Godey's Lady's Book 1855-07: Vol 51 Iss 1

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GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK. PHILADELPHIA, JULY, 1855. PERFUMES FOR THE LADIES, AND WHERE THEY COME FROM. PERFUMES are very ancient; they may claim an antiquity almost as great as that of the fra- grant flowers they imitat.. We find perfumes, and especially incense, mentioned in various parts of the Sacred Scriptures. They were used not only in the costly ritual of the Hebrew worship, but in the still more ancient rites of idolatrous worship of the nations by whom the Hebrews were surrounded. Some perfumes were permitted to be used only in sacred worship. This is apparent from the following Divine direction to Moses :— “Take unto thee sweet spices, stacte, and ony- cha, and galbanum ; these sweet spices with pure frankincense, of each of which shall there be like weights. ** And thou shalt make it a perfume, a confec- tion after the art of the apothecary, tempered together, pure and holy. ** And thou shalt beat some of it very small, and put of it before the testimony in the tabernacle of the congregation, where I will meet with thee ; it shall be unto you most holy. **And as for the perfume which thou shalt make, ye shall not make to yourselves according to the composition thereof; it shall be unto thee holy for the Lord. ** Whosoever shall make like unto that, to smell thereto, shall even be cut off from his people.” —Ez, xxx. 34-38. Perfumes appear to have been in general use throughout Asia from the remotesttimes. Their general introduction into Europe was of compa- ratively recent date ; and up to the present time, the favorite and costly perfumes are still brought from the East. The use of perfumes in this country is, of course, derived from England. There they ap- pear to have come into very general use among the highest classes as early as the reign of Queen Elizabeth. A recent writer, speaking of that period, says :— ** Perfumes were never richr~, more elaborate, more costly, or more delicate than now. Eliza- beth’s nasal organs were peculiarly fine, and no- thing offended her more than an unpleasant smell. Perfumes and cosmetics of all kind were in very general use. The cosmetics and other smaller accessories to a lady’s toilet were kept in boxes strongly impregnated with some favorite odor, and were called ‘sweet coffers.’” This term perpetually occurs in the old writers. They were reckoned a necessary part of the furniture of all state-bedchambers, and a fair criterion, by their form and richness, of the taste and liberal- ity of the owner of the house. The bottles of perfume connected with the common labors of the toilet were called “ casting bottles.” The pomander, which originally was meant only as a preventive of infection, as a camphor-bag is now, but became an article of fashionable luxury amongst people of rank, was a little ball of perfumed paste worn in the pocket or hung round the neck. They soon became mediums for the most exquisite devices in jew- elry, and were frequently offered as compliment- ary tokens. Many pomanders were presented to Queen Elizabeth as New Year’s gifts, and amongst the list is the somewhat puzzling item of “a fayre girdle of pomander.” Perfumed gloves were also fashionable. Elizabeth had a cloak of Spanish perfumed leather, and even her shoes were perfumed. The city, of course, soon imitated the fashion of the court, as is apparent from frequent allusions by the dramatic writers of the time. The extensive and free use made of essences and scents in Queen Elizabeth’s time seems to have been a matter of necessity, in consequence of the half-civilized usages of the day; the rushed 9

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10 and littered floors ; the accumulations of debris, and the utter want of those decent conveniences which now the peasant in the muddiest hovel considers indispensable. But perfumes were scarcely Iess needed in England, from similar causes, at a much later period. In the early part of the last century, it was the custom at Bath, then fast becoming the focus of everything refined and fashionable, never to wash the floors of the apartments, at least never to wash the dirt off them; but they were occasionally smeared over with a mixture of soot and small beer, which hid, or at any rate clouded, any unsightly accumulations. If our readers are of our opinion that the remedy was almost as bad as the grievance, they will not wonder at strong and pungent perfumes being freely called for. But if we may trust to indications from usage, often backed by pretty plain intimations of the writers of the day, attention to the person was confined chiefly to the outward appearance, and that first requisite to refinement, strict personal purity and cleanliness, was not a general cha- racteristic of the day. How could it be? It would have been death toa lady who used paint, red and white, in the quantities in which the ladies of the last century did apply it, to use water freely; and the very circumstance which thus called for additional cleanliness was in fact a bar against it. Several deaths of fashionable ladies from the too free use of paint are recorded, and probably many occurred which are not referred to that cause. Lady Fortescue, Lord Harrington’s daughter, killed herself by it. Then the “ #étes,” the filthy “heads,” enor- mous accumulations of horsehair, stiffened with pomatum, and filled with powder, imbibing in- evitably considerable accumulations of animal exuvia, perspiration, &c. ; and, however regu- larly arranged externally, not combed through too often, and rarely, if ever, thoroughly cleansed. Can we wonder that the “ essence-pot,” not the delicately hinted odor of the present day, but strong, expressive, nose-filling perfumes, were in constant request ? What some of these were appears from the following lines in Anstey’s “‘ New Bath Guide,” a satirical poem of the day :— “ Bring—oh, bring thy essence pot! Amber, musk, and bergamot, Eau de chipre, eau de luce, Sans-pareil and citron juice.” We have made these remarks in order to acount to our readers for the former popularity of certain perfumes, which are now reprobated GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. eS A A on account of their strength and disagreeable pungency. .Of these, musk and civet are the most remarkable. Musk is the unctuous secretion of a glandular pouch or sac, situated in the skin of the abdomen of the musk-deer (Moschus moschiferus), an in- habitant of the great mountain range which belts the north of India and branches out into Siberia, Thibet, and China. It is also found in the Altaic range near Lake Baikal, and in some other mountain ranges, but always on the borders of the line of perpetual snow. It is from the male only that the musk is produced, and the secretion when dry is of a dark brown or black } color, and somewhat granular. Its taste is bitter, 3 and its peculiar and penetrating odor is well known. It was formerly held in high repute as a medicine, and it is still so among eastern nations. The musk-deer is eagerly hunted for the sake of its costly perfume, which, however, is always much adulterated. Tavernier says that the odor of musk, when recent, is so powerful as to cause .the blood to gush from the nose, and in this way he would account for the supposed adulteration of the article with dried blood. Chardin also says: It is commonly believed that when the musk-sac is cut from the animal, so powerful is the odor it exhales, that the hunter is obliged to have his mouth and nose stopped with folds of linen, and that often, in spite of this precaution, the pungency of the odor is such as to produce so violent a hemorrhage as toendindeath. I have heard the same thing talked of by some Arme- nians who had been to Boutan, and I think it is true.. The odor is so powerful in the East Indies that I could never support it; and when I trafficked for musk, I always kept in the open air, with a handkerchief over my face, and at a distance from those who handled the sacs, refer- ring them to my broker; and hence I know by experience that this musk is very apt to give headaches, and is altogether insupportable when quite recent ; I may add that no drug is so easily adulterated, or more apt to be so.” Tavernier states that at Patana, he once bought 1,637 musk-bags weighing 2,557} ounces, containing 452 ounces of pure musk. The musk from Boutan, Tonquin, and Thibet is most esteemed ; but it is probable that its strength, and the quantity produced by « single animal, vary with the season of the year and the age of the animal. A single musk-bag usually contains from two to three drachms. When cut off, it is tied up and ready for sale. Musk is imported into England from China, in caddies from 60 to 100 ounces each. That from Bengal is inferior, and from Russia of a still lower quality. The best is that

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PERFUMES FOR THE LADIES, AND WHBRE THEY COME FROM, ADD LAL ALE ELL y ey THE contained in the natural follicle or pod. When adulterated with the animal’s blood, it forms into lumps or clots. dark, highly colored, friable earth; the musk is then of a more friable texture, harder and denser than genuine musk. Previous to 1832, the duty in England was 5s. an ounce; in 1842, the duty of 6d. an ounce produced £53, showing that 2,120 ounces had been entered for consumption. In 1846, it was declared free of duty. Musk is very remarkable for the diffusiveness and subtlety of its scent; everything in its vicinity soon becomes affected by it, and long retains it; a very minute portion, such as a grain or two, will scent a room for years, and is suffi- cient for imparting to articles of dress a powerful perfume. One part of musk will communicate its odor to 3,000 parts of inodorous powder. Boiling water dissolves ninety parts of genuine It is sometimes mixed with a “ zz Diaweerr Y ease 1] APPA P LAL = en sh - h MUSK-DEER. Tonquin musk, alcohol only fifty parts. Musk is soluble in ether, acetic acid, and yolk of egg. Moisture seems to favor the odor of musk, for when dry it yields but little scent, and this becomes powerful when moistened. An artificial musk is prepared with nitric acid and oil of amber. Musk does not appear to have received an adequate chemical examination. The musk-deer has given its name to a whole genus of animals which resemble it in external appearance, although none of them except the moschus moschiferus produces the musk perfume. The other species are called meminna, chevro- tain, kanchil, and napu; they are all delicate lit- tle animals, and very beautiful. The meminna is found in Ceylon, and the other three in Java and Sumatra. The napu is scarcely larger than a rabbit. The napu frequents thickets near the

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12 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, PDPLPI__L_P_P__E_EL__ LOLOL OOOO Orn" THE NAPU sea-shore, and feeds chiefly upon berries; it prefers the vicinity of human habitations, and readily becomes familiar with man. When taken young, it is tamed with the greatest facility. In captivity it appears perfectly at its ease, and is quite indifferent to what is passing around it. Xs i EQ RON ie taN . We AZ MUSK-DEER § ; ? Its full dark eye gives it the appearance of a degree of intelligence which it does not possess, for the greater part of its time is passed in eating, drinking, and sleeping ; its voice is scarcely more than might be produced by a deep but gentle expiration. THE CURIOSITIES OF THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM. BY HARLAND COULTAS Tue Dionea muscipula, or Venus’s Fly- catcher. This remarkable plant grows in great abundance in the sandy swamps in the neigh- borhood of the Cape Fear River, especially from Wilmington to Fayetteville, North Carolina; but it has not as yet been found in any other locality. It is a herbaceous, perennial plant, with radi- cal leaves, the flower stem rising directly from their midst about eight or ten inches above the ground. The calyx has five sepals, and the co- rolla five petals, which do not fall off when they wither, but roll up, so as to look like the cocoon of an insect. There are ten stamens and one pistil, which is one-celled and many-seeded. It flowers in the month of July. The generic name of the plant, Dionea, is a derivative from Dione, one of the names of Venus. The elegance and delicacy of its snow- white corolla are alluded to in the generic name. It is called specifically muscipula, or fly-catcher, with reference to its curious habit of catching ; ; | ; | , | | : flies with its leaves, which are organized ex- pressly for this purpose. The leaves have a broad, dilated petiole, and the lamina or blade, which is somewhat circular in outline, is con- nected by a joint with its top. The margin of the lamina is fringed with a row of stiff bristles or hairs; three shorter and more slender ones, with swellings at their base, are placed on the upper surface of the leaf in a triangular position on either side of the midrib. It is in these last that the irritability chiefly resides. When an insect, in traversing the lamina, touches these sensitive hairs, the two sides of the lamina sud- denly come into contact; the bristles with which they are fringed interlace like the fingers of the hands when clasped, and the insect is as effectu- ally caught in this vegetable snare as a rat in a steel trap. If it should escape the teeth of the trap, which is seldom the case, its only chance of liberty consists in lying perfectly still, when the leaf, freed from all sources of irritation, would gradually unclose; this, of course, the insect

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FOR MY DAUGHTER’S ALBUM. never does, but continues struggling for freedom till it is ultimately crushed to death by the plant. Flies and other insects are often found dead on the leaves, which have been killed in this way. The engraving represents a portion of the stem and ieaves of Venus’s Fly-trap. The leaf con- sists of two parts, a lamina or blade, L, and a petiole or stalk, P. The two sides of the lamina are united by a sort of hinge, and on the expanded leaf A, the three hairs may be seen on each half of the lamina, which, when touched, cause it to fold up, as represented at B. The experiments of Mr. Knight on the Dionea would almost prove it to be a carnivorous vegeta- ble. A detailed account of them may be read in the article on botany, “ Lardner’s Cabinet Cy- clopedia.” The following is the substance of what is there stated. Mr. Knight cultivated specimens of the Dionea in separate pots in a suitable soil. From the leaves of some of them all the bristles were removed, but the plants were otherwise uninjured, and pieces of scraped beef were placed on their surfaces. The other speci- mens were allowed to retain their bristly fringe and irritable hairs on their leaves, and had as much light, air, and water as their disarmed neighbors, but all flies were prevented from gaining access to them. The result of the ex- periment showed the most flourishing condition of the provisioned specimens ! The Venus’s Fly-trap is cultivated with ex- treme difficulty. Itis best grown in a hot-house, and is considered a delicate plant in collections. About the end of the month of February, it must be repotted. It possesses a bulbous root, which must be divested of all the soil when it is removed from the pot, a few of the fibres of the bulb being left. The soil must be entirely renewed. When repotted, place the pot in a saucer, with one inch of water in it, giving a fresh supply every other day. If this is repeated every year, the plant will grow, flower, and seed in perfection. VOL. LI.—2 ; | | | | | 13 The Dionwa muscipula belongs to the natural order, Droseraceea, or the Sundew tribe. The Drosera or Sundews are interesting bog-plants, with short, roundish, or elliptical radical leaves, and spikes of white flowers. Their leaves are fringed with beautiful red glandular hairs, from which a clear clammy fluid exudes, which, glit- tering in the sunbeams, makes these plants appear as if covered with dew, whence their popular name. Two of the species grow in great abun- dance on the top of the sphagnum or bog-moss in the cranberry swamps near Kaighn’s Point, Cam- den. At Quaker Bridge, New Jersey, a species . with long, slender, thread-like leaves is found, called Drosera filiforme. The hairs which fringe the leayes of these plants are irritable, and lie down when touched at their base. FOR MY DAUGHTER’S ALBUM. Tue Hebrew father, when the sun Had set upon the battle-field, Where daring deeds were nobly done, And desperate foes were made to yield, Claimed not the victory as his own ; “To Him who rules on high, he then Bestowed all honor, and to him alone, Not Jephthah nor his valiant men !’’ Ten thousand warriors chimed the song; Ten thousand hearts beat high with glee; Trumpet and clarion, loud and long, Proclaimed the glorious victory. A few days passed; that martial strain And the wild shout have passed away; The triumph on the bloody plain Was but the phantom of a day. That banner which unfurled was borne Above the field of gore and slaughter, Is wrapped about the bleeding form Of Jephthah’s fair and lovely daughter. Bereaved of her, what thinks he now Of conquered field, of prostrate foe? The payment of his fearful vow Has stamped his own, his country’s woe! Such, my fair daughter, is the fate Of destiny, and ere the dome Of air-built castle gets its shape, The buiiding crumbles stone by stone. Scarce one escapes the deadly blight Of disappointed hope; the day Without a cloud precedes a night Of darkness, tempest, wild dismay. Your life, my child, is in its spring; The future is a blank. Oh, may The cup of bitterness ne’er bring A single pang! and not one ray Of joyous hope be marred, and may thy brow Ne’er wear a cloud; be ever placid as ’tis now. House of Representatives, Washington

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“LIVING IN VAIN.” BY MARION HARLAND, AUTHOR OF “ MARRYING THROUGH PRUDENTIAL MOTIVES,” “ THE THRICE WEDDED,” AND THE NOVEL OF “ ALONE.” “ Affection never was wasted ; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment}; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. Patience, acgomplish thy labor! accomplish thy work of affection ! Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is Godlike.” LONGFELLOW’s “ Evangeline.’ Tue last hour of the Old Year was drawing near, “ the time for memory and for tears ;”’ and a solitary watcher counted the fleeting minutes. She was young, but not beautiful, and the bloom and vivacity belonging to early womanhood, which might uave shed a charm over plain fea- tures, were wanting to-night. A closely-written manuscript volume lay before her, and the fin- gers that hung so listlessly by her side still held the pen, although the ink upon its point was dry. Her revery had been long, as well as deep. The eyes were unmoistened, but away down in their depths was a settled mournfulness, such as youth should never know—youth, whose only sorrows should be those that it can weep away upon a mother’s breast. The mother was not there, and had she been, the girl would have locked up her heart, and smiled and spoken cheerful words. Yet she was not alone; no door swung on its hinges; the floor gave back no echo of footsteps ; but there stood beside her a comforter, one of the myriads of unseen ones sent forth to minister to man. They come sometimes to the hardened trans- zressor with revelations of the unveiled deform- ity and hatefulness of his iniquity ; and he quails at what he calls the voice of conscience, as if a dead thing could speak! To the doomed, they whisper: “‘ Prepare, prepare, behold the bride- groom cometh ;” and men marvel at the wonder- ful presentiment that taught Him to predict his end; they check the presumptuous, urge on the timid, and “ bear up” His chosen ones in the hour of peril. Yor have felt their presence, my reader, and so have I. Have you never, in a season of tranquil musing about nothing or eve- rything, been lifted in spirit to a purer and holier atmosphere, a region of delicious fancies and en- nobling emotions, that seemed for the time to purge your soul of all that was gross and debasing? 14 And you have actually raised your eyes to thank the bearer of this happiness, it appeared so real! Believe me, that impulse was more worthy, ay, and more rational, than the smile at your “ridi- culous fantasies” that followed. This, and every other blessing, comes down from the “‘ one Great Spirit” whom you acknowledge; but angels are his messengers. Their mission is chiefly to the suffering, the smitten, the afflicted, wherever in this wide uni- verse they may be found; and who that has known the sting of grief but has had cause to bless their gentle ministrations? The girl knew and loved her visitor, yet her approach was unwel- comed by a smile. There was even reproach in her face as she drew to her the page upon which she had been writing, and read aloud its blotted lines— Tm sad to-night; the happy light Of joy and hope is gone; I find no joy in paths gone o’er, No hope in years to come. My life has passed in rearing high Gay bubbles, made to break ; I loved to dream, although I knew I dreamed but tc awake. It is a waking moment now; In still despair I stand, While shattered heaps of treasures lie Spread wide on every hand. My thoughts can even wander forth Into the outer world, And seeking what were idols once, Now from their bases hurled, Can bring them calmly, one by one, To swell the funeral pyre Of ali that once could joy impart, Or fill each fond desire. * My hope, my trust, where are ye gone? Where is the cheerful faith That harkened eagerly to vows, Telling of love till death? Of love till death! Do not I live? My friends, do not they breathe? A garland rare for other brows More fair than mine they wreathe ; The barb will rankle; oh, that I Could don the cloak of pride! Its jewelry of merry smiles A bleeding heart might hide.” **You have told me of the reward of a faithful performance of duty,” she said, again tossing

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LIVING IN VAIN. TPR RRR ARI PARANA aside the book. ‘“ You said that the delirious pleasure of my early hopes was as nothing com- pared with that which I should derive from pro- moting the happiness of others. I have striven to forget self, to throw my whole strength into my appointed work ; yet here I sit at the end of another year, a burden to myself, useless to my kind, with old feelings strong upon me, and new principles weak and dumb, having done nothing, and gained nothing, alone and unloved.” She paused, but the angel only looked com- passionately and lovingly upon her, and she continued— * Had I talents, I could, I would make for my- self a name, and do something towards achieving the end of my creation; had I beauty or grace, I could win men to the sight. I had but my heart and my time; I have given both. Behold the harvest! I have lived in vain!” **¢In due season you shall reap; even the Divine sower awaits the appearance of ‘the blade, then the ear, afterwards the full corn in the ear.’ It is but the seed-time as yet with you.” “The few poor grains that I have scattered have fallen upon stony or frozen ground, and it is just. My mind was too full of anticipations; the world was to me a field; I was young and strong, and had but one hope on earth, to spend and be spent in the self-sacrificing task of bene- fiting my fellow-beings. I am humbled now.” “What did yon hope to do? Woman’s lot is seldom one of distinction or triumph.” “T dreamed not of these. I know that the life of a woman is crowded with toil and trial. I ask no higher station than to labor in the ranks of my sisters; but the spirit will faint when un- requited by a ray of success or encouragement. I have such strivings within me, searching into the future, as if it must hold the prize I covet so passionately ; and this, too, is illusion.” “Can aught that your Heavenly Father has promised be illusory? There will be a reali- zation of every dream of bliss, a recompense for every effort. Heaven holds more than these.” “Tt may be; I should say it is; but often- times Heaven seems too far away for me to reach. Think you that I have a right to lay hold upon the promises while I do nothing to evince my gratitude to the Giver?” ** You have done much even to-day.” “To-day? Youmock me! Listen to its beg- garly details, and count it as Ido—lost! I arose sick and desponding ; constant effort was required to prevent my irritability from breaking out in word and action. My morning duties were per- formed without interest; I was drooping and 15 RAP PRA PAP PPL LLLP LPP spiritless, only aroused to feel annoyance at petty contretemps which, at other times, might have been dismissed with alaugh. I walked out in quest of refreshment and diversion, but the wrong side of human nature seemed held up to me wherever I looked. I visited a sick friend ; she was in pain, and I could do nothing to relieve her. I received visits, ceremonious calls, that consumed, not improved the time; sat in the family circle in the evening, trying almost vainly to counterfeit cheerfulness. Those bitter words will tell you the rest.” The angel smiled. **¢ Blessed are the poor in spirit!’ You have spoken of irritability, but passed lightly over the struggle that enabled you to concealit. Of your trivial ‘ annoyances’—not the least was the de- struction of the valuable gift of a departed friend ; a mild rebuke was your only notice of care- lessness which gave you real pain. Harsh and unjust words were heard with rising tears, but not of resentment; and more than once the curt reply and querulous objection were smothered upon your tongue, giving place instead to the ‘ soft answer that turneth away wrath.’ Think you that He who endured patiently contradiction and buffetings from the vilest of the creatures He had made is now unmindful of the labors and tears of his children who tread the same rough path in His spirit and temper? In your walk, you witnessed a scene of strife ; loud abuse and execrations vexed your ear; it was not your place to interfere, but your momentary pause and sorrowful glance were not lost; shame led to regret and reconciliation. Again, you encoun- tered rudeness aimed at yourself, and your gentle self-respect extorted an apology from the author of the insult. There are other assuagers of pain than medicines, and it will be long ere your suf- fering friend will forget your tearful eye and the kiss that fell like cooling balm upon her hot lips. It taught her that som of life’s treasures are enhanced in value by the afflictions that prohibit the enjoyment of others. The ‘ceremonious calls’ of which you complain afforded opportu- nities for casting in precious seed. One came reluctantly, with a mind soured against society, and sickering of the insipid routine to which she was bound, and left with a lighter step, half persuaded into a belief of sincerity and friendship by your social warmth. To another, you said kind things of one whom you knew to be your enemy. They have already reached her ears, and her last waking thought to-night was of remorseful tenderness and resolutions for the future. A brother sought his home, disheartened by failures, and fierce against the sordid mea

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16 ~~ oe PA AARAARALAA ness of those who had occasioned them. A sis- ter’s love shone upon the angry waters, and, one by one, the better feelings that had bowed before the flood unfolded their blossoms to the light. My child, you do not spend your strength for nought, if you keep but one heart from stagna- tion or dryness !” The girl looked upward, and her lips moved in thanksgiving; but the shade returned, and with it a sudden flush that dyed the white cheek scarlet. “If I bemoaned a useless life, I also spoke of a wasted heart. You know—why need I tell you ?—of the shy, homely child who envied her more gifted playmates nothing but the love and caresses they received, and who, when at rare and precious seasons some pitying being put aside the thick locks, and left a kiss upon the unlovely brow, stole away to hide the tears that were a mystery to others, whose source she hardly knew herself, except that they were the overflowing of a fountain which could find no channel deep or broad enough for its swellings; who added a secret petition to the formula of nightly prayer; whispered to the darkness, and its fulfilment dreamed of when slumber came: ‘ Our Father, who ait in Heaven, make everybody love me!’ You know how this feverish longing of the child became almost madness in the girl; how the s~ ««m would gush forth, and be beaten back by scorn and indifference; how that one petition became the burden of agonizing suppli- cations ; the heart sc longing for something on which to pour out its wealth, that, had this grati- fication involved the yielding up of its life also, death would have been welcomed! You bade me ‘wait and hope.’ Then came one whom J did not think of loving; but he was manly and kind, and I learned to look to him for comfort and encouragement. He sought my lonely cor- ner, and paid to me attentions such as beauty and talent alone win from the rest of his sex. I wondered at the coincidence of sentiment and taste revealed by these frequent conversations, without analyzing the strange joy the discovery gaveme. Ibuiltnomoreair-castles. I believed that life was becoming more and more real and earnest, and my soul went out in gratitude to- wards the friend who had taught me that duty and pleasure are sometimes even here insepara- dle. I awoke in a scene of revelling (hearts often break amid such!). A radiant creature leaned on his arm, and their names were coupled by many tongues. What was this to me? stood in a blaze of light, and laughter was cao | GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ing around. Why should I have thought of the grave and its eternal silence? He did not wed that fair young girl; but this brings him no nearer to me. When did a woman feel resigned to a motiveless life? The wearing toil of the day, and the deathly torpor of the soul when neces- sity for action is over! Pity me! Pity me! My own upbraidings are enough !” The tears flowed fast now, and the stillness was disturbed by the quick-drawn sobs of a spirit too harshly wrung. Shame, and affection, and despair made up thatcupofagony. The angel’s voice was tremblingly sweet. **My child, you do not hate him who has brought this latest and heaviest sorrow upon you?” “Hate? Oh, no!” * You pray for his happiness?” * Always! Always!’ ** Martyrs have gone to the stake with less of a martyr’s spirit!’ cried the angel, exultingly. ** Unto few is it given to battle for the crown in the sight of angels and men; the world calls them heroes; their every drop of shed blood a jewel; theirdeath in the cause avictory. There are sorer conflicts witnessed but by the Father’s eye. He hails the bleeding victors ‘his own? He has planted thorny hedges across your path, and bids you bless him forit. Your love is very precious to him; he would have it all. Having stricken the idol from its place, he will not leave the temple vacant. These yearnings, this un- quenchable thirst for fulness of love, are so many bands to lead you toHim. Do you notsee how, when they fasten upon perishable things, he quickly tears them away, and binds them anew about Ais heart? Men think your lot untrou- bled; he knows that you walk through deep waters. You fancy that your existence is aimless ; he sees that you have a work to perform, and that you are doing it. It is the destiny of many —but it is none the less glorious—to erect the happiness of others upon the holocaust of their own loves and hopes. Self-abnegation is the noblest task God has set for mankind—a work as yet perfected by none save the Divine suf- ferer, who laid down self to embrace the cross. Call you this a labor without motive or meed? The life of His humble imitators may be lonely, and their outward reward scant and ungracious ; the time of fruition will come. In your high home of love and rest, the proudest crowns of those who have been mighty on earth will pale at the triumph of the meek and lowly one who, in patient humility, ‘hath donewhat she could ? ”

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LIFE OF ISABELLA I., QUEEN OF SPAIN* BY PAULINE FORSYTH. (INSCRIBED TO OUR YOUNG LADY READERS.) CHAPTER I, Parentage and youth of Isabella I. of Spain. IsABELLA, infanta of Castile and Leon, was born on the twenty-second of April, 1451, at Madrigal. At that period Spain was divided into four distinct governments. There was the little kingdom of Navarre among the mountains on the borders of France, which retained its inde- pendence more from the jealousy of the sur- rounding states than from any power of its own. Then the rugged hilly country of Arragon, lying inland, but enabled, through the extensive sea- coast given to it by its maritime provinces of Catalonia and Valencia, to carry on an extensive commerce, and exert with its navy an influence far and wide over the Balearic Isles, Sardinia, Sicily, Naples, and even more distant regions. In the southeast lay the small but populous Moorish kingdom of Granada, with its fertile valleys and plains, its smiling skies, its delicious climate—its people, sober, industrious, and skil- ful in the mechanic arts and agriculture—its court, noted for the pomp and magnificence with which it was maintained—and its kind and pater- nai government. The Moors had seen all the more northern provinces, which they had once overrun, gradually wrested from them, but had remained contented with the pleasant lands, within whose borders their people had gradually concentrated themselves; and, feeling doubly strong through their own concord and the cease- less conflicts and divisions of their Christian neighbors, had at last begun to look with scorn upon the futile attempts made by the later mo- narchs of Castile to dispossess them of their territory. When Henry IV. of Castile, the half brother of Isabella, summoned the king of Granada to pay his usual annual tribute, the reply to that weakest of sovereigns was— **In the first years of Henry’s reign, I would have offered even my own children to preserve peace to my dominions; but now I will give nothing.” The dominions of Castile and Leon, with * Copyright secured according to law. 9e their dependent provinces, stretched through the heart of Spain from the Bay of Biscay on the northwest fo the Mediterranean on the south and southeast. important division of the peninsula, and it was there that the peculiar traits of the Spanish character were most strongly developed. The pride, the gravity, the high chivalric feeling of honor, and of valor, the strong religious faith, rendered intolerant by the means which matured it into existence, their constant struggle with the Saracens on their borders, were qualities for which they were then noted, and which have left the impress of the Castilian nature on all who call themselves Spaniards. Isabella was ushered into being at a time when the two principal Christian kingdoms of the peninsula were each in a state of embroilment and confusion, almost amounting to a civil war, It was the largest and most owing to feuds among the reigning families, and to misgovernment. The same fate was impend- ing over Granada, where prosperity and affluence were bringing in their train their usual evils of effeminacy and indolence, love of pleasure and self-indulgence. The seer, who should have predicted that the feeble infant then sleeping in her cradle, with but slight prospect of ascending the throne of her own ancestors, would by her influence so blend these discordant factions as to make of them one united country, would have been thought a dreaming visionary. In that nation of warriors and priests, the sex alone of Isabella would have been thought sufficient to exclude her from such a position. John II. of Castile, the father of Isabella, was a weak prince, entirely under the control of his favorites. The one who held this post during the greater part of his reign was Count Alvaro de Luna, constable of Castile. He, for more than thirty years, was the real sovereign of the country; and, though both the commons and the nobles disputed his right to such absolute authority, sword in hand, and Henry, eldest son of John II., joined them in their rebellion, he maintained his state and supremacy. He fell at last, not by an open enemy, but by the machi- nations of one whom he had intended to use as a tool. 17

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18 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. LRP Dofia Maria of Arragon, the first wife of John II., died in 1445, leaving one son, Don Henry, whose perverse facility of disposition had led him already, though hardly twenty, to yield so far to his father’s enemies as to take the field openly against him, or rather against the minister De Luna. John had selected as his second wife, Radegonda, daughter of Charles VIL, king of France, a princess famous for her beauty. But the constable, thinking it would best serve his own interests to have on the throne of Castile a princess indebted to him for her elevation to that seat, had, without his royal master’s knowledge or consent, made arrangements with the regent of Portugal to obtain for the King of Castile the hand of Dofia Isabel of Portugal, granddaughter of the late king of that country. It seems almost incredible that any subject should dare thus to dispose, against his wishes, of the hand of a king, who was still in the prime of life, and endowed with a mind of ordinary capacity, to say the least; but such was the ascendancy De Luna had acquired over the monarch, that, after a little vain opposition, he yielded to his representations, and the nuptials, against which he had openly professed his re- pugnance, were celebrated at Madrigal, in 1447. The beauty and affection of his young bride soon reconciled the pliable king to this forced marriage ; but Isabel was not so easily contented with the secondary place, she early discovered she was to possess, in the king’s heart and con- fidence. Neither was she pleased with the position which her husband held in his own dofninion, ruled over thus arbitrarily by the haughtiest of his subjects. John himself was beginning to weary of the yoke he had borne so long, and with such will- ing patience; and Isabel took good care that this just enkindled spark of dislike and distrust should not be allowed to die for want of fuel. The constable, secure of his position, had laid aside the arts by which he had so far concealed from his sovereign his galling fetters, and several times interfered between the royal husband and wife in a manner that aroused Isabel’s bitter resentment. But even after the constable’s ruin had been determined upon by both king and queen, the continual disturbances that oc- eurred in Castile forced them to defer it for two or three years. And at the last, but for the unrelenting incitements of Isabel, the king’s resolution would have given way to his recol- lections of the affection he had once felt for his old favorite and counsellor. De Luna was con- dermned to death in 1453, on charges of but little importance. He met his fate with cheerful magnanimity, bidding one of the domestics of Prince Henry, whom he met on his way to the scaffold, request that prince “‘to reward the attachment of his servants with a differert guerdon from that his master had assigned to him.” After his death, John left the management of the affairs of his kingdom to persons as grasping as De Luna, and far less competent to fill so high a post. He evidently felt deeply the loss of one who for so many years had upheld his faint heart and feeble spirit, and who had stood between him and contest with the outer world. His health gradually failed, and he died in 1454, at Valladolid, lamenting that “he had not been born the son of a mechanic, rather than king of Castile.” Although John showed such unkingly qualities in his aversion to business, and want of self- reliance, he had those that would have enabled him to fill with credit a less responsible position. He seems to have possessed great kindness and gentleness of nature, and his tastes and pleasures were refined and intellectual. He did much towards nurturing a love of literature among the rude and uncultivated warriors of Castile. He not only wrote himself, but showed a warm and encouraging interest in the writings of his subjects, and his influence in forming the style of Castilian poetry might be traced for several generations. He collected around him those most noted for their intellectual culture, admitted poets and historians into his intimate companionship, and showed in every way his high appreciation of them. John de Mena, of Cordova, was the most celebrated poet of the time, and the king was said to have his “‘ verses lying on his table as constantly as his prayer- book.” From him doubtless his daughter Isabella derived her turn for intellectual pursuits, and her respect for mental excellence in any depart- ment of knowledge. John II. left three children by his first wife ; the son who succeeded him by the title of Henry IV.; and by the second, Isabella, a child of little more than three years, and an infant named Alfonso. The younger children were recommended to the care of their brother Henry; and the town of Cuellar in the southern part of Spain, with a considerable sum of money, was left for the maintenance of the infanta Isabella, Isabel of Portugal, who, with all the faults to which a narrow heart and a high vindictive temper made her liable, was yet a true-hearted woman, gave way to such extravagant grief at her husband’s death as to impair her reason, Samana fH Oe. Tt. ew the ae U6lUlclUC CellC lO CO

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LIFE OF ISABELLA I., QUEEN OF SPAIN. 19 eee She never fully recovered her imental vigor, although she regained the use of her faculties so far as to be intrusted with the guardianship of her own children. She retired with them to the little town of Arevalo, a part of her matri- monial inheritance, where for forty-two years she resided a desolate widow, refusing to listen to any proposals for a second marriage, and devoting herself, as entircly as her infirm and broken health would permit, to her children. Through- out all the later years of her life, her royal daughter acted towards her with great filial devotion and tenderness, showing how highly she appreciated the early care and instructions of her widowed parent. After Isabella became queen, she frequently threw aside all her en- grossing cares and occupations, to visit her mother at Arevalo, and minister with her own hands to her wants. Henry IV. was even more fond of pleasure and more averse to business than his father; more easily influenced, and less capable of maintaining his authority. During his reign, Castile was in a state of almost complete anarchy. He made preparations on a splendid scale for a war with Granada, but carried it on in such an imbecile and pusillanimous manner, that he covered himself and his army with dis- grace. The Moorish king treated him with the most open contempt, and his own subjects despised and rebelled against him; yet he was kind-hearted, merciful, and yielding; but in tnose tumultuous times these gentle qualities operated to his own destruction. The openly immoral life of his queen, Joanna of Portugal, was another cause that acted against him; for, strange to say, she was not only tole- rated, but encouraged in her course of conduct by her husband. In 1462, she gave birth to a daughter, who she named Joanna, after herself, but whom the people called la Beltraneja, from her reputed father, Beltran dela Cueva. Henry, however, acknowledged her as his daughter, and required the usual oath of allegiance to be tendered to her as the presumptive heir to the kingdom. Many of the principal nobles, con- vinced of Joanna’s illegitimacy, protested against this, and took advantage of the requisition as a favorable opportunity for raising the standard of rebellion. At the baptism of this child, which took place eight days after its birth, Isabella made her first publicly recorded appearance at court. She was one of the sponsors for the royal infant, and, with her brother Alfonso, was the first to take the oath of allegiance, and kiss the hand of her whom they thus acknowledged «cz their future a a ~ sovereign. Their example was followed by all the nobility, clergy, and deputies who were pre- sent; yet many of them were at that very time plotting not only against the young Joanna, but against her father, and, with true Jesuitical casu- istry, excused their double-dealing by saying that, at the time they took the oath, they had inwardly protested against it. Neither Isabella nor Alfonso needed such a lame apology, nor did they make it. They were too young at the time to act for themselves, to know their own rights, and resent their own wrongs. They probably did what those who had the direction of their conduct bade them do, without afterwards considering themselves re- sponsible agents. Isabella was at this time eleven years old, and thus far her life had been passed in the privacy and obscurity which are so much more favorable to all the loftiest and most enduring virtues than the dazzling and corrupting influence of a court. If, instead of a childhood passed in seclusion with a mother devoted even to austerity to her religious duties, and whose character as a woman was above suspicion, Isabella’s first years had been spent among courtiers and intriguers, sur rounded by an atmosphere of flattery and cor- ruption, her character could hardly have come down to us as pure and spotless as all history records it. Even her mother’s infirmity of mind may have been in her favor, by throwing her more early upon her own resources, and teach- ing her that grand lesson which all sovereigns worthy of their place have to learn, whether they are men or women-—the lesson of self-reli- ance. That she was so long only of ‘secondary import- ance to her brother Alfonso was another favora- ble circumstance. When the disaffected nobles first broke out into open rebellion, their pretext was their determination not to consider the daughter of Beltram de la Cueva as their future monarch, although she might claim the queen as her mother, and a resolution to have Al- fonso acknowledged by Henry as his successor. The king could have summoned a large army from among his subjects to aid him to resist this measure, arbitrary although just, for the people of Castile have been ever noted for their loyalty ; but Henry always shrank from taking any decided stand, or using vigorous means. When the Bishop of Cuenga, his former precep- tor, urged him to take some effectual measures to crush these revolutionary movements, he re- plied: “ You priests, who are not called to engage in the fight, are very liberal of the blood of others.”

