no,” she returns. “I suppose it seemed strange to you; but I never think of it, except to say how nice it is. I am always in a fever when I see a man handling china; men are so awkward! A waiter man will break twice as much in a year as a girl, if you ever noticed it.—(No, not there, boy ; put those plates on to the front seat—here, by me. Now hand up the rest.)—As I was saying, girls handle things so much more carefully—(Levy’s, John)—and then I hate to have a man following me about the store, as if I didn’t know what I wanted to see. A woman knows when to hold her tongue sometimes ; but, if a man talks at all, he talks you to death, and, if not, he ’s so sulky that you hate to ask him to show you anything.” “ That ’s just what I should feel in being waited on by women,” you modestly suggest. “I don’t like to have one of my own sex feel as if they were inferior to me, especially such ladylike-looking girls. I never saw women who seemed better bred, not even in visiting.” “And so it is”—for our active little lady seems to have had a large share of good sense and right feeling—* they are well bred ; and so you see none of that cringing servility I so hatedn a shopman, or the rudeness that is equally disagreeable. Such a woman never could feel herself your inferior, when she is quietly attending to her business to the best of her capacity ; nor is she, my dear madam.” “ T grant the latter, and own it troubled me to see such ladylike-looking girls exposed to such public observation, and perhaps impertinence. It does not seem to me a woman’s place to come so in open con- tact with all kinds of people’—for you have been brought up carefully in the seclusion of home your- self, and are thoroughly opposed to female presi- dent-making, or having ships of the line called “ Women-of-war,” as some of your sex will doubt- less soon petition. “Tt would seem so, perhaps,” Mrs. Jenkins an- | | | | ' ‘ swers, thoughtfully, consulting her list to see what comes next in order. “ But think of it for a mo. ment. What woman ever trifles with a shopman, or allows him to bandy words with her? The same dignity of character can be, and is preserved by our shopwomen ; for, in Philadelphia, more than half our stores are managed by them. Some are very beautiful, too, and as well dressed as you or I. Wait till we get to Levy’s, and all along from there up to Tenth and Chestnut, in every fashionable shop. They have an opportunity to purchase their dress cheaply, and time and good taste to make it up. Besides, they are in the very centre of fashion, and it would be strange if they did not avail them- selves of it.” And this reminds us of a Southern gentleman in- troduced to us in travelling last summer. “ Ma- dam,” he said, “ Philadelphia is a beautiful place. You have some of the prettiest women there I ever saw. In yourshops,I mean. I went into one, as I eame on, to buy a pair of gloves; there was a splen- did creature behind the counter, a perfect Juno! Such teeth! such eyes! such a figure! I ’d give anything to see her on my horse Archer! She wouldn’t be afraid of anything, I venture to say. [ felt as if I was insulting her when I asked the price of these gloves. I felt much more like offering her my hand and heart than the gold piece I gave for them. I did not wait for change: the idea of four- pences counted out by such a creature !” " “ Your friend was an enthusiast,” Mrs. Jenkins says, smiling. “There is a great deal of the ro- mance of shopkeeping, no doubt, if we only knew it, enough for a two-volume novel. It was only last winter that the head of one of our best firms married one of the young ladies who had been in the store several years. She was of a very good family, reduced in circumstances, and thus restored to comfort and affluence again; nor is this a soli- tary instance. But here is Levy’s.” As you are well aware, this is our Stewart's, save that there is less display. The habitual eustomers are, as at Tyndale’s, among our most fashionable people, and, of course, those who desire to be so considered are always to be seen thronging the counters. Many a woman has helped herself into Uppertendom through her purchases, and the acci- dental associations of Levy’s and Miss Wharton’s; and many another of greater pretensions has only confirmed her vulgarity by her lavish and ill-judged expenditure. Itis here she has received the keenest slights from persons she would give her last new bracelet to bow to; here she has incurred the never- ending displeasure of the fashionable Mrs. Jones or Thompson, by ordering a dress from the same piece, and having it made from the same pattern, while Mrs. Jones is tall and thin, and her copyist is short and rosy. But it was the demure-looking girl behind the counter who told her of Mrs. Jones’s purchase, to confirm her wavering fancy; for she, shrewd

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PPP LP LAL LALA PD looker-on in Vienna, knew the instant effect such information would produce. She and her friend at the next counter are well aware of the unsuccessful struggles Mrs. McAdo persists in. She saw Mrs. Jones turn her back upon the approach, and the chillingly-distant stare with which Mrs. Thompson resigned to her the silk on which her ill-breeding laid violent hands. She knows that the Thompsons are living beyond their means, and that a crash is inevitable; but that is not her affair, so long as Mrs. Thompson trims her caps with Honiton lace at five dollars a yard, and she is instructed to trust her. But think you that, for all their fine dresses and fine furniture, she would change places with either of them? No; she has taken far-reaching views into the social world from her station at Levy’s counter. She knows the real value of the costly goods passing through her hands, and ‘that she folds the rich cashmere shawl for her customers over many an aching heart, and tempts in vain a drooping spirit with those rich laces. Care, and passion, and sorrow visit the proudest homes, and hers is bright and happy, and she feels that her own industry and self-denial have helped to make it so, and that love and contentment are not to be purchased with “ gold that perisheth.” Ah no, the cringing, fawn- ing neophyte, the careworn woman of fashion, might well envy her womanly independence of spirit, and the strength of her character. Hers is a pleasant and varied employment. There is no stagnation of thought or compression of the frame. All occupations have their disadvantages, and their own share of weariness; but hers has con- stantly changing interest, new faces, new traits of character, never-ending incident. And here, more especially, the departments are so divided that the actual labor is very light. The book of patterns retained on the counter saves many a wearisome folding and unfolding; and, being appointed to one style of goods, she necessarily understands exactly what is required of her. In the dull season, there is plenty of time for chat; and vacations of a day, or a week, are at her own discretion. There is many a bright and agreeable face in the twenty or thirty girls who line the long counters, aided, as Mrs. Jenkins had before suggested, by neat and tasteful dress. “And what is the salary?” you inquire, as we leave the store, partially converted to the new “ na- tion of shopkeepers.” “Can they afford to look as nicely as they do? or are they obliged to spend all taeir earnings in keeping up appearances ?” “T asked once myself,” replies our friend, busily bestowing packages, so that they may not be polking backwards and forwards with the motion of the car- riage. “None of them receive under four dollars a week, and some have seven or eight, according to their experience or real usefulness. I can remem- ber some of the faces at Levy’s for years, and, of

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GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK,

course, they must be well paid. Now confess that you don’t see anything in the least unwomanly in the occupation; though I don’t go quite-so far as Mr. , who dined with us last Thursday. He has looked into these matters considerably, and proposes a petition for a law to send all men who are found behind a counter of dry-goods to the penitentiary! Though I declare it would be a good thing to go in force all over the country, until they bestirred themselves to find other things for women todo. There wouldn’t be half the want, or sin either, in the world, if there was a wider scope for the em- ployment of active, intelligent females. “For,” she continues, quite entering into the spirit of the subject, “just see how many young girls are growing up dependent on their brothers or fathers, and wasting their own time, or making fool- ish, unhappy matches, when they might much bet- ter be usefully employed. And look at the widows, worn down by dependence and grudging charity, seeing their children neglected or ill used, when their hearts are aching to do something for them- selves, and to make a home for these helpless little ones. If I was a widow, I’d soon find something to do, you may depend.” “ But you could teach.” “ Not in Philadelphia, where there are more board- ing-schools now than can get supported. Many a poor soul is struggling on in difficulties and embar- rassments who would be glad to work with her hands, if she could only find something to do, and I guess it ’s so all over.” “ But there is always plain sewing,” you suggest, readily. “Do you know what women get for plain sew- ing?” Mrs. Jenkins abruptly asks; “because I have had occasion to know something about that, too. I can give you, almost word for word, the answer of a dealer in wholesale clothing, who had been twenty years in the business. I went acci- dentally to his shop to make an inquiry, and it oc- curred to me to ask if he could give employment to some poor woman I was just then interested in. “< We give the highest prices, ma’am, and calcu- late to have all fur work well done. Now we have given as high as eighty-seven cents a piece for fine shirts.’ “Eighty-seven cents! dollar and a quarter.’ “*Oh, we couldn’t stand that no way, ma’am. It wouldn’t pay at all. Why, in these cheap clothing stores, none of ’em give over a levy and three fips, and ten cents for Canton flannel. We don’t pay a great deal on that; but these are mostly made by old women, who can’t see so very well, and don’t depend on it for a living, so they can afford to work

Why, I always pay a cheap.’ “But a woman who does depend on her needle, how much can she make ?’ “Why, a right steady hand can earn as high as

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SHOPEEEPING. =e aaa Seer? two, and two and a half, and three dollars, by sit- ting to it all the time. A vest-maker can do that, if she ’s good at button-holes. You see, I just cut out half a dozen satin vests at once, and give them. A pantaloons-maker can’t do so well, unless she has customer-work, or is uncommonly smart. Some don’t make over a dollar, or a dollar and a half, if they don’t bring in good work. You see, they don’t stay long enough at their trade to learn. They can’t afford to pay their board, and so they don’t stay more than three months before they must begin to earn for themselves. That makes a great many bad hands. I pity the poor things, and get along with them the best I can. Sometimes I try to show them myself; but I have to turn them off at last; though, I must say, it goes rather hard,’ said the worthy man, ‘because I know half the time they haven’t got money to pay their board, and dear knows what becomes of them! And those that do well, you see, they have to sit so steady to make their three dollars, and then their board has to come out of that, and they don’t have much light or good air, and they mostly get sick, and just live along.’ “ That ’s almost word for word what he told me, and, I declare, it gave me such a heartache I could not enjoy my own comforts. He was, no doubt, a liberal and humane employer. Think how many are a great deal worse off. I’ve no patience with people who are everlastingly preaching up the needle. If the sword has its thousand victims, the needle has its ten thousands, small and inoffensive as it seems, because we women know how intolera- bly irksome the unvaried labor must be. I like sewing, and should not know what to do with my- self often without it; but to sew only one morning without stopping always gives me a pain in my side.” We all can certainly testify to the truth of this. “Some of my Sunday-school girls,” continues the good woman, whom we have never before suspected of knowing anything more of social economy than appertained to the management of her own house- hold, “when I used to teach—that was the first I erer thought about the matter: they were quite large girls: I had a kind of Bible class; and nearly all earned their own living. It was very easy for me to go round in my silk dress and white kid gloves, and preach up self-denial and industry to them, out of our Sunday’s lesson, and they practising it all the time, in those little dark filthy alleys, swarming with pigs and children. One of them sewed straw bon- nets ;—no wonder they can sell them so cheap, when they only give ten cents apiece for them !—others worked in crowded milliner shops from Monday morning till Saturday night, for a dollar and a half, mixing with good and bad—the Monday’s talk with their comrades undoing all the good of Sunday’s lessons. I soon found that out. A young girl could hardly have a worse moral atmosphere than one of those work-rooms; they themselves, and their mo- 373 LR LLLP ee thers, have told me so many atime. I always had a heart-ache while I taught those girls: it was the firet thing that made me think of what a woman ought. to be, or might be, in the way of influencing society—her own sex in particular—without any public gatherings, or speech-makings either.” Mrs. Jenkins has certainly spoken very energetic- ally in all those intervals of our shopping in Second street, where we have still been waited upon by our own sex as well as though the hands that displayed the ribbons and muslins had been twice as large and coarse; and now we are driven to Eighth Street, to be fitted for a pair of gaiters—still by a woman— and here the comfort and propriety are self-evident ; there is no need of soiling your own gloves, or ruf- fling your temper in bending over a refractory lacing. Eighth Street is the paradise of cheap shopping, as we all know; but it is remarkable for one other feature: so many of these little stores are not only kept, but owned by women, many of whom have accumulated a sufficient sum to retire upon comfort- ably, when they shall choose. This we are told from the lips of one of them, a bright, tidy little body, who shakes back her black curls, and snips a little bit of paper with her scissors as she talks. “You have been here some time, Mrs. White,” says Mrs. Jenkins, choosing a sacque for her young- est boy. “Yes, ma’am; eight years now. I came when there were very few stores along in this square, and I have made my own business, as you may say, and a great deal for other people. I’ve been a widow now fifteen years,” (she scarcely looks old enough for this, so round, so comely are her face and figure,) “and I was left without anything; and now I’ve got enough to live on the rest of my days, if I choose; but I know I couldn’t be satisfied to sit still, after such an active life. I bought my goods myself, and sewed, and ’tended the shop, and saved, and I knew all I was making was for myself. My rent was always ready when rent-day came, and I never had to ask the favor of security from anybody, though this house and store is seven hundred a year. Please God, I’m quite independent now.” And yet withal she is as womanly a little body as one could wish to see. But we must not neglect to sketch the three sisters that we find next door, dispensing their pins and tapes, and polite sayings over their little counter. Mrs. Jenkins commends them to our especial notice; but this is not necessary, we have made their acquaintance before. They are always dressed precisely alike, it seems to us, in subdued half mourning black dresses and lead-colored rib- bons, and each with a mourning brooch, their only ornament. We cannot tell them apart yet, although it is three years since we first chanced to notice the neat shop windows, with their collars and cuffs, and ribbons, and such beautifully shaped combs and

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374 GODEY’S MAGAZINE brushes. They are all tall, with full fine figures, appear to be the same age, or certainly very near it. They have kindly dark eyes, and black hair neatly arranged, and speak in a soft, measured voice ; they seem to have one voice as well as one mind. Many an errand we have made there, for a moment’s glance at so much quiet goodness and content. “Pins, Miss?” Perhaps our feminine vanity is conciliated by this, for they have never recognized our claim to the dignity of madamship. “ Which sort, if you please? Oh, English pins; quite small, I recollect; they do not tear one’s collars so, and though they cost a little more, are better in the end. Lovely day, Miss; quite cool after the shower yes- terday. Yes, ten cents for those; this size are a levy. Was there anything else? Combs? I sup- pose you would like them well finished. Sister, will you be so good as to show this young lady some tucking combs? At the other counter, Miss ;” and we turn to the other counter to find the ditto of the first speaker, in appearance, voice, and manner. “Wore your last comb two years? That ’s the fault of our goods, though,” (with alow mellow laugh ;) “all our customers say so; they last too long for our profit. But then we always have the best, as you say the best is the cheapest in the end. Yes, Miss, that’s a beautiful pattern ; we had a great deal of trouble to get itagain. The street is quite lively this morning. A great many people are out of town though. This one, did you say? Eighty-seven cents, if you please. We would just as soon change a five dollar piece as not. Thank you, Miss; some- times we have a heavy payment to make, and it is all the better. This is the change, I believe ; all but five cents. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Sister, could you give this young lady five cents? Good morning; good morning, Miss.” And both sisters bow and smile as pleasantly as if we had expended ten dollars instead of one. We have often longed to know something of their history, there is such an air of placid content and innate refinement about them and their little shop; their very ribbons rustle, with an old-style gentility, as they are folded and unfolded in their soft white hands. And now the carriage rolls beyond what we have always considered the business part of the town, down Tenth Street, to a range of low frame houses, each with its narrow window of cheap muslins, and tawdry ornaments; shops, as the author of the “ Charcoal Sketches” has said, “ which bring a sen- sation of dreariness over the mind, and which cause a sinking of the heart, before you have time to ask why you are saddened ; frail and feeble barriers they seem against penury and famine, to yield at the first approach of the gauntenemy. Look at one of them closely. There is no aspect of business about it; it compels you to think of distraining for rent, of broken hearts, of sickness, suffering, and death. “Tt is a shop, moreover, we have all seen the like, wee ———— , rn wy + atte en aa a a ae 3 nn eee ene AND LADY’S BOOK. ON SS 0m Eyl with a bell to it, which rings out an announcement as we open the door, that few and far between there has been an arrival in the way of a customer, though it may be that the bell, with all its untuned sharp- ness, fails to triumph over the din of domestic affairs in the little dark room, that serves for parlor, and kitchen, and hall, and proves unavailing to spread the news against the turbulent clamor of noisy children. The owner is one of those women you may recognize in the street by their look of pre- mature age, anxious, hollow-eyed, and worn to shadows. There is a whole history in every line of their faces, which tells of unceasing trouble; and their hard quick movement, as they, press onward, regardless of all that begirts their way, indicates those who have no thoughts to spare, from their own immediate necessities, for comment on the gay flaunting world. Little does ostentation know, as it flashes by in satined arrogance and jeweled pride, of the sorrow it may jostle from its path; and per- haps it is happy for us, as we move along in smiles and pleasantries, not to comprehend that the glance which meets our own comes from the bleakness of a withered heart, withered by penury’s unceasing presence.” Ay, it is too true a picture to spare one tint, one shade of the sombre coloring, for such is the worn face that tries to smile—such a wintry gleam !—as we are welcomed, though there is scarcely room to stand, outside the narrow empty counter. And why has industry failed in its reward? “It is those fairs,” the woman télls us—speaking bitterly, poor soul! and what wonder ?—“ that kills all our business. Some ladies won’t pay a fair price when they can get things there so much less, and even think they are giving to charity besides. It’s poor charity, to my thinking, ma’am, that takes the bread out of our mouths, and works our hands to the bone. And then they come here, and bring their work, and we must do it for next to nothing, because we can’t starve, and they know it. Some ladies don’t seem to have no conscience, ma’am.” But Mrs. Jenkins is not of these; she has come far out of her way to give out this bundle of plain sewing, and she will pay a fair price for it, too. “I know it won’t be done quite so well,” she says to us confidentially, “but it will wear quite as long, and nobody will look at the stitches. That poor soul used to sew beautifully when she was first a widow, but she set up a little shop for muslins and trim- mings, as you see, and sunk all she had, because ladies will buy where they can get things under price, without looking at the justice of the thing. Now she has to slight her work; but I never say a word. I see just how things go.” Reader, thus far we have spoken under the guise of a pleasant morning’s talk; but we have given you no fancy sketches. What we have related are stu- dies in a life school, vouched for by our own actual

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INFLUENCE OF EXTERNAL NATURE ON experience and observation; and yet the task we have set for ourselves seems so feebly executed that we could almost lay down our pen despairingly, when we think of the hundreds of our own sex, every- where around us, wasting life and energy in idle- ness, or ill-paid and wasting labor. And we have our own share in the wrong—those of us, at least, who allow the weakness or poverty of our sisters to minister to our own luxury and selfishness. ‘The laborer is not unworthy of her hire ;” and when, by trifling self-denial of ostentatious luxuries, the nee- dlewoman has her just and equitable recompense, hers will cease to be the wearisome and dreaded task it has now become. But this cannot be, so long as MAN. 375 It is a prin- ciple of our social economy that the price shall be equal to the demand; and where so many are forced into competition, justice cannot be rendered. But we have said what we could, with deep and earnest feeling, and must leave, for a time, a subject so full of interest to us all, believing, with Frederika Bremer, that— “He who points out a new field for the employ- ment of female industry ought to be regarded as a public benefactor; and any means by which such a field becomes accessible to woman recommends itself to society as an important agent in the civil- ization of the future.” it is the only avenue open to our sex. OF EXTERNAL NATURE ON MAN. BY J. J. BAKER. In casting our eyes over the earth, our attention is first arrested by the great variety of scenery, and the different degrees of fertility that characterize its surface. The contrasts are remarkable and strik- ing. In the polar regions, we have an aspect of perpetual desolation ; while, in tropical countries, sunshine and verdure everywhere greet our eyes. The poet of the “ Seasons” thus describes the former regions— “For relentless months, continual night Holds o’er the glittering waste her starry reign. There, through the prison of unbounded wilds, Barred by the hand of Nature from escape, Wide roams the Russian exile. Naught around Strikes his sad eye but deserts lost in snow, And heavy loaded groves; and solid floods That stretch athwart the solitary waste, Their icy horrors to the frozen main.” Such is a truthful and beautiful description of those regions of the earth reamed by the Laplander, the Siberian, the northern Russian, and Green- lander. Now let us turn to the shores of the Mediterra- nean, and the islands of the Grecian Archipelago, and refresh our vision among the scenes celebrated in classic verse. Here, the mantle of snow gives place to robes of green, decorated with Nature’s most gorgeous colors; here, the rivers and brooks flow unfettered and free along their courses ; here, all is radiant with light, where bird and beast find a congenial home, and mankind, sympathizing with the scenes around them, exult in universal happi- ness. The same contrasts may be observed in a single country, as in Switzerland, or in two contigu- ous countries, as in England and Scotland. In the former case, one part of the population live “em- bowered in vales where the happy Grisons dwell ;” while another part “force the stubborn soil” of the mountain for bread: one part are shepherds repos- ing in the grateful climate of the valleys, while another part are clad in furs, and shod with snow- shoes, adapted to their cold, bleak, mountain home. Equally diversified are the scenes of the two con- tiguous countries referred to, but too familiar to need a description. We may consider the various aspects of the earth as so many changes in the countenance of great Nature, with which we are affected as with the smiles and tears, joys and sorrows of a dear friend. In her mountains and hills, she assumes the pomp and majesty of a king, aweing us into silence and admiration ; from the beetling cliff, ragged and bar- ren in its aspect, she frowns upon us with the eye of a despot, sending a thrill of horror through all our frame; along the sunny vale, she assumes a sprightly air, her eyes beaming joy, and her face wrinkled with laughter; on the quiet lake, embow- ered among hills, a placid, serene smile sits upon her countenance, tranquillizing our thoughts and hushing our passions into peace. Again, we behold her in the heaving and swelling ocean, when the tempest goes forth upon its bosom, agitated, as it were, by some monster passion, foaming with rage and uttering a wrathful voice; and anon she sits on the desert, desolate and sad, with the dishevelled lock, the weeping eye, and accent of woe. These remarks have been made with a view to introduce the question as to how far human charac- ter is modified and moulded by the aspects of ex- ternal nature. Without intending a full discussion of the subject, we shall produce a few illustrations showing this influence to be undoubtedly great. In reference to English character, a favorite poet thus writes :-— “They take, perhaps, a well-lirected aim, Who seek it in his climate and his frame. Liberal in all things else, yet Nature here, With stern severity, deals out the year.

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376 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. Winter invades the Spring, and often pours A chilling flood on Summer's drooping flowers ; Unwelcome vapors quench autumnal beams, Ungenial blasts attending curl the streams : The peasants urge their harvests, ply the fork With double toil, and shiver at their work: Thus, with a vigor for his good designed, She rears her favorite man of all mankind.” Though this is poetry, yet poetry utters a great many truths; and it is a very curious and suggest- ive fact that English climate and character so entirely coincide. John Bull is a blustering fellow, just like his winds, and, if his climate is fickle and sudden in its changes, so is he moody and his tem- pers uncertain. Are his winters frosty, and his sum- mers genial? So are his likes and his dislikes, his loves and his hates; he has much winter and not a little sunshine mingled in his character. Now, if we turn to France, we shall find a people of very different character, and an equally diverse climate. The atmosphere is soft and transparent, and the temperature uniform and genial. Every breeze is freighted with the odor of flowers, and every grove is vocal with the song of birds. Now, though we would not ascribe everything to climate, yet how strikingly do French manners coincide with the aspects of nature around them ! “ The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, Is always happy, reign whoever may, And laughs the sense of misery away.” In Italy, the same correspondences exist between the face of the country and the character of the people; for, though it be true that idleness and sensuality have debased the Italian character, and brought down its high aspirings, yet such is the magic of their sunny clime that, despite the most adverse moral influences, it still, chameleon-like, reflects the hues of the scenes amid which it is nursed. We shall find a further confirmation of our idea by a reference to barbarous nations. The life of the poor Esquimaux is peculiarly dreary, rendered so as much by their modes of life as by their cli- mate. Captain Parry says they are dull and gloomy, living together like swine in snow-houses and dark caves, and that they are scarcely ever seen to laugh or heard to joke. All the circumstances of their lives conduce to these results. A poet has embo- died these ideas in the following beautiful lines :— “Half enlivened by the distant sun, That rears and ripens man, as well as plants, Here, human nature wears its rudest form. Deep from the piercing season sunk in caves, Here, by dull fires, and with unjoyous cheer, They waste the tedious gloom. Immersed in furs, Doze the gross race. Nor sprightly jest nor song, Nor tenderness they know ; nor aught of life Beyond the kindred bears that stalk without.” OOOO lO OLOOLOOOOOUYT nen It may be said that the vices of these people have blunted their sensibilities, and rendered them brutal and dull. If we but turn our eyes to the islands of the Southern Pacific, we shall see a people more degraded, equally destitute of education, and, se far as we know, equally low in natural endowments. But do we find the same dullness, grossness, stupid- ity, and gloominess that characterize the Esqui- maux? Here, the sun shines in all his glory, gild- ing the mountains and trees and waters with his radiance, and making the earth beantiful to look upon ; here, flowers bloom, birds sing, and warm and soft breezes blow. Can man be gloomy here? Can he resist the spirit of gladness that breathes around? These islanders are expert and elegant dancers. Unlike their northern brethren, they re- joice in a rude music, and take ‘pleasure in social assemblages and personal display. Dancing is gen- erally regarded as an indication of hilarity, and of some degree of exhilaration of animal spirits, though, in promiscuous assemblies, certainly attended with a deterioration of manners; yet, so far as it is the expression of gayety in these islanders, it shows a correspondence between their climate and charac- ter. No such amusement obtains in rude climes and on inhospitable shores. These observations might be extended to all the countries of the earth. Wherever extremes in cli- mate and striking characteristics of natural scenery obtain, we are certain to find corresponding deve- lopments of character in the people. Certainly, the instances are not all equally striking or manifest, yet are we never without some signal proof of the facts in question. As before observed, we do not refer all the peculiarities of character that distin- guish one nation from another to the influences of external nature; on the contrary, we believe that Nature lays the foundation of many of them, and some may be traced to the influences of other na- tions, to traditional and religious observances, and other causes. If our facts and observations have established the proposition that the aspect of external ‘nature exerts a very important influence in moulding the character of man, we think the fact itself cannot be devoid of interest as a matter‘of curious informa- tion, or barren of instruction in matters of higher moment. If it is the law of man’s nature that he becomes assimilated to the things around him, it becomes important for him to bestow some atten- tion upon the architecture of his dwellings and places of constant resort, and upon the aspect of their position and adornments. We know that this law of our nature has been taken advantage of in bygone ages to nurse the worst superstitions, and even now resort is had to the same measures for im- pressions to bolster up decaying systems of error. The law of assimilation is peculiarly active in associations between moral and intelligent beings. We are told, in the Scriptures, that “we all with ee a

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SS FF Se e- vr”" A SABBATH MORNING IN OCTOBER. 377 ~ ~~ open face beholding, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.” What a glorious assimilation is this! With what grati- tude should we reflect on the fact that God has given us natures susceptible of such glorious trans- ————eaeEeaeeaeeaeeeeeaeeeeeeeeeeaeaeaeaerammermermearmeaenan”eaean0w*vaou5uQue=—eEseseeeseese ee" a : formations, and capable of such high attainments in the scale of being! ? Seri h . { Scripture exhortations to cheerfulness have a re- ference to the same law. “A sad countenance” ( seems to be the peculiar characteristic of the hypo- crite, and is always a premonition of moral blight. A SABBATH MORNING IN OCTOBER. BY HENRY SEYMOUR CHASE. SERENELY wakes the morn; Her cloud-fringed eyelids glow with silver light, From that bright orb they guard. The azure depth Of heaven’s calm bosom holds one little cloud, Star-lit, which feels the first warm kiss of Day, And blushes. Then over the emerald hills, With glory, flushes the ruddy light From her soft-beaming eyes, and autumn woods, Clothed in bright rainbow~lyes, in one sweet concord Sing out a hymn to God. Like maiden coy, Wooing the glance of him she loves, the Quechee, When she sees the Day King out his glowing Bath of beauty step, dripping with glory O’er the pavement of the skies, doth gently Cast aside her veil of mist, and murmurs Back a soft “Amen.” Mountain, plain, and glen, Through night's cold tears of glistening dew, oft shed For absent daylight, gmile. In grateful praise, All Nature worships God. This lofty mount, Whose rugged bosom feels the power that Thunders in the storm, and rocks the eagle In her dizzy nest, and yonder fruitful liills, whose lowing herds enjoy the genial Sun, the universal concert join. The Wood-embosomed lake, whose calm blue eye, in Its clear depth, reflects the fairy shores around, Sends up its note of joy, and heavenly look Of love. Sweet-smelling herbs, and fragrant buds, Pure incense offer, too. My rose, within The casement, feels the inspiration of The hour, and heavenward breathes ite rich perfume. Hushed is the sound of daily toil. Man goes Not forth to-day, to sweat for cursed gain, But to praise and pray. Behold the Sabbath! O sacred morn, that saw the rock-closed tomb Where Jesus lay, by shining angels oped! O blessed Christ! roll thou away the stone From this cold heart, where lie entombed good Resolves. Breathe strength once more their stiffened joints Within, and bid them rise, come forth, and live. The church-bells chime; to weary souls how sweet The sounds harmonious. Through the bracing air Their pleasant voices ring; invading, with Their call to prayer, each quiet nook and dell. VOL. XLY.—33 TRY. Mount Tom, with joy, the merry peal receives Amid its cavern’d rocks, and, dwelling there, The fairy, echo, flings it gayly back O’er distant hills. The farmer's wife looks glad When faintly falls upon her listening ear The far-off worship~all. Each humble cot, And prouder mansion, send the op’ning buds Of youth, the ripen’d fruit of manhood’s prime, And wither’d leaves of cane-supporting age, To form an off’ring meet for God’s own house Of praise. In by-paths through the solemn woods— Through meadows, dressed in autumn’s later green— Beside the brooks where truant school-boys rove— And down the dusty road, they flocking come. ’ Around the church-dloor gathered, friendship grasps 3 Th’ extended hand, and greets, in tones and smiles ; Subdued, the motley throng around. This past, $ With humble mien they walk the sacred aisles. $ Bend low your heads and hearts, ye pious souls, ; For God’s own presence fills this sacred place, And opes the narrow gate that leads to heaven. * * * * * ; With careful steps, across the village green, ; See yonder couple take their ’customed way. } Each Sabbath morn, an aged mother, blind > With age, doth lean upon a gray-haired son’s ; Most willing arm. With love and duty strong } Imbued, he leads where she may praise in God's Own temple. After “service,” ere the hours } Of twilight pass, once more with cheerful steps $ He goes, and reads to that old mother, blind } And poor, sweet words of truth and grace, from that $ Illumined page where Mercy pardon breathes ? Through Jesus Christ our Lord. O fragrant flowers ; Of human hearts! there do ye meekly dwell, 3 And bless, with summer’s bloom, the wintry soul ¢ Of dying age. } THE SILENT MULTITUDE OF THE DEAD. O micaty city of the dead! what numerous hosts are here; And yet all motionless they lie, unmov’d by sorrow’s tear, Or by the mourner’s wailing grief, who weeping stands above This temple fill’d with pulseless hearts of lost and buried love. Though gladsome rays of morning come to gild the hal- lowed spot, Unnoticed all their glories shine; the sleepers heed them not:

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378 Though radiant beams of noontide fall with clear, effulgent light, Yet to that silent multitude ’tis one long dreamless night. The evening sunshine kindly stays to throw its influence there, And twilight’s pitying dews descend to weep the gentle tear; That hour so full of holy thought, to sweet communion given, When the spirits of the loved below commune with those in Heaven. But beauty all of earth and air, of'sky and boundless sea— The glorious face that nature wears, all glad and bright and free— Charm not the sleepers resting here, nor cause one throb of joy: 0 Death, insatiate conqueror! thou ’rt mighty to destroy. The husband here in calmness lies, and resting at his side Is she, his heart’s young chosen one, his fond and trusting bride : He cares not that she there reclines in quiet by him now, For Death’s unfeeling touch has chilled that fair and pol- ished brow. The tender buds of hope and love, that came with morn- ing’s bloom, The frosts of death have blighted now, and laid them in the tomb: The lovely form of youth is here, the beautiful and pure— Alas, thou mighty conqueror! thine aim is ever sure. Here, all unmoved, the mother’s heart lies pulseless, cold, and still ; That heart so constant, warm, and true—so firm through good and ill: The dirging grief of stricken ones cannot avail them now, Nor cause one ray of tenderness to light that pallid brow. But oh! a new unclouded dawn, a glorious morn shall rise, A morning of celestial birth—a herald from the skies— When pealing through the trembling air the trumpet’s sound shall come, To wake the silent multitude that slumber in the tomb. The wicked, ah! their fearful doom—no mighty One to save; Far better to have slumbered on within the gloomy grave: Not so the faithful and the good—with joy they ll quit the tomb, And rise to life and light again, and youth’s redoubled bloom. Then heart shall meet with kindred heart, and anthems loud shall rise, And rapturous notes of harmony shall echo through the skies: “ All hail, thou great Deliverer!” the ransomed ones shall sing, “0 Grave, where is thy victory! O Death, where is thy sting!” Asheville, N. C. TREASURETROVE. BY A. J. REQUIER. *Twas in that season of the year When, here and there, a crimson leaf Amid the pleasant foliage seems A harbinger of grief— LLL LALLA ALLL LALLA LOLOL LALLA LOLOL LLL Patton PP lm Patt nt tm tlm tential tonite tent Patent ttttantetnta teddies ra a on en ADL GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK When, with the sunset’s tearful gleam, A chill wind wasteth the green bowers, And Mind perforce with Nature mourns, Each for its summer flowers— When all the birds of varied note, And scented vine and slender tree, Are flown or fading, and the woods Have voices like the sea— I met a maiden in my walk, A blossom that was scarcely blown, With summer folded in her heart, And fragrant in her tone. And soon came to her shaded eyes A joy which none before had taught her— A light soft as the mirrored star, When dusk is on the water. It was a look that met not mine, But from it ever sought to rove; And yet in this anxietude, Was eloquent of love. A stolen look, which, when I saw, A sudden, tremulous tinge of rose Suffused her virgin cheek, and seemed To break her heart’s repose. What could I do? the spring was gone ; The summer, too, was ebbing low; And mounted autumn rides so fast Toward the hills of snow! I whispered! while her cheeks o’erflowed, Deeper than rose or twilight stream ; And since, our mutual life has been A revery—a dream! The leaf may fall, the blossom blow— I have no season but her eyes; And they are of the changeless hue Of the blue summer skies. THE FADED FLOWER. BY HELEN HAMILTON. I tarp her in her beauty down In the lone forest dell, When the deep shades of eventide Around my pathway fell. And not a single sunbeam pressed The heavy clouds apart; A shade was resting on the earth, A deeper on my heart! I watched long with a growing pride Her beauty’s radiant glow, For death had set his awful seal In beauty on her brow. Her eyes were glorious with the light Of brighter worlds than ours; She faded slowly from the earth, From young life's fairest flowers. And now I sit alone, beneath The weight of changeless sorrow: This is no passing cloud of grief, "Tis night without a morrow.

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TO THE eS eeeee————eeEe——eeeEe—eaeaEeEaEeaEeEeaEeaEeEeEeO THE YOUTHFUL BARD. BY NORMAN W. BRIDGE. Au! those he loved away have passed, The ardent friends of early years, On whose cold brows he looked his last, With eyes suffused with burning tears. Yee, many a cherished form is gone— Laid low beneath the grassy sward; And feeleth weary, dark, and lone, The spirit of the youthful bard. Sad feels his heart as mem’ry opes : To view bright dreams of days gone by; Sad ’tis to think his golden hopes In youth were doomed to fade and die! Each promised joy has come to naught, And sickness now his strength is stealing ; Ilis brain is steeped in anxious thought— His form in pains of keenest feeling. His cheek has lost its radiant hue— His eye and brow are growing dim ; And dearest friends, once fond and true, Have lost the love they felt for him. He misses many a smiling lip— A loving eye, a voice of truth— And all the sweet companionship With genial souls of kindred youth. And now his heart has such a thirst For early friendship’s smile and tone, Tt seems as though with grief ’twould burst, When brooding o’er those treasures flown. With bitterest pangs his soul it stirred, To learn, in dark misfortune’s hour, But few could love a drooping bird— A withered leaf—a faded flower. Long has he drank of sorrow’s cup; Deep is the gloom his features wear : There ’s naught can cheer his spirite up, So filled his breast with dark despair. And oft he feels, when none are nigh, A smothered woe so full and deep; *Tis sweet relief to breathe the sigh, And melancholy bliss to weep. Ah! life to him has lost its charms: Sweet health is gome—youth’s joys are fied; No earthly hope his bosom warms— He longs to slumber with the dead! And feebly now his breast’s core beats— The vital thread Fate soon will sever; Ere many morns his spirit greets, His eyes may close, and close forever ! And when his form shall pulseless lie, Outstretched beneath the coffin-lid ; Ah! who think you from Sorrow’s eye Will o’er his urn one tear<irop shed? Who'll seek his grave at twilight hours, When earth is robed in vernal bloom, And o’er it strew those fragrant flowers That speak of hope beyond the tomb. é 3

rrr renee nn nen eee nee owen nn een esses WEAK. Ah! none may mourn that he is gone— No hand with flowers adorn the sward Where dreamless sleeps, all cold and lone, The casket of the youthful bard: Nor glance from longing eyes e’er fall Upon his lonely turf-clad cell ; Nor those he knew fond thoughts recall Of him who loved all friendships well : But dewy skies will o’er him weep, And sighing winds lament his doom, And stars he loved will nightly keep Fond watch o’er his unfriended tomb. IN EXTENUATION. BY BERTHA BRAINERD TuE sweetest bird that ever raised Its morning song of praise to heaven, Though soaring often to the skies, Hath still most vainly striven To live without the aid of earth, Her berries ripe, her waters clear ; Though loud its song, and bold its flight, Its nestling-place is here. The fairest flower that ever shed Its blessed fragrance on the air, Though still by showers and sunbeams fe, Had perished in their care, Had not its roots still fondly clung About the spot which gave them birth; Though lovingly it looks above, Its resting-place is earth. If things as purely beautiful As singing-birds, and perfumed flowers, Cling still to earth, though softly wooed By genial suns and showers, Then J, more earthly far than they, May for my frailty be forgiven, Though for a human love I raise My fervent prayers to heaven. TO THE WEAK. BY JANVIER. On aching hearts, by care oppressed, Oh weeping ones, that know no rest; Oh mourners, that have suffered long; Oh ye, the faint of heart, be strong! Ye drooping ones, your sorrows bear; Steel your weak breasts, repel despair; For they who buffet with their fate, And brave its anguish, shall be great! Sorrow is powea, and when ye bow, And wild thoughts thrill the rending brow, Look to the living skies, and see— Fit emblem of your destiny— Some struggling star, that, freed at length, Bursts into brilliancy and strength, And leaves the clouds, that clogged it so, Alone to grovel on below.

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380 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK.