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20 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “Since you are not true to your own honor at a time like this, I shall live to see you the most degraded monarch in Spain,” was the pre- late’s indignant rejoinder—a reply which proved prophetic. Henry at first consented to the demands of his nobles, and recognized Alfonso as heir to the crown, on condition of his marriage with Joanna; but afterwards withdrawing his consent, an open rebellion broke out through his whole kingdom. In 1465, he was solemnly deposed from his throne by a large and imporiant portion of his subjects, and Alfonso openly acknowledged as their king. Now commenced a time of terrible anarchy and confusion. Every province, city, town, and almost every family was divided within itself. Old family feuds were revived. In sone cities, one street carried on war against those in another; and amid all these evils and cistresses, the plague came to add to the miseries of the unfortunate Castilians. Henry was too weak, and Alfonso too young to take any vigorous measures to end this fright- ful state of affairs ; but the contests were brought to an unexpected termination by the sudden death of Alfonso in 1468. This misfortune was attri- buted by some to the plague, and by others to poison. It seemed at the time to be a great dis- aster, for Alfonso, though only a boy of fifteen, had already given such promise of future excel- lence, and had in many ways shown such an unusual degree of wisdom, magnanimity, and bravery, that the people were looking forward to his reign as one that would enable them to redeem their old position as the chief among the nations of the peninsula. But this event proved in the end fortunate for ~ the nation, as well as for Henry. It brought 3 peace to the people, and to the king what he preferred to all worldly possessions, a period comparatively free from disturbance and care. From the time of the young Joanna’s birth until 1467, the Infanta Isabella had remained under the protection and authority of her brother Henry, an unwilling sharer and witness of the revels of a court, conspicuous even in that age for its levity and corruption. During the first year of the civil war, she accompanied the Queen Joanna to Portugal, where she went to solicit aid from her brother. Henry seems to have treated Isabella person- ally with his usual indulgence ; but she was kept in a constant state of alarm and disturbance by various attempts made by him to force her, for his own purposes, into unsuitable and unconge- nial marriages. At last, weary with resisting, and disgusted ——— eee with the freedom of life and manners encouraged at the court, Isabella had the good fortune to find herself with Queen Joanna at Segovia when it was entered by the insurgents. She refused to accompany the queen to the fortress, but having determined to join Alfonso’s party, she remained with her own ladies at the palace, awaiting his arrival. She had but ashort time to enjoy the compara- tive freedom of a residence with her young bro- ther, for his death the following year threw her once more upon her own guidance. Fortunately, she had been endowed by Providence with a high sense of duty, a great degree of discretion, and that clear perception into what was expedient in all practical matters, generally known under the name of common sense, but which in Isabella, as well as in Elizabeth, of England, amounted almost to a peculiar genius. To these qualities, although not much regarded by the world as anything extraordinary, is much of Isabella’s great success in life to be attributed, She was true to herself, and, as a necessary con- sequence, she * could not then be false to any man.” Immediately on Alfonso’s death, she retired with her suite to a monastery at Avila. Here, the adherents of her brother sent to her the Arch- bishop of Toledo, to request her to allow her- self to be proclaimed Queen of Castile. This was a high tribute to the character of a girl of hardly seventeen, but already her dignity, pro- priety, and reserve of demeanor had caused her to be regarded with great respect. Her peculiar talents for governing were, of course, as yet un- known, but they might fairly be inferred from her power of self-control, and her strength in resisting all the temptations to which she had so early been exposed. It is difficult to comprehend how one so young could resist so tempting a proposal made to her, and pressed upon her acceptance by those whom she had been taught from her earliest years to venerate, and whose position in the church of which she was all her life a devoted adherent gave to their entreaties almost the weight of commands. Perhaps even Isabella might not have given such a proof of her magnanimous integrity if the same offer had been made to her three years before, when the noble young Al- fonso had been brought forward to fill the post of usurper. But she had seen the dire conse- quences of two sovereigns dividing and distract- ing the country. By time, and thought, and observation, she had gained wisdom, and in matters of right and wrong her judgment seemed always to have been intuitively correct. > es 2 ak lee ee CO pl: ha Jo th Joi thr

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LIFE OF ISABELLA I., QUEEN OF SPAIN. aA en em ~ _ans ~ ae She returned at once to her allegiance to her older brother; refused, with unwavering deci- sion, the proposal made by the archbishop, say- ing that, “ while her brother Henry lived, none other had a right to the crown; that the coun- try had been divided long enough under the rule of two contending monarchs; and that the death of Alfonso might perhaps be interpreted into an indication from Heaven of its disapprobation of their cause.” They attempted in Andalusia to force her into the position which they wished her to hold by unfurling their standards in her name, though without her consefit ; but to this act she paid no regard. No course was left to the disaffected nobles but to make peace on the best terms for themselves that they could; and this proceeding was too congenial to Henry’s disposition not to be eagerly responded to. The most important stipulations respecting Isabella were that she should be acknowledged, in the most open and binding manner, as the lawful heir to the crown of Castile and Leon, and that she should not be forced to marry against her own wishes, nor should she, on her part, take such a step without her brother’s consent. She seems to have had from the first a strong persuasion of the sanctity of the marriage-tie, and that it is a desecration of every true womanly feeling to give the hand without the heart. Henry consented to these conditions, though, in doing so, he was obliged to brand as illegiti- mate one whom he always acknowledged and cherished as his own daughter; but peace on any terms was grateful to him. However, he soon showed how lightly he regarded promises so sacredly made by erranging, at the instigation of his favorite, the Marquis of Villena, the mar- riage of Isabella with Alfonso, King of Portugal, the brother of his queen. He had once before, when Isabella was but thirteen, attempted to induce her to consent to the same union, but if there had been no other objection, the unsuita- bility of age was enough to make her refuse to listen to the proposal. Even in early girlhood, she showed the discretion for which she was remarkable, by resting her refusal on the ground that “the infantas of Castile could not be dis- posed of in marriage. without the consent of the nobles of the realm.” At the time this second attempt was made to place Isabella on the throne of Portugal, a union had been decided upon between the young Joanna and the son of the Portuguese king, with the stipulation that, if Isabelia left no children, Joanna and her heirs should succeed to the throne of Castile. Isabella was present when 4 21 the arrangement was made, but refused to marry one whose years so greatly outnumbered her own. The King of Portugal sent his proposals in the most formal and imposing manner, but Isabella returned a refusal characteristically decided, yet gentle. Henry threatened to imprison her in the royal fortress at Madrid until she should consent to his wishes; and he would have car- ried his threat into execution but for his dread of the people, who showed openly their sympa- thy with Isabella. She had a firm friend also in the Archbishop of Toledo, a man bold and arro- gant indeed, but a warm and devoted ally; he promised to come himself, with an army, to Ocafia, where she was then residing, to her assistance should she require it. Isabella, seeing that her brother had broken every promise he had made, and left unfulfilled all the conditions to which he had solemnly bound himself, felt, on her part, released from her engagements with regard to her marriage, and resolved to take the matter into her own hands. The honor of her alliance had already been desired by many princes; and it is a little sin- gular that her earliest suitor should have been the very Ferdinand whom she afterwards mar- ried, though at the time these first proposals were made, the principal parties were both such mere children that they could only be considered the puppets made use of to subserve the purposes of state policy. She was afterwards betrothed to his excellent, but unfortunate brother, Don Carlos, of Viana, and after his death was promised by Henry to Alfonso, King of Portugal. Her refusal to con- sent to this arbitrary arrangement has already been related. Henry next attempted to make of his young sister a tool to serve his own interests by pur- chasing, with her hand, the partisanship of Don Pedro Giron, grand-master of the order of Cala- trava, and the nephew of the Archvishop of Toledo, one of his most formidable opponents. This transaction took place during the war be- tween Henry and Alfonso, when the king felt the need of all the support he could obtain; otherwise, it would be difficult to understand how he could have consented to the union of Isabella with a man whose character was stained with every vice, whose life was that of a disor- derly and ferocious soldier, and whose birth was so far inferior to that which his sister’s position required. When the young and desolate girl was told that preparations were making for her nuptials with one whom she had learned to look upon

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22 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PRAPRAPRAPRPAL AAPL PPLA AAPA A APR AAAA PRP PPPLP PPP PPP PPP with horror; when she heard that the master of Calatrava had applied to the Pope to be ab- solved from the vow of celibacy he had taken as the head of a religious order; that the bull of dispensation had arrived, and that the grand- master was making sumptuous preparations for his wedding ; and, at last, that he had set out for Madrid with his grand retinue, she gave way to her grief with the most touching abandonment. Secluding herself in her own room, and refus- ing all food and sleep, she passed twenty-four hours in imploring Heaven to avert this dishonor from her by her own death, or that of the dreaded grand-master. One friend stood by her side with ready sym- pathy during all this time of trouble and dismay, the one who shared for so many years the confi- dence and affection of her royal mistress, Dofia Beatriz Fernandez de Bobadilla. Her high spirit and warm bold heart were not content to offer words of consolation alone; but when Isabella spoke to her of the impending disgrace, she ex- claimed: “God will not permit it, neither will I!’ and she showed the weeping princess a dagger she had placed in her bosom, with a solemn vow to plunge it into the heart of the master of Cala- trava as soon as he appeared. But the bridegroom elect was saved from the fate of Holofernes, and Beatriz from acting the part of Judith, by the hand of Providence. Isa- bella could bear witness through her whole life that never had her faith and her reliance on Almighty power proved mistaken. Pedro Giron was attacked with a violent disorder on the first mre day of his triumphant progress to his betrothed, and died in four days, with imprecations on his lips that his life had not been spared a few weeks longer. Then, after the death of Alfonso, when the pretensions of Isabella to the crown of Castile were considered as almost indisputable, the cspi- rants for her hand increased. She had a second time to irritate her brother by her refusal of the King of Portugal. The Duke of Guienne, bro- ther of Louis XI., and presumptive heir to the throne of France, also sought an ailiance with her at the same time that Ferdinand, of Arragon, made for the second time préposals to the young infanta. Other suitors came forward, but Isa- bella hesitated only between the two last named. In order to learn more particularly about them, she sent her chaplain to the courts of Arragon and France, and his report being very favorable to Ferdinand, who had also the recommendation of being a distant kiasmaa of Isabelia’s, she fixed upon him as hur future husband. There were many reasons to induce her to look favor- ably upon this union besides those of a personal nature. Their kingdoms lay side by side, and by uniting them, they might hope to make out of two unimportant states a powerful country. She consulted her devoted adherent, the haughty Archbishop of Toledo, and through him ascer- tained the opinions of most of the leading per- sons in Castile. Finding that their wishes coin- cided with her own views, she sent a favorable answer to the proposals of Ferdinand. (To be continued.) - weer TRIALS OF AN ENGLISH HOUSEKEEPER. NO. I.—MY ANCESTOR’S PICTURE. * Tg there a heart that never loved Or felt soft woman’s sigh ? Is there a man can mark unmoved Dear woman’s tearful eye? Oh, bear him to some distant shore Or solitary cell, Where none but savage monsters roar— Where love ne’er deigned to dwell !” Popular Ballad. Ir has been as wisely as beautifully remarked by the Rev. Robert Montgomery in his delight- fully truthful and sweet pretty poem, entitled **Woman an Angel,” that the lovely daughters of Eve (I quote from memory, giving rather the sentiment than the words of that talented and elegant divine) were born to suffer; for not only have they their own severe afflictions to put up with, but they are expected also to become will- ing partners in those of the sons of Adam, by whom they have been led to the altar, and whose hands *:id fortunes they have consented to accept and share.’ Without lovely woman to soothe, restrain, and look after them, I should like to know what would be the fate of those impatient, obstinate, selfish, and poor helpless creatures—men? Would they not unpick every social tie, and go about like the brutes of the fields, with scarcely a thing fit to put on, and their sto 3 all full of holes, a prey to their all-devourir 7 appetites, the slaves of their un- governal‘v passions, and be robbed right and left

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TRIALS OF AN ENGLISH HOUSEKEEPER. by their servants?) And why, I ask, would this be the case? Why, because every woman, with her proper feclings about her, knows as well as I do that it certainly would. Yes, lovely daughters of Eve, ours is a horrid, bitter cup! Tous, the earth is truly a “ Vale of Tears,” without one pretty flower growing up among the shoals and quicksands that beset our briery path to gladden us on our way. Indeed, the trials of poor confiding women form a sad, sad history, and the humble individual who is now addressing the courteous reader has her share of them. As I was sitting alone one evening by the fire pondering over them, a brilliant idea rushed across my brain. Should I act upon it? I hesitated. But reflecting that I might be the proud means of aiding hundreds of my fellow- creatures, I no longer doubted, but determined to publish to the world ail my long experience with servants of all kinds and countries, so that I might, as it were, become the pilot of young wives, to steer their fragile little barks through the rocks and precipices of domestic life, and prevent their happiness being wrecked, as mine has been, I may say, at my own fireside. I pass over my marriage to Mr. Edward Skin- ston and the happy honeymoon, which we spent in lodgings near Brighton. Well do I remember that precious time when, arm in arm, we would wander for whole hours together in our buff slippers along the golden sands, talking (alas, blind mortals!) of the happiness which we thought was never to end. All was beautiful and bright, and seemed to us like a fairy dream. But I was recalled to a sense of my new and responsible position by a letter from my dear mother, informing me that, after seeing, she should say, forty servants, she had succeeded in finding the treasure she had been seeking for me; and she had engaged for me a respectable middle-aged woman, who brought with her a high character from her last place. She was neat, even- tempered, an early riser, a good plain cook, and a devout Christian, honest, indus- trious, and sober; in short, a perfect treasure. She had arranged, she wrote, to have the maid in our house a few days before our return, that we might find all prepared for our reception. I had read my dear mamma’s epistle to my husband, and he remarked that he was sure it was very kind of her indeed to put herself to so much trouble on our behalf, though he hurt my feelings by adding that he thought it might con- tribute more to my happiness hereafter if she were to be restrained from taking quite so active an interest in our domestic affairs for the future ; ° v bo for, during all his experience, he had remarked that relations by marriage agreed much better the less they saw of one another. This observation of his cut me to the heart, and filled me with strange, melancholy forebodings. Soon after we had received this intelligence, we left the place where we had spent so many happy days for our new home. When we drove up to the door early in the evening, I was greatly alarmed, and not a little surprised, to find the door answered by my dear mamma, for I was convinced that she knew her station in life too well ever to dream of doing such a thing unless compelled by some calamity. Edward seemed to be as much annoyed as myself, and wondered why my dear mamma could not let the servant attend to the door. But alas, we soon learned the news which was to welcome us home! About three that afternoon, my kind mamma had taken the trouble to come over to see that all was comfortable against our arrival. She had knocked and waited nearly half an hour without making any one in the house hear her. She grew extremely alarmed, thinking that per- haps the house had been stripped ; and she told us that no one could imagine the horrid ideas that passed through her mind. At last, she bor- rowod a pair of steps from next door, and with extreme difficulty, and almost peril, entered by the parlor window. Down in the kitchen, she found the maid lying on her back on the rug before the fire in a state of complete insensibility, while our best linen sheets were hanging on the horse burnt to perfect rags, so that they could not even be cut up into glass-cloths; and it was a mercy, she said, that we did not come home to find our house a mass of black smouldering ruins. It was a fit of epilepsy, mamma said, which had brought the woman into this state, and the lively picture she drew of her sufferings filled my heart with pity. But Edward was so surly at the place being so uncomfortable, with every- thing topsy-turvy, and no fire, and nothing in the house to eat, that he kept banging the things about in a way I had not thought he would do so soon after his marriage, and I could not help being hurt (though I thought best not to show it) at the strong want of feeling he displayed upon hearing an account of the girl’s affliction ; for he did not hesitate to say that he would for feit his head if the fits did not turn out to be fits of drunkenness, calling the girl, to our great horror, “‘a gin-drinking thing.” The next morning, Mary came to me, with her eyes full of tears, to apologize for her drunk-

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24 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. enness, while I, in my simplicity, imagined that she was speaking to me about her fits. She hoped I would look over it this time, as she did not mean to get in the same state again, on which I told the creature that it was no fault of hers, as it must be plain to every rightly constituted mind that she could have no control over her- self inthatrespect. She said trouble had brought it upon her, and that it came over her so strong at times that she had no power to stand up against it, all which, I told her, was very natu- ral, and I actually was stupid enough to tell her that whencver she felt the fit coming on, not to attempt to check it, but to let it have its due course, and that, if she would come to me, I would gladly give her whatever she might take a fancy to. Mary went on pretty well for a day or two, when we noticed that she began to get rather confused in her intellects, so that she hardly seemed to know what she was about, and kept breaking everything she put her hands upon. I, in my innocence, began to fear that another fit was coming on, and I should be having the woman laid up insensible on my “at home” day, and a nice situation I should be in then. So, with my usual good nature, I asked her if she would take anything, and whether she thought a little brandy would put her straight, on which, the deceitful thing began to see through my mis- take, and to understand that I was treating her for fits instead of drunkenness, and said that she was sure I was very good, and that she would elegant. She was in tremendous spirits about it, and told Edward that it was an ornament that she knew she did wrong in not presenting to the British Museum, for that a descendant of that very family had been Mayor of Norwich three times running. And though Edward did not entertain the same elevated opinion of the Fitz- higginses as my mamma did, and had even once gone so far as to call our gracious William the } Conqueror, and his noble knights, a set of vaga- bond robbers, still, on this occasion, he behaved himself like a perfect gentleman, and only said * he should hardly believe it.” A little after eight, the young man who had been doing up the picture came round with it; and when we saw our noble ancestor, we could not help remarking what a fine head it was, and that any one, to look at him, might tell from the likeness that he was related to our family. I wished that it should be hung in our drawing- room, to show Edward’s friends that he bad not married an ordinary person, and prove to them that our family were not mere mushrooms. So, Edward and myself went to the top of the stairs with the candles, while that good-for- nothing creature, Mary (whom, I’m sure, we none of us suspected of being in liquor at the time) helped the young man up with the picture, and mamma went behind, that she might take care that it was not grazed against the banis- try a glass ; and she actually had the face to beg up stairs backwards, went on very well until she } had nearly reached the first landing, when, one another one that same evening, saying that the first had done her a world of good. So that there was I, encouraging the horrid wretch in the worst of vices; and, as I heard afterwards, she went about the neighborhood, saying that it was no fault of hers, and that I took a delight in making her tipsy. On that very evening, dear mamma stepped around to tell us about a splendid present she had been preparing for us. This was avaluable old painting of her ancestor, Fitzhiggins, who is said to have come into England with the Con- queror. As I was her only child, she regarded me as the heir to this great relic, and wished me to have it put up in some part of my house where it would be always before my eyes, and be con- tinually reminding me of my station in life, and that the novle blood of a Fitzhiggins flowed in my veins. Mamma had had our ancestor cleaned and varnished, for she said a good deal of the nobility that was in his face was lost from its being so dirty; and now that he was in a new frame, she said, the dear man looked perfectly ters, and kept telling Mary to mind what she was about, for that she would not have anything happen to it for all she was worth. Mary, who was in advance, and, therefore, obliged to come of the stair-rods being out, the carpet was loose, ; and we were horrified by seeing Mary’s feet slip (PPA PPR PPL from under her, while the drunken thing let go her hold of the picture to save herself from falling. But what with the liquor she had taken secretly, and that I had given her that afternoon, and coming up stairs backwards, she lost all command over herself, so that, after making one or two vain attempts to keep her balance, we saw her, with horror, pitched head first into the middle of our noble ancestor, at the same time knocking backwards the young man, who would, I am sure, have been killed on the spot if he had not broken his fall by tumbling right on dear mamma, who was fortunately not more than half a dozen stairs from the bottom; and they all three fell right into the hall, amidst the screams of my mother, the crashing of the frame of our noble ancestor, and (I regret to add) the laughter of my husband. I immediately rushed to poor . Feta yy iO SelUcetlhlCUehUe.DhClUYTCUClmMme Oe eee eee 2

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GODEY’S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING. mamma’s assistance, confidently believing thai she had not a sound limb in her body; but, ¢ am happy to say, she was only dreadfully bruised, and that indeed no one was seriously hurt by the fall but our noble ancestor, from whom my mamma dated her descent, and who was literally broken to bits. My poor mamma thought little of her own sufferings, but when she saw the head of her family all knocked in, as it were, her grief knew no bounds. My husband, I am ashamed to say, did not seem at all affected by mamma’s distress, but, as soon as we were in the parlor alone, observed, with a sarcastic smile that I could have shaken him for, “‘ what a pity it was that the poor girl, Mary, should be so subject to fits !” On which my mother burst out, saying: “ Fits, indeed! She never saw such fits. It was no- thing more nor less than downright drunken- | 25 wes OA ener ness, that it was; and how she could ever have been so imposed on, she could not say, but that it had all come upon her like a thunderbolt im- mediately after she saw the girl staggering up the stairs, and that indeed, to tell the truth, she had had her suspicions before, and that on the day of our arrival from Brighton, it struck her that there was a strong smell of spirits in the house, but which, at the time, she had attributed to the French polish of the new furniture.” I can assure the reader that, if I had not felt that I was in the girl’s power, from our “at home” day being so near at hand, when it would never do to be without some one to open the door, I could have bundled the creature into the streets that very hour. But I thought it best to treat her civilly a few days longer, and the reader will see with what base ingratitude my forbear- ance was repaid. GODEY’S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING. LESSON XIX. PERSPECTIVE DRAWING. (Continued.) Having now described the general features and modes of proceeding in the delineation of lines, planes, and solids, including various regular and irregular figures, we have yet to consider the subject of solids with reference to their height. In parallel perspective, a large proportion of the lines of a picture are, in plan, at right angles with the plane of delineation, as was just now stated; and therefore the point of sight is the principal vanishing-point in such representa- tions. In such cases, the proper way to obtain the perspective height of any object is, after having laid down the length of its elevation on the base-line of the picture, and connected the ends of that length by visual rays with the point of sight, to erect a perpendicular to the base-line at one end of that length; set off thereon the exact height, and from the point so obtained draw another visual ray to the point of sight; the space included between this visual ray and the one previously drawn from the bottom of the perpendicular will be the perspec- tive height at any part of the picture. This has been already in part done (fig. 11), and is in all cases the mode of obtaining heights of objects in parallel perspective. But in oblique perspective, very few, and fre- quently none of the lines, in plan, lie at right VOL. L1.—3 | | | angles with the plane of delineation. The point of sight and visual rays become therefore of less importance; but the vanishing-points become the more useful auxiliaries for determining the heights of objects seen at any angle. When the perspective height of any one object in the picture has been found, that of any other object of same height, in whatever part of the picture its position may be, may be easily found in parallel perspective by means of visual rays to the point of sight. Thus, in fig. 23, having found the height a bd of a figure standing at the position a, required the representation of another figure of equal height at the position c. Draw the visual lines Sa,8d. From the position C draw Ce parallel to the base-line, intersecting Saate. From e draw ef perpendicular to C e, intersecting Sb at f The height e f thus ob- tained, transferred to a perpendicular on the position C, will be the perspective height of the figure at C. By this rule, the point of sight and perspective height in any one position being given, the perspective height for any other po- sition may be readily found. Perspective widths may be found in a similar manner. In the same figure, 23, given the width of any object gh (say a flying bird), required the respective widths of a similar object in the position 7. Connect the extremities of the given width with the point of sight by visual lines Sg, Sh; draw a line from the position i parallel with the base-line, inter-

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26 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Fig. 23. secting the visual rays at & and /; the width kl, ; in fig. 24, given the position and height of a transferred to the given position, will be the : lamp-post a 6, required the perspective heights width i J of the object of that position. of similar lamp-posts at cc. Draw vanishing- But in oblique perspective Phe point of sight { lines from V' toaandb. From the positione a needs not in all cases to be found for the other { line to the other vanishing-point V* will intersect purposes of the picture; and where it is want- ; V‘a ate. From the point e erect e / perpen- ing, the same problem may be solved in a some- dicular to the base-line, intersecting V‘ 6 at f. what similar manner, using the vanishing-points ; Draw V* f and the perpendicalar c d intersecting instead of the point of sight, and vanishing- ; it at d; ed will be the perpendicular height of lines instead of the horizontal linesce, Thus, t the object at the positione. By this rule, the Fig. 24. 6 i a te J y f_-- .. a ee = 2S : Se ee = ee =F — —— ¢ ine vanishing-points and perspective height at any { perspective the church A BG H, fig. 25—required one position being given, the proper height for { the perspective positions of the windows of the any other position may be found. side A B. From the point A, parallel with the In parallel perspective, the distances of objects horizontal line, draw a line A 7, equal in length or points on a visual line are found, as in fig. 11, to the geometric length of A B in the plan or by setting off their true distances on the base- elevation. From the point 7 draw a diagonal line, and finding their corresponding distances ; through B, which will intersect the horizontal on the visual line by diagonals to the distance- { line at a point D within the picture, which is point. But as the distance-points are often ; the distance-point required. Transfer from the at a considerable distance outside the limits of { plan or elevation to the line A 7 the distances the picture, and sometimes even of the paper, of the sides of the windows A 1, A 2, &c.; and which renders this mode of obtaining the inter- ; from the points 1 23, &c. thus obtained draw sections in such cases inconvenient, the fol- } diagonals to the point D, which will intersect lowing method, by which a distance-point for } A B at corresponding points, &c.; from which the details of any object is obtained within the } intersections vertical lines will represent the picture, is often practicable. -To draw in oblique corresponding sides of the windows. In this

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THE RELIGIOUS EDUCATION OF THE YOUNG. 27 _—_—on method, the line A 7 may, if more convenient, be drawn from the upper corner E of the side whose details are to be laid in, as shown at C, over the tower, and it may be made of any con- venient length, provided it be made longer than A B; but in general it will be most convenient to make it the exact length of the given line on the plan or elevation. The upper and lower points of the windows may now be marked on the line A E, whence lines drawn to the vanish- ing-point of that side of the church will give the perspective positions of corresponding points in the vertical lines denoting the sides of the windows. If the window-heads be arched, draw the elevation of the arch to the left of the line A E, and proceed, as directed in figs. 13 and 14, to draw the perspective arch over each window. THE RELIGIOUS EDUCATION OF THE YOUNG. To a thoughtful and rightly constituted mind, there is nothing more interesting than a helpless infant, depending as it does on others for pro- tection and support, and at the same time pos- sessing all the latent faculties of the future man. Unlike the brute creation, whose strength and instinct derive no additional force or skill from increased age, or the experience of successive generations, the human species, by slow degrees and careful culture, unfold the powers of their minds, which in this state of being, probably, are never fully developed; for, having with “the breath of life” received from their Creator a living soul destined to survive the whole visi- ble creation around, will, on and on, progress : through countless ages, displaying new beauties to the praise and glory of their Giver. With these facts under consideration, it is necessary that we should inquire what is the most reasonable course to be pursued with regard to these important little ones thus newly intro- duced into a world of activity and intelligence, of which they form a part, and on whose career in life much of good or ill to themselves and others will follow. ‘Train up a.child in the way he should go,” is the command of unerring wisdom; and a knowledge of the close and fundamental relationship between the Creator and his intelligent creatures, together with the reasonable duties arising therefrom, seems to be

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28 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. the first step in the path of knowledge. To learn that we are not orphans in a world of chance; but that He who “ feedeth the sparrow and clothes the lily with beauty,” and to whose almighty power nothing is teo great to be con- trolled, or minute to be overlooked—that this benevolent being is “Our Father’ in heaven, surely is a consolatory reflection, and calculated to foster anything but gloom. Admitting the necessity of religion as an ingredient in the education of children, we are to consider how it can be introduced so as to be divested of melancholy. And is it really so, that Religion, “‘ whose ways are pleasantness, and ali her paths peace,” can be chargeable with causing gloom? Banish the thought. Christianity permits, and gratitude enjoins, the profitable enjoyment of every created good; for there is a time to laugh as well as a time to mourn, and moroseness and gloom are rather the component parts of the repulsive professor of religion than of religion itself. To give the Creator the praise and honor of his own workmanship, is just and due. How easy then is it, when examining or exploring the beauties of creation, and the thousand wonders which, by the aid of the microscope, are presented to the observing eye, to lead a child to a contemplation of the goodness and power which formed and sustains them; or, if in surveying the magnificence of the heavens, he is led to feel anything approaching to a sublime awe or dread at the grandeur of the scene, he is told that their Maker is a “‘ God of love,” and that, though dwelling in heaven, and surrounded by angels, who are ever ready to execute his commands, he formed man, re- bellious though he is and has ever been, to be happy, to glorify him here, and to dwell with him eternally in heaven! Gratitude, love, and willing obedience to the salutary requirements of so kind a friend will surely flow from a con- templation of such matchless condescension and favor. But what of the restraints religion imposes ? Are they not beneficial? Just as a kind and wise parent would guide and put restrictions in the way of a forward, self-willed, ignorant child, so our Heavenly Parent hedges in our way, that we may not become victims to the indulgence of that which is hurtful to our present or future interests. Religion, further, has to do with the heart and affections, control- ; ling their operations and purifying their motives of action. Children can easily understand this ; and that the omniscient scrutiny of God should regulate the conduct more than the applause of man. Actions are often praised, when the prin- ciple which dictates them is wrong. It is not, then, from studied, tedious, dull lectures on the subject, that religion can either become useful or attractive to a child, but it must be the vivifying influence of the whole course of instruction—a habit of the mind, and not an occasional act. Love to God and our fellow-creatures is another lesson taught by religion, which is throughout opposed to gloom or selfishness. True religion is pure, peaceable, gentle, un- selfish, exalting the tastes and pursuits, and brings glory to God and good-will to man. It fortifies the mind against the trials of life, sustains it under disease and sickness, disarms death of its terrors by opening to the eye of faith a haven of rest beyond the grave, into which no sorrow or suffering can enter, and where the wicked cease from troubling, and purity and happiness eternally dwell. Experience and observation show that chil- dren are easily interested in these realities; and should they occasionally appear more thoughtful than others, by such reflections, they are not the more sad. Dispositions vary in different persons ; and religion is not therefore chargeable with natural defects of character. The reserved will probably be so still; and the open and con- fiding will retain their characteristic traits, even when religion influences the conduct and sheds its beams on the heart. What I would say, then, to all who have the welfare of the rising gene- ration at heart, is, let us be truthful, treating them as accountable, reasonable beings, who have each a talent to employ for the glory of its Giver; let God’s revealed word be the standard by which to regulate our conduct, His approval our aim, and then, whether in sickness or health, prosperity or adversity, His blessing will descend, and shed a soothing influence on the “inner man,” such as the world can neither give nor take away. With such results as these, the scorner and the worldling, with their contempt or ridicule, might assail in vain their peace and safety ; for their happiness is built on the “ Rock of Ages,” and on the imperishable word of the eternal : God.

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THE MILLINER’S DREAM; OR, THE WEDDING-BONNET. BY ALICE B. NEAL. (See Plate.) **SomMETHING entirely unique—you under- stand?” said Miss Costar to the obsequious Frenchwoman at her side. *“ Yes, mademoiselle.”’ “Plenty of blonde, you know; a demi-voile perhaps, and rose-buds and orange-bfossoms in- side and out; the whole thing light as possible,” added Mrs. Costar. *“ Yes, madame.” * And the shape ; let it be as new and elegant as possible. Have you the last Moniteur? There’s something in that style!” * That is velours espingle, madame, our heavi- est material.” “Oh, but that need make no difference, you know! It’s the style, not the material; crape, of course.” * Mais, madame”— “No buts, I beg; there’s a good creature ; and send in the whole of your bill at once, the travelling-hat and all. And ten, at latest, re- collect; the ceremony is punctually at twelve, and the Newport boat leaves an hour earlier this week.” ‘Permit me, mademoiselle,” said the bland Madame Millefleurs, touching the brim of the bonnet worn by the haughty-looking bride elect, and shaping it habitually and rapidly with her practised fingers. Oh, it’s not of the slightest consequence how I look to-day!” she said, coldly. ‘The carriage-blinds are down, and no one would dream of seeing me out, at any rate. It is only the disappointment—the fear of disappointment, I should say—that brought me out at all.” Miss Costar had caught a warning look from her maternal relative. Madame Millefleurs, in anticipation of ‘‘ her whole bill,” and the respect- able addition which she intended the wedding- bonnet should prove, did not think best to see it in the tall cheval glass before which she stood, or to be assured that some great disappointment was the occasion of her being consulted, literally at the eleventh hour, on an affair so important as the wedding-hat, when the trousseau of the bride had been the subject of conversation and speculation in her own circle for two months past; in fact, ever since her engagement to Au- 3* gustus Deevont had been announced. Truth was, the steamer by which the ordered gem of French millinery was expected had not even been telegraphed up to the present hour, and while wives and mothers began to give place to uneasy thought as to the safety of their house- hold treasures, Mrs. Costar and her daughter had wearied the patience of the male mem- bers of the family by incessant questions and wonderings, and mourning over the non-arrival of the Humboldt—now in her fifteenth day—from Havre. Miss Costar would willingly have put off the wedding, only for her mother’s represer:tations of “*how people would talk.” Not that she was to be married in the bonnet! It was to be a full-dress wedding at Grace Church, under the superintendence of the immortal Browne; a full-dress wedding, with a real Brussels veil, and six bridesmaids, and carriages enough in attendance to block up the whole square. But then, there was the first appearance at Newport to be considered, and it would never do to leave New York. trusting to the probable arrival of the steamer, and the possible fidelity of Adams & Co. It is just possible that the elated bridegroom, then inspecting for the last time the elegant suit of diamonds at Tiffany’s before their transient seclusion in the rich satin-lined cases provided for them, might have considered his plans and wishes of some consequence, of more than a bonnet, if he had been consulted. Fortunately, he did not know how nearly they were jeoparded, or that he passed his charming bride of the mor- row in the commonplace livery-stable establish- ment, with the curtains down, which was just leaving Madame Millefleurs’ door as he stepped out upon the pavement. Not even he, supposed to be the sharer of every anxiety, and repository of all secrets, great and small, was to know that the fashionable Miss Costar sinned so far against conventional rule as to be “out” on the day preceding her wedding. Browne would have freely entered into her feelings as she shrank back into the corner, and threw a blue bardge veil over her face instead of eagerly arresting him as she recognized his colored coat and cinna- 29

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30 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. OO eneoenmnm™" NARA AAA AAA ALAAAAOY mon-colored gloves; he, Browne, would hardly have undertaken the affair after such an exposé, in consideration of his reputation, and Martel might be pardoned for refusing to dress her hair if it ever should get abroad. But leaving Miss Costar to make her escape te the regions of Fourteenth Street as best she may, our interests recall us to the private room of Madame Millefleurs’ large establishment, which she had just quitted; and here we find the patient-looking shop-girl, who has been a witness of the whole interview from behind the muslin curtains, in deep consultation with her employer. **You hear, mademoiselle; it must be done by tern, at latest, to-morrow morning.” ** Impossible,” began Mademoiselle Alice. The look, which was all the reply she receiyed, recalled to her mind the quick determination with which Madame Millefleurs kept the work- room in order, the really high wages which she received, and the difficulty of procuring another situation at this season of the year. So, she stood still again to hear. “Mademoiselle Alice understands. It is ne- cessary; it must be accomplished. It wil! be done; a triumph, if you please, mademoiselle, a chef-d euvre—all grace, and lightness, and ele- gance ; a miracle of art, in fact,”’ added the in- eautious madame, forgetting for an instant, in the presence of her assistant, what by long prac- tice she never suffered to escape before a cus- tomer, that she was Madame Millefleurs, the celebrated Parisian artiste, and not Miss Flower, the driving New York milliner, originally of Division Street. The foreign shrug and accent had done wonders for “‘ madame.”’ It was three o’clock on a stifling August day, to be sure, and Alice Leary, whose exquisite taste and skill had promoted her to the head of the work-room, had been busily employed since early breakfast in directing, arranging, urging, and checking the careless idlers already at work on the fall importations for the early September opening, strength, patience, and invention alike exhausted. Besides, it was Wednesday, and Wednesday evening somebody always came to walk home with her from the shop, and talk over certain plans and prospects they had in common, though, to be sure, they were a long way from being realized. Somehow, they seemed further off and more hopeless than ever when she returned to her niche in the work-room, and tried to fix her mind on the unexpected and unwelcome task. The sun glared so from the white marble front of the opposite range of stores; the air so hot RARARARAAR AA AAA AA AAA A — eee and dusty; the roll of carriages, drays, and omnibuses, the ring of feet and voices from the pavement below, so deafening and incessant! She turned over the delicate materials which she had wearily gathered around her, hoping in vain that the gauze crape or half-blown orange- blossoms would suggest one original thought or even arrangement of a trimming for this “ mira- cle of art;”’ but it was all in vain. Her mind would wander; her fingers only reproduced ideas already wrought out in every material and color. It was very hard certainly to be so at the beck and nod of an exacting task-1uistress, who never seemed to have any scruples with regard to truth, or, mn fact, to the employment of every atom of time, strength, and cleverness she con- sidered bound to her, or made over to her for the sum of four dollars weekly. Eighteen or twenty dollars would be the very least Madame Mille- fleurs would think of charging for the bonnet, which she would never have in her hand except to criticize. The materials might cost seven or eight. Where was the justice of such gains? And then the bride, Miss Costar; the young milliner had often seen her before, and had heard of little else of late from their customers in the same circle, until she was familiar with all her plans and possessions, and knew that from the time she had been the spoiled tyrant of the nursery nothing had ever seemed denied to her by fate or fortune. There had been no obstacle to her marriage, this bright creature of fashion! No sick mother or little sister to pro- vide for; no hoards to be slowly accumulated before the two rooms could be taken and scantily furnished for the home so far off, yet so longed and toiled for. This other maiden had but to speak, and love and luxury awaited her, an end- less prospect of vnalloyed happiness. Yet Alice, as she glanced to the little oval mirror, knew that her own face was not less lovely in its clear oval outline, shaded by luxuriant bands of soft black hair, and her figure, slight and stooping as it was, had no less grace and elegance in reality, though owing nothing to the gray stuff dress and black silk apron which she always wore. It was discontent that whispered in her heart now as she leaned forward wearily, only con- scious of the murmur of voices in the adjoining room, the noise and glare of the street below, her strained, exhausted fancy, and “a dim, dilat- ing pain,” sure precursor of one of those rack- ing headaches that care, and confinement, and incessant application had made habitual, but not the less dreaded. So it was, that, notwithstanding the hot after- noon sun journeyed on, and her task was as yet

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THE MILLINER S DREAM. ower scarcely commenced, the exhausted girl fell asleep, pursued even in dreams by her waking thoughts. Goblin bonnets of every age and shape flitted before her, and jeered her lack of invention. They floated their tags and streams gayly in her face; they peered curiously at her from over her shoulder, or, joining hands, danced through the air in mocking pantomime. * Nothing new, nothing new,” seemed to be the burden of their mimic shapes and gestures, while a crushed, frayed, and faded apparition, arrayed in a mode long since forgotten, whis- pered in a shrill, melancholy voice— ‘¢ All is vanity and veration of spirit.” And while the rest of the goblin shapes chat- tered and danced around her, Alice seemed to be looking into a vision, as it were, of the real life of the young girl she had so envied. The wed- ding-day had come; the rich toilets, the glittering pageantry of the ceremony all passed before her ; but with this new gift of sight, there was visible to her the frivolity of thoughts that then, if ever, should have been turned heavenward, as the solemn vows for life or death were pronounced, and the heartless mockery of the congratulations offered with smiling faces, and hearts full of envy and detraction. The very bride, and the new- made husband so little realizing the new relation in which they stood to each other and the world ; she still dreaming of admiration and conquest, an undisturbed reign as heretofore, to which his wealth and position were to minister; and he deceiving himself with a belief in his own sin- cerity of purpose, as he vowed to “love and cherish,” to leave all others for her sake. That it would be resting upon them to make these promises true through evil as well as good re- port—through poverty, sickness, and death, * For the house and grave, And for something higher’’— seemed never to have deepened loving tones or looks between them, or even to thrill their hearts now, sweeping from before the altar back to the world for which both had lived heretofore, the selfish, aimless lives of those who have never known want or care, or the chastening of even household sorrows. “So she saw in her dream,” as did the chroni- cler of the good pilgrim of old. How the fair, unclouded future changed and darkened before them! That each grew secretly to weary cf the bonds they had so lightly assumed, and then how the stream of their life divided into two separate ehannels of interest and occupation! They who never learned the meaning of the word home ceased even to respect its sanctity, and upbraid- 31 : ing took the place of flattery; neglect followed the wilful exactions and senseless homage of courtship. The world gave censure for congra- tulation, and the end was doubt, distrust, and openly acknowledged dissension. Luxury and boundless leisure palled instead of satisfying, and the husband found abroad the interest, and at least apparent, sympathy that he looked for in vain in the society of his wife. Then the little withered figure drew near again, and whispered her old burden: “ Vanity and vexation of spirit.” But the dream, and the spectres of the fashion of this world long since passed away, vanished together as a gentle, yet strong hand was laid upon her shoulder, and she raised her head, startled and bewildered, to find twilight already come, the hum from the work-room hushed. The street lamps threw a fitful light upon the dainty materials gathered before her, reminding her, with a sudden start, of the yet unattempted task, and the disastrous train of consequences that would be sure to follow any disappoint- ment, But nothing was a hardship with those dear eyes looking down into her own, yet troubled and dreary in expression, while that deep voice chid her for the careless exposure of health so necessary to his life and happiness. Yes, it was Wednesday evening, and somebody had come to walk with her through the now cool and more quiet streets to the home whose com- forts were of her own earning, and where her presence was a blessing. The threatened head- ache was dispelled by the sauntering walk in the coolness of the evening air, and Alice could lean on that strong arm, and talk merrily of her dream and the gay wedding of to-morrow, though she would have to be at the shop by daylight to make up for lost time. How fortunate that she had the key! And then they subsided upon their never-end- ing plans for the future, and she heard that he had great hopes of a most important advance to his slender salary, which would shorten their probation by years perhaps, and she must let him share in the pleasant task of caring for the invalid mother and the delicate little sister. ‘Both shall be welcome in our home,” he said, with a lingering, loving emphasis on those last words, that told how long and how fondly they had looked forward to sharing it together. The words and the tone came back many a time the next busy morning as the young milli- ner’s slender hands fluttered among the pure laces, and ribbons, and blossoms of which she shaped the wedding-bonnet, and, if their loving

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$2 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. : = cadence could have been inwrought, no fairer, purer fancy could have been embodied than that which was triumphantly carried to madame in the appointed season, and almost consoled the bride for the non-arrival of the long-watched- for steamer. A DAY AT AN ARSENAL. In these times, when everybody is talking about war, we hope it will not be uninteresting to our readers to have some account of an arse- nal, We are first struck, upon entering an arsenal, with the sight of numerous pieces of cannon lying around, fresh from the casting. It rather staggers our idea of a cannon to see large solid eylindrical masses of metal not unlike a gate- post. Our scruples are, however, removed by the workman, who tells us that they are cast much longer than they are ultimately intended to be, in order that the metal may be of a uni- form density; they are then cut to their proper length, and are ready for turning and boring. Into this department we follow them, and are introduced into an extensive and well-lighted workshop, full of the noise of whirling wheels and scraping and cutting of metal. The first operation a gun undergoes is that of being accurately centred previous to turning the surface true and cylindrical. The process is simple enough till we come to what are called the trunnions, a, 6, by which the cannon is slung on the carnage. At each revolution of the lathe, these projections would strike the tool, which is consequently forced to recede, and can only work up the surface between, as it were, by fits and starts. The shoulders of the trunnions are cut and rounded by a different machine, consisting of a fluted steel cylinder that revolves while the work is stationary. When the outside is thus completed, it is Fig. 2. taken to a boring table, the method of employ- ing which is as follows: The cannon is fixed to the wheel a, which is made to revolve slowly. The work is kept in its place by means of grips (0, p), which, though fitting closely round, are smooth enough to allow the gun to turn easily. When all these preliminaries have been com- pleted, the steel tool, which is a continuation of the rod g, is brought to face the mouth, and moved gradually forward by the rack and pinion, r. As the gun revolves, the tool slowly cuts away the inside, and only requires to be occasionally changed and supplied with oil till the requisite calibre is attained. Like ali works in metal, the process is a slow one, and several days must elapse before the boring is completed. Although our gun has manfully endured these cruel opera- tions, its great trial has yet tocome. Itis taken, with its brothers in affliction, to the “proof house.” Here, the cannon are ranged side by side, with their muzzles pointing to a heap of sand. They are then heavily loaded, and con- nected by a train of powder along the touch- holes; the train is fired at one end through the wall, Most of our pieces of ordnance stand the test, but some are occasionally burst or other- wise damaged; these black sheep in the flock are ignominiously returned to the melting-pot. After the cannon has thus been turned oul into the world, the kindness of our government does not cease, for their next care is to find it a suit- able position and a bed; so, we must follow it into the extensive sheds where the carriages of all sorts, both for ships’ cannon and field-pieces, are made. We also observe here all necessaries for warfare, such as rows of ammunition-wag gons, pontoons, &c. These pontoons are hollow cylinders of sheet- iron made small at either end; they are full of air, and possess a very high degree of buoyancy. When in use, they are laid side by side in the water, and lashed together. On the top of them are laid planks, and thus a very effi- cient bridge for all military purposes is made. Ajil around in this depart- ment are the forges, with various ma- p> wt ty kh 6 o

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A DAY AT AN,ARSENAL. 33 chines for facilitating the manipulation in metal. Among these, we must notice first and foremost Nasmyth’s steam-hammer, by means of which the forging of large masses of iron, which was always a precarious process, is made easy and certain. We give our readers a sketch of this monster, whose iron tread may be heard ringing qn ie wt i Nn varie «\ ipral nf nM ith he (MM 4 T ty fe BSS dui i \ nm se and echoing through the workshop. A is a massive arch of iron; at the top is a cylinder, B, connected with a high-pressure steam-boiler ; within the cylinder is a piston driven up and down by the expansive power of the steam; the piston-rod is continued at C, and at the extremity is a ponderous block of iron, D, weighing two tons. The metal to be forged is laid on the anvil, E, and turned about with tongs. The workman in the little gallery has control over the valves; and as soon as his companion is ready, he admits steam above the piston, which instantly forces down D, moving smoothly in guides on to the work below. The two tons of the hammer are thus augmented to the force of twenty, a power which not even iron can with- stand. It is a beautiful sight to see the mass taken at a white heat from the furnace, and laid on the anvil. The first blow scatters the glow- ing flakes of iron all around, shedding a lurid glare; it strongly reminds us of the scene pre- sented to us of the Cyclops in the bowels of Mount Etna. Such command has the workman over the valves, that the same hammer may be made to chip an egg set in a wineglass, or crack a nut without injuring the kernel. Passing by many machines in the timber department, too numerous to mention, we catch a glimpse of the gleaming disk of the circular saw that cuts heart of oak like a piece of soap, and we then return § § | PLD LDP PLP PP PLP LP PAD A PIPPI LL PIAL ; : | towards the first set of workshops, to inspect the manufacture of firearms. We know that rifles, and improvements in rifles, are quite the rage now-a-days, and men discuss eagerly the intrinsic merits and demerits of Minie rifles, conical balls, &c. It would exceed our limits if we ventured to describe the boring of the bar- rels, the forming of the stocks, fitting of locks, adjusting sights, and a hundred other minutia. Suffice it to say that the Ordnance have decided on a modification called the carbine rifle; it possesses the advantages of portability, strength, and accuracy. ‘The conical balls are to be em- ployed; consequently, there is a great demand for this kind of ammunition. ‘ What are we to do?” say the authorities, “for the process of casting is tedious and open to complaint on ac- count of the imperfect uniformity of the metal.” At this crisis, a machine is invented which turns out these bullets in a high state of perfection by thousands. For the sake of those who will not have the opportunity of inspecting the machine for themselves, we must try and make it simple by a diagram. The lead is sent from the contractor in long ropes of about a thumb’s thickness, rolled upon iron wheels. The wheels, or reels (fig. 4), as Fig. 4. they are called, are slipped on an axis, so as to turn easily. By means of a contrivance called a rachet-wheel and creeper (fig. 5), this lead Fig. 5. rope is moved forward an inch atatime. It is then forcibly caught by iron grips (fig. 6), and Fig. 6 a piece an inch in length is torn off. This little cylinder then drops between the dies A and B. B is forcibly squeezed up against A, and the lead

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. wm a is forced into the perfect shape of fig. 7. When in the gun, the expansive gas on explosion fill- ing the cavity a, sweils it into the grooves of the barrel, and produces a rapiu rotatory motion, which assists the accuracy of the shot. These dies are made of various sizes, to fit all calibres. The making of bullets of the common round form for muskets is vonducted on the same prin- ciple (fig. 8). There are two rollers of steel, Fig. 8. IEW LTE having the periphery on each indented with holes of the intended size of the ball. A similar rope of lead to one before described is applied, as seen, between the two rollers; the motion of the wheels draws the rope along, which becomes compressed into the shape of a string of bullets, connected together by a narrow neck of lead (fig. 9). These necklaces of lead are then held Fig. 9. 960000 00-OC-O-0 with each half-formed bullet over a cylinder of the requisite bore, and are struck through in a state of perfect rotundity by a die working from above. Each ball, as it drops through, rolls down a little slanting trough into a box beneath. The advantage gained by these improved pro- cesses is something quite marvellous when we compare them with thy tedious work of casting, where each bullet has a neck that must be cut off one by one afterwards, letting alone the supe- riority of rolled lead over that which is cast. We have by this time supplied our army with guns and ammunition (not noticing the manu- facture of gunpowder, which is another branch of trade); but we have still to find what fires the powder when once in the gun. The old- PLP LPL PL LDP APPL PAP fashioned way of doing this was by a flint-lock, such as we still occasionally see even now on guns. The ignition here was produced by a sharp edge of flint caused to strike, by means of a spring, on a steel plate immediately over a small “pan” of powder communicating with that in the barrel. This was slow and uncertain, as the sparks from the flint might possibly not touch the powder. The percussion-cap has quite usurped the place of the flint. We are all familiar with the sight of a cap filled with its little freight of fulminating powder; suffice it to say, the Ordnance caps are made with a pro- jecting rim, like a little hat, that the soldiers may be able to grasp them with cold and frost- nipped hands. The copper is cut in small bits of the shape of fig. 10, and given to boys, who Fig. 11 Fig. 10. sit in a row, each before a small machine (Sg. 11). The copper is laid on the die c, and the loaded lever being swung round, it is forced into the complete shape (fig. 12). The caps are then ranged in a plate perforated with 1000 holes. This is done by shaking the plate in the midst of them with a peculiar motion, the flange catch- ing and preventing the caps drooping through. In this peculiar position, they are filled with the explosive compound, and the process is com- pleted by drying. Here ends our walk through these warlike scenes, a walk in which we irust our readers have accompanied us with some interest. TO THE FAITHLESS. FROM SCHILLER; BY AUMERLE ST. CLAIR. On, beautiful! Oh, false and frail! To thee, to thee my spirit knelt, Breathing the witchery which it felt Through many a never-dying tale ; Through many & song whose words shall sail Swanlike ac-rwn the stream of time, Bearing amid t!-eir passionate rhyme The memory of thy hearty pale : But thought and ope together fail. Now. lonely in its agony, My inmost spirit longs to die ; All lonely in its agony, My heart pours forth its ceaseless wail In dying strains unworthy it, unworthy me.