“<- THE SOLDIER’S DREAM OF HOME. [From a Picture.] THE SOLDIER’S DREAM OF HOME. [ Written on seeing the “ Solidier’s Dream of Home,” in the

March number of “ Godey’s Lady's Book”) BY J. L. SWAN. Tue soldier now is resting on The bank, at eventide; His gun is leaning at his head, His cap is by his side. The lurid watchfires burn around With an unsteady glare; His soldier-comrades, bending low, The evening meal prepare. Slow rising up, the silver moon Is dimmed by asure clouds; A single star is shining bright Amid the misty shrouds. His gaze is upward, and his head Is pillowed on his arm; But Mem’ry, busy with the past, Has sought another charm. He sleeps! and dreams of home and love Oome flitting softly there, Of her he made his youthful bride— His baby-boy so fair. Once more within his Highland home He treads his native heath; And every breeze that passes by Is laden with its breath. As dear, familiar objects meet His anxious, tearful eye, With beating heart, he seeks the home Where all his treasures lie. The goats upon the mountains browse ; The shepherd’s song is heard: At last he stands within his home, Nor breathes a single word. An ear has caught his weary tread— An eye, his well-known face ; One moment more, his Jeannie ’s clasped Within his warm embrace. As, leaning o’er her sinking form, “My father!” greets his ear, A little Jean is bounding forth To meet her father dear. His eye sweeps in, with rapid glance, Each object of his joy; His Donald flies with outstretched arms— No more his baby-boy. His neighbors, joyous, hasten down To meet their coming friend; And in his welcome back to home Their happy voices blend. He starts! a shot is fired near— Another follows now: Too late! the fatal messenger Has smote upon his brow. And as the life-blood gushes forth Upon the thirsty loam, The soldier's dream is past for aye— “The soldier’s dream of home!” RPAPPAPDAAA RAPALA LPP BY FANNY FALES. Tears! tears! they gather as I gaze— The soldier dreams of home— The moon shines on his upturned face, While biessed visions come : But oh! the heart’s light beams o’er all— He hears his wife and children call. He sees anear the humble cot— The harvest sheaves around— The pet goats browsing on the hill With purple heather crowned ; The shouts of weleome reach the plain— The soldier is at home again. They fly to mest him—to his breast He folds again his own; His Jeannie’s soft and loving arms Around his neck are thrown: Her bright lips to her own are pressed ; In dreams, the weary soldier ’s blest. The pretty bird, his little “Jean,” Born since he left the nest, Stands, tiptoe, dimpling by his side, And waits to be carest: With outstretched arms, wee Donald flies; “Thank God for this!” the soldier cries. Faded!—and was it but a dream? Did not his spirit meet The darlings by his mountain home, And list their welcome sweet ? Oh! when the last long sleep came o'er, Did not he clasp them as of yore? PAUSE NOT. BY H. COLMAN PAIGE. Pause not! thou ‘It reach the goal at last; Thy scenes of toil and sorrow past Will seem like dreams to thee: And when thou ’st gained the darling prize— When vision’s hope shall reach the skies— Thrice happy then thou ‘It be. Pause not! whate’er the case may be, “ Faint heart ne’er yet won fair ladye,” For despair sheds a chill That leaves a dark’ning course behind, And conquers all the powers of mind, How strong soe’er thy will. Pause not! the feeble arm is strong When first is felt the hand of wrong; Only vengeance can repay The debt—but pass these by— For fairer clouds will fill the sky, And cause a brighter day. Pause not! but battle earnestly ; Thy watchword e’er be “ Liberty,” And God will aid the Right; For joyful hours will still be thine, When hope and happiness combine, And day succeeds the night.

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LET ME DIE IN THE AUTUMN-TIME. 381 LET ME DIE IN THE AUTUMN-TIME. BY “MARY NEAL.” Let me die in the autumn-time, When the winds are round me sighing; When gone is summer’s golden prime, And her flowers are dead and dying: Yes, then, when all things bright decay, Let my spirit gently pass away. Let me die ‘neath the forest trees, While their branches wave above me; While my cheek is fanned by the cooling breeze, And around are those who love me: There, ’neath the broad blue dome of heaven, Let my last farewell to earth be given. Let me die at the sunset hour, When the shadows fall around me; When my heart is filled with its soothing power, Let the chords be loosed that bound me: When my last bright day on earth is done, Let my soul depart with its setting sun. Tis a time I have ever loved, The autumn sunset hour; When my heart, by Nature’s glories moved, Hath knelt to her magic power: When my soul hath sent forth to God above Its meed of praise for this priceless love. Then, loved ones left behind, Lay my ashes gently there; Let my dirge be sung by the autumn wind, That once floated through my hair: Let the leaves that once waved o’er me rest Calmly and sweetly on my breast. Then raise no costly tomb My forest bed to trace; But I’d have ye mark, by the wild flower’s bloom, My peaceful resting-place: And plant one pure white rose, to shed Its sweetest fragrance o’er my head, And then, at sunset hour, I would have ye sometimes come, And pluck from thence a remembrance flower, To bear in your bosom home: And sometimes drop, while standing there— Tis all I ask—affection’s tear. LOVE.AND TRUTH. BY BLANCHE BENNAIRDE. Love sought for Truth: a charming form drew near, Arrayed in robes most fair; a form divine, Upon whose brow was joy, whose eyes shone clear, And many graces here seemed to combine: I heard the music of a sweet-toned voice, And thought that Love might surely here reside— Where all was Truth—and evermore rejoice, Without a cloud to darken or divide. But when Love ventured to lift up his eyes, He saw that he might linger there in vain, For all that seemed so fair was flattering lies— And then he fell to earth in grief and pain. “Why should I hope?” said Love; “ Truth is not there!” And I was left to weep at Love's despair. 33* ee eee EE PLL ee nnn nen THE TWINS. BY REV. B. T. F. CAKE. °Twas a soft and mellow evening, In the leafy month of June, When summer bowers first opened Their roseate blushing bloom, That angel wings bore to me, In the stillness of the night, Heaven’s blessing in a treasure That ravished sense and sight. Two innocent immortals Was their angelic care; Gems of a regal diadem, They seemed the lovely pait ; Twin-born in time and feature, In beauty and in grace, Each seemed a very mirror For his brother’s form and face. 0 Infinite! who formed them, How perfect was thy touch! How rich thy heavenly dower! Could mortal crave so much? That sense, nor limb, nor feature, Should lack thy holy care— That they in each, in everything, Might God’s own image bear. I thank thee, 0 our Father, Maker of worlds and men, Thou ’st given so rich a treasure To give thee back again : Oh, grant their hearts, with ours, The grace, when life is done, To be twin stars forever In thy eternal crown! THE HEART OF MAN IS LIKE A HARP. BY JOHN A. CHAPMAN. Tue heart of man is like a harp Of many thousand strings ; Touched by a skilful hand, a tone Breathes from it sweet, or low, or sharp, Or plaintive as a fairy’s own, When broken are its wings. Oh! many are the notes that ring From.this poor heart of mine; Sometimes ’tis like a joyous bird, When at the first warm days of spring, The fountain of all love is stirred, Moved by a hand divine. But then again sad tones of woe Come from each trembling string ; Sad as the childless mother’s heart, When all she loved is laid below, And the hot tears unbidden start From her heart withering. Deal gently with this wondrous harp— Breathe on it soft and low; Let every trembling note be free, Whether of sweet, or low, or sharp, That e’en the saddest tones may be A melody in woe.

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BED DRAPERIE (DESIGN FURNISHED BY CARRYL.) AINCHLEY OOPS UG OMMMNTN WAM Let Ri Tuere are two styles of chamber furniture now ! Following upon the oaken sleeping closets, whose in vogue, which have almost equal claims to taste and fashion. At the North, where curtains are not indispensable, housekeepers seem to incline to the low French or couch bedsteads, with dressing-bureau and light cane-seated chairs to correspond. Further South, where mosquito-bars become a necessity, heavier furniture is more frequently found, the high posts being finely carved, and supporting a cornice of corresponding workmanship, as in the design given above. This is, perhaps, unusually rich, the lower cornice having a centre-piece, and the posts being surmounted by urns, in the style of our grand- mothers. Who cannot recollect the heavy, time- worn furniture of some fine old country-house, where the wood is darkened by the passing of many years, and the tapestried coverings, with their antique stories, have faded from their once brilliant hues? 382 massive doors shut out alike sound and intrusion, they suited the lofty rooms for which they were ori- ginally designed, and now, in the rage for the furni- ture, as well as the customs of the Middle Ages, they have been revived with the improvement of lowering the bed itself within ‘a more moderate and conve- nient distance of the floor. From the cornice, it will be noticed, depends a lambrequin of brocatelle, damask, or satin laine, as in window drapery, edged with a heavy frill of fringe, and having tassels de- pendent from the central points: the same may be placed at the deep scollop of the lambrequin upon the post. Beneath this are suspended the draperies, which are usually festooned with a heavy silk cord and tassel matching those upon the lambrequin. These draperies are sometimes of damask, etc., with lace curtains beneath, or simply lined with some

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ENGLISH ENBROIDERY. SOO a AAA pale or deep-tinted shade of silk: but more generally only the lace or muslin curtains are used, as it is well known that physicians do not now consider heavy curtains healthful. Mr. Carryl, whose un- doubted taste in all such matters makes his judg- ment unquestioned, is an authority in all points of elegant upholstery. It is now quite the fashion to have the counterpane or bed-cover of some rich damask or satin laine, as in the cut, thus saving PEPIN III Lewermemwmnmnwnwnw\w\w.\w! 383 housekeepers much trouble, as they do not readily soil. Mr. Carryl has also imported cheap and taste- ful embroidered muslin and lace curtains for French bedsteads, used by being drawn through a ring, or falling from a canopy suspended from the wall—the most graceful of all chamber adornments: in fine, his new stock comprises every article relating to bed draperies, of the plainer as well as more elegant styles. a tT WwW fa ENGL WRR ee ae avi D Iv ii/7 DIV Le i al Havixe promised our readers a description of this trimming, now so fashionable, we have selected a pattern suitable for underclothes, which is trans- lated by the following explicit directions :— To prepare this work, select a good and fine jaco- net or French muslin, and tear off strips for the length required, allowing each to be at least one inch wider than the extreme width of the pattern. The strips must, of course, be torn on the width of the muslin, and the object of separating them is to secure a regularity in marking the design, as it is much more difficult to draw the pattern perfectly straight on a large piece of muslin. Draw the design on good writing-paper, from the section given in the engraving, and ink it clearly; when it is dry, lay it under the muslin, put weights to keep it down, and trace the pattern on the mate- rial with a mixture of stone-blue dissolved in very thin gum-water, or white sugar and water, using a fine sable brush, or soft quill pen. When one length of the paper is marked over, move it along to the next piece of plain muslin, taking care that there are no breaks or defects in the pattern. To work THe Broperre.—With fine scissors, cut out all the holes of a small piece of the pattern— not at the marks, but within them, to allow a little for turning in, in working them round. For work- ing, turn in the edge, by rolling it slightly with the thumb, as is done in common whipping, and sew it closely round. To pass from one hole to another, slip the needle on the wrong side. The border is finished with the button-hole stitch, the outline having previously been traced in cotton. The holes, being so small, are not cut out, but made by piercing the muslin with a stiletto. The materials for this work are very fine jaconet muslin, and Evans’s embroidery cotton, No. 50,

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eeeemeESES GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND PLO Pn’ LADY’S BOOK, TULIP-WREATH FLOWER-VASE MAT. 12 shades of amber, 7 shades of lilac, 4 shades of green, all 4 thread Berlin wool—4 skeins of each. 5 steel needles, No. 14. Cardboard foundation, covered with white or amber cambric, 8 inches in diameter. FOR THE MAT. Knit 4 rounds of each shade of amber, beginning with the lightest. Cast on 2 stitches on each of 4 needles; bring the wool forward, knit half the stitches on the first needle; thread forward and knit the other half; repeat the same on each of the other 3 needles; knit the next round plain; repeat these two rounds until there are 48 stitches on each needle; then cast off, and sew this on to the covered card- board foundation. FOR THE TULIPS. 5 tulips to be knitted in 7 shades of amber, and 5 H : § 2 4 ; ? § ? 2 2 4 | in 7 shades of lilac; 4 rounds to be knitted of each shade; 4 needles. Cast on 2 stitehes on each of 3 needles; thread forward at the commencement of each needle; knit 1 plain round; purl a round, increasing at commencement of each needle. Re- peat these two rounds, till there are 11 stitches on each of the 3 needles; then Ist, knit 3, knit 2 toge- ther, knit 1, knit 2 together, knit 3; turn the work back, and purl the 9 stitches. 3d.—Knit 2, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 toge- ther, knit 2. 4th.—Turn back and purl. 5th.—Knit 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 toge- ther, knit 1. 6th.—Turn back and purl. 7th.—Knit 1, knit 3 together, knit 1. 8th.—Purl. 9th.— Knit 3 together. 20 tulips will be required.

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PATTERNS FOR SiLK EMBROIDERY. 385 (POOP enn www PRRs forward, knit 2 together, knit plain, till 3 from the end; then knit 2 together, knit 1; purl the next 4 shades of green, 12 rows of each; 2 needles. } row; repeat from * till there are 8 more open stitches, Cast on 3 stitches; knit plain, till before the centre { that is, 20 rows from the beginning; then knit 2 stitch; thread forward, knit the centre stitch; thread ; together at the beginning and end of every other forward, knit the remainder plain; purl the next ; row, till the leaf ends in a point. Now sew the THE LEAVES (TEN OF WHICH WILL BE NECESSARY). row; repeat these two rows, till there are 12 open { leaves round the mat by the part where the stem stitches up the vein of the leaf; then *knit 1, knit should be; then sew the tulips on as in engraving, 2 together, knit plain till 2 from the centre stitch; sewing the leaf about 6 rows from the point on to then knit 2 together, thread forward, knit 1, thread $ the stem of the tulip. WE give two styles of chemisettes, plainer than , which the whole chemisette is made. A double col- those usually engraved ; but, at the same time, neat lar, in the same style, may be fastened by a brooch and ladylike. ’ oraribbon. It is quite suitable for mourning, being No. 1 is composed of cambric muslin, an insertion { perfectly neat and plain, and, at the same time, re- extending around the throat, which is left open quite | lieving the sombre sameness of the garb. low. To this is attached a collar, turning back, of ‘ For those ladies who do not care to go to much thick English cambric embroidery, in deep scollops. ‘ expense in their muslins, there is a saving of time, This chemisette is most suitable for merinos, or ; trouble, and material, to have the chemisette made dark, plain silks. like an ordinary “dickey,” the collar falling over it No. 2 has a front of an entirely new style, in the { at the throat, and the edges concealed beneath the shape of an elongated diamond, double, and edged { dress. Chemisettes will be worn more or less with two narrow quillings, also of Swiss muslin, of { through the winter. PATTERNS FOR SILK EMBROIDERY. 2 ~~ Tars is intended for a continuous pattern, the pattern to be continued by uniting the ends,

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GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, eee ——— oe KNITTED ARTIFICIAL HEART’S-EASE. Tuts flower requires five petals to form it, two violet and three yellow; one of the latter must be larger than the rest, and of a deeper color. All the wool must be split. For the violet petals, cast on ten stitches on two needles, five on each; fold the two needles so as to bring the last stitch behind the first, and double knit a piece of rather more than half an inch in length, taking one stitch from one needle, and one from the other throughout each row. When you take the needles out, run the wool through them with a rug needle, and pass a piece of double wire through the little bag which the knitting has formed, catch it at the top and sides to keep it in form, draw up the other end, and twist the wires together after having shaped the wire to the form of the petal. The yel- low petals are knitted in the same way, the largest requires twelve stitches, and the last four or six rows must be done with violet wool, to form the dark spot at the top. The two smaller yellow petals only require eight stitches, with two or four rows of vio- let at the top; twist the wires of the five petals together, and cover the stem with green wool; a cross stitch, like herring-bone, should be made with green wool, where the petals join in the middle of the flower. FOR THE CALYX, Thread a needle with whole green wool, fasten this on the stem, at the back of the flower, and take a herring stitch at the back of each petal, making the stitch rather long, and leaving the wool loose. The bud is formed by making a little tuft of yellow, vio- let, and green wool, mixed together; fix it on a piece of wire by crossing the wool over, and twisting the wire very tight, turn the ends of the wool down the wire, and fasten them at about a quarter of an inch down, by twisting some green split wool round, with which the little stem must be also covered. LEAVES. Cast on three stitches. Knit one row, purl one row, then lst row.— Make one, knit one throughout the row. 2d.—Make one, purl the row. 3d.—Make one, knit three, make one, knit one, make one, knit two. 4th.— Make one, purl the row. 5th.—Make one, knit five, make one, knit one, make one, knit six. 6th.—Make one, purl the row. 7th.—Cast off, or fasten off, three stitches, knit three, make one, knit one. ‘ wAAARAA nnn nena PARP APR PPRAPALD APPL DPD PPP FLOWERS. Sth.—Cast off three stitches, purl the row. 9th.—Make one, knit five, make one, knit one, make one, knit four. 10th.—Make one, purl the row. 11th.—Make one, knit seven, make one, knit one, make one, knit six. 12th.—Make one, purl the row. 13th.—Fasten off three stitches, knit the re- mainder. 14th.—Fasten off three stitches, purl the rest. 15th.— Knit six, make one, knit one, make one, knit six. 16th.—Purl the row. 17th.—Knit seven, make one, knit one, make one, knit six. 18th.—Purl the row. 19th.—Fasten off three stitches, knit four, make one, knit one, make one, knit seven. 20th.—Cast off three stitches, purl the row. 21st.—Knit six, make one, knit one, make one, knit five. 22d.—Purl the row. 23d.—Knit seven, make one, knit one, make one, knit six. 24th.—Purl the row. 25th.—Cast off three stitches, knit remainder. 26th.—Cast off three stitches, purl remainder. 27th.—Knit row plain. 28th.—Purl the row plain. 29th.—Knit row plain. 30th.—Purl row plain. 31et.—Cast off two, knit remainder. 32d.—Cast off two, purl remainder. 33d.—Knit row plain. 34th.—Purl row. 35th.—Knit row plain. 36th.—Purl row plain. 37th.—Cast off two, knit remainder. 38th.—Cast off two, purl remainder. Fasten off the two last stitches. It is on this principle that all kinds of indented leaves are made; by knitting more rows with in- crease between the castings off, they are made broad- er; by working more rows between the castings off, they are made longer; and by casting off more stitches at a time, the indentations are made deeper; so that the endless variety of natural leaves may be copied without difficulty. Having completed the leaves, some wire must be sewn neatly round, following the turnings of the leaf exactly; and for the larger ones, it will be bet- ter to sew a double wire in the centre of the leaf at the back, which will conceal the openings left by the increase of stitches. One or two flowers, with a bud, and two or three leaves, are sufficient for a small branch.