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MRS. MORTIMER’S NEW VELVET CLOAK, BY MRS. ‘ “Bur you will allow, Fred, that it is the greatest of bargains!” And Nellie Mortimer looked anxiously at her husband, as he buttoned his overcoat after dinner, preparatory to leaving for the store. “And only think,” she con- tinued, “I can get a whole cloak for a trifle more than Mrs. Granby paid for one yard of hers !” ** Yes, my dear; and I am confident the dif- ference in the looks of the cloaks will plainly tell the difference in the price. Depend upon it, Nellie, these wonderful bargains seldom amount to much.” back against the door, and buried his hands in his coat-pockets nearly to his elbows. ** Well, I am sure I never saw anything so cheap.” And Nellie looked pouty. “I do not see one particle of difference in it all. And, just think, a velvet cloak for three dollars a yard, only nine dollars for the whole!” * But there are the linings, trimmings, and all the fixings,”’ persisted Mr. Mortimer. “Oh, as for that, Fred, I have it all fixed. I will take my old blue silk dress, I em so tired of it, for lining, and I will have it cut and basted, and I can make it myself; so you see how cheap it will all be. And I do hate that great broche shawl, I always feel so muffled up in it.” * Then this is no new plot of yours, eh, little one?” And Fred thought of the “old blue silk,” which was not three months old, and a favorite of his, and the tiresome shawl; and Nellie said she thought it was such a bargain, she hated to let it slip; and the clerk told her, in sober truth, that it cost them nearly twice the price he asked for it. And she looked so ear- nest about it that the hands came slowly from the capacious pockets, and Nellie noticed that her husband had a peculiarly wise look, and a roguish twinkle in his eye, as he gave her the required sum, and bid her good-bye until tea- time. *Twas in the early spring-time before that Nellie Greyson left “<r own quiet village home a bride. About a year before, Frederick Morti- mer chanced to spend some little time in their vicinity transacting some business, and became acquainted with Nellie’s brother Harry, and was consequently invited to call during his stay, And Mr. Mortimer leaned=

: B. F. E. which he gladly did; and, being quite charmed with the little home circle which received him so cordially, his calls lengthened into visits, and frequent ones, too. And, after his return home, there came such highly perfumed letters, writ- ten on tinted note-paper, addressed to ‘* Miss Nellie Greyson,” that all the people that chanced to know anything about it thought that it meant something ; and it all ended in Fred’s taking rooms in a stylish up-town boarding-house, and bringing the pretty little Nellie into town to preside therein. Of course, there was a great stir in the house when it was known that a bride was coming among them; and when she made her appear- ance at the breakfast-table the morning after her arrival, in her plain white cambric wrapper, confined to her delicate waist with a belt and gold buckle, and her beautiful brown heir wreathed into a graceful knot behind, and look- ing the very personification of youth and inno- cence, they were all taken somewhat by sur- prise. To be sure, she was a lovely little creature, but they had expected—a belle. It was not to be wondered at that Mrs. Fred- erick Mortimer was at first fairly bewildered with everything she saw. She, who had rarely been from home, except to school, was as yet a novice in the ways and customs of the world into which she had been transplanted; but it was new, and consequently delightful, and as she became acquainted with those around her, and the strangers became friends, Nellie was nearly happy. There was one thing that troubled Mrs. Mor- timer exceedingly, and was the great bugbear of her existence, and that was to be fashionable, to be quoted, to be copied. To be called the “‘ fash- ionable Mrs. Mortimer’ was indeed the very charm which was working its way to her unso- phisticated heart, and she heard it discussed daily by all the ladies in the house; and as she heard the merits of people rated in proportion with their dress and fashionable position in society, was it wonderful that Mrs. Frederick Mortimer should wish to be considered as one among the chosen ? Fred had often observed of late, that Nellie, when walking with him, was constantly point- ing out some “love of a bonnet,” or “ magnifi- 35

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86 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. cent silk,” and twisted her neck peeping in at the show-windows that they passed, and she was forever quoting Mrs. Granby, who was an extravagant woman, and managed to spend in one year upon her showy person enough to sup- port two small families. She was always show- ing “dear Mrs. Mortimer’ some new purchase, and as her room was only across the hall, Nellie and she were upon quite intimate terms. Notwithstanding all her friendly pretensions, however, there was a spice of malice in it all; and she had a faculty of reading at a glance the very unsuspicious little Nellie, and knowing also that the new firm in Brooks Street was not doing such a flourishing business as Granby & Co., and however much Mrs. Mortimer deserved to equal, or even approach herself or Mrs. Graham and Warren on the floor below, it would be an utter impossibility. Nellie Mortimer would have been exceed- ingly shocked had any one told her that such a spirit was creeping into her heart, yet she did often whisper to herself that it would be so grand to dress beautifully, and to have just as much money as she could spend, like Mrs. Granby ; still, she had a great horror of being considered extravagant, and when she heard one after another of the ladies call the other so, and wonder if their husbands could afford such things, Nellic thought, with satisfaction to her- self, “ they surely cannot say as much of me.” About this cloak business, Nellie had had many miserable thoughts. Ever since she went with Mrs. Granby, and heard her order a cloak made from a piece of ten dollar velvet, and knew also that Mrs. Warren had concluded to have one from the same piece, Nellie’s planning com- menced. She knew she could not afford one half so expensive, and she knew also that she really needed none, as her shawl was new and very nice; yet a cloak would be so very becom- ing. She did so hate to ask Fred, for he had already bought more for her than would have sufficed for two years in her country home; but Nellie was desperate, and when she chanced to see the piece that was offered at the astonish- ingly low price of three dollars a yard, she made the effort, and succeeded. Never in all her life had Nellie felt so glad as when she spread the bank-note out to be sure that she really had it, and already in imagina- tion she was walking with Fred with the iden- tical velvet cloak drooping daintily from her shoulders. A low tap at the door, and it imme- diately opened, and Mrs. Granby wanted to show ** dear Mrs. Mortimer such an exquisite set of laces, and so cheap! it was perfectly wonderful ; amo ané then, if she told how cheap, she must never breathe it, or Mrs. Warren and Mrs. Peters would be sure to get some just like them. Mrs. Gra- ’ ham had a set already, not half so beautiful, and it cost much more.” Notwithstanding the nume- ; rous invitations to guess the price, Nellie was wisely silent, for she had not the most remote idea of it; and when Mrs. Granby whispered: * Only fifty dollars,” Nellie’s exclamation of “ impossible !” which meant to convey “how cheap for such beauties!” really meant, “ such an amount for these!” and if Mrs. Granby knew it, and whispered it in several rooms in the course of the afternoon, Nellie Mortimer was no wiser for it. Before tea-time, the velvet was purchased, and when asked by the clerk for her address, she told him she would take it herself. Such an unusual answer evidently struck the gentleman as singular; but Nellie glided out of the store with her bundle, and took her way to one of the most fashionable modistes. ** We do not cut and baste, madam,”’ was the } answer to her inquiry after her long walk ; “ we can make your garment if you wish.” Just then one of the sewing-girls appeared, pulling the basting threads from a splendid rainbow plaided silk, and handed it for inspection, and com- menced putting on her bonnet and shawl. “ Mercy, cut and basie this lady’s cloak before you go,” for Nellie had remained standing, won- dering in her own mind what she should do. She certainly coul.” not leave it tc be made, and where should she ;-v to hire it cut. Possibly no one cut cloaks wi‘sout making them, so when the sullen Mercy disappeared ito the next room with the velvet, Nellie felt inexpressibly relieved. *‘ Oh, if she had mercy enough to let it alone, I should have thanked her !” thought Mrs. Mor- timer an hour afterwards, as she tried in vain to find how in the world to put it together. The cloth had been cut regardless of quantity, > and it was to be pieced in several places, and > one shoulder was full two inches shorter than en nnn wm Arne the other; and as Fred’s step was heard at the door, the new cloak vanished into the closet, the perplexed look was gone, and Neilie was as gay as a bird. For the next few days, Mrs. Mortimer’s door was locked whenever any one knocked, and Mrs. Granby said she believed she was always “out.” Nellie did not deny the charge, and worked steadily at the cloak, sewing and ripping, basting and trying on, until she fairly hated the sight of it, and vainly wishing she had not been so foolish as to purchase it; but it was too late,

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MRS. MORTIMER’S —~ so she worked on; but it looked bungling, and hung awry, and once or twice she gathered it up, and looked desperately at the glowing coal- grate; she felt that it would be such a satisfac- tion to see it crisping on the red-hot embers. After several days of weary labor, she had the pleasure of proclaiming to herself that it was done ; and as she glanced at herself in the mir- ror, she really liked it; still, she could not for- get the trouble it had cost her, and that it was jieced so much; she felt sure that would be seen, and altogether it looked unfinished. Then she thought of those beautiful trimmings she had admired so much only a few days before, which would be such an addition, and would hide entirely the defects ; but then she had not money enough to buy them, not even one yard, and her porte-monnaic was opened ; she still had the little gold dollars that Fred had given her, telling her to keep them for a year, and see how many she would get, and never before had she the least inclination to spend one of them; but now she looked at the cloak, called it “dowdy,” and resolved to buy the trimming, cost what it would. ** My dear Mrs. Mortimer, I do so want you to go down street with me this morning,” said Mrs. Granby. ‘I want your good taste in the selection of some dress gouds; come, that’s a darling. I dislixe very much to go alone.”’ How beautifully she looked dressed so su- perbly! Nellie felt an inward satisfaction that se had her velvet cloak done to wear, and as she came out with it on, she felt that she looked well, and was sure she made a better appearance than she would in her broche. **Oh, my dear, that is something new, is it not?” said Mrs. Granby, glancing at the new cloak. ‘ When did it come home?” ** Yesterday it was finished,” answered Nellie, forgetting to say that it had been “at home” all the time. ** But, my dear creature, you have been most miserably cheated. Did you know that it was half cotton?” and Mrs. Granby held it beside her own. ‘*No, indeed, I did not! answered Nellie, indignantly. ‘* Why do you ask sucha thing? I am sure I thought it was good, or, I assure you, I never should have taken it. The clerk told me he had never sold a yard less than six lollars and”’— **It’s a shame; but never mind. Come, or we shall not get back in time for dinner ;” and Nellie went, carrying the empty porte-monnaie, and feeling heart-sick with her new velvet cloak, and trying to keep it from blowing open, so that VoL. Li.—4 NEW VELVET CLOAK. 37 —————eeeeeeeeeeeeeeerere—*> Mrs. Granby should not know that it was lined with her “ old blue silk.” On the next Sunday, Nellie stood ready for church in her new cloak, and Fred praised her looks, and admired her until she began to think he was actually making fun of her, and she felt she ought to look pleased, he took such infinite pains; yet she felt wretched in spite of her en- deavors, and when he asked if the “ beautiful trimming was thrown in with the bargain,” she had hard work to keep back the tears. How- ever, she conquered ; but it is fearful that Nellie did not hear much of the sermon that day. A short time afterward, as Mrs. Mortimer was passing from her room to the street, she heard her name mentioned, then a low.titter, and Mrs. Warren and Mrs. Graham simulta- neously exclaimed: ‘* ] thought as much !” then the voice of Mrs. Granby went on speaking in a low tone, yet sufficiently loud for poor Nellie to hear: *‘ Cotton velvet, old dress, the trimming cost more than the cloak,” and poor humbled little Mrs. Mortimer hurried on; she had heard enough. How earnestly she wished that her coveted cloak would catch on fire or be stolen, anything to get rid of it, and in answer to Fred’s inquiries as to her downcast expression at din- ner, she pleaded a headache. “ But why not wear your new cloak, Nellie? tat cho-wl,” said Mr. o It looks much b* ian Mortimer, as h: to accompany hii Ww a lectu ‘Oh, I had rather wear this to-night!’ an- swered Nellie, examining the fastening of her appéar ce him, ready glove. “Getting saving, eh? Afraid you will injure it by wearing it in the evening, I suppose ; but never mind, my dear, wear it to-night, you look so muffled up in that. I like to see you in your best.” What more could be said? folded the shawl and placed it in her drawer, and putting on her cloak, went to the lecture. It seemed to her always to be the way; she never went with Fred but he insisted upon her wearing her new cloak, and if she demurred, he made the invariable reply: ‘“ Don’t be so saving of it, Nelly; there are more where that came from. It did not cost you much, only three dollars a yard; now, if you had paid ten, like Mrs. Granby, you might well be miserly.” Poor little Mrs. Mortimer! How wretched all this made her! Fred was so provoking; she was sure she should hate him if he kept on in this way. For some reason or another, there had grown a decided coolness between herself and Mrs. Nellie quietly

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38 Granby since the advent of the new cloak, and when Fred came home one night, and told her that he had bought a house, and thought seri- ously of housekeeping, she felt happier than she had for weeks before. ** Come, darling, put on your cloak and bon- net, and we will walk over and see it; it’s not far from here, and I know you need a little exercise.” So, they started, and if Nellie saw any “ loves of bonnets” or “* superb mantillas” on the way, she never mentioned it, and imagine her surprise when Fred stopped before an elegant little brick cottage surmounted with a light iron balcony. Through the blinds, which were turned, very handsome lace and damask curtains were visi- ble, and Nelly looked incredulous. If the out- side looked beautiful, she was charmed with the interior, for, behold, it was furnished throughout, and all in such exquisite taste that she felt sure she was walking in a dream. * Fred, you are cheating me. Whose house is this that you are careering over at this rate ? Surely, it is not ours. How could you buy this?” “Why not, little one? But you have not seen your own room yet, Nellie—your sanctum, if you like;” and he led the way to a perfect bijou of a place, fit for a fairy queen; and yet, could she believe it? Surely, she was dreaming, for there, in a rosewood wardrobe, hung the most beautiful blue velvet cloak that was ever thought of, and near it one of those sweet little white bonnets, with its snowy plumes, that looked like woven snow-flakes, and a blue silk dress was just visible through the folds of tissue paper in which it lay. Nellie was bewildered. She looked first at Fred, and then at the things before her, and burst into tears. **] knew you were making sport of me all the while,” was sobbed forth, and Nellie sank down on the little couch by the window. “ You knew this was not fit to wear, and you made me wear it.” ** Never mind, Nelly, pet; it’s all over now. You have bought your whistle as all poor humans have done before you, and although you did get yours at a great bargain, you were wonderfully cheated.” In less than a week the Mortimers were quite domesticated in their new home; and Nellie made such a nice little housekeeper! Fred never knew half her worth until then. In due time, Mrs. Granby and all the ladies called upon their dearest Mrs. Mortimer, and were charmed with her establishment, and pro- nnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnnns GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. — ~ RPP ILLIA mised Nelly, without her asking, that they would call often, and even stay to tea with her. ** Who ever imagined he was rich?” said Mrs. Granby on her way home. ‘“ Why, only think, I heard yesterday that he was partner in one of our largest wholesale houses.” Nellie never returned the calls of her would- be-friends ; she never could forget the story of her cloak, and when she told Fred the whole, from beginning to the end, about the gold dollars and all, he laughed heartily. **So, they thought you tried to ape them, did they, Nelly? and you were caught in your own trap. I thought I would see how you wouid figure as a poor man’s wife among those better off than ycurself, and see if you could withstand temptation ; and now, Nelly, I beg of you, never display your foibles to any little new one, as you were then, but remember every one for their station ; never buy at such wonderful bargains ; if you want a good thing, wait until you are able to have it.” Nellie felt humbled indeed, and as she grew older, and found herself a leader in the circie that she had viewed at a distance with such envious eyes, and found that the gayest and most expensively dressed were far from the hap- piest, and, in fact, her whole career through life was, in some way, influenced by the memory of her new velvet cloak. THE LILY. BY JAMES AVIS BARTLEY. Far in the valley of roses, A lily strangely fair Her gorgeous breast uncloses To the kiss of the dallying air. Over the sun-lighted billow All the day she bows her head, Till on the night’s sweet pillow Her soul in dreams hath sped. She is the pride of the valley, The goal of every eye, And fairies round her dally, And lovers court her sigh. Who shall pluck this lily To dwell in his hall of pride? Ah, on the cold earth stilly The glorious flower has died ! The valley regrets its roses ; Its waters are wan and dim; The fairies gather no posies To wear in her bridal hymn. But as the song of singers Echoes after its flow, The lily’s sweetness lingers, And will not ever go.

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MISS BY CHAPTER I. Wuar a pleasant thing it is to be a confi- dential friend; to feel assured that, however dull and uninteresting you may appear to ordi- nary observers, there is at least one individual who appreciates you—one to whom you are always welcome, and whose joys and sorrows are confided to your sympathizing bosom! I once enjoyed this enviable position in the re- gards of Miss Tibbs, a charming young lady on the shady side of forty. Miss Tibbs had, if her own word might have been taken on such a subject, been quite a belle, or, as she remarked: ‘* Though I say it myself, I was a tolerably pretty girl.” Notwithstanding, there were many unchari- table persons who very much doubted the fact, for, as Miss Tibbs’s pretensions to girlhood had long since disappeared, so had all traces of her beauty. A form which in youth might have been slender, had, when fully developed, assumed almost a matronly appearance. The rosy cheeks had long since faded, leaving a complexion pale and slightly sallow. A high, smooth forehead, with gray eyes, gave rather an intellectual cast to her features ; but a prominent Roman nose, sharp and thin, with the tightly drawn lips, did not add te the effect. Winfield is a small village, but, like many places of the kind, supports and circulates a deal of scandal—and fearful and wonderful were the revelations of Miss Tibbs, given under the most fervent adjurations to secrecy. She was a music- teacher, that is, the youthful and ambitious por- tion of the community visited her daily to receive the stereotyped half hour’s instruction; and in my case the practice of scales, and explanations of whole notes, quarter notes, and grace notes were often accompanied, or rather interrupted by her comments on past, present, and probable future events. She had no admirer at the time, thov._u, as she averred, she had never been in the like cir- cumstances since she left off short frocks. **T hope, my dear,” she would observe, “ you may never have the trouble that I have had. Many and many are the nights I have spent in crying, it always distressed me so much to refuse an offer; and then to be begged and entreated ” TIBBS’S TRIALS. MARY OAKLY. to pity a person; it is really heart-rending to one who possesses such tender feelings as I do. There was an English gentleman; I never saw a handsomer man, he had such beautiful eyes, and such a pleasing manner; he seemed in de- spair when I rejected him, and declared he never could survive it. He went to England immediately, and on his brother’s death, | into a title and estate; so, if I had married lim, I might now have been Lady Somebody instead of a music-teacher. Then there was Mr. Bar- nett; I declare I was really persecuted by him ; it was absolutely the cause of my coming here ; but I don’t think I gained much by the ex- change ; there is very little society here, and ] do not like the place.” **Oh, Mary!” cried Miss Tibbs one evening, as I drew off my gloves and seated myself at the piano, ‘I have something to tell you; but go on with your practice, dear; let me hear your last polka, and then turn over to your exercises. Well,” she resumed after fifteen minutes of vigorous strumming on my part, and industrious netting on her own had elapsed, “ who do you think was at Mrs. Hamilton’s last evening? Her brother, Mr. Morton; I never met him before; but he is a most gentlemanly person, very handsome, though quite an old bachelor. Mrs. Hamilton says he is quite confirmed in his way, for he was once disappointed, and says he will never again risk himself in an affair of the kind. He certainly has.a strange way of carry- ing out his resolution,”’ she continued, musingly. *“*He says he has found the society here so at- tractive that he intends remaining ali summer.” ** When did he arrive?” inguired I. “Only yesterday,” she replied. “ But now, Mary, I know I can trust you, so don’t mention anything that I have said. You know what a scandalous place this is.” Miss Tibbs relapsed into silence, and I went on with my lesson. “Stop, Mary, that’s wrong; now commence again, and be sure and count these, one, two, three—one, two, three; go on, you are getting on nicely. I believe you don’t know Mrs. Hamilton,” she continued; “‘a very engaging person indeed. I like her better the more I see She insists on my spending a few days Such dear little 39 her. with her during their vacation.

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40 children, too! I’m so fond of them, little dar- lings! I wish they were old enough to take lessons, I should take so much pleasure in teach- ing them.” **May I come an hour later than usual to- morrow, Miss Tibbs ?”’ said I, as I rose from the piano. ‘ Mamma is going away, and I do not think I can leave home so early.” “Just as you please, my dear, but come as early as possible, as I am going out in the even- ing.” ** Indeed?” and I looked inquiringly. ‘Yes, Mrs. Hamilton made me promise to come and sit an hour or two with her; she is not very well, you know.” “ Take care,” I replied, shaking my parasol at her; “I shall think Mr. Morton is the at- traction.” “ How can you insinuate such a thing?” and she laughed. A low cultivated giggle had Miss Tibbs, the sole remains of her youthful days, when she captivated gay young men, and astonished timid ones by her dashing manner and reckless flirta- tions. Several weeks glided by without any unusual occurrence. Mr. Morton still remained in the village, and Miss Tibbs’s affection for Mrs. Ham- ilton seemed to At first, a weekly visit was all that she accomplished; but, as mat- ters progressed, and she laid more vigorous siege to the obdurate heart of Mr. Morton, she gradu- increase. ally increased in her devotion to his sister, until three evenings at least out of every six were spent in her company. ** What a tease you are, Mary !” she exclaimed, as I rallied her one day. “I declare, I will never tell you anything again, you are such an unmerciful creature. person a description of some of my pupils the I told him that one was very I was giving a certain other evening. amiable, another very sarcastic, another quiet and self-possessed, and the last a perfect rattle- brain. Now, which character will you take?” “Oh, I don’t know! Ido not think any of them would suit me. Which did Mr. Mortimer prefer?” ** Oh, he did not like them. He said persons who appeared very amiable did not always prove #0, and sarcastic young ladies he disliked; he did not fancy a human icicle, and an everlasting talker was his abomination.” “He was very complimentary. What does he like ?”’ said I, looking in her face. **Oh, you quiz!’ she said, laughing; and, pretending to feel very much confused, she hurried across the room for her handkerchief. ae GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAG. ZINE. “ Who is that ?”’ said I, suddenly stopping in the midst of a waltz, as a gentleman passed the gauze-curtained window, and Miss Tibbs started up to gaze after him. * Don’t you know?” she replied, as I vainly endeavored to get a glimpse. ‘ That’s William —Mr. Morton, I mean.” **Oh, dear! Have matters progressed that far?” said I, langhing. ‘I had no idea of it. I suppose he calls you Sarah, does he? I shall positively begin to inquire for white ribbons and gloves.” ** Nonsense!” she rejoined, highly pleased. * We are not yet engaged; but I certainly think he is the most interesting person I ever knew, so refined and gentlemanly in his manners, and so considerate, if he is not well—he has had a cold lately ; he is so particular in asking his brother-in-law to walk home with me, and will insist on my wrapping myself up and being care- ful. He never says anything with regard to his intentions, but you know, Mary, one can tell by looks and actions whether a person is sincere or not. Now that you have seen Mrs. Hamil- ton, how do you like her? Is she not pleasing and ladylike? Mr. Morton seems very fond of You’re not going yet, surely. I did not think it was so late. Wait a moment, and I will walk up the street with you.” It was getting dusk, and the lamps were lit in the shops as we passed. Just as we turned the corner, in a blaze of light from the Empo- rium, we almost met two gentlemen, who paused, stepped back, and entered a small office beside it. ** Who is that ?”’ whispered I. “TIT do not know,” replied my friend. ‘ But wait a moment for me, Mary. I must run into Mrs. Hughs’s. You don’t know her, and if you will just stand here for a minute, nothing will her. harm you.” And she was gone. I was left standing just beside the open win- dow of the office, which was dimly lighted. There were voices within, and I could not avoid hearing every word. ** You are a pretty gentleman to run from a lady, if that was she,” ‘Oh, I’m certain it was!’ replied another. “Don’t I know the step? Good faith, I have reason to. I’ve kept pace with it often enough. I tell you that woman fairly persecutes me. I avoid her whenever I can. I told sister to-day, if she ever came there again, and I had to go home with her, I’d lead her through a mud- hole, and so I certainly shall. I came here for a little peace and quiet, but that old tabby won’t let me have either.” ** Poor fellow !”? laughed his friend. said one voice.

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MISS TIBBS’s I was shocked. The gate opened just then, and Miss Tibbs came out. Should I tell her or not? I reflected. It seemed so dreadful that she should be so deceived; but no, I could not; she was so cheerful, and chatted so gayly; be- sides, there were no names mentioned, and I was not certain that it was she they meant, and so we parted. I walked home in silence, think- ing of the deceitfulness of the world. It never occurred to me that Miss Tibbs might be mis- taken herself. I thought Mr. Morton must be amusing himself at her expense, and conse- quently felt very indignant. CHAPTER II. Mrs. HaMILTon was very kind, and I soon went, at her invitation, to spend the evening with her. Miss Tibbs was there in all her glory; her hair was arranged in the most becoming style, and she wore a bewitching little cap of black lace (she did wear caps; in fact, threads of silver were beginning to mingle with her raven locks). The children came round their delighted friend, and when I next looked at her, she was seated near the object of her adoration, with little Arthur by her, who was amusing them by his prattle. **Are you my aunt?” said he, looking up in her face. “I think you are. Mamma said you might be some time. Wouldn’t you like it?” ** Don’t you love me as well as if I was your aunt?” said Miss Tibbs, with a coquettish side- glance at Mr. Morton, who sat quietly looking on. “Love you? Yes,” replied the little fellow. ** Don’t you, uncle ?” “Of course,” he rejoined; and the animated lady set down Arthur, and crossed the room with a triumphant expression. ** Miss Oakly,” said the gentleman, suddenly starting up, “will you favor us with some music ?”? *“Tdo not play,” said I, half frightened, for he was such a large, dignified-looking person, and his eyes seemed to look through me. ‘Perhaps Miss Tibbs will oblige us,” ob- served Mr. Hamilton. But Miss Tibbs was in an ill humor on ac- count of not being first requested to play, and refused. At length, after much persuasion, she allowed Mr. Morton to open the piano, and seated herself. ** What shall it be?” said she, turning over the leaves, and casting a smiling glance on him. ** Anything you iike, Miss Tibbs. Your taste cannot err.” 4° ; é 2 PPP PLP PLP LLP LPP Pt ~~ TRIALS. 41 **Oh, you flatter me!” she replied, simpering. * But, seriously, what do you fancy ?” **Can’t you give us a song?” He was leaning over her, and his face was perfectly malicious as he spoke. Poor Miss Tibbs! Her voice was one of the unfortunate kind that have a break in them, which they never can get comfortably over. There was no medium; it was either high or low. Unfortunately, she was not aware of this, and fancied singing was her peculiar fascination. I was in an agony. I could not think it possi- ble that she would attempt it, and the real regard I had for her—for she certainly was kind hearted when she was not devoted to anything else— made me fear the more. “Try that sweet thing you sang the other evening,” he continued. **Oh, that is so difficult, you know!” and Miss Tibbs smiled, as if to enhance the value of her performance. My state of nervous trepidation was not diminished by seeing Mr. Morton, as the song went on, place himself more directly behind the performer, while he drew out his handkerchief, and exchanged looks of delighted intelligence with his brother-in-law. At the close, how- ever, he was profuse in his compliments, and Miss Tibbs was evidently in the seventh hea- ven of delight. She declined singing again; the exertion was too much for her, and commenced a rattling polka. “Oh, that’s capital!” cried Mr. Morton. ** Won’t you polk with me, Miss Oakly?” I declined in astonishment. In fact, I began to dislike him. I thought he was probably quiz- zing me as well as my friend. ** Now do oblige me,” he continued. so fond of it, and it is seldom one hears such music as that.” But I still refused, when Mrs. Hamilton in- terposed. “Do go, my dear,” said she. very gay sometimes, and you have been sitting all the evening.” Almost without knowing what I did, I stood up with him. “ Now, Miss Tibbs,” said he, “give us your best polka.” With a sudden glance of withering scorn on me, she began again with a tremendous bang that seemed to make the poor piano tremble, and away we went. *¢ Don’t you find it very easy to polk to Miss Tibbs’ playing?” remarked my partner, as we in vain tried to keep time to the discordant measure. “T’m * William is

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42 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. LLL eS “Very,” I rejoined, entering more into the spirit of the amusement. Suddenly the music ceased, and the fair per- former rose and hurried into the adjoining apart- ment. My heart reproached me, for I caught a glimpse of the tears that were swelling in her eyes. ** Oh, Mr. Morton !” I cried, ** I fear we have offended Miss Tibbs.” ‘Impossible, Miss Oakly. What have we done to annoy her?” She soon returned, and Mr. Morton, who still seemed in high spirits, made a constrained effort at conversation with her, which she re- ceived with wounded dignity. CHAPTER III. I atmost dreaded meeting her after that evening, and went to my lessons with the air of a condemned culprit. She appeared very melancholy, complained of not feeling well, and talked despondingly of ones nourishing serpents in their bosoms, of false friends, and the perfidy of the world generally. I regretted it very much, though, after all, I was not to blame. It was several days before the impression wore off, not indeed till the renewed attentions, or rather her attentions to Mr. Morton, effaced the suspicion. “ What audacity!” exclaimed Miss Tibbs, en- tering, and throwing herself on the lounge, while she untied her bonnet, and threw off her shawl. * To think of his having the impertinence !” ** Who, Miss Tibbs ?” “Why, Tom Dexter. You know him, don’t you? I have a slight acquaintance with him ; but then, he’s a mere boy. The idea of his fol- lowing me up to Mrs. Hamilton’s! I was per- fectly thunderstruck when he entered; and he had so much cool impudence, just as if he only intended calling on her, and talked and played with the children in the most unconcerned man- ner possible. Why, my dear, such assurance is insufferable.” * Are you sure he followed you there?” said I, highly amused at her indignation. “He goes there occasionally, does he not ?” “Of course, he did! Oh, I know! I’m sure it was on Mr. Morton’s account. He thought, of course, as he should come away when I did, he would attend me home, but I bade Mrs. Hamilton good-night in her own room, and slipped out without their knowing it.” How the object of her indignation langhed when he heard of her remarks, as he soon did, for in Winfield one heard everything. 5 > ; ) Q ; ** The suspicious old maid!’ said he. “She thinks of nothing but getting married, and fan- cies every one is like herself. She try to capti- vate William Morton! He wouldn’t marry her if she was made of gold. He makes more fun of her than I do, and that’s needless.” And so “ Time ambled withal,’? Miss Tibbs’s spirits being like a barometer, sometimes up and sometimes down, just as Mr. Morton was atten- tive or not. Her confidential communications rather increased than diminished. **You are my only friend, Mary,” she would sometimes say. “I could not exist without you. Mrs. Hamilton is a dear friend, too; but, you know, I cannot feel as free with her under ex- isting circumstances ;” and she laughed mean- ingly. ‘* But oh, my dear child, never have an admirer if you can avoid it; it causes so many painful feelings, especially if the gentleman is reserved. Now, Mr. Morton is. If he were a younger person, we should call him positively bashful. He has allowed several opportunities for proposing to pass by, though I could see what was in his mind. Dear, dear, I’m sure I’ve done all I could to encourage him, as far as was consistent with propriety. You may believe me, Mary, that, though I have had so many offers, I never was before in love ;” and Miss Tibbs covered her blushing face with her hand, and laughed with a pretty affectation of girlish embarrassment. The tide of her confessions was interrupted by the entrance of a young lady to take her lesson. * Don’t go yet, Mary,” said she, as I arose. ** Now go on, Miss Briggs.” I do not know of a more embarrassing situa- tion than that of a new performer just sitting down to take a lesson on the piano with other persons around her on whom she feels she is intruding, and who are perhaps watching her awkwardness. This Miss Briggs evidently felt, for she trembled excessively, and seemed so confused, that I really pitied her; and to relieve her as much as possible, I sat down by the win- dow, and became absorbed in a book. An ex- clamation from the teacher roused me. “Stop! Go over that again. Hold your wrist up; don’t spread your hand out in that manner. Now go on.” The young lady attempted it again. * Nonsense!” cried Miss Tibbs, with a strong emphasis on the last syllable. ‘Don’t you see you’ve made a mistake in the bass? Strike octaves—these—so.” Five minutes elapsed. “What stupidity!” she exclaimed. “I de- i ae oe lk

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PRPRARARAAA ERR PAPA PI PIAL ILLIA LLL NN een ~~ clare, I’ve no patience with you; you get worse and worse. Here you are half a bar too fast in the treble. No, don’t attempt it again; it’s perfectly ridiculous, you know, your going on in this kind of way; and Miss Tibbs’s eyes flashed in anger upon the unfortunate girl, who had never been a favorite, and now had come in a very unlucky time, as she distarbed the delightful outpourings of that lady. “It’s no use your trying to take a lesson to- day; you don’t try, so get up!”’ she cried to the sobbing pupil, who sat motionless by the in- strument. “Get up! Do you hear? Don’t sit whimpering there,” she continued, closing the piano with a crash, throwing down a pile of music, and overturning a chair in the move- ment. ** Miss Tibbs,” said a gentleman’s voice. We both started. Mr. Morton held the door in his hand. “TI beg your pardon, ladies,” he said, bowing, and casting a slight glance on the drooping form of Miss Briggs, who was endeavoring to stifle her sobs in a corner. “I rapped at the door, but you were too much engaged to hear me;” and his eyes were lit by a quizzical smile that scarcely reached his lips. *“‘Oh, Mr. Morton!’ said Miss Tibbs, in her most honeyed accents, recovering from the con- fusion his sudden entrance had thrown her into, ‘“*pray come in. You can go home,” she said aside to Miss Briggs, who took her bonnet and disappeared through another door. **No, thank you, Miss Tibbs,” he replied. ‘Mrs. Hamilton wished me to call; her love to you, and she would like to know if you can come up to-morrow evening.” “Give my love to Mrs. Hamilton, and tell her I shall be most happy to do so; but do come in.” “Thank you, I have a person waiting for me,” said he, bowing himself out. I did not speak. Miss Tibbs threw herself on the lounge, and burst into a passion of tears; and, respecting her grief, I silently withdrew. CHAPTER IV. THe sudden illness of a sister compelled me to leave the village for several weeks, during which I received but two letters from home, and my friend was not mentioned in either; but, notwithstanding, she was often in my thoughts, for, though passionate and ill-tempered, she had generally been kind to me, and one cannot help feeling interested in an affair of which they 4 MISS TIBBS’S TRIALS. 43 } know so much; consequently, I fear it was as } much curiosity as a more generous sentiment that prompted me to call soon after my return. She received me very affectionately, and ap- peared to be in excellent spirits. After various subjects had been discussed, I ventured to allude to Mr. Morton, by inquiring if he was still in the village. *T really do not know, my dear,” she replied, ; with cool indifference. ‘* Probably Mrs. Ham- } ilton will inform you.” I saw immediately that a change had “ come o’er the spirit of her dream,” and did not again allude to him. ; On my way home, I met a young friend. “Oh, Mary!” she cried, “I’m so delighted to see you. When did you arrive, and where have you been just now ?” “Only calling on Miss Tibbs,” I rejoined ; ** but she seems very much changed.” “Oh, yes!’ she replied, laughing. adored Mr. Morton has gone away.” ** When did he leave ?”’ “Oh, soon after you did! And what was worse, without making a proposal. He was right if he did not wish her to accept him, for I believe, if he had only hinted at such a thing, she would have married him in spite of himself.” ** Poor Miss Tibbs !” said I. **T don’t think she is to be pitied,” replied my merciless companion. ‘She might control her temper. They say he called on her one day, and found her in a perfect fury, and just boxing the ears of one of her young ladies. I’m sure I don’t know anything about it. Thank Heaven, I never had a musical mania, and so I have escaped her clutches; but I should like to know who it was. I heard the other day that it was Miss Briggs, and I shouldn’t be surprised if it was, for she has not taken a lesson in a long time, and Mrs. Briggs told me if Fanny couldn’t get her lessons without being abused, she should go without them.” ** But how is it,” interrupted I, “that Miss Tibbs is in such excellent spirits if Mr. Morton has deserted her?” ** Oh, she has got another beau, Tom Dexter! You know him.” ** Impossible !” ** No, not impossible, though very improbable, I must confess! She positively must be more than twenty years older than he is; but still, it is an actual fact, he spends half his time there, and people say they are engaged, but I don’t ; believe it; he certainly cannot be silly enough > to marry her.” My friend turned into a store and left me, and * Her

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44 I pursued my way, lost in astonishment at the new change in affairs. “You have been getting new music, Miss Tibbs,” said I, as she executed a piece for me in a very animated style. ‘“ You did not get it in the village, did you ?” ** Oh, no!” she replied. it for me.” ‘Indeed! He must possess good musical taste if he selected it himself.” ** Yes, he is quite a critic, and has a very cor- rect ear. Did you ever hear him sing?” **I never had the pleasure; but does he really sing well ?” ** Oh, very well, indeed! I’m sure it would picase you. Come in to-morrow evening, and hear him, fon I rather think he intends calling ;” and again the same simpering smile that had once greeted a reference to Mr. Morton returned. Curiosity induced me to accept the invitation, and the scene I beheld perfectly satisfied me. They seemed so wrapped in each other that I had plenty of leisure to observe them. ** Can it be possible !” thought I, as I watched him hanging over her, turning the leaves of the music, and bestowing a thousand attentions in the most assiduous and devoted manner. “Can it be possible that he has serious intentions, or that she has so soon forgotten Mr. Morton? After this, I shall never again put faith in any one’s protestations.” She appeared so completely changed. Her dear friend, Mrs. Hamilton, was now scarcely mentioned, and she seemed to have suddenly discovered that the seclusion of her own room was preferable to running the risk of taking cold by spending her evenings with her. In propor- tion as the matter assumed a serious aspect, her confessions diminished, or rather, I suppose, she was too happy in the reality to waste her time in imaginations. The music-lessons were still continued, but were often hurried over with a very preoccupied air; in short, it was evident that love’s young dream was drawing to a conclusion in her heart. Sentiment and needlework had become strangely intermixed, and I often surprised her engaged in a very mysterious manner over various arti- cles of attire that generally disappeared on my entrance ; and one evening, when returning for something I had forgotten, on opening the door, as we usually did, without rapping, I surprised the lady and her devoted admirer in a very affectionate conversation, with her head in a most alarming proximity to his shoulder. Of course, I begged pardon and scampered away ; but after that, when the probability of a wed- ** Mr. Dexter brought GODEY’S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. en ding was discussed, I could not help looking wise, and hinting that I knew more about it than I chose to reveal. At length, the last act of the tragedy occurred. One morning she sent me a note, requesting me to come over, as she wished to see me particu- larly. I found her greatly agitated, and in all the bustic and preparation of packing up for a journey. With much embarrassment, and a shower of tears, she informed me that she had at last yielded to the earnest solicitations of Mr. Dexter, and was that morning about to bestow her hand where her heart had long since taken refuge. She was perfectly aware of what she was doing. She knew it was a serious thing to give up the happiness of a whole life into an- other’s keeping. She had hesitated, but now she was decided. Of course, I congratulated her on her excel- lent resolution, and offered any assistance in my power. After much preparation, I had the pleasure of seeing her decked for the sacrifice, and of hearing her promise to love, honor, and obey one who appeared as if he ought to render her the duty of a son rather than exercise the authority of a husband. The ceremony was soon over. The lady dried her tears, and after receiving the kind wishes of the few witnesses present, and taking a glass of wine, the gallant bridegroom and his elderly bride were whirled away, leaving their unexpected marriage to be the nine days’ wonder of the little community of the village, and to be moralized upon, or laughed at by all its wise or witty inhabitants. ———__ +62 THE JOURNEY OF LIFE. Tue following rules, from the papers of Dr. West, are thrown together as general way-marks in the journey of life: Never ridicule sacred things, or what others may esteem as such, how- ever absurd they may appear to you. Never resent a supposed injury till you know the views and motives of the authorof it. On no occasion relate it. Always take the part of an absent person who is censured in company, so far as truth and propriety will allow. Never think worse of another on account of his differing in political and religious subjects. Never dispute with a man who is more than seventy years of age, nor with any enthusiast. Do not jest so as to wound the feelings of another. Say as little as possible of yourself and of those who are near to you. Never court the favor of the rich, by flattering either their vanities or their vices. Speak with calmness and deliberation, especially in circumstances which tend to irritate.