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ENITTED ARTIFICIAL FLOWEKS. FUCHSIA. Ir knitted in good size China silk, it does well to ornament caps or bonnets. CALYX. Four calyx are required for each flower; cast on eight stitches with crimson split wool. lst row.—Knit plain. 2d.—Purl. 3d.—Knit plain. 4th,—Purl. 5th.—Make one, knit two; repeat to the end of row. 6th.—Purl. ] 7th.—Knit plain. 8th.—Purl. 9th.—Knit plain. 10th.—Purl. 11th.—Knit plain. 12th.—Purl. 13th.—Make one, knit three; repeat to the end of row. 14th.—Purl. 15th.—Make one, knit four; repeat. , 16th.— Purl. 17th.— Make one, knit five to the end of row. 18th.—Knit six stitches, turn back and purl the same (leaving the rest of the stitches on the needle). Continue knitting and purling the six stitches until you have six small rows; then decrease one stitch, knit four; next row, decrease one, purl three, knit a row plain; then decrease one, purl two; lastly slip one, knit two together, turn the slipped stitch over, fasten the wool by putting it through the last stitch. This completes one division of the calyx. Break off the wool, leaving about a yard on the work, in order neatly to carry down the wool to the stitches, which are still on the needle. Then, with the same wool, knit six more stitches, which must be done especially as the first, forming the second division, and with the same wool knit the third and fourth, which finishes the calyx. Sew a bit of fine wire (with the same split wool) round the end of each division, and the ends of the wire must be sown two by two on the inside of the flower before it is sown up. COROLLA. The corolla is small in the Fuchsia, and less ap- parent than the calyx. The color of the wool must be either purple or dark puce. Cast on eight stitches. lst row.—Knit plain. 2d.—Purl. 3d.—Make one, knit two; repeat throughout the row. 4th.—Purl. 5th.—Knit plain. 6th.—Purl. 7th.—Make one, knit three; throughout the row. 8th.—Purl. 9th.—Knit plain. 10¢h.—Purl. Prnnrenmnmn-v ) > 4 5 PPP PDP PRDD PPL RAAAPARABRAAAARARAA nnn 387 wo ~ PRLPP RPL LD PLD PPA PAPA ALAA 11th.—Knit four stitches, turn back, decrease one, purl two, and finish by slipping one, knitting two together, turning the slipped stitch over, and put- ting the wool through the loop; bring the wool down the edge in the same way as for the calyx, and knit the second, third, and fourth divisions like the first. Sew a bit of wire round the edge, follow- ing the sinuosities of the work, and sew the two edges together. The pistil and stamen can be made like the lily, but very much finer and smaller; but a simpler and easier method is, to stiffen some pale green, or white sewing cotton, with gum, and cut eight pieces of it, of about five or six inches long, for the stamen, and one bit rather longer for the pistil; tie them to- gether, and dip the longest in gum, and then in some green powder, or wool cut as fine as powder, and the rest, first in gum, and then immediately in yellow powder, or wool cut as fine, which will an- swer quite as well for the purpose. Mount your flower, by placing the stamens and pistil inside the corolla, and that too within the calyx, sufficiently low to show the corolla slightly ; sew the open side of the calyx, and twist all the stalks together, cover- ing the little stem with green wool. BUDS. Cast on four stitches, knit one row plain, purl one row. 3d row.—Make one stitch, knit one throughout the row. 4th.—Purl. 5th.— Knit plain. 6th.— Purl. 7th.—Make one, knit two throughout the row. 8th.—Purl. 9th.—Knit plain. 10th.—Purl. Then gather all the stitches with a rug needle, make a little ball of red wool, put a bit of wire across it, fold over, and twist the wire quite tight, cover the little ball with the piece just knitted, sew the opening neatly, and gather up the stitches at the stem, which must be covered with crimson wool. LEAF. Cast on three stitches, knit, and purl alternate rows, increasing one stitch at the beginning of each row until the leaf is of the breadth desired (about seven stitches for the smallest, and fourteen or six- teen stitches for the largest); then knit and purl four rows without increase, and begin to decrease in every row, until you have but three stitches left, which knit as one, and fasten off. Sew a fine wire round the leaves, leaving a small bit at the end as a stalk, and also a fine wire doubled, at the back of the leaf, in the centre, which will keep it in shape. Several shades and sizes of leaves are required, as also several buds and flowers, to form a handsome ; branch.

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EDITORS’ “ Festivals, when duly observed, attach men to the civil and religious institutions of their country; it is an evil, therefore, when they fall into disuse. Who is there who does not recollect their effect upon himself in early life ?”— SourHey. Tus American people have two peculiar festivals, each connected with their history, and therefore of great im- portance in giving power and distinctness to their nation- ality. Tre Fourtu or Jury is the exponent of independence and civil freedom. THaNnxKservine Day is the national pledge of Christian faith in God, acknowledging him as the dispenser of blessings. These two festivals should be joyfully and universally observed throughout our whole country, and thus incorporated in our habits of thought as inseparable from American life. Our Independence Day is thus celebrated. Wherever an American is found, the Fourth of July is a festival; and those nations who sit in chains and darkness feel that there is hope even for them, when the American flag is raised in the triumph of freedom. Would not the light of liberty be dimmed were this observance to cease? Thanksgiving Day is a festival of ancient date in New England, being established there soon after the settlement of Boston. The observance has been gradually extending; and, for a few years past, efforts have been made to have a fixed day, which shall be universally observed throughout our whole country. The “ Lady’s Book” was the pioneer in this endeavor to give unity to the idea of Thanksgiving Day, and thus make it a national observance. The last Thursday in November was selected as the day, on the whole, most appropriate. Last year, twenty-nine States, and all the Territories, united in the festival. This year, we trust that Virginia and Vermont will come into this arrangement, and that the Governors of each and all the States and Territories will appoint Thuraday, the 25th of November, as the Day of Thanksgiving. The year 1852 would thus be an era from which to date the establishment of this national festival ; and henceforth, wherever an American is found, the last Thursday in No- vember would be the Thanksgiving Day. Families may be separated so widely that personal reunion would be impos- sible; still this festival, like the Fourth of July, will bring every American heart into harmony with his home and his country. The influence of such an American festival on foreigners would also be salutary, by showing them that our people acknowledge the Lord as our God. In our own wide land, from the St. John’s to the Rio Grande, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, every heart would, on one day in each year, beat in unison of enjoyment and thankfulness. Therefore, we hope to witness this year the first of these national festivals. Detvusions.—It is a mortifying fact that people love to be Many choose to live in darkness when the light is all around them: it would seem impossible they should be thus blind, did we not have the evidence of their folly before us. Hlow any sane person can put faith in spirit rappings, and the manifestations made by the cunning speculators in this new way of divination, is a greater mar- 388 deceived. annnnnn..nnnnnnenn TABLE. vel than any the mediums have pretended to set forth. But there is one consolation. The folly and wickedness of these delusions are harmless and weak compared with those that resulted from the witchcraft mania of 1692. During that sad year, the delusion had its beginning and ending, so far as the tragic drama was enacted. It opened in the following manner: Near the close of the month of February, 1602, two little girls in the family of the Rev. Mr. Parris, Elizabeth, his daughter, aged nine, and Abigail Williams, his niece, abopt twelve years of age, together with a young girl of the neighborhood, named Ann Put- nam, began to act in a strange and unaccountable manner. They would creep into holes, and under benches and chairs, and put themselves into odd postures, make antic gestures, and utter loud outcries, and ridiculous, incoherent, and unintelligible expressions. The attention of the family was arrested. No account or explanation of the conduct of the children could be given, and so physicians were called in and consulted. One of these sapient men gave it as his opinion that the children were bewitched! From this en- couragement, the delusion went on gathering strength and power in its frightful course, till the lives of twenty inno- cent persons, accused of witchcraft, had been sacrificed, a number of others condemned, and over three hundred had suffered, more or less severely, from imprisonment, or by fleeing from their homes. Such scenes cannot be re-enacted. The rappers may take money from their dupes; they cannot touch those who re- fuse to be deluded by their mummeries. Thus we find our people have made sensible progress during the last one hundred and sixty years. Still the tendency of mind, which puts faith in marvels of human invention, while re- jecting God’s Word as the only rule of moral and spiritual enlightenment, is still witnessed; and the selfishness which uses this weakness for its own wicked purposes of gaining power and money is now manifested in a most disgusting form. The following is taken from the “ Boston Courier,” a paper of high repute in that city :— “ A CONVENTION OF ‘ SprriTUALIsTs.’—A convention of pro- fessed believers in ‘spiritual manifestations—men and women—assembled in Washingtonian Hall, Bromfield Street, yesterday morning (August 6th). It was a singular collection of dupes and fanatics, resembling more a congre- gation of lunatics than a company of rational creatures. In fact, we have never seen the like outside the walls of a mad-house.” We cannot enter into the details of this revolting spec- tacle, where men and women seemed striving to outdo each other in fanatical fooleries. But though the rap- pings, like the witchcraft delusion, were originated by females, we find the deception encouraged and systema- tized by men for their own advantage, in a far greater de- gree than by our sex. The officers and chief actors in this “ Spiritualists’ Convention” were men. Our readers have no sympathy with these insane move- ments, and our only reason for noticing the subject is that, when our “ Book,” a century hence, is referred to as a specimen of the literature of the nineteenth century, it may be apparent we did not, even by silence, assent to the humbug—to use a vulgar, but for this folly a most appro- priate name—of “ spirit rappers.”

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EDITORS’ Women NEED EmpLlorment.—Yes, women need a wider sphere of employments for their tastes, talents, and the affections. Then they would not invent delusions. Give them something to do which men consider important, and, if the education of the women has been at all judicious, see if their work be not well done. The Institution of Kaiserswerth, on the Rhine, has been alluded to in our pages both by Mrs. Hill and Miss Bremer. We have now before us a pamphlet, published in London, giving a full description of the manner in which the good Pastor Flied- ner has succeeded in training female students to take charge of the sick and the poor, and superintend hospitals, infant and industrial schools, and, in short, to be the edu- cators and preservers of humanity. He gives to those he sends out the title of Deaconesses. The English writer thus urges the revival of that order of women in every Protest- ant country :— “The want of necessary occupation among English giris must have struck every one. How usual it is to see fami- lies of five or six daughters at home, in the higher ranks, with no other occupation in life but a class in a Sunday school. And what is that? A chapter of the Bible is opened at random, and the spiritual doctor, with no more idea of her patient’s spiritual anatomy than she has plan for improving it, explains at random. “In the middle classes, how many there are who feel themselves burdensome to their fathers, or brothers, but who, not finding husbands, and not having the education to be governesses, do not know what to do with themselves. “Intellectual education is, however, as before said, not what we want to supply. Is intellect enough for the being who was sent here, like her great Master, to ‘finish’ her Father’s ‘work?’ There was a woman once, who said that she was the ‘ handmaid of the Lord.’ She was not the first, nor wilkshe be the last, who has felt that this was really woman’s only business on earth. “Tf, then, there are many women who live unmarried, and many more who pass the third of the usual term of life unmarried, and if intellectual occupation is not meant to be their end in life, what are they to do with that thirst for action, useful action. which every woman feels who is not diseased in mind or body? God planted it there. God, who has created nothing in vain. What were His inten- tions with regard to ‘unmarried women and widows? How did He mean to employ them, to satisfy them? “For every want we can always find a divine supply. And accordingly, we see, in the very first times of Christ- ianity, an apostolical institution for the employment of woman’s powers directly in the service of God. We find them engaged as ‘servants of the Church.” We read, in the Epistle to the Romans, of a ‘Deaconess,’ as in the Acts of the Apostles, of ‘ Deacons.’ Not only men were employed in the service of the sick and poor, but also women. In the fourth century, St. Chrysostom speaks of forty Deacon- eases at Constantinople. We find them in the Western Church as late as the eighth, in the Eastern, as the twelfth century. When the Waldenses, and the Bohemian and Moravian brothers began to arise out of the night of the Middle Ages, we find in these communities, formed after the model of the apostolical institutions, the office of Dea- conesses, who were called Presbyterm, established in 1457. ‘Many chose,’ it is said, ‘ the single state, not because they expected thereby to reach a supereminent degree of holi- ness, but that they might be the better able to care for the sick and the young.’ “Luther complains how few, in his neighborhood, are found to fill the office of Deacons, saying that he must wait ‘till our Lord God makes Christians,’ and further adds, that ‘women have especial grace to alleviate woe, and the VOL. XLV.—34 389 ————~ TABLE. PPP PPP LLP LD LPP LLL LLLP PDL words of women move the human being more than those of men.’ In the sixteenth century, it is well known how Robert von der Mark, Prince of Sedan in the Netherlands, revived the institution of Protestant Sisters of Charity, and, instead of appropriating the revenues of the sup- pressed monasteries in his domains, devoted them to this purpose. In the first General Synod of the Evangelical Church of the Lower Rhine and the Netherlands, at Wesel, 1568, we find the office of Deaconesses recommended, and, in the Classical Synod, of 1580, expressly established. In England, they were not wanting. Among the Non-Con- formists, under Elizabeth, 1576, Deaconesses Were instituted during divine service, and received amidst the general prayer of the community. The Pilgrim Fathers of 1602— 1625, who were driven first to Amsterdam and Leyden, then to North America, carried their Deaconesses with them. In Amsterdam, we read how ‘ the Deaconess sat in her place at church with a little birchen rod in her hand, to correct the children,’ and ‘how she called upon the young maidens for their services, when there were sick,’ and how ‘sh? was obeyed like a mother in Israel.’ “Tt thus appears that, long previous to the establish- ment of the Order of Sisters of Mercy, by 8. Vincent de Paule, in 1633, the importance of the office of Deaconess had been recognized by all divisions of Christians; and they accordingly existed. “We see, therefore, that God has not implanted an im- pulse in the hearts of women, without preparing a way for them to obey it. “Why did not the institution spread and flourish fur- ther? Perhaps this may be sufficiently explained by the fact that there were no nursery-grounds — preparatory schools for Deaconesses, so that fitness for their office was, so to speak, accidental. This want is now supplied. “In Prussia, the system for the practical training of Deaconesses has spread in all directions. “Tn Paris, Strasburg, Echallens (in Switzerland), Utrecht, and England, the institution exists. Whether the blessing be greater to the class from which the laborers are taken, or to that among which they labor, it is hard to say.” In our next number, we will give the history of the In- stitution of Kaiserswerth. To CoRRESPONDENTS.—The following articles are accepted : “To my Mother,” “The Zephyr’s Message,” and “The Periwinkle.” Not accepted: “The Tide of Life.” We have a mass of manuscripts on hand not yet read. The warm weather has induced the editress to take a trip. Upon her return, she will give immediate attention to the contributions. “Lines to Mrs. Hale” have been received. They are gratefully acknowledged by the publisher, and will be sub- mitted with the manuscripts. In answer to our correspondent from Cleveland, Ohio, we do not know a writer by that name. “Mary,” Salem, Mass., is informed that she must make @ new mesh for the instep. We have a work on knitting for the nursery. We will also give instructions for knit- ting several other kinds of fruit. “Anna.” We have destroyed the MSS. agreeably to your request. We published, in the August number, for 1850, under the title of “ A Gleam of Moonshine,” an article very similar. Persons asking advice, or writing upon business of their own, where an answer is required, must inclose a post-office stamp, or we shall neglect paying postage on the answer.

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390 Literary Notices. From Lipprivcorr, Grameo & Co. (successors to Grigg & Elliot), No. 14 North Fourth Street, Philadelphia :— TALES OF MY LANDLORD. Second Series. “The Heart of Mid-Lothian” and “The Bride of Lammermoor.” Vols. 3 and 4. We would appear somewhat ridiculous in the eyes of our readers, were we, at this late day, to at- tempt to eulogize the “ Waverley Novels.” But we may be permitted, in all truthfulness, to call their attention to the beautiful edition now in progress through the press of Lippincott, Grambo & Co., of this city. This edition em- braces the author’s latest corrections, notes, &c. It is printed upon fine paper, new and beautiful type, with illustrations, and neatly bound in cloth, for twelve dollars; or, if taken in parts, in paper, fifty cents a volume. It will be comprised in twelve volumes, each volume, or part, to contain a complete novel. The best edition now publishing. THE MORMONS, OR LATTER-DAY SAINTS, tn the Val- ley of the Great Salt Lake. A History of their Rise and Pro- yress, Peculiar Doctrines, Present Condition, and Prospects, derived from Personal Observation, during a Residence among them. By Lieutenant J. Gunnison, of the Topo- graphical Engineers. As this politico-religious sect is daily growing in numbers and importance, in a moral as well as in a national view, we conceive that the author of this work has performed a high public duty in presenting us wiih an impartial account of their faith and its tenden- cies. His object has not been to ridicule the folly or the glaring absurdities of their faith, but merely to state what it is, leaving his readers to infer, from the facts stated, its irrational and unscriptural pretensions. He tells us that their priests are the civil officers, and they go so far as to say that our Saviour had three wives, Mary and Martha, and the other Mary, whom Jesus loved, all married at the wedding in Canaan of Galilee. That a people, formed into a State under such a civil and religious code, can be tole rated even under the liberal constitution of the United States, is a question which remains to be decided. It is one which involves the existence and the force, not only of our country’s nationality, but of those principles of the common law which have heretofore been considered of universal application. From A. Harr (late Carey & Hart), corner of Fourth and Chestnut Street, Philadelphia :— The third and fourth volumes of Hart’s cheap edition of the WAVERLEY NOVELS. Embracing the “ Antiquary” and “Rob Roy,” each complete in one volume. Price 25 cents. This is a very beautiful edition of the favorite author’s works. , LECTURES ON THE RESULTS OF THE EXHIBITION, Delivered before the Society of Arts, and Manufactures, and Commerce, at the suggestion of H. R. H. Prince Albert, Pre sident of the Society. These lectures are twelve in number, and embrace every branch of the sciences and arts, manu- factures and mechanics, specimens of which were produced at the late exhibition of art and industry in London. A most desirable set of books. From Harprr & Brotmers, New York, through Liypsay & Buakiston, Philadelphia :— PIERRE; OR, THE AMBIGUITIES. By Herman Mel- ville. We really have nothing to add to the severity of the critical notices which have already appeared in respect to this elegantly printed volume; for, in all truth, all the notices which we have seen have been severe enough to satisfy the author, as well as the public, that he has GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. strangely mistaken his own powers and the patience of his friends in presuming to leave his native element, the ocean, and his origina] business of harpooning whales, for the mysteries and “ambiguities” of metaphysics, love, and romance. It may be, however, that the heretofore in- telligible and popular author has merely assumed his pre- sent transcendental metamorphosis, in order that he may have range and scope enough to satirize the ridiculous pre- tensions of some of our modern literati. Under the suppo- sition that such has been his intention, we submit the fol- lowing notice of his book, as the very best off-hand effort we could make in imitation of his style: Melodiously breathing an inane mysteriousness, into the impalpable airiness of our unsearchable sanctum, this wonderful crea- tion of its ineffable author’s sublime-winging imagination has been fluttering its snow-like-invested pinions upon our multitudinous table. Mysteriously breathing an inane melody, it has been beautifying the innermost recesses of our visual organs with the luscious purpleness and superb goldness of its exterior adornment. We have listened to its outbreathing of sweet-swarming sounds, and their melo- dious, mournful, wonderful, and unintelligible melodious- ness has “ dropped like pendulous, glittering icicles,” with soft-ringing silveriness, upon our never-to-be-delighted-suffi- ciently organs of hearing; and, in the insignificant signifi- cancies of that deftly-stealing and wonderfully-serpentining melodiousness, we have found an infinite, unbounded, in- expressible mysteriousness of nothingness. MYSTERIES, AND GLIMPSES OF THE SUPERNA- TURAL: containing Accounts of the Salem Witcheraft, the Cocklane Ghost, the Rochester Rappings, the Stratford Mys- teries, Oracles, Astrology, Dreams, Demons, Ghosts, Spectres, etc. etc. By Charles Wyllys Elliott. The author of this book deserves great credit for the pains he has taken to arm the credulous with arguments and facts against the impositions which are continually practised upon them by impious pretenders to divine and supernatural powers. If there are any features in the mental developments of the present age which lead us to doubt its superiority over the past, it is the evidences which are daily brought under our consideration of the ready submission paid to a class of pretenders, such as would not have been tolerated even in the dark ages. To enlighten the ignorant, and to sus- tain the weak-minded, who are now, as they were in former periods, the unresisting dupes of knaves and hypocrites, is a work of humanity which deserves the approbation and encouragement of every member of society. And this ap- probation, without endorsing all his sentiments, we will- ingly extend to the author of “ Mysteries,” for his efforts in behalf of truth, and in opposition to superstition, false- hood, and folly. THE HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AME- RICA, from the Adoption of the Federal Constitution to the end of the Sixteenth Congress. By Richard Hildreth. Vol- ume 3. Madison and Monroe. We have favorably no- ticed the preceding volumes of this able national work. We are aware that there is much in the volume before ua, as happened to be the case in the two former volumes, which will not prove to be entirely palatable, either in re- gard to men or measures, to the surviving party politicians of either of the two “old schools.” It will probably be conceded, however, even by the old partisans, that their views in respect to the men and measures of the exciting period to which the volume before us particularly refers, have long since undergone a radical change of sentiment. And, by the younger class of readers and politicians, who have assumed the places of the former, it will perhaps be acknowledged that the work is susceptible of furnishing facts. and of establishing views of political events, and of the actors who participated in those events, very different