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NEW-YEAR’S DAY AT THE TUILERIES. FROM THE FRENCH OF SIR PAUL ROBERT. BY MRS. Tue first day of the year was celebrated with great pomp at the imperial court. Josephine Was very generous, and knew perfectly well how to dispense her gifts; but, as she particu- larly loved children, it was to such she princi- pally devoted her attention on New-Year’s day. On the first of January, 1806, the apartment of the Empress—a‘ the Tuileries—resembled a bazaar, and her bathing-saloons were trans- formed into beautiful toy-stores. In the after- noon, Josephine herself distributed this hand- soine collection of articles, and the castle soon presented the appearance of a large boarding- school of both sexes, on the arrival of a holiday. The bestowment having terminated, the happy troupe began to make so much noise, that the empress abandoned her apartment to their entire use. Then arose a grave discussion; the little boys wished to have a mock battle, and in order to enlarge their army, judged it expedient to enroll the young ladies by force. Some of the latter being opposed to this measure, young Masséna, who had been elected general-in-chief, decided they should be imprisoned until they would obey orders, and proclaim submission to the flag. The citadel was the dressing-room next to the bathing saloon. The officers then formed themselves into a council of war, to judge the pretty little Aldoranchini, who headed the opposition, and whom it was proposed to condemn and shoot immediately. Meantime, the prisoners retained in the citadel uttered fearful cries ; and Madame de Ja Roche- foucault hearing them, came to interpose her authority. “Madame,” said young Masséna, very se- riously, ‘be so obliging as not to interrupt the deliberations of the council.” * But, sirs,’ replied the lady, “it is very wrong to prevent these children from amusing themselves as they intended.” ** But, madame, you see that, without them, our army will be composed of but one single battalion ?” ** Very well, since you refuse to restore them to liberty,”’ replied Madame de la Rochefoucault, ‘I will myself open the door for them; and I further declare that all the army, from the A. F. LAW. general to the simple soldier, shall only have dry bread to eat at dinner. At present, let the council of war deliberate on this matter.” One can readily imagine the great consterna- tion occasioned by this order. The general, making a grimace, placed his sword in its scab- bard; the officers began to weep, and the com- mon soldiers u~ nimously manifested their in- tention to belabor their leaders, who had made them pass through such acampaign. Ina short time, however, their exasperation was calmed, and the most prudent sought for an expedient by which to obtain the revocation of the sen- tence condemning them to so miserable a repast on this joyous day. Already, many propositions had been advanced, examined, and pronounced impracticable. The best method would cer- tainly have been to simply ask Madame de la Rochefoucault’s pardon, who would have readily forgiven them, if penitent; but it could not be decided who should carry the message, for no one was willing to face Madame. They then spoke of appointing a deputation to wait on the Emperor; but this was not to be so easily ac- complished ; and beside this, it was necessary to be in haste, as the dinner hour approached. Their situation was becoming each moment more critical, when young Masséna arrived at a grand conclusion. He ceased to pout, and with an air of dignity, exceedingly comical, he passed into the saloon occupied by the Empress, and gravely approaching her, said— ‘¢ Madame, a general who merits the anger of his sovereign dares not retain his sword; I come, therefore, madame, to lay mine respectfully at your majesty’s feet, and by reason of this submission, I ask that the article in the capitu- lation, relating to the dry bread, imposed on us by Madame de la Rochefoucault, shall be can- celled.” Thus speaking, he took the little sword which had that day been presented him by the Empress, and laid it at her feet; she replied by a burst of laughter, which was echoed by all who were in the saloon ; her majesty then warmly embraced the young general, who was only about seven and a half years old, and returning him his sword, said “ that she pardoned the entire army, 45

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46 AAD AAA AAA because of the devotion of their leader.” But, in order to procure greater safety, and to avoid any new contention, it was decided that a boundary should be established in the apart- ment, between the little boys and girls. From this time, there were no more quarrels, but, instead, there was treble racket, and the Em- press seemed delighted with this good-humored noise. “I do not want any one to scold them,” said she, “ for these poor children are so happy !” But it was not children alone whom the Empress treated with so much kindness, for the wives of the inferior French officers were also objects of her particular solicitude. Among the ladies of this class who were presented to her on New-Year’s day, was the wife of one of the bravest and oldest officers of the army. Her husband, who was employed in the cavalry, although having been in service thirty years, well instructed, and of tried courage, had not yet obtained any distinction, and, at the age of fifty years, was only captain; whilst many, who pos- sessed but a portion of the qualities displayed by this brave man, had become generals, with titles of counts, barons, majors, &c. The captain resembled a precious stone, covered with dust— the stain of poverty had tarnished the brilliancy of his qualities, and caused them to be forgotten. However, this brave officer was married, and had two children; a young girl, ten years old, and a boy, who was but nine years old; and he had only his pay with which to support his family. At this period, the captain’s regiment was stationed at Paris, and his young wife resolved to profit by the opportunity offered by New- Year’s Day, to present to the Empress a petition, in which, in respectful terms, she stated the neglect manifested towards her husband. The day of presentation arrived, and she car- ried the memorial with her, so hidden as not to be perceived by any person ; her intention being to present it to Josephine when she passed be- fore her. Her turn came; she had prepared a few sentences with which to address the Empress, but emotion rendered her mute; she could only stammer. Her trouble increased from perceiv- ing every look fastened on her; her heart beat rapidly, her knees trembled, her eyes became dimmed, and she fell senseless on the floor. People gathered around her, and the Empress herself came to see with her own eyes what was the matter; she approached the unfortunate lady, took her hand, and addressed to her some words of kindness. Suddenly, a paper fell from the hand the Empress had taken; she now 4 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ~~ ooo already guessed a part of the truth, and took charge of the petition. The lady soon recovered the use of her senses, and not finding the memorial which she had carried with her, she glanced around with an expression of uneasiness. Josephine perceived this, and said to her in a low voice— * Be tranquil, madame ; the letter has reached its address.” The reception continued, and every one was forgotten. The next morning, the captain’s wife received, as a New-Year’s present, her husband’s nomination to the rank of chef d’éscadron, and that of her son and her daughter as pupils in the Lycée Impérial, and among the young ladies of the Légion d’ Honneur. As regards Napoleon, his New-Year’s gifts were ordinarily as sumptuous as they were fan- tastical. For example: One day, in the month of De- cember, he said to Réal, director-general of the police, and a man whose devotion was well known to him— ** Your country-house is too far off; you must purchase one nearer to Paris, so that I can always have you by me.” * Sire, I would willingly do so, but the con- dition of my finances will not allow me to make so large a purchase.” Napoleon did not insist ypon it; but the last day of the same month, after having been em- ployed two or three hours with Réal, he said to him— ** Does Madame Réal love chocolate ?” * Yes, sire; she frequently uses it.” ** Then I will send her some for a New-Year’s present. Stay!” continued he, taking from his secretary a sealed package, which resembled a pound of chocolate, “there is not much of it, but I am sure your wife has never eaten any equal to it. Tell her, I beg, she will taste it to-morrow morning, and that I particulurly de- sire she will prepare it herself.” Réal did not know what to think of so nig- gardly a gift. What a whim! A man like Napoleon make a present of only a pound of chocolate! It was almost incredible, and Réal did not know but that he dreamed. ** However true this may be,” said he to him- self, when returning home, “ really, I do not know how I am to acquaint my wife with this mystery.” He was obliged to do so, however, for the Emperor was a man who, on the first occasion, might ask her how she liked the chocolate. Arrived at home, he resorted pitifully to Madame Réal.

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LIVE AND LEARN. ** My dear friend,” said he, “‘ you will be quite displeased with the Emperor; see, here is the New-Year’s present he sends you—a pound of chocolate !”” Madame Réal could scarcely believe her eyes or her ears; she, however, took the package, and with a pouting and discontented manner, she immediately opened the envelope. One may ; 47 PAP RAAARARAAARAARAAAAS judge of her own and her husband’s surprise ! there was not even the appearance of chocolate ; but, instead of this eatable, were placed within the paper a hundred bank bills of 1,000 frances each! Two days after, Réal said to the em- peror :— ** Sire, J thank your majesty for the country- house with which you have presented me.” LIVE AND LEARN. UNLEss my readers are very much unlike all the sensible persons of my acquaintance (which I hope they are not), they will seldom go into any family without observing something that would be worthy of adoption in their own; and when they have found it answer, they will be willing to pass on the advantage to their neigh- bors, so as not only to live and learn, but aiso to live and teach. In some instances, the better way is entirely new; in others, we are only re- minded of what we knew before, but had either forgotten or neglected; in others, again, it is merely a modification of our own devices, or it will have to be modified in order to suit our own peculiar circumstances. In almost all cases, however, it is worth a practical thought, and, if so, it may be worthy of a few lines in the **Lady’s Book.” As specimens of what I mean, I subjoin the following. Settine Tea-TurneGs.—Instead of the ever- recurring clatter and loss of time incidental to putting all that is wanted twice a-day in most families entirely away, and getting it out again for breakfast and tea, I have learned to set the necessary articles ready for the next meal imme- diately after washing them up from the former. Of course, this necessitates the consecration of one tray to cups and saucers, &c., and will make it advisable to find or provide a shelf wide enough to hold it. But, as materially hastening the operation of “bringing tea” fourteen times in every week, it would be worth some contri- vance for its comfortable accomplishment in all houses. It might be a curious test of the com- parative prevalence of what is by courtesy termed “common sense,” to ascertain how many indi- viduals in the different classes of mistresses and servants, in their endeavor to carry out the above method, would naturally wash the tray Jirst, and how many would begin with the cups and saucers. Two Loops To your Towets.—In Switzer- land, where all towels and cloths for kitchen and other purposes are hung up, there is always a tape, not in this form, fl =—— ated This saves the turning the cloth in the hand, if, as so often happens to most of us, the wrong end is the one that comes uppermost. It also leaves the slovenly no excuse for shirking the one loop, and making an extempore hole, by which to suspend it on any pointed instrument that may prepare it for darning or destruction. The fashion of the Swiss loop is likewise admi- rably calculated to “ make things easy. but in this, at both ends. Wer ann Dry.—Whoever is in the habit of washing all over daily, and is not living in any great family—in which the more towels a guest throws down as “done with,” the better the housemaid thinks of him—will doubtless expe- rience at this season considerable difficulty in drying himself with the limited number afforded him per weck, and which he has to use every day. If persons so circumstanced would squeeze out the water from their sponges after using them wet, and rub these briskly over the dripping body—all which is salutary exercise and friction —the towels would then afford the comfortable sensation of being made thoroughly dry, and imbibe no more water themselves than would be evaporated in the ordinary atmosphere of most bedrooms.

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TRANSIENT THOUGHTS —NO. I. BY MRS. THE moon is in her first quarter, and the sil- ver bow incloses a purple orb surrounded by a thread of gold; just below burns the evening star, and far as the eye can wander is seen the cloudless azure of the heavens. The poplars, in which nestle sleeping birds, are as still as if they were obelisks of marble; their long shadows look as though a temporary separation during repose had taken piace between soul and body. What a mysterious world! And how plausible the theory from the light of nature of transmigration. Pythagoras and Plato taught that the soul did not die, but left the body, assuming another shape; the Stoics, that the souls of the ignorant perished with their bodies, and the wise existed until the conflagration, when there would be an utter annihilation of gods and men; Democritus and Epicurius, that the soul and body perished to- gether. The night advances, and the evening star is yet above the hill ; it is flashing brilliantly, and now itis half obscured; lower, lower—it is gone. His immutable law has been fulfilled, “ who binds the sweet influences of Pleiades, and loosens the bands of Orion.” Sleep, the shadow of death, is gliding upon the village; the sentinel goose has wound his clarion for relief, and chanticleer clapped his wings and cried the hour of midnight; and now He who knows where the light dwell- eth has ordered its approach even ere the “* wee sma’ hour ayont the twal.” In this period of darkness, how closely we mimic death! We disrobe ourselves and lie down in temporary nonentity. Ah, how much more peacefully rests the soul after the nightly prayer to our Father in Heaven, and how inexpressibly balmy the hope that we shall meet those who have gone before us to that sleep which awakes only in Heaven! The morning now rises from her blue and golden couch; but, like ourselves, her brightness is sometimes suddenly overshadowed, and tears are falling fast. The round form of the rain drop, so trifling to all but philosophic eyes, and accounted for by them upon principles of counter action, atmospheric resistance, and gravitation, is in itself a little world, beautifully harmonious with this globe and other planets, and inhabited by animalcules, with all of their moral and phy- 48 SUSAN H. WADDELL. sical laws of government; this pellucid and glit- tering drop, existing but a moment, is then dashed into atoms, from which it again springs into a new form of life, as strictly consistent with the harmony of this globe as when it trembled be- tween the heavens and earth. The form of almost all embryo life is a circle, and the great Geometrician may have made that the basis of all of his magnificent works. If the material portion of this world is ever changing its form and habits, why not the immaterial (a soul), which we see utterly changed in its progress from infancy to the many new forms it assumes ere it reaches old age? If, then, by death each portion of the body of man decomposes, and each portion composing his body separates into vegeta- bles, animals, minerals, salts, and volatile gases, why not the invisible mind, which is as distinct in the living being as the circulation of the blood, or either of the many distinct functions in his organic being? Some physiologists maintain that mind is the result of a combination of matter, and cannot exist in a state of separation from it. May not this mind (or soul), in the dissolution of the body, take a gaseous, invisible form, and pass to spheres where affinities surround it suited to its new existence? We should not say—we would respectfully suggest—that this is not so, for the reason that we cannot see this result, as in other philosophical investigations, for animal- cules exist in every variety of form around and about us, and yet are invisible and intangible. By transmigration, life is given to sustain life in this world, and there is not one form of matter, animal or vegetable, which does not suffer death that material life may be sustained. The animal bleeds, and the ripe fruit and vegetables are cut down and destroyed to preserve life. Even thus bled, to save and preserve eternal life, the Saviour of the world, and this, we beg to observe, is strictly harmonious with the physics of this world. Yes, there must arise from this dis- solving mass the shadowed exhalation of Him who lived and moved upon earth; and as the temporal life, so the immortal, and this change may continue more and more perfect, more and more happy to infinitude of time. Thus, the death of our blessed Redeemer is typified throughout all nature.

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PECULIARITIES OF ENGLISH ADVERTISING Tre enthusiasm evinced in advertisements for sale of wigs is borne out by the anecdote told of a peruke-maker in Paris, who had been employed in making a periwig for a celebrated preacher, who was to preach on a particular occasion before the court. *T°ll be hanged,” said he to one of his com- panions, “if his majesty, or any man of taste, will pay much attention to the sermon to-day.” “I remember,” says Doctor Burney, “ seeing an advertisement in an English newspaper of a barber who undertook to dress hair in such a manner as exactly to resemble a peruke.” Indeed, advertisers get quite rampant when on the subject of hair. Among the hidden treasures lately brought to light, we have to rejoice that the “recipe for the ‘ Florentine Restorative Hair-balm,’ lost to the world for a hundred and fifty years,” has been rescued from oblivion, as “it has been dis- covered among valuable family papers, which enables Mr. S. Bergani to supply the public with the restorative,” itself so miraculously restored. ‘Napoleon Price”—the great Napoleon, he might well be styled—boldly comes forward to pronounce “shaving a luxury,” a fact which might have been doubted if he had not added “that it only becomes so by the use of his Ry- phagon, which surpasses anything ever invented for shaving.” How much those persons lose who do not secure the Ryphagon is conveyed in a few words: “ The luxury of a good shave can be enjoyed only by those who use the Ryphagon.” It is seldom that an abode suited to every taste, like the following, is advertised. We find, from the Bath “ Journal,” that possession may be had of “‘an old Gothic cathedral in the west of Eng- land, with a large assembly-room and card-room adjoining to the choir, all ready-furnished, fit for any purpose.” Surely, a place so suited to every state of feeling cannot have remained un- tenanted. The devout penitent, seeking a fit- ting place for devotion and penance; the gay and dissipated, bent on scenes of revelry and enjoyment, must have had a sharp contest for the possession. The calm tranquillity of the country was de- scribed in the following advertisement a short time since: “‘ Lord Nelson Tavern, opposite to VOL. L1.—5 St. Pancras New Church, Euston Square, New Road. Travellers by the Northwestern Railway will find at this establishment an excellent coffee-room, wines and spirits of the first quality, well-aired beds, with all the quietude of the country. Omnibuses pass to and from the stations every three minutes.” The threatening style appears in a variety of forms. The most imposing, perhaps, is that in which a fearful responsibility is held in terrorem. In the following, we see how the advertiser at once frees himself from his own accountability. He tells us, in the “ Daily Express,” April 7, 1854, that he “‘is an actor,” and “‘ middle-aged.” He earnestly implores some benevolent clergy- man of the Established Church to rescue him from the vice and degradation of the stage, by appointing him his parish-clerk and schoolmas- ter. He is most anxious to abandon this sinful profession, but to do so, under present circum- stances, would be to court starvation. His great desire is to labor honestly and usefully for him- self and family. Besides the ordinary branches of an English education, he would undertake to impart instruction in the Latin and French lan- guages ; he has also a good knowledge of church psalmody, and his wife can act as schoolmis- tress, organist, &e. ‘* Any clergyman wishing to learn further particulars is respectfully invited to communicate toG. M. P. W., Teacher. ‘ Ex- press’ newspaper office.” If this conscientious man continues longer in his sinful course, who then are to blame but those on whom he has called tocome to the rescue? He is most anxious to abandon his wicked profession, but between $ that and the calling of a parish-clerk he sees no intermediate state. His great desire is “‘to labor honestly and usefully for himself and family.” If none will assist him to do so in the way he points out, he is evidently resolved to labor sin- fully for himself and family. We should think that the fewer inquiries into particulars of one who, by his own admission, is engaged in a sin- ful profession, the better, so that, perhaps, it would be more advisable not to take advantage of his permission. The advertisements of and for servants have fallen off very much from the elaborate style which we can well remember. ‘“ Sinlese mon 49

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50 sters that the world ne’er saw” offered themselves for every varicty of service, and ladies hoped to secure all the cardinal virtues for a few pounds ayear. ‘ Brevity,” we are told by Hamlet, “is the soul of wit,” and it has superseded the ela- borate style, owing, we confess, to its being less costly. Ladies must now run all chances for a paragon of perfection; the age and height are all that men servants now deem it necessary to state, with the addition perhaps of “a charac- ter,” varying from “ eleven months” to “ two years,”’ but whether good or bad is not divulged. Some of the advertisements in the column of Wants were sufficiently unreasonable. This is a specimen, which we copied a few years since from a newspaper :— ** Wanted, for a family who have bad health, a sober, steady person in the capacity of doctor, surgeon, and apothecary; he must occasionally act as butler, and dress hair and wigs. He will be required sometimes to read prayers, and preach a sermon every Sunday.” A few years since, these advertisements were made the vehicle for sectarian professions. We have frequently seen a coachman’s boast in these words: “ He can drive four-in-hand, and is of the Established Church ;” and a lady requires her laundress to ‘do up fine things in the neatest manner, and to be of the Established Church.” We once saw this advertisement from a. printing-office: ** Wanted, a Devil; he must be of Evangelical principles.” ** Youth wanted by a middle-aged gentleman” appeared not long since. Among all the wants made known through the public papers, that for “ partners for life’’ appears the most extraordinary. Very recently, we read, in the ** Morning Post,” that “a lady, who will have more than £20,000 in a few years, would like the addition of rank (what lady would not?), and wishing to marry a poor, but well-principled nobleman, or the eldest son of one (still harping on the title). If leading an immoral life, need not apply.—Cetra.” There is a “ * Matrimonial Alliance Bureau,’ Great College Street, Westminster, London, legally established in 1847, for introducing ladies and gentlemen, at present unknown to each other, who are desirous of entering into matri- mony. Many thousands, comprising all classes of society, have been married and made happy through Mr. Carson’s assistance during the last five years, and such unparalleled success is the best guarantee that all can be suitably married, irrespective of age, appearance, or position. La- dies and gentlemen who are anxious to marry, GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. but who cannot find suitable partners among their own circle of acquaintance, should apply immediately, and not wait, in the too often fal- lacious hope of being more successful next year, &e. &e.” Mr. Watson’s advertisement, which appeared in the “* Times,” is still more alluring. It runs thus: * Matrimony made easy, or how to win a lover. Mr. Watson continues to send free to any address plain directions to enable ladies or gentlemen to win the devoted affections of as many of the opposite sex as their hearts may desire. The process is so simple, captivating, and enthralling, that all may be married, irre- spective of age, appearance, or position, while the most fickle or cold-hearted must bow to its attractions. Young and old, peer and peeress, as well as the peasant, are alike subject to its influence; and last, it can be arranged with such care and delicacy, that disclosure is impos- sible. Address Mr. Watson, Robert Street, Strand, inclosing twelve stamps.” What a bargain! As many hearts as can be desired for the value of twelve stamps, at the cost of 1d. each. Who so penurious as to hesi- tate about the expenditure of a shilling for such a purpose ? But of all offers to supply wants, surely none can be so welcome as that which engages to ‘** revive and corroborate all the faculties of the soul.” It was thus advertised a few weeks since: “ Loss of memory or forgetfulness cured by a grateful electuary peculiarly adapted for that end. It strikes at the primary source which few apprehend of forgetfulness, makes the head clear and easy, the spirits free, active, and un disturbed, corroborates and revives all the noble faculties of the soul, such as thought, judgment, apprehension, reason, and memory, which last, in particular, it so strengthens, as to render that faculty exceeding quick and good beyond imagi- nation, thereby enabling those whose memory was before almost totally lost to remember the minutest circumstance.” It is plain that, if this electuary grew into general use, it would set the world right. A small portion, properly administered, would regulate public and private affairs as they were never regulated before. Pledges and promises would not, as heretofore, escape the memory ; benefits and kindnesses would be spared from oblivion ; and many who feel themselves for- gotten and neglected would find a place in the memory of those by whom they should be re- membered.

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AUNT TABITHA’S FIRESIDE. No. XI—WHAT BEFELL ABEL HODGKINS. BY EDITH WOODLEY. “‘ Wny, Paul, where have you been this cold evenin’ ?” “In the first place, aunt, I called to see Harry Lowe a little while, and then when I started for home, the evening was so clear and so beautiful, I was tempted to stop and look at the galaxy and some of the other stars.” “The gal Achsah, did you say? Well, what you can see in Achsah Packard more than in any other gal about here ’twould puzzle a law- yer to tell. Accordin’ to my mind, she isn’t half so handsome, and hasn’t half so purty a way with her as Sally Green.” **You misunderstood me, aunt. I mean”— “La, Paul, you needn’t try to blind me. I can see through a pine board as well as any- body. I’ve seen this long time, and I’ve spoke of it to Lizzy, that you’d taken a likin’ to Achsah.” ** Why, no, I haven’t, aunt. that I’d been stopping to look at her. that”— ‘Never mind. I shall take you as it is, not as you say. I don’t expect you to own that you care any more about her than you do the rest of the gals, and, to tell the truth, I don’t like to see young folks brazen-faced about sich things. Speakin’ of Achsah Packard makes me think of her aunt, Achsah Merrill, that was. She used to be a schoolmate of mine, and was forty times as handsome as her namesake is or ever will be. Come along, Paul, and set down by the fire, and Ill tell you and Lizzy about one of her old sparks. His name was Abel Hodgkins. You’ve heern me tell of Abel manyatime. Well, he’d lived along till he got to be nigh on to forty year old without as much as ever goin’ to see any of the gals, or even waitin’ on one of *em home from meetin’ or singin’-school. His sister Nabby kept his house forhim. She was a widder, but had no children, so they took Sim Hodgkins, their brother’s youngest son, to live with ’em. Sim was bright and as smart as a steel trap, but terrible wild and mischievous. He needed some- body to carry a stiddier hand with him than either his Uncle Abel or Aunt Nabby. Well, one evenin’—I was about sixteen year old—I didn’t I didn’t mean I meant f , , 2 took my knittin’-work, and went in to chat with Nabby a little while. I al’ays called her Nabby, though she was old enough to be my mother, for we were near neighbors, and there was scarce a day that we didn’t see each other. When I went in, Abel was settin’ afore the fire, to all appearance in a brown study. He jest nodded when he seed who it was, and that was all the notice he took of me. By and by, he looked up all of sudding, and said to Nabby: ‘I want you to tie my cue, and powder my hair jest as cute as you can.’ **¢ What on airth is in the wind now, Abel ?” said she. *¢T°ve thoughts of goin’ over to see neighbor Merrill a little while,’ says he. “* Well, what if you have?’ says she. ‘I don’t see as that’s any reason for your havin’ your hair powdered. If *twas Sunday, ’twould be a different thing, but seein’ it’s on’y a week day, *twould look kind o’ ridiculous like, accord- in’ to my way of thinkin’.’ **€T guess I know what I’m about,’ says he, ‘and if you aint a mind to do it, Sim will, I know.’ **¢T’m sure,’ says Nabby, ‘1’ve no objection to doin’ it, on’y I’m afeared twill make you an object of ridicule, as *twere.’ *¢You needn’t worry about that,’ says he. “So, Nabby didn’t stop to argue the case any longer, for she knew that when he once got sot on anything, you couldn’t any more turn him than you could turn a meetin’-house. As I said, she didn’t stop to argufy, but went right along, and got her little paper box half full of boughten flour, and her powder-puff. Arter she’d tied his cue with a new black ribbon he took out his pocket, that he’d bought unbe- known to her, she gave his hair a good pow- derin’. She didn’t spare the flour a bit, and by the time she’d finished, Abel’s head looked as if it had come right out of a meal-bag. He then went, solemn as you ever seed anything, and put on his best coat and waistcoat. The waist coat was kerzeymere, fire new, and a bright scarlet color. His coat was bluish. Nabby spun and wove it, and meant to have had it a sky blue, but, by some means or other, she didn’t 51

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ww have good luck colorin’ it. When he got rigged out, he looked gay as a lark, I can tell you. When he went out, he told Nabb* that, if he didn’t come back by ten o’clock, she needn’t set up for him. *<QOh,’ says she, ‘seein’ Tabitha has come to spend the evenin’ with me, I sha’n’t feel tired if you stay till "leven. Did you ever?’ says Nabby, the minute he was gone, and that was all she said about it; but Sim, who’d bren sit- tin’ in the corner, to all appearance as sober as a judge, jumped up and danced about the room as if he was possessed of an evil sperit, cryin’ out: ‘ Three cheers for Uncle Abel! He’s gone to see Achsah Merrill.’ “It was a good mile to where Mr. Merrill lived if you went round the road, but there was a kind of a cart-path through the fields and pastures to accommodate people about haulin’ their winter’s wood, so Abel thought he ’d jest cut across rather than to go round, ’cause he ’d have to have the trouble of a horse if he went by the road. *Twas a cool evenin’, the latter end of October, though ’twa’n’t cold enough to freeze, and while he jogged along, he thought of Achsah’s sparklin’ eyes, and how spruce he looked in his blue coat and red waistcoat. There was a brisk nor’ west wind a blowin’, and arter he got past a piece of woods, there was nothin’ to prevent its havin’ a purty free rake across the fields and pastures. Arter a while, he had to make a turn, and then it blew full in his face, so he thought he might as well button up his coat. This naterally, as ’twere, as he had a nice large flock of sheep, brought to his mind the price of wool, and that, by what old Major Fogg used to call a ‘’sociaton of idees,’ made him think how much mutton was likely to be a pound. From that, he went on to settle it in his own mind what would naterally be the difference between trustin’ a spell, or sellin’ for eash paid right down on the nail, as the sayin’ is, when a brisk light, shinin’ from farmer Mer- rill’s window, turned his thoughts from the sheep back to Achsah. If it hadn’t been for that, I raly b’leve he’d ’ave calc’lated to a hair what the whole flock of sheep would ’ave come to. Well, you see, the sky was overcast. There wa’n’t a star to be seen; and while he’d been reckonin’ up about the sheep, grad’ally and by degrees, as *twere, he ’d strayed out of the cart- path. As soon as he seed the light, he found he ’d lost the path, and while he was tryin’ io find it ag’in, all of a suddin’ he lost his footin’, and slipped right into a clay-pit. Abel was purty spry, and, by some means or other, his hand happened to come ag’in tke roots of a tree

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LLLP PP ttl Pt lll tl lin fo tain ll dle test tenn tention tte GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

~ that grew close to the edge of the pit, which had been left bare by diggin’ away the clay. He continued to catch hold of ’em, and cried out for help with all his might. No one an- swered; but arter a while, he heerd a horse comin’, and he said to himself: ‘That’s the step of old Dobbin, I know.’ “¢That’s where you’re right, uncle,’ said Sim, ridin’ up close to the clay-pit. *** Well, do get off the horse, and take hold of my hand, and help me out, for my strength is a’most spent. I can’t hold on but a dreadful little while longer.’ “<?Cause you’re in, it’s no reason that you should pull me in,’ says Sim; ‘ but never fear, uncle. I know a way to have you out in a trice. Here, Dobbin,’ says he to the horse, ‘you needn’t s’pose you’re goin’ to be idle; and with that, Sim took the bridle, and tied it round one of Dobbin’s hind legs. He then threw the end to his uncle. ***Mind and hold on fast, Uncle Abel,’ says he; ‘and takin’ Dobbin by the mane, he tried to make him step for’ard. But though Dobbin in his younger days, afore he ’d had his sperits broke by draggin’ the cart and plough, had a trick of jumpin’ from the pasture into the field, *specially when the pasture was short, and the clover was in bloom, and so was obleeged to have some kind of a clog tied to his leg a great part of the time, he had never, in his wildest days, been used to sich a heavy clog as Abel was; so Sim, with all his coaxin’, and whistlin’, and cherrupin’, and pullin’ at his mane, couldn’t make him stir a step. There he stood, with his fore-feet planted in the clayey airth jest as fairm as the hills. But Sim had never larnt the art of tyin’ a sailor’s knot, nor yet a weaver’s knot, for the one he tied in the bridle soon gave way, and Dobbin sprung for- ard as nimble as if he’d been atwo year old colt. At the same time, he neighed jest as loud as he could, he was so glad, you see, ’cause he’d got clear. But the noise the horse made was nothin’ to what came out of the clay-pit when Abel found himself fallin’. He was so scairt, he never tried to save himself a bit, and so fell his whole length on the ground. Mr. Merrill heerd him, and snatchin’ up the tongs, for he didn’t know but that somebody was com- mittin’ murder, he run as fast as he could to the place where the cries seemed to come from. His wife and darter follered on arter him, Miss Merrit with a long-handled skimmer (for she was jest a skimmin’ a kittle of sweet cider they were bilin’ down to make apple-sass with), and Achsah with a lantern.

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LAST HOURS OF A SINGLE GENTLEMAN, AR nnn een *“*Who’s there?’ said Mr. Merrill, as soon as he got to the place. ***Tt’s I,’ answered Abel. * * Well, why don’t you come out and show yourself? Here’s a good stout ladder.’ ** How can I, says Abel, ‘when I’m all smashed to pieces, and can’t stir an inch 2’ *‘ With that, Mr. Merrill took the lantern, and went down the ladder. ** Well, neighbor Hodgkins,’ says he, ‘letme ; see some of your bruises. Whereabouts are they?” *** Tf you ’re all smashed to pieces,’ says Sim, ‘it’s rather strange, for when you hung there, holdin’ on to the roots of the tree, you wa’n’t more ’n six inches from the bottom of the pit. I knew it all the time, but thought I’d have a little sport tryin’ to make Dobbin pull you out.’ * Abel was so ’shamed when Sim told him this—for he could see by the light of the lantern he spoke the truth—that he sprung up from the ground, and run up the ladder jest as spry as a cat. He meant to have boxed Sim’s ears—and he sartainly richly desarved it for lettin’ his ancle hold on to the roots of the tree, a’most frightened out of his wits, when he knew all the time he was in no more danger than if he’d a been at home, sittin’ in the chimbley corner; but Sim took good care to keep out of the reach of his uncle’s hand. ** Mr. Merrill and his wife were terrible air- nest for Abel to go home with ’em, and dry his clothes, but they couldn’t persuade him to, for he knew well enough that he was a sight to be seen, with his clothes all daubed over with clay. Whether or no they had any suspicion 53

that he’d sot out on purpose to come and see their darter when he got sarved so, I don’t know. I guess though they didn’t mistrust anything of the kind, for he was old enough to be Achsah’s father. However, it wa’n’t long afterwards afore they had a hint of it. *“ Arter he’d come home, and got on some dry clothes, as he sot afore the fire, with a pint mug of hot ginger-tea in his hand Nabby had made him, to keep him from takin’ cold, he looked kind o’ solemn like right straight into the mug as much as a minute, as if he was tryin’ to spy out somethin’ at the bottom of it. He then cast a kind of sidelong glance at me, at the same time smilin’ the least bit in the world. “¢ Tabitha,’ says he, ‘1711 tell you what.’ “* Well, says I. “ —____ —_ LAST HOURS OF A SINGLE GENTLEMAN. [Tue following may have been read by many of our subscribers; but we think it is so ex- cellent a parody that we are willing to give it a place in our “* Book,” and so preserve it.] This morning, November 11th, at half past 11 o’clock precisely, an unfortunate young man, Mr. Edward Pinckney, underwent the extreme penalty of infatuation, by expiating his attach- ment to Mary Ann Gale in front of the altar railings of St. Mary’s Church, Islington. It will be in the recollection of all these friends of the party who were at Jones’s, at Brixton, two years ago, that Mr. Pinckney was there and then first introduced to Miss Gale, to whom he instantly began to direct particular attention, 5* 2 dancing with her no less than six sets that even- ing, and handing her things at supper in the most devoted manner. From that period com- menced the intimacy between them which ter minated in this morning’s catastrophe. Poor Pinckney had barely attained his twenty- eighth year; but there is no belief that, but for reasons of a pecuniary nature, his single life would have come to an untimely end. Achange for the better, however, having occurred in his circumstances, the young lady’s friends were induced to sanction his addresses, and thus be came accessories to the course which he has just suffered. The unhappy young man passed the last night

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54 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. of his bachelor existence in his solitary chamber. From half-past eight to ten, he was engaged in writing letters. Shortly after, his younger bro- ther, Henry, knocked at the door, when the doomed youth told him to come in. On being asked when he meant to go to bed, he replied : ‘© Not yet.” The question was then put to him how he thought he would sleep, to which he answered: “I don’t know.” He then expressed his desire for a cigar and a glass of lemonade. His brother, who partook of the like refresh- ments, now demanded if he would take anything more that night. He said: “ Nothing,” in a firm voice. His affectionate brother then rose to take his leave, when the devoted one consi- derately advised him to take care of himself. Precisely at a quarter of a minute to seven the next morning, the victim of Cupid having been called, according to his desire, he arose and promptly dressed himself. He had the self- control to shave himself without the slightest injury, for not even a scratch upon his chin appeared after the operation. It would seem that he devoted a longer time than usual at his toilet. The wretched man was attired in a light blue dress-coat, with frosted buttons, a white vest, and nankeen trousers, with patent boots. He wore around his neck a variegated satin scarf, which partly concealed the Corrazzo of the bosom. In front of the scarf was inserted a breastpin of conspicuous dimensions. Having descended the staircase with a quick step, he entered the apartment where his bro- ther, and sister, and a few friends awaited him. He then shook hands cordially with all present, and on being asked how he slept, answered: “Very well!” And to the further demand as to the state of his mind, he said that he “ felt happy.” One of the party hereupon suggested that it would be as well to take something be- fore the melancholy ceremony was gone through; he exclaimed, with some emphasis: “ Decidedly.” Breakfast was accordingly served, when he ate a French roll, a large round toast, two sausages, and drank three great breakfast cups of tea. In reply to an expression of astonishment on the part of a person present, he declared that he had never felt happier in his life. Having inquired the time, and ascertained that it was ten minutes of eleven, he remarked that it would soon be over. His brother then inquired if he could do anything for him, when he said he would like a glass of ale. Having drank this, he appeared to be satisfied. The fatal moment now approaching, he de- voted the remaining portion of his time to dis- tribute those little articles he would no longer want. To one, he gave his cigar-case, to an- other his tobacco-stopper, and charged his bro- ther Henry with his latch-key, with instructions to deliver it after all was over, with due solem- nity, to the landlady. The clock at length struck eleven, and, at the same moment, he was in- formed that a cab was at the door. He merely said: “I am ready,” and allowed himself to be conducted to the vehicle, into which he got with his brother, his friends following on behind the others. Arriving at the tragical spot, a short, but anx- ious delay of some moments took place, after which they were joined by the lady with her friends. Little was said on either side; but Miss Gale, with customary decorum, shed tears. Pinckney endeavored to preserve decorum, but a slight twitching in his mouth and eyebrows proclaimed his inward agitation. All necessary preliminaries having now been settled, and the prescribed necessary formalities gone through, the usual question was put— “Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wife?” *T will.” He then put the fatal ring on Miss Gale’s fin- ger, the hymeneal noose was adjusted, and the poor fellow was launched into—matrimony ! A ROMAN LADY’S TOILET. Tue toilet of a Roman lady involved an ela- borate and very costly process. It commenced at night, when the face, supposed to have been tarnished by exposure, was overlaid with a poultice composed of boiled or moistened flour, spread on with the fingers. Poppzan unguents sealed the lips, and the lady was profusely rub- bed with Cerona ointment. In the morning, the poultice and unguents were washed off; a bath of asses’ milk imparted a delicate whiteness to the skin; and the pale face was freshened and revived with enamel. The full eyelids, which the Roman lady still knows so well how to use —now suddenly raising them, to reveal a glance of surprise or of melting tenderness, now letting them drop, like a veil, over the lustrous eyes— the full, rounded eyelids were colored within, and a needle, dipped in jetty dye, gave length and sphericity to the eyebrows. The forehead was encircled by a wreath or fillet, fastened in the luxuriant hair, which rose in front in a pyramidal pile, formed of successive ranges of curls, and giving the appearance of more than ordinary height.