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LITERARY PD RL PPA PPD from the facts and impressions which they had previously received, traditionally, or through the mere partisan re- cords of the times in which the events happened, and in which the actors lived. Judging, however, from our own remembrance and limited knowledge of the events as they transpired, and as they are recorded in the volume before us, we cannot hesitate to say that the author has per- formed his task, so far, with scrupulous impartiality and justice, and that he is therefore worthy of the respect and confidence of the American reader. A LATIN-ENGLISH AND ENGLISH-LATIN DICTION- ARY, FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS. Chiefly from the Lexicons of Freund, Georges, and Kaldtschmidt. By Charles Anthon, LL. D., Professor of the Greek and Latin Languages in Columbia College, Rector of the Grammar School, etc. Part 1. Latin-English. This work has been prepared with great care from a translation by Mr. Riddle of Dr. Freund’s “Gesammptwirterbuch der Lateinischen Sprache,” and is designed to supply a deficiency that has long existed in our educational books for younger students of the Latin language. LOTUS-EATING. .A Summer Book. By Charles William Curtis, author of “Nile Notes,” etc. The sketches in this work will greatly interest northern travellers, particu- larly such as intend loitering awhile at Niagara, and the mountain and sea-shore watering-places. THE CHILD AT HOME; or, the Principles of Filial Duty Familiarly Tlustrated. By John 8. C. Abbott, author of “The Mother at Home.” Very greatly improved and en- larged, with engravings. An excellent book to place in the hands of young readers. From Ticknor, Reep, & Fre.ps, Boston, through W. P. Hazarp, Philadelphia :-— THE BLITHEDALE ROMANCE. By Nathaniel Haw- thorne. The author of this romance has risen rapidly in favor as a writer of fiction, both at home and abroad, with- in the few years past. We can recollect, it is true, when Nathaniel Hawthorne was comparatively in obscurity, and when scarcely any one who had the least regard for his own literary pretensions, unless he was a very independent thinker, would venture to speak favorably of his genius or talents. But men’s minds have changed, and Nathaniel Hawthorne, if he does not make one of those mistakes so common to great minds and sudden favorites with the pub- lic, is bound to maintain his position as quietly and tri- umphantly as he attained it. The works of this author are now ranked with the highest literary efforts of his countrymen. “Blithedale” seems to be one of those seri- ous lessons on the mental follies and philosophic or phi- lanthropic extravagancies of the times, which may, in some measure, be relied upon for its influence in checking the exuberance of “new ideas,” and in bringing back bewil- dered, but well-meaning people to the usages and require ments of common sense. From G. P. Putnam, New York, through W. B. Zicser, Philadelphia :— SCENES AND THOUGHTS IN EUROPE. By George H. Calvert. Second Series. There are many reflections in this book which will attract and merit the attention of the general reader. In regard to the author's theological opinions, however, we question very much whether they will prove any more satisfactory to Protestants than to Catholics. He seems, indeed, to think that Christianity was a failure, even from the time of the Apostles; for he says, “ Only in Jesus himself burnt purely the light of his revelation. The Apostles, his agents, were tainted with Judaism. And soon the spirit of priestcraft, which had crucified Jesus, took possession of his doctrine and soiled PLP L LLL LLP LLLP 5 NOTICES. 391 AAAA ADRDAD ADDS ~ it.” In a previous sentence, the author makes an avowal of his thoughts, which we apprehend will be conclusive in regard to his “ Rationalism,” the new system which, par- ticularly in Germany, is making war upon the common faith of Protestants and Catholics. These are his words: “But deeper and stronger than either Catholicism, than Protestantism, both perishable, is the imperishable Christ- ian principle of liberty, the quenchless longing for absolute mental freedom.” The fact is, that his thrusts at that which he considers the most odious of the two Christian systems are made so vigorously and thoroughly, they pierce the vital principles of both alike. POPULAR AND PRACTICAL SCIENCE. The Laws of Life, with especial reference to the Physical Education of Girls. By Elizabeth Bakewell, M.D. The author of these lectures was the first of her sex to open the way, in this country at least, to the attainment of medical knowledge, and to practice the science professionally. We can all re- collect the obloquy and ridicule against which she had to struggle, and we have all witnessed her noble triumph, alike honorable to herself and to her country, and proving to the world that the female mind is susceptible of as high a state of vigorous mental cultivation as has heretofore been exclusively claimed as fit only for the minds of men. In her brief dedication to American women, we are told that these lectures were delivered to a class of ladies dur- ing the past spring; that they are presented as outlines of truth, and ideas of the right method of education, rather than as a full discussion of the subject. The outlines are, in our opinion, correctly and scientifically drawn, and the ideas beautifully and glowingly expressed. The volume is in a cheap form, but very handsomely printed, and con- tains more practical information for the female mind than covld be found in twenty novels, each of the same number of pages. Price 25 cents. From Repprixe & Co., Boston :— SPECIMENS OF NEWSPAPER LITERATURE: with Personal Memoirs, Anecdotes, and Reminiscences. By Jo- seph T. Buckingham. In two volumes. We have ex- amined the contents of these volumes with unusual inte- rest, and feel assured that “all printers and conductors of the newspaper press,” to whom they have been particu- larly dedicated by the author, will find in them abundant matter for reflection, as well as of caution and advice. It is too plain, however, from the record before us, that, with all the progress we are presumed to have made in morality and general intelligence, in literature and in the arts and sciences, the character of the newspaper and political press has made but little, if any improvement. And, that there has been any improvement, only a few, perhaps, will be found willing to admit; for it has, indeed, grown into a habit with us to denounce the licentiousness and the vul- gar vituperation of the public press in our times, as unpre- cedented for its reckless boldness in the annals of “ news- paper literature.” It is certainly true, that we have continually at command some “specimens,” which, to say the least of them, are bad enough. But, bad as they may be, we believe that nothing of the kind can be produced in our day more personal, more vindictive, malicious, or ag- gravating, than the “specimens” of newspaper contro- versy, rivalry, and jealousy which the author has here produced in this ‘collection of “newspaper literature,” and as “specimens” of its career from the very first establish- ment of the press on this continent. Nevertheless, we hope none of our newspaper contemporaries of the present day will attempt to profit by the examples or “ specimens” introduced by the author of this book, so as to extenuate their conduct in regard to the evils which are at this day apparent in a free press. In looking over the memoir of

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392 ee ee RPRPRAPRA PAARL LDL DLA OOOO Benjamin Russell, we can applaud his zeal in behalf of liberty and the rights of his country, and we can now for- give his impassioned, and sometimes unfair attacks upon his political opponents in the first days of the republic; but, after all, when we see his newspaper and himself, as it were, dying in the arms of a party on whom he had poured out the vials of his wrath for years, we should all of us be admonished of the end. These volumes, there fore, as we said at the commencement, are good for advice, for reproof, and worthy of the calm reflection of all who attempt to control the independent press of a free country. As we often receive admonitions from our newspaper friends in regard to “ pictures” and “ fashions,” we hope we do not intrude in admonishing them of some of the merits of Mr. Buckingham’s “ specimens.” NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, &c. From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Lindsay & Blakiston, Philadelphia: “ Pictorial Field Book of the Revo- lution.” No. 25. Price 25 cents.—“ London Labor and London Poor.” Part 21. Price 25 cents. From Robert E. Peterson & Co., N. W. corner of Fifth and Arch Streets, Philadelphia: “The National Portrait Gallery of Distinguished Americans, with Biographical Sketches: containing upwards of one hundred and twenty engraved Portraits of the most Eminent Persons who have occupied a place in the History of the United States.” Nos. 2and 3. Price 25 cents. The second number contains the portraits of Jefferson, Hancock, and Carroll; the third, those of Scott, Wayne, and M’Donough. This work richly merits the approbation of the American public. From Hermann J. Meyer, 164 William Street, New York: Nos. 2, 3, and 4 of “ Meyer’s Universum.” Price 25 cents each part. The engravings in these numbers are very beau- 2 2 ; | ? | } ? GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. RAR APRPER eee tiful, and the letter-press descriptions highly interesting. Weik & Wieck, 195 Chestnut Street, are the sole agents for Philadelphia. From Gould & Lincoln, Boston, through W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia: “Chambers’s Pocket Miscellany.” Vol. 4. Price 25 cents. From Stringer & Townsend, New York, through W. B. Zieber, Philadelphia: “ The Upper Ten Thousand: Sketches of American Society.” By C. Astor Bristed. A new edi- tion. The contents of this book were originally published in parts, in Frazer’s (London) Magazine. It is understood, however, that the characters and the scenes introduced by the author are all from real life, and represent truly the social system as it exists among the aristocratic leaders of fashion and folly in New York. From A. Hart (late Carey & Hart): “The Discarded Daughter; or, the Children of the Isle.” A Tale of the Chesapeake. By Emma D. E. Nevitt Southworth. In two volumes. Price 75 cents. A very interesting tale. From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia: “ Life in the South.” A companion of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” By C. H. Wiley, of North Carolina.—* The Necromancer; or, the Mysteries of the Court of Henry the Eighth.” Vol. 2. By G. W. M. Reynolds. From Stringer & Townsend, New York, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia: “The Heirs of Randolph Abbey.” One of the best novels of the day, and, as the “ London Literary Gazette” says, “The most brilliant production since ‘Jane Eyre.’” The call for this novel is so great, that the publishers find some difficulty in supplying the demand. Stringer & Townsend, of New York, advertise a splendid catalogue of books, among which will be found a complete edition of “‘ Cooper’s Novels”—uniform periodical edition— in all, sixty-five volumes, in paper covers, at twenty-five cents each. The cheapest edition of the works of this great novelist ever published. Gaobeyys Arm- Chair. Fovr full page engravings again, and we mean to keep it up. We may challenge all previous efforts to eclipse the two leading plates in this number. Our reading matter is also of a very superior order. As we do not wish to bore our subscribers with the “opinions of the press,” though they sound sweetly to us, we ask attention, if they choose to give it, to the notices on our cover. As Sheridan says, “When they do agree, their unanimity is wonderful.” “Tae Sorrows or A Weattny Crrizen,” published in our July number, seems to have created a great sensation in the city. Everybody says, “That is just my case ;” “Glad you published it; but it is not quite strong enough.” It has been very extensively copied. We are now able to supply the orders for “ Godey’s Gal- lery of Splendid Engravings,” having printed a new sup- ply, which we think will last us at least a month. The demand for them is very great. The “ Independent Demo- orat,” of Concord, N. H., says :-— “Gopgy’s GALLERY or SpLenpIp Enoravines:—Godey, of the ‘ Lady’s Book,’ has commenced a serial of engravings, with the above title, which promises te possess many at- } j tractions, especially for the ladies. The first number has thirty plates, mostly steel and mezzotint, and many of them very beautiful and finely executed.” ParticuLaR attention is called to the paragraph in the advertisement of “Arthur's Home Gazette” on our cover, giving a list of the contents of his paper. This is now the best, while it is one of the cheapest, weekly papers publish- ed; and, to meet this spirit on the part of the proprietor, we have agreed to club with him on the following low terms: “Godey’s Lady’s Book” and “ Arthur’s Home Gazette” each sent one year for $3 50. These are certainly the most rea- sonable terms on which two first class works can be ob- tained. Only fifty cents more than the price of the “ Lady’s Book” will procure the best of the Philadelphia weekly papers. The money must be remitted at one time. Tue biographies of the elder Mrs. Adams, Mrs. Hamilton, and Mrs. Madison will be continued in the November and succeeding numbers. We copy the following, as it is particularly suitable to a class of persons who come under the head of “slow” sub- scribers. The truth is homely, but not the less forcible :— “ Non-Payine Scunscripers.—W agons cannot run without

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. PRR EEE wheels, boats without steam, bull-frogs jump without legs, or a newspaper be carried on, an everlasting time, no more than a dog can wag his tail when he has none. Our sub- scribers are all good; but what good does a man’s goodness do when it don’t do you any good? We have no doubt every one thinks that all have paid except him, and, as we are a clever fellow, and his is a little matter, it will make no difference. It would not, if it were only confined to a dozen or a hundred cases; but when the slow fever seizes most all, the complaint is altogether too general. As the bull-frog said, ‘It’s fun for you; but it’s death to us.’ ” SientFicant Sien.—A clockmaker in New York has the sign of a clock, on the face of which a boy is represented as undergoing a flagellation from his master for coming too late to school. His excuse is, “ Mother has no clock.” As clocks and watches are merely the representatives of pass- ing time, as at present constructed, it has appeared to us that the ingenious device of the New York clockmaker might be extended so as to remind others of “larger growth” than the school-boy, of some of their more import- ant moral and social duties. We could point out many maxims, had we the leisure at this time, which would be of universal application, and which would be likely to pro- duce a great moral reform. But,as we have not the lei- sure at this time, owing to the fact that “time is money,” and that money is the means by which we live, and amuse and hope to instruct our readers, we can only, and briefly, mention one device which the whole fraternity of editors throughout the country would like to see engraven on all the clocks in the houses, and on all the watches at the sides of all the ladies and in the fobs of all the gentlemen, the simple words, “Pay THE Printer!” Oh, conscience, con- science, how could you evade such emphatic admonitions made to you hourly by the records of time, dunning you incessantly for the fulfilment of your promises! WE call attention to the advertisement of Dr. Ayer’s medicines, published on the cover of this number. We have received a card printed at the office of the “Minden (La.) Herald.” Some of our job printers in this city would like to know how such neat work is done. It is really one of the prettiest business cards we ever saw, and a credit to any office. Eprror1AL Duties.—We find the following paragraph in the “ Life of Lord Jeffrey,” recently published in Philadelphia by Lippincott, Grambo, & Co. We commend it to the con- sideration of our literary readers, and especially to such as may have adopted the erroneous idea that any person hav- ing the advantages of genius and a warm imagination, and who can write with ease and facility, is fully capable of performing all the duties required of an able editor. Alas! but few of those who have never experienced the care and anxiety, the wearisome labors, and mental and physical exhaustion that attend the selection and management of other men’s produetions, and the preparing them for the public acceptance, can well conceive the amount of literary drudgery performed by an editor, who but seldom has the time, or enjoys the pleasure of inditing his own thoughts and his own views precisely in his own language :— “ Jeffrey's value as editor was incalculable. He had not only to revise and arrange each number after its parts were brought together, but, before he got this length, he, like any other person in that situation, had much difficult and delicate work to perform. He had to discover, and to train authors; to discern what truth and the public mind re- quired; to suggest subjects; to reject, and, more offensive 34* | | 2 | : | ! | 393 eee still, to improve contributions; to keep down absurditics; to infuse spirit; to excite the timid; to repress violence; to soothe jealousies; to quell mutinies; to watch times; and all this in the morning of the reviewing day, before experience had taught editors conciliatory firmness, and contributors reasonable submission. He directed and con- trolled the elements he presided over with a master’s judg- ment. There was not one of his associates who could have even held these elements together for a single year. The merit of getting so many writers to forego the ordinary jealousies of authors and of parties, and to write invisibly, and without the fame of individual and avowed publication, in the promotion of a work made up of unconnected por- tions, and assailed by such fierce and various hostility, is due to him entirely. He acquired it by his capacity of discussing almost any subject, in a conciliatory spirit, with almost any author; by the wisdom with which his authori- ty was exercised; by the infusion of his personal kindness into his official intercourse ; and his liberal and gentleman- like demeanor. Inferior to these excellences, but still important, was his dexterity in revising the writings of others. Without altering the general tone or character of the composition, he had great skill in leaving out defective ideas or words, and in so aiding the original by lively or graceful touches, that reasonable authors were surprised and charmed on seeing how much better they looked than they thought they would.” Mrs. Dartey.—We have before referred to this lady—the student and the daughter of the venerable portrait painter, Thomas Sully—as the very best limner of children in the country. This lady has a peculiar tact of engaging the confidence of the little subject, of arresting the calmest at- tention, and at once securing a most perfect likeness of the unconscious original. We hope Mrs. D. is as fully patron- ized as she deserves to be by those who are desirous— as almost all parents are—of having a correct copy of their first editions. PeriT1ontne Conaress.—Some evil-minded editor, in ridi- cule, as we presume, of the almost universal practice of petitioning Congress and the State Legislatures, on very trifling occasions, and sometimes asking for very silly and unconstitutional grants, has had the impertinence, to say the least of his conduct, to represent that “an old maid” has petitioned the first named honorable body to have her age changed. It is, indeed, but too true that, as a free peo- ple, we carry the “right of petition” to the highest extent of our privileges, and to the lowest depths of our humility. But the attempt to bring the practice into disrepute, by representing that an old maid had petitioned Congress to have her age changed, is not only a libel upon that excel- lent and amiable class of females, but implies a feebleness of mind in our people which could only be truly represent- ed by misrepresenting “old maids.” It is our good fortune to number among our very best friends many ladies who have passed the heyday of life, whose calmness, serenity, and dignity, whose cheerfulness and charity are always so apparent, that we feel convinced that they have little to regret in the past, and no apprehensions whatever about the future. To many of them, we believe the approach of age is so gentle, that they seldom notice the changes that come over them, and therefore have no desire to avail themselves of any change that Congress might be able to make, being long since ponvinced, no doubt, that Congress seldom makes any changes for the better. Perhaps we shall be laughed at by some of our readers for this exhibition of our respectful feelings, on a very trifling occasion, in favor of “old maids.” The fact is, we