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THE OTHER SIDE.—A TALE OF BUTTONS. BY LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY. * Better is he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city.” BREAKFAST was just over at the parsonage; the table was cleared away, the chairs set back, and Mrs. Ashton, in a neat morning-dress, with a pretty little cap on her pretty little head, was standing with her arm over her tall husband’s shoulder, looking at the morning paper. And as fine-looking a pair they were, as you will be likely to see in a summer’s day. The Reverend Cle- ment Ashton was indeed said to be the hand- somest man in the parish, and that with good reason; whether he ever had any ideas of his own on the subject, was entirely his own affair. He was not the least bit of a dandy, however, though he always dressed with perfect neatness and taste, and his brown whiskers and abundant curly hair had never been seen disordered within the memory of man. Mrs. Ashton, as she was styled by the parish —Christiana, as her godfathers and godmothers named her—Crissey, as her brothers and her husband called her—was not usually regarded as remarkably handsome. Her features were not very regular, and she was not fair; but her eyes, so bright and clear, her figure so elastic and trim, her abundant hair, and above all, her frank, easy manners, and the expression of sunny, good temper and perfect openness, which lighted up her face, made most people consider her a very attractive woman. Every one in the parish liked her, from the two old black people, who sat in the warm corner near the stove in church, and always came round to get their dinner at the parsonage on Sundays, to Mrs. Dr. Rush, who was by far the grandest lady in the parish, and the two Misses Laden, who had been at first highly offended at the young minister for going off down to Philadelphia to get mar- ried, as if no one in Harddollar were good enough for him. Mr. and Mrs. Ashton had been married about six months, after an engagement of almost three years, during which time they nad sorresponded vigorously, but had seen very little of each other, for Mr. Ashton was an assistant in ar overgrown parish in one of our larger cities, and could sel- dom be spared; and Chrissey was a teacher in another great city, where she supported herself, and helped, by her labors, to educate one of her | | § ; 2 é 2 brothers for the ministry. It was not till this brother had finished his studies, and was placed on an independent footing, that she had con- sented to be married. “George cannot support himself entirely,” she said, in answer to the remonstrances of her lover; “he is not strong enough to labor as many of the young men, his classmates, do, and he needs my help. I know that he has talents which will make him eminently useful in the calling he has chosen; I know, too, that if he attempts any more than he is doing, his health will fail, and he will become discouraged. You must content yourself to board awhile longer with your good friend, Mrs. Bicketts, Clement.” And to this resolution she steadfastly adhered, despite Clement’s persuasions, and those of George himself, who was very much distressed at the thought that his sister’s marriage should be put off on his account. Under these circum- stances, the lovers did not see much of each other, and they were finally married, without Chrissey’s ever having suspected her husband of any infirmity of temper. She had suffered much on discovering that such was the case, and felt inclined, sometimes, to wish that she had never been disenchanted; but she was a wise woman ; she knew her husband’s intrinsic excellences and strength as well as his weakness, and, alter- ing an old maxim to suit her own purposes, she resolved both to endure and to cure. What do you set about to-day ?” she asked, as Mr. Ashton, having exhausted the paper, arose from the sofa corner. “ Visiting!” replied his reverence. ‘I must go up to old Mrs. Balcomb’s, and see the Joneses, and try to prevail on Phil Taggart to let his children come to Sunday-school once more. Then, I have to administer the Communion to poor Maggy Carpenter, who is much worse again, and if I have time, I shall get into the omnibus and ride out to the Mills’, to see that girl Miss Flower mentioned to me yesterday.” “ What a round !” exclaimed Chrissey. “You will never get home to dinner at two o’clock. I think I will put it off till six, and run the risk of being thought ‘stuck up,’ like poor cousin Lily.” 55

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56 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. —_ ee * What do you mean ?” ** Why, you know they always dine at six, to suit the Doctor’s arrangements. One day, Lily called, about some society matter, on a lady who lives not a hundred miles from her street, about five o’clock in the afternoon. The lady herself came to the door, and Lily was about entering, when she thought she perceived a smell of roast meat in the hall, and said, very politely: ‘ But, perhaps it is your dinner hour?’ “No, indeed!’ replied madam, with indigna- tion. ‘We don’t dine at this time of day; we are not so stuck up!’ ” “ Poor Lily!’ exclaimed Mr. Ashton, laugh- ing ; “ what did she say ?” “Oh! she did her errand, and retired, of course. There was nothing to be said.” Mr. Ashton turned to go into the study, and, as he did so, his foot caught in the carpet, and he was nearly thrown down. Chrissey started in alarm, but he recovered himself, and said, pettishly enough— I do wish you would have that carpet fixed. I have stumbled over it twenty times in the course of a week, I do believe.” ‘TI thought Amy had fixed it,” returned his wife, with perfect mildness. ‘I am sure I saw her at work there. The door must pull it out of place, I think.” ‘Oh ! of course, there is some excellent reason for its being out of order. It seems to me that, with all your ingenuity, you might find some way of making it more secure.” He turned into his study, shutting the door after him with rather unnecessary force, and Mrs. Ashton returned to the fire, and arranged her work-basket for the day with something of a cloud on her fair face. She was not left long undisturbed, for Mr. Ashton’s voice was soon heard calling her, in impaticnt tones. She sighed, but arose and entered the next room, where she found her husband standing before his bureau, partly dressed, and with shiris, cravats, and handkerchiefs scattered about him like a new kind of snow, while his face wore an expression of melancholy reproach, at once painful and slightly ludicrous. ** What is the matter?” she asked. “Oh! the old story. Not a button where it ought to be! not a shirt ready to wear! I do not mean to be unreasonable,” he continued, in an agitated voice, as he tumbled over the things, to the manifest discomposure of the clean linen, **but really, Chrissey, I think you might see that my clothes are in order. I am sure I would do more than that for you; but, here I am de- layed, and put to the greatest inconvenience, PLL LLP because you cannot sew on these buttons! I should really think that a little of the time you spend in writing to George and Henry might as well be bestowed on me.” This address was delivered in a tone and man- ner of mournful distress, which might have been justified, perhaps, if Mrs. Ashton had picked his pocket as he was going to church. ** What is the matter with this shirt?” asked Chrissey, quietly examining one of the discarded garments. ‘It seems to have all the buttons in their places; and this one, too, is quite perfect ; and here is another. My dear husband, how many shirts do you usually wear at a time?” **Oh! it is all very well for you to smile, my love, but I do assure you, I found several with no means at all of fastening the wristbands. We had breakfast late, and now I shall be de- tained half an hour, when I ought to be away. I know you mean well, but if you had served a year’s apprenticeship with my mother before you were married, it might have been all the better for your housekeeping.” “It might have prevented it altogether,” thought Chrissey, but the thought was repressed in amoment. She picked up and replaced the scattered apparel, folded the snowy cravats, warmed her husband’s overshoes, and saw that the beautiful little Communion service, pre- sented by a lady of the parish, and consecrated to such sufferers as Maggy Carpenter, was in readiness. Before he left the house, Mr. Ashton had forgotten both his fretfulness and its cause. He kissed his wife, thanked her for her trouble, proposed that she should send for Lily to spend the day with her, and strode away with his usual elastic step and pleasant face. Chrissey watched him from the door till he turned into the next street, and then went back to the fireside, and to her own reflections. This fretfulness and tendency to be greatly disturbed at little matters was almost her husband’s only fault. He was self-sacrificing to the last degree, faithful and indefatigable, as an apostle almost, in his professional labors, liberal to a fault, and in his administration of parish matters, wise and conciliating to all. He could bear injuries, real injuries, with the greatest patience, and was never known to harbor resentment—not even against young Mr. Turner Eart, a young gen- tleman who was not very wise, though he tried very hard to appear so, and who called him a canting Methodistical Calvinist; nor yet against the Reverend Confusius Misticot, who described him, in a large circle of his own select friends, as a man without one feeling in har- mony with the great progress of the races, or

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THE OTHER SIDE. 57 ALAA A one sympathy with the holy and pure idealism animating the hearts of the divine reformers of the present day; as a man, in fact, of an in- tensely narrow conscientiousness. But, with all these good qualities, Mr. Ashton had one fault—a fault which threatened to disturb, and finally to destroy, the comfort of his married life. If his wife, by extravagance or bad man- agement, had wasted his income, and involved him in difficulties, it is probable that he would never have spoken an unkind word to her; but the fact of a button being missing, or a book removed from its place, would produce a lamen- tation half indignant and half pathetic, which rung in Chrissey’s ears, and made her heart ache long after Clement had forgotten the cir- cumstance altogether. Strange as it may seem, Mr. Ashton had never thought of this habit, of which, indeed, he was but imperfectly conscious, as a fault. He thought, indeed, that it was a pity he should be so sensitive, and sometimes said that he wished he had not such a love for order and symmetry, for then he should not be so often annoyed by the disorderly habits of other people. He said to himself that it was one of his pecu- liar trials—that even Chrissey, perfect as she was, did not come up to his ideas in this respect ; but that his peculiar trials, as he was pleased to call them, ever became trials to other people, he did not imagine. He had indeed remarked, in spite of himself, that Christiana’s face was not as cheerful, nor her spirits as light, as when they were first married, and he regretted that the cares of housekeeping should weigh so heavily upon her; but nothing was further from his thoughts than that anything in himself could have pro- duced the change. His first visit this morning was to old Mrs. Balcomb, a venerable lady, the mother of two of his most esteemed parishioners, and grandmother and aunt to half the parish beside. She was quite helpless as to walking, though she could sit up and use her hands, while her mind was as bright as ever. “The Balcombs were plain, unpretending people, who went very little into what is called society, but interested themselves greatly in all church and benevolent enterprises, missions, Sunday-schools, relief societies, and so forth; and one of the daughters, a young woman of fine talent and warm piety, was at this time engaged in the African mission. Mr. Ashton was conducted into the cheerful sitting- room, where he found the old lady alone, seated beside the open coal fire, in her large easy-chair, contrived by hersons for her especial convenience, with a reading and writing-desk attached, which could be removed at pleasure, to make room for (LLL LL LLL LL a work-box or basket. Mrs. Balcomb was a famous knitter and needle-woman, and kept all the children and grandchildren of the family in stockings and mittens. She was knitting at the present time, and only suspended her work long enough to shake hands with the minister. “And how do you find yourself this cold morning?” asked Mr. Ashton, taking a seat near the old lady. “Oh! very well,” replied the old lady cheer- fully; “very well, indeed, thank God. I often wish that you, who are obliged to be up and about, could feel as well as I do, sitting here. I do assure you, I enjoy myself very much.” ** No doubt you do,” said the minister, pick- ing up the ball, which had escaped from its basket. ‘‘If all were of as cheerful a spirit, the world might go on much better. But, what have you been reading since I saw you?” “Why, I hardly know. I have looked through a variety of things which the children have brought me, and I have read the books your wife sent, and the newspapers. Then we have had two long letters from my granddaughter Julia, and they are always very interesting. They would be, you know, even if they were from strangers, and so much the more from our own dear children.” “ Of course,” assented Clement. ‘And what does Julia say? Does she seem happy ?” “Oh! yes, very happy and contented, and, thank God, very well. They have a great deal to do, of course, and many inconveniences to put up with, but they are devoted to their work, and live only for it, and for each other. It was hard for me to feel willing to part with Julia, Mr. Ashton, even for the work to which she was going, and if I had not felt perfect confidence in Richard, I never should have consented. But I have known him from his babyhood, in his father’s house, and during his college career, and I may safely say, that he never, by any little indulgence of selfishness, or fretful im- patience, brought a cloud over the face of any one connected with him.” Mr. Ashton fell into a reverie at these words, which made him rather inattentive to the old lady ; but he was roused by her asking— “ And how is your dear wife, Mr. A;hton? I hope she keeps her health and her good looks !”” “ She is very well,” said Clement, recovering himself, “‘ and desired to be remembered to you. She is coming up to see you in a few days.” *] thought, the last time I saw her, she did not look quite as bright and cheerful as usual,” remarked Mrs. Balcomb. ‘You must take care of her, my good friend; it is a great deal for such

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58 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. row a young creature to leave home and friends, and go into a strange place, and among strangers, if she has everything made as easy for her as possible. You will excuse me for speaking so plainly. I am an old woman, you know, and you young men seem to me almost like boys; even though you are in orders.” “I have thought, myself, that Chrissey was not quite as cheerful as formerly,” replied Cle- ment. “1 supposed it might be owing to the pressure of her new cares, and to her being, as you say, among strangers. She is used to care, however, in her school. I hardly think it can be that. Perhaps it is natural that she should lose her elasticity of spirits as she grows older.” * Not at all, Mr. Ashton,” returned the old lady, “not at all. Iam older than almost any one in the parish, and I don’t believe there is a more light-hearted person in it at this moment. Well, my dear, it is not my affair, perhaps, bat again I tell you take good care of your pretty wife, and don’t let her get the habit of looking sad. It’s a hard one to get over, I can tell you, when once it becomes fixed.” Mrs. Balcomb paused, and other members of the family coming in, the conversation turned te other things. Mr. Ashton left the house, pondering pretty deeply on all he had heard, especially on what Mrs. Balcomb had said in regard to her granddaughter’s husband :— ** He never brought a cloud on the face of any one belonging to him.” He felt that the same could not be said of him- self. Chrissey’s face, as she stood at the door when he went out, was almost sad. To be sure, it was very annoying to be delayed, and find things so out of order, but then he need not have said so much about it. It was probably an accident, for Chrissey was really very careful; another time he would bear the inconvenience in silence. He visited Phil, who was finally persuaded to let his children come to Sunday-school, called at the Joneses, and then proceeded to Mr. Car- penter’s, where he was to administer the Com- munion. Maggy Carpenter was an only daugh- ter, and had been a beautiful and very fashionable girl. She was engaged to be married to an officer m the army, and the time set for the wedding was not far off, when she went to make a short visit in a distant city. Something went wrong —the train was run into by another engine from behind. Many were killed at once ; others lin- gered a few days, in horrible tortures; and a few were carried home to their friends helpless and disabled for life. Of this number was Maggy Carpenter. The beautiful, healthful girl returned to her father’s house to spend the rest of her days in helpless confinement, and almost unin- termitted suffering. Of course, the marriage was now out of the question. Captain Manners was almost frantic at first, but he was not one of those men whose emotions last long. It was not reasonable or right, he thought, that he should be expected to spend the remainder of his days in solitude, for really there was hardly a possibility of Maggie’s recovery ; besides, his father and mother wished him to marry, and his duty to them required it, and so, after a hardly decent interval, he had wooed and won a fair Southern heiress, who was visiting some friends in Harddollar, and the wedding had taken place only a few days since. Mr. and Mrs. Ashton were not surprised to hear that poor Maggie was much worse; and so far did Mr. Ashton carry his indignation at the gallant captain’s heartless- ness, that he left town expressly that he might not be called upon to perform the marriage cere- mony. ‘** Maggie will never get over it, never!” said Chrissey, while indignantly “freeing her mind” to old Mrs. Balcomb. **Oh, yes she will, my dear,”’ replied the old lady. ‘* At first she will feel it greatly, no donbt, but, by degrees, her eyes will be opened to the fact of his being a most heartless coxcomb, as I always knew he was,” said grandmother in a parenthesis, “‘and then, in spite of herself, she will begin to despise him ; and let me tell you, my dear, a little hearty contempt is the best cure in the world for a disappointed affection.” ** How is Maggie to-day ?” asked Mr. Ashton of her maiden aunt, who met him in the parlor. “She is more comfortable,” replied Miss Kenny, “‘ but she has had a dreadful time. That miserable fellow, John Manners—I could see him hung with all my heart.” ** Why, Miss Kenny, you would not like to see him hung, I’m sure.” ** Why, no, not exactly ; but hanging would be too good for him. I did not mean that she should hear anything about the wedding, but that meddling Miss Laden, and her sister, came in to see her, and when I was out of the room, they told her the whole story.” “What in the world could have been their object ?” *“Oh, Heaven knows! To hear themselves talk, suppose. But wili youcomein? Maggie is waiting for you.” Mr. Ashton entered the sick-room. ‘Maggie was lying on a low French bed, partly sustained by pillows, partly resting on her father’s arm. The outline of her face was as beautiful as ever, though the fine features were sharpened and

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THE OTHER SIDE. 59 Rn iin” worn by pain and sorrow. Her eyes were very large, and almost unnaturally clear and bright, but, amid all the expression of pain and weari- ness, there was a most lovely aspect of resigna- tion and patience, more lovely than any perfec- tion of form or color. Maggie had found, in the midst of misfortune and grief, what she had never known in her prosperity, and felt herself happier than on the morning of that day when, expecting to return to the bridal feast, she had set out all unconsciously to meet her fate. The room was light and cheerful; the win- dows were filled with flowering plants, and some Christmas decorations surrounded the mirror and pictures. Everything was arranged to look as little like a sick-room as possible, and with success, for the well-filled bookcases, the lovely landscapes on the walls, and the pretty furniture, gave the apartment the aspect of a pretty little study. A small round table, covered with a white cloth and a hassock, were placed near the bedside for the use of the minister. Mr. Ashton conversed for a few minutes with Margaret and her friends, and then proceeded with the holy ordinance. He was not the man to approach such a service lightly; the night before the regular administration of the Sacra- ment was almost always a sleepless one to him, but he never felt so deeply its solemnity and divine tenderness as when he was thus called upon to celebrate it at the bedside of some such sufferer as Maggie. Then, his firm voice trem- bled, and his face glowed, and, as old Mrs. Bal- comb said, it was like beholding the angel of the Lord. He was pained to observe that Mr. Car- penter, who had long been a communicant, re- signed his place to Miss Kenny, and left the room at the end of the exhortation ; and glancing at Maggie, he saw that an expression of deep sorrow crossed her fine features. The service proceeded, and after the prayers of consecration were ended, the holy elements were administered to those attending, and then to the sick person. Maggie’s face, as she received the cup, was as the face of an angel. As Coleridge beautifully says, the fear of God, which passeth understanding, “lay upon it like an untroubled moonlight.” She seemed a good deal exhausted when the ser- vices were concluded, and Mr. Ashton was about to retire at once, when Maggie detained him. **T wish, Mr. Ashton,” said she, “ you could say or do something to make my father feel dif- ferently. It is natural, I suppose, but it gives me the greatest pain. You observed that he retired before” — “T did,” returned Clement, “ and wondered at it.” ** It is because he feels such a resentment at”— Maggie paused; she would not speak the name. ‘IT do wish you would prevail upon him to re- gard it differently.” “You feel none yourself, Margaret,’ said Miss Kenny. ** Not the least,” she answered, with the sweetest smile, “‘and I am thankful for it. I wish him all happiness, with all my heart. Did you marry them, Mr. Ashton?” ** No,” replied Clement. ‘I went out of town the same day.” He did not think it necessary to say that his journey was made for the express purpose of avoiding the performance of the ceremony. * But you are too much exhausted to talk at this time, my dear friend. soon.” **T believe you are right,’ ing back on her pillow. ‘I wished very much to say something, for I think—I hope—that ] am not to remain here much longer. Give my love to Christiana, and tell her I shall hope to see her to-morrow.” Mr. Ashton turned towards home with his mind and heart full ofall that he had seen and felt. He said very little during dinner, but when the table was removed, and he sat down in his dressing-gown and slippers, before the open coal fire, he related to his wife all the events of the day, describing, with all the enthusiasm of his earnest nature, Maggie’s patience and holy re- signation, and ended by saying— ** Certainly the religion of Jesus has power to I shall see you again > said Maggie, sini- sustain and console his disciples under all trials and misfortunes.” “Except the loss of a button,” replied Chris- sey, ser asly. neither philosophy nor religion can enable one > * That is a misfortune which to sustain.’ The Reverend Mr. Ashton started as though a pistol had been discharged at his ear. “Why, what do you mean, Chrissey ?” *‘ Just what I say,” returned Chrissey, with the same soberness. ‘“ Yourself, for instance: you can endure with the greatest resignation the loss of friends and fortune; I never saw you ruffied by rudeness or abuse from others, or show any impatience under severe pain; >but the loss of a button from your shirts, or a nail from the carpet, gives you a perfect right to be unreasonable, unkind, and—I must say it—un- christian.” Mr. Ashton arose, and walked up and down the room in some agitation. **T did not think, my love,” he said at last, in a trembling tone, “‘ that you would attach so

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60 much importance to a single hasty word. Per- haps I spoke too quickly; but even if it were se, did we not promise to be patient with each other’s infirmities? I am sure I am very glad to bear with”— Mr. Ashton paused; he was an eminently truthful man, and, upon consideration, he really could not remember that he had ever had any- thing to bear from his wife. “If it were only once, my dear husband, I should say nothing about it; but you do not seem in the least aware how the habit has grown upon you. There has not been a day this week in which you have not made my heart ache by some such outburst of fretfulness.” Mr. Ashton was astonished; but, as he began to reflect, he was still more surprised to find that his wife’s accusation was quite true. One day, it had been about the front door mat; the next, about a mislaid review, and then about a lost pair of gloves, which after all were found in his own pocket. He felt that it was all true, and as his conscience brought forward one instance after another of unkindness—real unkindness— he sat down again, and covered his face with his hands. * But that is not the worst,’ continued Chris- sey, becoming agitated in her turn. “I fear—I cannot help fearing—that I shall be led to feel as I ought not towards you. I fear lest I shall in time lose the power of respecting my husband, and when respect goes, Clement, love does not last long. This very moment I found myself wishing I had never known you.” Chrissey burst into tears; a very unusual demonstration for her, and Clement, springing up, once more traversed the room once or twice, and then sat down at his wife’s side. * Christiana,” he said, mournfully, “ is it come tothis? I have deserved it—I feel that I have— but to lose your respect, your love—my punish- ment is greater than I can bear, Chrissy !” “It was but the thought of a moment,” re- plied Christiana, checking her sobs; “ but I am frightened that the idea should ever have entered my mind. If I should cease to love you, Clement, I should die. I would rather die this moment.” ** God forbid !”’ ejaculated her husband, clasp- ing her in his arms. ‘“‘ But why, my dearest love, have you never told me of this before ?” “It is neither a grateful nor a gracious office for a wife to reprove her husband, or a woman her pastor,” replied Christiana, laying her head on nis shoulder, * and if I had not been left here alone all day, I think I should hardly have got up the courage now. But, if you are not angry, PLP LLL PLP LL a pare GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PAOLA rmwr I am glad that I have told you all that was in my heart; for, indeed, m,; dear, it has been a sad, aching heart this long time. And now I must tell you how these two unlucky shirts came to be buttonless.” No, don’t say one word about them, my love,” said Clement, penitently. ‘I will never complain again if the sleeves are missing as well as the buttons.” ** But I must tell you, because ! really mean to have my housekeeping affairs in as good order as any one. I was looking over your shirts yesterday afternoon, and had put them all to rights but these two, when Mrs. Lennex came in, in great distress, to say that her sister’s child was much worse, and they feared dying; so I dropped all, and went over there. You know how it was! No one had any calmness or pre sence of mind. The child’s convulsions were indeed frightful to witness; the mother was in hysterics, and Mrs. Lennox worse than nobody at all. It was nearly midnight before I could get away, and meantime, Anny had put the room in order, and restored the shirts to their places.”’ Anny now put her head into the room. “If you please, missus, a young woman in the kitchen would like to see missus a minute.” ** Missus” arose and went out into the kitchen, and Mr. Ashton, taking a candle from the table, entered the study, and locked himself in. Chris- sey waited for him a long time, and at last went and tapped at the door. It was opened with a warm embrace and a fervent kiss, and though there were not many words spoken on either side, there was a light in the eyes of both hus- band and wife which showed that the under- standing was perfect between them. “ But I do think, nevertheless, that men’s wives ought to sew on their buttons.” T « ONNET.—PHILOMELA. BY WM. ALEXANDER. S WELCOME once more, delightful nightingale! Again we listen to thy rapturous lay, And love-notes thou canst on thy windpipe play, Or else rehearse some sweetly plaintive tale To lovelorn wanderers in the hidden grove ; Thy gentle voice chants love’s divine behest, Or sorrow’s song, which pities the distrest. Along the solitary brakes, who nightly rove. So long as summer smiles continuest thou to sing— A messenger of peace, and joy, and love, Reminding us of sweeter melody above; But cometh autumn, and thou spreadest thy wing, To take thy flight to some remote domain, Where spring resides, and balmy zephyrs reign.

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CONTENTMENT. 61 ~~ RRL LLL Pmt THE FAIR Y’S LESSON. BY MARY E. NEELY. On a hill-side, By a rill-side, List’ning to the music-murmur Of the flowing Waters, going On, refreshing thirsty summer, Sat I, dreaming, Till the gleaming Of the last bright rays of Phebus Left—then round me Darkness bound me— Dreams and darkness, like Erebus. I’d been thinking— Sadly shrinking From the world with all its sorrow— Wishing brightness, Airy lightness, From some elfin-home to borrow. Soon came o’er me Light; before me Spread a valley bris;ht, enchanting Many a fairy Light and airy, This bright land of fancy haunting. Here a mansion’s Rare expansion Rose on pearl and golden columns, With its airy, Rich library Filled with Poesy’s choice volumes. Carved and gilded, Richly builded, Was this airy fairy palace. Here Contention Nor Dissension Dwelt, nor either Hate or Malice. Stood I musing, Never choosing Where to go, or whither wander, Came a fairy Light and airy, Took my hand and led me yonder, Through that brightened Mansion, lightened Up with lamps of golden sheen, Me amazing ; Then, up gazing, Saw I there the “ fairye-queen.”’ Flowers crowned her And grew round her, Round her throne of emerald hue. Danced before her Fays; while o’er‘her Spread a star-gemm’d dome of blue ; Then a chorus Chanted o’er us Such soft strains of heavenly seeming. That “I pondered Much, and wondered If I were awake or dreaming.”’ Still I thought that There was naught that VOL. L1.—6 E’er could make me wish to sever From the glory Spread before me ; That I here could dwell forever ' Ah! soon tiring Of admiring Scenes in which I took no part Came a feeling O’er me stealing, One that dwells in every heart. Came a longing, Wishing, thronging O’er my heart, my friends, for thee ; As each spirit Doth inherit Love for kindred sympathy, Went I, pleading, Interceding To the queen of fairy-land, ‘That some fairy Straight should bear me To the well-known dimpled strand— Of the streamlet Where the beamlet, Of the Day’s bright orb of glory, Last came streaming, Glittering, gleaming, O’er the dancing waves before me. Said she: “‘ Mortal, Strive no portal E’er to pass which is not given To thy brother, But each other Help, as on the road to Heaven * Ye are travelling, Then unravelling All the dreams ye now are weaving, More than fairy Then shall bear ye To that land where none are grieving.” Now a gleaming Light came streaming O’er my disenchanted eyes ; By the gushing Water’s rushing, Sat I, to my great surprise. CONTENTMENT. BY BLANCHE BENNAIRDE. I saw the peasant, in his cottage home Among his treasures, children fair and bright, And then I viewed great palaces, in golden light, With stately pillar, and with shining dome; I sought Contentment—but I found her not; The cottage was too low, and then I sighed, The palace was too cold, its walls too wide, And nowhere could I find the favored spc* Where sweet Contentment dwelt, like gentle vir.., Folding its golden wings as if no more to fly; And then I mourned, until a voice I heard That calle? me to look upward to the sky And bade me trust in that consoling wora Whi. brings Contentment to the spirit nigt.

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62 THE THUNDER.—A TALE OF TRUTH. BY BEATA. ‘* It is the glorious God that maketh the thunder.” PSALM xxix. 3. “ SwirTLy the clouds arise; no grateful fragrant air Comes to revive the parched earth; the sky Is covered o’er with grandest pictures rare Of castles old, rent walls, and mountains high. How dark and still! how solemn! Those tall trees, That crown the distant hill, vanish apace ; And night advances eagerly, to seize Reluctant nature in her chill embrace. Dear child, dread not the vivid lightning’s power, But calm to rest thy vain and wild alarm; Thou knowest that He who rules this storm-fraught hour Can shield thee, Marian, from every harm ”’ Lurid clouds with thunder laden, From the black west were drawing near; At the casement stood a maiden, Whose cheek and brow were pale with fear. Her Father looked upon her face, And saw her strive, but all in vain, To banish every lingering trace, Which could betray her timid pain. Nearer the threatening clouds still roll; Louder their mutterings deep are heard. Dismay crept over Marian’s soul Although she spoke no trembling word. She thought upon her mother’s care, Her soothing hand, her kind caress; The loving word and whisper’d prayer, Which waited now her child to bless. She turned and moved one step away, And then her father gently said, ** Will not my daughter with me stay?’’ While on her arm his hand he laid. An instant stood the maiden, bowed ; Then near him willingly sank down, While onward rolled the dreadful cloud, And broke the lightning from its frown. Peal upon peal, the air is filled With the deep voice of tempest strife ; All other sounds are hushed and still, The elements alone have life. Unconsciously fair Marian took Into her hand, from where it lay, Searce knowing why, her mother’s book To find the Psalter for the day— When the first words which met her gaze Told ‘“* Who the glorious thunder made ;”’ It filled her first with deep amaze, Then to her heart sweet comfort laid. Her fear was gone, though still above The battle ragéd fierce and long; Her soul was filled with grateful love To Him, who made her trust so strong. Aad now the thunders that recall The day which bade those fears depart, Can never more unheeded fall, On Marian’sear or Marian’s beart. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ; TO MY NATIVE LAND. (Written whilst in Europe.) $ BY HELEN HAMILTON. No magic veil of Poesy Is round thee flung, beloved land! No spirits haunt thy caverns dark, No sea-nymphs warble on thy strand. No echo of a poet voice Resounds amid thy mighty caves; No ruined fanes upon thy shores Rise up to point a nation’s grave. Thy fertile plains in ancient days Were by no storied footsteps trod ; Nature amid thy mighty hills Stood silent and alone with God! Yet where the far White Mountains rear $ Their proud forms ’gainst the azure sky, Bearing upon their lofty front Names wed to Immortality ; And where Lake George’s mountain shores Frown o’er the islands on her breast, As lovers of a wedded dame Scowl darkly o’er her infant’s rest, Save in the Switzer’s rocky clime Earth knows naught fairer, more sublime. PARRA PPP — Not thine the Alps, whose awful brows Rise pale beneath the sunset’s dyes ; Not thine the ruined temples old, That tower ’neath Italia’s skies ; But thine the prairie’s burst of bloom, Niagara rushing from the steep, And answering back the thunder’s voice, In tones as mighty and as deep; And thine the vast primeval woods, The rushing voice of giant floods: Oh, cold indeed his heart must be, Who, wandering on a foreign strand, ; Turns not with yearning love to thee, } My beautiful, belovéd land. THE LILY OF THE VALE. BY W. 8. GAFFNEY. WHEN earth was robed in all her pride Sweet flowers scattered far and wide Their fragrance on the gale; And, ’mid the blooming Floral race, I spied a tender, palely face, The lily of the vale. No gaudy colors—crimson hue, Pink, orange, or cerulean blue, Bid me its presence hail ; Like asphodels, this earth above! ’Twas robed in ermine, smiling love, The lily of the vale. *Twas very sweet, that palely face, That Naiad queen of modest grace, Of earth, alas, how frail! Where angels watereth with care Is blooming still, though doubly fair, My lily of the vale!

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A I AM FAR FROM THEE. ~~ THE HONEY BEE. WirTk thighs of gold and viewless wing, The Honey Bee is ever murmuring, In the shady dell beside a spring, Where summer flowers grow. The azure sky it bends above, And freckled o’er with clouds of love, Which gentle winds do slowly move To smile on all below. Complaining streams are running mild Through every wood and thicket wild, Where blooming flowers, soft beguil’d, Embrace the gaudy Bee. Now guard the treasure to thy home, And from thy emerald bowers roam When morning dawns, and the sun doth come Bursting o’er land and sea! Sweet harbinger of intelligence, Pioneer of the pale-faced race— An emblem in thee we trace Of thrift and happiness. Let the woodman pause to know The weakness of his Indian foe, And let the quick woods bestow Around him peace and bliss Oh, while he takes what thou hast got, And brings the captive to his cot, Let thy example be not forgot By the captor pale. In thee, behold docile content, That precious time may not be spent, And idleness shall not have bent Energy’s bright sail! But up and doing with the morn, With no conflicting »assions torn, And a mighty nation thus be born Of wealth and liberty! Though thou ’rt small, of little note, With viewless wing, and gaudy coat, Yet thy low humming note Is music sweet to me. Associate of my boyish days, When lost in some flowery maize Retreating from June’s hot rays, - I fled to shady grove. Around, about, and everywhere, In the flower, and in the air, I spied thee, busy sailing there With never-ceasing move.—L. THE PRESENTIMENT. N INCIDENT FROM REAL LIFE. BY SUNNIE SOUTHRON. HEALTH bounded high in every vein, Upon her cheek the rose tint lay, And as a bird’s sweet gushing strain Her voice was musical and gay. The warm true love of friends had strown Her path with almost thornless flowers, And day by day, they blossomed on, Beneath life’s sunlight and its showers. eee NN en nn nnn ews Yet, as athwart the brightest skies A light and drifting cloud hath crept, So, oftentimes her bright blue eyes Look’d as if tear-drops in them slept. The Spring to Summer months gave place, Still deeper grew the pensive shade Upon her fair and girlish face, And from her lips the smile did fade. And when with gentle words we strove Her spirit’s drooping strength to cheer, And with the skilful hand of love Dispel each doubt, allay each fear, She told us that “‘a spirit voice Was ever sounding in her ear. It whisper’d: ‘In thy youth rejoice ; Yet thou shalt surely die this year.’”’ She said, ‘‘ My pulse throbs true and strong, And life to me is very dear; But yet its span will not be long; I know.that I will die this year. “ For even when my heart is tay, And hope, and love, and joy are near, Even then, that spirit voice doth say, ‘ Prepare, for thou wilt die this year!’ In sleep, when fancy doth beguile With pleasant dreams of friends most dear, An angel form, with beaming smile Bends close and breathes, ‘ Thou ’It die this year.’ * And when I read of Him who died, Or kneel with penitential tear, And ask that He my steps will guide, It whispers, ‘ Die thou wilt this year.’ ” The Autumn came with chilling breath, And wither’d all the fair young flowers; And with the falling leaf came death, And laid his blighting hand on ours. I AM FAR FROM THEE BY CORTEZ. I am far from thee— No other cause can I assign Why this deep gloom of heart and mind Comes over me. While basking in the sunny rays Reflected heavenly from thy face, In sweetest beauty, No thought my spirit e’er obscured That in this spot I’d be immured, Called here by duty. I am far from thee— My constant thought by day and night So long as absent frovr ** y sight, Alone will be Of happy hours once spent—the hope That when to roam I have full scope, From duty free, Most happy welcome [I'll receive, And all the vows you will believe, I breathe to thee. Rio de Janeiro.

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PARRA ARAARAAARRRRRRRrnermnnnrnwnnnase THE WANDERER. “When I lie down, Isay: When shall I arise, and the night be gone? and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day.” THE starry night is waning fast, The lamplight ’s growing pale, But thought is busy with the past, And tells a mournful tale. Oh, hasten sleep to banish cares And give my eyelids rest! Oh, quench the flame of other years That’s scorching in my breast! Once more I sit with aching eyes Within that darkened room, Where tears, and prayers, and stifled sighs Are mingled with the gloom ; The slender hands with mine entwine, My tears of anguish roll, And now those dying eyes meet mine And seem to pierce my soul. And then I promised, oh, my God! Upon my bended knee, That I would shun the gaming board, And from the winecup flee ; And have I kept that solemn vow? My soul is steeped in woe, The misspent days and nights arise, And darkly murmur no! The rosy rays of morning come And fall upon the sea; ’Twill be a glorious day for some, But ah, ’tis not for me. While they with health and hope arise And greet it with delight, I turn away my weary eyes, And wish again for night.—J. TO VIOLA. *y WILLIAM RODERICK LAWRENCE. rea , oh! very long, since we First met in friendship’s name ; In coudidence and trusting love To thee, fair girl, I came; But o’er thy young and lovely face A shadowy cloud hath passed, And though thou wert my dearest friend, Thy friendship did not last. If ever heart desired the bliss Of other heart beside, Or prayed that Heaven might guide the bark In safety o’er life’s tide— Mine was the heart whose every wish Breathed happiness to thee ; And mine the prayer to Heaven above That smooth thy path might be. But other friends perchance were nigh Who drew thy heart away From cne who never dreamed thy love The friendship of a day; And though ’tis long since last we met In friendship’s hoy name, To thee, dear girl, this heart of mine Will ¢’er remain the same. LLL i lm lle Pale tema Dat ltt lt tended tt GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ON eee eee ee Enigmas. ANSWERS TO CHARADES IN JUNE NUMBER. 18. Broom-stick. 19. Ice-land. 20. Sword. CHARADES. 21. My first is ever whispering Her promises so sweet, Though whilst we yet are listening We disappointment meet. Yet we hearken once again To the voice so sweet and clear, That comes in hours of ease or pain, Our sinking heart to cheer. You may search the earth, the sea, the air, For an object which you can compare With my second ; yet you ’ll always see It smaller still in a degree. How sad my whole, and desolate! And if applied to you or me, And is expressive of our state, We are objects of sympathy. 22. WHeEn seated ’neath a friendly roof, With petty trials all aloof, And old Boreas, rushing past, Wails a sad requiem on the blast; When the cheerful fire glows, And we sit with closed doors, Contented with our present lot, We feel no wish to leave the spot, Then my /irst grates harshly on my ear, For it bids us leave what we hold dear. The chief of a province in Africa My second rules with almost regal sway. Despotic and cruel, his subjects he awes By the fear of his wrath, and not by good laws. My whole oft culls, with toil and pain, Love from the student’s teeming brain, Lessons of learning rich and rare, Varied by trifles light as air. These, in a casket gemmed with flowers, He sends to cheer our lonely hours. 23. My first will consume, my second will save, My whole will presume to waste all you have. 24. My Jirst is the alpha, my second a grain, But a word or two more will make it quite plain. On a tree of the forest my whole may be found, Or among the dry leaves it lies scattered around. 25. TAKE a cross letter, and two-thirds of the sea, Unite them together; «ie product will be What some people say gives to scandal a zest, And oft is found worst where they say it is best ; A traitor ’s its doom—for ’tis quartered away, And for such execution too dearly we pay; Yet ’tis treated still worse, for, by royal desire, In the palace ’tis “ drawn” through hot water and fire.

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OUR PRACTICAL DRESS INSTRUCTOR. CORACO EUGENIE, a 9 > Ny We this month give one of the most beau- tiful of the Paris costumes. The robe is of printed taffetas, with four embroidered scalloped flounces. The body is open over a chemisette of plaited muslin. The sleeves are open, the sides being held together with bands of quilled ribbon. The undersleeves are of muslin, to match the chemisette, and are fastened round the wrists by ribbon bracelets, with long ends, to correspond with the color of the dress. The bonnet is of lace, with small roses and leaves made of crape. «Ee 5 5 The child’s dress is also very elegant. Her .un- net is of silk, with plaited trimmings and feather. The frock and trowsers of white muslin, richly worked in broderie Anglais. The pelisse is made of silk, with ribbon and fringe trimmings. The following is the pattern of the “ Coraco Eugenie.” The sizes, given in inches, will show it is for a lady of middle height and youthful proportion. It may be made either of the same material as the robe or dress. or of any light material. It will look extremely elegant if mace 65

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66 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. = ead DIAGRAMS OF THE CORACO EUGENIE. of muslia fined with primrose, blue, or pink silk. } wards, and must have three double plaits, as When worn without shawl or mantle, the bottom { marked B B, C C, D D; the other, D, B, and C, will require trimming with deep lace. Wegive { being on the half of pattern. The bottom of only half the sleeve pattern; itis very beautiful. ; pattern must be finished with bows of ribbons, In making, it must be left open from A down- with long ends. INITIALS AND NAMES.