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394 GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK, never witness any attempts at wit and sarcasm, at the ex- pense of womanhood, without feeling somewhat annoyed, and more especially if those attempts are made in ridicule of unmarried ladies, of whom it has been correctly and beautifully said, that “the single state is no diminution of the beauties and the utilities of the female character; on the contrary, our present life would lose many of the com- forts, and much likewise of what is absolutely essential to the well-being of every part of society, and even of the pri- vate home, without the unmarried female. The single woman is as important an element of social and private happiness as the married one. The utilities of each are different, but both are necessary; and it is vulgar non- sense, unworthy of manly reason and discreditable to every just feeling, for any one to depreciate the unmarried con- dition.” RESPONSIBILITIES OF BANKS.—One of our contemporaries suggests that “the banks should be made responsible for the redemption of all counterfeits of their own notes.” “ This,” says another of our friends, “is a capital idea,” and proceeds to illustrate it with the comment that “such a law would make the banks exceedingly careful to put out notes which could not be counterfeited successfully, thus saving vast amounts annually to the poor, who are the sufferers generally by this species of robbery.” So, then, in order to save vast amounts annually to the poor, our contemporary would proceed deliberately to rob the banks, by making the banks responsible for the inge- nious villany of counterfeiters. What more the banks can do than they have done, to protect the public from loss, we do not know. We presume, however, that the public au- thorities could do much more than has yet been done, as well for the detection as for the punishment of counter- feiters. Be that as it may, such a course as has been pro- posed would, indeed, be to compel the innocent to suffer for the guilty, and would, at the same time, legalize a new system of responsibilities, which, if carried out to the ex- tent which would be applicable, would revolutionize all the business, social, and even religious relations of society. Let us make the attempt to trace this proposition to its legitimate consequences, by a moment’s reflection. Let us suppose that a dishonest man commences any business whatever, and that, in order the more successfully to im- pose on the credulous, he very nearly, though not com- pletely, represents the face, form, and voice, the habits, manners, and sometimes even the name of a man of honor and integrity, engaged in the same profession; let us sup- pose that, finally, because imitation has not been altogether complete, the rogue is detected and his frauds exposed; and, when that is done, let us ask with what show of justice or propriety we could demand of the person whose name and character had been assumed, to account for the losses sustained through the counterfeiter? Again, if a man manufactures a machine, in imitation of one which an inventor has been careful to take out a patent for, and sueceeds in passing off his imitation for the original, with what face would you attempt to hold the patentee liable for damages? In our opinion, you might as well expect to compel religious and other societies to repair all the wrongs done, and all the impositions practised by their hypocriti- eal and worthless members, who may have counterfeited the principles and actions of the true members and profes- sors; or you might as well hope to hold manhood, or wo manhood, or society in general amenable for the crimes and roguery perpetrated by cheats and vagabonds, merely because cheats and vagabonds happen to bear a very near resemblanee to the rest of the human race. In fine, no better means could be adopted for the elevation of crime | | : | and the protection of dishonesty, than those would be which should transfer the responsibilities and the conse- quences of guilt to the innocent, honest, and industrious members of society. There is a great deal of counterfeit- ing carried on in the world, but it has not yet been made plain that honest men should be made the victims of vice and villany. Bank-note counterfeiters are, when caught, sent to the penitentiary. Let them be kept there until they pay those whom they have swindled out of the pro- ceeds of their “hard labor,” the State deducting all neces- sary expenses. TRIPS ON THE SCHUYLKILL.—We take so much pleasure in our own excursions on the Schuylkill River, that we even take pleasure in referring to them from our “ Arm-Chair,” which we do in order that our city readers, and friends visiting from abroad, may be induced to accompany us, and enjoy the beauty of the scenery presented along its banks. Above all, we would advise strangers visiting Philadelphia to make the Schuylkill a point in their suburban excur- sions. In passing up the river on the steamboats, after leaving Fairmount, you have some of the most delightful and picturesque views that can well be imagined. On the margin, and turning along at the foot of the hills that line the river shores, you have in full view the railroad, with a train of one hundred cars or more; the canal, with boats noiselessly pursuing their voyages from and to the inte- rior; the common roads, alive with carriages bearing hap- py parties from the city; and, in all, comprising a scene of life and beauty which cannot be equalled even by the scenery along the Hudson. There also, you have views of many splendid mansions, to which our opulent citizens can now resort in perfect safety, as the ague, so much dreaded in former years, has entirely disappeared ; and, among the rest, is the cottage which was once the residence of Thomas Moore, and in which he wrote his celebrated farewell to the Schuylkill. But what renders the scenery on the water and on the shores more beautiful and interesting than all, are the crowds of innocent and joyful children, who, full of life and loveliness themselves, add greatly to the life and loveliness of all around. Many a parent, during the past eummer, can testify, as well as we, to the beneficial effects which resulted to their little ones from an occasional trip on the River Schuylkill. Warer Cooters.—J. &. Clark, 322 Market Street, makes the best water coolers to be found in this city. We have tried those of other celebrated manufacturers, but have found them far inferior to those manufactured as above. We have one in our office which we purchased some time since, and such is its superiority over all others that we give this notice unknown to the manufacturer; and, sin- gular as it may seem to many of our brethren of the press, it is a notice absolutely brought forth by merit only. The great superiority of the cooler is that, with less ice, you can have cold water for a greater length of time. Tae FREAKS OF FortuNs.—A curious incident took place recently in London, showing how singularly diversified are the fortunes of persons of the same family. On the same evening that the Countess of Waldegrave was giving a splendid entertainment to a select number of the nobility and aristocracy of that city, her brother, young Braham, the inheritor of his father’s vocal powers, was giving a con- cert to a party made up of somewhat different materials. Who shall say which of the two was the happier, or which of them was the more rationally or usefully employed, the sister or the brother? We hope our republican readers will not all send in their opinions by the same mail.

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~ RECEIPTS. 395 Parvenv Socrery.—It appears that a society has recently been formed in Paris which promises to give to the world a new order of nobility, or, at least, of aristocracy. Accord- ing to its regulations, the right of membership is always to be established upon undoubted testimonials of the appli- cant’s having attained his elevation in the arts, sciences, in literature or in politics, in the army or navy, simply by the force of his own genius, and independent of the patron- age of rich or powerful family connections. In fact, it is an effort to form an aristocratic society of talent out of the poorer classes, and to place industry, genius, and virtue on & par with the meretricious aids of wealth, without the pos- session of which, industry, genius, talent, and virtue are thought to be too frequently driven to the wall. Now, for our own part, we confess we are not in favor of any form of aristocracy, believing that an aristocracy of poverty, in which the noble poor would become the exclu- sives, or an aristocracy of talent, in which the supremacy would be given to individuals of a class of merit, would, after all, effect nothing for the amelioration of society. The moment that one association sets itself up against any other association, even if it be against the tinsel wealth, or against titled pretenders, it falls into the same error of ex- clusiveness, and the same folly of pretension, which has rendered its opponents ridiculous in the estimate of all sensible minds. After the poor men of genius and talent, ete., have formed themselves into an association, which sets up its aristocratic exclusiveness against the aristocracy of wealth and titles, then we shall have, in all probability, an association of laborers or of mechanics, and associations of various grades, according to the professions of the mem- bers, all formed one against the other, all contending against aristocracy, and all as exclusive in their principles and pretensions as the original after which they have been compelled to copy. Thank Heaven, as we believe, there is no use for such associations in this free country! Indus- try, genius, and talent are always sure of their reward here, while those who have no other resources but the wealth hoarded by their fathers, no other reliance but the social or political distinctions of their parents, are daily seen falling inte neglect and decay. Receipts, Lc. To Make German CaAKE.—Mix well together a pound and a half of finely powdered loaf sugar, two pounds of well- dried flour, and a few caraway seeds; make it into a stiff paste with the whites of three eggs beaten in a little milk; roll it out very thin, cut into shapes, prick, and bake upon buttered tins. To Make YeAst.—To one large teacupful of split or bruis- ed dry peas put one pint of boiling water, cover it closely so as wholly to exclude the air, and set it in a cool oven or by the side of the fire for twenty-four hours, when it should have a fine froth on the top. A tablespoonful of the water is the proportion (in a warm climate) te one pound of flour. Yeast thus prepared is very generally used in Persia, and the writer has employed it in India for three years with success. Srzwsp Oysters.—Strain off the liquor from a dozen and a half of fine oysters; thicken it with flour and butter; add a tablespoonful of cream, a teaspoonful of mace in powder, and a very little salt. As soon as you have well mixed these, pour them into a stew-pan and put in the oysters. Shake the pan over the fire, but do not let the sauce boil, or the oysters will be hard. 5) Por au Fev.—This is by far the most wholesome of all soups. Take three pounds of good rump of beef, of any part free from bone and not too fat; put it in an earthen fire-proof pot, with three quarts of water, one large carrot, two turnips, two leeks, a head of celery, and one burnt onion; season, and let the soup boil slowly, skimming it from time to time, for at least five hours; then strain it through a fine sieve, and pour it over thin slices of bread to serve. The meat and vegetables make a dish which is afterwards served. Thus cooked, the beef becomes tender and juicy, and is excellent cold. A Am has an excellent flavor boiled as follows: Prepa- ratory to cooking, soak it well in vinegar and water; then boil in water with some heads of celery, two or three tur- nips, five or six onions, and a handful of sweet herbs. Put the ham in cold water, and allow it to heat very gradually. One of sixteen pounds will require four and a half hours. Remepy For Corns.—Take equal portions of mercurial and galbanum ointments; well mix, spread on a bit of leather, and apply to the corns morning and evening. SraL ENGRAVERS’ CEMENT is common brick-dust and rosin melted together in an earthen pipkin. With this, the handles of loose knives and forks may be fastened. To Restore Ivory.—To bleach a card-case, expose it to the sun in a close glass shade, previously washing it in spirits of wine and water, with a small quantity of soda in it. Allow it to dry very slowly in a cool place before ex- posure to the sun. But, under any circumstances, carv- ing in ivory is apt to split, and become unglued. For an ink spot, try a little salt of sorrel. To Make Goop Barter Water.—Choose the best pear! barley, boil it for a few minutes, then throw away the water and add fresh, in the proportion of a pint to an ounce of barley. Boil quickly, and then let it simmer for an hour; strain and sweeten; flavor with lemon, or ac- cording to taste. Markine InK.--Nitrate of silver 14 oz., hot boiled water 3{0z. When cooled a little, add gum water 1 oz., and a little indigo to color. The preparation is made: carbonate of soda 1 oz. to 1 pint of boiled water; color with cochineal or indi- go. 2. Without preparation: Nitrate of soda 114 drachms to 3{ oz. of water. Add as much of the strongest ammonia water as will dissolve the precipitate formed on its first addition ; then further add, gum water 144 drachms. Writ- ing executed with this ink turns black on being passed over a hot Italian iron, or on being held to the fire. A Lotion ror WEAK Eres.—Twenty drops of laudanum and five drops of brandy in a wineglass of water. Apply three times a day as warm as the eye will bear it, NANKEENS will keep their color if washed as follows: Put a large handful of salt into a vessel with a gallon of cold water; put the articles in, and let them soak twenty-four hours; then wash in hot lye, without soap, and without wringing. PARTICULARLY ADDRESSED TO Lapres.—Dining in gloves is 8 vulgarity, and not allowable under any circumstances. Tue white azalea is an emblem of purity and temperance. The white rose expresses, “I am worthy of you.” The myrtle, “ Friendship and Love.” Orange blossom, “Chas tity.”

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Centre-Gable Gossip. § difficult method of “ Bertini”—which is a sealed book to TABLE-TALK. Dm any of our lady friends take a note of the vart variety of topics that is introduced—and naturally, too— in the course of an evening’s talk, when some three or four friends have met? If they have not, it will be a novel amusement, which we recommend them to try. We give a list that really was pencilled from an ordinary evening's chat—six persons being clustered around the pleasantest centre-table we know of in this city: “ Weather—Boston— Spain—French—Dr. Jenkins—John Smith—Modesty—Caps —Gas Light—Weather—Savages—Lawyers—Flowers —Ap- ple Orchards—A]bums—Boug uetse—Manners of Gentlemen —Caps—Queechy—Railroads—New York—Industry—Caps —Sea-Sickness—Washing—Needle Books—Economy—Mer- cantile Library—Jane Eyre—The Cat—Major Jones—Coid Weather—Christmas—Snow— Quarrelling — Sewing Mate- rials—Peaches and Cream—Elephants—Knitting—Gloves —Jealousy—Craig’s Riding School—Polkas—Coal—Califor- nia Settlers—Twelve Acquaintances discussed—Relations,” etc. etc. This is about one-third of our list, and the precise order in which the subjects were introduced. And this reminds us to suggest the importance of cultivating conversational talents—for it is as much a talent, and as much to be im- proved by cultivation, as a taste for music or drawing, and often gives as great pleasure. A disposition to talk, and a command of language, are the foundation in all cases; but this may degenerate to mere garrulity or gossip, that wea- ries or disgusts the listener. Our sex are fatally prone to this, and, on the contrary, they have ever been distin- guished as brilliant conversationists. In cultivating this excellent gift, a refined taste in the choice of both delicate and forcible words and expressions; a well-stored and ob- serving mind; and politeness that can bear defeat in ar- gument, or contradiction in statement, amiably—are all brought to bear. The topic is to be suited to the company —never suffering scandal or egotism to intrude, either in fact or in narrative. Exaggerated forms of expression, or vehement gesture, should be discarded, though animated and varied expression adds much either to the force or grace of what is spoken. And, again, variety of topics should be at command, as well as facts and illustrations, and adroitly brought forward when the interest begins to flag—not pushed into notice, but quietly and naturally introduced. As an entertainer, it seems to be the duty of every lady to study the subject as much as possible, that many a weary hour or dull guest may be saved from lag- ging by the swift wings of agreeable and sparkling conver- sation. MUSICAL EDUCATION We are often asked, What is the best age to commence with a music pupil? some being under the impression that no child can understand the first principles before the age of ten; others thinking even that quite too early, and that nothing is lost by waiting until a young lady applies in serious earnest to the work of school education. As regariis the first, one of the most correct performers that we know, both as to time and expression, is just ten OPP lt ttn di many older hands—and plays compositions of six and eight pages, not as an automaton, but with style and apparent feeling. Her mother has been her only teacher, and com- menced her course of instruction at first only as a pastime. Gradually, the lessons came to be half an hour in length, seldom more, so that the child was not wearied with her “new play.” We have tried the method with great success on a little pupil in our own family—weariness being « great drawback to the advancement of any study, as it almost always becomes disgust in the end. After a time, an hour, but never more, may be given morning and after noon to practise with advantage. Advanced players who are studying difficult music rarely limit themselves as to time, but we are speaking more particularly of children. If it is possible, they should not be allowed to practise alone for a year at least, as bad habits are easily formed, and may annoy the pupil through a long course of study. We shall give other hints under this head from time to time, as music is becoming so important a branch in female education. MODERN VARIATIONS. One of the most entertaining books of the season is, without doubt, “ Thackeray’s Book of Snobs,” a volume of “ Appleton’s Popular Library.” Like all the satire in which this clever writer indulges, it has its philosophy, which, if sometimes harsh and severe, is never wanting in truth. Thackeray is not one of those authors who “ state in one line, and retract in another;” he is always in earnest, almost always in the right, and does not hesitate to shoot at any folly, be it visible in court or commons. As one of the best things, we quote his description of the modern popular variations—some one has called their authors “the old-clothes men of music”—wherein an in- significant air of four or five lines is made to do duty through six or seven pages. , “For the performance of ‘Gettin’ up Stairs,’ I have no other name but that it was a stunner. First, Miss Wirt, with great deliberation, played that original and beautiful melody, cutting it, as it were, out of the instrument, and firing off each note. “When she had banged out the tune slowly, she began a different manner of ‘Gettin’ up Stairs, and did so with a swiftness and fury quite incredible. She spun up stairs; she whirled up stairs; she galloped up stairs; she rattled up stairs; and then, having got the tune to the top land- ing, as it were, she hurled it down shrieking, as it were, to the lower floor, where it sank in a crash, as if exhausted by the breathless rapidity of the descent. Then Miss Wirt played the ‘Gettin’ up Stairs’ with most pathetic and ravishing solemnity, plaintive moans and sobs issued from the keys; you wept and trembled as you were getting up stairs. Miss Wirt’s hands seemed to faint, and wail, and die in variations: again, and she went up with a savage rush, and clang of trumpets, as if Miss Wirt were storming a breach; and, although I knew nothing of music, as I sat and listened with my mouth open, at this wonderful dis- play, I wondered the windows did not crack, and the chan- delier start out of the beam, at this earthquake of a piece years of age. She had practised nearly through the very ; of music!” 396

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FASHIONS. 397 —_— wn THE PERILS OF A CROSSING. We give our young lady readers a paragraph from a popular modern writer, leaving them to “point the mo- ral :"— “T hardly know a more interesting sight than that of a young lady going to school on a wet day, with books to carry in one hand, and an umbrella to sustain in the other. To see the struggles she makes in such circum- stances to keep her skirts from dragging in the mud, or the patience with which she submits to their unavoidably do- ing so, and to think of the sad condition of her lower ex- tremities all the time—to reflect, moreover, that all this trouble and suffering could be avoided by merely having skirts of a sufficient, but not over-sufficient length—pre sents such an affecting picture of evils voluntarily encoun- tered and heroically sustained, as but rarely occurs in the course of human life. It is justly held as a strong proof of patience, that you should calmly submit to be spat upon or have mud thrown upon you by some infuriated crowd; but here is a gentle creature who literally goes out every day to endure the certain contact of these nuisances, and comes home to dinner not in much better plight than one who has sat (unpopularly) in the pillory for an hour. I really must give such martyrdom the meed of my admira- tion; and the more so, that I feel myself, under the bard- ening effects of worldly common sense, totally unprepared to go through such hardships without some useful end to be served by it.” RESPONSE TO THE AUGUST POETICAL ENIGMA. We have received a very clever poetical answer to this enigma, in which the writer very naturally considers that “take a wife” would be the advice which the affectionate aunt would, on most occasions, administer to her nephew ; but still it is not exactly the thing in all cases, as will ap- pear from the following correct and clever solution :— MY AUNT’S ADVICE. When my aunt, to her mansion on MULBERRY GREEN, In the best-natured manner that ever was seen, Invited me down, with my friends, to partake Of the best that her house and her larder could make, Of course, our “day’s shooting” extended to four, Nor then had we yawned, or cried out “ what a bore!” For the country is pleasant, with “ birds in the hand,” With wine, horses, servants at constant command. Such dogs! and we used them, from pointer to setter, My dear relative’s wish carried out to the letter; For how beaming her smile, and how kindly her tone, When she said, “ Pray consider them all as your own !” So I mentioned one day, as I smoked my cigar, Balanced just on the top of her best china jar— “ You see, I’m not backward to do as you say— In fact, I have thought of prolonging my stay.” A smile full of meaning then instantly beams, As she answered so coolly, “Indeed! So it seems!” No wonder I blushed, as I mounted my horse, And, to hide my vexation, dashed over the course ; But then came the ditch—that inglorious fall, With the mud, bruises, laughter, the torn coat and all; And those very same words, as her smile once more beams, But now in good nature, “Indeed! Sew its seams!” TO CORRESPONDENTS, “ Louisa” will find care of white crape shawls very ne- essary. It is not well to keep them in the box in which _— ? they come, as it is a great deal of useless trouble to fold them so closely. Miss Leslie tells us that a cake of white wax, laid in the box or drawer in which they are kept, will grow quite yellow, while the crape remains white. They should be folded and laid away as soon as taken off, as every contact with dust soils them, especially the fringe, which is apt to get dingy from trailing on the sidewalk, or brushing a dusty wall. It is true, they can be cleaned, but they never look so well again, having that washed and stiffened appearance peculiar to colored silks, and the em- broidery is pressed quite flat. The usual charge for clean- ing, which is done by most dyers, is $1 50. We agree with “Jeannette F.” that white, during the summer season, is the most ladylike and suitable dress a young girl can wear. We know of some who keep two bodies, made differently, to one skirt, which may be tacked on, thus making a little change. Swiss muslin is almost too thin for the street, cambric or grass cloth is more suit- able, while Swiss muslin and tarleton are the best evening dresses. Nansook cambric keeps its color better than any other material, save linen or grass cloth ; a grass cloth will outlast two of ordinary cambric, though more expensive at first, and always looks well. The patterns for embroidery inquired for by “ L. N. C.,” can be had in the city. Copies of all those that have ap- peared in the “ Lady’s Book” can be had by applying to the publisher. “Mrs. L.” will find the following a very good plan to keep iron goods, such as coal-scuttles, etc., from rusting: Heat them gradually, and then brush them over with com- mon linseed oj!, which is decomposed by the heat, and forms a thin, but very firm coating of varnish, which is quite impervious to water, and, unlike paint and Japan black, does not chip off. Garden-chairs, railings, and everything exposed to the action of the outer air, should have two or three good coatings of paint. “Tae Heap or Our Famiy” shall have the most unex- ceptionable receipts for dressing salads in our next. We condole with her on the numerous onerous duties which devolve upon her in her mother’s absence, and shall be happy to render her any assistance in our power. Salad dressing requires not only directions, but judgment and practice; but it is an accomplishment every lady should possess. Rose vinegar is a novelty in salads, and, by some, thought very desirable. To every quarter of a pound of rose leaves, add two quarts of good vinegar; put it in a large jar, cover it firmly, and leave it to infuse, till a fine tincture is obtained, when strain for use. Fashions. NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Having had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the E’itress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of a small percentage for the time and research required. Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn bonnets, dresses, jewelry, bridal cards, cake-boxes, envelopes, etc. ete., 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 expends ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Exq., who wil 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