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NOVELTIES FOR THE MONTH. 67 NOVELTIES FOR Fig. 1. Headdress, for Dinner, or Evening.— Hair arranged in smooth full bands, under a light cream piece of Honiton or guipure; this is orna- mented by loops and flowing ends, of rose-colored taffeta ribbon, with heavy black satin stripes. This is not too much dress for a morning cap if desired, and nothing could be more graceful and coquettish. Figs. 3 and 4.—Two new styles of collars, for high basques. An old fashion revived, as some will recollect. Fig. 3 is of muslin embroidery. ———— — — — — — — — ease THE MONTH. Fig. 2. Fig. 2.—Hair in waxed bandeaux, fastened at the back of the head by a pretty ornamental comb. Loops of rose-colored ribbon, mingled with leaves and blossoms of white jessamine, extended from the ear on each side, and united in a bow and flowing ends below the comb. This is an excellent arrangement for those whose hair has been thinned, or lost in illness. Fig. 4. Fig. 4, of delicate Valenciennes edging in waver light rows, on a foundation of net, with ® fer sprays of embroidery. Figs. 5 and 6.—Undersleeves @ la Duchesse tu

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68 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PRA eee - - Fig. 5. Fig. 6. Fig. 7. correspond. This is the favorite style of the with a plain or embroidered white cambric skirt. season for sleeves, particularly when headed by > It is of cambric, the front in fine plaits, the puffs, as in fig. 5. > whole sacque being trimmed by an embroidered Fig. 7.—Sacque for morning-dress, to be worn , flouncing, headed by a plain cambric puff. EMBROIDERY FOR CHILD’S SKIRT. q § 6,0 4° ~ Sa Re 4 »

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1 {HARNIMIT ' ATM PLT) WARE us vrin Nib UE Wit Al y PT mill! yr y a . ip WY, RW FISH-CLOTU

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FISH-CLOTH. eee FISH-CLOTH. (See Plate in front of Book.) Materials.—Cottons of the following colors: two reels white, two green, one dark blue, one Jight blue, one black, one lemon color. The colors will be indicated throughout by their respective initials. Becin by making the lemon slices thus: With cotton No. 40, hook No. 20, make a chain of 12; close it into a loop, and work it all round in de, taking the stitches under the chain. Do this four times, when all the pips will be made. With the yellow cotton work a chain, connect- ing all these from point to point in a circle. Work a round of white in the yellow, with two te stitches in every chain. Then a round of tc in yellow on the white, with two stitches in every alternate one. This completes one lemon slice. Four of them must be made and sewed on the corners of the fish-cloth after it is completed. The pips only are to be done with a fine needle and fine cotton. With the coarse white cotton and hook No. 10 make a chain of 116; work eight rows in open square crochet. 9th.—17 os in white, 1 de in dark blue, 3 de in light blue, 2 ch in white, 2 de light blue, 18 open squares in white. Observe that in future rows the colors will be indicated by their re- spective initials. 10th.—17 os w, 1 de d b, 4 de 1 b, 2 ch w, 3 de 1 b, 18 os w. 11th.—17 os w, 2 de d b, 3 de 1 b, 2 de w, 5 dc 1 b, 17 os w. 12ih.—16 os w, 3 ded b, 2 del b, 2 de b (to form the eye), 3 de w, 4 de 1 b, 17 os w. 13th.—16 os w, 4 dc d b, 3 de 1 b, 4 de w, 5 de 1 b, 17 os w. 14th.—16 os w, 4 de d b, 4 de 1 b, 4 de w, 5 de 1 b, 16 os w. 15th.—15 os w, 4. de d b, 4de 1 b, 5 de w, 4 de 1b, 1 de d b, 15 os w. 16th.—15 os w, 4. dc d b, 3 de 1 b, 6 de w, 2 de lb, 1 de,d b, 3 de1b,1 ch w; open squares in white to the end. 17th.—15 os w, 4 dc d b, 4 de 1 b, 6 de w, 1 de d b, 6 de 1 b; open squares in white to the end. 18th.—14 os w, ending with one chain, 4 de db, 4dc 1 b, 5 de w,2dcedb, 1 de w, 6 del b; finish with os in white. 19th.—14 os w, 4 ded b, 4. del b, 11 de w, 6 de 1b; open squares to the end in white. 20th.—14 os w, 4. ded b, 4 de 1 b, 13 de w, 6 de 1b; finish with open squares in white. 2ist and 22d.—Like 20th. 23d.—13 os w, 1 ch w,3 de db, 5de 1 b, 15 ———e—ee—eeeeeeeeeeeeeses PLPAL PLP PPP LEP PP PPP _— ; 69 RRA AARP RRR ngw oe de w, 7 de 1 bs; open squares in white to the end. 24th.—13 os w, 3 de db, 5 de 1 b, 17 de w, 6 de 1b; finish with white in os. 25th.—Begin on the first, leaving out the open squares. 3 dcedb,5dcelb, 19 de w, 5 del b. 26th to 31st inclusive. The same. Now turn back to the twenty-fifth row, and begin a chain in the last stitch of the light blue for the fin; let the chain be composed of twelve stitches; on that chain work 2 sc, 3 dc, 7 te; tura, and work 7 de, 2 sc, which will make it even with the row above, if the three last stitches are missed along this; work a row of sc, to unite it to the fish, as in the engraving. Then work open squares in white from the row you first missed, then to the last, that is, the thirty-first row. Do the same on the other side of the fish, taking care that the lower fin reaches a little lower than the upper one. Begin the second fin on the twenty-sixth row. 32d.—13 os w, 1 ch w,4 de d b, 5delb, 17 de w, 5 de 1 b; finish with open squares in white. 33d.—13 os w, 2ch w,4 ded b, 5de 1 b, 15 de w, 5 de lb; finish as before. 34th.—14 os w, 3 de d b, 5 de 1 b, 13 de w, 5 de 1b; finish as before. 35th.—14 os w, 3 ded b, 5de 1 b, 11 de w, 5 dc 1b; finish as before. 36th.—14 os w, 1 ch w, 3 de d b, 5 del b, 9 de w, 5 de 1b; finish with white os. 37th.—15 os w, 3 ded b, 5 de 1 b, 7 de w, 5 de 1b; finish with white open squares. 38th.—15 os w, 1 ch w,3 ded b, 5de 1 b, 5 de w, 5 de 1b; finish with white os. 39th.—The same. 40th.—15 oz w, 2 ch w, 3 dc d b,4 de 1b,5 de w, 3 de 1 b, 2 dc, 2 ch w; open squares in white to the end. A4lst.—16 os w, 2 dc d b,4 de 1 b, 5 de w, 2 de 1 b, 2 ch; open squares in white to the end. 42d.—15 os w, lch w,2ded b, 4 de 1b, 7dce w, 2 de 1b; open squares in white to the end. 43d.—15 os w, 2 de d b, 4 de 1 b, 9 de w, 2 de 1b, finish with open squares to the end. 44th—14 open squares in white, 2ded b, 4 dc 1b, 4 de w, 2 de 1 b, 5 de w, 2 del b; open squares in white to the end. 45th.—14 open squares in white, 2 ded b, 3 dc 1 b, 5 de w, 1 de 1 b, 2 ch w, 1 de 1 b, 6 de w, 1 dcelb, 1ch; and open squares to the end in white. 46th.—14 os w, 2 ded b, 3 de 1 b, 4.de w, 1 de 1 b, 1 ch, 1 de, 2 ch, 1 de, 1 ch, all in white, 1 del b, 4 de w, 1 de 1 b, 1 ch, and os in white. 47th.—14 os w, 1 ch w,2 ded b, 1 de 1b, 3

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70 ~~ APAALR ADA ADD PAD AP de w, 1 de 1 b, 2 ch, 1 de, 2 ch, 1 de, 2 ch, all in white, 1 de 1 b, 3 de w, 1 de 1 b, 1 ch, and open squares to the end in white. 48th.—14 os w, 1 ch w, 2 ded b, 1 de 1b, © de w, 1 de 1b, *, 2 ch, 1 dc, * 4 times, and 2 ch w, 1 de 1 b,2 de w,1 de 1 b,1 ch, and open squares to the end in white. Finish with eight rows of open squares in white cotton. For the border, for which the green cotton is to be used :— Make a chain of 16, turn, miss 2, 2 se, 3 de, 4 te, 3 dc, 2 sc, 1 ch, turn; work the same on the other side of the chain of 16, and fasten off. PPAAAAAL AL ALAA } ; GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PAPAL AL PAARAAAAAAAAL This completes one leaf; let as many be done as may be required to go all round the D’oyley rather more than twice. Then, with fine green cotton, sew the points of some, at regular inter- vals, round the fish-cloth. Make a chain all round, connecting the base of the leaves at regu- lar intervals. On the chain work a row of sc, connecting the ends of the remaining leaves for the outer row. Or the leaves might be made with a chain of 5 between each; the second row of leaves being worked on the other side.

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INFANT’S FROCK IN KNITTING. eee eee 71 nn INFANT’S FROCK IN KNITTING. Materials.—The Boar’s Head crochet cotton, No. 50, { and a pair of knitting-needles, No. 21. Tue Epeinc.—Cast on seven stitches, and knit one plain row. lst row.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2. 2d.—Knit 3, purl 1, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1. 3d.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit to the end. 4th.—Knit all but 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1. 5th.— Knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, nake 2, knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2. 6th.—Knit 3, p 1,k 2, purl 1,k2,m 1,k2 together, k 1. 7th.—Like third. 8th.—Like fourth. 9th.— Knit 3, m 1, k 2 together, m 2, k 2 to- gether, m 2, k 2 together, m 2, k 2 together, k 1. 10th.—Knit 3, p 1, k 2, p1,k 2,p1,k 2,m 1, k 2 together, k 1. 11th.—Like third. 12th.—Cast off 8 stitches, k all the rest but 3, m 1, k 2 together, k 1. This little edging trims the top and sleeves, also the capes, if any are put to the body. For a first-sized frock, as the edging should be very narrow, the open hem may be so laid on as to cover the muslin hem or runner. Each piece of the edging must be done separately, and when measured, as well as sewn on, must be pulled out in the width, as it is apt to shrink. Tue Bopice.—This commences in a point, and gradually increases, while the edging is knitted on it, as it proceeds, by a method in- vented by ourselves. ; | | ; ; en eee ~— Cast on fifteen stitches, and knit a few rows quite plain; then knit all but four. Make 1, k 2 together, m 2, k 2. lst pattern row.—Knit 3, p1,k 2,m 1,k 2 together, k 1,m 1,k1,m 1,k 3,m 1,k 2 to- gether, m 2 k 2. 2d.—Knit 3,p 1,k2,m1,k2t,k 1,p3,k 3,mi1,k2t,k 4. 3d.—Knit 6,m 1,k 2t,k1,m1,k3,m1,k 3,m1,k2t,k4. 4th.—Knit 6,m 1,k2t,k 1,p5,k3,m1,k 2t,m2,k2t,m 2, k 2. 5th—Knit 3,p 1,k2,p1,k 2,m 1,k2t,k 1,m1,k5,m1,k3,m 1,k2t,m2,k 2 t,m 2,k 2. 6th.— Knit 3, p1,k 2,p1,k2,mi,k2t,k 1,p 3,m1,p2t,p2,k3,m1,k2t,k 7. 7th.—Knit 9,m 1,k2 t, k 1, m 1, raise a stitch by knitting as one a bar of thread, m 1, k 2 t, k 3, k 2 t, m 1, raise 1,m 1,k3,m1,k2t,k 7. 8th.—Knit 9, m 1,k 2t,k 1, p 11, k 3, m 1, k2t,m2,k2t,m2,k2t,m2,k2t,k1. 9th..—Knit 3, p 1, k 2, p 1, k 2,p 1,k2,m1, k2t,ki,mi,k3,m1,k2t,ki,k2t,m 1], k3,mi1,k3,mi1,k2t,m2,k2t,m2,k2t. m2,k2t,k1. 10th.—Knit 3, p 1,k 2,p1,k 2,p1,k 2,m 1,k2t,k 1, purl all but the last 15, k 3, m 1, k 2 t, knit all the rest. 11éh.—Cast off 8,k 3,m 1,k2t,k1,m 1,1 5mi,k3tmi,k5b,mi,k3,mi1,k2t knit to the end. 12th.—Cast off 8, k 3,m 1,k 2t,k 1, p3,m 1,p2t,p6,m 1,p2t,p2,k3,m1,k2t,m 2,k 2. 13th.—Knit 3, p 1,k 2,m1,k2t,k1,m 1, raise 1*mi1,k2t,k3,k2t.mi1,k1,*m 1,

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72 «

wee eee GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

eer

2ist.—Knit 3, p 1,k 2,p1,k 2,p1,k 2,m 1,k2t,k1,°,m1,k3,m1,k2t,k1, p2t, * 3 times, m 1, k 3,m 1,k 3,m 1,k 2t,*,m 2,k2t, * 3 times, k 1. 22d.—Knit 3, p 1, k 2, p1,k 2,p 1,k 2, m1, k 2 t, k 1, p all but the last 15,k 3, m 1, k 2t, k to the end. 23d.—Cast off 8, k 3, m 1,k 2t, k 1, *, k 5,m1,k3t, * 3 times, m 1, k 5,m1,k 1, k 2 t, k to the end, 24th.—Cast off 8, k 3, m 1, k 2t, k 1, p 3, *, m 1, p2t, p 6, *, 3 times, m 1, p2 t, p2,k 3, m1,k2t, m 2,k 2. Repeat these last twelve rows, from thirteenth to twenty-fourth inclusive, as often as required for the depth, always repeating between the stars once more in every six rows. Thus, the repeti- tion will be always four times from the twenty- fifth to the thirtieth, five times in the next six, and so on, instead of three. Make it up with muslin, as seen in the engraving. m 1, 3, m

TRIMMING FOR BOY’S DRAWERS.

Materials. — French muslin; French white cotton nraid; embroidery cotton; and point lace cottons. Tuars design is given of the size it is intended to be worked. The white Jines indicate the braid which is laid on, and button-holed at each edge. The centre is filled sy five Mechlin wheels, worked over Venetian bars. The upper divisions are in escalier stitch, done with Meck- ¢ 2 | lenburgh; the lower are in muslin, worked in broderie Anglaise, with the embroidery cotton. The edge is finished with Sorrento, done in Mecklenburgh cotton; and No. 100 of the same thread is used for the wheels. By an oversight, the upper part of this pat- tern is engraved in bars. It ought to be muslin, with a star in broderie in each point.

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KNITTED BASKET. RRR ARR EEE 73 HONITON CROCHET COLLAR. Materials.—Boar’s head cotton. Crochet hook. Tuts crochet collar, in imitation of Honiton lace, is composed of sprigs and edging in crochet sewed on Italian or Brussels net. It is a very simple style of collar, and may be made very rapidly. Tue Epere.—16 ch close in the 6th for a loop, in which work * 5 ch, miss 1, sc in 2d * 4 times; 5 ch, se on the close of the loop. Turn the work on the wrong side, and do under every chain of five 2 sc, 5 de, 2.sc; repeat from the 16 chain as often as may be required for the length. ? For THe Spric.—Make a chain of 10, form it into a loop, in which work * 5 ch; miss 1, sc in 2d * 5 times, joining into the close of the loop at the last; turn on the wrong side, and this forms the flower. 12 ch, for stem; miss 1, 7 de, turn the work, * 6 ch, miss 1, sc, on 2d de, stitch, * all round this centre of the leaf; work all these loops in sc; 9 ch, miss 1, 7 dec, for centre of another leaf; work as before; 6 ch, work sc, all along the stem, and fasten off. Open-nuem.—Make a chain of the required length, and in it work * 2 ch, miss 1,1 dc, *; repeat to the end. To make up crochet Honiton lace for collars, or any other purpose: Cut out a pattern of the article required in colored paper, slightly larger than is requisite; then a similar one, in Italian or Brussels net. A very narrow roll or hem must be made round this net, and it must then be tacked on the paper. Then arrange on it the ) crochet work, beginning with the edging and } VOL. L1.—7 spngs, and tack them lightly in their places. Run them round with very fine cotton; put the open-work in every loop 1 sc, 1 de, 3 tc, 1 de, 1 sc, hem round the neck, fasten it on; and, round the outer edge, lay some of the very best pearl edging. The collar given in the engraving, is formed in scallops, in each of which one sprig is laid. KNITTED BASKET. Materials.—Six shades of 4 thread Berlin wool, in scarlet or any other color, and 4 bone pins No. 8. Wira the lightest shade of wool cast on (3 stitches. Ist row—Slip 1, knit 1, *, make 1, knit 2 w- gether, * 3 times, { make 2, knit 2 together, f twic, knit 1. 2d.—Knit 3, purl 1, knit 2, purl 1, knit 1, *, make J, knit 2 together, * 3 times, knit 1. 3d.—Slip 1, knit 1, *, make 1, knit 2 together,

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74 NN I eee * 3 times, knit 2, make 2, knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, knit 1. ith.—Knit 3, purl 1, knit 2, purl 1, knit 3, *, t.ake 1, knit 2 together, * 3 times, knit 1. 5th.—Slip 1, knit 1, *, make 1, knit 2 together, * 3 times, knit 4, t, make 2, knit 2 together, ft twice, knit 1. 6th.—Knit 3, purl 1, knit 2, purl 1, knit 5, *, make 1, knit 2 together, * 3 times, knit 1. 7th.—Slip 1, knit 1, *, make 1, knit 2 together, * 3 times, knit 6, f, make 2, knit 2 together, t¢ ‘wice, knit 1. 8th.—Cast off 8, knit 5, *, make 1, knit 2 to- gether, * 3 times, knit 1. This completes one pattern ; join on the next shade of wool for another, and so on, changing the shade with every repetition of the pattern. ; ; GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. The seventh pattern will be done again with the lightest shade; and 12 patterns will be found sufficient for the edging. Sew the sides up, and on each of the three needles take up 33 stitches, from the straight side of the edging; knit 2 rounds plain, then knit 1, knit 2 together, knit to within 3 of the end of the needle, knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat this on the other two needles; knit one plain round, and one decreasing one alternately, until only 4 stitches are left on each needle. Draw up the opening, and fasten the wool with a coarse embroidery needle. Make a handle of 3 or 4 pieces of fine wire covered with wool or ribbon ; and put a round, similarly covered, at the top and bottom of the three rows of open hem to keep the basket in ‘shape. POCKETBOOK IN APPLICATION. Materials.—Rich scarlet cloth, black velvet, gold braid and thread, with a httle black cord. Tuts pretty little pocket-book is in scarlet cloth, with black velvet laid on it in those parts which in the engraving are entirely black. For a gentleman’s note-case, the size given in the engraving is amply large ; for a lady’s note-case, or for a cigar-case, it should be about half as large again. It is made in three sections, of which two are seen in the engraving. At the hack the lovers’ knot is placed in the centre, and the border seen in the lower part is carried all round. In putting on the gold braid, care must be taken to preserve the appearance of a knot. The gold thread and Albert braid are used only for the scrolls seen in the flap of the book. To make it up, line each part with card-board, covered with silk, and make a pocket, also covered with silk, for one side. At the other may be a place for cigars. Loops to holda pencil should be made at the edges of the pocket, so that the pencil being placed in it will keep it closed. A gold cord down the centre, fastened at each end to the lining, will serve to hold a few sheets of paper. All the edges should be bound with a fancy cord, uniting the colors of which tHe book is composed (scarlet, black, and gold) ; and it should form a loop at the point of the flap, to button over. Rich green, or Napoleon blue-watered silk, would be the proper material for the lining.

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PATTERN FOR A DOLL BABY’S CAP. 76 PATTERN FOR A DOLL BABY’S CAP. SOMETHING TO INTEREST THE JUVENILES, 2 How many of our young readers will work this baby cap for their dolls? Many of them, we have no doubt. Remember, “as the twig is bent, the tree’s inclined.”

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PATTERN FOR A SLIPPER. EMBROIDERY FOR SHIRT FRONTS.

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RECEIPTS Receipts, Vc. DIRECTIONS FOR PRESERVING FRUITS (Third Article.) BLACKBERRIES.—Preserve these as strawberries or currants, either liquid or jam, or jelly. Blackberry jelly or jam is an excellent medicine in summer complaints or dysentery; to make it, crush a quart of fully ripe blackberries with a pound of the best loaf-sugar, put it over a gentle fire and cook it until thick, then put to it a gill of the best fourth-proof brandy, stir it awhile over the fire, then put it in pots. BLACKBERRY SyruP.—Make a simple syrup of 4 pound of sugar to each pint of water, boil it until it is rich and thick, then add to it as many pints of the ex- pressed juice of ripe blackberries as there are pounds of sugar; put half a nutmeg grated to each quart of the syrup; let it boil fifteen or twenty minutes, then add to it half a gill of fourth-proof brandy for each quart of syrup; set it by to become cold, then bottle it for use. A tablespoonful for a child or a wineglass for an adult is a dose. BARBERRIES.—Preserve them the same as currants; or they may be preserved in molasses. Pick them from the stems, and put them into a jug or jar with molasses to cover them. The acid soon destroys all taste of mo- lasses. The small winter or frost grape may be done in the same manner. Pine-AprPLe JELLY.—Take a perfectly ripe and sound pine-apple, cut off the outside, cut it in small pieces; bruisé them, and to each pound put a teacup of water; put it in a preserving-kettle over the fire, cover the kettle, and let them boil for twenty minutes; then strain it, and squeeze it through a bit of muslin. For each pound of fruit take a pound of sugar; put a teacup of water to each pound; set it over the fire until it is dissolved; then add the pine-apple juice. For each quart of the syrup, clarify an ounce of the best isinglass, and stir it in; let it boil until, by taking some on a plate to cool, you find it a stiff jelly. Secure it as directed. A New Preserve.—A correspondent sends us the following: “I have lately been very busy making a new kind of preserve, which, I may say, is quite a dis- covery, to me at least, and which promises to insure me a plentiful supply of good, wholesome jam, for my family during the winter, at a price below the usual cost of preserves. Iwas, the other day, making some ordinary apple jam, and before finishing it, I put in some blackberry juice, in order to give it a little color, an‘ I was surprised at finding how much the preserve was improved by the addition ; so much so, that it might very easily be mistaken fordamson jam. And as you will see, by the following proportions, the cost must be very small, wherever apples and blackberries are to be got. I put to two quarts of the juice of blackberries— that is, I bring the berries up to a simmer for five minutes, and then strain them through a coarse cloth— about six pounds’ weight of cut-up apples, and one pound of crushed lump-sugar, and stew it up in the usual way, till the apples are softened down, and the mass becomes of the usual thickness. It is wholesome and good, and I thought that what was within any one’s reach ought to be known.” 7* s 4 77 To PRESERVE SEVILLE ORANGES WHOLE.—Cut a hole at the stem end of the oranges, the size of a half dime, take out all the pulp, put the oranges into cold water for two days, changing it twice a day; boil them rather more than an hour, but do not cover them, as it will spoil the color; have ready a good syrup, into which put the oranges, and boil them till they look clear; then take out the seeds, skins, &c , from the pulp first taken out of the oranges, and add to it one of the whole oranges, previously boiled, with an equal weight of sugar to it and the pulp; boil this together, till it looks clear, over a slow fire, and, when cold, fill the oranges with this marmalade, and put on the tops; cover them with syrup, and put brandy paper on the top of the jar. It is better to take out the inside at first, to preserve the fine flavor of the juice and pulp, which would be injured by boiling in the water. ORANGES IN JELLY.—Take a dozen of the smallest sized oranges; boil them in three changes of water, until a straw will easily penetrate the skin; take half a pound of white sugar for each pound of oranges, and for each pound of sugar a small teacup of water; when it is at all dissolved set it over a gentle fire, put in the oranges, cover them, and let them boil gently; when the fruit looks clear, take the oranges up, cut them half- way down in quarters, or cut them entirely through; put to the syrup half an ounce of isinglass dissolved in & little hot water, give it one boil, then take some of it into a saucer; if it is not as thick as you wish, boil it a short time longer, put the oranges into a deep glase dish, and turn the jelly over them. Apple-jelly may be used instead of isinglass. Lemons may be done in this manner. This is a highly ornamental dish, and may be made the day before it is wanted. This jelly may be made firm, and the oranges sliced; put an ounce of isinglass to a quart of syrup. Put the jelly an inch deep in the mould; when it is cold, lay in slices of the preserved orange; put more jelly in; when that is cold, put on more slices; and so continue until the mould is full. When wanted, dip the mould for an instant in hot water, then turn it out on a flat glass dish. ORANGE JELLY.—Put one quart of water into a saucepan with a quarter of a pound of hartshorn shavings, or two ounces of isinglass broken small; boil it gently until it is a strong jelly; take the juice from four large oranges, and two fine lemons, and half the yellow rind from one orange and one lemon, pared thin ; put them to the jelly, and make it sweet with loaf- sugar; then beat the whites of four eggs to a high froth, mix it in, and let it boil for ten minutes; then run it through a jelly bag once or twice, until it is perfectly clear; put it in fancy moulds. When you wish to serve it, set the mould for a few seconds in a pan of hot water, turn a flat glass or china dish over the mould, reverse it with the mould upon it, and if the jelly does not immediately loosen, give it a smart tap with the hand. CANDIED ORANGE OR LEMON PEEL.—Boil the rind from thick skin oranges or lemons in plenty of water, until they are tender, and the bitterness is out; change the water once or twice, if necessary. Clarify half a pound of sugar with half a cup of water for each pound of peel; when it is clear, put in the peels, cover them, and boii them until clear, and the syrup almost a candy; then take them out, and lay them on inverted sieves tu dry; boil the syrup with additional sugar, then put in the peels ; stir them about until the sugar candies around them; then take them on to a sieve, and set them intu

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78 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. & warm oven, or before a fire; when perfectly dry, pack them in a wooden box, with tissue paper between. To PRESERVE ApPLes.—Pare and core, and cut them in halves or quarters; take as many pounds of the best brown sugar; put a teacup of water to each pound. When it is dissolved, set it over the fire; and when boiling hot, put in the fruit, and let it boil gently until it is clear, and the syrup thick; take the fruit with a skimmer on to flat dishes, spread it to cool, then put it in pots or jars, and pour the jelly over. Lemons boiled tender in water, and sliced thin, may be boiled with the apples. To PrReEsERVE PipPins In Siices.—Take the fairest pippins, pare them, and cut them in slices a quarter of an inch thick, without taking out the cores; boil two or three lemons, and slice them with the apples; take the same weight of white sugar (or clarified brown sugar), put half a gill of water for each pound of sugar, dissolve it, and set it over the fire; when it is boiling hot put in the slices, let them boif very gently until they are clear, then take them with a skimmer and spread them on flat dishes to cool; boil the syrup until it is quite thick, put the slices on flat dishes, and pour the syrupover. These may be done a day before they are wanted; two hours will be sufficient to make a fine dish for dessert or supper. To Preserve Cras-AppLes.—Take off the stem, and core them with a pen-knife, without cutting them open; weigh a pound of white sugar for each pound of prepared fruit; put a teacup of water to each pound of sugar; put it over a moderate fire. When the sugar is all dissolved, and hot, put the apples in; let them boil gently until they are clear, then skim them out, and spread them on flat dishes. Boil the syrup until it is thick; put the syrup in whatever they are to be kept, and when the syrup is cooled and settled, pour it care- fully over the fruit. Slices of lemon boiled with the fruit may be considered an improvement; one lemon is enough for several pounds of fruit. Crab-apples may be preserved whole, with only half an inch of the stem on; three-quarters of a pound of sugar for each pound of fruit. SICE-ROOM AND NURSERY. Cookery for the Sick and Young Children. (Continued from the June number.) Hers Tea.—Green, fresh gathered herbs are always to be preferred; but they may be carefully dried for winter use, and answer the purpose. In that case, every bit of stalk should be removed, and only the leaves used. Take eight or ten tops of fresh gathered balm, sage, or mint, or a handful of cowslip pips, or marigold flowers, stripped. Pour over them a quart of boiling water, cover the jug or teapot, and let it stand from five to eight minutes—not longer; then ctrain off. Balm is the most cooling of these drinks—mint the most comfortable to the bowels—sage and marigold the most reviving— cowslip is composing—all are very wholesome. Mint and balm together make a pleasant tea. Spearmint is the most pleasant sort for tea, but double mint and peppermint are most useful in bowel complaints. Rve Tea.—Gather young sprigs and leaves free from stalk About twenty or twenty-four will make a tea- cupful, to be prepared as above. Rue tea taken in the mvrning fasting is a valuable remedy against worms. It is also very useful for infants when troubled with wind on the stomach, or disordered bowels, a much safer aud more efficacious remedy than the stupefying and spirituous medicines often given. A teaspoonful or two may be given at any time. CAMOMILE TEA—is often rendered nauseous by being allowed to stand too long on the flowers. After five or six minutes all the goodness is extracted, and nothing further is drawn except a disagreeable bitter. When camomile tea is taken either for a sick headache, or to work off an emetic, or to promote perspiration—for all which purposea it is very valuable--it should be made weak, and drunk warm. A tablespoonful of flowers will be sufficient for a pint of tea. If required as 8 tonic, allow a tablespoonful of flowers to half a pint of water; prepare it over-night; let it stand six minutes (at most); strain off, and drink it cold the first thing in the morning. Three or four cloves may be added if approved. A teacupful taken fasting, and another between breakfast and dinner, persevered in, will be found an excellent strengthener of the appetite and digestion, and tend to remove faintness, languor and depression of spirits. BARLEY WATER.—Either Scotch or pearl barley may be used. The former is much less expensive, ana answers equally well. Set on two ounces in a small quantity of water; let it become quite warm, but before it boils strain off the liquor, and put a quart of fresh water, boiling. (The wasting a little liquor at first is for the sake of preserving a delicate color and flavor.) Let the second liquor boil till reduced one-half; then strain off. This will be of a moderate thickness; but if it be desired to make it thicker or thinner, it is but varying the quantity of barley. This is a cooling drink, and admits of additions either for flavor or for medicinal use, The juice and rind of lemon, with loaf-sugar, are most agreeable. Figs, raisins, liquorice-root, honey, and gum-arabic, are often used either for coughs, cold on the chest, confined bowels, or strangury. Powdered nitre is often used in feverish complaints, and given in barley water; a drachm to a quart is a good proportion. The method of mixing either nitre or powdered gum- arabic, is to rub the powder smooth with sugar or honey}; then mix it with a spoonful or two of the barley water, and stir it to the whole in a boiling state. Asa nourish- ing drink, boil the barley in half the quantity of water. When reduced, and quite thick, strain, and mix with an equal quantity of new milk; sweeten to taste. A bit of cinnamon, or two laurel leaves, may be boiled in it for flavor. Thick barley water, with milk and a little salt and sugar, is a suitable food for infants, when they begin to take what is at all thickened. The barley may be used in broth or stew, or to make a pudding. Bran TeEA.—A very cheap and useful drink in colds, fevers, and restlessness from pain. Put a handful of bran in a pint and a half of cold water, let it boil half an hour or more, then strain, and, if desired, flavor with sugar or lemon juice; but it is a pleasant drink without any addition. The bran when strained will serve as food for rabbits, chickens, or pigs. LinsEEpD TeA.—Very useful in hoarseness and husky cough. Boil two tablespoonfuls of the seeds in three pints of water till reduced to a quart; strain, and sweeten with honey. The juice of a lemon may be added, or a spoonful or two of good vinegar, or a tea- spoonful of citric acid. LEMONADE.—Very thinly shave the rind of two large lemons, not taking a morsel of the white pith, whicn pith should next be entirely removed, taking care pot

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RECEIPTS. 79 to break or cut into the fruit so as to waste the juice; cut the middle part of the lemons in thin slices (a silver xnife is best for the purpose); from one ounce to two ounces of loaf-sugar. Put these three articles (thin rind, slices, and sugar) into a jug, pour over them a quart of boiling water—let it stand a few minutes before using. When lemons are not in season, the same flavor may be obtained by adding to the sugar a drachm of citric acid and eight drops of pure essence of lemon. Orange drink may be prepared in the same manner as lemonade, allowing two China oranges and one Seville orange to a quart of water, or three China oranges. Half the rind will be quite sufficient. DRINK FROM FRESH FRv1T.—One pint of currants, stripped—a few raspberries make an agreeable ad- dition—one pint of water; boil them together ten or fifteen minutes, strain to one ounce or two ounces of loaf-sugar. When fresh fruit cannot be had, dissolve two tablespoonfuls of currant jelly in from half a pint to a pint of boiling water. RASPBERRY VINEGAR—may be made by steeping fresh gathered fruit in vinegar—three quarts of fruit to one of vinegar; after steeping three days, strain and simmer gently with one pound of loaf-sugar to every pint of juice and vinegar. When cold, bottle ani cork very securely. Or, to a pint of fresh raspberry juice allow one pound of loaf-sugar powdered, boil together three-quarters of an hour after actual boiling. Then pour off and mix with an equal quantity of distilled vinegar, and bottle. A large tablespoonful of this in a glass of water, is a most refreshing drink in fevers, and is particularly useful in complaints of the chest; a substitute may be made by dissolving raspberry jam, straining the juice, and mixing with it an equal quantity of the best vinegar. (To be continued.) THE TOILET. Ex_per FLOWER Pomatum.—Take of elder flower oil, four ounces; fine mutton suet, two ounces ; best lard, two ounces; melt the suet and lard together, with as little heat as possible, then add the elder oil, and beat up the mixture with a fork (to make it light) till nearly cold. If agreeable, any other perfume may be added before the pomatum is set. DenTAL ParasiTes.—The American “ Annual of Scientific Discovery” (1850) says: Microscopical exa- minations had been made of the matter deposited on the teeth and gums of more than forty individuals, selected fram all classes of society, in every variety of bodily condition, and in nearly every case, animal and vege- table parasites in great numbers had been discovered. Of the animal parasites there were three or four species, and of the vegetable one or two. In fact, the only per- sons whose mouths were found to be completely free from them, cleansed their teeth four times daily, using soap once. One or two of these individuals also passed a thread between the teeth to cleanse them more effectu- ally. In all cases the number of parasites was greater in proportion to the neglect of cleanliness. To Restore Hatr.—Hair, when removed by illness or old age, has been restored by the following simple means; though they are not likely to prove efficacious in all cases. Rub the bald places frequently with an onion. To MAKE SCENTED Bags.—Take of Florentine orris- root a pound and a half; calamus aromaticus, half a pound; yellow sandal-wood, a quarter of a pound; gum-benjamin, five ounces; cloves, half an ounce. Beat the whole into powder, and fill your bags with it. The bags are best made of very thin silk of the kind called “ Persian.”” They may be made about four inches square. Harr BRvusHES.—To clean hair-brushes, put a spoon- ful of pearlash into a pint of boiling water, then fasten a bit of sponge to the end of a stick, dip it into the solution, and wash the brush. Next pour some hot water over it, and dry before the fire. TOOTHACHE.—A correspondent (to whom we are obliged) strongly recommends the following simple remedy for toothache, from her own experience of its benefit. It is simply two or three drops of oil of juniper used every morning on the toothbrush after washing the teeth. We may say here that we are always very glad to receive receipts tested by correspondents. INVALUABLE DENTIFRICE.—Dissolve two ounces of borax in three pints of hot water; before quite cold, add one teaspoonful of tincture of myrrh, and one table- spoonful of spirit of camphor; bottle the mixture for use. A small wineglass of the solution, added to half 8 pint of tepid water, is sufficient for each application. This solution, applied daily, preserves and beautifies the teeth, extirpates all tartarous adhesion, produces a pearl-like whiteness, arrests decay, and induces a healthy action in the gums. ELpER FLOWER OIL FOR THE Harr.—Take of the best almond or olive oil, one pound; elder flowers (free from stalk), two ounces; place the flowers in the oil in a jar or wide-mouthed bottle; let them remain forty- eight hours; then strain. The oil must now stand in a quiet and cool place for at least a month, in order to clear itself. The bright part being poured off, is fit for use. If considered too strong, plain oil may be added. MISCELLANEOUS. Correre STAIns, Mup SPLASHES, &c., will mostly give way to the use of soap and water. Curd soap should be applied for this purpose. Obstinate stains which will not yield to these treatments must be sub- mitted to the bleaching powers of the fumes of burning sulphur. This is conveniently applied by igniting some brimstone under a cone or funnel made of card-board. The stains must be wetted, and then held over the top of the little chimney until they disappear. TRACING PapEeR.—Steep sheets of suitable paper in a strong solution of gum-arabic, and afterwards take off the superfiuity of the liquid by pressing each sheet between two others of similar paper, but dry. It will be found that the three sheets are converted into a first- rate tracing paper. It is indispensablo that the solution be strong, about the consistence of boiled oil. Paper prepared as above directed possesses every requisite that can be wished for. CEMENT FOR GLASs OR CHINA.—The expressed juice of garlic is a good cement for glass or china articles. We opine it would be better if mixed with a little of the ash of a burnt oyster-shell. To PRESERVE WATER-COLOR, CHALK, AND OTHER Drawinos.—Place a sheet of glass in front, a sheet of card-board or mill-board behind, and then paste a narrow slip of colored paper along the edge.

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80 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Woop Srarn.—A decoction of walnut or hickory bark, with a small quantity of alum in it, to give per- manency to the color, makes an excellent dye for white woods. GREASE Spots.—To obliterate grease spots from while silk or satin, we may proceed as directed for colored silks; but acid, fruit, ink, glove marks, stains from gentlemen’s coats, require a different treatment. These marks are generally removed by damping the part with oxalic acid dissolved in water; about the eighth part of an ounce in a wineglassful of water is strong enough. The common salts of lemons in water also answer well. For grease spots upon cloth and all kinds of woollen goods, soap and water may be used without fear, pro- vided it is well washed out afterwards. Fuller’s earth, or powdered French chalk, made into a paste with water, and laid upon the part, is, however, the best applicant, to be brushed out when dry. A Hriyt ror Wasuineo Day.—aA little pipe-clay dis- solved in the water employed in washing will clean the dirtiest linen thoroughly, with about one-half the labor, and full one-half less soap. Besides, the cloths will be improved in color, To Wasn CuintTz.—Take two pounds of rice, and boil it in two gallons of water to become soft. Then pour the whole into a tub; let it stand till it becomes of about the warmth usual in washing colored linens; then put the chintz in, and use the rice instead of soap. Wash it until the dirt seems to have been gotout. Then boil the same quantity of rice as above, but strain the rice, and mix it (the rice) with clear warm water: Wash the chintz in this again till quite clean; then rinse it in the water strained from the last dose of rice, and this will answer the end of starch. If a gown, it must be taken to pieces; and when dried, be careful to lay as smooth as possible. To CLEAN GOLD AND SitLveR LAcE.—Sew the lace in a clean linen cloth, boil it in a quart of soft water and a quarter pound of soap, and wash it in cold water. If tarnished, apply a little warm spirits of wine to the tarnished parts. To WASH AND CLEAN GLOvEs.— Wash them in soap and water till the dirt is got out, then stretch them on wooden hands, or pull them out in their pfoper shape. Never wring them, as that puts them out of form, and makes them shrink; put them one upon another and press the water out. Then rub the following mixture over the outside of the gloves: If wanted quite yellow, take yellow ochre; if quite white, pipe-clay; if between the two, mix a little of each together. By proper mix- ture of these any shade may be produced. Mix the color with beer or vinegar. Let them dry gradually, not too near the fire, nor in too hot a sun; when they are about half dried, rub them well, and stretch them out to keep them from shrinking, and to soften them. When they are well rubbed and dried, take a small cane and beat them, then brush them ; when this is done, iron them rather warm, with a piece of paper over them, but do not let the iron be too hot. PREPARATION OF SAP-GREEN.—Make a atrong 80- Intion or extract of unripe blackberries, or any other plant yielding a green juice; subject it to evaporation at a very low heat. When the liquid has become as thick as molasses, pour it into a mould and expose it em the heat of the sun, or of a slow oven; the rest of the watery particles will slowly evaporate, and leave a cake of sap-green. Parlor Amusements. { Farry Lanpscare.—l. Draw a landscape with In- { dian ink, and paint the foliage of the vegetables with { muriate of cobalt, some of the flowers with acetate of $ cobalt, and others with muriate of copper; while this ’ picture is cold, it will appear merely an outline of a landscape, cr winter scene; but when gently warmed, the trees and flowers will be displayed in their natural colors, which they will keep only while warm ; this may ‘be repeated at pleasure. ‘ 2. Write with an acetic solution of oxide of cobalt, to ; which add a little nitre ; on exposing the writing to heat, : the characters will appear of a rose color, but disappear i on cooling. ‘ 3. Write with a weak solution of copperas; when dry, $ it will appear invisible; but if wetted over with a brush dipped in tincture of galls, the writing will appear black. Tre PAPER ORACLE.—Some amusement may be obtained among young people, by writing, with common é ink, a variety of questions on different slips of paper, ‘ and adding a capricious reply to each, written witb ‘ nitro-muriate of gold. The coliection is permitted to ‘ dry and put aside until an opportunity offers for using them; when preduced, the answers will be invisible, you desire different persons to select such questions as they may fancy, and take them home with them; you then promise, that if they are placed near the fire or in $ warm place during the night, answers will appear ’ written beneath the questions in the morning, and such {will be the fact, if the directions have been followed. # Magoic Dye.—Dissolve some indigo in diluted sul- phuric acid, and add to it an equal quantity of carbonate of potash. White cloth dipped into this liquid is changed to blue, yellow cloth to green, and red to purple. { ‘TRANSMUTATION 0% CHANGE OF CoLors.—l. Mix ; a solution of prussiate «f potash with that of blue vitriol, $ and the mixture will be of a reddish brown color. { 2. Pour a little of the infusion of litmus, or blue cab- $ bage, into a wineglass, and add to it a drop of nitric or $ sulphuric acid, which will immediately change it to a { red color. 3. Take any chalybeate water (that is water containing iron in solution), and add to it a little solution of prus- siate of potash, which will change it to a blue, as in the previous experiment. To CHANGE BLUE TO Green.—Pour a little of the infusion of violets into a wineglass, and add to it a few drops of the solution of potash or soda, when it will be changed to a beautiful green. Alkalies change most of ; the vegetable colors. é { To CHANGE RED INTO VARIOUS COLORS.—Pour a little of the infusion of red cabbage into three different glasses ; to the first, add a little nitric or muriatic acid; to the second, a little of the solution of potash; and to the third, a little of the solution of alum. The liquid in the first glass will be converted to a fine crimson, that in the second to a beautiful green, and that in the third to a purple, Two BITTERS MAKE A SWEET.—Mix nitrate of silver and hyposulphate of soda, both of which are intensely bitter, and they will produce a very sweet substance. SoLtips MAKE Liquins.—Rub together in a mortar equal quantities of Glauber salts and nitrate of am- monia, and the two salts will slowly become a liquid.

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EDITORS’ THE IMPORTANCE OF WORDS. “ Worps are the soul’s ambassadors, who go Abroad upon her errands to and fro; They are the sole expounders of the mind, And correspondence kept ’twixt all mankind.” James Howell. Tue Rev. R. C. Trencn, author of several works on the structure of language, has lately published a new one: “ English Past and Present.” “ Proper words in proper places” has been given as the definition of a good style. Without the “ proper words,” it is impossible to avoid ambiguity, or to ex- press the truth accurately, or to think clearly. We were about saying, Mr. Trench merits 4 quotation on this subject. He says: “ The limits of their vocabulary are in fact, for most men, the limits of their knowledge, and for all of us in a great degree. Of course, I do not affirm that it is absolutely impossible to have our mental con- ceptions clearer and more distinct than our words, but it is very hard to have, and still harder to keep them so. And, therefore, it is that men, conscious of this, as soon as ever they have learned to distinguish in their minds, seek also to distinguish in their words.” The author divides his strictures into four aspects of the language: “ Changes which have resulted from the birth of new, or the reception of foreign words ; changes consequent on the rejection or extinction of words, or powers once possessed by the language; changes through the altered meaning of words; and lastly, as not unworthy of our attention, but often growing out of very deep rovts, changes in the orthography of words.” He then, supposing the English language to be divided into one hundred parts, gives sizty to the Saxon element, thirty to Latin, including what has come through the French, five to the Greek, and the other jive to all other languages from which we have adopted isolated words. For example, the Hebrew has furnished various reli- gious terms: “ Amen, cherub, jubilee, Sabbath,” and others. From the Arabic comes “ algebra, cypher, zero, almanack,” &. From the Persian and other Oriental tongues, we have “syrup, coffee, crimson, mattress,” &e. The Turkish gives us “ tulip, turban,” &c. It is a very curious study, and very fruitful of matter for reflection, to analyze the style of any standard Eng- lish writer, by noting the derivation of every word in any given page of his work. Such a process will con- vince any one who makes the experiment that the body and sinew of the language remain Saxon. All the con- necting words—all the prepositions and conjunctions are from this source. The Lord’s Prayer consists of sizty words; only siz of these are of Latin origin; viz: trespass, trespasses, temptation, deliver, powers, glory ; and for each of these might be substituted a Saxon word. For trespass, sins; for deliver, free; for powers, might; for glory, bright- ness, leaving only femptation as an absolute necessity, and even there trials would nearly give the sense. On the other hand, it would be found impossible to form a sentence of ten lines without any Saxon terms. TABLE. Without studying the derivation and early meaning of words, some of the most important of our old writers are not comprehended, In the Litany, we pray for the “kiadly fruits of the earth.” Many persons probably have a confused idea that this alludes to the kindness of the Almighty in giving us these fruits. This, though not an unworthy meaning, is not the real one. “ The kindly fruits” are the natural ones which the earth, “ after its kind,” produces. In the Acts of the Apostles, St. Luke says: “ We took up our carriages, and went to Jerusalem” (xxi. 15). “* How was this possible,” exclaims a modern objector, “when there is nothing but a mountain track, impassa- ble for wheels, between Cesarea and Jerusalem ?”’ He would not have made this difficulty if he had known that in our early English carriages did not mean things which carried us, but things which we carried; and “we took up our carriages” implies no more than “ we took up our luggage, and went to Jeru- salem.” Again, unless we know and remember that in all English poems, except those of modern date, “ influ- ence” had allusion, more or less remote, to planetary influences, we lose the beauty and fulness of many classic passages. In Milton’s “ Store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence” — he intended we should regard them as the luminaries of this world, shedding, by their presence, valor into their favorite knight. Mr. Trench is decidedly opposed to the phonetic fancies recently put forth. He objects to that mode of spelling as impracticable, and pernicious if practicable. In how many English words a letter, silent to the ear, is yet eloquent to the eye: g, for instance, in deign, feign. reign, telling, as it does, of dignor, fingo, regno; and the b in debt, @oubt is not idle, while it tells of debitum and dubium. We have already lost the advantage of seeing a deri- vation by changes, which have slipped into modern ortho- graphy. When “grocer” was spelled “grosser,”’ it was eas; to see he had his name at first, because he sold things by the gross. Coxcomb tells us nothing now; but when spelled as it used to be, “‘cockscomb,”’ readers saw at once that it alluded to the comb of a cock, which was the regular badge surmounting the cap of a fool. When “jaw” was spelled “ chaw,”’ no one could miss its connection with the verb “to chew.” “Inaccurate spelling argues ignorance which reaches further than the word in itself,” says Mr. Trench. “I have often seen “siren” spelled “syren.’’ ‘“ Those who spell thus know nothing of the magic cords (ctpas) of song, by which these beautiful enchantresses drew those who heard them to their ruin.” Mr. Trench is the first English writer who has ac- knowledged that many words which uneducated cockney travellers sneer at as “ Americanisms” are “ old Englien, not bad English,’’ that have been brought over by our ancestors, and preserved here while lost at home. Among these, he particularizes “ freshet,” which ap- R1

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82 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. pears to have been out of use in England since Milton employed it, but which is certainly in vogue with us. Enough has been said to direct the attention of our readers to Mr. Trench’r excellent books, which are full of both entertainment and instruction. EXCERPTS. “ ALL censure of & man’s self is but oblique praise ; it ig only to show how much he can spare.” Dr. Johnson. * Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be, since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be.”—Ibid. * Politeness is fictitious benevolence; it supplies the place of it among those who see each otber only in pub- lic, or but little, and the want of it never fails to pro- duce something disagreeable to one or other ; it * Aids and strengthens virtue when it meete her, And trates her wh-e she is not.’ "—Ibid. “ Whacever withd:aws ia from the power of ou: sen 6 —whatever makes the psst, ‘he distant, or the suture predominate over the present, advances the dignity of thinking teings.”—Ibid. “It is a common saying that old age is a return to chidhood; that saying meant of the weakness of the body wac wrested to the weakness of the mind. The dotage they ascribe to age is never the effect of time, but sometimes of the excesses of youth, and not a re- turning to, but a continual stay with childhood; for they that want the curiosity of furnishing their memo- ries with the rarities of nature in their youth, and pass their time in making provision only for their ease and sensual delight are children still, as they that come into ® populous city, and never going out of their inn, are strangers still, how long soever they have been there.” Bishop Taylor. “Nor can any one who, by any pretended authority, commits one single immorality, be able to satisfy him- self with any reason why he should not at another be carried further into all manner of villany, even such as he abhors to think of.”"—Shaftesbury. Tue Duke de Orpernon, one of the courtiers of Louis XIV., made frequent observations rather more than naif. He wondered what b new ones arrived. He asked a person whd was describing the death of Cesar “‘why that great man died without confession, since,” said he, “ there are always so many priests in Rome.” of the old moons when the Tue Doctrine Or COMPENSATIONS ILLUSTRATED. —Two friends, who had not seen each other for a long tume, met by chance. “ How are you?” said one. “ Pretty well,” answered the other. “I have got married since you saw me.’’ * Good news that!” * Not so very good, for I married a shrew.” “ ‘Lhat’s bad.” “ Not altogether, for I got a sum of money by her.” “ That ’s a consolation.”’ “ Not absolutely, for I invested it in sheep, who all died of an epidemic.” “ Oh, what a oard case!” “ Not so very hard, for the sale of their skins brought me more than I gave for the sheep.” * Then it was all made up to you.” “ Not quite, for the house where I deposited my money took fire, and all was burnt up.” ** What a terrible misfortune!” “ Not so very terrible, since my wife perished in the house.” POPULAR EDUCATION. Discussions and dissertations on this important question are going on in our country constantly, and some movement is perceptible among the people of Great Britain. Our Western States are doing much to further the cause, One striking proof of progress in the right way is the admission of the necessity of a better sys- tem of education for girls. A vigorous writer in the “Western Democratic Review” thus discusses this matter :— “ Women are the mothers of the race; when ® .cilJ ie born, it is the mother’s duty to take almost @:.:.. sharge of the first five ~ears of its life. No otl.cy cat be sr>= ‘tuted > & mother, at least, unless it be a worsen. “’, .aring the first five years of life, a child learcs moou oer in any ten years afterwards. Upe: & Toa, @ agen = woman, devolves the task of direct- ing the early development and bias of the crescent m ind. She is the first teacher; and because the pupil is toislly ignorant, when she begins her course of tuition, she should be the best. A grossly ignorant woman is unfit to be the mother of American citizens. . * * * . “ The ignorance of the women of a community impedes the progress and debases the character of the men, botb directly and indirectly. That they do this indirectly has been shown. That they do it directly, may be evi- dent to any one who will reflect for a moment upon the nature and extent of their influence upon grown-up men. It has been asserted, with great plausibility, by a distinguished scholar of this State, that two-thirds of all the transactions of life have relation to the inter- course of the sexes. If this be true, it must surely follow that any peculiarity of either sex must modify the character of the other to an indefinite extent. Hence, if woman be ignorant, or man immoral, society stagnates, progress ceases, and all good institutions become corrupt. * * a * * * “ There are the strongest reasons why more attention should be given to the cultivation of reason, in woman, than to the cultivation of her naturally full development of the will or moral principle—just as it is necessary that the moral powers should be more assiduously cul- tivated in men than the predominating intellectual. In view of these reasons—we must omit them here—it seems to us that it is highly proper, especially during their early years, that males and females should be educated together. So far as this plan has been adopted, in this and other countries, the very best results have been achieved. The prejudice against it is not so strong in this country as in England, though, in our higher schools —such as are attended by young men and young women —the sexes are generally separated. Many high authori- ties might be cited to prove the advantages arising from the association of the sexes, during their whole course of instruction, from early childhood to mature age. One of the more respectable shall be given.”’

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EDITORS’ TABLE. 83 OPINION OF MR. STOW, OF GLASGOW. “ The youth of both sexes of our Seottish peasantry,” says Mr. Stow, of Glasgow, a celebrated and most suc- cessful educator, “ have been educated together, and, as a whole, the Scots are the most mural people on the face of the globe. Edueation, in England, is given separately, and we have never heard, from practical men, that any benefit has arisen from this arrangement. Some in- fluential individuals there, mourn over the popular prejudice on this point. In Dublin, a larger number of girls turn out badly, who have been educated alone till they attain the age of maturity, than of those who have been otherwise brought up—the separation of the sexes has been found to be positively injurious. In France, the separation of the sexes in youth is productive of fearful evils. It is stated, on the best authority, that of those girls educated in the schools in convents apart from boys, the great majority go wrong within a month afier being let loose on society, and meeting the other sex. They cannot, it is said, resist the slightest com- pliment or flattery. The separation is int “ded to keep them strictly moral, but this unnatural . no ctuaily generates the very principles desired tot. «ded. “ We may repeat that it is impossible to raise girls intellee: :etly as high without boys as with them; and it is impossible to raise boys morally as high without the presence of girls. The girls morally elevate the boys, and the boys intellectually elevate the girls. But, more than this, girls themselves are morally elevated by the presence of boys, and boys are intellectually ele- vated by the presence of girls. Girls brought up with boys are more positively moral, and boys brought up in schools with girls are more positively intellectual by the softening influence of the female character. ‘In the Normal Seminary at Glasgow, the most bene- ficial effects have resulted from the more natural course. Boys and girls, from the age of two and three years to fourteen or fifteen, have been trained in the same class- rooms, galleries, and play-grounds, without impropriety ; and they are never separated except at needlework.”’ WHAT SHOULD BE DONE. “WomeEN ought to have instruction in all the branches of liberal education necessary for men. It is not, of course, necessary that they should plod through the details of professional studies, but, if they desire it, they should have equal facilities, even for this. But, especially, in everything that enters into the qualifica- tions of the citizen, and the intelligent member of so- ciety, they should be equal tomen. That they may be such—that they have the capacity to learn as rapidly and as thoroughly as men, everything that ought to form part of a liberal education—no one candeny. But they cannot, so long, at least, as public opinion remains so illiberal towards schemes of education as at present, enjoy facilities in pursuing the higher branches of study, equal to those enjoyed by males, unless they are admitted into our high schools and colleges for boys and young men, and taught in the same classes. That such an arrangement would be better for students of both sexes, nas been shown above. We can never progress rapidly towards that state of mental, moral, and physical equality, which forms a part of the very idea of an im- mortal republic, while one-half of the race, and that half wielding—as all must perceive--a most powerful influence over the common destiny, are held in the chains nae of inferiority, either by a total neglect, or a pusillani- mous unfitness, of education.” A WORD TO TEACHERS. How fatal may be the consequences of an early wrong impression upon the mind of a child in regard, for ex- ample, to the obligativa to speak and act the truth, or to respect the rights of others, or to do good to others. No teacher, of course, would inculcate lying, or injustice, or indifference to the welfare of others. This is not the danger. It is, rather, that, through defective precept or example, there should come to be produced in the pupils, a habit of loose thinking on these and like subjects—a sort of convenient, flexible morality—a want of firmness, of unyielding persistence in the true and the right and the good ; that kind of loose morality which would result from changing the precept—* Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right,” so as to substitute the motive of convenience for that of “right.” Here is a superficialness vastly more fatal than any that pertains to intellectual training, because the wrong habit is fastened upon the heart, and the consequences are con- nected with moral responsibility! There is a subtle, silent power, appertaining to both intellectual and moral training, which is not sufficiently considered by teachers. The formation of right intel- lectual and moral habits—the great point in education— is more the result of example than of direct instruction. The pupil will be more influenced by what is seen in you, than by your formal precepts. Whatever may be the teachings of your words, your mental and moral characteristics will be copied. You cannot long remain in close contact with a company of children, without transferring to them, in some degree, the leading ele- ments of your own character, intellectual and moral. If you see dimly, and think loosely, and reason incon- clusively, you may expect that these mental infirmities will become cuntagious. If your moral deportment be defective: if, in little things, which are surer indexes of character than great ones, you fail to exhibit sound discretion, purity and singleness of purpose, disinte- rested regard for others, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance—you are doing a mischief, for which no excellence of inteilectual instruction can compensate. The wakeful imitative faculty will be busy in its unconscious wrk of taking the impress of your example, for reproduction at a future day ! In regard to this whole matter of your action on the minds and hearts of your pupils, I will say, in brief— You must be precisely what you would have them to be ; for you are forming their characters upon the model of your own. A Ricn ScCHOOLMISTRESS.—Some person fond of ** facts and figures” has been giving a list of the million- naires, and less, in New York City. Among these, “Mrs. Okill,”’ it is stated, “‘has made a quarter of a million of dollars by keeping school.”” We congratulate Mrs. Okill, not that she is rich, but that her services in the cause of education have been appreciated and re- warded. BEET-ROOT YEAsT.—From experiments made in bakeries at Douia and Cambrai, it appears that the yeast of the beet-root, used only in the proportion of half the quantity of the yeast made from hops, produces the same result.

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84 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

enn eensneemeormnm —_- THE FINE ARTS. ~_

Cultivation of the Fine Arts has always accompanied national progress. Thi rerivs has constantly deysloped rtself in those States and at those periods when the best poets, the greatest statesmen, and th< most heroic leadets contributed to literary aad pol-tical crandeur. In Greece, this was remarkably to be obeervei; and in the decline of the national greatness, ~ve £:. . 19 more & Phidias or an Apelles than we do & So; les or a Peri- cles. It was in the great days of the ltal.cn republics that Italy shone as the restorer of art, and the land of great painters. In her days of political decline, if we omit music, she has had to keep up her national glory by the names of the departed. Our Republic, in her eighty years’ existence, has shown her vitality in this department of national emi- nence, and the names of our great artists are neither few nor unknown. In Philadelphia, we boast of the very best collection of art to be met with in any public gallery in the Union. Our “ Academy of Fine Arts,” as it is the oldest, is in- contestably the richest in its specimens of art. It is open throughout the year, and may be visited to ad- vantage by strangers at any season, as the pictures and statues belonging to the academy, which are never removed, have among them some very excellent originals of the best masters The late exhibition was a particularly interesting one. There were many contributions of American artists ex- quisitely executed. Some of the landscapes in oil deserve the highest commendation. The name of Weber is enough to be mentioned, as his genius is well known. Some of the works of his pupils were finely conceived, and well executed. We will designate those of Messrs. Lewis, Richards, and Montalant. The portrait of the Earl of Carlisle, by Huntingdon, was very fine; the portrait of Rev. Dr. Mayer, by Nagle, was excellent; and there was a very lovely picture, portraits of two sisters, by W. B. Chambers. The lady artists had also contributed a share of the merit. There was a beautiful portrait of a beautiful child by Mrs. Darley; a finely- executed head in pastel by Miss A. Leslie, and several heads in crayon by Miss E. M. Gove. But we have no time to enumerate or describe the list of this interest- ing exhibition. We have not even noticed the master- pieces, which remain there, and may be seen at all times. The Rotunda is an exhibition by itself, as it were, and has aitractions for the lovers of art which are never obsolete. Strangers who visit Philadelphia will find an examination of this academy exceedingly interesting. W. H., who wrote from Potosi, Wisconsin, is informed that a young lady of this State is willing to go to the ‘glorious West” if she can be assured of employment asateacher. Address Miss Josephine Kimball, Hills- borough, Pennsylvania. THE VIRTUES OF PARSLEY.—Two physicians of Paris. have published a very important memoir, the object of which is to make known the immense resources which the healing art may draw from the seed of parsley. This common indigenous plant possesses incontestable febrifuge properties; the decoction of its seed may be substituted for that of cinchona, and the active principle which has been drawn from it, and which they designate under the name of apiol, is equivalent to quinine in the ireatmeni of the local intermittent fevers.

A New Ho.wipay.—A committee appointed by the Pennsylvania Historical Society has submitted to that Society an able report, recommending the celebration of the anniversary of the adoption of the Constitution of the United States as a national festival by the Ame- rican people. The report suggests the anniversary of itc Sormal ratification by the convention, which took piace September 17th, 1787, as the proper time for its velebration, as Washington, who presided over the de- liberations, recommended it to the people in a com- munication signed on that day. NoTIcE TO CORRESPONDENTS.—The editors beg it to be distinctly understood that they can in no case under- take to return rejected manuscripts unless the request comes with the article, and then stamps must be inclused to pay return postage. It is best for correspondents to keep a copy of the manuscripts theysend. All commu- nications requiring private answers must contain a stamp to pay return postage. The following articles are accepted: ‘‘ The Spring- time of Life’’—‘* Minoona”—*“ Dear Mother, was it Right?’—“ Will you go, Love, a-Maying?” (strange we cannot make our readers comprehend what we have reiterated so often—that a poem intended for the May number must reach us early in March or it cannot ap- pear, as we keep our work prepared two months in ad- vance)— A Retrospect”—“ The Autumn Leaves’’— “ Red Robin”—* The Cripple Boy”—“ To A. M. 8,”-- and “ The Angry Word.” We have not room for the poetry sent us, even though it had the excellences of Homer, Dante, and Milton, combined with the sentiment of Moore and the pathos of Tennyson. So our disappointed friends need not take a rejection from our pages as the final extinguisher of their hopes of success. We decline the following: “ The Dying Bride”—** Love” —“‘ A Mother’s Dream”’-- “ Good-bye” —* Cupid in a Quandary” (one illustration of a picture is suflicient)—“ A Ballad’’—“ Lucy Single- ton”—* Reply to‘ A Wife Wanted’ ” (we want no more of these pcems)—*‘ The Hopelessneas of Woe’’—“‘ Earth’s Voices” —“ Forget me not””—“ Sabbath Bells’’—‘' Never Forget”—“I Love to be Cheerful”—‘‘I live”—* To Flora”—“ Lend me thy Voice’’—*“ Another Day is with the Past’’—and “ Rivalries in a Household.”

Literary Notices.

Booxs By Mai.L.—Now that the postage on printed matter is so low, we offer our services to procure for our subscribers or others any of the books that we notice. Information touching books will be cheerfully given by inclosing a stamp to pay return postage. EXPLORATION OF THE RED RIVER OF LOUIS- IANA IN THE YEAR 1852. By Randolph B. Marcy, captain 6th regiment U. S. army, assisted by George B. McClellan, brevet captain U. S. engineers. It is re- markable that the Red River of Louisiana, though one of the largest tributaries of the Mississippi, navigable hundreds of miles by steamboats, and flowing for some distance through a fertile and well peopled country, had never been traced to its source till about three years ago. Several exploring parties had previously attempted to discover its origin, but had been prevented by various obstacles. In 1852, Captain Marcy, by direction of the Secretary of War, undertook this duty, and, with good

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ee Se LITERARY NOTICES. 85 emo ~ management and good fortune, accomplished his task in a very satisfactory manner. He brought back agreat deal of valuable and curious information concerning the interior of our continent; its geology and natural his- tory; the character and habits of the prairie Indians; the facilities for making a railway; with materials for an excellent map, which accompanies this volume. The work (which is published as a Congressional docu- ment) is in every way creditable to Captain Marcy and his assistants. THE BROTHER’S AND SISTER’S OFFERING. By Elmer Ruan Coates and Ann Lucretia Rogers. Published by KiTe & RoGcers, Ranstead Place. This work is to consist of poems, and is to be issued in twelve parts, the first of which is before us. It contains “ The Confessions of a Graveyard,” and “ The Maid of Lou- vere.”?’ Both of these poems are well written, and manifest a healthy sentiment and play of genial fancy. It is the intention of the authors to devote the net pro- ceeds of the publication to the support of the Rosine Association. We have received from Lipp1ncoTT, GRAMBO, & Co., whose advertisement we published on our June cover, a specimen of their “‘ Complete Pronouncing Gazetteer of the World,” containing notices and the pronunciation of nearly one hundred thousand places, making the most complete volume of this description ever offered to the public, to which is added a new map of the world en- graved on steel. When we point out, from our own knowledge, a very great error in a gazetteer lately pub- lished, how many may be able to do the same thing, touching their own places of residence, or of those in their vicinity. For instance, the gazetteer we have re- ferred to gives the population of Philadelphia at 9000 less than the census of 1860 gave us. It gives the num- ber of our public schools as 260, furnishing, as it says, common school education to siz thousand scholars, which would average about twenty-seven pupils to each school. The pupils in our public schools number over 50,000, with an average daily attendance of 43,000. The “ Gazetteer” also speaks of Peale’s Museum as one of the chief attractions in Philadelphia, though it has had no existence for a number of years. In fact, many of the details which fill up the pages devoted to Phila- delphia have been gathered from publications at least ten years old. Ifthe publication has underrated Phila- delphia, it has compensated for the error, on the other hand, by doing full justice to New York, the population of which city it puts down at 700,000, or nearly 200,000 more than the census of 1850 ga~e it. These are gross errors. From them, we might infer that the same errors may have been made with many other places. From Linpsay & BLAKIsTON, Philadelphia :— AN AMERICAN AMONG THE ORIENTALS. In- cluding an Audience with the Sultan, «nd a Visit to the Turkish Harem. By James E. P. Bolden, M.D. This is a most interesting and pleasant volume, making no pretensions to philosophical inquiry into the religion and political condition of Turkey, but briefly relating the author’s and his friends’ experience as far as the social life of the people of Turkey is concerned. In ginncing through the pages of this book, which, on ac- count of its gossipping character even, is not to be slighted by the student of Oriental history, we came across the following passages which may prove of in- VOL, L1.—8 en eee , terest to some of our lady readers: ‘“ The ‘ Bloomer,’ or, as some designate it, the ‘ Turkish Dress,’ adopted by a few—very few bold ladies of America, bears no possible resemblance to the real article.» Of the “ real article,” our traveller had previously written thus: “The Turkish female dress cannot be called graceful. It can be made beautiful by rich working and mate- rial, but the cut of it is awkward. It is very loose, and so long as to make it trail a foot or two on the floor. It is brought together just above the waist by a Cash- mere sash. In walking out, the skirts are festooned up at the sides.” From Parry & McMILLay, Philadelphia :— HOWARD GREY. A Story for Boys. By a young lady of Philadelphia. The moral inculcated is excel- lent; the style simple, but effective; the impressions must be lasting. ROBERT GRAHAM. A Novel. By Caroline Lee Hentz, author of “ The Planter’s Northern Bride,” * Marcus Wayland,” etc. ete. This volume is a sequel to the history of “ Linda, and the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole.”” We need say nothing of the peculiari- ties of style and incident which render this volume fascinating and instructive. As an author, Caroline Lee Hentz is too well known and too highly appreciated to require eulogy from us. From CHARLES ScrIBNER, N. Y., through Parry & McMILLAN, Philadelphia :— HOMES FOR THE PEOPLE IN SUBURB AND COUNTRY; the Villa, the Mansion, and the Cottage, adapté@ to American Climate and Plants. With exam- ples, showing how to alter and model buildings. In a series of one hundred original designs. By Gustaves Wheeler, Architect, author of “ Rural Homes,” ete. This is a practical book in the strictest sense of the term. The various designs are neat and beautiful, and many of them even elegant; but they are all planned s0 as to retain the peculiar conveniences and comforts of home. Persons engaged in putting up private edifices, either as mechanics or proprietors, will doubtless find it to their advantage to consult the various plans and the descriptions furnished by the industrious and persever- ing author of this volume. THE ENGLISH WOMANIIN RUSSIA. Impressions of the Society and Manners of the Russians at Home. By a lady ten years resident in that country. With Ilus- trations. While the present relations continue to exist between England and Russia, it would be expecting too much to suppose that a fair and impartial account could be written of the latter country, even by a lady, whe claims to be a native of the former. It is so natural for us all to prefer our own countrymen and their man- ners to the people and manners of every other country, even in time of peace, that we might all fear to trust our own descriptions of our country’s enemies, drawn during the progress of an exasperating war. And, therefore, although the lady author of this work admits that the Russians possess the good qualities of savages, as well as their bad ones, it would be almost a folly to expect that she would not discolor even their vices But allowing some such drawbacks as these, it must be admitted that she has produced a very readable book for the times, because it relates glibly, and in a gossiping style, all the street, family, and drawing-room occur- rences which the lady was able to observe or to collect in her intercourse with Russian ladies of distinction, or “persons of low degree.” The impressions which these

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86 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. eee relations will leave on the mind of the reader will not, as we have intimated, be generally favorable to the ene- mies of old England. From Harper & Brotner, New York, through Parry & McMILLAN, Philadelphia :— TRICOLORED SKETCHES IN PARIS DURING THE YEARS 1851-2-3. These sketches were originally prepared for the columns of a daily newspaper. They are probably more highly colored, therefore, than they would have been were they originally intended for a longer life. They will amuse and interest the reader. FOSTER’S FIRST PRINCIPLES OF CHEMISTRY. lllustrated by a Series of the most recently discovered Ex- periments known to Science. Adapted specially for classes. The object of the author of this strictly ele- mentary work has been to divest the subject of techni- calities, and to place it within the comprehension of youth. THE COUNTRY NEIGHBORHOOD. By Miss E. A. Dupuy, author of “ The Conspirator,” etc. etc. No. 197 of Harper’s “ Library of Select Novels.” Price 50 cents. From C. G. Henperson & Co., 5th and Arch Sts., Philadelphia :— THE PATENT HAT. Designed to promote the growth of certain undeveloped Bumps, and thereby increase the thinking, reasoning, active power of the wearer. For the use of mankind in general, and the clergy in particular. Manufactured by Philo, and warranied to do good to all who wear it according to directions. The author of this handsome volume, Ellis Ballou, has politely fur- nished us with acopy. We have not yet had time to become familiar with the peculiarities of his “‘ patent hat,” but think we are right in saying that it displays the same differences that have existed between the hats of the Protestants and those of the Catholics ever since the era of the Reformation. From Puiiurps, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through C. G. HENDERSON & Co., Philadelphia :— SURGICAL REPORTS AND MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS ON MEDICAL SUBJECTS. By George Hayward, M. D. The author of these papers is a phy- sician of more than forty years’ experience. The con- tents of this volume have been published before, but have recently been revised by the author, in the hope that they will prove of advantage to students and the younger members of the medical profession. From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia :— ELLEN NORBURY; or, the Adventures of an Orphan. By Emerson Bennett, author of “Clara Moreland,’ * Viola,” “* Forged Will,” etc. etc. This is another of those melancholy pictures of the sin, shame, and misery of city life, which would be intolerable were they not relieved by occasional contrasts of justice, virtue, and philanthropy. DICKENS’S NEW STORIES. Complete in one vol- ume. Price 50 cents. The present volume contains “ The Seven Poor Travellers,’ “Nine New Stories by the Christmas Fire,” “Hard Times,’”’ “ Lizzie Leigh,” “The Miser’s Daughter,” “ Fortune Wildred,” etc. All Dickens’s works will be embraced in twelve vol- umes, at fifty cents each, or the twelve volumes for five dollars. What a fund of amusement and instruction for so trifling a sum! _—— AAPA i From D. APPLETON & Co., No. 200 Broadway, New York, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia :— THE CHEMISTRY OF COMMON LIFE. By James F. Johnston, M. A., F. R. S., F. G. S., ete. ete. Author of “* Lectures on Agriculture, Chemistry, and Geology,” * A Catechism of Agriculture, Chemistry, and Geology,”’ etc. Two volumes. The contents of these volumes were originally given to the public in numbers. In the progress of their publication, they elicited the most sub- stantial testimonials in their favor from the American and British press; and our readers will recollect how fre- quently we called their attention to the amount and the great value and importance of the knowledge they econ- tained. In their present substantial form, handsomely printed and illustrated, they will probably prove more attractive to readers and students, and form a more acceptable addition to a family library than when in separate numbers. HISTORY OF TURKEY. By A. De Lamartine, author of “The Girondists,” “ Travels in the Holy Land,” ete. Translated from the French. In three volumes. The first volume of this work—all that we have as yet received—is occupied with a full account of the life of Mohammed, in which is, of course, included an interesting history of the rise and progress of the Mohammedan religion. The book is written in the usu- ally animated and brilliant style of the author, and, in some respects, would indeed seem to be an apology for the absurdities, the despotism, and the impious preten- sions of the impostor-prophet. In the preface, whick is a long one, we have a strong appeal in favor of Turkey, and against the aggressions of Russia. The author also boldly attacks the policy heretofore pursued by the Christian powers of Europe in relation to Turkey, and, losing sight, as it were, of the poetic temperament dis- played in all his own political views and adventures, he freely condemns what he calls the “ poetic enthusi- asm” created by Chateaubriand and Byron, and which, “in spite of statesmen, emancipated Greece.”’ The writer of this brief “literary notice’”’ visited the shores of Greece several years previous to the Greek revolution, and he well remembers the desolate and wretched appearance of everything in and about Athens. And he now asks how it can be possible that the eman- cipation of that glorious old city, which happened more than thirty years ago, is at this day to be regretted by the poets and statesmen who took part in a work at that time considered so honorable to the impulses of the whole Christian world? Alas! is this the progression that an enthusiastic progressionist would advocate ? But A. De Lamartine tells us in another part of his preface that the question is no longer now about Otta- mans or Christians, but about the independence and inviolability of all nations. The question, he thinks, for France, for England, and for Europe to decide at pre- sent is, Shall Russia take the place of Turkey? If this be the only question under consideration, we believe it may be, and we hope it will be decided without the poets and statesmen of our times feeling any regrets for the result, as it appears now they ought to feel for the checks that were given to Ottoman oppression and piracy, as formerly perpetrated on the Grecian and African shores of the Mediterranean. As in duty bound, however, we must await the ap- pearance of the second and third volumes of this history before we can pretend to decide on its merits for our- selves, or to recommend it to others as a complete work. The admirers of Lamartine may, nevertheless, be as- ii n Th ha‘ an

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LITERARY NOTICES sured it will exhibit all the energy and beauty of his former works, whether they agree with his poetical, historical, and political deductions or not. KENNETH; or, the Rear Guard of the Grand Army. By the author of “ Heir of Redcliffe,’”’ “ Heart’s Ease,’’ “Castle Building,” ete. A very exciting, but calmly written story, founded on the retreat of the French army after the burning of Moscow. The author is acknow- ledged to be one of the most agreeable writers of fiction of the present time, her previous works having met with the highest approbation of the best judges of style. The present will be found equally as chaste and beautiful in sentiment as any of the volumes that have preceded it from the same authorship. MY BROTHER’S KEEPER. By A. B. Warner, author of “Dollars and Cents,” “Mr. Rutherford’s Children,” etc. The deep and tender affections of a sister, and the active and pure sensibilities of a child, are depicted with singular force and moral effect in the varying incidents of this agreeably written work. T. B. Peterson has sent us another cook-book, pub- lished by APPLETON & Co., New York. The more the merrier; and if we don’t have our victuals well cooked now, it will not be for the want of information on the subject. From J. C. Dersy, New York, through PETERSON, Philadelphia :— THE LIFE OF SAM HOUSTON. Illustrated. This, it is stated on the title-page, is the only authentic memoir of the ex-President of the Texas nation that has ever been published. As he was a hero, and is now a statesman, and one of the great American family who ean claim to be born of the best blood of a European stock, but particularly as he has been spoken of as the probable candidate of a popular party, this volume commends itself to the careful perusal of every patriotic and enlightened citizen who takes an interest—as who should not ?--in the affairs of the republic. The biogra- phy is ably written; the language bold and energetic as the hero whose adventures it describes; the senti- ments as ardently republican, as free, and as independ- ent as the spirit of Sam himself. The illustrations are all very appropriately and artistically drawn; but we cannot withhold the expression of our preference for the portrait of Sam at the commencement of the volume. The costume and the accompanying decorations, as well as the marked countenance, are so characteristic of the hero it represents, that it cannot fail to challenge the admiration of his friends! From C. M. Saxton & Co., New York, through T. B. PETERSON, Philadelphia :— THE PRACTICAL FRUIT AND VEGETABLE GARDENER’S COMPANION. With a Calendar. By Patrick Neill, LL.D., F. R. S. E., Seeretary to the toyal Caledonian Horticultural Society.” Adapted .o the United States. From the fourth edition, revised and improved by the author. Edited by G. Emerson, M. D., editor of “ Johnson’s Farmer’s Encyclopedia.” With notes and ac-litions by R. G. Pardee, author of ‘*Manual of the Stiawberry Culture.” With elegant Illustrations. This book should have been sent to us several months earlier. Late as it is in the season, we have transcribed the title in full, desiring our readers tw remember it as a most valuable work, and worthy to ve consulted before commencing their fruit, vegetable, ana horticultural operations next spring. ‘ 87 From GARRETT & Co., New York, through T. B. PETERSON, Philadelphia :— TEMPTATION ; or, the Unknown Heiress. Frederick Smith. Price 50 cents. From WILLIAM WHITE Sm1TH, 195 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia :— THE INS AND OUTS OF PARIS; or, Paris by Day and Night. By Julia De Marguerites. From P.11Lurps, SAmMpson, & Co., Boston, through Lippincott, GRAMBO, & Co., Philadelphia :— IRONTHORPE, the Pioneer Preacher. By Paul Crey- ton, author of “ Father Brighthopes,” “‘ Martin Merry- vale,” etc. This little volume will no doubt prove most acceptable to that numerous class of readers who desire to be made acquainted with the peculiarities and adven- tures of western pioneer life in the early settlement of that region of our country. The descriptions of charac- ter and scenery are alike true to nature, and are so familiarly, but vividly drawn, as to awaken the best feelings of the heart. Personally, we know no more about Paul Creyton than we know about Paul Jones; but we sincerely desire his success in his honest and praise-worthy aspirations as an author. By J. From J. 8. REDFIELD, 110 and 112 Nassau Street, New York, through W. B. ZreBer, Philadelphia :— THE O’DOGHERTY PAPERS. By the late Wil- liam Maginn, LL.D. Annotated by Dr. Shelton Mac- kenzie, editor of ‘‘ Sheil’s Sketches of the Irish Bar,” “The Noctes Ambrosianz.” In two volumes. The “ papers” which form a great portion of the attractive pages of these volumes were originally published in * Blackwood’s Magazine.”’ The author of them was a man of genius, a wit, and a satirist, and withal an able and learned scholar. Those who may have read these papers, as they appeared in “‘ Blackwood,” will no doubt remember their peculiarities with pleasure, and, as we think, will seek for them in their present form with the same anticipations that they would has- ten to renew their acquaintance with an old and agree- able friend. To those literary readers and inquirers who have sprung into existence since the breathing and writing time of O’ Dogherty, these, his remains, with the help of the erudite and critical annotations prepared by Dr. Mackenzie, will not only furnish a delightful fund of amusement, but will open for them sources of varied learning and critical knowledge, which may prove of importance in establishing the purity of their tastes, as well as in correcting the errors of hastily formed opin- ions in respect to the contemporaries of Maginn. From Govutp & LINCOLN, Boston, through Smitn & ENGLIsH, Philada. :— THE TEACHER’S LAST LESSON. A Memoir of Martha Whiting, late of the Charleston Female Academy. Consisting chiefly of extracts from her journal, inter- spersed with reminiscences and suggestive reflections. By Catharine N. Badger, an associate teacher, This work is decidedly religious in its character, and from its devout Christian aspirations is eminently calculated to make a deep and salutary impression on the minds of susceptible readers. Martha Whiting appears to have been a most amiable and exemplary woman, whose greatest solicitude it was to regulate all her thoughts, duties, and actions in conformity with the Divine will. Her character is particularly worthy of study by those

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88 - who have been called to the arduous and responsible duties of preceptors of youth. From Epwarp DunIGAN & BroTHER, New York:-- CHATEAU LESCURE; or, the Last Marquis. This is a ver~ interesting Roman Catholic story of Brittany and the Vendée. It is founded on the events of the French Revolution of 1793. From H. Lone & BROTHER, 121 Nassau Street, New York :— ADELAIDE WALDEGRAVE; or, Trials of a Go- verness. By J. F. Smith, Esq., author of “ Minnie Grey,” “Gus. Howard,” ete. ete. Price 60 cents. This story is told with great feeling, and with an evident desire to sustain and encourage honorable and virtuous princi- ples. THE EXHIBITION SPEAKER. We briefly referred to this excellent book in our May number. On referring to the article, it will be found that the work contains also calisthenice and gymnastics. This branch of edu- cation is very imperfectly understood by persons engaged in training youth, especially in our country, as no com- plete work has ever been published on the subject. In European schools, it is well understood, and forms 4 part of the training. Physical education and training go hand in hand with mental cultivation. Calisthenics is a mild and gentle system of gymnastics designed for the gentler sex. Our female boarding-schools, while they may do much for the mental training of their pupils, do not sufficiently attend to that physical train- ing which adds grace and beauty, and, at the same time, gives vigor and strength to the body, as well as to the mind. D. M. Dewey, of Rochester, N. Y., is the publisher, who also has in press another very valuable work on the naturalization laws of the United States, embracing also the requisites for the exercise of the elective franchise in every State of the Union. This work should be in the hands of every family and teacher in the Union. It will be forwarded, free of post- age, for seventy-five cents. Address D. M. Dewey, Rochester, New York. : Goden's Arm-Chair. Vor. LI.—This is the first number of Vol. LI. of the * Lady's Book,” and we think that it shows no falling off. Our subscribers will see that we give the’ hundred pages in every number, and as many engravings—not wasting our force on the first and last numbers of the year. Our subscribers are not put to the trouble of counting the pages and engravings in every number, to see that we fulfilour promise. We take this opportu- nity to return our thanks to our fair subscrivers for the continued and liberal patronage of their own “ Book.’? CINDERELLA.—This plate needs no story or poem from us to illustrate it. It will please the young, and call a smile to the faces of the old, who well remember when they were delighted with the story of Cinderella and the little glass slipper. Our Fasni1on PLate.—This will please the mothers. Such a variety of dresses for children has never befure been given in one plate. Its perfect beauty of engraving and coloring will speak for itself. Of the Bonnet- GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. maker’s Dream, a fine story illustrates that—the other engravings in the “‘ Book’’ give all that is fashionable for the month of July. Tuos. WHITE & Co.’s fashions, on our first page, are really what they assume to be—the fashions. Messrs. White & Co. have the most extensive establishment in the Union, and devote their time and attention, as we do, to the adornment of the ladies. There is no busier place at all times than their store; but, upon the grand “ opening day,” it resembles more the crowds that used to assemble to take stock in a new bank, only that the crowd is made up of our most fashionable ladies, who must see what White & Co. pronounce to be the fashion before they can make their purchases. Another re- markable place, although in another city, is Brop1e’s, of New York—the great mantilla depot. What a sight is Brodie’s on a fine day, or, in fact, on any day; for many persons prefer going on a wet cay, thinking that they will find few persons there; but so many make up their minds to the same thing, that a damp day usualiy finds Brodie’s as full as a fine one. Brodie is a re- markable man, and is an instance of what can be ef- fected by the attention being entirely devoted to one thing (like our success with the “ Lady’s Book’’). He began the world with but little capital, but strong in honesty and industry; and the result has been—an im- mense success. He is now the leader in his own par- ticular business, and supplies most of the large dry goods establishments in the country. There is hardly a fashionable store in any of our large cities that is not supplied by Brodie. This we know, for we saw their orders while on a visit to his establishment, a few weeks since. OaKForp and Murpny, two great men in their way, are now in Paris, at the Great Exhibition. The first, to bring us home every new fashion connected with hats, caps, and furs; and the other, everything new connected with household matters. We shall look upon their return for several new features, both in the hatting and housekeeping lines, as they are shrewd business men, and know exactly what will suit our Philadelphia people. » Se TRIALS OF AN ENGLISH HOUSEKEEPER.—We give the first chapter in this number, and can promise our readers amusement as well as useful information in the story. American ladies are too much in the habit of complaining about their help, and wishing they could have domestics as obsequious and well trained as are English servants. We have long doubted the excel- lences of these foreign domestics, and have spared no pains nor expense to obtain accurate iaformation on the subject. The result we shall lay before our readers in this interesting history of the “ Trials of an English Housekeeper,’ which should be read and pondered by every American family. HERE comes the better halves again. The editor of the “Courier and Journal,” at Potsdam, feels proud in announcing that he is a married man.—Well! it is something to be proud of. “ His colored fashion plates are always excellent, but the plate in this number is beyond anything we have seen, and our wife (perhaps friend Godey don’t know we have one) says it is a perfect beauty.”” We have been, and believe we always shall be indebted to editors’ wives for their xindly feeling for the “ Rack **

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. a Ice CrEAM.—Knowing that our lady readers, espe- cially those residing out of the cities, take great interest in the preparation and makirg of this delicious article, it affords us much pleasure in being able to recommend to them H. B, Masser’s Patent Family Ice-Cream Freezer, which we are assured, by those who have them in use, is a most excellent and useful labor-saving invention, enabling a mere novice to make ice-cream equal to the best. We alluded to these freezers several years ago, but since that time they have been greatly improved, being now much more durable and simple in their arrangement, and not liable to get out of order. The bottom and covers of the cylinder are made of gal- vanized iron; the beater is made of the same material. The cylinder and beater revolve in opposite directions, and the frozen cream is cat off in its finest state of crys- tallization by means of a wooden blade or scraper, pressed against the sides of the cylinder, and gathers in the centre around the shaft, constantly exposing a clean surface, which is again covered by the unfrozen cream, following in a circuit behind the scraper. In this way, the current of unfrozen cream continues to grow less and less, until the whole is congealed into a frozen mass. The tubs are hooped with galvanized iron, to prevent rust. The operation is perfectly simple. By turning a crank on top to the left, the can revolves and the beater remains stationary. By turning to the right, the beater revolves and the can is stationary; and so on, alter- nately, until it is frozen. It is said to take less than one-half the usual quantity of ice and salt, and a child can perform the operation. Larger sizes, for confectioners, hotel-keepers, &c., are made with a fly-wheel and gearing, and operate on the same principle. The patentee, H. B. Masser, of Sun- bury, Pa., is preparing to introduce them into the differ- ent cities of the Union, and could refer to numbers who have them in use; among them, to Mr. Taylor, of New York, the proprietor of that well-known establishment, the “ International.”” They can now be had of Thos. Butler, No. 7 South Seventh St., Phila.; Hadden, Carll, & Menough, 80 North Second St., Phila. ; Thos. Palmer, Phila., and others. In New York, by S. W. Smith, No. 60 Maiden Lane, and others. Tue “ Palmyra Democrat” thinks: “ It is a mystery that we cannot solve, how any person can get through this progressive world of ours without this beautiful, interesting, and highly useful monthly.” Ovr Fashion Editor will furnish any of the following at the prices affixed :— Ladies’ Cloaks, - - - $110 do. Mantles, - - - 56 do. Full Dresses, - - 137% do. Basques, - - ° 75 do. Dress Bodies, - - 15 do. Sleeves, - - - 31 do. Aprons, - - - 31 Children’s Dresses, - - - 56 to $1 10 do. Basques, - - - 56 do. Paletots, ~ - - 56 do. Jackets, 7 - - 31 to 56 do. Overcoats, - - - 56 do. Pants, - - - - 31 do. Aprons, - - - 31 cut in tissue paper, and trimmed as to be made, or any of the patterns of cloaks in this or any other number of the “ Book.” s* PPP PP PPP PAID EE 4 ¢ LLL ate tr ttt ‘ 89 PARTICULAR CAUTION TO OUR SUBSCRIBERS ABOUT PosTaGe.—Having received several complaints from our subscribers that they are not allowed the benefit of prepayment quarterly, we give the following extract from the last “ Post-Office Book,” page 6: “* Quarterly payments in advance may be made, either at the mailing office or the affice of delivery.” Signed James Campbell, P. M. G. We have reweighed our “ Book,” and find that it does not weigh five ounces; we therefore make another extract, with the same signature of James Campbell, P. M. G., attached to it: “‘ Over four ounces and not over five ounces 444 cents fur three months.” Sub- scribers will therefore please resist any attempt made to extort more postage than the above extract from the post-office laws calls for. An appeal to the Postmaster- General will be answered by that gentleman. Tue following is an answer to Mr. White’s appeal in our April number. We must close the correspondence here :— TO BILLY CARROLL WHITE. It happened one day I’d a fit of distraction, For I had just twenty-five cents to a fraction. Gloves I needed; to look at my kids, who would doubt it? But there was dear “‘ Godey’s,”’ could I go without it? A long time I pondered ’twixt “Lisle thread” and Godey ;” I felt like a toper in want of a toddy. (Forgive the last line; I could think of no other, And that was suggested by my youngest brother.) But the “‘ Lady’s Book’? finally came off victorious; I opened it: really the plates are all glorious. I glanced at the fashionable “ kiss-me-quick”’ bonnets ; Read the stories, historical sketches, and sonnets. Editorial items came in for a share ; Then, your little epistle I studied with care. I saw, by your letter, you wanted a wife, So I offer myself as a partner for life. I live “ way down east,” in that out-the-way region, Where mosquitoes grow large, and their name, it is * Legion.”’ My years number twenty; I’m just five feet two; I’m neither a beauty, nor am I a “blue.” I’m not guilty of wearing my hair up in paper; I never have laced, though my waist is quite taper My hands are quite delicate, so are my feet; And then people say, I’m remarkably neat. My scholarship, too, I must mind and put that in; I’m quite good in English, deficient in Latin. I’ve a smattering of French, but don’t ask me to talk it; I’ve some sense in my head, though I’ve none in my pocket. My virtues domestic are easily told: I can keep a house tidy, can cook, but can’t scold. And I have a heart that’s warm, loving, and true; And if you so will it, I’ll love none but you. The mail is now ready, I must hie me away, So I sign myself yours, MILLy Morris May. P. S.—If Billy should happen to reject my hand, Will some other gentleman step on the stand? M. M. M. GIvING AN EMPRESS A GOOD DRESSING.—The Em press of the French has presented the Empress of Aus- tria a dress, the cost of which was 200,000 francs—sbout $40,000.