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398 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. PPLLILLS aw PPPP APA LPIA DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION PLATE. We would call attention to the artistic and picturesque grace of this whole engraving, making it quite as valuable as a picture as a representative of tasteful fashions. Had it been called “The Zoological Garden,” it would have been noticed as a clever picture; for the half shy, half de- lighted air of the child, the admirable figure of the negro nurse in her striped Madras handkerchief, and the pleased interest of the young mother, make a charming group. As it is, it combines, with this grace, southern fashions for October. The first figure has a walking-iress of dark moir dan- tique, a very rich silk, which requires little trimming; the front is cut out in a diamond pattern, to display the richly wrought white cambric robe beneath. Sleeves demi-long, with undersleeves edged by a broad lace falling over the hand. White silk bonnet, with an edging of spotted blonde, and a wreath of clematis buds and leaves. Light mantle of India muslin, with a rich fall of lace. As our southern ladies walk but little, this will be recognized as a carriage costume. The child in the arms of her sable attendant is attired in arichly wrought cambric dress. The mantle is of pink cashmere, simply trimmed with a ruché of pink silk, and may be fastened by a broad pink ribbon sash around the waist. The hat is of leghorn, with a small plume on the right of the brim. The nurse has a brown stuff dress, white apron and neck-handkerchief, with a brilliant Madras twisted about her head. WOOD-CUT.—ROBE DE CHAMBRE. This is intended for the invalid receiving visits in her room, or may be worn as a summer morning-iress with perfect propriety. It is made of white jaconet, or thick Nansook muslin, very full, the front breadths being con- tinued up to the shoulder, and fastened by a girdle around the waist. The trimming down the front is a broad ruffle, gathered in the centre, both edges being finished by a scol- lop of button-hole work; a collar of the same should be tied by a bow of thick Mantua ribbon, some plain color. Loose sleeves, finished by a double ruffle to correspond. This is one of the most simple and tasteful dresses we have seen. CHITCHAT ON PHILADELPHIA FASHIONS FOR OCTOBER. As our warm weather continues later than in New York even, this is the transition month in Philadelphia, as far as styles are concerned. There are no fall openings of mil- linery as yet, though several are announced for the next two weeks; therefore, straw bonnets with silk linings, re placing those of crape, and trimmed with rich ribbons, are most generally seen. The ribbons are of deep colors, with *a bright spot, figure, or stripe enlivening them. For in- stance, a black ground and small crimson palm-leaf, royal purple with a bright green spot, ete. ete. The varieties of atyle in which bonnets are trimmed defies all description ; some have simply a wide, rich ribbon passed over the brim, and confined at the top with a knot or band of straw, spreading out at the ear, and drawn in again to tie beneath the chin. If the straw is fine, and the ribbon wide and thick, this, with a cape of the same, is all that is necessary. GODEY’S MAGAZINE AND LADY’S BOOK. There is another style, the ribbon brought very far forward in a point on top of the bonnet, a second band of ribbon follows it, only not inclining so far forward. Others, whose white trimmings of the summer are still in good order, consult economy and taste at the same time, by ornament- ing the cape by two rows of narrow velvet ribbon, in some bright color, as cherry or bright green, with inside bows to correspond. However, each town and village has its own prevailing fashion in this matter, and we leave it to the taste of our readers, with a general rule to avoid, as far as possible, a multiplicity of bows and dangling ends. The winter dress goods are not fairly in the market, al- though the shop windows are full of bright mousselines, and silks, and merinos. There are many novelties among them; for instance, several styles of figured mousseline de bagé, on the plain brown ground: it is “something different,” it is true, but, as a general rule, figured goods of any description are never as invariably ladylike as those in solid colors. There is also a chenée de bagé, in several shades of brown, shot with green and dark crimson. This still continues to be a favorite fabric, and more of the plain shades, and of a heavier, better quality, are imported than ever before. They are trimmed either in scollops of button-hole stitch, or with several rows of narrow velvet ribbon. The Alba- nian, or Albanese robes, are mousselines of dark, rich, plain colors, with the skirt printed in bright wreaths of flowers, or bands of stripes, at the distance of several inches apart, having something the effect of flowers @ disposition. The top of the skirt, waist, and sleeves is plain. Others have only a border in gay stripes or plaids, like the chintzes of the past season. The richest brocades are a disposition, which, as we have before explained, means that the skirt, waist, and sleeves are woven separately, the pattern of the skirt being a much larger figure than the rest of the dress. We shall speak more particularly of silks and other dress goods in our next. Merinos, of every shade, are imported, and of exquisite fineness; they will be worn as much as ever, with a trimming of velvet ribbon. There is a beauti- ful new shade, which we can only describe as a red stone color, looking as if the last had been washed over by a soft shade of carmine. The pretty fashion of aprons has by no means gone out, though they are not worn as full so they have been. white cambric, or cross-barred muslin, are the neatest for morning-dresses, though many wear black silk, with capa- For silk, only two breadths are now used ; the second one is divided so that the seam may not come in the centre. The waistband is, of course, shorter than in the robe aprons, only reaching little more than a third of the waist. Two or three narrow gaugings make a neat finish for the top. In dress aprons, small outside pockets are worn, the corners rounded and put on with a cord, and a ribbon run across the top, meeting in the centre in a neat bow. Nothing is prettier than a small handkerchief just peeping from one of these pockets. Aprons are also made of rich watered and morre silks, very short, and edged with two rows of narrow velvet. The corners are rounded. The pockets placed sideways are also trimmed with velvet. We must defer further information of the making up until our next number, as we have been requested to give the new styles of riding-habits. There are two, which differ very little, except in color and material. The one is dark brown merino, made with side bodies and a short basque, rounded in front, from the waist back to the hip. The sleeves are rather loose for a tight sleeve, and turn back in a broad cuff almost to the elbow; a close cambric undersleeve is worn beneath; a linen collar, and embroidered neck-tie of black silk, finishes the dress. The other is very nearly the same, in light habit cloth, of a deep shade of gray. FASHION. Fine cious pockets.

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SCOLLS WEEKLY PAPER IS THE LARGEST FAMILY JOURNAL IN THE UNITED STATES. It has been acknow- ledged y 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. i 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 Newe our Paper is second to none. THE BEST ORIGINAL TALES AND STORIES appear in Scott’s Weekly Paper, and every attention is paid to procuring CHOICE POETRY, Select Reading, ‘he LATEST NEWS from all parts of the Globe, Reports of Markets, Stock Tables, Rates of Discount, &c. &c. FORTY COLUMNS OF READING MATTER! OBSERVE.—There is no deception in this statement. The forty columns are full length; each column ia of the usual newspaper width, and is two feet six and a half inches long. ; : : i> The best way to determine the size and quality of newspapers is to send for specimens, before subscribing or making up Clubs. We prefer that our paper should be selected for its merits alone. h The publisher is not connected with any other publication, and his whole time and attention are devoted to hie favorite Weekly Paper. It will be perceived that, notwithstanding the size and character of tne journal, the pricee to Clubs are less than those uf any other first-class journal in the world. - LOWEST TERMS: S2 One Copy, one year, - - - Two Copies, = - - - -_. Full price - - 4 Four Copies, “ e ° ° 5 ° “ ° e x Ten Copies, 66 - - - 10 - ss ° - 20 Twenty-one Copies ‘“ : ° ° 20 ‘ “ " - And an extra premium to the getter-up of the clubs of ten and twenty. To insure the paper at the club raves, 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. i[> 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. TERMS FOR GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK FROM JULY TO DECEMBER INCLUSIVE. 1 copy six months, $1 50. 2 copies six months, $3. 5 copies six months and ascopy for six months to.the person sending the club, $5. 8 a“ “cs “ “ “cc “ “ 7 10 “ “ 2 copies “ “ “ “ 10 Ee Small notes of the different States are received at par for Godey’s Lady’s Book. te Where a club is made up by individuals who reside at a distance from each other, the Book wit he sent to the town in which each resides. [= Additions of one or more to clubs are received at club prices. t= REGISTER your letters, and, when remitting, get your postmaster to write on the letter « Regis- tered.’? The money will then come safely. Remember, we have no traveling agents now, and all monev must be sent direct to the rublisher. e” A Specimen or Specimens will be sent to any Postmaster making the request. gq@s~ We can always supply back numbers for the year, as the work is stereotyped. t=" The Lady's Book is for sale by all Booksellers in the United States. Wo. 113 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.

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Some few Notices of the Lady's Book. Gopry.—What shall we say for the Lady’s Book for April? If Godey don’t stop his improvements in the taste and beauty of his popular periodical, he will run the press completely out of language with which to praise it. But praise of the Lady’s Book is not necessary, for everybody takes it, and of course everybody admires it.— Delaware Journal. Public enterprise, when attended and controlled by so high a regard for the intellectual and moral well-being of society, must and will be abundantly rewarded. Let every man who has a family, and every single gentle- man who loves and respects woman, and every woman who admires that which is eminent in beauty, and taste, and instruction, let every one save $3 from his current expenses in order to send on immediately for the Lady’s Book.— Miss. Sentinel, Gopey’s Lapy’s Boox.—In a necessarily brief reference to this ably conducted magazine, we feel assured that we only pay a well-deserved compliment to the labors and the industry of our friend Godey, when we say that it is the first of its class in this country, and superior to any similar publication that comes to us from Eu- rope.—Scott’s Weekly, Philadelphia. Gopgy’s Lapy’s Boox.—This superior Magazine, of which we have so frequently spoken, continues to unfold new beauties, and to develop new evidences of the genius and enterprise of its conductor. Mr. Godey continues to be the pioneer he was in our periodical literature; his magazine is peculiarly a Lady’s Book, and those pub- lishers who have followed him in this delightful ministration are indeed his followers—he leading them in every- thing—taste, talent, enterprise, embellishment, and success!—N. Y. Staten Islander. If our readers want anything, let them buy this Book, and they will find it food for mind, heart, and head.— Commercial, Tonawanda. The Lady’s Book is the most popular work in the country, and Godey deserves much credit for his untiring zeal, in keeping ahead of the leading magazines of the day.— Villager, Plymouth. Gopey’s Lapy’s Boox is a splendid affair. The matter, original and select, is excellent, and, what is more, can, with safety, be placed in the hands of a family, without any danger of its corrupting the morals or turning the brains of the younger members, which, of itself, considering the tendency of a great deal of the literature of the present day, is a great recommendation. The engravings are unsurpassed, and we think Godey may safely challenge the world to produce a eheaper, a better, or more entertaining production. We recommend our read- ers, those who have the superintendence of a family, by all means to patronize L. A. Godey’s Lady’s Book.— Independent, Canada West. Gopry again renews our indebtedness to him, by our receipt of his elegant, chaste, and valuable periodical. He has, by an overmastering worship of the beautiful and true, and by the depth and purity of his genius, brought magazine literature to its culminating point in this country. No lady should be without this standard of refinement.—Marshall Eagle, Ala. Unquestionably the Lady’s Book is one of the most tasteful and elegant parlor companions ever published in this country.— Family Journal, Troy. : It is, without exception, the best magazine published in this or any other country. This cannot be denied.— 4 a J. Herald. There is more reading matter contained in this publication than in any other magazine now published, hesides four splendid full page plates. This is one of the most talented periodicals of the present day.— Messenger, Tiaverstraw. Its steady increase in real worth and high-toned morality is ever the distinguishing characteristics of the Lady's Book.—N. H. Gazette and Advertiser. The Lady’s Book is the Great Magazine of the Nation, and Godey is the Prince of Magazine Publishers.— Journal, Ellenville, N. Y. We agree with a contemporary, that everybody who has a wife, daughter, or sweetheart—and bad luck to the man who has not—should subscribe to this excellent publication.— Va, Valley Democrat. Godey has steadily increased the beauty and utility of his Book, until it has arrived at a point far in advance of all the magazines in the country. A great deal has been said in praise of Harper's Magazine—much more, we think, than it ever deserved. It certainly cannot compare with Godey’s in anything that makes a magazine useful or attractive.— Warren Ledger. Its elegant stories, its sparkling poetry, and its cheerful gossip have given it an enviable circulation and popularity.— Tennessee Organ. We wish Godey all the success imaginable, his book being the best magazine of the day, and a book that ought to be read in every family. Come up and subscribe for the Lady’s Book and the Washington Democrat, we will furnish a copy of each one year for the small sum of $3 50.—Salem Democrat. When we take into consideration the size of the pages, and the quantity they contain, it is certain that the Lady’s Book has more reading matter than any other magazine now published. In addition to this he gives four splendid full page plates. How he got it up for the money is a mystery to us.— Western Reserve Transcript. Mr. Godey has given to his Lady’s Book such permanency and reputation, that it is universally known throughout this continent, and in the same proportion liked. Rival magazines have come and gone, almost without number, since it was first established; but combining, as he does, the most indefatigable industry, the judicious criticism, the purest taste, and the highest appreciation of whatever is chaste, and elegant, and inte- resting, he has merited his success.—Miss. Argus. The June No. is to hand. The illustrations, reading matter, &c., evince the highest order of intellect.— Ten- nessee Observer. If the ladies had the right to vote, we have no doubt Godey would be elected to the Presidency of this Re- public nolens volens.— Ashland Union. a can form a just idea of the excellence of this monthly, unless it is before them.—Montgomery atehman, Godey’s is emphatically a book for the ladies, and is one of the very few periodicals that makes its monthly issnes equal to the first one of the year.—Mass. Inquirer. The ladies pronounce the Work Department in this magazine to be worth more than the price of the book.—- Christian Freeman, This periodical has this certain recommendation beyond most others, that the purity of its pages is always made secure by the utmost watchfulness, care, good taste, and matronly discretion. Mrs. Hale, who presides = pages, is a lady of the most vigilant delicacy, and the most circumspect good sense.—Charleston Even- ing ewe, It is the first in typographical execution, the first in fashion plates, and the first in beautifully illustrated designs, a single one of which in the present volume is worth the whole subscription price for a year. We hope to see it in the drawing-room of each of our subscribers.—Fox River Courier. enti iti i "ae.

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“THE MOST BRILLIANT PRODUCTION SINCE JANE EYRE.”’—Lit. Gazette.

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Mrs. Ellis’s New Fascinating Story. : SHLE-DECEPTION ; : THE HISTORY OF A HUMAN HEART. BY MRS. ELLIS, AUTHOR OF “HEARTS AND HOMES,” “WOMEN OF ENGLAND,” “HOME, OR THE IRON RULE,” &C., &C. COMPLETE IN TWO VOLUMES, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. Price $1, in Paper ; bound in Muslin, $1 25. Tue popularity of Mrs. Ex.is as a writer, and the admirable suecess her works have had f as portraitures of domestic interests and incidents, make what she has written of the great- est importance to all who can appreciate the pathos of the gentler affections. Tho present y work, admirable in itself, has also something of an universal interest from the fact that it appeals to the whole human heart. To the female sex, to whom it is particularly addressed, this book will have an universal | interest, for never was the gentler pertion of humanity more admirably described. There | isalso not an usual degree of merit in the sterner and more manly characters, which have 4 a something of power about them, when united to the peculiar traits we have already men- tioned, well calculated to take possession of public attention. The popular authoress has not | @ little added to her reputation by this the last and most fascinating of her numcrous works, { OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. { From the Home Journal. | This is one of the healthiest and most interesting tales of fiction that we remember to have read. It is, in truth, the history of a woman’s heart, narrated as only a woman could depict it, for every minute phase of that organ of affections, feelings, and passions, is laid bare, with the skill and delicacy ofa finished practitioner. Ella, the hero- ine, is originally a vain, self-deceiving woman, who is carried through a course of events, in which her heart and mind are trained, by triale and disappointments, to rest on the only true security we can confidently rely on in this life. The progress of the narrative introduces numerous examples of character, and a great diversity of inci- dents sufficient to keep the reader’s attention alive, while the high moral, religious principles, naturally evolved from the story, render the work a truly valuable and unexceptionable production. It should form a portion of every lady’s library in the country. It is not alone an antidote to many of the reigning foibles of the sex, but it offers a beautiful contrast by its pure and healthy tone, to that mass of equivocal fictitious literature, that floods our Libraries.” From the Commercial Advertiser. 1 “The third and Iest part of this fine novel has been published, much to the gratification of those whose attention twas so forcibly enlisted by the previous portions of the work. Mrs. Ellis is a charming writer, and always em- ploys her pen for good purposes. Her imagination is chastened by sound judgment, and if she never dazzles her ‘— readers é brilliancy of her writings, she never sacrifices morality or common sense. ‘Self-deception’ is print- iy ed ina style than is usual for cheap publications.” i From the Courier ond Enowirer. “This is the cenclusion of one of those simple, home-like, genial tales, which has made the name of Mrs. Ellis so familiar among thw households of England and America.” PUBLISHED BY STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 222 BROADWAY.

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ral efitra te “THEY 4BE NOT FOR 4 DAY, BUT FOR ALL TIME.” STRINGER & TOWNSEND'S COMPLETE EDITION COOPER’S NOVELS, ——e © o—_——_ * Cooper, whose name is with his country’s woven, First in her fields, her pioneer of mind.”—Haxzzcx.

UNIFORM PERIODICAL EDITION. Comprising the whole of the late J. Fentwore Cooper's Novels, in all Sixty-five Volumes; in paper covers.—Price 25 cents each. LIBRARY EDITION. On fine paper, bound in embossed muslin, Thirty-Three Volumes, $24 the set; half roan, $26 ; sheep, library style, marble edges, $28; half calf, $40; half morocco, $40.

LAST OF THE MOHICANS. MERCEDES OF CASTILE. PIONEERS. JACK TIER. DEERSLA YER. WING AND WING. PATH-FINDER. RED ROVER. PRAIRIE. MONIKINS. THE OAK OPENINGS. THE SEA LIONS. TWO ADMIRALS. LIONEL LINCOLN. NED MYERS. WYANDOTTE. HOMEWARD BOUND. SATANSTOE. THE CHAIN BEARER. BRAVO. AFLOAT AND ASHORE. REDSKINS. MILES WALLINGFORD. HEIDENMAUER. HOME AS FOUND. TRAVELLING BACHELOR. THE CRATER. PILOT. WEPT OF WISH-TON- WISH. WATER WITCH. IHEADSMAN. PRECAUTION. SPY.