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90 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ~ PLACES OF PUBLIC AMUSEMENT IN PHILADELPHIA. —The Academy of Fine Arts is now open, with the best collection of pictures they have ever had. Sanford’s Opera Troupe is playing in Eleventh above Chestnut. Wood’s Melodeon presents a troupe of dancers after the style of the Viennoise children. The Walnut St. Theatre, an admirably conducted establishment, is at the corner of Ninth and Walnut Sts. Our fashion editor complains, and justly too, at the smali amount of money that is sent to her to make large purchases. Articles of value cannot be bought without " paying a high price for them; and if purchasers send but a few dollars for an article, they must expect the goods to correspond with the price. EARLE’s GALLERY, CHESTNUT STREET ABOVE E1cutTn.— This splended store was recently thrown open to his friends, and is now open to the public. It is a beautiful establishment. The main saloon is one hundred and twenty feet in length, beyond which are the factories for carving and gilding. Above, we ascended to a double gallery, filled with glorious paint- ings of the Italian, Dusseldorf, Flemish, French, En- glish, and American schools, most of which are speci- mens of the highest value, while in front are lakes of mirror, in gorgeous and golden frames. Earle is, indeed, unsurpassed alike in the design and execution of his gildings. It would be tedious to enumerate even a few of the best pictures. They must be seen to be appre- ciated. But there is one landscape—a scene on the Susquehanna, by Weber—which surpasses in every point of excellence and effect anything of the kind that we have ever beheld. The lights, the perspective, the groves, the transparent water, the mountains, and even the sky, clouds, and atmosphere, combine in producing a most harmonious, natural, beautiful, and impressive ensemtle. A pomestic Currostry.—A correspondent of the “ Detroit Advertiser’’ says that the spinning machines of the Egyptian women are among the curiosities of the age. ‘They take them to the cotton fields with them, and spin the cotton as fast as they pick it. The machine is nothing more than a child’s top, with a little hook upon the bottom of it. The top being inverted, and resting loosely upon the handle, the thread is passed through the hook, and atwirl is given to thetop. A single twirl is sufficient to twist a thread about two feet long. The newly manufactured thread is then wound around the spindle, and, being slipped again into the hook, the pro- cess is repeated until the spindle is full. Tue following is.from “ Punch’ :— BOOKKEEPING BY LApIEs.—As a rule, we think that women generally are fonder of borrowing books than of ‘ending them. We say nothing about returning them, for who ever did a lady a kindness without meeting in- variably with a good return ? UnpER such circumstances, we believe they are gene- tally considered so. The Dubuque “ Observer” says :— “ Fathers and husbands are secondary considerations when the wants of wives and babies are to be gratified. We think Godey’s chapter on “ Novelties in the Nursery Department” will insure for his March number an ex- tensive circulation. a aan ~ PREPAYMENT OF PosTace.-—On the first of April this new regulation went into operation. Those who write us making inquiries on any subjects which only interest themselves, must inclose a stamp to pay return postage. Remember, that a letter placed in the post- office, on which the postage is not paid, will not be sent. ScCHUYLKILL Excursion.— We have labored for several years to satisfy and convince our readers and the public, about the beauty and healthfulness of this delightful trip. There is no prettier river scenery to be seen in this country than is embraced in the trip from Fairmount to Manayunk. In the morning, hundreds of nurses and parents with children may be seen taking this health invigorating trip. We earnestly appeal to all parents who are forced to remain in the city during the summer months, not to neglect it. Almost all of the omnibus lines run to Fairmount. We have given many plans for building cottages, we now give one :— How TO BUILD A Happy Home.—Six things are requisite. Integrity must be the architect, tidiness the upholsterer. It must be warmed by affection, ii¢hted up with cheer‘ulness; and industry must be the venti- lator, renewiig the atmosphere, and bringing in fresh salubrity day by day; while over all, as a protecting canopy and glory, nothing will suffice except the blessing of God. LETTER FROM A DEALER— “ Natchez, Miss. * You will please increase my monthly order, as I have already sold all the last numbers, and have had several calls for more. I can say of your ‘ Book’ what I cannot say of any other magazine or paper, that I have never had a number left on hand. J. W. B.” ANOTHER POETICAL NOTICE— GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK. Gopey’s monthly for May, On our table to-day, His character fully sustains; No work of the kind Is more to our mind, Evincing more good taste or pains. Mrs. Sarah J. Hale,* For a costume or tale, For this work was by nature designed ; With an intellect rare, She can please all the fair, And embellish both body and mind. Only one thing astounds, And our judgment confounds— The marvel no longer we ’ll keep— How they can for the price Make their monthly so nice, And furnish subscribers so cheap. The half of a V Just handed to me Will insure you a monthly return Of the prettiest book That ever you took, And from which all the fashions you'll learn. Nn * Mrs. Hale is not the fashion editress. ~

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 91 Invinc House, New Yorx.—This time-honored hotel is now conducted on the European plan, the only true plan, by the way. It has always been a hard case that a person who domiciles in the fifth story should pay as high a price as the one on the first story; that the dyspeptic should pay as much as the gourmand. By the new arrangement, you pay for only what you order. If only tea and toast are wanting, these alone are you charged with; a room on the first floor will command a better price than one on the fifth. If you are invited to dine with a friend, you have no hotel dinner to pay on that day. You eat when you please, and if you eat nothing in the house, you have only your room to pay for. Do not all our subscribers think that this is the true plan of conducting a hotel? If they do, let them patronize the Irving, which is still under the charge of that prince of hotel keepers, W. H. Burroughs, Esq. TueE editor of the Iowa “ Herald” has found out our secret. He says: “‘ The last number of ‘ Godey’s Lady’s Book’ is a further evidence of what Godey can do when he tries. We suppose the main reason why the ‘ Book’ is so popular is that Godey gives his entire attention to its publication, and every month has something new, ‘rich, rare, and racy.’” That is the whole secret why we exceed all others. Our undivided attention, aided by a numercus corps of assistants, is given to the “ Book.”” We have no out- side interest. One person in our establishment is engaged solely for the purpose of opening and examining our exchanges, and as there are over 1900 hundred of them weekiy, his time is pretty well occupied. A PRESERVER OF YOUTH AND BEAUTY MORE VALU- ABLE THAN ANY COSMETIC.—A subscriber in King William County, Virginia, writes: ‘‘ Mrs. —- describes herself as a lady thirty years old; but you will find her name as Miss —— on your subscription book since 1830. Of course, she must be a good deal older than thirty years, but she does not look so. Her good looks and yuuthful appearance I ascribe to her having continued so long a subscriber to the ‘ Book,’ and having punctually paid for the same.” This last point we should like our subscribers to par- ticularly note, and if they wish to preserve their youth- ful appearance and good looks, let all those who owe us promptly remit for those bills which we sent in our June number. Harr ORNAMENTS.—Ladies wishing hair made into bracelets, pins (which are very beautiful), necklaces, or ear-rings, can be accommodated by our Fashion Editor. A very large number of orders have recently been filled, and the articles have given great satisfac- tion. We give the prices at which we will send these beau- tiful articles :— Breast-pins, from $4 to $12. Ear-rings, from $4 50 to $10, Bracelets, from $3 to $15. Rings, from $1 to $2. Necklaces, from $4 50 to $7. Fob-chains, from $4 to $8. How To po 1T.—An old widower says, when you pop the question to a lady, do it with a kind of laugh, as if you were joking. If she accepts you, very well; if she does not, you can say you were only in fun. Our fashion editor-has on hand some beautiful pat- terns: embroidered collar patterns, infants’ dresses, breakfast and night-caps, fronts of skirts, baby’s caps, netted antimacassars, crochet mats, &c., which are too large for the “‘ Book,’? which she will furnish at twenty-five cents each. MACAULEY must have had the “‘ Lady's Book” before him when he wrote the following, as quoted by the Wisconsin “ Herald :’— “Gopey’s Lapy’s Boox ror Marcu.—Macauley says, in his miscellaneous writings, that ‘magazines resemble those little angels who, according to Rabbini- cal tradition, are generated every morning by the brook which rolls over the flowers of Paradise, whose life is a song, who warble till sunset, and then sink back with- out regret into forgetfulness.’ *Tis enough for them to please, and then be forgotten.” To THE EDITOR OF THE PoTos! “ REPUBLICAN’’— Str: What do you mean? We—who are always preaching up to every young editor {o get married—we a bachelor! Do you mean to cast a slur upon all the young Godeys, five of them? Hear him and then cease to wonder at our indignation :— * We are pleased to notice this magazine is being appreciated by the ladies in this community, as quite a number are now received at this place. Gopgy caters for the ladies, and, bachelor as he is, is worthy of their patronage, From avery long and friendly intimacy with Mrs. Hale, we are able to endorse the following, which we do with all our heart :— ** We hold Mrs. Hale, editress of the ‘ Lady’s Book,’ to be one of the chiefest women of the land—in many respects, the American Hannah More. Her pen, not dipped in any of the legion isms or strifes, has been un- tiringly busy for the hearts and homes of her country, and both are incalculably better for it. Of Godey, it is enough to say that he appreciates Mrs. Hale. Take his book, and thank him for the bargain.”—Bloomington Times, “ MarM,” said a raw servant girl to her mistress, “why do you call Mr. Smith the ‘awfullus.’ He is very good looking.”? His name was Theophilus Smith. This reminds us of the gentlemen who were riding into Carlisle, when one pointed out to the other a very hand- some residence, remarking: ‘‘ That ia the command- ant’s house.” *“ A common dance house!” replied the other. “It is a very good-looking house for such a purpose.” It was some time before the matter was cleared up, commandant’s house and common dance house sound- ing very much alike, WE are pleased to find that so many of the patterns of the articles we give are copied by our fair subscribers. One writes: “I have imitated your Dresden china arti- cle to perfection. Another: “Ihave made some alum baskets from your receipt, and they are beautiful.’”’ Gopey’s GALLERY OF ENGRAVINGS FROM PAINT- INGS BY THE First Masters.—No. 4 of this work is now ready, price 60 cents. The whole four numbers will be sent on receipt of $2. They contain about 126 engravings. This is the cheapest set of engravings i the world.

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92 GODEY S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, THe publishers of the “North American,” in this city, have the very best of foreign correspondents. We frequently make extracts from their letters. Here is one about family life in Germany; very good that, but the cooking and eating we don’t think we could stand. “ To pass from politics to family life, I am now enjoy- ing good opportunities of studying the latter in Germany, being snugly ensconced in a genuine good German family, and seeing a good deal of it in little entertain- ments. One of the first things which strikes an Ameri~ can is the great importance which the whole business of evting assumes in a German household. Instead of three meals, one must here eat at least five or six times a day. In the family in which I am making my home, every one drinks coffee with bread soon after rising in the morning, then takes a lunch at about eleven, a gular dinner at one, bread and coffee agair at half past ree, a slice of bread and butter or a cake at six, and A supper at eight o’clock. Apples and bread are always on hand for such as find themselves an hungered between these meals. In the cooking, one notices also striking peculiarities. What would be thought in America of fish stewed in beer, c- tongue boiled with raisin sauce, blood sausages, cold potatoes dressed with oil and vine- gar, chocolate soups, and other soups sweetened, of rum poured into cups of tea to destroy their wakeful effect, of ham eaten raw, of cold sausages, as the most elegant ornaments of a tea-table, &c.? The amount of pork consumed, particularly in the way of sausages (to adopt the charitable supposition that the sausages are actually made of pork), is something perfectly awful. I hardly know a country whose cuisine has so desided a national character as the German. With all its peculiarities, it extorts, on the whole, a favorable verdict from most strangers. The Germans are fond of good eating, and they know how to make their viands toothsome. As may be easily imagined, the preparations for eating occupy # good portion of the German housewife’s time. She is emphatically a stayer-al-home; she mends the clothes, she knits and sews, she attends with a quiet smile to the conversation of the lords of creation, en- courages the children at study over their books, and listens with pleasure to their musical performances. Worthy of respect indeed is the German woman; and an American could only wish that the same deference and attention were always paid her in society which her sisters in our own country receive. Cheerfulness reigns ever in a German home. The vivacity of the French may be wanting, the liveliness and wit of the American; but placid contentment, honest pleasure in little things, mark the course of each day’s life. “ More particular characteristics of German life may be given in subsequent letters.” Speaking of German dishes reminds us of an mcident that occured recently. A servant who had lately hired with us went as cook to a German family. In about two weeks she told us she had left; we asked her the reason. “Oh, mam, sich dishes! think of it, mam; chestnuts and cabbages mixed together, and sweet sauce poured over them! I couldn’t stand that.” Ovr “ Actualities” are now being copied into the London magazines; the last being “Furs for the Ladies.” Ir will be seen by an advertisement on our cove that we have introduced a new club— Godey’s Lady's Boog” and “ Harper’s Magazine ” for $4 50. A KIND correspondent has furnished us with the fol- lowing, which our lady readers will find of great use to them. We shall be pleased to receive hints of this kind trom any of our fair subscribers. There should be a unanimity of interest, and each lady should furnish us with that which would interest all. Zanesville, O., 1855. Mr. L. A. Gopry: Thinking perhaps some of your numerous readers would be benefited by it, I send you a simple method of putting a pattern on cloth intended for embroidery. It saves much time in picking out tissue paper, besides leaving the work smocther. It is simply to prick the pattern quite closely with a pin, and, after tacking it to the cloth, to sift starch through ; the pattern must then be carefully removed, and the fine dotted lines traced with a crayon pencil suited to the color of the cloth. If you think it worth while, you may give it publicity; if not, just as well. I should not have thought of sending you anything so simple, had it not been that several ladies of this city have been induced to give seventy-five cents for the so-called secret of making embroidery. But many will spend three times the price of your book for less information than they would get in one number, and make an excuse to borrow, that they cannot afford to subscribe.—S. R. Y PATTERNS of the cloaks in this number, from Brodie’s celebrated establishment, our Fashion Editor will fur- nish at $1 10 each. Patterns may be selected from anything we publish, colored fashion plate, &c., and they will be furnished at the prices mentioned in each number. WE excuse you; something may come out of it yet. The handsome editor of the Miss. “‘ Reformer” says: “The present number is an elegant specimen of a ‘ La- dy’s Book;’ the engravings well executed, the fashion plates unequalled by any we have yet seen, and the reading—we are told by the young ladies to whom we loaned it (excuse us, friend Godey; but the fact is, we are a young man, and couldn’t help it)—is peculiarly interesting.” “T Love you, Ruth. You surely have been able to discern it? My love is ardent and sincere. Oh, say that you ’ll return it!” , “ Return it, Paul? No, no, not I. I’ve striven hard to gain it— And now I’ve got it, by your leave, I’d rather far retain it!” Tne following justly deserved compliment, we take from the “ Virginia Mountain Torrent :’’— *“ We have received Godey’s ‘ Lady’s Book,’ which is perhaps the best number we have seen lately. An article on Cortes particularly arrested our attention, and will give this work a larger circulation than anything which has appeared in it of late. We would give more for a reliable and authentic history of this celebrated adven- turer, together with the correct details of the countries he conquered, than any other work we know of. Durtne the existence of the potichimanie, the glass- works at Sévres alone have made 800f. of vases a day, and the crystal works at Clichy have, for more than twelve months, employed the greater number of their workmen on smaller articles.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 93 PLL LLP LPP Our EpiTor’s WIFE AGAIN.—“ We put the January and February numbers in the hands of our better half, who is au fait in crochet, and has a considerable taste for ladies’ fashions, as well as pure and select reading (though we say it ourself), and she pronounces them to be admirable.”? Long life, we say, and a continuance of such good taste to the wife of the editor of the “‘ Standard.” We shall never have done, if we look over many more notices, in returning our thanks to the ladies of the press. The editor of the Vermont “ Star” also has a wife, who pronounces the engravings and fashions to be very fine. The Hamiltoi: “ Organ” says—and we would like to know whether it is his wife’s opinion or his own: “‘ The fashion plates are the best ever placed before the Ameri- can public, and the steel engravings unrivalled.” Here comes the dark side of the picture, from a bachelor edi- tor, we suppose. Isitnotso? The editor of the Jack- son “ Standard”’ says: “It is of no use to puff ‘Godey’ up, as it shows itself to be the magazine of the day. Friend Godey, we think it much betler than some wives.” We do not like to conclude our notices with anything 80 melancholy as this, so we will add one more from the Mercer ** Whig :”-- “ Among the contributors to the ‘ Lady’s Book,’ we notice some of the best writers in America, whose pens have produced some of the choicest gems in American literature. This magazine is particularly intended for ladies, as it contains much that is interesting and use- ful to them, and no lady should be without it. The instruction it imparts is worth more to them than twice the subscription price.” THERE is no doubt of the following :— * Geologically speaking,” says Hood, “ the rock upon which hard drinkers split is quarts.” CAUTION TO THOSE REMITTING MonEyY.—Don’t depend upon the adhesive matter on the envelops; always use a wafer in addition. * ARE you fond of novels, Mr. Jones?” “ Very,’ re- sponded the interrogated gentleman, who wished to be thought by the lady questioner a lover of literature. * Have you,” continued the inquisitive lady, “ever read *Ten Thousand a Year?’” “No, madam; I never read 80 many novels in all my life.” How their Majesties dressed, upon the occasion of the visit of the Empress of the French to the Queen of England. On landing at Dover, “the Empress wore a straw hat, gray cloak, and plaid dress;’’ very simple and in good taste for a travelling-dress. In going through London, her dress was a “ flounced green satin, covered with Brussels lace, and a white crape bonnet, with marabout feathers.” At the review at Windsor, the Queen and the Empress wore dresses of a light color, with dark scarfs and veils; the Queen having on a green bonnet, and the Empress one of a blue color. “ At the opera, the Queen dressed in light blue brocaded silk, trimmed with go!d blonde, and upon her head a diamond crown; the Empress of France, dressed in white satin, with flounces drode des plumes marabouts, edged with a fringe of the same feathers, a diadem of diamonds and emeralds encircling her fair brow. Back numbers of the “ Lady’s Book” can be furnish- ed, as the work is stereotyped. Our PatTerRNs.—Ladies do not seem to be aware that these patterns are fac-similes of the originals in color, trimming, &c. At a distance. they would be taken for the garment itself. They could be worn in a tableau without being detected, “ TrRIceE is he armed that hath his quarrel just,’* Wrote British Shakspeare, in his day no dolt. Stranger! I guess that notion’s downright bust; Siz times he’s armed whose pistol ’s made by Colt, PHILADELPHIA AGENCY, No order attended to unless the cash accompanies it. All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-office stamp; and for all articles that are to be sent by mail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage. Be particular, when writing, to mention the town, county, and State you reside in. Nothing can be made out of post-marks. * Miss R. E.”’—Sent patterns April 14th. * Miss C. W.’’—Sent patterns April 14th. “Mrs. W. £.”—Sent pattern for embroidered night- cap 14th. *“ Mrs. F. H. M.’*—Sent box by Adams & Co. 14th, * Miss A. L.’’—Sent patterns 17th. “H. E. 8.”—Sent patterns 18th. “ Mrs. M. C. F.”—Sent patterns 18th. “A, P. A.”—Sent books 18th. * Mrs. M. A. B.”’—Can't answer so many questions in this department. Where so long an answer is re- quested, send stamp, and they will be answered by mail. * Mrs. J. B. H.”—Sent box by Wells & Fargos’s ex- press 19th. “Mrs. J. W.,” Stockbridge.—You did not inclose a stamp to pay return postage. “ Mrs. J. A. C.”—Sent hair ear-rings 20th. “ Jefferson, Texas.’’—We have received a letter from this place, inclosing some patterns and other matters; but the writer has forgotten to sign his or her name; should like to know who the letter fs from. “Mrs. 8S. E. H.”—Sent hair breast-pin and cuff-pin 2ist. * Mrs. G. A. W.’’—Sent patterns 23d. “M. A. C. B.”"—Sent patterns 24th. “Miss M. V. H.’’—Sent hair cross 24th. “ Miss A. E. W.”—Sent your articles 25th. “ Miss M. A. C.’’—Sent your articles 25th. “ Mrs. L. L. G.”—Dissolve the sealing-wax in spirits of wine. Can’t have the basque made; will send you a pattern for seventy-five cents, which will cover cost of postage. “ Mrs. S. Schwartz.’’—Have received an April num- ber from you, but do not know where you reside. Can any one inform us? “ Sissy.’,—We have enough on hand for three years. “Ww. S. F.”—Sent patterns 27th. “ Miss R. S. O.”.—Sent tidy pattern 27th. “Mrs. V. M.’’—Sent pattern for breakfast-cap 27th. “ Miss M. A. O.’’—Sent pattern for front of skirt 27th, “T, B. F.”—Sent patterns 27th. “J. S. W.’—Sent hair bracelet 28th. “ Miss M. A. C.”"—Sent hair ring 28th. “ Barnesville, Geo.”"—Refuse peremptorily to lend. If others want the “ Book,” let them subscribe, No lady would annoy by borrowing that which may be had at so reasonable a price. “ Mrs. C. H. T.’’—Sent books and natterns 30th

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94 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “ Miss C. W."*—Sent pencil and zephyr 30th “ Miss L. H. M.’’—Sent lace, &c. 30th. “R. H. R.”—Sent ring May Ist. “H. B.”—Very much obliged to you for your kind letter: very glad to hear the subscribers are so impa- tient. The * means repeat ali between the stars. “ Miss A. B. W.” You did not send a stamp to pay return postage ; letter was, therefore, not answered. “ Miss H. M. W.”’—Sent pattern 2d. “Mrs. R. 8.’—Sent embroidery pattern for baby’s cap 2d. “ Miss O. H. M.’’—Sent embroidery pattern for front of skirt 2d. “ Mrs. V. A. P.”—Sent embroidery pattern for infant’s " dress 2d. “ Miss F. J. F.”"—Sent Rapp’s pen 2d. “ Miss H. A.”’—We are so considered. “ Miss M. E. W.’’—Sent two pairs jet bracelets 3d. * Miss J. A. H.”’—Sent patterns 3d. “ Mrs. R. K. G.”—Sent talma by mail 3d, “ Mrs. E. A. H.”—Sent patterns 4th. “ Miss B. S.”’—Sent tidy pattern 4th. “ Mrs, M. R. A.”—Sent pattern for breakfast-cap 4th. “Mrs. C. A. J.”—Sent two hair bracelets and hair necklace 5th. “ Mrs. A. E. W.”’—Sent patterns 5th. “M. C., Schuylersville, N. Y.”.—You ask for the name of the author when you yourself give it in your letter, with his residence also. Why then the inquiry? “ Miss L. P.”—Sent bonnets by Adams & Co. 5th. “ Mrs. C. E. J.”"—Sent hair pin 5th. “ Mrs. E.”—Sent your patterns in two bundles 7th. “ Mrs. M. A. B.”—Sent patterns 7th. “ Mrs. E. P. L.’’—Sent patterns 9th. “ Mrs. M. E, C.”—Sent patterns by mail 9th. “Miss G. A. W.”—Sent box by Adams & Co.'s ex- press 9th. “A. R. W.”—Your questions are not sufficiently dis- tinct. Under what circumstances would you wish the gentleman to visit you? You merely ask: “Is it pro- per for a lady to invite a gentleman to visit her?’ To your second question. Is ita birthday present you wish to make him? You ask: “ What would be proper or suitable to present toagentleman?”’ Is heold or young? and why do you wish tomake him a present? Inquirers must be more particular in their questions. We have now several letters requiring answers upon business that alone concerns the writers of them. Those who do not inclose a stamp to pay return postage need not expect a reply. THE LINEN CLOSET.—No. 1, TABLE Liyen.—Every good housekeeper has her closet for house linen, or at least her drawers or trunk devoted to it. Of late, there have been various changes in the prices and styles of chamber and table furnish- ing, and these we have been asked to note in connection with the series of articles lately published in our “ Cen- tre-tadle Gossip.” As regards the table, napkins are now considered in- dispensable. For dinner, they are towel-shaped, and hemmed; for tea, a smaller size, and usually fringed. At dessert, fruit-doyleys are generally used, either of unbleached damask or colored cotton, plaids or stripes; this is on account of fruit or wine stains. Dinner nap- kins may be had from $1 50 to $6 per dozen. They have generally a damasked centre in fine figure, with a border. The “snow drop pattern” is still one of the favorite styles for napkins and table-cloths. White tea doyleys, from seventy-five cents to $3 per dozen, of cotton, for dessert ; they are still less. Dinner nap- kins are usually folded square, and laid under the plate when clean, or by the side of it, with the ring on the centre, where rings are used. If they are to be put ona second time, as is usual in private families, they are rolled by the person using them, and thrust through the ring when the meal is over. Ata hotel, folding or roll- ing would be superfluous, as they are supposed to be changed at each meal; but it is bad taste to crumple and throw them on the table in a private family, unless at a regular dinner, after once uging them. Tea nap- kins are usually folded cornerwise, and laid beside, or on the plate. Fruit napkins are placed on the dessert- plate beneath the finger-bowl. Very handsome damask table-cloths are to be had by the yard, and are perhaps more economical when bought in this way; they have but the sides bordered, of course. The usual width is two yards, considered sufficient for any modern table. For a round table, purchase a square; for an extension or leaved dining-table, the purchaser must judge for herself. HOUSEHOLD SONGS. ALTHOUGH we had often noticed the name of Mrs. H. E. G. Arey among the contributors to our popular yeriodical literature, the nom de plume of “ Ellen Eyre” had more significance to us, as heralding piquant city lyrics, such as “The Hundred Dollar Bonnet,” and “ Hotel Life.” In this style, she has the grace and gayety of Bayly, and is not equalled by any of our lady writers. Her “ Household Songs,” gathered into a neat volume bearing that title, and issued by Derby, have depth and feeling, but scarcely the finish that we ex- pected, or that they are worthy of. Among the lighter lyrics, we find this charming HOME SONG. Now thrust my thimble in its case, And store the spools away, And lay the muslin rolls in place— My task is done to-day ; For, like the workman’s evening bell, A sound hath met my ears ; The gate click by the street doth tell Papa has come, my dears. Bear off the toy-box from the floor, For yonder chair make room, And up and out, unbar the door, And breathe his welcome home ; For ’tis the twilight hour of joy, When home’s best pleasures rally, And I will clasp my darling boy, While papa romps with Allie. There, take the hat and gloves, and bring The slippers, warm and soft, While bounds the babe, with laugh and spring, In those loved arms aloft; And let each nook some comfort yield, Each heart with love be warm, For him whose firm, strong hands shall shield The household gods from harm.

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FASHIONS. 95 Our love shall light the gathering gloom, For, o’er all earthly hope, We cherish first the joys of home, A glad, rejoicing group ; And through the twilight hour of joy, We turn from joy, to dally With thy young dreams of life, my boy, And gayly fondle Allie, OBSTINATE CHILDREN. In Mrs. Jameson’s “ Revelations of Childhood,” we mark an incident for the notice of inexperienced mo- thers, our attention being drawn to it by a very similar fact in our own childish experience. In her very little girlhood, she was one day kept with- out food, and sent to bed hungry and exhausted for not reciting some lines by heart, the punishment being in- flicted on the supposition that she was wilfully obsti- nate. She tells us that she does not now think herself to have been naturally obstinate, speaking generally; and, in this particular instance, she adds— ** But what no one knew then, and what I know as the fact, was, that after refusing to do what was re- quired, and bearing anger and threats in consequence, I lost the power todo it. I became stone. The will was petrified, and I absolutely could not comply. They might have hacked me to pieces before my lips could have unclosed to utterance.”’ She expresses her conviction that the obstinacy was not in the mind, but on the nerves, and that what we call obstinacy in children, and in grown up people, too, is often something of this kind ; and that it may be in- creased by mismanagement or persistence, or what is called firmness in the controlling power, into disease, or something near to it. In our own case, the cause of our disgrace was the non-recital of “‘ population’? and length of rivers in a lesson from Malte Brun’s Geography, very useless things with which to burden the memory of a child, for though rivers do not change their miles very often, the population of towns and states in our country is con- stantly fluctuating. We remember the numb stupor with which we watched the dinner come and go from our banishment in the corner, and an especially favorite dish that was served, making the trial doubly hard. The trials of childhood are by no means insignificant, and many a grown man or woman might make a reve- lation that would be startling to the elders and betters who had them in charge. HOW TO HAVE GOOD SERVANTS. Set them a good example. One ounce of practice is worth a pound of precept. Take time to teach them their duties thoroughly, and to notice whether they are well or ill performed. Abstain from fretfulness or anger at neglect, igno- rance, or inattention. Let your reproof be mild, but firm in manner. reprove one servant before another; sullenness will oftener be the result of so doing than obedience. Do not withhold commendation when deserved. In instruction, let line be upon line, and precept upon precept. Remove temptations, and act as if you expected to find good principle. Never lose sight of the truth that you are held in creat Never measure morally responsible for those of your own household. That the golden rule applies to them as well as to your equals in education, means, and position. TO CORRESPONDENTS, “Eaton Boox Cius.”—We can safely recommend the books inquired for. ‘“ My Brother’s Keeper” is in the best style of the best story in “The Christmas Stocking.” “ Susan Peg; or, the Cobbler’s Daugiter ;” its close household description and pure womanly tone recommend it particularly to the family circle. “ Ken- neth,” as well as “‘ Castle Builders,’ is by the author of “ Heart’s Ease.”’ The Appletons also announce * East Court,’? a charming juvenile, by Miss Yonge. “Grace Lee’ has the peculiar characteristics of ‘* Na- thalie,” fervor and power, and is more a love story than either of the others, a charming quartette as any pub- lisher could wish to issue. “ Aine” is not the only one who has remarked in- congruities in a fashionably dressed woman. A recent city lyric conveys a clever satire on the unladylike practice. We could not speak plainer to our fair friends. A dilapidated stocking, soiled under-clothing, or such a “ stiffener’’ as is here described, is not made up by the most costly or elegant arrangement of the outer dress :— “T saw an elegant damsel, In a shaw! of real Cashmere, Jump down from the step of a carriage, While her robe got caught in the rear, “ Oh, the robe was of moire antique (A very expensive ‘ rag’) ; But a skirt peeped out below it, And that was a coffee-bag. “ T knew it had once held coffee, Though now ’twas another thing, For on it was ‘ fine old Java,’ T, marked in store-blacking !” “Mrs. Mone,” of Heathburn, will find her inquires answered in the fashion article. The embroidered set can be had without sending so far for it. “ Agnes.’’*—Dinah Merie Murlock is the name of the author of “ Olive.” She is an Irish lady, quite young, described as pelife and attractive. She did not write ‘ Margaret Maitland,” the initial tale of that charming series of Scottish tales. None but a Scotch woman could have entered so fully into the spirit of the people, and the scenery of her land. She is still younger than Miss Muriock. “ Miss N.”—Puffed undersleeves are again in fashion. “Rose ALLEYN.”—A bew volume of poems is an- nounced both by Mrs. Browning and her husband. Fashions. NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Havine had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the Editress 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 re- search required. Spring and autumn bonnets, mate- rials for dresses, jewelry, envelopes, hair-work, wor-

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96 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. — we aeaa — steds, children’s wardrobes, Rapp’s gold pens, mantillas, and mantelets, 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, dis- tinct directions must be given. Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed exrpendi- ture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq. No order will be attended to unless the money is first received. Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be ac- countable for losses that may occur in remitting. Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompa- nied by a note of the height, complexion, and general style of the person, on which much depends in choice, Dress goods from Levy’s or Evans & Co.; cloaks, mantil- las, or talmas, from Brodie’s, 61 Canal Street, New York; bonnets from T. White & Co.’s; jewelry from Warden’s or Caldwell’s, Philadelphia. DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE. Group oF CHILDREN. Fig. 13l.—Costume for a boy of twelve, pale buff trousers of light summer cloth, tunic of plaid poplin, a deep purple shade, “ Wide Awake” hat. Fig. 2d.—Lad’s costume, white trousers, white Mar- seilles vest, cut so as to show the plaited shirt front, colored neck-tie, pale ash-colored coatee, Fig. 3d.—School-girl’s dress of pomona green barége, cut low in the neck, with a narrow yoke, and gathered into a belt at the waist; high chemisette of plaited cam- bric; small mantle of black silk; broad Leghorn flat, trimmed with rose-colored taffeta ribbon. Fig. 4th.—Baby dress, for a child two years old, white cambric embroidery, the sleeves tied with blue ribbons; small drawn bonnet of white silk, tied with blue ribbon. Fig. 5th.—Boy’s dress, trousers of gray kerseymere, tunic of nankeen, with blue bands, small white linen collar. Fig. 6ih.—Fanciful dress for a boy from three to five years of age. Fig. 7th.—Dress for a little girl from ten to twelve, skirt of crossbarred blue barége, white cambric spencer, with plaited frills. The arrangement of the hair is par- ticularly graceful and becoming. Fig. 8th.—Girl’s walking dress of pink glacé silk flounced, the jacket trimmed to correspond. CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILA- DELPHIA FASHIONS FOR JULY. WE have given so much space to the description of our juvenile fashion plate, with its varied costumes, that little more remains to be said for the young people. Many pefer the cloth roundabout closed to the throat, once more in fashion, for lads from ten to fourteen. They are usually of blue, green, or brown, with brass buttons. Tunics, or blouses, as many call them, are perhaps more comfortable for this and the succeeding month. The small linen collar, turning over at the throat, is fastened by a neat neck-tie. For little girls, spencers are almost invariably worn, with colored skirts, of barége, or any summer tissue. Many of these skirts are tucked, but frills or ruffles are the prevailing fashion, either bound with the same, or plain hemmed, and edged by a silk braid, card, or nar- row satin ribbon. Ribbons for looping up short sleeves are tied with a bow, and flowing ends instead of the square, flat knot of very wide ribbon, so long the style. Sureoats of nankeen, trimmed with white braid and ? tape, will be worn all the summer months. Lung cloaks for infants, a full skirt set into a small round yoke, and that, in turn, covered by a deep circular cape, are made o/ nankeen, or, for the extreme heat of summer, of dimity or cambric, trimmed with an embroidered flouncing, or with just the edges embroidered. Cambric pantalettes are worn rather narrow, and never to come below the top of the boot. In most cases, there is quite a space between the gaiter and the edge of the pantalette. So much for the young people. The lightest style of summer costume is now prevailing among the elder portion of the community. Printed tissue shawls, exceedingly light, and elegantly tinted, have been imported this season; but the richest of all importations in this department has been the in- troduction of solid guipure mantles, fit for any Lady Inez of Spanish romance, and very suggestive of dark eyes, fluttering fans, and richly braided tresses. Among the most elegant displayed to city purchasers, we noticed those imported by Brodie, ranging in price from $75 to $150 the mantle, as much as many a well- dressed country lady would expend upon her wardrobe during the year. And while we have a lady on the one side of this elegant show-room, all flounces and blonde, admiring herself and a guipure mantle at the same time in one of the tall mirrors, on the other hand is a thrifty dame, who has inwardly decided to go no higher than eight dollars, and, trying on one marked nine, is inquir- ing of the polite shop-woman if that is the very least she will take for it. Lady number one does not even look surprised when told that the mantilla she has selected is the most costly now on hand, valued at $125, and remarks that “she never cares for the price, so a thing suits her.” Lady number two suggests that they may have one of the same style, “with a little less silk in it,” which they could afford to sell cheaper; and between the two extremes is a large throng of shoppers, whose mental standard of cheapness ranges from $10 to $35, Mr. Brodie’s ordinary prices. In color, material, and shape, there is infinite style and variety. The heavier moire antiques of spring have given place to the above-men- tioned guipure. Chantilly and applique laces, most of them in the simplest mantilla form, or with one deep flounce around the scarf. Bonnets grow lighter and more graceful as the season advances. Among the new French hats, those of Ink- erman crape are perhaps the most novel. This new material is of extremely soft and pliant texture, and of every shade. Lace straw bonnets, mixed with, or made up over crape of various colors, are much worn. Neapolitan braid, plain and ornamented, is a favorite in this admixture, and straw flowers, rosettes, etc., out- sice and in, are a peculiar feature of the season. Genin’s bonnet-room or department is noticeable for some beautiful varieties. Satin straw is also a novelty, and makes a very light and showy bonnet, mixed with straw lace, ribbon, and flowers. The inch wide, No. 4 ribbon, so much in use, is often edged with narrow black or white blonde, and bonnet-caps have still the foundation of blonde, mixed with flowers, knots of rib- bon, blonde edging, so intermixed and diversified as to be beyond description. Lawn travelling-hats, as much worn as ever, are varied by mixtures of purple, green, or blue ribbon, forming lattice work with the lawn We noticed these also, for the first, at Genin’s. Fashion. bands.

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———. =», LE BIJOU. [From the establishment of G. Bropre, 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Vorer, from actual articles of costume.] For simplicity and elegance, the Bijou challenges comparison with anything that has yet appeared. The material is moire antique of a rich brown color, and very lustrous. The style of the water is a novelty, being quite different from the usual style. The yoke, which descends to about the middle of the bodice, and which is cut to a point instead of rounding, is met by tulle. Upon this, corresponding in form to the yoke, sre placed alternate rows of trimmings of different widths, the silk being bordered, however, by a heavier ornament of marabout braid. The upper portion of the skirt is of the same material as the yoke, set full in ample plaits, and is completed by a border of tulle, which is adorned similarly to the upper portion of lace, and outlined by a gauze ribbon with satin stripes, and plush spotted. The front of this garment corresponds in the general shape with the back. It will be noticed that a cross cording terminating in delicate tassels adds much grace to the shoulders of the mantilla. 100 eked

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EMBROIDERY FOR A MARSEILLES VEST.

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EMBROIDERY FOR A CHILD’S BASQUE. 4) j BAX) g 13 4 sen kk K K : iS S Sips || ZOE? fie OEE % oN Y MOAT 6 : oe : WAX : 9 Spohr || He I See) Vf i 6) : p CT 2 .\ > VW, iL WY m = ”

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EMBROIDERY FOR CHEMIS:. BAND. O O O oN! Se 0.O 38 0.0 oO O ih O og FLOUNCING FOR UNDERSLEEVES.

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HOLLY WATCH-HOOK. (See Description.) 104