2 © o——— Critical Commendations. “He wrote not for the fastidious, the over-refined, the morbidly delicate; but he wrote for man- kind at large—for men and women in the ordinary healthful state of feeling—and in their admiration he found his reward. Hence it is, that he has earned a fame, wider, I think, than any author of modern times—wider, certainly, than any author, of any age, ever enjoyed in his lifetime.” —Bryant’s Discourse on, the Life and Genius of Cooper. ‘The empire of the sea has been conceded to him by acclamation, and in the lonely dosert or untrodden prairie, among the savage Indians, or scarcely less savage settlers, all equally acknowledge his dominion ; within this circle none dares walk but he.”—ZAdinlurgh Review. “With what amazing power has he painted nature! how all his pages glow with creative fire! Who is there writing English among our contemporaries, if not of him, of whom it can be said, that he has a genius of the first order ?’— Revue de Paris. “* Altogether, he is the most original writer that America has yet produced, and one of whom she may well be proud.”’—London Atheneum. “As a novelist, take him all in all, is entitled to precedence of every other now living ; the world has living no other writer whose fame is so universal.” —ZJnternational Mag. “ The works of Mr. ae have adorned and elevated our literature. There is nothing more purely American, in the highest sense of the word, than several of them, which the latest posterity will not willingly let die.”"— Edward Everett. ° oeer ° “ That surpassing ability which has made his own name and the names of the creations of his fancy household words throughout the civilized world.”—George Bancroft. STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 222 Broadway, New-York. Pama Pan A AM Le, I Pe nArna Lwin hr nh nA aM nf a ee ee a ln on as SaaS

se et re ee ees =~ ert

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foo Lae Aue > at > sae Lee Zoe Le Lee rp 2 Society incorporated into an elegant and portable volume: - certain classes of New-York society that has yet pV ee VaV ye ‘ SVP WV SE ADV MAE MAG DN APA EE SAM SG STRINGER & TOWNSEND’S LATEST PUBLICATIONS. THE HEIRS OF RANDOLPH ABBEY. A Novel. Price 25 cents. “ The most brilliant production since Jgne Eyre.”—Liter Gazette, » PRECAUTION. A Novel. By the late J. Fenmore Coorer. Containing u Portrait of the Author, and a View of his late Resi dence at Cooperstown ; including the Discourse on his Life and Genius, by W. C. Bryant. 2 vols. Price 50 cents. THE UPPER TEN THOUSAND. Sketches of American Society. By C. Astor Bris rep. With original Illustrations. Bound in paper. 50 cents; in cloth, 75 cents. “ We are glad to see these brilliant sketches of American for they are unquestionably the most veritable picture of en writ- ten, we do not except even the equally graphic portraits of “The Lorgnette.”"— Home Souraah HUNTING THE ROMANTIC; Or, The Adventures of a Novel Reader. From the French of Jules Sandean. Bound in paper 50 cents; in cloth, 75 cents. “It is one of the most amusing stories we ever read.”"— Commercial Advertiser, PROF. JULIUS CESAR HANNIBAL'S COMIC DISCOURSES. Price 25 cents. “A book replete with fun and humor,”—Star, MYSTERIES OF LONDON. By the Author of “ The Gipsey Chief.” New edi- tion. Illustrated. 2 vols. Price $1. A ROMANCE OF LIFE IN NEW-YORE; Or, The Secret Order of the Seven. With numerous Engravings from original designs. By the Author of “ Abel Parsons,” &c. Price 75 cents. SELF-DECEPTION ; Or, The History of a Human Heart. By Mrs. Extis. Complete in 2 vols: In paper, $1; : bound in muslin, $1 25. a MR. AND MRS. SANDBOY’S ADVENTURES. By the Author of “Greatest Plague of Life,” &c. | With Illustrations by Cruikshank. Price 50 cents. A STORY WITHOUT A NAME.

By G. P. R. James, Esq. Price 87¢ cents. = Pc 0 C8 Ve WC AS RE OG MP OM NW Ve OS ae ay At COUNT MONTE-LEONE; Or, The Spy in Society. The Counterpart of “Count Monte-Cristo.”” With Illustrations. Price 50 cents. AMELIA. By Henry Fretorse, Illustrated from designs by Cruikshank. Uniform with “Tom Jones.” Price 50 cents. THE ADVENTURES OF RODERICK RANDOM. By Tosias Smouterr. Illustrated by Cruikshank. Price 50 cents. JOSEPH ANDREWS. Ulustrated by Cruikshank. Price by Ye =< OF BOS BOS \ PEI BT OY EIS By Freiprxe, 374 cents. AVARICE. By Everns Sve. This work completes the popular series of “The Capital Sins,” embracing « Pride,” “Envy,” “ Anger,” ‘ Madeline,” &c. Price 25 cents. FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. Fourth edition, revised. With many additional engravings, and valuable information. 2 vols. 8vo., cloth gilt, $4. FRANK FORESTER’S FISH AND FISHING. Third edition, revised and Illustrated. 1 vol. 8vo. cloth, $3. THE TWENTY-FIFTH OF MAY; Or, A Cruise in the La Plata. A story of Buenos Ayres. By an officer of the U. 8S. Navy. Price 874 cents. PICTORIAL GUIDE TO THE MAMMOTH CAVE, KENTUCKY. By the Rev. Ilorace Mortin. Illustrations. Price $1. BRAITHWAITE’S RETROSPECT OF PRACTICAL MEDICINE AND SURGERY. Part twenty-fifth: for July, 1852. Uniform American edition. Terms, $2 a year—postoge free. THE TWO FATHERS. An original Romance from the Spanish ; by Apa- pus Catre. In three parts, containing I.—Tue Ruts or THE PaRACLETE, Il.—Hecror ALONE. 1i1L.—Scrence anv Love. Complete in 2 vols. paper, $2. cloth, $2 50. OT OE le OT OE Oe eT oa Se Se Se Se Ss Se With numerous

a*s Copies of any of the above works sent by mail to any person remitting the price of the book annexed, either in money or Post-cffice stamps, post-paid. tay” The Trade, Agents, and Pedlars supplied on the most lileral terms, and particular attention paid to miscellanzous orders for Books, 222 BROADWAY, NEW-YORK (Under Barnum’s Museum). Cheap Publications, Magazines, &c. Aon" An- Se At ZS 7 ye Se Y yee Se SP, ee de R SRGSL IIRL GAS GR SGA SRGR FRIAS .

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AVHR'S CHERRY PECTORAL. FOR COLDS, COUGHS, AND CONSUMPTION. “ And by the river, Ute bank shall all trees tohose leaf shall not and the frattere ak feat sd Geel tae forma St Here was hope for the dick recérded long ago, and every year adds new proof tothe usstirance that Sone remien Sok ates. As medical science discovers and designates the remedies nature has given, one by one, the diseases Ht. ore victims vo an wadnely grave then Of all the maladies that we suffer from, none has car- ried“ more , may be re- Paectora.. us to publish here any proportion of the cures it has saan bat the Agent teloe's der a urnish our Circular, free, whereon are full particulars and i proof of these facts. Sufferers: read and judge for yourselves. FOR INFLUENZA AND HOOPING-COUGH. NASHVILLE, TENN., June 26, 1851. Sim :—I have repeatedly used your Carary Pectoral for Hi h and Influenza, and have no hesitation in pronouncing it a complete remedy. Four of my children have been afflicted with these diseases, and the free use of the Pacroral has always afforded almost instant relief. JAMES GLOVER. wo ee statement. . MoGINTY, Editor of the Nashville Whig. x. “M. ZIMMERMAN, Druggist. FOR A CONSUMPTIVE ' COUGH. Prrrssvrc, Pa., Feb, 25, 1851 Dear Sir :—For three I have been “spy with a Cough, so = Seis that I frequently despaired of recovery; much of the time I was obliged to sit up ym t in my a as my co suffocate me when I laid down. Having used many remedies without much relief, I tried the Cuerry PecrornaL, which, under Pro vidence, has cured m 1 am, with gratitude, yours, JAMES M’CANDLESS. This is one of the numerous cures of ASTHMA accredited to Cherry Pectoral, Dr. Arzr, Lowell. Aupany, N. Y., A 17, 1848. Dear Sir :—I have for years been afflicted with Asthma in the worst form, so that I have been obliged to in my chair for a larger part of the time, being unable to breathe on my bed. I had tried a great many medicines, to no purpose, until m yr prescribed. as an experiment, your OneRRy PecroraL. At first it seemed to make me worse; but in less than a wee began to experience the most gratifying relief from its use; and now, in four weeks, the disease is entirely removed. I can sleep on my bed with comfort, and enjoy a state of health which I had never expected wed GEORGE 8. FARANT, Com on and Forwarding Merchant. From the President of Amherst College, Edward Hitchcock, M. D., LL.D. &c. J.C. AYER. AMHERST, on 12, 1849. Srr;—I have used your Cuerry Pecrorat in my own case of di from its chemical leep-seated bronchitis, am constitution, that it is an admirable compound for the relief of laryngeal and bronchial difficulties. If my as to its superior character, can be of any service, you are at liberty to use it as you think proper. EDWARD HITCHCOCK. Among the other distinguished authorities who have lent their names to recommend this preparation as the best known to them for affections of the lungs, are :— Prestpent Perxins, Vermont Med. College. Pror. Smiaman, Yale College. Prov. Vatentine Mort, New York. — CLEAVELAND, Bowdoin Med. College. Prot. Burremrizty, Ohio Med. College. Canaptan JouRNAL oF MepicaL Sarence. Men, anv Sure. Journal. Caaruestoy, 8.C. Mzpica, Review. New Jersey Mep. Reporter. Hon. Henny Cray, U. 8. Quine. Rev. Dr. Laystye, Brooklyn, N. ¥. Also, many eminent — in foreign countries. Not only in the more distressing diseases of the Lungs, but also as a family medicine for occasional use, it udipeche ahem ank testes aaah. Prepared and Sold by JAMES C. AYER, Druggist and Chemist, Lowell, Mass. AND SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS EVERY WHERE. “GAS FIXTURES. aBREBBR & FARRER, No. 119 OHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, MANUFACTURERS, Would invite the attention of purchasers to their extensive assortment of new-patterned CHANDELIERS, BRACKETS, PENDANTS, LAMPS, GIRONDALES, &c. &c. 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 FITTINGS, AIR PUMPS, and every article connected with the trade, GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK ONE YEAR, AND ARTHUR'S WOME GAA ONE YEAR, WILL BE SENT TO ANY PERSON OR PERSONS ON RECEIPT OF $3 50. el

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TT TO CITY AND COUNTRY DEALERS. BACK NUMBERS OF THE LADY’S BOOK ean always be hag of H. Love & Brorwenr, No. 43 Ann f Street, and Dew:rr 4 Davenport, Tribune Buildings, and Sraixcer & Towxsenn, New York. * { ANOTHER DOUBLE NUMBER!! v | @DEYS s LADY'S BOOK EXCELSIOR ; THE. ‘BOOK OF THE NATION, AND THE ARTS UMIOW OF AMBAICA. VOL. xLV.—OCTOBHER, 2652. EMBELEISHMENTS, &c. “wee «sme itess ea - Ze. ‘ LORD, HAVE MERCY UPON US! ‘A splendid line engraving, by « .- - - W.E. Tucxer. © DEAR! O DEER! A tableau plate, with FASHIONS. Engravedtp “ - - J. lePease. , THE RED EAR, } Plates for the season, aed aneny for the —s Book,” : CORN HUSKING, } and engraved by - - - W. Croome. ROBE DE CHAMBRE. Engraved by’ - - . - - - J. Frost. ‘ THE MECHANICAL DEPARTMENT OF THE “ LADY'S BOOK, ” including a yisit — to Messrs. Cor.ins’s Privtine-Orrice. “Ten engtayings. Engravedby - - C. T. Mincxier. | COSTUMES OF ALL NATIONS. Four engravings. Engraved by - - “st J. M. Jones. THE STEREOSCOPE. Eight engravings. Engrayed by - - - -, ©. T. Hixcxvey. b VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY. Two engravings. Engyaved by - - “+ E&. Davis. LANDSCAPE GARDENING. Seven engravings. Engraved by - ~ -, OC. T. Hincxtey. BED DRAPERIES. Design furnished by Carry . Eagraved by - a “. Ss T. Hincxer. > ENGLISH EMBROIDERY. Engraved by . ae Oe ee 4 OO } TULIP-WREATH FLOWER-VASE MAT. .Engraved by - Ae me - - * JL. Burk. } CHEMISETTES. Two engravings. Engraved by es +s *. ee 2S J. J. Mrers. ; PATTERNS FOR SILK EMBROIDERY. Engraved by - ne - - _. J. Frost. — een CONTRIBUTORS AND-~ CONTENTS. P A Day’s Ramble through the Mechanical Department of ¢ A Sab ip October, by iury Seymour c aaee, 377 “Lady's Book,” by ¢, T. Hinckley, » 00cbe coénmeniiliel 307 The Silen Dead, - BIT , have m a us! by Rev Hastings Weld, - +.” £ mesceede cases be divece 378 My Aunt Sally, by Diana, -cccenp sompengee Hegel j Phdk siMectcéenksowe 378 nm A Chapter on Patches, Masks, etc., by Mra. White, BIT 4 The YouthfalBard, by Norman W. Bridge,-------------- 379 a se a Women of our Time.—Mary How eatge «24 ? In Extenuation, by Bertha Bratmerdgs s-++o++++-++--.005- 879 s Dream, hy William E. Screven, Bog. “- -» 379 My Sister, G. L. Pareota, . « «000+ ee cccccsccccssce oe: 324 -- 380 Costumes of all Nations.—Third Series, - -- - eee } The Soldier's Dream of Home, hy Fuany Bules,---------- 380 4 The Dea Beauty, oy Mra. Serah J. Hale, 88 tare, by Mary Neal,” .....- at 4 tare e - . Let me Die in the Aatumn Ti Ne PF aeeeee 381 Le Mélange—French Novels, 330; Charm of a Familiar —aeD: P ah aot” 381 Otpect seen tn ft t Light 390; Value of a Paith- SOS Se eee 381 Servan uman } Man is like ‘Harp, Seam * cys el 381 > 830; Moral Idolatry, 331; Epi Pancras Ch ; aE paler stand o . 382 331; Secret Virtue of : oe o6 de eee-+ 383 Sy ape ya ++ 884 4 The Voyager, by Miss Z. S. po eee + 3r + Je Pirie ims + B85 Woman in her Social Relations, by Henry EB. Wasdjury,"- $33 ne eee + 385 Self-Made Men.+Framep Joseph: Peete eeeedeceed pd j i a 394 886 eee OMe wees de ates eee - eee > ‘The Red Ear; or, the Huski ae ee ee tie cece. See Corn Shucking in the Old Old Dotyjnion, ION, + 47S ewe se See ee ~ : cvectmeccsanMoqedess ORB 4 ee ane by Rueeigee poveses cc teoce y Deri Qy HME, «6 ~~ ee ee eee s.. s+pe++ 889 ry “lewete of the Second Grugade Gaiiciabcacties, oon X. wo iy er yawees coreg ince) . SegVin cccccectases O05 —— ow,” eee” ee . 306; ‘usical Education ‘ My Country Ceusi: Moe tee TR oh 857 396; i 3 ofa ng, pd lon yr arcen n= s- 4 : Enigma 3; To The Deal So eae Correspondgats, 307. ~~ 4” > POOREST e_ « Aaa Fashions, +s sec0be+scecccccces cues cacects Mb ccsececo..+ $07 eaeente of Betarilll arene on on Matty by J. MeBakeg, --- 375 ° “nt Mn rn rr pe er i REMITTANCES. S As we have NO COLLECTING AGENTS this r, subscribers are anne to make immediate remittance to the Publisher. “ Waiting for the @éllector to ree be of no.use now; apd, while upon | the subject, we wish our subscribers would recollect that We haf¥e to-pay for rey eing that goes in the “ Book,” and, therefore, payment from them is the more earnestly to be desired. . K. GODEY, 113 Chestnut Street, Philada. (T. K. & P. G. Couns, Privters. ~~ ew =a SE A Sea SG SEs — we — aa =a, - ~

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Pe) POSTAGE ACCORDING TO NEW LAW. * This Magazine pays postage for six ounces, although it weighs but very little over five; the postage, therefore, * js as follows: Two cents for one number, if three months’ postage is paid in advance; or, in other words, pay six cents at once to your postmaster, on receipt of this number, and that will pay for three months. NOVEMBBR. @ ta ee Ea Oy Mh, ar = SS oo... = oe a Era t ‘ ee , EDITED BY MRS. SARAT J. HALE, 4 L. A. GODEY. . "vob. XLV. ee

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T. §S. ARTHUR’S HOME GAZETTE. THIRD VOLUME, TWENTY COPIES FOR $20, AND ONE COPY ADDITIONAL TO THE AGENT OR GETTER-UP OF THE CLUB. With the commencement of the rarrp votume of “Arthur's Home Gazette” (volume begins Ist September, 1852), the publishers have determined to yield to the earnest desire expressed by thousands of its friends, and Reduce the Club Prices to a rate as low as any of the Philadelphia or New York Literary Weeklies, and thus open the way for a greatly extended circulation, and therefore a broader usefulness. From all sides has come the spontaneous acknowled nt, that the “ Home Gazette” has thus far been THE PUREST AND BEST FAMILY NEWSPAPER in the United States; but, with this testimony has also come the over and over again repeated that we would reduce the club price so low that persons of moderate means could, by forming large clubs, procure THE HOME GAZETTE FOR ONE DOLLAR, the price at which so many papers can now be obtained. To this desire we now yield, and have also REDUCED THE WHOLE RANGE OF CLUB PRICES, so that as small a number as four persons can, by joining in a club, cur THe Parzr ror $1 25 zacn. & Seo the statement of terms below. In issuing a Prospectus for the rarrp VoLumeE of our paper, the publishers can only reiterate what they have before said, viz: that T. S. ARTHUR, THE EDITOR, has entire control of the paper; that not a line goes in without his supervision; and that he is, therefore, respon- sible for all that appears therein. So that just the same confidence felt in him by the public as a sound and safe moral teacher may be felt in his “Home Gazerre,” which is emphatically a supporter of Religion and Virtue, and the conservator of good morals and social well-being. In conducting the “Home Gazette” the editor’s aim is, to blend the entertaining, the useful, and the instruct- ive together in such a way as to secure a high degree of interest, and yet at the same time INSTRUCT AND ELEVATE BOTH THE INTELLECT AND THE AFFECTIONS. In the columns of his paper will, therefore, be found the historical and domestic romance, pictures of social life, brief stories and sketches, biographies of eminent men, leaves from history, choice original and selected: , sketches of travel, selections from new works, and the current home and foreign periodical literature of the day, instructive and entertaining anecdotes, useful information on all subjects, scientific memoranda, a sum- mary of passing events, reading for the Sabbath, selections from agricultural journals, brief reviews and notices of new books, youth’s column and children’s department, hints for housekeepers, humorous and entertaining articles, &c. &c. &c., besides a great variety of articles on all subjects, particularly adapted for FAMILY READ- ING. The “Gazette” is, in a word, A HOME NEWSPAPER; and the editor stands pledged to make it all that a home newspaper should be—chaste, dignified, and entirely free from everything that can vitiate or in the least deprave the mind. With the opening of the new volume will be commenced A NEW STORY, OR NOUVELLETTE, BY THE EDIror. As heretofore, the original contributors for the “Home Gazette” will be among the best writers of our country. TERMS, IN ADVANCE. One copy, per annum, ° = - $2. Two copies, per annum, - ‘. - - - - 3, or $1 50 each copy. Three “ = bad . - - - - 7 4,or 134 “ « ee... & a - - - - - - Rw 13 * ¢ Eight “ @ « (and one to the getter-up of the club,) lo 125 * « Thirteen copies, perannum, “ “ & sd - ? lice 1%. ¢ 4 Twenty “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ 20, or 1 00 “ “ Thus it will be seen, that where a club of twenty unite and take the “Home Gazette,” the price paid by each subscriber will only be $1 a year. Godey’'s Lady's Book and Arthur's Home Gazette will be sent one year for $3 50. J Post-office Stamps may be sent for the fractional parts of a dollar. Address, T. S. ARTHUR & Co., No 107 Wainut Street, Philadelphia. fe Money current in the State from which a subscription is sent will be taken at par. #@- A\i remittances on account of the “Home Gazette” are at our risk: provided the inclosure of the money be made in the presence of the Postmaster, and registered. Where this is not done, and a loss takes place, an affidavit declaring that the remittance was made, will be required. g@~ It is always safest to request the Post- master to register a money letter—registered money letters are rarely lost. Where a club is made up by individuals who reside at a distance from each other, the Gazette will be sent to the town where each resides. ##@- Additions of one or more to clubs will be received at club prices. fr Postmasters, and others, who wish to make up clubs of twenty at $1 each, can, in order to facilitate the reception of the paper by those who first enter the club, send $10 for ten copies, and the remaining $10 when the club is full, at which time the extra eepy, Zor getting up the club, will be forwarded. ,

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